SASO Referees (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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sportsanime2015-06-27 09:18 pm
referees) wrote in sportsanime2015-06-27 09:18 pm
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Bonus Round 3: FSTs
Bonus Round 3: FSTs
This round is CLOSED. Late fills can be posted, but they won't receive points.
We're halfway through all the bonus rounds now. If you're like us, every love song on the radio seems to apply to your OTP. In this round we'd like you to serenade us with some of your top picks!
This round ends at 7PM on July 11 EDT. Countdown Timer.
RULES
- Submit prompts in the form of a short playlist (3-6 songs) and a ship from any of our nominated fandoms. Submit only the track listing and a link to where they can be listened to; the idea is for others to interpret what you present. You may also link to lyrics if you would like.
- Your prompt MUST include some kind of relationship. (This is not the sports anime gen olympics.) Platonic relationships are indicated by an "&" between the names (e.g., Riko & Momoi & Alex). Non-platonic relationships use "/" (e.g., Riko/Momoi/Alex). Please don't say "Any pairing," either.
- Create content based on the playlists of others! Fill prompts by leaving a responding comment to the prompt with your newly-created work.
- Fills may be in any form you choose (except for another FST of course) as long as they are inspired by/fit the mood of the soundtrack they are filling for.
- Remember to follow the general bonus round rules, outlined here.
- You cannot fill your teammates' prompts or your own prompts.
FORMAT
Bonus round shenanigans all happen in the comments below. Brand-new works only, please.Required Work Minimums:
- 400 words (prose)
- 400px by 400px (art)
- 14 lines (poetry)
Format your comment in one of the following ways:
| If PROMPTING: | If FILLING: | If FILLING as a TEAM GRANDSTAND participant: |
PROMPT: TEAM [YOUR SHIP]
|
FILL: TEAM [YOUR SHIP], [RATING]
|
FILL: TEAM GRANDSTAND, [RATING]
|
Posts not using this format will be understood to be unofficial discussion posts, regardless of what they contain. They, like all comments in this community, are subject to the code of conduct.
SCORING
These numbers apply to your team as a whole, not each individual teammate. Make as many prompts/fills as you want!For prompts: 5 points each (maximum of 50 prompt points per team per round)
For fills:
First 3 fills by any member of your team: 20 points each
Fills 4-10: 10 points each
Fills 11-20: 5 points each
Fills 21+: 2 points each
All scored content must be created new for this round.
Etc.
If you're hunting through the prompts looking for what to fill, a good trick is to view top-level comments only.Have a question? Check The FAQ first. If you still need help, feel free to contact the mods. Happy fanworking!
PROMPT: TEAM TSUKISHIMA KEI/YAMAGUCHI TADASHI
Re: PROMPT: TEAM TSUKISHIMA KEI/YAMAGUCHI TADASHI
Maybe I will....mayb
Re: PROMPT: TEAM TSUKISHIMA KEI/YAMAGUCHI TADASHI
Re: PROMPT: TEAM TSUKISHIMA KEI/YAMAGUCHI TADASHI
Re: PROMPT: TEAM TSUKISHIMA KEI/YAMAGUCHI TADASHI
FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, E
Word Count: 1686
I’m sorry for sinning on ur prompt Isy D: I guess I am thirsty, or your songs made me thirsty, or something.
The heat magnifies as it passes through the dirty windows of this dirty, awful, metal box. There is one single upside to this car and that is that it doesn’t have leather seats. They’re cloth, with the stuffing breaking free of the ancient upholstery and showing puffy spots of stale, ancient yellow.
Kentarou’s back is sweating into these seats with Yahaba sitting on his hips, head crouched low under the low roof of the car. His hands are pressing against Kentarou’s bare chest, which makes him warmer, but not just because of the body heat.
“Can’t we go somewhere else? It’s gotta be 38 degrees in here, fucking shit,” he complains.
“Are you telling me you want to stop?” Yahaba grinds his pelvis slowly against Kentarou’s, cocking his head to the side. Kentarou swallows and doesn’t reply. “It doesn’t bother me.” His eyes struggle to keep from flicking across Yahaba’s naked body.
“That’s because you’re a demon from hell,” Kentarou spits back.
Yahaba slaps him, hard, and Kentarou prays he can’t feel his dick twitch in his pants. “Don’t be rude,” he says softly, sounding very devilish, maybe on purpose.
“You hit like a girl,” Kentarou says after a moment, clearly not having learned his lesson (wanting to be taught it again).
Yahaba’s slim fingers curl around his throat, but don’t squeeze. “I bet you wouldn’t say that if you’d ever been hit by a girl.”
Kentarou has, in fact, been hit by a girl, on more than one occasion. It hurt more than he’ll admit to Yahaba, unless he sees fit to pull it out of him, which Kentarou kind of hopes he does. He’s quiet as Yahaba trails his fingers down his chest, digging his nails in and leaving skid marks of broken skin on top of red welts. He doesn’t react other than breathing in slightly harsher and squeezing Yahaba’s hips harder. He wants to urge Yahaba on—they’ve just been sitting like this for a few minutes—but experience tells him waiting might turn out more profitable. He tries to adjust himself so his head isn’t pressing quite so hard into the doorframe. Kentarou wishes he wasn’t wearing pants.
“So quiet all of a sudden.”
“I’m slowly sweating to death.”
“Maybe I should distract you, then.”
He doesn’t reply, trying not to let his eagerness show on his face. He probably just looks nervous, which he is. He holds his breath as Yahaba leans down to kiss him, doesn’t dare to touch him until his tongue is pressing into his already open, hungry mouth. He finds himself leaning off the seat to meet his lips, allowing no space between the two of them for hesitation. He bites at Yahaba’s soft lips and pulls on his hair, which is about a thousand times silkier than his own in a way that makes him think it might just break off in his fingers, but it holds strong.
Kentarou grips Yahaba’s ass with his other hand, locking it down over his hips as he rocks up against him. He squeezes at the soft, slick skin over the firm muscle and swallows a groan by kissing him harder. He curls his tongue around Yahaba’s in thick, wet strokes, the exchange of hormones apparent between them.
He gets into a comfortable rhythm and finds himself irritated when he feels his hand being pried away from his ass and something pressed into it, but that’s only until he realizes what it is. Where did he even get lube? But Kentarou doesn’t really care. He brings his hands into the gap between their torsos and nearly rips the cap off, not just because he’s impatient (he is), but because his hands, like his entire body, are wet and slippery. The air in his car is heavy and damp, and the lube is actually cool on his fingers.
Kentarou unceremoniously shoves two of his fingers into Yahaba’s ass and he squeaks and jumps. Yahaba yanks hard on his ear and glares at him. “You’re not romantic at all,” he complains. Kentarou knows he’s fine (he wouldn’t actually have done it if he didn’t know he would be, he’s not that much of a dickhead), but he was hoping for a reaction of this sort, maybe, and also to speed things up.
“I’m not a romantic guy,” he says with a rude grin. “Besides, what’s romantic about sticking your fingers up someone’s ass?”
Yahaba rolls his eyes and clamps his hand down on the bottom half of Kentarou’s face. Now he wears a grin of his own as he pushes his hips back over Kentarou’s fingers. He lets his mouth open slightly, sighs into his own shoulder as if he’s really enjoying himself. Kentarou curls his fingers down and smirks again under Yahaba’s hand when he moans.
Having a hand covering half of his face makes him even hotter and sweatier than before, as if that were even possible at this point. He swears they are literally about to fuck in Hell. He opens his mouth with some effort and licks across Yahaba’s hand, tasting the salt of his skin. He’s just as sweaty as Kentarou is, even though he said he wasn’t bothered by the heat.
Yahaba jerks his now-moist hand back and wipes it across Kentarou’s chest. “God, you really are just a dog, aren’t you?”
“Grr,” Kentarou says.
Yahaba is smiling again. “Did you just flirt with me?”
He shoves in a third finger. “I’ll show you flirting.”
Yahaba moves back until Kentarou’s fingers are in up to the knuckle, expects the curl this time and lifts himself into it. His bangs are soaked and sticking to his forehead, and his skin is shiny to the point of looking like it’s glowing. Kentarou can’t see anything outside of the car, it just looks like white light, and it’s framing him. For a demon from hell, he sure does look oddly like an angel sometimes. Kentarou knows better, of course.
He pulls Yahaba down to kiss him again before he can make his chest start hurting too bad (or, god forbid, sass him some more). He barely has to move his hand because Yahaba is rolling over his fingers, he just stretches and curls them in a rhythm. His cock is aching and his blood pumps hard and fast through his veins every time Yahaba’s bumps against it, god, he wants to be out of these pants.
Kentarou is losing his composure. It’s too damn hot and he’s wet and sticky everywhere, and he’s got a whole other person on top of him, practically smothering him, and all he wants is to get off and get Yahaba off and be done, but at the same time he doesn’t want to stop. Something about this feels special, unique somehow. “Are you good?” he mutters between kisses, almost completely drawing his fingers out.
“I could fit two of you at this point.”
“I fuckin’ doubt that.” But he’s relieved, and he wastes no time shoving his pants down and grabbing for the lube again. He’s slicked up and pressing into him within twenty-five seconds and he finally lets himself groan quietly; it’s too much relief to be silent. Yahaba matches his sound, sinking down as he pushes up until they’re flush against each other.
Kentarou feels like he’s going to melt, or come so hard he dies. His hands are slipping down Yahaba’s sweaty thighs, so he tightens his grip to the point of bruising; his finger sink into his impossibly soft flesh, but he gets no complaints. Yahaba just moves up and slips back down experimentally, giving a pleasured hum. He moves again, and then again, slowly establishing a steady pace. Kentarou moves one of his hands to Yahaba’s cock and strokes it roughly, earning another moan escaped through bitten lips that makes his dick hurt even more.
At some point they both close their eyes and don’t find it worth it to quip at each other anymore. The sounds of their skin slapping together, amplified by sweat, is mixed with the loud humming of cicadas and the occasional Dopplered sound of a car passing. Kentarou grinds his teeth to keep himself quiet, though sometimes something will escape from his throat. He can feel Yahaba’s smile whenever he loses his grip, even though he’s being louder, unabashed.
Kentarou comes hard and is not able to resist the gasp that pushes his teeth apart and bucks up hard into Yahaba. He barely even notices he’s still working his hand strong and fast, and after he does, he also realizes his hand is aching. Yahaba slips off him and sits on his stomach, arms shaking slightly. His hands are pressing into Kentarou’s chest again, the sweat stinging the wounds he left with his nails earlier.
Kenatrou switches hands and watches Yahaba’s face. His eyes open, maybe feeling someone watching him, and he looks down. He looks like he’s considering saying something to piss him off, but thinks better of it and just pants out more hot breath into the stuffy car.
“Kyoutani,” he says. Kentarou’s eyebrows draw together and down. He sounded completely bored. He works his hand faster, even though this one is starting to hurt too.
“Kyoutani!” That’s better, though it sounds unreasonably irritated.
His shoulders somehow slip off the edge of the car seat and his eyes snap open. “What the fuck?!” he yells as he catches himself on the arm rest of the bus seat. “Did you just fucking push me?” He whips around to face a fully clothed Yahaba, who sitting next to him, frowning at him.
“We’re almost there, and I was tired of listening to you make weird sounds.”
Kunimi is snickering behind them and Kentarou wants to punch him. “Leave it to you to be insensitive about someone having a bad fuckin’ dream,” he mutters, leaning back into his seat. “Jesus fuck, it’s like 38 degrees in here.” At least that’s a reasonable excuse for his face being red. He’s completely soaked through his track suit, but he’ll have to change his pants anyway.
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, E
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, E
we are on
the same wavelength
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, E
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, E
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, E
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, E
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, E
FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, T
700 words
kentarou puts shigeru back together with his hands and surprisingly soft words, with his unyielding faith in his captain, in his abilities. he’s never had to describe what it was like to fill the shoes iwaizumi hajime left behind; everyone can see it. besides, as ace and wing spiker, the points he scores are his.
shigeru's victories are aobajousai’s victories, and his losses are theirs. he depends on spikers for points and blockers and their libero for defense; he is, body and soul, bound to seijou--so they look to him, up at him, and expect victory.
“shh, you did good,” kentarou whispers, breath warm against shigeru’s ear, and shigeru doesn’t even correct him: he did well (but the truth is: he did poorly). he doesn’t cry, just folds up his lips and lets the regret boil up in him until he shakes, shoulders trembling.
oikawa tooru wouldn’t have cried this way.
"shh," he says again, like shigeru will actually cry, or something. he takes his hand in his, callouses in different places and palms rougher than his, broader than his. for attack, not defense. shigeru knows exactly how those hands work (on him, with him) and knows that when he takes them, kentarou takes them seriously.
"it's not just you. we all lost. you could have done better. but so could i." his eyes are still sunken in, like he hasn't gotten much sleep, and shigeru finally braces himself, looks into them and doesn't tear away his gaze. "yeah, that's right. i said it. i meant it."
"you're telling me that i didn't work hard enough?" there's a strange sense of invulnerability to seijou that shigeru has always cherished.
"of course not," kentarou snorts. "it's just like you to pick out that immediately. no, what i'm saying is--and i'm only saying this once, okay--you're our captain. mine, too. and we look up to you. we don't blame you for our losses. we blame ourselves." he shrugs. "i could have scored more points. i could have played a better game. but you--you're a setter. you have to trust us to score. and today, your trust was the same as it always was." he looks somber, more grown-up than the punkass kid that shigeru shoved into a wall a year ago. "so just trust me, okay? you did good today."
shigeru doesn't quite manage his thank you. it's caught somewhere in his throat, on his tongue, and kentarou eyes him like he's radioactive. "what?"
"no," he manages. "that's just. that's really--i didn't expect to hear that from you."
kentarou's laugh is short and sharp, huffed in from his nose and barked out. "god, how are you still this much of an asshole?"
"i'm not," shigeru says defensively, straightening his shoulders. "only with you."
"yeah," kentarou agrees. "just with me." he leans back, satisfied grin slowly growing on his face. "feel better yet?"
"not because of you," he frowns.
"don't look like that. pretty boys shouldn't make those faces."
"stop calling me pretty." but shigeru gets himself up from the dirt and dusts off his shorts. the captain's mantle falls on him again, the heavy crown almost pressing in at his temples. "get up," he sighs. "we have to face them again. gotta go home."
"guess so. we could always leave them here." shigeru offers him his hand, and cracks a little smile when kentarou takes it, hauls himself up. he doesn't let go. "do you think kindaichi is still over being left behind from last year?"
"we could find out." shigeru glances back down at their hands, joined together. "but we should go back inside. can't risk him not being over it, you know?"
kentarou stares at him, stares until shigeru squeezes his hand in his. "oh. yeah." he drops shigeru's hand completely, flushes pink from his cheeks. shigeru's hand feels cooler. he can hear kindaichi's voice calling, "yahaba-san?" and it's a little thread that pulls him from the little private space they share back to seijou, back to their castle walls.
kentarou's hand reaches out and clasps his wrist. "this is okay, right?" he grunts, and looks straight ahead. shigeru pinks in the face himself, briefly, and grins. "yeah, thought so."
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, T
Re: FILL: TEAM AKAASHI KEIJI/BOKUTO KOUTAROU/KUROO TETSUROU, T
dry land sinking in the quicksand
stranded on the wrong beach, come and rescue me
:') the prompt was wonderful ♥