glimmer fics

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1. When will you update [insert fanfic here]/Can you write a fic about [insert fandom]?

A: We are not the authors of any of the fics on the site, nor of the ones we share. Glimmer is a platform where anyone can write! If you'd like to specifically ask the author of the fic you're referring to, you can try commenting on their fic or joining our Discord Server HERE, as they might be in it! You can also share your fic requests or ideas on our server -- you never know who might be inspired by you!

2. What is a "Turn"?

A: When playing a Glimmer story, you'll notice that you're able to choose how you want the story to progress!

Every time you're given options to move the story along, that is considered a Turn. When you make a choice, it consumes a Turn. As a reader, you're given 100 free Turns daily!

3. How can I mark a story as completed?

A: To mark your fic as completed, ensure that ALL conclusions you've made for the last episode of that story are set to Story type conclusions, instead of Episode type conclusions.

You can find the option to change the conclusion from an Episode to a Story end in the drop down menu at the bottom of the conclusion box.

Once, set to story end, the conclusions will look like this in your visual map:

4. How can I filter specific ships, fandoms, story types, etc?

A: In the Browse tab of Glimmer, you can see a "Filter" button next to the fandom tags at the top:

Once selecting it, you can then filter fics, fandoms, tropes and warnings that you would like to see.

5. What are the rules of what you can/can’t write on Glimmer?

A: We do not have strict content rules on Glimmer, and you are free to write whatever you'd like. However, we may take down stories with: - Sexual content that we consider extreme or excessive, - NSFW stories of minors or NSFW content involving minors in general, - and stories that are meant to harass real life people, including other users. If you would like to know more about our Content Policy in more detail, you can read it here: https://glimmerfics.com/content-policy

6. I want to report a bug/have feedback on the site…

A: Feel free to reach out to us on our socials (such as here on our Tumblr or Reddit) or join our Discord server! We will get to you as soon as we can.

7. How do I private stories?/Can I make stories so that only some people can read it?

A: To private stories, you can simply unpublish them. To unpublish your entire story, go to your Author Portal and click on Overview, then scroll down. You will then see the Unpublish Story button at the bottom.

To unpublish only one or two episodes, click on the Publish Episode toggle, which you can also find in the Author Portal, below the Test button.

If you would like to let only a select amount of people read your fic when it's unpublished, you can add them as Beta Readers. This will allow them to look at your Author Portal (but cannot edit it) and test the fic as if reading the story.

To add Beta Readers, go to the Author Portal > Overview, then scroll down. You will then see the option to add Beta Readers by their email associated with their account or their Glimmer username.

Note: you must be an Approved Author to be able to add Betas.

8. I got this message: “Whoa there, slow down! You have free turns left, but you've played as much as you can for the day. You'll have to wait a bit before you can continue playing. You can wait 24 hours to continue playing. Or, buy Paid Turns to play right now." What does it mean?

A: This is a message you receive when you've reached an IP limit. We have it set to prevent people from getting free turns on multiple accounts. If this is not the case, this might be due to other people in the same household as you who are also using Glimmer.

If it's the latter, we apologize as we currently can't exactly distinguish between the two, but we are working on a solution. Stay tuned!

If neither are the case, do let us know your email associated with the account as you might be experiencing a bug.

9. How do we add fandom tags that aren’t already there? 

A: For now, you can request for new fandom tags via our socials (our Tumblr, Reddit or Discord). We will soon implement a way to do this seamlessly!

10. What’s the threshold for becoming an approved author?/How do you become an approved author?

A: To become an Approved Author, you just have to keep on writing stories and publishing them! You can get the Approved Author title based on the collective engagement of all your fics over time, so you may become an Approved Author even sooner than you think!

11. Can other people/can you read my playthroughs without my permission?

A: No, other Glimmer users nor staff members can read your playthroughs unless you directly send them to us. We might ask you to send these playthroughs when reporting bugs for clarity on why the issue is occurring.

As staff, however, we can look into your Author Portal and see your stories even when they are unpublished (in the same way Beta Readers can view them). We typically do not take a look into your story unless requested, or if there is something in the content of the story that we need to check.

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Again, if you need help/require more clarification, you're always free to DM us or send over an Inbox :)

"I want you to."

The words are a soft, shaky breath, but they are certain.

Suguru’s expression softens, his eyes darkening as he absorbs your consent. He moves with a slow, reverent deliberation, as if you are the most fragile piece of silk he has ever handled. His fingers find the tuck of your sari, his touch light and hesitant, pausing for a heartbeat to ensure you are still with him.

When you lean into him, he begins to unwind the fabric. The cotton slides away from your skin in a slow, rhythmic motion, the sound of the fabric whispering against the sheets. He works with the precision of someone who appreciates every detail, his gaze never leaving your face, searching for any sign of hesitation.

Once the sari is cast aside, he lingers. He doesn't rush to the next layer. Instead, he lets his palms slide up your arms, his touch grazing the skin with a tenderness that makes you shiver. He leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the hollow of your throat, right where the diamonds rest.

"You are breathtaking," he says against your skin. "I can't believe you ever doubted that."

His hands move to the fastenings of your blouse, his fingers brushing against your skin with a heat that seems to sear through you.

You reach up, pulling him back down to you. The kiss is a frantic, breathless thing, a sudden surge of need that replaces the slow reverence of a moment ago. You can feel the slight tremble in his hands, the way he clings to you as if you are the only thing keeping him anchored to the earth.

He breaks away just enough to gasp for air, his lips sliding against yours with a soft, wet sound. He lets out a low, shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours.

"You're going to be the ruin of me," he murmurs.

His fingers finish with the fastenings of your blouse. He peels the fabric back, exposing your shoulders to the cool air of the room before he pushes the garment entirely away.

He stops, his gaze drifting over your skin. He looks at you with a hunger that is almost painful to witness, but there is a gentleness in it, too. His hand reaches out, his calloused palm grazing the side of your breast, his touch so light it's almost an afterthought.

"Perfect," he whispers. "Every single part of you is perfect."

He begins to trail kisses down your collarbone, his lips warm and insistent. Every time his skin meets yours, a spark of electricity jolts through you, making your toes curl into the silk sheets. He moves lower, his breath hot against your stomach, his voice a low, praising murmur that makes your heart ache.

"Please, don't stop."

The plea is barely a whisper, but it acts as a catalyst. Suguru’s breath hitches, and the tenderness in his touch sharpens into something more urgent. He doesn't stop; instead, he descends further, his lips claiming a path across your stomach with slow, searing pressure.

You feel the silk of the sheets beneath you and the heat of him above, a contrast that makes your skin prickle. Every time his tongue grazes a new inch of skin, a soft, involuntary sound escapes you, filling the quiet of the room.

He pauses for a second, his face pressed against the curve of your hip. He looks up at you, his dark eyes hooded and clouded.

"I could spend a lifetime right here," he says. "Just learning you. Just proving to you that you belong exactly where I want you."

His hand slides lower, his fingers brushing the edge of your remaining undergarments. He doesn't move past the boundary yet; he simply lingers there, his thumb tracing the line of your thigh, waiting for the silent signal of your body.

You reach down, your fingers meeting his at the waistband of your undergarments. The touch is electric, a sudden collision of heat and anticipation. Together, you slide the final barrier of fabric away, leaving you completely exposed to the amber light and his unwavering gaze.

Suguru shifts, moving back up your body to look at you. He supports himself on his elbows, framing you with his broad shoulders. His eyes travel slowly over every curve, every line of your body, with a reverence that makes you feel more seen than the diamonds ever could.

"You are a miracle," he whispers, his voice thick.

He leans down, his lips finding yours in a kiss that is no longer hesitant. It's hungry and deep, a silent promise of everything to come. As he kisses you, his hand slides down, his fingers finding the center of your heat. He touches you with a gentle, probing curiosity, gauging your reaction to every slide of his fingertip.

You gasp into his mouth, your hips arching instinctively toward him.

He pulls back slightly, his thumb grazing your clit in a slow, rhythmic circle that sends a jolt of lightning straight to your core. He watches your face, his expression a mixture of intense desire and an almost desperate need to make sure you're okay.

"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs. "I want you to know that you're mine, that I chose you, and that nothing in this kingdom can change that."

You reach up, your fingers tangling in the dark silk of his hair to pull him back down to you. The collision is urgent, a clash of teeth and tongues that tastes of desperation. He lets out a strangled sound against your lips, his body shuddering as he presses you harder into the mattress, his weight a welcome, overwhelming pressure.

He breaks the kiss just long enough to breathe, his lips sliding against yours with a wet, heavy sound. His forehead rests against yours, his eyes clouded and dark, searching your face with an intensity that feels like it could strip you bare.

"You have no idea," he says. "How much I've craved this. How much I've craved you."

His hand leaves your center for a moment to slide up your side, his palm hot against your ribs, before he shifts. He moves with a sudden, fluid grace, discarding his own robes until he is as bare as you are.

The air in the room feels thick, charged with a tension that has finally snapped. Suguru settles between your thighs, his skin searing where it meets yours. He supports himself on his forearms, hovering just inches above you, his gaze dropping to where your bodies almost touch.

He reaches down, his fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, his touch trembling slightly.

"I want to be everything to you," he whispers, his voice dropping to a vulnerable, raw plea. "I want you to forget the court, the diamonds... everything but me. Please, just accept me. Not as your king, but as the man who loves you."

The vulnerability in his voice is the final thread to snap. You pull him down, your arms wrapping around his neck to draw him into a kiss that is less of a request and more of an answer. You don't need the crown or the titles; you only need him.

As you surrender to the heat of his embrace, Suguru lets out a long, shaky breath against your lips. He shifts, his weight settling comfortably between your legs. His hand wanders down from your waist, trailing a path of fire across your skin until his fingers reach the center of your heat.

He doesn't rush. He begins to stroke your slick folds with a slow, agonizingly gentle pressure, his touch praising and precise. A violent shiver races through you, your breath hitching as you arch into his palm.

"I want you inside me."

The admission breaks the last of the stillness. Suguru's hand pauses for a heartbeat, his fingers twitching against your skin. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and heavy with a hunger that seems to consume everything in its path.

"You're sure?" he whispers, though the way he's looking at you suggests he's barely holding himself together.

He doesn't wait for a second confirmation. Slowly,, he slides a single finger deep into your warmth. You gasp, your back arching off the silk sheets as you adjust to the sudden fullness. He holds it there for a moment, letting you feel the weight and the stretch of him, his thumb continuing its slow, rhythmic circles against your clit.

The sensation is overwhelming, a concentrated point of heat that radiates through your entire body. You can hear the ragged edge of his breathing, the way he's fighting for control, his muscles taut beneath you.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear.

"Do you want me to move it?"

"Yes, please..."

The request is barely a sound, more of a shuddering breath that hitches in your throat.

Suguru lets out a low, rough exhale. He doesn't move immediately; he lets the tension build, his gaze locked onto yours, witnessing every flicker of desire on your face. Then, he begins to move his finger.

It's a slow slide—a rhythmic curl and pull that catches against the most sensitive walls of your heat. The sensation is acute, a focused point of pleasure that makes the rest of the room blur into a haze of amber light and sandalwood.

You gasp, your fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders, pulling him closer as if you could merge with him.

He watches you, his expression one of intense, focused devotion. He adjusts the angle of his touch, his movements becoming more fluid, more sure. Every slide of his finger is a question, and every arch of your hips is the answer.

"You're so tight for me," he says, his voice vibrating in the small space between you. "So warm."

His thumb continues its steady, maddening circle against your clit, coordinating with the internal friction until you're trembling beneath him, your breath coming in short bursts.

"I want you... all of you."

The words are a desperate plea, a surrender of every remaining defense.

Suguru freezes, his finger still buried deep within you. His chest heaves, the muscles of his arms straining as he supports his weight, his knuckles white where they press into the silk. The look in his eyes is almost feral, a mixture of raw hunger and a tenderness so profound it feels like a physical weight.

"You have no idea how long I've waited to hear you say that," he says.

He withdraws his finger in one slow, slick motion, the sudden absence leaving you feeling cold and hollow for a fleeting second. He shifts, his body sliding further down the bed until he is positioned perfectly between your thighs.

He guides himself to your entrance, the broad head of his length brushing against your slick folds. He doesn't push in immediately. Instead, he lingers there, the heat of him searing your skin, his breath hot against your neck.

"I'm going to be gentle," he whispers. "I want you to feel every single bit of this. I want you to know that I'm here, and that you're mine."

He pushes forward, a slow, steady intrusion that fills you completely. You gasp, your eyes fluttering shut as your body stretches to accommodate him, the sensation of his thickness overwhelming and grounding all at once.

"I love you, Suguru."

The words are a soft confession, spoken into the heat of the moment. Suguru freezes for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching as he looks down at you. His expression is a raw, exposed thing—the mask of the King completely gone, leaving only a man who looks as though he's finally found something he thought was impossible.

He presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing tight.

"I love you," he whispers back, his voice thick with an emotion that makes your own heart ache. "More than I have the words for."

He begins to move, a slow, steady rhythm that fills you entirely. It is a deep, grounding friction that makes the world outside the silk curtains vanish. Each thrust is deliberate, a physical vow of the devotion he’s spent years harboring in silence.

You feel the pressure of him, the sheer size of him stretching you in a way that feels like coming home. The cold diamonds at your throat are a sharp contrast to the searing heat of his skin, reminding you of the world you've left behind and the one you've chosen here, in the curve of his arm.

Suguru lets out a low, ragged groan, his grip on your hips tightening as he finds his pace. He watches your face, tracking every flicker of pleasure, every soft sound you make, as if he's memorizing the way you feel in this exact moment.

The rhythm deepens, a steady, pulsing heat that threatens to pull you under. Suguru’s breathing is a ragged symphony in your ear, his movements shifting from a slow vow to something more demanding. He pulls back slightly, the friction creating a dizzying tension that leaves you breathless.

He pauses, his gaze searching yours, and then he shifts his weight. His length slides out of you with a slow, wet sound, leaving you feeling suddenly empty and aching. You let out a soft, confused whimper, but before you can ask why, he replaces the fullness with something different.

He slides one finger back inside you, curling it with a precise, agonizing pressure against your most sensitive spot. He begins to fuck you with that single finger, a gentle, rhythmic teasing that makes your hips jerk upward in a desperate search for more.

"More... please, give me more."

The request is a broken sound, a fragile thread of a voice that snaps the last of Suguru's restraint. He lets out a breathy laugh, the sound vibrating against your skin.

"So greedy," he says, though his tone is thick with affection.

He doesn't grant the request immediately. Instead, he increases the pace of that single finger, the friction becoming more intense, more precise. He finds the exact spot that makes your vision blur, his touch curling upward with a devastating accuracy that has you gripping the silk sheets until your knuckles turn white.

You arch your back, your hips seeking the pressure, chasing the spark he's teasing out of you. Your breath comes in short, frantic hitches, your chest heaving against the cold weight of the diamonds.

Suguru leans in, his lips brushing against your jawline.

"Tell me exactly what you want, my little seamstress. Use your words."

"I want all of you back inside me."

The words are a breathless confession, spoken more to the air than to him.

Suguru’s pupils blow wide, nearly swallowing the gold of his irises. A low sound vibrates in his chest—something between a groan and a laugh. He looks at you, his muscles locking as he fights the urge to simply drive himself back into you without another second of hesitation.

"You're so impatient," he says, though he's the one trembling.

He doesn't move his hand. Instead, he leans down, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerous, honeyed whisper.

"I can give you that. I can give you everything. But I want to see you break first. I want to feel you shaking so hard you can't even remember your own name."

He shifts his grip, his finger curling deeper, hitting that one precise spot with a sudden, sharp increase in pressure. He begins to move with a faster, more urgent rhythm, his hand working you with a focused intensity that pushes you closer and closer to the edge.

You gasp, your hips bucking upward, your fingers tightening their grip on his shoulders. The sensation is too much, yet not enough, leaving you suspended in a state of agonizing tension.

He pulls back just an inch, watching the way your eyes haze over, the way your breath comes in short bursts.

"Do you want more?" he asks, his voice a low challenge. "Do you want another finger?"

"I just want you!"

The words come out as a desperate, fractured cry. You bridge the gap between you, your fingers digging into the muscles of his forearms, trying to pull his entire weight back into you. You're shaking, your breath coming in jagged gasps, the need for him so sharp it feels like a physical ache.

Suguru’s expression softens, his eyes brimming with a raw, unguarded devotion. He lets out a shuddering breath, his forehead dropping to touch yours.

"I know," he whispers, his voice rough. "I know you do."

He doesn't give in to the plea for his full weight yet. Instead, he leans into the tension, his hand shifting. With a slow motion, he slides a second finger inside you.

The sudden increase in fullness makes you gasp, your eyes fluttering shut as your body stretches to accommodate him. It's a different kind of pressure—wider, deeper, filling the void in a way that makes every nerve ending scream.

He begins to move both fingers in a synchronized, curling rhythm. The friction is intense, a concentrated storm of pleasure that radiates from your core to your fingertips. He watches you with an intensity that feels like he's reading every secret your body is telling him.

"Look at me," he says.

As you open your eyes, he pushes deeper, his fingers hooking against you in a way that sends a violent jolt of electricity through your spine.

"I love you... please..."

The words are a shattered plea, barely audible over the sound of your own frantic breathing.

Suguru’s expression tightens, his gaze dropping to where his hand is buried deep within you. He doesn't stop. Instead, he leans forward, his chest pressing against yours, the heat of his skin searing through the thin layer of air between you. He curls both fingers upward, hooking them with a precise, relentless pressure against your most sensitive spot.

You cry out, your back arching sharply off the silk sheets. The sensation is a violent tide, a concentrated point of pleasure that spreads outward in crashing waves, threatening to pull you under.

He keeps the rhythm steady and punishingly accurate. He watches you, his dark eyes hooded and focused, tracking the way your eyes haze over and your breath hitches in your throat. He is the only anchor in a world that has dissolved into amber light and raw sensation.

"I have you," he says, his voice a low, grounding vibration against your skin. "Just let go. Give it all to me."

He increases the speed, his fingers sliding in and out with a wet, heavy friction that pushes you closer and closer to the precipice. You feel the tension coil in your stomach, a tight, humming string that is stretched to its absolute limit.

"I can't... I'm going to..."

The words break apart, trailing off into a sharp, needy whimper. You're hovering on a knife's edge, the world narrowing down to the point where his fingers meet your heat. Everything else—the palace, the diamonds, the laws of the kingdom—has dissolved into a blur of amber light and the scent of sandalwood.

Suguru feels the shift in you, the way your muscles tighten and quiver in anticipation. He doesn't pull back. Instead, he leans in, his lips grazing your cheek, his voice a rough, grounding murmur.

"Let it happen. Give it all to me."

He pushes deeper, his fingers curling with a final, decisive pressure. The tension that has been coiling in your stomach finally snaps.

A violent surge of pleasure crashes over you, starting at your core and radiating outward in shimmering waves. You cry out, the sound raw and unrestrained, as your back arches sharply off the bed. The world explodes into white light, your body shuddering in a series of crashing, rhythmic orgasms that leave you breathless and trembling.

As the peak slowly begins to recede, Suguru remains there, his hand still cradling you, his chest heaving against yours. He holds you tight, anchoring you as you drift back down to earth.

You lie there for a long moment, your breath coming in shaky, shallow gasps while the aftershocks of the climax ripple through your limbs. Suguru’s heart hammers against your chest, a frantic rhythm that matches your own. He kisses your temple, his touch lingering and tender, before he slowly shifts his weight.

The tenderness remains, but it is now laced with a renewed, heavy urgency. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes burning with a hunger that has only intensified.

Without breaking eye contact, he reaches down. With a slow motion, he slides his trousers off, casting them aside. As he reveals himself to you, the sheer sight of his thickness and length makes your breath hitch. He is fully aroused, pulsing and ready, a physical testament to the desire he has held for you in secret for so long.

Wanna make your own choices and see what happens next? READ/PLAY HERE! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

🎮interactive fanfic "Heeriye" by FireflyOfLove

"You don't have to ask."

Bokuto reacts as if the words are a physical trigger. The tentative hesitation in his gaze vanishes, replaced by a sudden, focused intensity. He closes the final inch of space between you, his mouth crashing against yours with a hunger that feels like two years of starved longing released all at once.

It’s a messy, urgent kiss, lacking any pretense of politeness. He tastes of the cool night air and the lingering sweetness of the drinks from the party. His hands, which had been resting cautiously at your waist, suddenly tighten, sliding firmly around you to hoist you upward. He backs you into the nearest surface—the wall beside the entryway—with a dull thud that jars through your spine.

He doesn't let go for a second. His large palms span your waist entirely, his fingers digging into the burgundy silk of your dress. His thumbs press firmly into the soft dip of your hips, a repetitive, grounding motion, as if he's physically confirming that you're real, that you're solid, and that you're actually in his apartment.

Bokuto breaks the kiss just long enough to press his face into the crook of your neck, his breath coming in short, hot hitches. He makes a low sound in his throat, a noise of pure relief.

"God, I missed this," he says against your skin, his voice thick and rough. "I missed you."

He begins to trail a path of fervent, biting kisses up the line of your throat, his grip on your waist tightening further, pulling you so close there's no longer any air between your bodies. He's all heat and hard muscle, his presence overwhelming and absolute in the dim amber light of the hallway.

You reach up, sliding your fingers deep into the thick, silver-white spikes of his hair. It’s softer than it looks, though still styled with enough hold to resist your grip. You tug slightly, grounding him, and he lets out a low sound, leaning into your touch as if it's the only thing keeping him upright.

He pulls back from your neck just enough to look at you, his face flushed, his gold-amber eyes blown wide and searching. He looks completely undone, his usual confidence replaced by a raw, humming desperation.

"I can't—" He breaks off, his voice cracking. He doesn't finish the sentence; instead, he captures your lips again, the kiss deeper and more demanding than the last.

He shifts his weight, his large hands sliding down from your waist to the backs of your thighs, hooking under them to hoist you up. You're pinned against the wall, your legs wrapping instinctively around his hips to keep your balance. He groans into the kiss, the sound vibrating through your chest, and begins to move you backward, away from the entryway and toward the center of the room.

He doesn't let the kiss break for a second, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips before sliding inside, tasting of longing and a frantic kind of relief. He’s breathing hard, the sound heavy and jagged in the quiet apartment.

"You're so soft," he says against your mouth, his voice rough, almost confessional. "I remember... I remember exactly how you feel. I thought I'd imagined it. I thought I'd just made up the way you fit here."

He lets you slide down slowly, but he keeps you trapped between his body and the wall, his chest heaving against yours. One of his hands leaves your thigh to cup your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into the hollow of your cheek.

"I missed you too, Koutaro."

Bokuto’s grip on your jaw tightens just a fraction, his thumb sweeping across your lower lip. He looks at you with a raw, stripped-back expression, his chest heaving against yours. The admission seems to break something loose in him; the frantic energy shifts, becoming heavier, more focused.

"I thought about this," he says, his voice dropping to a rough, low register. "Every night. Just... having you here. In this room."

He lets out a shaky breath and slides his hand from your face down to the small of your back, hauling you flush against him once more. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his lips brushing your skin in short, hot presses. The scent of him—clean skin and the faint, metallic tang of the city—wraps around you, filling your senses.

He begins to move, his steps clumsy but determined as he guides you toward the bedroom. He keeps his mouth pressed to your shoulder, his breathing jagged. Every few seconds, he lets out a small, muffled sound of contentment, as if he's still convinced this is a dream he might accidentally wake from.

When you hit the edge of the bed, he lets you slide down onto the mattress, but he follows you immediately, looming over you. The amber light from the living room spills into the bedroom, casting long, distorted shadows across the walls.

Bokuto props himself up on his elbows, his broad shoulders blocking out the light. He searches your eyes, his gold-amber gaze dark and heavy.

"I want to remember everything," he whispers. "The way you smell, the way you sound... all of it."

His hand wanders, sliding from your waist up to the thin gold chain at your neck, his fingers tangling in the metal for a brief, clumsy second before he lets it go to cup your cheek.

You reach up, hooking your fingers into the collar of his shirt and pulling him down.

Bokuto gives in instantly, his weight collapsing onto you as he meets your lips. The kiss is deeper now, a slow, heavy glide that tastes of desperation and a long-overdue homecoming. He makes a sound deep in his throat, a muffled groan that vibrates against your mouth, and his large hands slide from your cheeks to grip your waist, pulling you up into him until there is no space left.

He breaks the kiss just enough to press his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard in the dim amber light.

"I can't get enough," he whispers, his voice rough and strained. "I feel like I'm starving and you're the only thing that can fix it."

His hands begin to roam, mapping the curves of your body through the burgundy silk of your dress. He moves with a mixture of athletic power and a surprising, trembling reverence, as if he's afraid you might shatter if he presses too hard, yet he can't seem to stop himself from pulling you closer.

He shifts, his knee sliding between your thighs to nudge them apart. He looks at you, his gold-amber eyes dark and dilated, searching your face for every flicker of reaction.

"I remember this dress," he says, his voice barely a breath. "Not this one, but the way you look in things like this. The way the fabric feels."

His hand slides down from your waist, his palm grazing the curve of your hip before slipping beneath the hem of the dress. He moves slowly, his touch deliberate, his fingers tracing a path upward along your thigh.

Bokuto's hand slides down, slipping beneath the burgundy silk until he reaches the space between your legs. He doesn't hesitate, his fingers sliding past the fabric of your underwear to find you.

He makes a sharp, sudden sound in the back of his throat, a ragged noise of discovery. His fingers curl, pressing into you with a tentative, searching pressure. He stays still for a heartbeat, his gold-amber eyes locked on yours, watching for the way your expression shifts as he feels how ready you are for him.

"You're already..." He trails off, his voice dropping to a rough, uneven whisper. He doesn't finish the sentence, but the way his thumb brushes against you says everything.

He begins to move his fingers, a slow rhythm that feels less like a prelude and more like a confession. He's mapping you, his touch heavy and honest, mirroring the way he’s looking at you. Every slide of his fingers is punctuated by a shallow breath.

"I thought about this every single day," he says, his forehead dropping back against yours. "I kept trying to remember if you liked it like this, or if I should go faster. I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you."

He increases the pace slightly, his hand shifting to hold you more firmly against the mattress. He’s vocal from the start, narrating the feeling in real time.

"You feel so good. Even better than I remembered. God, you're so warm."

He lets out a low groan, his body tensing over yours, his muscles bunching beneath his shirt. He doesn't stop, his focus total, his movements urgent as he tries to make up for two years of distance in a single, desperate stretch of time.

"I want you inside me."

Bokuto freezes. His fingers stop their motion for a split second, and he lets out a sound that is almost a whine, a raw noise of sheer want. He pulls his hand back from your underwear, but he doesn't move away. Instead, he braces himself on his elbows, his chest heaving, looking down at you with eyes that are completely dark.

"You have no idea," he says, his voice sounding like it's been dragged over gravel. "No idea how long I've wanted to hear you say that."

He moves with a sudden, athletic efficiency, sliding off you to strip out of his clothes. He's fast, his movements a blur of discarded fabric—shirt, trousers, socks—until he's bare in the dim amber light. He looks massive, the sheer breadth of his shoulders blocking out the living room glow, his muscles taut and humming with tension.

When he returns to the bed, he doesn't just slide back in; he hovers over you, his skin radiating a heat that you can feel before he even touches you. He reaches for his bag on the nightstand, fumbling with a foil packet. The sound of the plastic tearing is loud in the quiet of the room.

He slides the condom on with a focused, slightly shaking precision, his gaze never leaving yours. Once he's ready, he settles between your thighs, his weight a welcome pressure that anchors you to the mattress. He doesn't dive in immediately; he pauses, the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, teasing the edge of you.

"Look at me," he whispers, his voice urgent.

He waits until your eyes meet his. The gold-amber is shimmering, focused entirely on you.

"I'm coming back," he says, a confession and a promise all in one. "I'm finally back."

With one slow thrust, he sinks into you, filling you completely. He lets out a long, shuddering exhale, his eyes closing tight as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, his body trembling with the effort of not losing control instantly.

You reach up and hook your fingers into his hair, pulling him down.

Bokuto crashes back into you, his mouth finding yours with a sudden, heavy heat. He tastes of desperation and a long-overdue homecoming. The kiss is deep, almost bruising, as he pours everything into the contact—two years of silence and distance compressed into a single moment. He groans into your mouth, a sound that vibrates through your own chest, his body shuddering as he settles deeper inside you.

As the initial shock of the reunion fades, the frantic pace begins to shift. He slows down, his movements becoming deliberate, almost reverent. He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gold-amber eyes dark and blown wide, searching your face as if he’s trying to memorize every line and shadow in the dim amber light.

"I missed the way you look at me," he whispers, his voice rough and barely audible.

He begins to move. He isn't just chasing a peak; he's tracing the memory of you, checking the reality of your body against the ghosts he's carried in his head. He shifts his weight, his large hands sliding under your lower back to tilt you upward, adjusting the angle until he can feel every inch of the connection.

"Everything is... exactly how it should be," he says. He lets out a long, shaky breath, his forehead resting against yours. "I kept wondering if it would feel different. If the timing would have changed how we fit. But it's still you. It's still us."

He pauses for a moment, completely still within you, just breathing in your scent. His chest heaves against yours, the heat between you thickening. He looks at you again, a small, vulnerable smile touching his lips, though his eyes remain intense, hungry, and entirely focused.

"I love the way you look at me too."

Bokuto’s breath hitches, a jagged sound that catches in his throat. He closes his eyes for a moment, leaning his forehead against yours, his skin hot and damp. The admission seems to anchor him, grounding the frantic energy into something deeper, a heavy, pulsing weight that settles between you.

He begins to move again, the pace slow and intentional. He’s mapping the friction, the way you curve around him, and the specific, soft sounds you make as he pushes deeper. Every thrust is deliberate, as if he’s trying to etch the sensation into his permanent memory so he never has to wonder about it again.

"I used to dream about this," he whispers. "Just the sound of you. The way you say my name."

He shifts his grip, his large hands sliding from your back to your hips, locking you in place. He holds you there for a second, perfectly still, just feeling the internal press of your body against his. His gold-amber eyes open, dark and shimmering with a vulnerability that matches his gaze.

He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear, his breath hot and uneven.

"I didn't think I'd ever get this back," he confesses, the words barely a breath. "I thought I'd just have to live with the memory of it."

He pulls back, his movements picking up a slight, urgent momentum, though he stays focused on your face. He watches every flicker of your eyelids, every parting of your lips, his expression one of absolute, undivided attention.

"You have me back, Koutaro."

The words hit him with the force of a physical blow. Bokuto freezes mid-motion, his eyes widening, a sudden, sharp intake of breath rattling in his chest. He looks at you as if you've just handed him the world, his expression flickering between disbelief and an almost painful level of joy.

He doesn't say anything for a long moment. Instead, he sinks deeper into you, his forehead crashing back against yours, his breathing coming in jagged, heavy heaves. He sounds like he's fighting back something—a sob, a laugh, or maybe just the sheer weight of the relief.

"I'm never letting go," he rasps, the voice barely a whisper. "Never again."

The tenderness shifts, evolving into something more urgent and instinctive. As he begins to move again, his pace quickens, the friction becoming a feverish, demanding heat. His large hands slide from your hips to your shoulders, pinning you to the mattress with a sudden strength.

He tilts his head, his gold-amber eyes locked on yours, and then he leans down. He doesn't kiss you this time. Instead, he sinks his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, a sharp, sudden nip that makes you gasp. He doesn't break the skin, but he holds the pressure there for a second, marking you, claiming the space.

He lets out a low sound against your skin, his body tensing, his muscles bunching under your touch. He moves his mouth to the side of your neck, his breath hot and erratic, leaving a trail of biting kisses that feel like a desperate attempt to leave a permanent record of this night.

"Mine," he mutters, the word muffled against your skin. "You're actually mine again."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his face flushed and his hair a silver mess across his forehead. He's breathing like he's just finished a championship set, his gaze dark and focused, his movements becoming heavy and rhythmic, driving into you.

"I'm yours, Koutaro."

Bokuto's body goes rigid, his muscles locking beneath you as the words sink in. He lets out a sound that is almost a sob, a jagged exhale that shudders through his entire frame. He buries his face in your neck, his grip on your shoulders tightening until it's almost bruising, pulling you into him with a force that feels like he's trying to shield you from the rest of the world.

"Say it again," he says, his voice cracking. "Please. Just... once more."

He doesn't wait for the answer before he starts moving again, the pace shifting from a slow map to a frantic, driving rhythm. He's no longer just remembering; he's reclaiming. Every thrust is heavy and deep, his breath coming in short, sharp hitches against your skin.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his gold-amber eyes dark, swimming with a mixture of raw hunger and an aching kind of gratitude. He looks completely undone, his silver hair plastered to his forehead with sweat, his face flushed.

"I spent two years..." He breaks off, his voice straining as he pushes deeper. "Two years wondering if I'd ever hear that. If you'd ever... if you still wanted me."

He shifts his weight, his large hand sliding down to grip your thigh, hooking it over his hip to open you up even further. He watches your face with an intensity that feels like it's stripping you bare, his gaze tracking every flicker of your expression, every parted breath.

"Tell me you want this," he whispers, his voice rough and confessional. "Tell me you want me right here."

He slows for a moment, a deliberate, grinding press that makes the mattress creak beneath you, his eyes searching yours for the answer.

"You've always been the only one."

Bokuto goes completely still. He stops moving entirely, his body locking up as he holds you beneath him. He looks at you with a wide-eyed, stunned expression, his mouth slightly open. For a few seconds, the only sound in the room is the heavy, staggered rhythm of your shared breathing.

He lets out a breath that sounds like a shudder, his eyes shimmering as he sinks his weight back into you. He doesn't resume the pace immediately; instead, he just presses his forehead against yours, his eyes closing tight. A single, sharp exhale escapes him, almost a laugh, but it sounds far too fragile for that.

"I can't... I can't believe you're saying this," he whispers, his voice thick and strained. "I really thought I'd ruined everything. I thought the timing just... killed it."

He opens his eyes, and the intensity there is overwhelming. He looks at you with a raw, unguarded hunger, his gold-amber gaze tracing every inch of your face. He shifts, his large hand sliding from your thigh to the small of your back, pulling you upward so your chests are crushed together.

He begins to move again, but the rhythm has changed. The tentative mapping is gone, replaced by a heavy, driving urgency. He pushes into you with a desperate kind of force, his movements becoming faster and less controlled. He's breathing in short hitches, his skin slick with sweat where it meets yours.

"I'm not letting you go again," he says against your lips, his voice dropping to a low register. "I don't care about the schedule. I don't care about anything else. Just this. Just you."

He bites his lower lip, his expression twisting into one of pure, concentrated focus. He drives deeper, his grip on your back tightening, his muscles bunching as he pushes himself toward a limit he's been staring at for two years.

"I love you."

Bokuto’s entire body jolts, his muscles locking as the words hit him. He stops mid-thrust, his breath hitching in a way that sounds almost painful. He looks down at you, his expression completely shattered, eyes wide and swimming with an intensity that feels like it could burn through the sheets.

He lets out a long, shuddering exhale, his forehead dropping to rest against yours. He stays there for a few seconds, just breathing, his skin slick with sweat and radiating a heat that seems to fill the entire room.

"I love you too," he says, his voice cracking. "I never stopped. Not for a single second. I just... I didn't know where to put it."

He pulls back just enough to look at you, a raw, unguarded smile flickering across his face before it's replaced by a look of sheer, focused hunger. He begins to move again, and the rhythm is no longer a map or a memory. It is pure urgency.

He drives into you with a heavy, rhythmic force, his broad shoulders bunching as he supports his weight on his arms. Every thrust is deep and uncompromising, his movements faster now, the friction between you building into a feverish heat.

He lets out a low sound, a half-groan that vibrates through your chest. He’s breathing in short bursts, his gold-amber eyes locked on yours, refusing to look away. He watches every flicker of your eyelids, every parting of your lips, his focus so absolute it feels like he's trying to pull your very soul out of you.

"You're so perfect," he whispers, his voice rough and confessional. "Everything about you. I can't... I can't get enough."

He shifts his grip, his large hands sliding down to lock onto your hips, pulling you flush against him with every drive. He's pushing toward a peak now, his movements becoming less controlled, his body trembling with the effort of holding on just a little longer.

Wanna make your own choices and see what happens next? READ/PLAY HERE! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)

🎮interactive fanfic "Two Years" by Dalzra