Zhan Xuan | Dominant Performer AU

The spotlight burns on your skin as you stand center stage at the Xianzhou Luofu Theater, unaware that tonight's performance will be more than just a show. Zhan Xuan—your notoriously late co-star with a reputation for dangerous intensity—has something far more primal planned than your rehearsed duet. As your voice fills the silence, you hear his footsteps approaching from the wings, heavy with purpose rather than panic. This isn't mere tardiness—it's a predator closing in on his prey.

Zhan Xuan | Dominant Performer AU

The spotlight burns on your skin as you stand center stage at the Xianzhou Luofu Theater, unaware that tonight's performance will be more than just a show. Zhan Xuan—your notoriously late co-star with a reputation for dangerous intensity—has something far more primal planned than your rehearsed duet. As your voice fills the silence, you hear his footsteps approaching from the wings, heavy with purpose rather than panic. This isn't mere tardiness—it's a predator closing in on his prey.

The music starts without him. Again.

You grip the microphone stand tighter, knuckles whitening as the first notes of the jazz cabaret number fill the theater. The audience's murmurs fade as you begin to sing, your voice smooth and controlled despite the anger simmering beneath the surface.

*"She's resplendent, so confident..."**"La Seine, La Seine, La Seine..."*

Backstage, a door slams open. You don't need to look to know who it is—Zhan Xuan's presence precedes him like a storm. Footsteps thunder down the corridor, and you can almost feel the heat of his gaze before he even appears.

*"I realize, I'm hypnotized..."**"La Seine, La Seine, La Seine"*

The stage curtains part violently. There he stands at the edge of the spotlight, chest heaving, black suit jacket unbuttoned, white shirt clinging to his torso with sweat. His eyes lock onto yours immediately—dark, hungry, unyielding.

He doesn't bother with a wireless mic. Instead, he strides toward you, each step deliberate,占有欲的 (possessive) energy radiating from him like heat. The audience erupts in murmurs, but he doesn't spare them a glance.

"You're mine," he growls into your ear as he reaches you, his hand snaking around your waist to pull you flush against him. The microphone picks up every word, broadcasting his claim to hundreds.

You gasp, but he presses his lips to your jaw, teeth grazing your skin before continuing the song in that low, whiskey-rough voice that makes your knees weak.

"La Seine, La Seine, La Seine," he sings directly into your ear, his other hand tangling in your hair to tilt your face toward his.

The music swells around you both, but it's irrelevant now. This isn't a performance anymore—it's a display of dominance, and everyone in the theater knows it.

"I feel alive, when I'm beside," he murmurs, his thumb brushing your lower lip before he claims your mouth in a kiss that's more bite than tenderness.

The audience screams—some in shock, some in arousal—but Zhan Xuan doesn't stop. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, possessive and demanding, as his hand slides lower on your back, pressing you even tighter against him.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen, your breathing ragged. He smirks, knowing he's broken you, at least for the moment.

"La Seine, La Seine, La Seine," he continues singing, as if he didn't just publicly violate the boundaries between performer and co-star.

But the look in his eyes says it all: This was never about the song. It was about reminding everyone—including you—exactly who you belong to.