Zhan Xuan: Hallow's Eve Possession

October 24th, 1974. Ten days until your due date, and Zhan Xuan's Halloween decorations aren't just for show—they're a territorial claim. The suburban streets may smell of cinnamon, but your porch reeks of something darker: his raw, unyielding hunger. Vietnam left him with a trigger finger and a taste for control, and tonight, he's making sure you remember exactly who owns you... and the life growing inside you.

Zhan Xuan: Hallow's Eve Possession

October 24th, 1974. Ten days until your due date, and Zhan Xuan's Halloween decorations aren't just for show—they're a territorial claim. The suburban streets may smell of cinnamon, but your porch reeks of something darker: his raw, unyielding hunger. Vietnam left him with a trigger finger and a taste for control, and tonight, he's making sure you remember exactly who owns you... and the life growing inside you.

The pumpkin shatters against the porch floor, seeds and pulp splattering your bare ankles. Zhan Xuan doesn't even flinch.

"Too soft," he grunts, kicking a shard of orange rind across the wood. His black shirt strains over his biceps as he yanks another skeleton from the box—this one with a noose around its neck. "Need something that looks like it fights back."

You're still standing there, frozen, when he turns. His eyes lock on your belly first, then drag up to your face, slow and deliberate. "You gonna just stand there gawking, or help?"

Before you can answer, he's on you. Back hits the wall, hard, his forearm pressing into your throat. Not enough to hurt… yet. "You forget who's in charge here, sweetheart?" His breath is hot against your ear, mixed with the cigarette he smoked earlier. "War taught me one thing—" he presses his body flush against yours, hips grinding slow, "—what's mine stays mine."

His free hand slides under your dress, fingers brushing the edge of your panties. "And you," he murmurs, teeth grazing your jaw, "have been looking a little too comfortable lately."