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something I think we all know about fanfic, but don’t talk about because it would hurt writers feelings is that some fics are like fast food. I mean this as a compliment. I don’t always want to sit down for a six course meal that will be a flavor experience. Sometimes I just wanna dip some fries in a frosty. Sometimes I want something homecooked and delicious and super niche, but super comforting. Sometimes I want to eat an entire dark chocolate cheesecake in one sitting even though I know Its gonna make me sick. Just. holy crap, y’all. Sometimes I don’t even want fast food, I just want to eat an entire bag of chips. and yeah, I’m ashamed of myself afterwards, but at the time it was exactly what I wanted. So, no, we’re never going to say to our fanfic writers that we consider their writing to be the equivalent of a midnight run to taco bell - and we shouldn’t, feelings would be hurt by that. But writers, please, please, please, remember this. You don’t need to create a six course meal if you don’t want to. You don’t have to make something complex and homemade if you don’t want to. You don’t even have to finish cooking it - because someone will be thrilled that you brought a bowl of cookie dough and a spoon, because they cannot even consider sitting down and having a proper meal right now. It’s okay writers, whatever you decided to make. Someone was happy to have it. You gave them what they needed. You made them happy. You did good.
I don’t know why being fast food would be considered insulting!
A few years ago, I read an essay by a romance writer who openly admitted that her books were trashy, formulaic, and not Great Art. But what she said is that she gets fan letters all the time. From women with six kids whose only time for themselves is reading her books. From women in abusive relationships who read her books to give them hope that loving relationships exist. From women with depression who manage to eke out some pleasure reading her books. From women whose lives are awful and who read her books to give them the strength to live another day.
And– she points out– the writers of Great Art have many virtues, but they do not generally get fan letters from people whose lives are miserable and who seek out comfort and joy from the books. Because most of the time when our lives are awful, we don’t seek out Great Art. We seek out, well, literary fast food. We seek out emotionally manipulative hurt/comfort or fluffy coffeeshop AUs or Mutual Pining where there is Only One Bed.
Be proud of your work! Be proud of making literary fast food. Try to make the best damn literary fast food you can. Because somewhere out there– you might not know who, you might not know when– there might be someone who has just finished their last final, or who got fired from their job, or who is up all night with a newborn, and your fast food fanfic made their lives better. And that is no small thing.
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If u want to write a story about a character that’s just you but hotter with a dark twisted backstory and magical powers and a pet falcon or something, I think u should just go ahead and do that. Who’s gonna stop you? The government?? Fuck the police.
We're so excited to share our beautiful zine cover by the talented Kumeramen with you all! Pre-orders will open March 28th, to celebrate Sakura's birthday 🌸
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@thepromptfoundry Oc-tober day 3: partners in life, crime…whatever
Hows about a partner that matches your freak !
The amount of Gomez and Moritica inspo I have for these two is criminal ~ tbh the first time they really bonded was at a cemetery too ~ and you better believe Sasuke is their little Wednesday ❤︎
cw: thigh riding, dirty talk, semi-public sex, undercover as a couple
AO3 link , beta’d by @moderndayportia
Strobing lights flashed blazing pink and green over the crowd, pulsing over Kakashi’s half-lidded gaze. He tracked the motion of their target over Sakura’s shoulder, pulling her tighter with a spread palm over the small of her back.
“Your six o’clock,” he relayed in her ear when the lights cut away, plunging them into a hot dimness saturated by Kakashi’s closeness and his warm breath on her cheek. “Two possible accomplices”
She tipped her head back to bring her red-painted lips to the shell of his ear. “Poison?”
The hand on her back tensed imperceptibly, drawing her even closer. His thigh slotted neatly between hers as their bodies rocked to the beat, pressing dangerously close to where a blazing heat had kindled hours ago. “Heart attack,” he countered, ghosting his fingers up her pulse to mime a tap. His eyes met hers, fiery dark and stealing her breath. “Just like last time.”
Sakura slipped away from his arms, his heat tingling over her skin like static electricity.
It had been easy to kill their last target in his hotel bed a week ago, and it was easy now to brush her hand suggestively over Yamura’s thigh on her way to the restroom, allowing her eyes to peek back at him over her shoulder.
Yamura followed, hypnotised by her thin-strapped, body-tight red dress. Sakura’s skin was buzzing under the desirous stares of strangers as she passed from the crowded dance floor. Her heels clicked silently beneath the loud music, carrying her further down a dark hall and to the washrooms, where fate awaited her target.
Yamura only got as far as caging her against the wall before a spark of chakra overwhelmed his civilian pathways and stopped his heart. Sakura caught him before he could hit the ground, shoving him into the janitor's closet to hide his body from prying eyes.
Kakashi would deal with his accomplices, a damning shadow protecting her back.
As she waited, Sakura slipped into the washroom to check over her appearance. Her mascara had smudged her waterline, leaving her gaze shadowed and smokey, yet shining with the kind of heat she still felt low in her belly. Glittering green eyes peered back at her judgingly.
Sakura ran her hand through the humid tousle of her pink hair, trying to tame it but only succeeding in making herself look more sex drunk. Dampness clung to her hairline, a frizziness beginning to take hold of the longer strands. A stray lock caught on her lipstick painted a vision of delirious want.
She swiped it away, her smoggy breath puffing out of her lips. It was cold in the dingy washroom, as cold as the November night outside. Goosebumps rose over her glistening skin to chase away the heat she had worked up on the dancefloor.
And yet—she bit her lip as her attention was unavoidably pulled inwards—the blaze of hot, achy want still saturated her panties, even in the absence of Kakashi’s intoxicating warmth.
He had started this, no matter how unwittingly. Held her with his big, calloused palms; pulled her against the solid warmth of his body; whispered in his velvety, suggestive voice next to her ear until Sakura felt like a live wire.
“Damn it,” she whispered, clenching her thighs and touching her lips.
She was so distracted with her increasingly inappropriate thoughts that she missed the moment Kakashi joined her until his firm hands at her shoulders jolted her, and smouldering eyes met her gaze in the mirror.
“This is dangerous, Sakura,” he warned.
She knew that he not only meant her distracted stupor, but also the vivid arousal building inside her.
“Sorry,” she breathed, caught in a trance. It was the faintest of motions, but his eyes flashed to the red slash of her mouth.
He leaned down, bringing his masked mouth to her ear to impart another, graver secret. “I can smell you, Sakura…”
Fuck.
She swallowed thickly, watching her pale throat undulate. “A-and?”
His eyes roved her face.
Sakura lost her breath at the sudden way he spun her around and pinned her back against the sink.
“And?” he reiterated, tipping her chin to ghost his words over her lips. “There are three dead men waiting to be found. And you’re wet, Sa-ku-ra.”
Her fingers curled over his jaw as her breath shuddered out of her. “Unless you plan to do something about it… it’s none of your business.”
That damn knee was back between her thighs, teasingly high. He gripped the counter on either side of her, pressing their fronts together and sending her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
Arousal sank lower, dripped out.
Kakashi made a rough, growling sound in his throat. He nosed at the juncture of her neck, face nuzzling her hair, lips skimming her pulse, and Sakura thought oh god, oh fuck.
“Are you smelling me?” she demanded, more turned on than she’d ever been.
His knee bent, and then it was pressing hot and intimate over her panties.
Her shudder didn’t escape him, and neither did the way her breath caught, because his next words left her reeling.
“Rub yourself.”
“—what?”
“You’re distracted,” he chided, curving one palm over her hip to caress tantalising circles into her hipbone with his thumb. “So hot and desperate. You keep rubbing your thighs together.”
Her face flamed. She felt mortified and turned on by how well he could read her body less than a month into their first round of undercover missions posing as a couple.
“We don’t have to pretend. There’s no one here,” she found herself saying, even as her hips gave a miniscule roll.
Sparks chased the contact, and she sighed shakily.
His gaze softened. “I know,” he murmured, back to whispering in her ear. “I don’t mind. Just take what you need.”
Sakura couldn’t believe what she was doing as her hips pressed down, seeking friction and pressure from the hardness of his thigh over her clit. She was humping her team captain.
“That’s it,” he encouraged as she gripped his sides and allowed her body to move against him, bearing down over the delicious, solid weight he provided against her pelvis, over her throbbing clit.
“Oh fuck,” she whispered, hips rolling first in long, savouring archs, then in tight, needy jerks as she found her rhythm.
“Fuck,” he echoed, guiding her with the hand on her hip. “Just like that, rub your hot little cunt over my thigh.”
“Oh god,” she moaned, shuddering hard as his words sank down her spine like molten heat. Her hips surged forward, grinded down, thin panties rubbing over the rough fabric of his pants.
She was slick now, dripping into her drenched panties, the smooth glide of it and rough catch of Kakashi’s pants leaving her dizzy and wanting.
Sakura started riding him in earnest, gripping at his hips, clawing at his back, burying muffled moans in his shoulder. “God, please, yes, so good…”
He juggled his knee, sending shocks of pleasure up her spine. “C’mon,” he urged. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
His fingers curled at the base of her skull, jerking her head back, and his voice fell to a low, smoky register. “You’re really feeling yourself, huh?”
Fuckk.
“Ka-Kakashi,” she whimpered, hips slowing, clit pulsing like a heartbeat.
“It’s okay,” he soothed the sting by brushing his fingers through her hair. “I know you want it so bad… I can play with it later, if you want,” his fingers brushed over her clit, eliciting a hiss of pleasure. “Make you cum again. But for now… quick and dirty is all I can give you.”
And just like that, his fingers were digging into her hips, grinding her over his thigh, over and over, her sensitive skin buzzing and raw. “Ride my thigh,” he commanded, helping her along, pressing her down hard. “Such a perfect little pussy.”
Sakura was a goner. Her head fell back and she sobbed as her body shook and she gushed into her soaked panties.
Kakashi’s eyes were wild and dark, his hand slipping down her front to rub her through her orgasm. Sakura lost all coherent thoughts as rough fingers slid over slick skin, calluses catching over her clit.
He stroked her hard and fast, until she was seeing stars, and only stopped when she was panting and pushing him away to wobbly lean back over the sink.
Kakashi leaned against the opposite wall, breathing fast and shallow. “Fuck.”
He looked down at his hand.
Sakura bit her lip. “Come here,” she coaxed breathlessly, taking his hand in hers. Her tongue caressed each digit, hot and slick and seductive.
“Thank you,” she said from beneath the curve of dark lashes as red lips kissed and nipped his fingertips. “I really needed that.”
“You’re welcome,” he rumbled, and slipped two fingers into her mouth. “I expect payback later.”
Sakura smirked faintly around his fingers and sucked them to the hilt in answer.
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