tendō satori x f!reader | fluff
cw: suggestive content, read at your own risk.
;; boyfriend!tendō is the type to treat your apartment like a shared skin, an extension of his own lanky frame. time hasn’t dulled that frantic, electric energy of his; it’s just mellowed into something more domestic. he’s no longer the “guess monster” of shiratorizawa, but he still reads you like a playbook, anticipating your needs before you’ve even fully processed them yourself.
;; boyfriend!tendō has developed a very specific morning ritual that involves him looming over you while you’re still half-submerged in sleep. he doesn’t wake you up with a kiss or a gentle shake; instead, he rests his chin on your shoulder and hums whatever pop song is currently stuck in his head until you groan and swat at him. he loves the way you look when you’re grumpy and sleep-muddled—it’s the only time he feels like he’s actually the ‘calm’ one in the relationship.
;; boyfriend!tendō takes a strange pride in your skincare routine. he’ll sit on the closed toilet lid while you do your nightly steps, swinging his long legs and critiquing your technique. eventually, his hands—those huge, scarred, beautiful blocker’s hands—will find their way to your face. he’ll insist on applying your moisturizer for you, his touch surprisingly light and clinical, mapping out the architecture of your bones with a reverent focus that makes your stomach do backflips.
;; boyfriend!tendō loves accidental intimacy. he’s always touching you—a thumb hooked into your belt loop while you’re standing in line, his chest pressed against your back while you’re trying to cook, his cold toes seeking out the warmth of your calves under the duvet. he wants to be intertwined with you, a human puzzle piece that only fits when he’s draped over your lap or tucked into the crook of your neck.
;; boyfriend!tendō has a very particular way of looking at you when the sun starts to set and the lighting in the room turns that heavy, honey-gold color. he’ll stop mid-sentence, his eyes narrowing as he tracks the way the light hits your throat or the curve of your lip. he doesn’t say anything, but the air gets thick, charged with a tension that feels like static electricity. he’ll just reach out, hook a finger under your chin, and tilt your head back, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw with a slow, agonizing deliberation that says more than any “i love you” ever could.
;; boyfriend!tendō is surprisingly observant about your wardrobe. he notices when you buy something new; he notices which fabrics make you feel confident and which ones make you itch. he’ll buy you high-end loungewear—the kind that costs way too much for one clothing—just because he likes the way it feels when he pulls you flush against him. he’s a tactile creature, and he wants everything you wear to be an invitation for him to get closer.
;; boyfriend!tendō makes the most chaotic, delicious dinners you’ve ever had. he doesn’t follow recipes; he ‘vibes’ with the ingredients (his words, not mine). the kitchen usually looks like a disaster zone afterward, flour on the ceiling and chocolate on his nose, but the food is always incredible. he’ll feed you directly from the wooden spoon, his eyes fixed on your mouth, waiting for that little hum of approval you make when something tastes good. that sound is his favorite melody, and he’ll do anything to provoke it.
;; boyfriend!tendō has a ‘no phones’ rule for the first thirty minutes after he gets home. he needs to ‘recalibrate,’ which usually involves him dragging you onto the couch and burying his face in your neck. he breathes you in like you’re oxygen and he’s been underwater all day. he’ll murmur nonsense about his day—about a weird bird he saw, about how much he missed the specific scent of your shampoo—until he feels the tension bleed out of your shoulders and into his hands.
;; boyfriend!tendō loves to test your boundaries in the most playful, maddening ways. he’ll whisper things in your ear while you’re in public—nothing loud, just low-frequency observations about how your clothes are sitting so well with your body or how much he wants to get you home—and then act completely innocent when you try to strangle him out of pure frustration. he thrives on the secret language you two share, the way a single look from across a crowded room can make your heart hammer against your ribs.
;; boyfriend!tendō is the most loyal person you will ever meet. he’s been the ‘weird’ kid his whole life, so he treats your love like a sacred, impossible miracle. if you’re sad, he offers a distraction, a performance, a physical shield against the world. he’ll wrap his long arms around you, tucking your head under his chin, and let you hide there until you feel brave enough to face the light again. he’s your sanctuary, and he makes sure you know that you are his.
;; boyfriend!tendō is dangerous with a tempering spatula and a vision. since opening his shop in paris, his appreciation for ‘texture’ has translated into a very hands-on approach with you. he treats your skin like the finest ganache—something to be tasted, smoothed, and worked until it’s exactly the right temperature.
;; boyfriend!tendō loves to bring work home with him in the most literal sense. he’ll have you sit on the kitchen counter, your legs draped over his hips, while he ‘experiments’ with a new infusion. he’ll dip a finger into a bowl of melted, dark chocolate and trail it slowly down the sensitive dip of your collarbone, watching the way your breath hitches with a predatory sort of focus. he doesn’t let you wipe it off; he prefers to clean up the mess himself, his tongue lingering on your pulse point until you’re shaking under his hands.
;; boyfriend!tendō has a very specific ‘tasting’ ritual. he likes to place a single, handcrafted truffle between his teeth and lean in, forcing you to take half of it from him. the friction of his lips against yours, the bitterness of the cocoa melting between your tongues, and the way he growls low in his throat when you try to pull away too soon—it’s enough to make your knees weak. he’s a perfectionist, and he won't stop until he’s tasted the sugar on every inch of you.
;; boyfriend!tendō finds endless ways to use simple ingredients to drive you crazy. honey, whipped cream, or even just a stray strawberry—in his hands, they’re tools for your undoing. he’ll tell you to “stay still” in that voice that isn’t a request at all, his long, nimble fingers tracing patterns of sweetness over your skin before he follows the trail with slow, deliberate laps. he likes to see how long it takes for your composure to shatter, his eyes wide and glinting with a manic sort of hunger.
;; boyfriend!tendō is incredibly vocal when he’s got you where he wants you. he wants to hear the exact moment your thoughts turn to mush. he’ll murmur descriptions of the flavors he’s finding on your skin—sweet, salty, savory—his voice dropping to a gravelly register that vibrates against your thighs. he treats your body like his favorite recipe, one he’s memorized but still finds new ways to enjoy every single night.
;; boyfriend!tendō has a thing for spilled treats. if a bit of caramel or fruit reduction happens to land on your inner thigh or the swell of your chest, he won’t reach for a napkin. he’ll just hum that eerie, playful little tune of his, his eyes darkening as he crawls over you. his shirt is half-unbuttoned, and the look he gives you is pure, unadulterated gluttony. he’s a chocolatier, after all; he knows exactly how to handle something so decadent.
;; boyfriend!tendō gets a terrifyingly glinting look in his eyes when he decides you’re going to be his ‘canvas’ for the evening. he’ll have you lay back on the cool sheets, completely at his mercy, while he brings out a bowl of silk-smooth, warm white chocolate. he doesn’t pour it; instead, he uses a pastry brush to paint intricate, swirling patterns across the sensitive skin of your stomach, the insides of your thighs, and in between. he watches the way your muscles twitch under the bristles with a low, jagged laugh, whispering about how unbearably delicious you look when you’re coated in white chocolate, before he begins to slowly, methodically lick the skin clean, making sure to miss a few spots just so he has an excuse to go back over them again.
n: now.. before anyone calls me a freak.. this is for @lsirria again, my greedy freaky moot, ily.
this was supposed to be a direct follow up but i got distracted by jumpchannel’s livestream
© showhay — don’t copy or translate without my permission. don’t feed my works to ai.
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