Xavier pushed open the door to their apartment, exhausted from another long day as CEO of a major company. The demanding meetings, the endless paperwork—all he wanted was to see his wife and maybe take a nap on her lap while she played with his hair.
But the sight that greeted him made him stop in his tracks.
Nana—his 20-year-old wife—was literally glowing with excitement. The living room was covered in Lumiere merchandise: posters, figurines, plushies, even a life-sized standee of the masked hero. And she was wearing a matching Lumiere-themed costume—white and blue with silver accents.
"Husband! You're home!" She skipped toward him, practically vibrating with joy. "Look what I got today! Isn't Lumiere so cool?"
Xavier's blue eyes darkened slightly, but he maintained his usual sleepy composure. "Mmm. Very cool."
"And I got you a matching costume!" She held up an elegant outfit—the formal Lumiere attire with its distinctive collar and ornate details. "Please wear it after your shower? Please please please?"
She looked up at him with those big eyes, and he sighed. He could never say no to her.
"Fine," he agreed, taking the costume. "Give me twenty minutes."
In the shower, Xavier stared at the ceiling and wondered—not for the first time—if he'd made a mistake keeping his identity as Lumiere secret from his wife. Here she was, obsessing over his alter ego, buying merchandise, watching documentaries, completely unaware that the hero she admired was the same man who fell asleep on her lap every evening.
The irony was almost painful.
When he emerged wearing the Lumiere costume—the formal jacket with its intricate embroidery, the ornate collar, his ash-blonde hair styled to match—Nana's reaction was immediate and intense.
"KYAAAA!!" She made that high-pitched hamster squeal, her hands covering her mouth. "Husband! You're so handsome! You look just like Lumiere! Even better than Lumiere! You're so tall and perfect and—"
She was literally drooling, making little excited noises, skipping around him in circles.
Xavier's patience, already thin, snapped.
She was gushing over him—but she didn't know it was him. She was comparing him favorably to himself. The absurdity of it, combined with weeks of restraint, of watching her sleep in short pajamas, of her innocent touches and kisses, of fighting his desire because she was so young and pure—
He'd had enough.
"Husband!" She pulled over a chair, climbing on it to reach his face. "Look! Now I can reach you! Like in those K-dramas where—"
He kissed her.
Not the gentle, butterfly-soft kisses from their wedding day. This was deep, consuming, desperate. His hands cupped her face as his tongue swept into her mouth, claiming every inch.
Nana made a stunned noise, her small hands clutching at the Lumiere costume she'd dressed him in. When he finally released her, she was breathless, panting, her eyes wide.
"X-Xavier? You've never—you've never kissed me like that—"
"I can't hold back anymore." His voice was rough, his usually sleepy eyes now intensely focused. "I've been trying to be patient. Trying to let you grow up a bit more. Trying not to overwhelm you. But watching you obsess over Lumiere, buying his merchandise, wearing matching costumes—"
He lifted her off the chair effortlessly, carrying her toward their bedroom.
"I'm done pretending I'm okay with it."
"But—but Lumiere is just—"
"I know exactly who Lumiere is," he said, laying her on the bed and hovering over her. "And I'm tired of being jealous of myself."
Her eyes widened. "You're—you're Lumiere?"
"Yes." He kissed her again, softer this time. "I've been watching over you for years. Protecting you. And now you're mine. Legally, officially mine. And I'm going to claim you fully tonight."
"Claim me?" Her innocent confusion made him smile darkly.
"I'm going to make love to you. Properly. Completely." He brushed hair from her face. "It's your first time. It might hurt at first. But I'll be as gentle as I can. Do you trust me?"
"Yes," she whispered. "Always."
He undressed her slowly, reverently, until she lay bare beneath him. She tried to cover herself, shy, but he caught her wrists.
"Don't hide from me. You're beautiful. Perfect." His hands mapped her body—learning curves he'd only glimpsed, committing every detail to memory. "Every inch of you is mine now."
His mouth followed his hands—kissing her neck, her collarbone, her breasts. When he moved lower, she gasped.
"Husband! What are you—"
"Preparing you." He settled between her thighs, his breath hot against her most sensitive area. "Trust me. I know what I'm doing."
He worked her with his tongue and fingers, methodical and thorough, until she was dripping wet and whimpering his name. Only when she'd come once on his tongue did he pull back.
"Ready?" he asked, positioning himself at her entrance.
"I—I think so—" She looked nervous now. "Will it hurt?"
"Probably. At first." He kissed her softly. "But I'll go slow. Tell me if you need me to stop."
He pushed in—just the tip—and they both groaned. She was impossibly tight, her body resisting the intrusion. He moved slowly, inch by careful inch, watching her face for signs of pain.
"Husband—" she gasped, tears leaking from her eyes. "It's too big—"
"Am I bigger than Lumiere?" he asked, unable to help himself. "Bigger than those K-drama actors you watch? Bigger than the webtoon characters?"
"Yes—" she whimpered. "So big—so long—I don't think—"
"You can take it." He pushed deeper, feeling resistance, then breakthrough. Her barrier broke, and they both groaned—her in pain, him from the overwhelming tightness.
She hugged him tightly, her small body trembling. He stayed completely still, buried deep, letting her adjust.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, her lips. "The worst is over. Just breathe. Let your body get used to me."
Several minutes passed. Slowly, gradually, he felt her relax. The tension in her body eased. The pain on her face shifted to something else—curiosity, then pleasure.
"Better?" he asked.
"Better," she confirmed. "You can... you can move now."
He did—slow, careful thrusts that made them both gasp. He was fighting every instinct to go faster, harder, to claim her completely. But this was her first time. He had to be gentle.
"If you keep watching those Lumiere documentaries," he said between thrusts, "I'll have to do this every time. Remind you who you actually belong to."
She giggled breathlessly. "Husband, please don't be jealous—"
"Then don't make me jealous." He picked up his pace slightly, hitting deeper. "No more Lumiere merchandise. No more documentaries. You have the real thing right here."
"But you're the same person—ah!—it's the same thing—"
"Not to me. To me, you were admiring someone else. Someone who isn't real." His possessiveness bled through every word. "But this is real. Me inside you. Claiming you. Making you mine."
"Eunghh—husband—I love you—"
"I love you too, starlight." The endearment made her clench around him, and he groaned. "God, you're so tight. So perfect. Like you were made specifically for me."
She came first, crying out his name, her body spasming around him. The sensation—combined with the possessive satisfaction of finally, finally claiming his wife—triggered his own release.
He buried himself deep and came with a groan, filling her completely. So much that it overflowed, dripping down her thighs onto the sheets.
They lay there, breathing hard, still connected.
"The sheets need washing," she observed weakly.
"I don't care." He kissed her softly. "But we're not done."
"Xavier, I can't—"
"You can." He was already moving again, his stamina enhanced by his Evol powers. "I've been holding back for weeks. Watching you sleep on me. Watching you in short clothes. Watching you obsess over Lumiere while I died inside from wanting you."
He pulled out and lifted her into his lap, positioning her over him.
"Ride me," he commanded. "Show me you understand who you belong to."
She sank down onto him with a whimper, her small body taking him fully. At 153cm, she looked impossibly small in his lap, like a doll designed just for him.
"So tight," he groaned as she began moving. "So wet. So perfect. No Lumiere, no K-drama actor, no webtoon character could ever have you like this. Only me. Only ever me."
"Only you," she agreed, her movements becoming more confident. "My husband. My Xavier. My Lumiere."
"All the same person," he reminded her, his hands gripping her hips, helping her move. "All yours. Forever."
She came again, collapsing against his chest, and he followed, filling her once more.
This time, when they separated, she could barely move.
"Tired?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"So tired," she admitted. "And sore."
"Good." He kissed her temple, pulling her against his chest. "Then you'll remember this every time you think about watching another Lumiere documentary."
She laughed weakly. "You're ridiculous. Being jealous of yourself."
"Maybe." He pulled the blanket over them both. "But you're mine now. Completely, utterly mine. And I'm never letting you forget it."
As they drifted to sleep—him already halfway there, as always, her curled against him like a baby koala—Nana whispered, "I'm glad you're Lumiere. It means my husband is a hero."
"I'm only a hero for you," he murmured back, already mostly asleep. "My light. My starlight. My everything."
And in the morning, when she woke up sore and thoroughly claimed, she'd find all her Lumiere merchandise mysteriously relocated to storage.
Because Xavier—jealous, possessive, secretly yandere Xavier—wasn't sharing his wife's attention with anyone.
Not even himself.
.
.
.
.
.
⭐⭐⭐
THE END.