suguru + resonance makes me heart eyes so bad ;;;; but also what’s love language?
(f…fem..gu 🔫)
You can't hide from me. I know what it is you really want, so here's femguru from my wip game! Enjoy, beloved beanie ♥
For everyone else looking in, the premise of the wider fic is essentially: "What if SatoSugu fell in love at a sex party upon realising they can never fuck anyone else ever again because they've found the one and only person who truly matches their freak?"
Yep. It's horny and it's queer and it's genuinely insane in parts.
N.B. Suguru is cisswapped in this WIP. You are only seeing a portion of the entire work out of context here. It's likely not even the most controversial thing about this fic and I am not interested in writing disclaimers to prove I'm not an asshole. Please just scroll by (or unfollow) if it offends you!
Even in the low light, even draped in darkness, she stands out. She’s taller than most men, but it isn’t her height, Satoru realises now. It’s the way she wears it. In his experience, tall girls slouch. They droop their shoulders to make themselves seem smaller, and they definitely don’t wear heels. Not when the average man avoids women who are taller than him the same way he avoids a cold dunk in a pair of Speedos. Maybe it’s a consequence of the fact that Satoru has never been average at anything in his life, but he thinks those guys are insane. He’d have to get closer to confirm it, but this girl might be taller even than him, at least in the little slip on things hugging her painted toenails. It’s doing way more for him than he expected. He follows the line of a long leg, tracing the arch of her foot with his eyes, up along a calf with more muscle tone than his own. Satoru would put it down to the stilettos if not for the size of her thighs. Where a lacy hem brushes against her quads, they’re literally casting shadows. Satoru thinks she’s too glam to play rugby, then realises he’s making assumptions based on stereotypes and reminds himself it’s the second thought that counts. He hopes so, anyway, because his first thought was neither respectable nor respectful. Something involving watermelons that happen to be the exact size of his head. It’s probably for the best that everything above her glorious thighs is hidden from wandering eyes like his. The luxurious folds of her robe make it hard to distinguish the shape of her, save for where the sash is secured around the dip of her waist. A thin scrap of silk isn’t enough to stop her spilling out the top of it, but considering how taut the delicate material looks where it strains to keep everything contained, it’s impressive just how little she’s spilling out the top of it. It only serves to make Satoru more curious about what she’s keeping under wraps, which he supposes is the entire point. Exploring other people’s bodies is why they’re all here, but he finds this is the only one he’s interested in mapping. It isn’t her height. It isn’t even her tits. It’s the way she wears it. The span of her shoulders enhances the overall impression of an hourglass, but it also suggests strength. She carries herself like a fighter. Her posture is confident, her chest open, drawing his eye along a defined collarbone to the hollow at the base of her throat. Past a pointed chin, he sees painted lips, tugging up at one corner. And past those, he sees sharp eyes whittled to a sharp point. They’re staring at him, staring at her. Creeps are not welcome at Kitsune events. It was printed in black on white at the door. At once, Satoru feels incriminating colour rush to his cheeks, and the flimsy mask over his eyes is nowhere near enough to hide it. Nothing like the ones the Foxes are wearing, shielding half their faces from view. Not for the first time tonight, Satoru feels like he’s on show. The weight of this one woman’s attention is heavier than all of the eyes on him over the course of the evening combined — and there have been plenty. He thinks he should look away, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to. If all she has to offer him is scorn, then he’ll take it like a champ. Stupid to pretend he doesn’t want her now. There’s a chance it’ll get him kicked out, but something about the smile playing on her lips makes Satoru hopeful. It stokes the little part of him that wonders if she… Where it had been racing in his chest only moments ago, his heart slows to an anticlimactic rhythm once more. Honestly, it’s what he expected. She hasn’t shown much interest in the company of men all evening. He would know; he’s been watching her long enough. As she turned away from him, the little fox had tossed her dark hair over her shoulder and the points of her pretty gold ears had caught the light. It’s the same mask Shōko is wearing, the same mask almost everyone is wearing, but Satoru swears it was made with her eyes in mind. Well, he supposes no one has ever died from disappointment.
I don't know what'll happen to this one. My friends deserve their femguru, but I don't feel 100% confident about the setting. The fictional Kitsune Klub (and its accompanying rules) is heavily based on a real members only "femme first" community, and I feel solid in my depiction of said community in the broader WIP. I feel confident in my depictions of gender and sexuality and complex human beings across my writing in general.
However, I don't feel confident that others won't take issue with this particular story, and as soon as fanfic stops being fun — i.e. you're anticipating the bad faith criticism from anonymous people on the internet more than you're enjoying the actual experience of writing it — it's time to hit da bricks.
Thus, perhaps this will end up a private fic for friends or perhaps I'll switch up the setting dramatically or perhaps I'll go balls to the wall and post it anyway! Who knows?














