FRIENDLY REMINDER THAT you are allowed to feel proud of yourself for things that might seem silly to other people, like getting better at a video game or putting together a nice outfit for the next morning or finishing a book. You deserve to feel proud for your accomplishment.
It's important to show that you care. Fuck being nonchalant. Text first, send multiple messages in a row. Tell them what they mean to you, be honest about how you feel. Tell your friends that you love them. Love is a gift that can be given away freely, by anyone and to anyone. Show that you care.
You had no business looking as good as you did in a room full of stuck-up Jujutsu higher-ups and overpaid sorcerers. But your husband told you to be on your best behavior, and you were nothing if not obedient—except when it came to pushing his buttons.
You’d warned him you’d be bored. Told him in the car, with a playful smile and legs crossed just a little too high. But Nanami, ever the responsible one, insisted on attending the stupid gala.
“You only have to look pretty and behave, sweetheart.” he’d said.
You did one of those things.
“Kento,” you’d murmured sweetly, brushing fake lint off his thigh beneath the pristine tablecloth.
He didn’t respond—just gave you a side glance through his glasses and returned to sipping his champagne.
So you reached higher.
Your palm settled right over the hard line of his cock through his tailored slacks, fingers pressing in just enough to remind him you knew exactly what you were doing. You felt him tense beneath your touch, heard the subtle shift in his breath—not quite a gasp, but close.
Then his hand came down over yours. Not harsh. Not reprimanding.
Just firm—grounding—like he was reminding you, gently, that even in play, you were toeing a line only he got to draw.
His thumb stroked over your knuckles once. Slow. Tender.
He leaned in, lips barely brushing the shell of your ear, his voice velvet-smooth and low enough to make your stomach flip.
“Careful, Sweetheart,” he murmured. “You keep touching me like that, and I’m going to forget we’re not alone.”
You smiled, just a little, but then he still brushed you off. Calm as always, and not giving you the attention you needed.
So You squeezed.
And He set his glass down too carefully.
“You have five seconds,” he said under his breath, voice so low and even you almost missed it, “to move your hand, before I make good on every promise I’ve ever made about punishing you.”
You didn’t move it. You smiled, resting your chin on your hand like an angel while your palm cupped him through fine wool.
And Nanami didn’t speak again.
He stood up so suddenly that your chair scraped the floor. He didn’t offer an explanation, didn’t excuse himself—just looked down at you with that controlled, calm, expressionless face and said,
“Stand up Sweetheart, Now.”
Heat flooded your body as you followed him, your heels clicking softly against marble floors. You could feel the stares. No one would say anything—not to Nanami Kento. But everyone noticed.
He opened the door, shoved you inside, and locked it behind him with a harsh click.
Then silence.
You barely had time to gasp before he had you pinned against the wall, one strong hand around your throat—not tight, just there, just enough to feel the weight of it—while his mouth hovered next to your ear.
“You think this is funny?” he growled, voice calm but sharp enough to cut. “Grabbing me like some desperate little slut at a fucking gala? Huh? Grabbing my cock like a needy whore while we’re surrounded by people?”
Your lips parted, breathless. “You didn’t say I couldn’t—”
The slap was loud, echoing off tile—not to your face, but to your ass, bare under your dress. You yelped, gripping his shoulders.
“Smart mouth,” he muttered. “You’re getting real comfortable forgetting your place.”
“And what place is that?”
He spun you around and bent you over the counter, pushing your back down with one hand and yanking your dress up with the other, exposing your lace panties already soaked through.
“You’re my wife,” he said, dragging them down your legs. “No need to act like a stupid whore around people, to get touched by your husband.”
You gasped as he spat directly between your thighs and smeared it into your folds with two thick fingers.
“You’re already wet,” he said, amused and unimpressed. “Figures. You’re always so willingly for me, baby.”
He sank one finger in, then two, without ceremony, without warming you up—but you were already soaking, hips twitching for more.
He curled them just right, then added a third, thick and brutal. You whimpered—and he covered your mouth instantly.
“You want everyone outside to hear what kind of needy little thing you are?” he murmured, fucking you slow and deep with his fingers. “You want them to know how soaked you were just from putting your hand on my cock under a dinner table?”
You shook your head—barely. His hand pressed harder against your mouth.
“Liar,” he whispered. “You wanted to get caught.”
You did. God, you really did.
Nanami pulled his fingers out, and you thought he was going to put them in your mouth. Instead, he shoved them into his mouth, groaning softly at the taste of you.
Then he undid his belt. You heard it drop, heavy and slow, and you nearly moaned from the sound alone.
Then He pushed inside you in one brutal thrust.
No warning. No teasing. Just his cock splitting you open as your palms scrambled for purchase on the cool counter.
“Fucking tight,” he gritted out. “Like you didn’t just spend twenty minutes with your hand in my lap acting like a little brat.”
He pounded into you, cockhead slamming deep, hitting that perfect spot inside you over and over as he growled through his teeth and gripped your hips like he could break them.
“You embarrass me in public again,” he said, dragging his cock almost all the way out before slamming it back in, “and I will bend you over the dinner table next time. Right in front of everyone.”
You keened at the thought—at the filthy visual of Nanami Kento calmly fucking you stupid in front of all the stone-faced Jujutsu elites, not even breaking eye contact as you cried and begged.
“You like that?” he bit out. “Of course you do. You’d let me use you anywhere, wouldn’t you?”
You nodded frantically, tears in your eyes from how deep he was. How full you felt.
“Say it.”
“I’d let you—f-fuck me anywhere, Kento—”
He grunted, shoved a hand in your hair, and yanked your head back to speak right in your ear.
“Because you’re mine,” he growled. “Not just some needy bitch who wants attention. My wife. Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasped. “Yours, your wife—, fuck, I’m yours—”
His hand slid down and slapped your clit once—hard—and you almost collapsed from the jolt that ripped through you.
“Come, pretty girl” he ordered. “Now.”
You did—violently, without warning—your body locking up, your legs shaking so hard you nearly slipped to the floor. Your orgasm hit like a wave, ripping a cry from your throat that he barely muffled with his palm over your mouth.
Nanami didn’t stop. Didn’t pause. He just fucked you through it, now almost savage in his rhythm, cock slick with your release as he continued to fuck into you.
“you’ll walk out with my cum dripping out of you,” he muttered. “that’s what you wanted, right Sweetheart?”
You clenched hard at that. He laughed, dark and low.
“You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Walking past Gojo with my seed running down your thighs?”
You were incoherent now, just moaning, drooling into his hand, pussy clenching around him as he finally lost his rhythm—jerking, grunting—and came deep inside you with a quiet curse.
His hips pressed flush, his cock twitching, filling you with hot, sticky warmth.
You both stayed there for a moment—panting, shaking, bodies pressed together as your slick dripped to the floor.
Nanami leaned in and kissed your shoulder.
“…my love,” he said softly.
You giggled, still bent over the counter. “I love you.”
He pulled out slow, and you whimpered at the loss, at the warm drip of cum trailing down your thighs.
„I love you too, baby“
Nanami cleaned you up silently—ever the gentleman—using a handful of paper towels and cold water before helping you back into your panties, which were ruined, soaked with slick and cum.
“I’m not wearing those,” you murmured.
“No,” he said, pocketing them. “You’re not.”
You stared at him.
“You’re going to walk back out there,” he said, adjusting his tie, “with my cum still inside you. If you leak, you leak.“
You trembled.
He kissed you sweetly—slow and deep.
“Smile, darling,” he said at the door. “You started this.”
I want to thank every author on here who is doing the Kinktober. Even if it’s a community I’m not a part of, I will be ready to like and repost every single one. May both sides of your pillow be cold. May your food from the microwave always be hot and ready.
titsay
baratheonpilled
romaincrisis
izzy806
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
