#Shion Madarame | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

beeing1alive · 6 months

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Hi!! I really liked your "turning them on without knowing" post , I wanted to know if you'd like to write a second one but with Tenjiku!! 🙇🏻‍♀️

Note: Thank you for your enquiry, I was very happy about it and hope you like it

Warning: Nsfw content, minors do not interact

Izana:

Gets a hard-on when you give him a tight hug

He just can't help it, as soon as he feels your warmth and smells your body odour he goes crazy

He doesn't want to let you go and wraps his arms around you even more so that you can feel his pulsating cock

Begins to place feather-light kisses on your neck and throat and asks you if you don't want to help him

Kakucho:

It especially turns him on when you try to tease him with something

I mean, the grin on your face and the galnz in your eyes

He immediately gets butterflies in his stomach and his body starts to tingle with excitement, only that the tingling mainly affects the centre of his body

And before he knows it, he's sitting there with an ever-growing bulge in his trousers

Ran:

Becomes instantly rock hard when you whisper in his ear

It doesn't even matter what you say because, to be honest, in this situation he doesn't care

It's just that as soon as he hears your sweet voice so close to his ear, goose bumps spread all over his body

Try 100% not to hide how you hit on him and will ask you if you can help him with the bulge is trousers

Rindou:

Absolutely loves neck kisses

Just can't help but let out a soft sigh as soon as you're busy with his neck

Pulls you onto his lap so he can kiss you and press his hard cock against your bum

Nevertheless, his cheeks are barely noticeably red all the time, because he's just an idiot for you and can't do anything about it

Shion:

Immediately gets a hard-on when he sees you concentrating

The way your eyes dart across the sheet of paper in front of you and you try to memorise as much as possible with a furrowed brow

Feels the need to sit behind you and look over your shoulder so that you can feel his hard cock

Will indirectly try to distract you from your work and gently rub against your bum, which only makes him hornier...

Here is pt.1

Attention: The characters and the GIF do not belong to me. All credits go to the original owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please contact me.

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softshuji · 6 months

Text

You're starting to believe Shion doesn't have the capacity to be mad at you,

and it makes you a little angry when you've done something wrong, and he can only click his tongue and say 'I don't mind, I'll sort it out' and he's on his hands and knees picking up the shards of the broken glass now scattered over the kitchen floor.

He might nick his own palms with a wince, but he diligently grabs the broom and sweeps the flints up before you can comment on how you should have been doing it.

He turns up with a replacement the next day and it finds a home next to the others, as if it had never happened in the first place. And he never gets mad, never yells, never speaks negatively even if you deserve it, even if you're pushing his buttons and being irritating, he can only smile.

You crash your car, you lose your handbag, you set the smoke alarm off, you get into trouble constantly and he has nothing to say except, 'it's okay, it'll be fine' and you're torn between believing maybe that he doesn't have the capacity to get mad at all with you,

or maybe he doesn't care enough to do so. Anger is passion after all, isn't that what they all say?

You've taken to doing more reckless things just to get a reaction that isn't the softhearted and loving smile thrown towards you whenever you drop something and send the pieces flying and you hate yourself a little bit every time when you know he's being so kind, and you'd be devastated if he wasn't.

That's always the thing about him- and the rules are different for you.

He doesn't take you to gang meetings often and they call him 'mad dog' when you're not around and it baffles the others (ran and Rindou especially) that his girlfriend is a sweet, innocent, intuitive thing that dotes on him every day- enough for you to send him out with home cooked lunches that don't give him stomach aches. Though he'll never admit he gets them at all, he's never really been one to complain at anything.

If anything they're a little jealous. How can someone as 'unput together' as him bag a girl like that?

You would have a mind to tell them exactly how if you ever knew that conversation had happened- but he makes a point to keep 'all that gang shit' away from you anyway. He likes your little corner, the slice of domestic life that you offer him where he can perhaps be something else, where he gets to be the man in charge for once, where you don't mind that he is sometimes hard to put up with (his words, you'd never believe that). His dear girlfriend is a saving grace at the end of the day when he kicks off his shoes at the door and heaves a big sigh, scratching his hair as he slides off his jacket and misses the bannister when he throws it onto the wood cornering the stairway.

He is too good at the centre of it all. You don't and have never felt at all ashamed of being his girlfriend, or his girl, or anything,

and the snickers don't bother you when you know who he really is and what he really means. People have always chosen to see exactly what they want to, why would this be any different?

But you can't lie and say the guilt isn't eating you at all, when you provide so little to him in the way of his life. To him, he might not be the Haitani's but to you that's never mattered. You like the simplicity of him, and duplicitous feelings have never been your forte because he's always been so upfront about his feelings for you. He likes you, he loves you, he makes it known all the time and you wonder if you really do enough when he is so forgiving and you're under no illusions that maybe he isn't like the others, but it doesn't mean another woman won't want him if he left you. He's still part of the biggest gang in the country, and you know that counts for something.

It's making you a little sick when you think about it again- the concept of him not caring enough to be pissed off at you when you deserve it, of being so quick to defend you, even when you have done something wrong.

Like today, when you're deliberately being tetchy with him, sketchy and evasive and he's prodding in the gentle way of his to find the root of the issue, and it burns you a little inside when he trails after you- a puppy following an owner- with your discarded jacket in hand, clothes kicked off and left on the floor.

'You going to tell me what's wrong or not?' he says, bending to pick up your shirt as you round the corner to the bedroom. It makes his heart quake inside when he thinks about it. Are you not happy enough with him? Do you not love him? Is he doing something wrong? If so, how can he fix this?

'Mhmmm no, no nothing's wrong,' you say airily, as if nothing is and you miss how his eyebrows crunch towards your back as you slip off the rest of your clothes and pick up your discarded robe from the tower of them on the chair.

And you hate that you're being like this for no reason, or rather a reason you can't discern in any easy way when you know he doesn't deserve this, when he's been more than attentive to you over time. You're lucky in a way few others are. When you meet with friends and they talk on and on about husbands and boyfriends that it sounds like they don't love at all- all the issues, all the nagging that you can't relate to and you curse yourself for ruining what others would kill to have, albeit unintentionally.

'You're being funny.' He folds your clothes and leaves them on the chair, filling a glass of water for you as you both pass the kitchen.

'Funny how?'

'Weird, like you're upset.'

'You think so?'

You hate the evasive game. You hate even more that he can probably see through it so easily. He's always been like that. The other's call him airheaded, but he's never forgotten a thing about you.

'I know so. Can you tell me what's wrong?'

You turn, a look over your shoulder to him in the doorway, fiddling with his hands, a little lost, a little adrift, the worried and anxious tilt of his brows matched by the bite to his lower lip and it aches inside when you know you're the cause, when it hurts because of that fact. You love him, but where is that love meant to go when you have so much of it? When you wonder one day whether he's coming back, whether he's staying or dying in another man's battle, when you know his loss would tear something in you that you could never heal.

Your mouth forms the words before you have time to catch up with it, and it comes off seamlessly when you say 'I'm sorry,' and he frowns in that way he does, his brows pinching, the slight curl of his blond hair framing his cheeks, a strand or two falling over his tattoo away from the fray.

'Huh? What for?' he says, now shutting the door behind him, your glass of water and painkillers for the headaches you get left on the nightstand.

Clockwork.

You're a fish when you open your mouth, close it again and turn wordlessly towards the dresser to pick up a hairbrush, mumbling a "nothing, forget it," that has his ears pricking up, expecting him to take the bait and leave you to sulk on your own, the kicked puppy attitude that you hate you still show even now.

His hip brushes the dresser when he comes up to you now, pulls the hairbrush from your hand with a noise of indignation at the back of your throat, before tossing it onto the bed, your wrists now encircled in his bigger hands, his thumbs finding the dips over your knuckles seamlessly.

"no."

"no?"

"no, it's not nothing, and you can tell me." A beat. "I want you to tell me."

And your cheeks burn with heat, a fiery ice that licks at your neck when his thumbs come to rest on the incline of your wrists, a knowing look in his eyes with an eyebrow raised. And you avoid his gaze for a moment, settling it on the dresser, on the corner where the paint is chipping and the wood is exposed and he lifts a hand to tilt your head, your chin between his thumb and forefinger, till you stubbornly turn back to him with a pout.

‘Sorry,’ you say, your lip pulled by your teeth, bitten down and reddened, an anxious bite that he presses down on your lip to stop, the edge of his thumb skimming the dip in your chin.

‘You’re saying it again without telling me what it’s for,’ he says now, hands slipping down to your waist that he pulls till it’s flush with his own. ‘I wanna know what has my Dear girlfriend so sad.’

‘I just feel stupid y’know? I’ve been shitty to you recently, and you haven’t gotten mad at me once, and it makes me feel guilty when you don’t.’

He frowns, a crease to his brows that you resist the urge to smooth over with your fingers. ‘You want me to get mad at you?’

‘Yes! I- well no, but just- don’t you get mad at me?’

‘No, why would I?’

‘Why wouldn’t you? Don’t you love me?’

He shakes his head, incredulous, a stunned and pained expression flitting over the warm apples of his cheeks. ‘Of course I love you, but what does that have to do with anything?’ His grip tightens on your hips, a slow rock and thud against his own as he smooths circles into the slip of skin between your shirt and pants.

‘Well, people get angry at who they love sometimes, and you don’t, so that might mean…’

‘That I don’t love you? Is that what you’re saying?’ he says, the inflection at the end that betrays his hurt, the worried and hushed flash of pain glimmering in his eyes where the reflection of you avoids his gaze. You don’t speak again, opting to stare at the ground, your feet, the one spot on the carpet with the immovable stain that never lifts.

The silence seems to stretch, a quiet so loud that your ears ring with it, yawning on till he breaks it with a ‘I’m not sure who told you that but they were an idiot.’

Your head snaps up, apprehension and unease creeping along your skin. ‘What do you mean?’

And he laughs somehow, his eyes creasing, the sharp edges of his teeth revealed with the curve of a smile, lowering his head till it rests against yours, the edge of his blond hair tickling your cheek. ‘You’re so silly sometimes y’know?’

‘Huh?’ you say stiffly, a warning bell ringing lightly against your ears, a little ashamed, a little pressured despite yourself, even though you're the one who started it, you're a deer in headlights at the soft easiness of him. Maybe it would be easier if he burned through you, if he bared his fangs and bit straight into you - in the way you know would take a long time to nurse.

And he laughs harder somehow, a little giggle that provokes your own, a light and hesitant laugh that has you prickling with self consciousness. 'What are you laughing at? What's so funny?'

'You! You are!' And he raises his hands around your shoulders, a light shake of them as his breath ghosts over your Cupid's now, warm, sweet and scented with the undertone of menthol. You catch the reflection of yourself in the vanity to the side- you're puffy, cheeks puffed out, eyes watery, not your best by any means, especially when you angle in the way that shows the scar on your shoulder - a horrifying sight really, and you lift your cami to hide it , as if you ever can, as if it still matters this many years later.

And he softens, that glimmer in his eyes, a faint click of his tongue before you're pulled- gently still, into the warmth of his chest, your cheek squished against the soft linen of his shirt now creased from the day, your hands somehow instinctively finding purchase on his back where the muscle slips and slides underneath his skin, all sinewy flesh that feels warm and alive under your hands.

'Y'know…..' he starts, a rumble of his voice that ruminates against your earlobe, one hand coming up to rub at your back, the other still firmly on your hip pulled flush to his. 'Sometimes I do get angry at you, but it never means anything, never changes anything.'

Your voice is a whisper against his skin, your breath curling along the exposed flesh of his arm where your lips skim across now, faint freckles and marks now pressed to your mouth. 'You do?'

'Mhm, sometimes. When you do reckless things, when you don't take care of yourself, when you don't talk about what you like because you don't think you should.'

A hot fiery ice thunders into your veins and your neck prickles with embarrassment. 'I do that?'

'You do. It's like you don't think you ought to take up any space, like you feel bad for wanting things.'

'Oh.'

'But it doesn't mean I don't love you. You're my girlfriend aren't you? Just because I don't get mad at you doesn't mean I don't love you. It's because I love you that I don't get mad.'

'But other people say-'

He pulls you back, his lips ghosting over your forehead, hands coming to cup at your cheeks, tenderly, the knuckle dusters and rings left forgotten on the bedside table. 'I don't care what people say. Loving you will never make me angry, or mad, or anything like that and whoever told you that was a loser.'

'But…..'

'No buts. It's either love you as you are, or lose you all together.' He shrugs, the glint of eyes now pearly and glimmering with a soft rosy shine. 'It seems like an easy choice to make.'

You look away, a lick of heat making a slow crawl along your neck. 'Oh.' And you move from foot to foot self consciously, a hand coming up to scratch at your neck. You wonder in times like this, whether it bothers him to constantly give you this reassurance that comes so easily and often, when you doubt him and it has you shameful, and you find that he never relents in neverending love.

Why would he? You're his dear girlfriend and that's the way he likes it.

Happy bday to my darlin' ❤️

Reblogs appreciated!

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #shion madarame #tokyorev x reader #tokyo revengers x reader

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