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 :)

"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

"Show me then."

The words are barely a whisper, but they hit Dabi like a spark to gasoline. He lets out a low, jagged sound, his eyes darkening until the turquoise is nearly swallowed by the pupils. He doesn't just smile; he sneers, a look of pure, sadistic satisfaction crossing his scarred features.

"Careful, babe. You're practically begging to be broken," he says, his voice slurring more as his focus narrows.

He shifts his weight, and you feel the sudden, heavy pressure of his shoe nudging between your thighs. He doesn't grind it—not yet—but he presses the sole of his boot firmly against your cunt, pinning you in place against the floor. The contrast of the cold, hard leather against your heat makes you shiver, trapping you in a position of total vulnerability.

While he keeps you pinned with his foot, his hand moves to his waist. The metallic click of his belt buckle echoing in the kitchen is sharp, final. He tugs the leather loose with a slow motion, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You wanted the villain," he mutters, his breath hot and uneven. "Here he is."

He shoves his pants and underwear down in one rough motion, letting his cock spring free. It hangs heavy and hot right in front of your face, the skin pale and mapped with the same kind of violent history as the rest of him. Your eyes catch the glint of metal—a Jacob's ladder piercing, a series of silver rings running up the shaft that look as painful as they are provocative.

"You're beautiful," you whisper.

Dabi freezes. The slurred rhythm of his breathing hitches, and for a split second, the mask of the sadistic villain slips. His turquoise eyes widen, flickering with a genuine, momentary confusion that makes him look almost human.

Then, the sneer returns, sharper and more derisive than before. He lets out a harsh, barking laugh that sounds like glass breaking.

"Beautiful?" he rasps, his voice thick with mockery. "You're absolutely delusional, babe. Look at me. I'm a walking corpse held together by staples and spite."

Despite the insult, he doesn't move his foot. He keeps the sole of his boot pressed firmly against your cunt, feeling the way you tremble beneath him. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his phone. With a slow movement, he raises the camera, framing you on the screen—kneeling on the kitchen floor, flushed and desperate, with his cock hanging heavy and pierced right in front of your face.

"Smile for the camera, slut," he commands, his voice dropping into a low drawl.

Click.

He takes a few more, the flash blinding you for a second. He looks down at the images with a satisfied, half-lidded gaze, then looks back at you. To emphasize his point, he reaches down and gives his cock a few sharp, encouraging slaps against your cheek, the metal rings of the Jacob's ladder piercing cold and hard against your skin.

"Perfect. Now," he says, his thumb suddenly hooking into your mouth, forcing your jaw open wide. "Let's see if you can handle the real thing."

You let out a muffled, wet moan around his thumb, your tongue instinctively swirling against his skin. The sound is needy, a broken vibration that only seems to egg him on.

Dabi’s eyes darken, his expression twisting into something jagged. He pulls his thumb out with a sharp, popping sound, and before you can even close your mouth, he drives himself inside.

"Mngh—!"

The impact is sudden and heavy, bottoming out against the back of your throat. You gag, your eyes watering instantly as your body struggles to accommodate the thick, pulsing length of him. He doesn't give you a second to adjust. His hand flies to the back of your head, fingers twisting deep into your brown hair, anchoring you in place.

He begins to move, yanking your head back and forth in a brutal, rhythmic cadence. Each thrust is a punishing shove that forces the air from your lungs, leaving you gasping and choking around him.

"Take it all, you little slut," he pants, his voice a slurring, degrading rasp. "Look at you... gagging on me while I've got you pinned. You love being used, don't you?"

He leans his weight forward, the sole of his boot grinding harder into your cunt, pressing you flat against the kitchen tiles. The friction of the leather against your soaked heat is blinding, a blunt pressure that makes your hips roll instinctively, trying to find some kind of release.

You fight through the gagging, tilting your head back to open your throat as much as possible. You wrap your lips tight around him, using your tongue to pull, trying to suck him deeper into your throat.

Dabi lets out a strangled sound—a mix of a groan and a snarl. The feeling of your throat tightening around him, the desperate attempt to take every inch, sends him over the edge. His grip on your hair turns bruising, his knuckles white as he forces the pace to a frantic, punishing speed.

"Fuck... you really are a little freak," he pants, his voice thick and slurring, the words barely intelligible. "Greedy little cunt... just swallowing it all..."

The slapping sound of his groin hitting your chin echoes in the small kitchen. He’s no longer teasing; he’s chasing a climax with a brutal, singular focus. Between the violent thrusts, he grinds the sole of his boot harder into your pussy, the rough leather dragging against your soaked walls, pressing you deeper into the cold tiles.

His breath comes in jagged, uneven hitches. He suddenly stops the movement, burying himself to the hilt one last time and holding it there, his body tensing with a sudden rigidity.

"I'm gonna... fuck... fill your face..."

"Fill me up... please..."

The plea is a muffled, wet sound against his skin, vibrating through the shaft of his cock. Dabi lets out a sharp, jagged groan, his body shuddering with the effort of holding back for just a few seconds longer. The sheer desperation in your voice, the way you're begging for the very thing that's choking you, seems to push him over the edge.

"Fuck... you're such a little slut," he says, his voice completely slurred now, heavy.

He abruptly yanks himself out of your mouth with a loud, wet pop. Before you can even blink, he’s repositioning himself, his hand gripping your hair to pull your face upward, tilting it at an agonizing angle.

The release is violent. Dabi lets out a sound, his hips snapping forward as he cums across your face. Thick, hot ropes of semen splatter across your cheeks, your nose, and your closed eyelids, the warmth of it contrasting sharply with the cold kitchen tiles beneath you.

He stays there for a moment, panting, his chest heaving as he watches the white fluid drip down your skin. He looks down at you with a look of absolute, sadistic ownership, a small, crooked smirk playing on his lips.

"There," he pants, his voice returning to a low, rough drawl. "Now you're marked."

Dabi doesn't offer a hand to help you up. Instead, he reaches down and grips your arm with a bruising force, hauling you off the kitchen floor in one rough motion. He doesn't care that you're still blinking through the wetness on your face or that your legs are shaking. He simply drags you toward the bedroom, his stride long and impatient, manhandling you like a piece of luggage he's tired of carrying.

As soon as you cross the threshold, he shoves you toward the mattress. There is no tenderness here, no slow build-up. He looms over you, his eyes dark and focused, the air around him shimmering with a sudden heat.

"Don't think you're done just because I finished once," he rasps, his voice a jagged, slurring edge.

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

🎮interactive fanfic "SELF INDULGENT - DABI" by gutmegood