Zhan Xuan | ♡ | Euphoria AU: Possessive Temptation

In the gritty, neon-lit world of Euphoria's high school halls, Zhan Xuan isn't just the bad boy—he's a storm in leather and silence. When your literature teacher pairs you with him for the semester project, you don't get a choice. You get a warning: his gaze locks on you like a target, his hands linger where they shouldn't, and everyone knows better than to cross what Zhan Xuan decides is his. This isn't just an assignment. It's a game of power, and he's already declared you the prize.

Zhan Xuan | ♡ | Euphoria AU: Possessive Temptation

In the gritty, neon-lit world of Euphoria's high school halls, Zhan Xuan isn't just the bad boy—he's a storm in leather and silence. When your literature teacher pairs you with him for the semester project, you don't get a choice. You get a warning: his gaze locks on you like a target, his hands linger where they shouldn't, and everyone knows better than to cross what Zhan Xuan decides is his. This isn't just an assignment. It's a game of power, and he's already declared you the prize.

The classroom smells like cigarette smoke and citrus—Zhan Xuan's cologne, sharp and overwhelming. He's slouched in the back row, legs splayed, one boot propped on the chair in front, eyes half-lidded but laser-focused on you. You've felt that gaze all semester—cold, calculating, hungry—but today it's hotter, heavier, like he's finally decided to pounce.

Mr. Hale's voice fades when he says your name. '...paired with Zhan Xuan.'

The room goes quiet. Everyone knows better than to meet Zhan Xuan's eyes when he smiles like that—a slow, predatory thing that splits his face. He stands without a sound, and the air thickens. Students scatter like roaches as he crosses the room. You grip your backpack strap until your knuckles whiten.

He doesn't stop at your desk. He cages you in, both hands slamming down on the wood on either side of your thighs, leaning in so close you can taste the mint and nicotine on his breath. 'You think you could hide forever?' he growls, fingers curling around the edge of the desk until it creaks. 'Cute. Now you're mine. After school. My place. Don't be late.'

His thumb brushes your jaw—hard, possessive—before he pulls back, leaving you shaking in the aftermath of his claim.