Kento sleeping on the sofa seems to be a sign that attracts his children with him...
✦ ⎯⎯ㅤִㅤ୭ ୨♡୧ ৎㅤִ ⎯⎯ ✦
Kento comes home tired, with that quiet exhaustion that doesn’t complain. He takes off his watch, carefully folds his jacket, and almost without realizing it, ends up lying face down on the couch, one arm hanging loose, his breathing deep and steady. He didn’t plan to fall asleep… but his body decides for him.
And as if it were an unwritten law, the children feel it.
The oldest arrives first, the boy. He already understands that dad needs to rest, so he doesn’t wake him. He sits carefully on the floor beside Kento’s head, his back against the couch. He pulls out a book or a quiet toy. Sometimes, without thinking, he rests his hand over Kento’s, like an anchor.
Then the girls arrive. One by one.
One climbs onto his back with extreme care, as if stepping onto sacred ground. She settles between his shoulder blades, using her father as a warm mattress. Another curls up at his side, her cheek against his shoulder. The youngest tries to copy the others and ends up half on top of him, half sideways, breathing slowly.
Kento doesn’t move, he only lets out a deeper sigh. Because even asleep, he knows. He knows his children are there. He knows they trust him without question.
And his body, large and steady, becomes what it has always been for them: a refuge.
Sometimes he murmurs something in his sleep.
A barely audible “It’s okay.”
A name. No one startles. No one moves.
Because dad is there.
And you watch them from the doorway, your chest tight with love, seeing how your four children gather around Kento as if he were the center of the world. And maybe he is.
Because to them, Kento Nanami is not just their father. He is warmth. He is safety. He is the place where the world stops hurting.
And when he wakes up, his body stiff, one girl asleep on his back, another holding his arm, the oldest still at his side…
cw: 18+, explicit sexual content, choking, rough sex, degrading language, power dynamics, toxic communication, possessiveness, soft aftercare. m.list.
You’re fighting again. Loud enough for the neighbors to hear it through the fucking walls, probably. But at this point, you don’t even care.
“You don’t tell me shit, Nanami!” you yell, arms crossed as you trail him into the kitchen. “You just vanish for a week on ‘assignment,’ and then act like I’m crazy for asking questions!”
He slams the fridge closed hard enough to rattle the glass. “And you act like a spoiled brat every time I don’t tell you something,” he snaps. “It’s classified. You knew that when you started fucking a sorcerer.”
“Oh, so now I’m just someone you fuck?” you hiss, eyebrows raised. “Cute. Didn’t realize that’s all I was—”
“Don’t start,” he warns, tone cold.
You do start. Of course you do. “Don’t start?” you echo, letting out a laugh. “You mean don’t ask questions? Or don’t get upset when you treat me like shit?”
Nanami turns around slow. His jaw tight, lips pressed into a flat line like he’s holding back the full weight of what he wants to say. “Careful,” he warns again.
You tilt your head, biting down on your bottom lip. “What? You gonna run off again? Maybe tell Gojo I’ve got too much attitude this week and beg him for a reassignment?”
“I’m not going to let you twist my words into some pathetic little performance of insecurity just because you’re mad I didn’t call,” he growls, stepping in close, crowding you back toward the couch with effortless force. “You want to fight? Fine. Let’s fight.”
He shoves you, sending you stumbling back until your knees hit the edge of the cushions. You fall with a frustrated gasp, eyes wide as he stalks toward you, loosening his tie.
“You think fucking me’ll fix the fact that you lie to me?” you fire back, even as your legs part instinctively when he steps between them. “You really think your cock is that magical?”
His hands are on you before you can blink—one gripping your jaw tight, forcing your chin up so your eyes stay locked on his. The other grabs the collar of your tank top and rips it down the middle, the sound obscene. “You don’t get to talk to me like that,” he growls. “Put your hands behind your back.”
You grin, “What’s that, Nanami? Hm?”
And then he’s kneeling between your thighs, spreading them wide, not giving you a second to breathe before he’s burying his face between them. “I said, ‘Put. Your. Hands. Behind. Your. Back.”
“Nanami—!” you gasp, back arching off the couch as his mouth closes over your clit, hot and unrelenting, tongue flicking just right, just fast as you reach for him, bury your fingers in his hair, but he grabs your wrists again, pinning them above your head with one hand, never once pulling away from you.
You’re writhing now, thighs trembling with your arms straining against the iron grip he has around your wrists. “Nanami—fuck—” you sob out, voice wrecked, like you're still trying to argue through the pleasure.
He groans low against your cunt, “Keep talking,” he murmurs, lips slick with you. “I dare you.”
You whimper, nails digging into the couch cushions where your hands are pinned. "Y-You're still an asshole," you pant, even as your legs shake. "Still treating me like—like I’m something to control, not someone you—"
He pulls back just enough to look up at you, chin wet, hair a little disheveled now—gold tie hanging loose, glasses slightly askew. “Not someone I what, sweetheart?” he asks mockingly. “Careful now. Choose your next insult wisely.”
“Not someone you love,” you throw back. The moment the words leave your mouth, his expression looks hurt—and for a second, you think maybe you pushed too far.
But his hands—grabbing your hips and flipping you over like you weigh nothing, yanking your shorts and ruined tank down and off, dragging your ass up until you’re on your knees, cheek smashed into the cushion.
“You want to know if I love you?” he growls, lining up behind you, cock dragging through your soaked folds without warning.
“This is mine,” he mutters into your shoulder, voice hoarse. “You think I’d risk my life every damn week if I didn’t love you, you insufferable little brat?”
You barely manage a gasp before he thrusts into you, “I hate you” you moan, eyes half-lidded as you rock your ass back into him. He drives into you again—again—relentless. He leans forward, one hand sliding up your spine, wrapping around your throat as he presses his chest to your back.
“Good,” he growls. “Hate me more. Fucking take it.” You try to bite your lip, to keep quiet, to hold something back, but your whimpers and moans escape you.
He exhales a curse, hips still rocking—slower now. “You want the truth?” he rasps, voice gone rough. “I lose sleep over you. I count the fucking hours I’m away. I come home half-dead just to make sure you’re still here.”
He pulls you up by your throat again, your back flush against his chest now, “You gonna come?” he grits, grabbing your jaw again, angling your face toward his. “Or are you too busy trying to prove a point?”
Your laugh is a sob. “Can’t—can’t think—”
“That’s my girl.” He fucks into you harder, deeper.
You come again with his name in your throat, choked on a sob that melts into a moan. He follows moments later, grinding deep, filling you up with a rough groan of your name and something like I’m sorry whispered into your shoulder.
Later, as you're curled into his chest, boneless and exhausted, you mutter, “Next time just send a text or something.”
He sighs. “Next time, stop picking fights just because you want to get fucked.”
You grin. “No promises.”
You expect him to pull away. But his arms wrap around your waist instead. He kisses the back of your neck and buries his face there. You blink tears from your eyes. “I hate how much I love you,” you murmur back.
He hums softly against your skin. “Good. We’re even.”
𓏲˚ ۪ ❤︎⊹. Older!Nanami trying to understand his younger!gf
“Explain it to me again, darling.” Your husband says in confusion, sleep laced in his voice and making it sound even deeper. “You are crying because your teddy fell on the floor?”
“No! I’m crying because our child fell to her death and neither of us were there to save her,” you defend quickly, brows furrowing as you pout, gaze fixed on Nanami as your arms remain firmly wrapped around the soft toy.
Even in the dark room, you could see the utter confusion on his face, blinking sleepily before looking at the time. “Okay, darling. Well, she’s safe now, yeah? You can cuddle her to sleep again and I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”
You don’t budge from your seated position, the occasional tear still slipping down your cheeks. You frown. You wanted to protest that you weren’t a child despite him treating you like one but truthfully, what he said comforted you more than what anything else would have done.
With a huff, you slip underneath the covers again and snuggle into Kento, burying your head deep into his warm chest.
“We will cuddle her to sleep. And she will forgive us.”
“Of course, my darling. I’ll make her breakfast tomorrow as well,” he mumbles, delirious from lack of sleep.
A few days later, your teddy somehow manages to interfere with Nanami’s love life again. First cuddling, now sex.
“Nghh- kenny you feel sooo good,” you babble and grip the pillow in front of you, eyes rolling into the back of your head in pleasure. In speedbump, Nanami leans over you and presses his chest against your back, groaning right next to your ear as his hips thrust at a consistent pace.
When you lift your head again and look to the right, you see your teddy staring at you. Cute, innocent eyes having to witness such a vulgar act.
You reach one hand back, clumsily tapping Nanami on the side as you try and form a coherent sentence. “Ken… can you- hmgh- kenny move her.”
Nanami follows your gaze to the teddy sat on the side of the bed. His movements slow down to a stop. “Move her?”
You nod. “Mhm. She can’t watch us.”
“Darling, it’s a teddy.”
You whip your head around to glare at him. “So? That’s our child. We can’t traumatise her by having sex in front of her. Just turn her around.”
Nanami quietly sighs before leaning over and turning the teddy one-eighty degrees. “Is that better?”
the oven timer beeped right as the front door clicked open. you wiped flour-dusted hands on your apron, already moving toward the hallway before the beep had fully died out.
"hey, handsome," you called, rounding the corner just as nanami stepped inside. his tie was slightly loosened, his sleeves rolled to the elbows—small signs of a long day finally unwinding. he blinked at you, then at the faint scent of vanilla wafting from the kitchen, and something in his expression softened.
"hello, my love," nanami replied, his voice low and warm like the oven you'd just left. his briefcase hit the floor with a soft thud as he reached for you, one broad hand settling at the small of your back. you could feel the heat of his palm through the thin fabric of your apron.
he didn’t say anything else, just pressed his nose against your temple and inhaled deeply, his breath hot against your skin. you laughed, tilting your head to give him more room. “long day?”
"mm," he murmured, lips grazing your jawline. his other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing absently over the smear of flour you’d missed near your ear. you could feel the tension in his shoulders, the way his body leaned into yours like he was borrowing your warmth. "you baked."
you hummed, sliding your fingers under his loosened tie to tease the first button of his shirt.
"wanted to make something sweet for you." his exhale was sharp when your knuckles brushed the hollow of his throat. the oven beeped again, an insistent reminder—but neither of you moved.
nanami’s grip tightened at your waist, pressing you closer until the starched fabric of his shirt rumpled against your apron. his mouth found the curve of your neck, open and wet, and you gasped when his teeth scraped lightly over your pulse. "kento—the cookies—"
"let them burn," he growled, and then his hands were under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly against him. your legs locked around his hips on instinct, heels knocking against his perfectly tailored slacks as he carried you backward toward the kitchen. the counter dug into your lower back when he set you down, but you barely noticed—not when he was shoving the apron up your thighs, his palms rough against your bare skin.
your breath hitched as nanami’s fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your thighs with a slow, deliberate tug. the cool air of the kitchen kissed your exposed skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his gaze—dark and intent, like he was mapping every inch of you.
"kento," you breathed, fingers tangling in his hair as he dropped to his knees between your legs. his palms smoothed up your calves, then higher, thumbs pressing into the softness of your inner thighs to spread you wider.
"you taste so sweet," he murmured, voice rough as he leaned in, his breath ghosting over your damp skin. the first lick was slow, deliberate—a teasing drag of his tongue that had your hips jerking forward. nanami chuckled, the sound vibrating against you, and his grip tightened to keep you still.
"impatient," he chided, but there was no real scold in it, just that low, honeyed warmth that always coiled low in your belly.
his mouth was relentless after that, alternating between broad, languid strokes and sharp, focused flicks that had your toes curling against the tile. every sound you made—every gasp, every whimper—only spurred him on, his fingers digging bruises into your skin as he dragged you closer to the edge.
"love you like this," he rasped between kisses, lips glistening. "love you messy, love you unwashed—fuck, you’re perfect."
the oven beeped again, a distant, forgotten noise as you arched into him, fingers tightening in his hair. nanami groaned against you, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure up your spine.
"that’s it, sweetheart," he murmured, dragging his tongue over you in a way that made your vision blur. "come for me.
your thighs trembled around nanami’s shoulders as his tongue pressed deeper, relentless in its rhythm—every flick and curl deliberate, every breath he exhaled against your skin sending shivers up your spine. the countertop was cold beneath your palms, but you barely registered it, too focused on the heat of his mouth, the way his thumbs dug into your hips to keep you from squirming away.
"kento," you gasped, voice breaking as his teeth grazed your inner thigh, a sharp contrast to the softness of his lips just moments before.
"say it again," he demanded, voice rough, and when you moaned his name louder, he rewarded you with a slow, torturous lick that had your back arching off the counter. the apron tangled between your legs, bunched up in his fists as he dragged you closer, until you could feel the scratch of his stubble against your skin.
"god, you’re sweet," he muttered, lips moving against you as he spoke. "could eat you for hours."
you clutched at his hair, tugging slightly, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you as his grip tightened. "close?" he asked, voice thick, and when you nodded frantically, he hummed in satisfaction, lips curling into a smirk against your skin.
then his fingers joined his mouth, pressing inside with the same slow, deliberate precision, and you shattered, a broken cry tearing from your throat as your hips jerked against his face. nanami didn’t let up, drinking you in as you came, his free hand sliding up to press against your stomach, pinning you to the counter as you trembled.
"good girl," he murmured, finally pulling back to press a kiss to your inner thigh, his breath hot against your oversensitive skin. "so good for me."
you slumped forward, barely catching yourself on his shoulders as your legs threatened to give out. nanami stood in one smooth motion, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct. his mouth found yours, deep and possessive, and you could taste yourself on his tongue—sweet and faintly salty, mingling with the vanilla still clinging to your skin.
"missed you," he admitted against your lips, voice quieter now, almost tender.
the kiss broke with a soft, wet sound, and nanami pressed his forehead to yours, his breath still warm against your lips. the kitchen smelled like burnt sugar now—somewhere between the oven’s forgotten cookies and the heat still radiating off both of you. you laughed, breathless, and he smiled, just a little quirk of his lips, before pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth.
“you’re ridiculous,” you murmured, fingers combing through his hair where you’d missed it moments earlier. his tie was completely undone now, hanging loose around his neck, and his shirt was wrinkled beyond repair. nanami didn’t seem to care, his hands still firm on your thighs as he held you against him.
OlderBoyfriend! Kento Nanami, posted on his instagram??..
you’d recently taught your older boyfriend, Kento, how to use Instagram so you could tag him in posts and stories of the two of you. But you never expected him to eventually engage in posting online, so it was a surprise when you refreshed your feed, only to find a short video of your boyfriend lifting weights at his gym, with an ancient heavy metal song overlapping the background noise he didn’t mute.
And lord behold, he has over fifty thousand likes on all his posts, equaling up to four. Four singular posts. And he's already on top-charts of instagram, without hashtags, and only one previous follower, you.
You currently were sitting in the living room of the shared apartment you'd bought with him a while back, sliding off the couch and walking to the bathroom where he was showering, since he'd just got home from the just mentioned gym.
You knock on the bathroom door, before walking into the steam filled room, shower running and fan on. “Baby.” you say, pulling the curtain aside, staring at him.
Kento wipes his face of water and turns to you, a small concerned frown on his face as he sees your odd expression, “sweetheart, are you alright?” he says quickly, turning the knobs of the shower to stop the water.
You held up your phone that was displaying his page, “you didn't tell me you started posting videos?” you say, legs shifting slightly as you spoke, and of course, he noticed.
He grabs his towel and wraps it around his waist, stepping out and taking the phone out of your hand and putting it down on the countertop softly, pulling you into a small embrace, looking down at you, “is that the matter, darling?” he mumbles, kissing the top of your head, “I’ll delete them if you'd like, i just thought other men would like to see the process-”
You stop him, placing your fingers to squish his lips together, “I’m just surprised you didn't tell me, that's all, I’m not mad.” you say quietly, “but I do want you to put my username in your bio.” you finish, kissing his cheek and letting him go.
neighbor!nanami fixing your car and earning himself a cute date!
“can you hand me the screwdriver?” your neighbor, nanami kento, asked. he wiped his sweat dappled forehead using his shirt that he’d tossed aside, standing across from you shirtless as sweat dripped down his chest.
you almost couldn’t hear what he’d said, way too busy staring at him because what the hell?
that morning, before you’d driven off to the cafe, with all the easiness of a deserved off day for you’d worked nonstop all through the week, you were happy and content and peaceful.
until your gaze caught up on the steam creeping across the cool floor beneath the hood. and let out a horrified scream loud enough to wake the whole neighborhood up.
which, was also the reason your neighbor, nanami kento ended up on your garage, shirtless and sweating.
he talked about some hose clamp and how it loosened, but honestly, you were way too focused staring at his biceps to comprehend what he’d just said.
as he tightened the clamp, he uttered a silent “fuck,” his knuckles splashed with coolant and the warm breeze upon his bare chest made him slightly shiver. ‘this,’ you thought, ‘is the hottest thing i’ve ever seen.’
“what can i help with?” you asked him, purely out of courtesy. kento breathed heavily as he leaned into the car, his arms tightening along. at the beginning you’d wondered if it was that necessary for him to take his shirt off, now thinking again, it certainly was needed. it was a necessity. your eyes lingered on his arms.
“nothing really— it’s almost over anyway.” he muttered under his breath, his muscles still flexing along his every move. “that must’ve scared you.” he added.
“yeah, honestly, once i saw that steam i almost thought the car was gonna blow up.”
he laughed with a strained voice, and you thought how the dry summer air must’ve been making it unbearable, let alone the heated breeze fluttering through the garage here and there.
“thank you, really, you didn’t have to do this.” you kind of felt guilty about how he was wasting his whole weekend morning on fixing your car, but then again, it was him who’d rushed out of his house once he’d heard you scream. with his mug full of coffee on his hand. and his surprisingly cute slippers.
well, you’ve always known that he had a rather unique approach on fashion.
“don’t mention it. i had nothing better to do anyway.” he smiled up at you, his cheeks reddened with a slight flush. his hair was messy in a way that made your heart throb.
“hmm.” you tilted your head to watch him as the leak stopped dripping and he slowly rose up, the warm breeze rippled through the branches across the garage and summer sun stretched across his flushed skin with a soft glow.
he was finished. probably.
“really, thank you so much nanami-“ you tried but he cut you off.
“kento. please.” the words tumbled out as he ruffled his hair with a nervous urgency. although you’d been familiar with each other through years of silent good mornings and shy attempts at conversation, you’d never crossed that invisible distance before. you smiled warmly upon his words.
‘fuck, just go for it,’ you cheered for yourself. there was no way you were letting that shirtless man leave.
“thank you so much kento. genuinely-“ you bit your lip, “actually, i was just about to get my morning coffee. there’s a really nice place i know nearby. how about,” you fidgeted with your hands. “a thank you coffee? my treat.”
you breathed out the last words with such haste that even you couldn’t comprehend what you’d said for a few seconds.
“well, that’s a bit generous for just fixing your car, isn’t it?” he laughed gently.
“a coffee?”
“you.” oh.
with heat creeping into your skin, you giggled, avoiding his gaze. “no, i think i’d say it’s exactly what you’ve earned.”
he, again, breathed out a laugh as he shook his head. wearing his shirt back, with a muffled voice he said, “i don’t think i could ever say no to that.”
“I want mama!” your son screams, tears filling up his eyes—the same color as Nanami’s.
And speaking of Nanami…he feels helpless.
The boy won’t stop crying, won’t stop calling for you. His little face is red and scrunched up, his cheeks wet, chest heaving with each shaky breath. You’d told him you’d be gone for a few hours—explained it gently, with a kiss to his forehead and a promise that Papa would take care of everything. But none of it seemed to matter.
You’re gone and his world feels like it’s ended.
“Please, baby…Mum will be back any time soon.” Nanami spares a glance at the clock, in thirty minutes you’d be here. “Should we finish your meal in the meantime, mh?” He tries, voice tight, panic folding over his usual calm.
But your son only screams louder, fists pounding the highchair tray, tears flowing freely.
It’s been hours, and Nanami has come to the conclusion that : he doesn’t want me.
He stares at his son’s red, tear-slicked face. There’s no hatred in it, just unfiltered, helpless longing.
“I want Mamaaaaaa!!” Nanami flinches. Exactly, the toddler is longing for you.
The little boy’s small chest rises and falls in erratic sobs, hiccupping on the edge of breathlessness.
Nanami exhales slowly through his nose. You can do this, he tells himself. You’re his father. You can do this.
So, he tries.
He pulls out the little wooden train you carved together one weekend. Places it on the floor. “Do you want to show Papa how fast it goes again?” he asks, voice as gentle as possible.
No response.
He tries the animal book—the one with flaps and texture that always make him giggle. “Tell Papa where’s the lion. Can you find the lion for me?”
Nothing.
Just a heartbreaking, hoarse little “Mama…”
Nanami even tries to put on the cartoon with the talking blue bear. The one your son usually dances to.
As nothing seems to work, Kento feels his heart breaking inch by inch. He picks him up despite the flailing little arms, holds him against his chest, firm but not tight, like you’ve teached him.
His son won’t stop. Not even a little. The screams turn into an open-mouthed wail, the kind that turns cheeks purple and voices raw for hours.
Nanami’s hands tremble slightly. He sits down on the floor with the boy in his lap, gently cradling him, head bowed. He’s never felt this powerless.
Not during cursed missions, not under pressure—but here, in his own home, with his child breaking apart in his arms… He feels not enough.
Not soft enough.
Not warm enough.
Not you.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers into the crown of his son’s head. “I’m trying. Papa’s trying so hard.”
And that’s when the front door creaks open. “I’m home!”
And just like that, your son’s head snaps up from where he’s been sobbing into Nanami’s lap. Your husband doesn’t even have the time to rise to his feet that the boy is squirming violently in his arms, “mama! Mama! MAMA!!” Nanami lets him go without resistance. He stands slowly as your son flings himself into your arms when you appear in the doorway.
Concern is written all over your face. “I’m here, baby. I’m here…” you look up and see Nanami standing a few feet away, shoulders sagging, eyes tired behind his glasses.
“he’s been crying for hours,” he says softly. “didn’t want anything from me. Wouldn’t eat. Wouldn’t play.”
You nod as your rubs your son’s back. “I’m sorry. He’s just been going through this clingy phase.”
“I know.” Nanami offers a tired smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “it’s okay.”
Later, after dinner and a bath your son is finally asleep, curled on your side of the shared bed, clutching one of your shirts tightly, your scent comforting him.
Nanami stands in the doorway, arms crosses, watching the soft rise and fall of your kid. You come up behind him, circling his waist with your arms, letting your cheek rest on his strong back.
One of his hands intertwin with yours. “He wouldn’t even let me hold him,” he says, barely above a whisper. “I’ve never felt that…useless before.”
“Kento…”
“I know he’s still small. I know it’s not personal. But…” he pauses, swallowing hard. “I tried everything. Toys, books, food, music. He didn’t want any of it. It felt like…like…I wasn’t enough. I wasn’t…probably am, not a good dad.”
Your heart twists at the words. “Can you please turn to face me, love?”
He lets out a deep exhale, like the breath hurts to let go, and turns. When his eyes meet yours, you feel like the weight of the whole world just collapsed onto your chest.
Nanami is silently crying.
His eyes are rimmed red, and cheeks drenched wet.
You gently cup his jaw. “You were more than enough Kento. You held him even when he didn’t want to be held. You didn’t get angry. You didn’t walk away. You didn’t even raise your voice once. That’s not just ‘enough’. That’s what a good dad does. That’s love.”
He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch as more tears gather in his long blonde lashes. “I just…” his voice breaks. “I just wanted to be what he needed.”
Nanami wraps his arms around you tighter, letting his forehead drop to your shoulder. He breathes into your neck, letting your scent comforting him—just like his son does.
“I don’t mind not being the favorite,” he murmurs after a while, his voice quiet and raw. “But I hope, one day, he’ll reach for me too.”
You press a kiss the top of his head, pulling him impossibly closer to you. “He will. And when he does…he won’t want to let go.”
