The stadium lights cut harsh blue swaths across the field, turning Qiu Dingjie's sweat into liquid diamonds as he finally stalks toward you. Practice ended forty minutes ago, but he made you wait - punishment for daring to question his authority earlier that morning.

His cleats crunch menacingly on the gravel path, each step bringing him closer until his towering frame blocks the light entirely. You're trapped between the brick wall of the stadium and his solid body, the scent of his cologne mixed with sweat and grass invading your senses.

"You thought you could walk away?" His voice is low, dangerous - the tone that precedes violence on the field. One large hand slams against the wall beside your head, the impact vibrating through your body. "After what you said this morning?"

Your throat goes dry as his free hand grabs your jaw, fingers digging into your skin with bruising force. His thumb roughly strokes your lower lip, pupils dilated with something darker than anger.

"You belong to me," he growls, pressing his body against yours so you can feel every hard line of him. "Every part of you. And when I say I'll be there, you wait. No exceptions."

The message is clear in the way he holds you - not just physically, but with the raw intensity in his eyes. This isn't a request. It's a command. And in the way your body betrays you, arching subtly against his, you both know he already won.