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This Day16 of kinkober and is a collaboration with @wildandsmile. The prompt is fire play. Enjoy

The antique brass knob turned cold beneath his palm. Outside, rain lashed against the windowpanes like thrown gravel. Endeavor slid the bolt shut with a heavy *thunk*. "No interruptions tonight," he murmured, the low rumble of his voice cutting through the drumming downpour.

"You know," you said, tracing the condensation on the glass, "this storm reminds me of that awful gala in Osaka. The one where Hawks kept stealing your tempura." The rain blurred the city lights into smears of gold and crimson below. Endeavor's shadow swallowed half the room as he turned, his eyes flickering with contained embers. He didn't answer, just hooked a finger under the strap of your dress. The silk hissed against his calloused knuckles as it slid down your shoulder.

His palm settled low on your spine, heat blooming through the thin fabric. Not painful, yet, but a warning, like pavement baking in August. "Distractions," he growled, thumb pressing the dip above your tailbone. A spark leapt from his fingertips, searing a tiny hole in the dress lining. You gasped, arching into the sudden sting. The smell of singed cotton mixed with petrichor from the storm.

"Careful," you breathed, turning to face him fully. Rainwater streaked the window behind him, warping the fierce lines of his jaw. "This was vintage." Endeavor’s gaze dropped to the scorch mark, then lifted to yours. A slow, predatory smile spread across his face. Flames licked lazily along his forearms, casting dancing shadows on the ceiling. "Then take it off," he commanded, voice rough as gravel. "Before I reduce it to ash."

You obeyed, the silk pooling at your feet like liquid shadow. His hands found your bare waist instantly, searing brands against cool skin. Heat radiated from him in palpable waves, thick as the storm-laden air. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear. "You wanted Osaka?" he murmured, a spark dancing between his fingers. "Remember the fireworks display?" Suddenly, a controlled burst of flame erupted from his palm, not touching you, but close enough that the air shimmered violently, stealing your breath. The roar filled the room, echoing the thunder outside.

You gasped, stumbling back half a step onto the cool marble floor. Endeavor followed, relentless. His flames retreated, leaving only the intense warmth of his body pressed flush against yours. One large hand slid up your spine, igniting a trail of tingling heat beneath his fingertips without burning. "Too much?" he challenged, voice low and rough. His other hand traced your hipbone, a deliberate, slow circle where the skin felt suddenly hypersensitive. You shook your head mutely, arching into the touch.

Before you could speak, his arm hooked firmly beneath your knees, the other wrapping around your back. He lifted you effortlessly, the sudden shift making your stomach drop. Your arms instinctively locked around his neck, fingers tangling in the coarse hair at his nape. He didn't hesitate, turning towards the hallway leading deeper into the penthouse, his stride long and purposeful. The rain drummed harder against the windows, a frantic counterpoint to the deliberate thud of his boots on the floor.

His lips met yours mid-stride, a hard, claiming pressure that stole your breath more effectively than the flame had. It wasn't gentle; it was a demand, a continuation of the heat radiating from his skin. You tasted the faint, clean tang of ozone from his earlier display, mixed with the deeper, smokier essence that was uniquely *him*. His mouth moved against yours with controlled intensity, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips until you yielded, the kiss deepening into something molten and consuming.

He carried you through the archway into the darkened bedroom, the only light the intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the minimalist space in stark, silver bursts. The heavy downpour became a muffled roar against the thick glass walls. He didn't set you down gently. Instead, he lowered you onto the cool expanse of silk sheets with deliberate roughness, his body following yours instantly, pinning you beneath his solid weight. One hand anchored your wrist beside your head, his fingers hot bands against your skin.

"Fireworks," he repeated, his voice a low vibration against your throat. A controlled ribbon of flame, impossibly bright yellow at its core, snaked from his free hand. It hovered inches above your collarbone, tracing a slow, deliberate path down your sternum. The heat was intense, a focused beam that made your skin prickle and flush without burning, a terrifyingly precise tease. You arched instinctively towards the sensation, a gasp catching in your throat. "Endeavor—"

"*Enji*," he corrected sharply, the flame flickering dangerously close to your nipple. The yellow heat pulsed, making sweat bead instantly along your hairline. His thumb brushed the peak, rough and scorching through the phantom trail of fire. "Say it."

“E-Enji” You choked out his name, the syllables cracking like dry wood. He rewarded you by extinguishing the ribbon, leaving only the heavy imprint of his heat against your skin. His pinned wrist shifted, fingers interlacing with yours, a possessive anchor against the silk. "Better." Lightning flashed, illuminating the stark hunger in his eyes. "Now hold still."

He slid down your body with predatory grace. Calloused palms mapped your ribs, your waist, your hips, each touch deliberate, branding. His breath ghosted hot over your abdomen, lower, until the coarse red hair of his temple brushed your inner thigh. Rain hammered the glass walls like a drumroll. You felt the rumble in his chest before you heard the words vibrate against your skin: "Storm's loud tonight." His gaze flicked up, holding yours. "Need you louder."

A controlled tongue of flame, no thicker than a pencil, danced from his lips. It traced the delicate crease where thigh met hipbone, not burning, but radiating intense, focused heat that made muscles tremble. You cried out, fingers scrabbling uselessly against silk sheets. He chuckled, the sound dark and thick. "Good." The flame vanished instantly, replaced by the searing wet heat of his mouth. The suddenness punched the air from your lungs.

His hands gripped your hips, pinning you firmly as he worked. Every flick of his tongue, every scrape of teeth, was amplified by the lingering phantom heat, a cruel, delicious echo. You arched, trying to press closer, but his grip was iron. "Patience," he growled against you, the vibration thrumming deep. He pulled back just enough to watch your face, eyes blazing with contained fire. "You wanted Osaka? That night?" Another tiny flame sparked at his fingertip, hovering dangerously close to your core. "I recall you begged."

Lightning tore the sky, flooding the room with blinding white light. In that frozen instant, you saw the raw, unchecked hunger carved into his features—the hero stripped bare. Thunder cracked, shaking the windows. You gasped his name—"Enji!"—not a plea, but a challenge. His answering grin was feral. The flame vanished. He surged back up, claiming your mouth with bruising force, tasting of smoke and storm and you. His hands slid beneath you, lifting your hips as he aligned himself. The heat radiating from him now was primal, undeniable. "Beg properly," he commanded against your lips.

You arched, pressing flush against him. "Make me." The words were breathless, defiant. His low growl vibrated through your chest. He thrust deep in one powerful stroke, stealing your gasp. The sensation was electric, the sheer physicality of him, the impossible heat radiating from within, the possessive grip of his hands anchoring your hips. Rain lashed the glass walls in sheets, drowning everything but the ragged rhythm of your breaths and the slick, urgent sound of skin meeting skin. His pace was relentless, controlled fury, each movement driving sparks behind your eyelids.

His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling your head back sharply. "Louder," he commanded, his voice rough gravel against your ear. Flames ghosted along his bicep, casting flickering orange light across the sweat-slicked planes of his chest. The heat intensified, a focused wave washing over your throat, your collarbone, not burning, but amplifying every nerve ending. You cried out, the sound raw and echoing. He watched your face, eyes molten, satisfaction sharpening his features. "That's it."

His rhythm shifted, became deeper, more deliberate. Each powerful thrust drove the breath from your lungs, leaving you gasping. Then his thumb, calloused, impossibly hot—found your clit. It wasn't a gentle touch; it was a brand, a focused point of searing pressure that ignited instantly against the friction of his hips. You arched violently, a choked gasp turning into a ragged moan that tore from your throat. "Enji—!" His name was a plea, a curse, swallowed by the roar of the storm outside.

"Louder," he demanded again, his voice thick with exertion and triumph. The flames along his arm flared brighter, bathing the room in stark, shifting light. The heat intensified, not burning skin but amplifying sensation, every nerve ending screamed under the dual assault of his relentless movement and the scorching pressure of his thumb. Your vision blurred, sparks dancing at the edges. "I said *louder*," he growled, punctuating the command with a sharp grind of his hips.

You gasped, arching off the sheets as the coil inside you tightened unbearably. The storm outside seemed to pause, holding its breath. His name tore from your throat, raw, desperate, stripped of defiance. "Enji! Please—" The plea dissolved into a ragged cry as his rhythm shifted, deeper and punishingly deliberate. He watched you unravel, satisfaction sharpening the fierce lines of his face. "That's it," he rasped, flames flickering wildly in his eyes. "Let go."

His thumb pressed harder, a searing brand against hypersensitive flesh. The world fractured into pure sensation, the relentless drive of his hips, the impossible heat radiating from his skin, the slick slide of sweat between your bodies. Lightning flashed again, freezing him above you like a statue carved from fire and hunger. Thunder cracked, shaking the room. You shattered, crying out as waves of white-hot pleasure crashed through you, dragging him deeper into the tumult.

He followed instantly, a low roar tearing from his chest as he buried himself to the hilt. Flames erupted uncontrolled along his shoulders, casting wild, leaping shadows across the ceiling before he wrestled them back down. His body shuddered against yours, the heat intensifying to a furnace blast for one breathless moment, then slowly subsided into a deep, radiating warmth. He collapsed heavily, pinning you beneath his weight, his breath hot and ragged against your neck. Rain continued its frantic rhythm against the glass.

Silence settled, thick and charged, broken only by the storm and the slowing cadence of your breathing. His hand, still impossibly warm, slid possessively across your stomach, fingers splaying wide. He didn't speak, didn't move beyond the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. The heat *inside* you was profound, a lingering echo of his quirk, not the searing pain of fire, but a deep, pervasive warmth radiating outward, settling into your bones like sunlight absorbed by stone. It felt less like aftermath and more like a brand, a claim sunk deep.

His lips found the damp curve of your shoulder blade, a slow press rather than a kiss. It was deliberate, almost thoughtful. Then, with a deliberate slowness that felt agonizingly drawn out, he withdrew. The sensation was acute, a sudden, visceral emptiness where there had been solid heat and pressure, leaving you feeling strangely hollow and exposed against the cool silk. A low sound escaped you, involuntary, caught somewhere between protest and relief. He shifted his weight, pulling back just enough to look down at you.

Enji surveyed the scene: the tangled sheets, the damp skin gleaming faintly in the storm-light, the faint scorch marks on the silk near your hip where his control had briefly frayed. His gaze wasn't critical; it was assessing, like a commander surveying a battlefield after victory. A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, utterly self-possessed. His thumb brushed a bead of sweat tracing a path down your temple. "Don’t worry," he said, his voice a low rumble, thick with exertion yet utterly calm. His eyes, still lit with banked embers, held yours. "I’ll help you clean up."

He didn't hesitate. Shifting his weight lower, his broad shoulders blocked the intermittent lightning flashes. His hands slid beneath your thighs, lifting your hips slightly off the silk. There was no preamble, no teasing delay. His tongue, broad and startlingly hot, swept through you in one deliberate, possessive stroke. The sensation was immediate and profound: a searing, wet heat that chased the lingering tremors still echoing through your nerves, amplifying them instead of soothing. You gasped, fingers twisting into the sheets. He hummed against you, the vibration resonating deep within, a low counterpoint to the drumming rain.

"Still sensitive?" The words vibrated against your inner thigh, thick with dark amusement. He didn't wait for an answer. His tongue pressed flat, applying firm, focused pressure that made your hips jerk involuntarily against his grip. His thumbs dug into the soft flesh of your inner thighs, holding you open, utterly exposed. "Good." He resumed, slower this time, each deliberate lap a brand against oversensitized flesh. The rhythm was relentless, unhurried, a focused intensity that built pressure anew, coiling deep in your belly despite the recent climax.

His nose bumped your clit, a rough, unexpected pressure that drew a sharp cry from you. He lingered there, breathing hotly against the swollen bud before flattening his tongue again, dragging it slowly upwards with agonizing thoroughness. The heat was everywhere, inside, where his tongue probed, and radiating from his skin pressed against your trembling thighs. "Enji," you gasped, fingers clawing at the silk beneath you. "I can't—" He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, eyes molten gold in the storm-lit gloom. "You will." His thumb replaced his tongue, circling your clit with scorching, precise friction. "Cleanliness requires completion."

A low groan tore from your throat as the coil tightened violently. He watched your face intently, the predatory focus unwavering as his tongue dipped lower again, lapping at the slickness he’d drawn out. Each stroke was possessive, claiming, turning cleanup into conquest. You arched helplessly against his grip, the pressure building beyond bearing. His thumb pressed harder, a searing pinpoint of heat. "That’s it," he rumbled against your thigh, the vibration thrumming through bone. "Give it to me."

You cried out, sharp and ragged, as the second wave crashed over you, less shattering than the first, but deeper, a slow, molten flood that left your limbs trembling. He didn’t relent, drawing out every pulse until your hips jerked weakly against his mouth. Only then did he lift his head, lips glistening, eyes reflecting the storm’s intermittent flashes like banked coals. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the gesture starkly utilitarian. "Beautiful," he stated, voice gravel-rough.

Enji shifted beside you, the mattress dipping under his weight. He pulled you against him without ceremony, one heavy arm draping possessively across your waist. Your back pressed flush to the furnace-heat of his chest, skin sticking slightly where sweat hadn’t cooled. Rain drummed steadily against the glass, a muffled rhythm now. His breath stirred the damp hair at your nape, slow, deep inhalations that felt like the settling of a great engine. "Quiet," he murmured, though it wasn’t a command. It was an observation. The storm’s fury had gentled; only the persistent tap-tap of runoff remained.

“You’re still buying me a new dress,” you mumbled into the pillow, voice muffled but sharp-edged. The scorch mark near your hipbone stood out stark against flushed skin, a tiny, precise ruin on silk sheets. Enji’s chuckle vibrated against your spine, low and resonant. “Already ordered.” His thumb traced the burn’s outline, a proprietary touch. “Black. Silk. Cut to the thigh.” Lightning flashed, illuminating his smirk. “I’ll enjoy tearing that one off too.”

Day 5 - Fire Places || Fuzzy Socks, Soft Rugs, and Hands Intertwined

Fandom: The Dark Knight Pairing: Joker x Reader Genre: Dark Romance | Fire Play

Short and Sweet

The fire crackled rhythmically in the hearth, its gentle popping sounds forming a comforting soundtrack that filled the cozy space. The flames danced merrily, casting a warm and flickering glow throughout the dimly lit room, transforming the shadows into shifting forms that flicked along the walls. The ambiance wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, soothing and intimate. The only other sounds accompanying the fire were the soft shuffle of your fuzzy socks against the plush rug that cradled your feet, the fibers a gentle embrace against your skin.