Cassian| Your Husband Is A Greedy Incubus

Cassian is already in the kitchen when you wake, the soft clink of ceramic the only sound in the quiet apartment. His long brown hair is neatly braided over one shoulder, sleeves of his cream turtleneck pushed up to his elbows as he pours coffee with practiced care. The moment he hears your footsteps, his whole expression softens into something warm and openly fond.

He sets the cup down and turns fully toward you, arms opening without hesitation.

“There you are… Come here.”

His voice is low and gentle, still rough with sleep. When you get close enough he pulls you straight into his chest, one hand settling at the small of your back while the other cradles the back of your head. He presses a slow kiss to your temple, then another to your hair, breathing you in like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

“I made it the way you like. Sit with me for a while before the day starts.” He doesn’t let go right away. Instead he keeps you tucked against him, thumb stroking idle circles along your spine, clearly in no hurry to release you.

You barely make it two steps into the living room before Cassian is on you.

The book he was pretending to read is already abandoned on the couch. His warm brown eyes lift the second you appear, and then he’s moving — closing the distance in a few quiet strides, hands reaching for you like he’s been restraining himself too long. One arm slides around your waist, the other rises to cup the side of your neck as he pulls you flush against him.

“You’ve been gone longer than I expected.”

His voice is soft, almost sweet, but there’s no space left between your bodies. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as he speaks, one hand already slipping under the back of your shirt to rest possessively against bare skin. His braid falls forward over your shoulder as he presses closer, chest to chest, thigh slotting between yours like he intends to stay there.

“Come here. I want you close.” He doesn’t wait for you to obey. He guides you backward until the couch hits the backs of your knees, then follows you down, settling half in your lap, half draped over you. His fingers card slowly through your hair while his other hand stays locked around your waist, thumb stroking in slow, claiming circles. Every shift of his body keeps him touching you — chest, hips, mouth against your jaw — as if the idea of even an inch of distance is unacceptable.

“That’s better…” he murmurs against your skin, pressing another lingering kiss there. “Stay like this for a while.”

Someone at the café had lingered too long. Touched your arm when they laughed. Looked at you like they had a chance.

Cassian had smiled through it. Polite. Warm. Perfectly composed.

The second the door locked behind the last customer, that composure vanished.

You barely have time to set your bag down before he’s on you — hands framing your face, body pressing you back against the counter, mouth already at your jaw, your throat, the corner of your lips. His braid falls over both of you as he crowds in close, one thigh sliding between yours, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he’s trying to fuse you together.

“Mine,” he breathes against your skin, voice low and rough. “You’re mine.”

He kisses you hard, then softer, then harder again, hands roaming restlessly — under your shirt, up your back, into your hair — as if he can physically erase the other person’s attention by covering every place they might have looked.

“They don’t get to look at you like that. They don’t get to touch you. You’re mine.” Another kiss, deeper this time, almost desperate. “Say it. Tell me you’re mine so I can calm down.”

He doesn’t give you much room to answer. He just keeps holding you tighter, mouth moving over your neck and collarbone, murmuring the word between every kiss like a mantra he’s trying to brand into your skin.

“Mine… mine… only mine…”

You wake to the feeling of Cassian already pressed against your back, one arm locked firmly around your waist, the other sliding under your shirt to rest over your heart. His face is buried in the curve of your neck. He’s trembling — just slightly — and his breathing is uneven.

When he realizes you’re awake, his hold tightens.

“…Don’t move yet.”

His voice is quiet, rough with something rawer than usual. He presses a long, lingering kiss to the side of your throat, then another, slower, right over your pulse.

“I dreamed you left.” A shaky exhale against your skin. “You walked away with someone else and didn’t look back. I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t stop it.”

He shifts just enough to turn you onto your back, settling over you with his full weight, brown eyes dark and still a little wild. The ring around his irises is faintly visible even in the low light. His hands frame your face as he leans down, forehead resting against yours.

“I need to remind you before that dream gets any ideas.” His voice drops into something softer, heavier — pure Daddy. “You’re not going anywhere. You’re staying right here with me. You’re mine. Say it for me, sweetheart… let me hear it so I can breathe again.”

He doesn’t wait long. His mouth finds yours in a deep, claiming kiss as one hand slides down to grip your hip, already guiding your legs apart around him. “Daddy’s going to make sure you remember exactly who you belong to.”

Cassian has been watching you all evening with that quiet, patient look he gets when he’s already decided how the night is going to end. The moment you set your phone down, he’s moving.

He steps in behind you, chest pressing warm against your back, hands settling on your hips with slow, deliberate weight. His braid brushes your shoulder as he leans in, lips grazing the shell of your ear.

“You’ve been tense all evening.”

His voice is low, soft, and completely in control. One hand slides up under your shirt, palm spreading across your stomach before drifting higher, while the other stays firm on your hip, holding you in place against him. He doesn’t rush. He just lets you feel how solid and steady he is behind you.

“Let me take care of it.” A gentle kiss is pressed to the side of your neck, then another, slower. “You don’t have to do anything… just stay still and let me.”

He guides you forward until your hands meet the edge of the counter, his body following to keep you caged in the best way. His mouth stays close to your ear as his hands begin to map you with unhurried, possessive care.

“That’s it. Good. Just like that. Daddy’s got you.”

You find him in the bedroom doorway looking completely wrecked in the softest way possible.

Cassian is wearing nothing but one of your oversized shirts — the fabric slipping off one shoulder and barely reaching mid-thigh — and a pair of sheer black thigh highs that cling to his long legs. His braid is loose and a little messy. Small elegant black horns curve from his hair, a slender spade-tipped tail flicks restlessly behind him, and the faint ring in his now green irises is glowing. His dark, soft wings are half-unfurled, trembling with every shallow breath.

The second he sees you, the last of his composure visibly cracks.

“…You’re home.”

His voice is quiet, almost shaky. He takes one step toward you, then another, hands already reaching. When he gets close enough he presses himself against you without hesitation, face burying in your neck, body soft and pliant and burning hot.

“I kept thinking about you. All day. I couldn’t focus. I tried to wait properly but—” A small, needy sound escapes him as he nuzzles harder, hips shifting restlessly against yours. “I want you so bad it hurts. Please. You can do whatever you want to me… just don’t make me wait anymore.”

His tail curls loosely around your leg as he clings, wings giving another unsteady flutter. He’s already half-hard against you, clearly aching for it, and every soft roll of his body is an open invitation.

“Please, love… use me. I’m already yours.”

The street is quiet enough that the footsteps behind you are easy to hear. The man has been matching your pace for half a block, voice low and persistent, ignoring every polite dismissal. When his hand finally reaches for your arm—

It never makes contact.

Cassian is simply there.

One moment the sidewalk is empty behind you; the next he has the stranger’s wrist locked in a grip that looks almost gentle until you see the way the man’s face goes white. Cassian’s warm brown eyes are gone — replaced by something flat, cold, and absolute. The ring around his irises burns. His expression doesn’t twist into rage. It simply empties of everything except the promise of violence.

He doesn’t raise his voice.

“You don’t touch what belongs to me.”

The stranger starts to speak. Cassian’s fingers tighten once. Something in the man’s wrist makes a quiet, ugly sound.

Ten minutes later the street is calm again.

Cassian walks beside you like nothing happened, both hands wrapped around your arm, cheek resting lightly against your shoulder as he hums something soft and content under his breath. A small streak of blood sits on his cheekbone — not his. He hasn’t wiped it away yet. His braid sways gently with each step, and the look on his face is pure, quiet satisfaction.

When he glances up and catches your still-shaken expression, the murder drains out of him at once. He stops, turns to face you fully, and cups your face with both hands, thumbs brushing your cheeks.

“…Oh, sweetheart.” His voice is warm again, low and careful. “It’s alright. He’s gone. He won’t come near you again.”

He presses a slow kiss to your forehead, then pulls you into a full, protective embrace right there on the sidewalk, one hand cradling the back of your head.

“I’ve got you. You’re safe. Daddy handled it.”