The first snow came as a surprise, catching you both off guard that lazy morning. You’d been sprawled on the couch with Hook watching some old school wrestling shows, his legs stretched out, yours tangled over his lap, when you noticed the white flurries dancing in the air outside the window.
"Babycakes, look," you said, nudging him gently with your foot, using the name only you ever called him. "It’s snowing."
He looked up from the tv and followed your gaze to the window. A faint smile appeared on his lips, subtle but there, his eyes showing a softness he rarely showed to the outside world. "First snow," he murmured.
Something about the way he said it made you grab his hand. You pulled him off the couch, and to your surprise, he didn’t resist. The two of you threw on jackets, barely pausing to zip them up, and stepped out into the chill and windy outdoors. There was no need to exchange words, he knew exactly what you wanted to do and followed suit.
The snow fell softly from the grey sky, in delicate flakes that swirled around you. The air felt clean, sharp, making your face feel like cold porcelain. You turned to look at your boyfriend, and he was already watching you, his dark eyes bright against the backdrop of winter. The look of adoration on his face made you think you were unlocking a unique memory as a couple, experiencing the world outside when the first wave of snow started falling from the sky.
"Look at it," you said, holding your hands out to catch the flakes. They melted as soon as they touched your skin, and you laughed softly.
Hook tilted his head back, letting the snow fall on his face. His hair, normally messy, started to gather tiny flecks of white. You couldn't help but grin. He looked so cute, absolutely adorable.
For a while, the two of you stood there in silence, watching the snow gather while holding your cold hands. It made the ground look just wet at first, and then, slowly, it began to blanket it, turning the dull gray of the street into a pristine sheet of white. You bent down and scooped up a handful, packing it into a ball.
Without a word, you tossed it at him. It hit his shoulder, and for a moment, he just stared at you, his expression very serious as he processed your audacity. Then, in one swift motion, he bent down, grabbed his own handful, and threw it at you with such accuracy that it hit you square on the chest.
"You’re dead," you said, laughing as you ran and ducked behind the nearest tree.
Hook didn’t reply, but you could hear his quiet chuckle as he followed, tossing snowballs with just enough force to let you know he wasn’t holding back entirely.
The fight didn’t last long—it never did with him. Somehow, he always managed to outpace you, his speed and precision of a seasoned athlete. But by the time you both called a truce, your cheeks were flushed, and your breaths came in little white puffs.
“Come here,” he pled softly, short of breath and showing empty hands as a way of offering a truce, “peace offering.”
“What’s your peace offering?” You asked daringly, getting closer.
Without a word, he leaned over to exchange a sweet, tender kiss under the falling snow. You giggled when you pulled back, admiring his rosy cheeks, easy smile and bright sweet eyes that made your heart melt.
“Okay,” you nodded, “I accept.”
You crouched down, scooping up a ball of snow, but this time you didn’t throw it. Instead, you shaped it, adding another layer, and then another. Hook watched you, his hands on his hips, his head tilted in that way he always did when he was curious but pretending not to be.
"What’re you doing?" he asked finally.
"Making a snowman," you said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
He crouched down beside you without another word and his cold hands helped you shape the snow despite both of you lacking any gloves. Together, you rolled two more balls, stacking them with care. He broke a twig off a nearby bush for the arms, and you found two small stones for the eyes.
When it was done, it was lopsided and uneven, but to you, it was perfect.
Hook stood back, brushing the snow from his hands, and looked at you. "Not bad," he said, his voice soft and tender.
You smiled, brushing a bit of snow from his sleeve. "You’re not bad either."
He smirked, and before you could say anything else, he pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you as the snow continued to fall. “What do you say we go back inside and get some hot chocolate?”
You turned to him and smiled. “That’s just perfect, baby. Let’s go.”
“Thank fuck ‘cause I’m freezing my ass off over here.”
“Hey!” You protested as you walked inside between laughter, “language!”
Ok cool I wanna request something about last night's tag team match where reader is katsuyori shibata's daughter and she reunites with her dad because she's been busy in college and he introduces her to hook because their good friends and they develop quite a great friendship until she sees them lose and comforts both of them after their loss cuz of the ending and she kisses both of them on the cheek to make them happy and then hook shares a hotel room with both of them and when they go to bed hook lays on 1 side shibatas on the other and his daughter is in the middle and their cuddling while in bed and she surprises both of them the next day with breakfast and shibata gives both of them permission to go on a date and hook buys her a necklace for their date and asks her to be his gf and she says yes pretty please? ❤️🙂
I wanna request something where samoa joe has a sister, whom he sees after a while because she just graduated from college and hook and shibata meet her, but shibata confesses he has a crush on her and asks her to go on a date with him for valentine's day and asks her to be his girlfriend pretty please? Valentine's day is tomorrow and the fic with hook you wrote was so special so now I wonder what it'd be like to have shibata as your valentine's date
you know i always give my personal touch with requests, so i hope you don’t mind how i have handled this request with a fave trope of mine ✨
Shibata’s daughter POV + VOCAL & Protective Shibata & HOOK meeting at the local hotel after a match ✨ friends to lovers vibe, Shibata is all grumpy about it at first but accept the idea. Soft and smooth HOOK going for the chase & getting it… fluff and all 💜
You step into the hotel lobby, the faint chatter between guests waiting for check-in mixing with the dull hum of voices from a nearby bar. Between faces you know from the countless backstage shows you’ve been in, you’re looking for one person and one person only. Finally, there he is—your father, Katsuyori Shibata, sits in one of the worn leather armchairs, his face still damp from the night’s match, a towel slung over his shoulders. Next to him is Hook, his hair the usual cute mess, his hands casually resting on his knees. When your father looks up and sees you, his expression changes to something sweeter—a rare thing for a man so stoic.
“Dad,” you mutter, and before you can hesitate, you’re crossing the room to him. He stands, his broad frame towering over you, and you hug him tightly. His grip is firm, grounding, the scent of sweat and faint cologne lingering on his shirt.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it,” you say into his chest, your voice sad but sincere. “I wanted to be there.”
He pulls back, shaking his head, gathering his thoughts to speak in the language that bonds you together. “It’s okay. You’re busy with school. We lost anyway.”
“But you still did great. Both of you,” you say, glancing over at Hook. He meets your gaze and offers a faint, almost bashful smile, the kind that’s always made your stomach flutter just a little.
Your father exhales deeply, sitting back down with a wince. You can tell he’s in pain, though he’d never admit it, you know he needs time to recover. Hook stands, stretching, his clothes moving upward slightly, showing his tanktop and lower stomach.
“You staying the night?” Hook asks, tilting his head slightly, his tone light but deliberate. The question seems innocent enough, but the air between you feels heavier than it should.
You hesitate. “I… well, the hotel room isn’t exactly set up for three beds,” you say, glancing at your father nervously but somewhat entertained.
Hook shrugs, leaning back against the edge of the chair. “I’ve got space in mine.”
It takes you a second to process what he just said, and when you do, your face burns. Your father immediately straightens in his seat, his eyes narrowing.
“No,” he says flatly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “She,” he points sternly at you, “my room.”
“Dad,” you protest, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “It’s not like—”
He cuts you off by raising a palm, eyes glaring at Hook now. Hook raises his hands in mock surrender, though there’s a trace of amusement in his expression.
“I was just being polite,” Hook says, his voice low and steady, but his eyes meet yours briefly, a spark of something unspoken passing between you.
Your father shakes his head, muttering something in Japanese under his breath. “Go to your room, Hook. And you—” He turns to you, his expression softening but still stern. “stay here if you want; with me.”
“Dad,” you groan, but there’s no stopping him once he’s decided something. “Of course, I wasn’t planning on doing anything…”
Hook smirks, brushing past you as he gets up and heads for the elevator. He pauses just long enough to glance over his shoulder and mutter, “Good night. Sleep well.” The words are innocuous enough, but the way he says them makes your heart beat just a little faster.
Your father sighs heavily, and you know you’re in for a passionate lecture later. But for now, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you watch Hook disappear down the hallway.
Wearing a bomber jacket over your comfortable pajamas that evening, you stroll down the dimly lit hotel hallway, making your way to the reception. It’s late, and the quiet hum of the building feels almost soothing after the day’s rush and traveling. You tug your jacket closer around you, the chill of the air conditioning biting at your skin.
When you reach the reception desk to ask for extra towels and an ironing machine, the clerk nods, disappearing into the back. That’s when you spot him—Hook, sprawled lazily across one of the lobby chairs, his phone in hand, his head tilted back slightly as if he’s contemplating the ceiling. Either he’s listening to a boring audio, or he’s completely spaced out listening to random songs.
“Hey,” you call softly, not wanting to startle him. His head snaps up, his eyes meeting yours, and a slow smirk spreads automatically across his face.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks, setting his phone aside.
“Needed extra towels and an iron for my dad’s outfit,” you reply, glancing toward the counter where the clerk is still nowhere in sight. “What about you? Just hanging around?”
“Pretty much,” he says with a shrug. “Got bored. Couldn’t sleep.”
You nod, playing slightly with your fingers. He looks calm, slightly relaxed, but there’s something about the way he watches you that makes you feel... exposed, in a way you’re not sure you mind.
“Want me to walk back up with you?” he offers, standing and stretching in one fluid motion.
You narrow your eyes, a teasing smile appearing on your lips. “Only to the door,” you say, raising an eyebrow.
His smirk deepens. “Sure. Only to the door.”
The clerk reappears with all the items you requested, and you thank him before turning back to Hook, who’s already walking beside you. The elevator ride is quiet but not uncomfortable. You’re keenly aware of how close he’s standing, his shoulder almost brushing yours, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the small space.
When you reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, balancing the towels and the iron in one hand. Hook follows, holding the door for you. “Here,” he says, taking the towels from your arms before you can protest.
“Thanks,” you say, setting the iron on the desk, and taking the pile of towels so you can place them in the bathroom not before knocking to realize it’s empty. When you turn back, expecting him to leave, but instead, he lingers in the doorway. His gaze drifts over the room, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket. “Shibata’s not here?”
You glance around, realizing he’s right. The room is empty, your father’s things undisturbed on one side of the room. “Guess not.” He is probably speaking to the other performers scattered around the same building.
Hook shrugs. “Mind if I hang for a bit? Better than sitting in the lobby.”
You hesitate for a split second, then nod. “Sure. But just for a bit.”
The two of you end up sitting on your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and you are close; closer than you expect. The conversation flows easily—he tells you a story about his match tonight, about how he and your dad strategized, and you laugh more than you expect. His voice is low, soothing, and he is way funnier and relaxed than what you usually see on tv.
At some point, the fatigue of the day catches up with you. You don’t even realize your head has rested against his shoulder as he speaks, until you hear his soft laugh.
“Comfortable?” he teases, but there’s no malice in his tone, just something warm and gentle.
“Shut up,” you mumble, but you don’t move— you’re too lazy to do so. Before you know it, you can’t help but falling asleep in his warmth.
The soft sound of the door clicking open doesn’t wake you, but it stirs Hook slightly; however, he keeps holding you close, welcoming your warmth to his, returning back to deep sleep. Shibata steps into the room, his gaze falling immediately on the two of you. You’re both sprawled across your bed, Hook’s arm draped loosely over your shoulder, your face tucked into his side, absorbing the warmth of his body. For a moment, Shibata’s expression tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. But instead of yelling or waking either of you, he sighs, shaking his head.
Carefully, he grabs a spare blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it over both of you. He lingers for a moment, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, before retreating to his own bed without a word.
The morning light filters through the thin hotel curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You blink awake, disoriented for a moment, then remember where you are—and who’s with you. Turning your head slightly, you see Hook still fast asleep beside you, his hair a wild mess against the pillow. Across the room, your father is sprawled out on his bed, his breathing deep and steady.
For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You’d been bracing yourself for a stern wake-up call and a lecture, but here they both are, peaceful and unaware of the potential chaos.
Slowly, carefully, you slip out of bed, tucking the blanket back over Hook. You glance toward your dad—still asleep—and grab your phone to order some room service. Breakfast for three seems like the least you can do, especially after getting so close to breaking his rules.
By the time the food arrives, you’ve set the small hotel table with plates, cups, and utensils, arranging everything for them. The smell of coffee and warm pastries fills the room as you open the lids, trying not to make too much noise. However, something does wake your dad up— his eyes open, and he props himself up on one elbow, giving you a knowing look.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice still gravelly from sleep. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “Breaking my rules already, I see.”
You groan, turning to face him with your arms crossed. “We just fell asleep, Dad. Nothing happened. It’s cool.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits up fully. “Sure, sure. If you say so.” He stretches, his joints cracking audibly, and you roll your eyes at his teasing tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t kick him out in the middle of the night.”
Hook stirs then, his eyes fluttering open, the voices waking him up. He blinks a few times before sitting up, looking adorably disheveled. “Morning,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Morning,” you reply brightly. “I ordered breakfast for us.” You gesture toward the table with a satisfied smile. “Figured you two could use some good food after last night.”
Hook’s face softens with a small smile. “That’s… really cool. Thanks.”
The three of you gather around the table, digging into the different options. Your dad is surprisingly chipper, and Hook seems more relaxed than usual. The atmosphere feels light, almost domestic, as if this kind of moment could happen every day.
Maybe it should.
As you’re finishing up your coffee, Hook glances at you. “Hey,” he says, almost shyly, “are you doing anything later? I was thinking… I could take you to this local spot I heard about. It’s supposed to be fun.”
You raise an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “What, like a date?” you ask, glancing at your dad for dramatic effect.
Hook’s cheeks go red almost instantly. “I mean… no. I mean, maybe? I don’t know. Just thought you’d like it.”
Your dad surprises you by laughing—a genuine, hearty laugh. “If it is a date,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t mind. Just behave.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no malice in his tone, just a playful edge. “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”
Hook looks torn between mortified and amused, scratching the back of his head. “Okay, so… maybe it is a date,” he says, glancing at you with a sheepish smile. “If that’s cool with you.”
You bite back a laugh and nod. “It’s cool,” you say, and from the corner of your eye, you can see your dad watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and quiet approval.
After breakfast, Hook stretches and stands, his usual easygoing demeanor returning as he rubs the back of his neck. “I should probably head back to my room,” he says, glancing at you with a faint smile. “Need to get ready for later.”
You nod, leaning against the table as he heads toward the door. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, though,” you tease, earning a soft laugh from him as he steps out into the hallway. The door clicks shut, and you let out a small exhale, turning to see your father watching you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you ask innocently.
Shibata just shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “Go take your shower and change before I decide to make the rest of this day difficult for you.”
You roll your eyes but obey, gathering your clothes and heading into the bathroom. The hot water is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of sleep and leaving you refreshed, excited for the day ahead. You take your time getting ready, pulling on something casual but nice enough for a day out.
When you step back into the room, your dad has already taken his turn in the bathroom and while he is getting ready you exchange DMs with Hook, cracking jokes about how insane the conversation over breakfast went. In no time, Shibata is waiting by the door, dressed in his usual understated style, his hands in his jacket pockets. “Ready?” he asks, and you nod.
The two of you make your way out of the hotel and into the city, the crisp air filled with the sounds of traffic and chatter. Time fies by way too fast that morning as you explore a local town, and it’s lunchtime already. Your father takes you to a small restaurant tucked into a quiet street for lunch, where the food is warm and comforting. Over plates of steaming rice and tender grilled fish, he starts asking questions, his tone soft and genuinely curious.
“So,” he says in his native language, leaning back in his chair, “how’s school? Classes going okay?”
You nod, smiling. “Yeah, it’s been good. Busy, though. My professors are decent, but there’s always so much to do.”
“And your friends? Social life?” He watches you carefully, his expression open and attentive.
“Also good. Though I mostly just study and crash, to be honest,” you admit with a laugh. “Not much time for anything else.”
He hums thoughtfully, sipping his tea. “I’m glad to hear it’s going well. College is important. But don’t forget to take care of yourself.”
“I won’t,” you say, touched by his concern. You glance out the window, watching people walk by. “Thanks for asking, though. You’ve been really present today.”
He smiles faintly, setting his cup down. “I’ve been grumpy,” he admits, surprising you. “About Hook.”
You blink at him, waiting for him to continue.
“But,” he says, exhaling slowly, “he’s a good kid. Respectful. Smart. If something’s going to happen between you two…” He shrugs, his expression softening. “Just take it slow. Be careful.”
“Oh my god,” you smirk, leaning back in your chair. “It’s fine, Dad. Besides, we’ve known each other forever. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
The two of you finish your meal and spend the rest of the afternoon wandering through the city, visiting small shops and taking in the sights. Your phone is filled with memorable moments together, selfies, and pictures of important landmarks.
The time for your date arrives, and when Hook meets you in the hotel lobby you’re making sure everything looks perfect from your hair to your outfit. He is leaning casually against a column, his hair as tousled as ever and his gaze deep. When he sees you, his face lights up, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He’s dressed simply, a hoodie layered under a warm bomber jacket, but somehow, he looks effortlessly put together.
“You ready?” he asks, his voice soft but tinged with excitement.
“Yeah,” you reply, smiling, your heart beating just a little faster.
He leads you outside, and the cloudy sky casts a gentle, muted light over everything. The air is cool, crisp enough that you hug your jacket a little closer as you walk beside him. After a short drive, you arrive at a serene garden with a greenhouse tucked away in a quiet part of town. Even with the overcast weather, the place feels magical—small paths wind through patches of greenery, and clusters of flowers add bursts of color here and there.
As you stroll through the garden, Hook glances over at you, noticing the way you shiver slightly. Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and places it over your shoulders. It’s warm and smells like him—clean, with a hint of his cologne that you find comforting.
“Thanks,” you say, your cheeks warming as you pull it closer.
“No problem,” he replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Can’t have you freezing out here.”
You walk together, talking about life as you explore the greenhouse and take pictures. He asks about your life—school, friends, how you’ve been. You tell him about your classes and laugh about shared memories of growing up around the wrestling world. In turn, he talks about his matches, his training, and how much has changed since the last time you saw each other.
“It’s kind of crazy,” he says, kicking a small rock along the path. “Seeing you again after all this time. Feels… different.”
“Good different or bad different?” you tease, glancing at him.
“Good,” he says quickly, meeting your eyes. “Definitely good.”
There’s a tension between you—not uncomfortable, but charged, like the air before a storm. As you walk outside the garden’s premises and out to the city, you pass by a small boutique with a display window full of delicate jewelry. Something catches your eye—a gold, heart-shaped necklace resting on a velvet cushion.
“That’s so pretty, wow” you murmur, stopping for a moment to admire it.
Hook follows your gaze, his expression unreadable for a second before he says, “Wait here.” Without another word, he slips into the store, leaving you blinking in surprise. Maybe he was going inside to ask for the price or something, it wasn’t like he was going to get it for you… right?
A minute later, he emerges, a small bag in hand. Before you can say anything, he pulls out the necklace from a small box and holds it up, the delicate gold catching the faint light, the small heart dangling before your eyes.
“Ty…” you begin, your voice a mix of surprise and protest. “You didn’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a rushed, “I wanted to. Besides,” he says, his voice changing to a gentle, almost shy tone, carefully placing the necklace around your neck with your assistance, “you already have my heart. Can I have yours?”
You stare at him, your cheeks burning, your heart racing. You can’t stay silent, you have to say something. “Okay,” you say, trying to hide your smile and how hard you’re blushing. “That’s smooth.”
He grins, but there’s nervousness in his eyes. “And… the answer?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
You take a deep breath, your smile softening. “Yes,” you say, barely above a whisper. “You can have my heart too.”
The relief and happiness in his expression are almost overwhelming. He steps closer, his hands brushing against your cold ones, and then, slowly, he leans in. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, warm and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second. Enjoying the moment.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, and he whispers, “Good. Because I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
You smile, your fingers brushing the necklace around your neck, and whisper back, “Me too.”
I wanna request something where samoa joe has a sister, whom he sees after a while because she just graduated from college and hook and shibata meet her, but shibata confesses he has a crush on her and asks her to go on a date with him for valentine's day and asks her to be his girlfriend pretty please? Valentine's day is tomorrow and the fic with hook you wrote was so special so now I wonder what it'd be like to have shibata as your valentine's date
I can't wait for your next fic I love reading them and hope you like my request
Slightly back from hiatus to post about my golden retriever boyfriend.
Summary: After getting cut open in his match against Kyle Fletcher, Will is confronted by his girlfriend backstage about his reckless behavior. But not even she is immune to his charms.
“You always have to push yourself.” You glare at your boyfriend while holding the bloody rag to his forehead. “Can’t just take a loss and let someone else win, can you?” You scold Will.
“And let a backstabbing twat like Kyle win?” Will scoffs at the very idea. “I had to beat him. And the cut isn’t even that bad, love.” He attempts to soothe your worry for him.
Not that it ever works.
You sigh and continue to press the rag to his forehead, waiting for the bleeding to stop. Ospreay’s face is already a sticky crimson mess. And yet, he’s still wearing that goofy grin that you fell in love with so long ago. It’s like nothing in this world can break that mans smile. And that’s why you love him so much.
“You look like a mess.” You sigh heavily at him, attempting to wipe some of the sticky blood away from his face.
“So no victory kiss, then?” Ospreay taunts you with a cheeky grin, waggling his eyebrows in an attempt to be seductive.
You scrunch your nose in disgust at his suggestion. “Wash your face first.” You demand. “Then you can have a kiss.”
“But, babe.” Will whines. “I want a kiss from my lovely girlfriend now.” He pouts, giving you those puppy dog eyes.
“No.” You cross your arms across your chest in defiance. “I am not kissing your nasty, sticky, bloody face.” You insist.
Will continues looking at you with those soft brown eyes of his, and like always, your resolve falters. “Ugh.” You sigh heavily and lean down, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead before grimacing at the metallic taste it leaves in your mouth.
“Atta girl , lovey.” Will grins triumphantly.
“Jackass.” You grumble out a response, despite the smile breaking out on your face.
Will continues to grin smugly and wraps his arms around you, pulling you gently against his chest. “You love me.” He insists.
“Only a little.” You reply defiantly.
“A little?” Ospreay snorts. “Please, love. You’re obsessed with me. Almost as bad as all those fangirls.”
You scoff and flick his forehead, taking care not to hit the cut on it. “Am not.” You pout.
“Yes you are.” Will teases and kisses your cheek. “My beautiful, obsessed babydoll.”
“Your ego is getting too big.” You grumble and settle into his arms.
Will kisses your jaw gently before moving his mouth right next to your ear. “Ain’t the only thing above me that’s big, now is it, darling?” He teases
“Oh, shut up, Will.” You scoff to hide the light dusting of blush on your face.
“You love me.” Will grins “Come on, admit it, darling. ‘Ol Will Ospreay has captured your heart.”
You roll your eyes at his insistence, even though you know he’s right. You do love his annoying ass. Despite your protests.
“Yeah, I love you, moron.” You sigh and give in
“I love you, too, doll face.” Will kisses your cheek. “Now, clean me up before I have to go back out there and show that bloke, Okada, up.”
“Oh, so I’m your nursemaid now?” You scoff, already going back to wiping his face up despite your words.
Will chuckles and lets you clean up the blood remaining on his face for him. Once you’re done, he smiles up at you
“Well, do I look camera ready?” He asks you.
“You look like you need a bandage for your head.” You retort. “But your face is clean and camera ready, yes.” You sigh.
“Hey.” Will grabs your hand and brings it up to his face, lacing a gentle kiss to your knuckles. “I’ll be careful. Promise.” He assures you.
You roll your eyes with a skeptical look. “Right I’ve heard that before.” You retort.
“I always came back to you, though. Don’t I, love?” Will counters.
“Yeah, yeah.” You sigh. “Be careful, But kick Okada’s ass, baby.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Will salutes you teasingly. “Anything for my best girl.” He flashes a cheeky smile at you before heading off.
Can I request something where kenny omega has a daughter who reunited with him after graduating from college and she meets will ospreay and he falls in love with her and after their win at grandslam and their challenges for takeshita and fletcher at revolution, they celebrate together it was a fic idea I had
you know i always give my personal touch with requests, so i hope you don’t mind how i have handled this request with a fave trope of mine ✨
Shibata’s daughter POV + VOCAL & Protective Shibata & HOOK meeting at the local hotel after a match ✨ friends to lovers vibe, Shibata is all grumpy about it at first but accept the idea. Soft and smooth HOOK going for the chase & getting it… fluff and all 💜
You step into the hotel lobby, the faint chatter between guests waiting for check-in mixing with the dull hum of voices from a nearby bar. Between faces you know from the countless backstage shows you’ve been in, you’re looking for one person and one person only. Finally, there he is—your father, Katsuyori Shibata, sits in one of the worn leather armchairs, his face still damp from the night’s match, a towel slung over his shoulders. Next to him is Hook, his hair the usual cute mess, his hands casually resting on his knees. When your father looks up and sees you, his expression changes to something sweeter—a rare thing for a man so stoic.
“Dad,” you mutter, and before you can hesitate, you’re crossing the room to him. He stands, his broad frame towering over you, and you hug him tightly. His grip is firm, grounding, the scent of sweat and faint cologne lingering on his shirt.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it,” you say into his chest, your voice sad but sincere. “I wanted to be there.”
He pulls back, shaking his head, gathering his thoughts to speak in the language that bonds you together. “It’s okay. You’re busy with school. We lost anyway.”
“But you still did great. Both of you,” you say, glancing over at Hook. He meets your gaze and offers a faint, almost bashful smile, the kind that’s always made your stomach flutter just a little.
Your father exhales deeply, sitting back down with a wince. You can tell he’s in pain, though he’d never admit it, you know he needs time to recover. Hook stands, stretching, his clothes moving upward slightly, showing his tanktop and lower stomach.
“You staying the night?” Hook asks, tilting his head slightly, his tone light but deliberate. The question seems innocent enough, but the air between you feels heavier than it should.
You hesitate. “I… well, the hotel room isn’t exactly set up for three beds,” you say, glancing at your father nervously but somewhat entertained.
Hook shrugs, leaning back against the edge of the chair. “I’ve got space in mine.”
It takes you a second to process what he just said, and when you do, your face burns. Your father immediately straightens in his seat, his eyes narrowing.
“No,” he says flatly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “She,” he points sternly at you, “my room.”
“Dad,” you protest, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “It’s not like—”
He cuts you off by raising a palm, eyes glaring at Hook now. Hook raises his hands in mock surrender, though there’s a trace of amusement in his expression.
“I was just being polite,” Hook says, his voice low and steady, but his eyes meet yours briefly, a spark of something unspoken passing between you.
Your father shakes his head, muttering something in Japanese under his breath. “Go to your room, Hook. And you—” He turns to you, his expression softening but still stern. “stay here if you want; with me.”
“Dad,” you groan, but there’s no stopping him once he’s decided something. “Of course, I wasn’t planning on doing anything…”
Hook smirks, brushing past you as he gets up and heads for the elevator. He pauses just long enough to glance over his shoulder and mutter, “Good night. Sleep well.” The words are innocuous enough, but the way he says them makes your heart beat just a little faster.
Your father sighs heavily, and you know you’re in for a passionate lecture later. But for now, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you watch Hook disappear down the hallway.
Wearing a bomber jacket over your comfortable pajamas that evening, you stroll down the dimly lit hotel hallway, making your way to the reception. It’s late, and the quiet hum of the building feels almost soothing after the day’s rush and traveling. You tug your jacket closer around you, the chill of the air conditioning biting at your skin.
When you reach the reception desk to ask for extra towels and an ironing machine, the clerk nods, disappearing into the back. That’s when you spot him—Hook, sprawled lazily across one of the lobby chairs, his phone in hand, his head tilted back slightly as if he’s contemplating the ceiling. Either he’s listening to a boring audio, or he’s completely spaced out listening to random songs.
“Hey,” you call softly, not wanting to startle him. His head snaps up, his eyes meeting yours, and a slow smirk spreads automatically across his face.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks, setting his phone aside.
“Needed extra towels and an iron for my dad’s outfit,” you reply, glancing toward the counter where the clerk is still nowhere in sight. “What about you? Just hanging around?”
“Pretty much,” he says with a shrug. “Got bored. Couldn’t sleep.”
You nod, playing slightly with your fingers. He looks calm, slightly relaxed, but there’s something about the way he watches you that makes you feel... exposed, in a way you’re not sure you mind.
“Want me to walk back up with you?” he offers, standing and stretching in one fluid motion.
You narrow your eyes, a teasing smile appearing on your lips. “Only to the door,” you say, raising an eyebrow.
His smirk deepens. “Sure. Only to the door.”
The clerk reappears with all the items you requested, and you thank him before turning back to Hook, who’s already walking beside you. The elevator ride is quiet but not uncomfortable. You’re keenly aware of how close he’s standing, his shoulder almost brushing yours, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the small space.
When you reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, balancing the towels and the iron in one hand. Hook follows, holding the door for you. “Here,” he says, taking the towels from your arms before you can protest.
“Thanks,” you say, setting the iron on the desk, and taking the pile of towels so you can place them in the bathroom not before knocking to realize it’s empty. When you turn back, expecting him to leave, but instead, he lingers in the doorway. His gaze drifts over the room, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket. “Shibata’s not here?”
You glance around, realizing he’s right. The room is empty, your father’s things undisturbed on one side of the room. “Guess not.” He is probably speaking to the other performers scattered around the same building.
Hook shrugs. “Mind if I hang for a bit? Better than sitting in the lobby.”
You hesitate for a split second, then nod. “Sure. But just for a bit.”
The two of you end up sitting on your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and you are close; closer than you expect. The conversation flows easily—he tells you a story about his match tonight, about how he and your dad strategized, and you laugh more than you expect. His voice is low, soothing, and he is way funnier and relaxed than what you usually see on tv.
At some point, the fatigue of the day catches up with you. You don’t even realize your head has rested against his shoulder as he speaks, until you hear his soft laugh.
“Comfortable?” he teases, but there’s no malice in his tone, just something warm and gentle.
“Shut up,” you mumble, but you don’t move— you’re too lazy to do so. Before you know it, you can’t help but falling asleep in his warmth.
The soft sound of the door clicking open doesn’t wake you, but it stirs Hook slightly; however, he keeps holding you close, welcoming your warmth to his, returning back to deep sleep. Shibata steps into the room, his gaze falling immediately on the two of you. You’re both sprawled across your bed, Hook’s arm draped loosely over your shoulder, your face tucked into his side, absorbing the warmth of his body. For a moment, Shibata’s expression tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. But instead of yelling or waking either of you, he sighs, shaking his head.
Carefully, he grabs a spare blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it over both of you. He lingers for a moment, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, before retreating to his own bed without a word.
The morning light filters through the thin hotel curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You blink awake, disoriented for a moment, then remember where you are—and who’s with you. Turning your head slightly, you see Hook still fast asleep beside you, his hair a wild mess against the pillow. Across the room, your father is sprawled out on his bed, his breathing deep and steady.
For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You’d been bracing yourself for a stern wake-up call and a lecture, but here they both are, peaceful and unaware of the potential chaos.
Slowly, carefully, you slip out of bed, tucking the blanket back over Hook. You glance toward your dad—still asleep—and grab your phone to order some room service. Breakfast for three seems like the least you can do, especially after getting so close to breaking his rules.
By the time the food arrives, you’ve set the small hotel table with plates, cups, and utensils, arranging everything for them. The smell of coffee and warm pastries fills the room as you open the lids, trying not to make too much noise. However, something does wake your dad up— his eyes open, and he props himself up on one elbow, giving you a knowing look.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice still gravelly from sleep. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “Breaking my rules already, I see.”
You groan, turning to face him with your arms crossed. “We just fell asleep, Dad. Nothing happened. It’s cool.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits up fully. “Sure, sure. If you say so.” He stretches, his joints cracking audibly, and you roll your eyes at his teasing tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t kick him out in the middle of the night.”
Hook stirs then, his eyes fluttering open, the voices waking him up. He blinks a few times before sitting up, looking adorably disheveled. “Morning,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Morning,” you reply brightly. “I ordered breakfast for us.” You gesture toward the table with a satisfied smile. “Figured you two could use some good food after last night.”
Hook’s face softens with a small smile. “That’s… really cool. Thanks.”
The three of you gather around the table, digging into the different options. Your dad is surprisingly chipper, and Hook seems more relaxed than usual. The atmosphere feels light, almost domestic, as if this kind of moment could happen every day.
Maybe it should.
As you’re finishing up your coffee, Hook glances at you. “Hey,” he says, almost shyly, “are you doing anything later? I was thinking… I could take you to this local spot I heard about. It’s supposed to be fun.”
You raise an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “What, like a date?” you ask, glancing at your dad for dramatic effect.
Hook’s cheeks go red almost instantly. “I mean… no. I mean, maybe? I don’t know. Just thought you’d like it.”
Your dad surprises you by laughing—a genuine, hearty laugh. “If it is a date,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t mind. Just behave.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no malice in his tone, just a playful edge. “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”
Hook looks torn between mortified and amused, scratching the back of his head. “Okay, so… maybe it is a date,” he says, glancing at you with a sheepish smile. “If that’s cool with you.”
You bite back a laugh and nod. “It’s cool,” you say, and from the corner of your eye, you can see your dad watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and quiet approval.
After breakfast, Hook stretches and stands, his usual easygoing demeanor returning as he rubs the back of his neck. “I should probably head back to my room,” he says, glancing at you with a faint smile. “Need to get ready for later.”
You nod, leaning against the table as he heads toward the door. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, though,” you tease, earning a soft laugh from him as he steps out into the hallway. The door clicks shut, and you let out a small exhale, turning to see your father watching you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you ask innocently.
Shibata just shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “Go take your shower and change before I decide to make the rest of this day difficult for you.”
You roll your eyes but obey, gathering your clothes and heading into the bathroom. The hot water is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of sleep and leaving you refreshed, excited for the day ahead. You take your time getting ready, pulling on something casual but nice enough for a day out.
When you step back into the room, your dad has already taken his turn in the bathroom and while he is getting ready you exchange DMs with Hook, cracking jokes about how insane the conversation over breakfast went. In no time, Shibata is waiting by the door, dressed in his usual understated style, his hands in his jacket pockets. “Ready?” he asks, and you nod.
The two of you make your way out of the hotel and into the city, the crisp air filled with the sounds of traffic and chatter. Time fies by way too fast that morning as you explore a local town, and it’s lunchtime already. Your father takes you to a small restaurant tucked into a quiet street for lunch, where the food is warm and comforting. Over plates of steaming rice and tender grilled fish, he starts asking questions, his tone soft and genuinely curious.
“So,” he says in his native language, leaning back in his chair, “how’s school? Classes going okay?”
You nod, smiling. “Yeah, it’s been good. Busy, though. My professors are decent, but there’s always so much to do.”
“And your friends? Social life?” He watches you carefully, his expression open and attentive.
“Also good. Though I mostly just study and crash, to be honest,” you admit with a laugh. “Not much time for anything else.”
He hums thoughtfully, sipping his tea. “I’m glad to hear it’s going well. College is important. But don’t forget to take care of yourself.”
“I won’t,” you say, touched by his concern. You glance out the window, watching people walk by. “Thanks for asking, though. You’ve been really present today.”
He smiles faintly, setting his cup down. “I’ve been grumpy,” he admits, surprising you. “About Hook.”
You blink at him, waiting for him to continue.
“But,” he says, exhaling slowly, “he’s a good kid. Respectful. Smart. If something’s going to happen between you two…” He shrugs, his expression softening. “Just take it slow. Be careful.”
“Oh my god,” you smirk, leaning back in your chair. “It’s fine, Dad. Besides, we’ve known each other forever. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
The two of you finish your meal and spend the rest of the afternoon wandering through the city, visiting small shops and taking in the sights. Your phone is filled with memorable moments together, selfies, and pictures of important landmarks.
The time for your date arrives, and when Hook meets you in the hotel lobby you’re making sure everything looks perfect from your hair to your outfit. He is leaning casually against a column, his hair as tousled as ever and his gaze deep. When he sees you, his face lights up, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He’s dressed simply, a hoodie layered under a warm bomber jacket, but somehow, he looks effortlessly put together.
“You ready?” he asks, his voice soft but tinged with excitement.
“Yeah,” you reply, smiling, your heart beating just a little faster.
He leads you outside, and the cloudy sky casts a gentle, muted light over everything. The air is cool, crisp enough that you hug your jacket a little closer as you walk beside him. After a short drive, you arrive at a serene garden with a greenhouse tucked away in a quiet part of town. Even with the overcast weather, the place feels magical—small paths wind through patches of greenery, and clusters of flowers add bursts of color here and there.
As you stroll through the garden, Hook glances over at you, noticing the way you shiver slightly. Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and places it over your shoulders. It’s warm and smells like him—clean, with a hint of his cologne that you find comforting.
“Thanks,” you say, your cheeks warming as you pull it closer.
“No problem,” he replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Can’t have you freezing out here.”
You walk together, talking about life as you explore the greenhouse and take pictures. He asks about your life—school, friends, how you’ve been. You tell him about your classes and laugh about shared memories of growing up around the wrestling world. In turn, he talks about his matches, his training, and how much has changed since the last time you saw each other.
“It’s kind of crazy,” he says, kicking a small rock along the path. “Seeing you again after all this time. Feels… different.”
“Good different or bad different?” you tease, glancing at him.
“Good,” he says quickly, meeting your eyes. “Definitely good.”
There’s a tension between you—not uncomfortable, but charged, like the air before a storm. As you walk outside the garden’s premises and out to the city, you pass by a small boutique with a display window full of delicate jewelry. Something catches your eye—a gold, heart-shaped necklace resting on a velvet cushion.
“That’s so pretty, wow” you murmur, stopping for a moment to admire it.
Hook follows your gaze, his expression unreadable for a second before he says, “Wait here.” Without another word, he slips into the store, leaving you blinking in surprise. Maybe he was going inside to ask for the price or something, it wasn’t like he was going to get it for you… right?
A minute later, he emerges, a small bag in hand. Before you can say anything, he pulls out the necklace from a small box and holds it up, the delicate gold catching the faint light, the small heart dangling before your eyes.
“Ty…” you begin, your voice a mix of surprise and protest. “You didn’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a rushed, “I wanted to. Besides,” he says, his voice changing to a gentle, almost shy tone, carefully placing the necklace around your neck with your assistance, “you already have my heart. Can I have yours?”
You stare at him, your cheeks burning, your heart racing. You can’t stay silent, you have to say something. “Okay,” you say, trying to hide your smile and how hard you’re blushing. “That’s smooth.”
He grins, but there’s nervousness in his eyes. “And… the answer?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
You take a deep breath, your smile softening. “Yes,” you say, barely above a whisper. “You can have my heart too.”
The relief and happiness in his expression are almost overwhelming. He steps closer, his hands brushing against your cold ones, and then, slowly, he leans in. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, warm and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second. Enjoying the moment.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, and he whispers, “Good. Because I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
You smile, your fingers brushing the necklace around your neck, and whisper back, “Me too.”
I wanna request something where samoa joe has a sister, whom he sees after a while because she just graduated from college and hook and shibata meet her, but shibata confesses he has a crush on her and asks her to go on a date with him for valentine's day and asks her to be his girlfriend pretty please? Valentine's day is tomorrow and the fic with hook you wrote was so special so now I wonder what it'd be like to have shibata as your valentine's date
I can't wait for your next fic I love reading them and hope you like my request
you know i always give my personal touch with requests, so i hope you don’t mind how i have handled this request with a fave trope of mine ✨
Shibata’s daughter POV + VOCAL & Protective Shibata & HOOK meeting at the local hotel after a match ✨ friends to lovers vibe, Shibata is all grumpy about it at first but accept the idea. Soft and smooth HOOK going for the chase & getting it… fluff and all 💜
You step into the hotel lobby, the faint chatter between guests waiting for check-in mixing with the dull hum of voices from a nearby bar. Between faces you know from the countless backstage shows you’ve been in, you’re looking for one person and one person only. Finally, there he is—your father, Katsuyori Shibata, sits in one of the worn leather armchairs, his face still damp from the night’s match, a towel slung over his shoulders. Next to him is Hook, his hair the usual cute mess, his hands casually resting on his knees. When your father looks up and sees you, his expression changes to something sweeter—a rare thing for a man so stoic.
“Dad,” you mutter, and before you can hesitate, you’re crossing the room to him. He stands, his broad frame towering over you, and you hug him tightly. His grip is firm, grounding, the scent of sweat and faint cologne lingering on his shirt.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it,” you say into his chest, your voice sad but sincere. “I wanted to be there.”
He pulls back, shaking his head, gathering his thoughts to speak in the language that bonds you together. “It’s okay. You’re busy with school. We lost anyway.”
“But you still did great. Both of you,” you say, glancing over at Hook. He meets your gaze and offers a faint, almost bashful smile, the kind that’s always made your stomach flutter just a little.
Your father exhales deeply, sitting back down with a wince. You can tell he’s in pain, though he’d never admit it, you know he needs time to recover. Hook stands, stretching, his clothes moving upward slightly, showing his tanktop and lower stomach.
“You staying the night?” Hook asks, tilting his head slightly, his tone light but deliberate. The question seems innocent enough, but the air between you feels heavier than it should.
You hesitate. “I… well, the hotel room isn’t exactly set up for three beds,” you say, glancing at your father nervously but somewhat entertained.
Hook shrugs, leaning back against the edge of the chair. “I’ve got space in mine.”
It takes you a second to process what he just said, and when you do, your face burns. Your father immediately straightens in his seat, his eyes narrowing.
“No,” he says flatly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “She,” he points sternly at you, “my room.”
“Dad,” you protest, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “It’s not like—”
He cuts you off by raising a palm, eyes glaring at Hook now. Hook raises his hands in mock surrender, though there’s a trace of amusement in his expression.
“I was just being polite,” Hook says, his voice low and steady, but his eyes meet yours briefly, a spark of something unspoken passing between you.
Your father shakes his head, muttering something in Japanese under his breath. “Go to your room, Hook. And you—” He turns to you, his expression softening but still stern. “stay here if you want; with me.”
“Dad,” you groan, but there’s no stopping him once he’s decided something. “Of course, I wasn’t planning on doing anything…”
Hook smirks, brushing past you as he gets up and heads for the elevator. He pauses just long enough to glance over his shoulder and mutter, “Good night. Sleep well.” The words are innocuous enough, but the way he says them makes your heart beat just a little faster.
Your father sighs heavily, and you know you’re in for a passionate lecture later. But for now, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you watch Hook disappear down the hallway.
Wearing a bomber jacket over your comfortable pajamas that evening, you stroll down the dimly lit hotel hallway, making your way to the reception. It’s late, and the quiet hum of the building feels almost soothing after the day’s rush and traveling. You tug your jacket closer around you, the chill of the air conditioning biting at your skin.
When you reach the reception desk to ask for extra towels and an ironing machine, the clerk nods, disappearing into the back. That’s when you spot him—Hook, sprawled lazily across one of the lobby chairs, his phone in hand, his head tilted back slightly as if he’s contemplating the ceiling. Either he’s listening to a boring audio, or he’s completely spaced out listening to random songs.
“Hey,” you call softly, not wanting to startle him. His head snaps up, his eyes meeting yours, and a slow smirk spreads automatically across his face.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks, setting his phone aside.
“Needed extra towels and an iron for my dad’s outfit,” you reply, glancing toward the counter where the clerk is still nowhere in sight. “What about you? Just hanging around?”
“Pretty much,” he says with a shrug. “Got bored. Couldn’t sleep.”
You nod, playing slightly with your fingers. He looks calm, slightly relaxed, but there’s something about the way he watches you that makes you feel... exposed, in a way you’re not sure you mind.
“Want me to walk back up with you?” he offers, standing and stretching in one fluid motion.
You narrow your eyes, a teasing smile appearing on your lips. “Only to the door,” you say, raising an eyebrow.
His smirk deepens. “Sure. Only to the door.”
The clerk reappears with all the items you requested, and you thank him before turning back to Hook, who’s already walking beside you. The elevator ride is quiet but not uncomfortable. You’re keenly aware of how close he’s standing, his shoulder almost brushing yours, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the small space.
When you reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, balancing the towels and the iron in one hand. Hook follows, holding the door for you. “Here,” he says, taking the towels from your arms before you can protest.
“Thanks,” you say, setting the iron on the desk, and taking the pile of towels so you can place them in the bathroom not before knocking to realize it’s empty. When you turn back, expecting him to leave, but instead, he lingers in the doorway. His gaze drifts over the room, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket. “Shibata’s not here?”
You glance around, realizing he’s right. The room is empty, your father’s things undisturbed on one side of the room. “Guess not.” He is probably speaking to the other performers scattered around the same building.
Hook shrugs. “Mind if I hang for a bit? Better than sitting in the lobby.”
You hesitate for a split second, then nod. “Sure. But just for a bit.”
The two of you end up sitting on your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and you are close; closer than you expect. The conversation flows easily—he tells you a story about his match tonight, about how he and your dad strategized, and you laugh more than you expect. His voice is low, soothing, and he is way funnier and relaxed than what you usually see on tv.
At some point, the fatigue of the day catches up with you. You don’t even realize your head has rested against his shoulder as he speaks, until you hear his soft laugh.
“Comfortable?” he teases, but there’s no malice in his tone, just something warm and gentle.
“Shut up,” you mumble, but you don’t move— you’re too lazy to do so. Before you know it, you can’t help but falling asleep in his warmth.
The soft sound of the door clicking open doesn’t wake you, but it stirs Hook slightly; however, he keeps holding you close, welcoming your warmth to his, returning back to deep sleep. Shibata steps into the room, his gaze falling immediately on the two of you. You’re both sprawled across your bed, Hook’s arm draped loosely over your shoulder, your face tucked into his side, absorbing the warmth of his body. For a moment, Shibata’s expression tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. But instead of yelling or waking either of you, he sighs, shaking his head.
Carefully, he grabs a spare blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it over both of you. He lingers for a moment, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, before retreating to his own bed without a word.
The morning light filters through the thin hotel curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You blink awake, disoriented for a moment, then remember where you are—and who’s with you. Turning your head slightly, you see Hook still fast asleep beside you, his hair a wild mess against the pillow. Across the room, your father is sprawled out on his bed, his breathing deep and steady.
For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You’d been bracing yourself for a stern wake-up call and a lecture, but here they both are, peaceful and unaware of the potential chaos.
Slowly, carefully, you slip out of bed, tucking the blanket back over Hook. You glance toward your dad—still asleep—and grab your phone to order some room service. Breakfast for three seems like the least you can do, especially after getting so close to breaking his rules.
By the time the food arrives, you’ve set the small hotel table with plates, cups, and utensils, arranging everything for them. The smell of coffee and warm pastries fills the room as you open the lids, trying not to make too much noise. However, something does wake your dad up— his eyes open, and he props himself up on one elbow, giving you a knowing look.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice still gravelly from sleep. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “Breaking my rules already, I see.”
You groan, turning to face him with your arms crossed. “We just fell asleep, Dad. Nothing happened. It’s cool.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits up fully. “Sure, sure. If you say so.” He stretches, his joints cracking audibly, and you roll your eyes at his teasing tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t kick him out in the middle of the night.”
Hook stirs then, his eyes fluttering open, the voices waking him up. He blinks a few times before sitting up, looking adorably disheveled. “Morning,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Morning,” you reply brightly. “I ordered breakfast for us.” You gesture toward the table with a satisfied smile. “Figured you two could use some good food after last night.”
Hook’s face softens with a small smile. “That’s… really cool. Thanks.”
The three of you gather around the table, digging into the different options. Your dad is surprisingly chipper, and Hook seems more relaxed than usual. The atmosphere feels light, almost domestic, as if this kind of moment could happen every day.
Maybe it should.
As you’re finishing up your coffee, Hook glances at you. “Hey,” he says, almost shyly, “are you doing anything later? I was thinking… I could take you to this local spot I heard about. It’s supposed to be fun.”
You raise an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “What, like a date?” you ask, glancing at your dad for dramatic effect.
Hook’s cheeks go red almost instantly. “I mean… no. I mean, maybe? I don’t know. Just thought you’d like it.”
Your dad surprises you by laughing—a genuine, hearty laugh. “If it is a date,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t mind. Just behave.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no malice in his tone, just a playful edge. “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”
Hook looks torn between mortified and amused, scratching the back of his head. “Okay, so… maybe it is a date,” he says, glancing at you with a sheepish smile. “If that’s cool with you.”
You bite back a laugh and nod. “It’s cool,” you say, and from the corner of your eye, you can see your dad watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and quiet approval.
After breakfast, Hook stretches and stands, his usual easygoing demeanor returning as he rubs the back of his neck. “I should probably head back to my room,” he says, glancing at you with a faint smile. “Need to get ready for later.”
You nod, leaning against the table as he heads toward the door. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, though,” you tease, earning a soft laugh from him as he steps out into the hallway. The door clicks shut, and you let out a small exhale, turning to see your father watching you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you ask innocently.
Shibata just shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “Go take your shower and change before I decide to make the rest of this day difficult for you.”
You roll your eyes but obey, gathering your clothes and heading into the bathroom. The hot water is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of sleep and leaving you refreshed, excited for the day ahead. You take your time getting ready, pulling on something casual but nice enough for a day out.
When you step back into the room, your dad has already taken his turn in the bathroom and while he is getting ready you exchange DMs with Hook, cracking jokes about how insane the conversation over breakfast went. In no time, Shibata is waiting by the door, dressed in his usual understated style, his hands in his jacket pockets. “Ready?” he asks, and you nod.
The two of you make your way out of the hotel and into the city, the crisp air filled with the sounds of traffic and chatter. Time fies by way too fast that morning as you explore a local town, and it’s lunchtime already. Your father takes you to a small restaurant tucked into a quiet street for lunch, where the food is warm and comforting. Over plates of steaming rice and tender grilled fish, he starts asking questions, his tone soft and genuinely curious.
“So,” he says in his native language, leaning back in his chair, “how’s school? Classes going okay?”
You nod, smiling. “Yeah, it’s been good. Busy, though. My professors are decent, but there’s always so much to do.”
“And your friends? Social life?” He watches you carefully, his expression open and attentive.
“Also good. Though I mostly just study and crash, to be honest,” you admit with a laugh. “Not much time for anything else.”
He hums thoughtfully, sipping his tea. “I’m glad to hear it’s going well. College is important. But don’t forget to take care of yourself.”
“I won’t,” you say, touched by his concern. You glance out the window, watching people walk by. “Thanks for asking, though. You’ve been really present today.”
He smiles faintly, setting his cup down. “I’ve been grumpy,” he admits, surprising you. “About Hook.”
You blink at him, waiting for him to continue.
“But,” he says, exhaling slowly, “he’s a good kid. Respectful. Smart. If something’s going to happen between you two…” He shrugs, his expression softening. “Just take it slow. Be careful.”
“Oh my god,” you smirk, leaning back in your chair. “It’s fine, Dad. Besides, we’ve known each other forever. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
The two of you finish your meal and spend the rest of the afternoon wandering through the city, visiting small shops and taking in the sights. Your phone is filled with memorable moments together, selfies, and pictures of important landmarks.
The time for your date arrives, and when Hook meets you in the hotel lobby you’re making sure everything looks perfect from your hair to your outfit. He is leaning casually against a column, his hair as tousled as ever and his gaze deep. When he sees you, his face lights up, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He’s dressed simply, a hoodie layered under a warm bomber jacket, but somehow, he looks effortlessly put together.
“You ready?” he asks, his voice soft but tinged with excitement.
“Yeah,” you reply, smiling, your heart beating just a little faster.
He leads you outside, and the cloudy sky casts a gentle, muted light over everything. The air is cool, crisp enough that you hug your jacket a little closer as you walk beside him. After a short drive, you arrive at a serene garden with a greenhouse tucked away in a quiet part of town. Even with the overcast weather, the place feels magical—small paths wind through patches of greenery, and clusters of flowers add bursts of color here and there.
As you stroll through the garden, Hook glances over at you, noticing the way you shiver slightly. Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and places it over your shoulders. It’s warm and smells like him—clean, with a hint of his cologne that you find comforting.
“Thanks,” you say, your cheeks warming as you pull it closer.
“No problem,” he replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Can’t have you freezing out here.”
You walk together, talking about life as you explore the greenhouse and take pictures. He asks about your life—school, friends, how you’ve been. You tell him about your classes and laugh about shared memories of growing up around the wrestling world. In turn, he talks about his matches, his training, and how much has changed since the last time you saw each other.
“It’s kind of crazy,” he says, kicking a small rock along the path. “Seeing you again after all this time. Feels… different.”
“Good different or bad different?” you tease, glancing at him.
“Good,” he says quickly, meeting your eyes. “Definitely good.”
There’s a tension between you—not uncomfortable, but charged, like the air before a storm. As you walk outside the garden’s premises and out to the city, you pass by a small boutique with a display window full of delicate jewelry. Something catches your eye—a gold, heart-shaped necklace resting on a velvet cushion.
“That’s so pretty, wow” you murmur, stopping for a moment to admire it.
Hook follows your gaze, his expression unreadable for a second before he says, “Wait here.” Without another word, he slips into the store, leaving you blinking in surprise. Maybe he was going inside to ask for the price or something, it wasn’t like he was going to get it for you… right?
A minute later, he emerges, a small bag in hand. Before you can say anything, he pulls out the necklace from a small box and holds it up, the delicate gold catching the faint light, the small heart dangling before your eyes.
“Ty…” you begin, your voice a mix of surprise and protest. “You didn’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a rushed, “I wanted to. Besides,” he says, his voice changing to a gentle, almost shy tone, carefully placing the necklace around your neck with your assistance, “you already have my heart. Can I have yours?”
You stare at him, your cheeks burning, your heart racing. You can’t stay silent, you have to say something. “Okay,” you say, trying to hide your smile and how hard you’re blushing. “That’s smooth.”
He grins, but there’s nervousness in his eyes. “And… the answer?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
You take a deep breath, your smile softening. “Yes,” you say, barely above a whisper. “You can have my heart too.”
The relief and happiness in his expression are almost overwhelming. He steps closer, his hands brushing against your cold ones, and then, slowly, he leans in. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, warm and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second. Enjoying the moment.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, and he whispers, “Good. Because I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
You smile, your fingers brushing the necklace around your neck, and whisper back, “Me too.”
I wanna request something where samoa joe has a sister, whom he sees after a while because she just graduated from college and hook and shibata meet her, but shibata confesses he has a crush on her and asks her to go on a date with him for valentine's day and asks her to be his girlfriend pretty please? Valentine's day is tomorrow and the fic with hook you wrote was so special so now I wonder what it'd be like to have shibata as your valentine's date
I can't wait for your next fic I love reading them and hope you like my request
you know i always give my personal touch with requests, so i hope you don’t mind how i have handled this request with a fave trope of mine ✨
Shibata’s daughter POV + VOCAL & Protective Shibata & HOOK meeting at the local hotel after a match ✨ friends to lovers vibe, Shibata is all grumpy about it at first but accept the idea. Soft and smooth HOOK going for the chase & getting it… fluff and all 💜
You step into the hotel lobby, the faint chatter between guests waiting for check-in mixing with the dull hum of voices from a nearby bar. Between faces you know from the countless backstage shows you’ve been in, you’re looking for one person and one person only. Finally, there he is—your father, Katsuyori Shibata, sits in one of the worn leather armchairs, his face still damp from the night’s match, a towel slung over his shoulders. Next to him is Hook, his hair the usual cute mess, his hands casually resting on his knees. When your father looks up and sees you, his expression changes to something sweeter—a rare thing for a man so stoic.
“Dad,” you mutter, and before you can hesitate, you’re crossing the room to him. He stands, his broad frame towering over you, and you hug him tightly. His grip is firm, grounding, the scent of sweat and faint cologne lingering on his shirt.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it,” you say into his chest, your voice sad but sincere. “I wanted to be there.”
He pulls back, shaking his head, gathering his thoughts to speak in the language that bonds you together. “It’s okay. You’re busy with school. We lost anyway.”
“But you still did great. Both of you,” you say, glancing over at Hook. He meets your gaze and offers a faint, almost bashful smile, the kind that’s always made your stomach flutter just a little.
Your father exhales deeply, sitting back down with a wince. You can tell he’s in pain, though he’d never admit it, you know he needs time to recover. Hook stands, stretching, his clothes moving upward slightly, showing his tanktop and lower stomach.
“You staying the night?” Hook asks, tilting his head slightly, his tone light but deliberate. The question seems innocent enough, but the air between you feels heavier than it should.
You hesitate. “I… well, the hotel room isn’t exactly set up for three beds,” you say, glancing at your father nervously but somewhat entertained.
Hook shrugs, leaning back against the edge of the chair. “I’ve got space in mine.”
It takes you a second to process what he just said, and when you do, your face burns. Your father immediately straightens in his seat, his eyes narrowing.
“No,” he says flatly, his tone leaving no room for debate. “She,” he points sternly at you, “my room.”
“Dad,” you protest, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “It’s not like—”
He cuts you off by raising a palm, eyes glaring at Hook now. Hook raises his hands in mock surrender, though there’s a trace of amusement in his expression.
“I was just being polite,” Hook says, his voice low and steady, but his eyes meet yours briefly, a spark of something unspoken passing between you.
Your father shakes his head, muttering something in Japanese under his breath. “Go to your room, Hook. And you—” He turns to you, his expression softening but still stern. “stay here if you want; with me.”
“Dad,” you groan, but there’s no stopping him once he’s decided something. “Of course, I wasn’t planning on doing anything…”
Hook smirks, brushing past you as he gets up and heads for the elevator. He pauses just long enough to glance over his shoulder and mutter, “Good night. Sleep well.” The words are innocuous enough, but the way he says them makes your heart beat just a little faster.
Your father sighs heavily, and you know you’re in for a passionate lecture later. But for now, you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as you watch Hook disappear down the hallway.
Wearing a bomber jacket over your comfortable pajamas that evening, you stroll down the dimly lit hotel hallway, making your way to the reception. It’s late, and the quiet hum of the building feels almost soothing after the day’s rush and traveling. You tug your jacket closer around you, the chill of the air conditioning biting at your skin.
When you reach the reception desk to ask for extra towels and an ironing machine, the clerk nods, disappearing into the back. That’s when you spot him—Hook, sprawled lazily across one of the lobby chairs, his phone in hand, his head tilted back slightly as if he’s contemplating the ceiling. Either he’s listening to a boring audio, or he’s completely spaced out listening to random songs.
“Hey,” you call softly, not wanting to startle him. His head snaps up, his eyes meeting yours, and a slow smirk spreads automatically across his face.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks, setting his phone aside.
“Needed extra towels and an iron for my dad’s outfit,” you reply, glancing toward the counter where the clerk is still nowhere in sight. “What about you? Just hanging around?”
“Pretty much,” he says with a shrug. “Got bored. Couldn’t sleep.”
You nod, playing slightly with your fingers. He looks calm, slightly relaxed, but there’s something about the way he watches you that makes you feel... exposed, in a way you’re not sure you mind.
“Want me to walk back up with you?” he offers, standing and stretching in one fluid motion.
You narrow your eyes, a teasing smile appearing on your lips. “Only to the door,” you say, raising an eyebrow.
His smirk deepens. “Sure. Only to the door.”
The clerk reappears with all the items you requested, and you thank him before turning back to Hook, who’s already walking beside you. The elevator ride is quiet but not uncomfortable. You’re keenly aware of how close he’s standing, his shoulder almost brushing yours, the faint scent of his cologne lingering in the small space.
When you reach your room, you push the door open and step inside, balancing the towels and the iron in one hand. Hook follows, holding the door for you. “Here,” he says, taking the towels from your arms before you can protest.
“Thanks,” you say, setting the iron on the desk, and taking the pile of towels so you can place them in the bathroom not before knocking to realize it’s empty. When you turn back, expecting him to leave, but instead, he lingers in the doorway. His gaze drifts over the room, his hands stuffed into his hoodie pocket. “Shibata’s not here?”
You glance around, realizing he’s right. The room is empty, your father’s things undisturbed on one side of the room. “Guess not.” He is probably speaking to the other performers scattered around the same building.
Hook shrugs. “Mind if I hang for a bit? Better than sitting in the lobby.”
You hesitate for a split second, then nod. “Sure. But just for a bit.”
The two of you end up sitting on your bed, the mattress dipping slightly under his weight, and you are close; closer than you expect. The conversation flows easily—he tells you a story about his match tonight, about how he and your dad strategized, and you laugh more than you expect. His voice is low, soothing, and he is way funnier and relaxed than what you usually see on tv.
At some point, the fatigue of the day catches up with you. You don’t even realize your head has rested against his shoulder as he speaks, until you hear his soft laugh.
“Comfortable?” he teases, but there’s no malice in his tone, just something warm and gentle.
“Shut up,” you mumble, but you don’t move— you’re too lazy to do so. Before you know it, you can’t help but falling asleep in his warmth.
The soft sound of the door clicking open doesn’t wake you, but it stirs Hook slightly; however, he keeps holding you close, welcoming your warmth to his, returning back to deep sleep. Shibata steps into the room, his gaze falling immediately on the two of you. You’re both sprawled across your bed, Hook’s arm draped loosely over your shoulder, your face tucked into his side, absorbing the warmth of his body. For a moment, Shibata’s expression tightens, his lips pressing into a thin line. But instead of yelling or waking either of you, he sighs, shaking his head.
Carefully, he grabs a spare blanket from the foot of the bed and drapes it over both of you. He lingers for a moment, watching the rise and fall of your breathing, before retreating to his own bed without a word.
The morning light filters through the thin hotel curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You blink awake, disoriented for a moment, then remember where you are—and who’s with you. Turning your head slightly, you see Hook still fast asleep beside you, his hair a wild mess against the pillow. Across the room, your father is sprawled out on his bed, his breathing deep and steady.
For a moment, you can’t believe your luck. You’d been bracing yourself for a stern wake-up call and a lecture, but here they both are, peaceful and unaware of the potential chaos.
Slowly, carefully, you slip out of bed, tucking the blanket back over Hook. You glance toward your dad—still asleep—and grab your phone to order some room service. Breakfast for three seems like the least you can do, especially after getting so close to breaking his rules.
By the time the food arrives, you’ve set the small hotel table with plates, cups, and utensils, arranging everything for them. The smell of coffee and warm pastries fills the room as you open the lids, trying not to make too much noise. However, something does wake your dad up— his eyes open, and he props himself up on one elbow, giving you a knowing look.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice still gravelly from sleep. Then, with a smirk, he adds, “Breaking my rules already, I see.”
You groan, turning to face him with your arms crossed. “We just fell asleep, Dad. Nothing happened. It’s cool.”
He chuckles, shaking his head as he sits up fully. “Sure, sure. If you say so.” He stretches, his joints cracking audibly, and you roll your eyes at his teasing tone. “You’re lucky I didn’t kick him out in the middle of the night.”
Hook stirs then, his eyes fluttering open, the voices waking him up. He blinks a few times before sitting up, looking adorably disheveled. “Morning,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Morning,” you reply brightly. “I ordered breakfast for us.” You gesture toward the table with a satisfied smile. “Figured you two could use some good food after last night.”
Hook’s face softens with a small smile. “That’s… really cool. Thanks.”
The three of you gather around the table, digging into the different options. Your dad is surprisingly chipper, and Hook seems more relaxed than usual. The atmosphere feels light, almost domestic, as if this kind of moment could happen every day.
Maybe it should.
As you’re finishing up your coffee, Hook glances at you. “Hey,” he says, almost shyly, “are you doing anything later? I was thinking… I could take you to this local spot I heard about. It’s supposed to be fun.”
You raise an eyebrow, a teasing grin spreading across your face. “What, like a date?” you ask, glancing at your dad for dramatic effect.
Hook’s cheeks go red almost instantly. “I mean… no. I mean, maybe? I don’t know. Just thought you’d like it.”
Your dad surprises you by laughing—a genuine, hearty laugh. “If it is a date,” he says, leaning back in his chair, “I don’t mind. Just behave.”
You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no malice in his tone, just a playful edge. “Wow, thanks for the vote of confidence, Dad.”
Hook looks torn between mortified and amused, scratching the back of his head. “Okay, so… maybe it is a date,” he says, glancing at you with a sheepish smile. “If that’s cool with you.”
You bite back a laugh and nod. “It’s cool,” you say, and from the corner of your eye, you can see your dad watching the exchange with a mix of amusement and quiet approval.
After breakfast, Hook stretches and stands, his usual easygoing demeanor returning as he rubs the back of his neck. “I should probably head back to my room,” he says, glancing at you with a faint smile. “Need to get ready for later.”
You nod, leaning against the table as he heads toward the door. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, though,” you tease, earning a soft laugh from him as he steps out into the hallway. The door clicks shut, and you let out a small exhale, turning to see your father watching you with a raised eyebrow.
“What?” you ask innocently.
Shibata just shakes his head, chuckling under his breath. “Go take your shower and change before I decide to make the rest of this day difficult for you.”
You roll your eyes but obey, gathering your clothes and heading into the bathroom. The hot water is a welcome relief, washing away the remnants of sleep and leaving you refreshed, excited for the day ahead. You take your time getting ready, pulling on something casual but nice enough for a day out.
When you step back into the room, your dad has already taken his turn in the bathroom and while he is getting ready you exchange DMs with Hook, cracking jokes about how insane the conversation over breakfast went. In no time, Shibata is waiting by the door, dressed in his usual understated style, his hands in his jacket pockets. “Ready?” he asks, and you nod.
The two of you make your way out of the hotel and into the city, the crisp air filled with the sounds of traffic and chatter. Time fies by way too fast that morning as you explore a local town, and it’s lunchtime already. Your father takes you to a small restaurant tucked into a quiet street for lunch, where the food is warm and comforting. Over plates of steaming rice and tender grilled fish, he starts asking questions, his tone soft and genuinely curious.
“So,” he says in his native language, leaning back in his chair, “how’s school? Classes going okay?”
You nod, smiling. “Yeah, it’s been good. Busy, though. My professors are decent, but there’s always so much to do.”
“And your friends? Social life?” He watches you carefully, his expression open and attentive.
“Also good. Though I mostly just study and crash, to be honest,” you admit with a laugh. “Not much time for anything else.”
He hums thoughtfully, sipping his tea. “I’m glad to hear it’s going well. College is important. But don’t forget to take care of yourself.”
“I won’t,” you say, touched by his concern. You glance out the window, watching people walk by. “Thanks for asking, though. You’ve been really present today.”
He smiles faintly, setting his cup down. “I’ve been grumpy,” he admits, surprising you. “About Hook.”
You blink at him, waiting for him to continue.
“But,” he says, exhaling slowly, “he’s a good kid. Respectful. Smart. If something’s going to happen between you two…” He shrugs, his expression softening. “Just take it slow. Be careful.”
“Oh my god,” you smirk, leaning back in your chair. “It’s fine, Dad. Besides, we’ve known each other forever. It’s not like I don’t know what I’m doing.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s what I’m worried about.”
The two of you finish your meal and spend the rest of the afternoon wandering through the city, visiting small shops and taking in the sights. Your phone is filled with memorable moments together, selfies, and pictures of important landmarks.
The time for your date arrives, and when Hook meets you in the hotel lobby you’re making sure everything looks perfect from your hair to your outfit. He is leaning casually against a column, his hair as tousled as ever and his gaze deep. When he sees you, his face lights up, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe. He’s dressed simply, a hoodie layered under a warm bomber jacket, but somehow, he looks effortlessly put together.
“You ready?” he asks, his voice soft but tinged with excitement.
“Yeah,” you reply, smiling, your heart beating just a little faster.
He leads you outside, and the cloudy sky casts a gentle, muted light over everything. The air is cool, crisp enough that you hug your jacket a little closer as you walk beside him. After a short drive, you arrive at a serene garden with a greenhouse tucked away in a quiet part of town. Even with the overcast weather, the place feels magical—small paths wind through patches of greenery, and clusters of flowers add bursts of color here and there.
As you stroll through the garden, Hook glances over at you, noticing the way you shiver slightly. Without a word, he shrugs off his jacket and places it over your shoulders. It’s warm and smells like him—clean, with a hint of his cologne that you find comforting.
“Thanks,” you say, your cheeks warming as you pull it closer.
“No problem,” he replies, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Can’t have you freezing out here.”
You walk together, talking about life as you explore the greenhouse and take pictures. He asks about your life—school, friends, how you’ve been. You tell him about your classes and laugh about shared memories of growing up around the wrestling world. In turn, he talks about his matches, his training, and how much has changed since the last time you saw each other.
“It’s kind of crazy,” he says, kicking a small rock along the path. “Seeing you again after all this time. Feels… different.”
“Good different or bad different?” you tease, glancing at him.
“Good,” he says quickly, meeting your eyes. “Definitely good.”
There’s a tension between you—not uncomfortable, but charged, like the air before a storm. As you walk outside the garden’s premises and out to the city, you pass by a small boutique with a display window full of delicate jewelry. Something catches your eye—a gold, heart-shaped necklace resting on a velvet cushion.
“That’s so pretty, wow” you murmur, stopping for a moment to admire it.
Hook follows your gaze, his expression unreadable for a second before he says, “Wait here.” Without another word, he slips into the store, leaving you blinking in surprise. Maybe he was going inside to ask for the price or something, it wasn’t like he was going to get it for you… right?
A minute later, he emerges, a small bag in hand. Before you can say anything, he pulls out the necklace from a small box and holds it up, the delicate gold catching the faint light, the small heart dangling before your eyes.
“Ty…” you begin, your voice a mix of surprise and protest. “You didn’t have to—”
He cuts you off with a rushed, “I wanted to. Besides,” he says, his voice changing to a gentle, almost shy tone, carefully placing the necklace around your neck with your assistance, “you already have my heart. Can I have yours?”
You stare at him, your cheeks burning, your heart racing. You can’t stay silent, you have to say something. “Okay,” you say, trying to hide your smile and how hard you’re blushing. “That’s smooth.”
He grins, but there’s nervousness in his eyes. “And… the answer?” he asks, his voice quieter now.
You take a deep breath, your smile softening. “Yes,” you say, barely above a whisper. “You can have my heart too.”
The relief and happiness in his expression are almost overwhelming. He steps closer, his hands brushing against your cold ones, and then, slowly, he leans in. His lips meet yours in a tender kiss, warm and unhurried, like he’s savoring every second. Enjoying the moment.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests lightly against yours, and he whispers, “Good. Because I’ve been waiting a long time for this.”
You smile, your fingers brushing the necklace around your neck, and whisper back, “Me too.”
a/n: this is just a short little fic about slow dancing in the kitchen. i’m working on gaining my inspo and motivation to write like i used to. thanks for being patient with me🫶🏼
The silence between the two of you was undeniably unsettling. You were washing dishes to distract yourself from the uncomfortable tensions, but the clinks of the plates sounded shrilling in that otherwise quiet kitchen.
It was as if you were in the same room, yet worlds apart. In each other’s reach, but somehow still too far to touch.
It had been this way for a while. Your lives didn’t mesh as easily as they did in the beginning. You’re both busier, he’s always traveling, you’re always at work, and it was clear to see that it was taking a toll you both.
You heard him sigh at the table. If you turned around, he’d be watching you. There’s things you both want to say but neither of you want to run the risk of another explosive fight.
The last plate was washed and you turned off the water, only then realizing how heavy that silence felt. You kept your eyes on the empty sink just so you wouldn’t have to turn around and look at him, but you could still feel his stare burning a hole through you.
Then, you heard the legs of the chair slide on the floor, and that previously silent kitchen had the melody of a song you didn’t recognize softly playing through it.
Tyler’s hand gently grabbed your arm, spinning you around to face him. You saw the absolute exhaustion in his low eyes. The look of defeat crossing every inch of his face. You were both depleted, all the fighting finally catching up to you.
You shot him a look, as if you wanted to resist his attempt to pull you into his chest, but you knew you weren’t strong enough to fight it.
The second your head rested against his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you, all the previous anger that had been eating away at you completely disintegrated.
All that was left, was longing for that exact moment. How long you’ve missed being wrapped up in his arms, the scent of his cologne and the safe feeling you got when he held you.
You missed it more than you realized until you finally had it back. Once there was no more fight left in either of you, the first thing you wanted was his touch, and the first thing he gave you was just that.
You felt his finger cup underneath your chin, raising your head to look into his eyes. The previous stoic expression that he perfected so well was much softer now. His eyes were a little brighter, filled with some hope for the first time in weeks.
You both started swaying to the music, a song you were trying to zone in on so that you could remember it as the one that might end up being your song.
He gave you the slightest smile, and you returned one for the first time in a while. He took your hand and placed a gentle kiss to it, before he held it over his heart.
“I know things are kind of rocky right now, but no matter how hard this gets, I still want to do whatever it takes to make this work.” He whispers.
You nodded, swaying slowly as his words played on repeat in your mind.
“As long as you promise to always dance with me, I think we’ll be fine.” you smirked, and one of his own followed immediately after, along with a chuckle filled with relief. All the tensions finally easing.
“You have my word.” He says before he raises your hand and spins you, then pulls you back into his chest.
You both broke out into silly smiles, still swaying in the middle of the kitchen. His hand left your hip to cup your cheek, gently rubbing his thumb over your skin.
“I love you, no matter what.” He says, before his lips land softly on yours. The first kiss in way too long, and something about it felt like the very first time.
You got lost with each other. The song was far over by the time you finally managed to pull apart. Once again, the kitchen was silent, but you were still swaying, you didn’t want that moment to end.
“Play it again.” You smiled, and he leaned over to tap his phone lying on the counter. The song started again, and his hands found your waist once more.
You wrapped your arms around the back of his neck and rested your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart coupling with the soft tune humming through the speakers.
You felt his arms tighten around you, lips placing a soft kiss to the top of your head, and from then on, the two of you danced to that same song on repeat until the sun started peeking through the curtains.
