In which I write fic~
Saa, fandom, you know what you've been missing~? Fic from me~
So, I'll share with you a little drabble I put together day. ^_~
Your name is on their lips, being chanted over and over again at varying pitches. The ball is in the air, and your racket its it with a solid, satisfying thwack. It whizzes past your opponent, just out of their reach, and the crowd chanting your name goes wild with adoration. You turn your gaze on them and blow them a kiss, and you could swear one or two of the girls in front fall into a swoon.
The match is over as quickly as it began, and you shake your opponents hand over the net, victorious. You both mutter a "good game" to each other before turning away to head back to the benches and your awaiting team.
Your coach nods, telling you that you've done well, but there are some notes that they would like to go over with you. Your teammates congratulate you, but your buchou maintains that the spectacle was entirely unnecessary. You assure him that this isn't true, and glide past him on the way to meet with your fans, but not before stopping to murmur something in his ear.
"Don't worry," you said, "you'll get the chance to yell my name later."
He actually reaches up to smack you upside the head, bu you're already out of reach, the fans descending on you in a wave. But you turn your head and cast a wink back over your shoulder, sealing your words with an unspoken promise. He looks satisfied by this and turns back to watch the next match that has already started.
Later that night you hold up your end of the promise, and he holds his, and you let him know that you are far happier when he says your name than any number of fans. He smiles, finally, and tells you to shut up before claiming (and make no mistake, this is a claim) your mouth in a heated kiss, and his name spills from your lips in a reverent whisper.
So, I'll share with you a little drabble I put together day. ^_~
Your name is on their lips, being chanted over and over again at varying pitches. The ball is in the air, and your racket its it with a solid, satisfying thwack. It whizzes past your opponent, just out of their reach, and the crowd chanting your name goes wild with adoration. You turn your gaze on them and blow them a kiss, and you could swear one or two of the girls in front fall into a swoon.
The match is over as quickly as it began, and you shake your opponents hand over the net, victorious. You both mutter a "good game" to each other before turning away to head back to the benches and your awaiting team.
Your coach nods, telling you that you've done well, but there are some notes that they would like to go over with you. Your teammates congratulate you, but your buchou maintains that the spectacle was entirely unnecessary. You assure him that this isn't true, and glide past him on the way to meet with your fans, but not before stopping to murmur something in his ear.
"Don't worry," you said, "you'll get the chance to yell my name later."
He actually reaches up to smack you upside the head, bu you're already out of reach, the fans descending on you in a wave. But you turn your head and cast a wink back over your shoulder, sealing your words with an unspoken promise. He looks satisfied by this and turns back to watch the next match that has already started.
Later that night you hold up your end of the promise, and he holds his, and you let him know that you are far happier when he says your name than any number of fans. He smiles, finally, and tells you to shut up before claiming (and make no mistake, this is a claim) your mouth in a heated kiss, and his name spills from your lips in a reverent whisper.