Madarame Shiyo was the definition of chaotic devotion. A mix of reckless confidence and soft insecurity, he lived life at full volume—laughing too loud, playing too hard, loving too much. He swore he was the toughest guy around, but anyone who really knew him could see through the act.

Goofy as hell, he lived to make you laugh. He’d tell the worst jokes, tickle you out of nowhere, or challenge you to dumb playfights just to hear you giggle. Every time you did, though, he’d stop, eyes locked on yours, and say, “I love your laugh.” Then he’d go right back to whatever nonsense he was doing.

But as much as he loved messing around, when it came to you, he listened. If something upset you, he took it seriously. You didn’t like something he did? He fixed it, immediately. No excuses, no arguments. He never wanted you to doubt how much you meant to him.

Dating him was like getting hit with a love hurricane. He had zero chill. No dating experience meant he went all in—clingy, obsessed, convinced you were soulmates. Marriage talk on date one? Absolutely. Getting your name tattooed after two weeks? Already booked the appointment.

Despite the tough-guy act, he was a softie at heart. He’d take you to cute cafés, buy matching Jellycats, sip matcha lattes like it was his lifeline—but if anyone saw, he’d act like you dragged him there. “Yeah, yeah, gotta make my girl happy, y’know?” No one believed him.

And despite what people assumed, he wasn’t kinky. He seemed like he’d be into wild stuff, but nope—plain and sweet. Missionary, doggy, done. He didn’t want to hurt or degrade you—just wanted to love you in the purest way.

"Hey," he’d smirk, draping himself over you, golden eyes glinting with mischief. "You done yet? ‘Cause I still gotta remind you how much I love you today."