“The fuck are you looking at?” Toji asked flatly in confusion with a blank expression.

Megumi flinched so hard that he nearly dropped the remote. “Huh? Nothing. The TV”.

“The TV? You mean the one behind her ass?” Toji raised a brow.

“I wasn’t—! I didn’t—!” Megumi’s entire face went red. “I was just… zoned out”.

“To her ass?”

Megumi rubbed his temples like he was the victim. “Oh my god”.

“Don’t ‘oh my god’ me. You wanna explain to me why you’re checking out my girl like she’s one of those lil anime girls you be jerking off to?”

You looked up from your phone, totally oblivious but curious to what the commotion was about. “Huh? What’s going on?”

Megumi covered his face with both hands. “Please stop talking”.

Toji pointed at him with a crooked finger, a sharp grin spreading across his face. “See that? That’s guilt. That’s a ‘damn, I hope she didn’t see me eye-fuck her while picking up her phone’ face”.

You turned red. “Toji—!”

“I knew it!” he barked out a laugh. “You were perving on her! On my couch, in my house, where I clap those cheeks nightly—”

“Oh my gosh!” Megumi launched a couch pillow at him, face in flames.

Toji dodged it easily, still grinning like the devil. “You better aim those teenage hormones somewhere else before I ground you for being a little creep”.

Megumi groaned, looking like he wanted to crawl under the floorboards. “I’m nineteen! You can’t ground me!”

“I pay for your damn Netflix subscription and phone bill. I can and I will”.

You were wheezing in the corner, trying not to laugh as you curled into the couch like a dying shrimp.

Megumi stood up, his face still red as he walked away with his feet thumping against the floor. “I’m going to my room. I’m not doing this”.

“Keep your eyes off my girl, or I’m putting a blindfold on you at the dinner table,” Toji called after him.

The door slammed.

There was a beat of silence before you broke down laughing, covering your face with both hands. “You’re so mean”.

Toji just shrugged, looking pleased with himself. “He can look at whatever he wants out there. But in this house?” He stretched his hands out and pulled you onto his lap, arms wrapping around your waist. “Only I get to be a dirty old man”.

You snorted. “You’re so proud of that, huh?”

“Damn right I am.” He gave your ass a hard slap. Loud enough, just in case Megumi could still hear.

“Might bend you over and fuck you extra hard tonight just so you can be louder, gotta make sure he learns his lesson”.

Megumi’s muffled yell from behind his door was the cherry on top.

Toji smirked.

⇢ ˗ˏˋLegolas 

Legolas flirts by paying attention — closer than anyone else ever has.

He remembers the way you braid your hair.

He notices when your smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

He offers you water before you ask. A cloak before you shiver. Silence when you need it.

“You favor your left when you walk. Did you injure your ankle?”

(Said not as concern but as proof he sees what no one else does.)

He doesn’t seek to impress. He seeks to understand. And that, somehow, is far more disarming.

Legolas speaks with honesty, not innuendo. His compliments are never exaggerated — they’re precise, soft-spoken, and entirely unexpected.

“You are brave,” he’ll say and mean it, not as flattery, but as fact.

“I have never met one like you,” he’ll admit, with no hint of irony.

“You move like someone who has had to fight for stillness. I find that… admirable.”

There is no teasing edge, no mischief. His flirtation doesn’t seduce. It honors.

Legolas does not touch often but when he does, it is reverent.

He steadies you on uneven ground with a hand at your elbow, feather-light and fleeting.

He brushes a strand of hair from your face in battle’s aftermath, his fingers cool, his gaze unreadable.

And if he ever lets you lean against him — it is deliberate, not casual. A choice. A permission.

“You are safe here.”

(He doesn’t mean the campsite. He means his arms.)

He never pushes. He waits for you to reach for him and you will.

Some call it aloofness. But Legolas’s silences are intentional. When he is quiet around you, it is not from distance, it is from comfort.

He sits beside you without speaking, eyes on the stars, letting your presence speak for itself.

He shares memories in fragments — carefully, sparsely — like a rare bloom he lets you see but not touch.

“There are trees in Ithilien that glow silver in the moonlight. I would like to show you, if… if you ever wish to see them.”

His silences aren’t empty. They invite you in.

If he truly begins to feel something deeper, Legolas’s restraint begins to falter in the smallest of ways.

His gaze lingers too long.

He starts saying your name more, even when he doesn’t need to.

He stays close in battle, not for strategy but protection.

“If I seem overcautious, forgive me. I… would rather not lose you.”

It’s not possessive. It’s genuine fear of loss, wrapped in grace.

And when he finally admits his feelings, it will not be in grand gestures but in a moment of stillness so charged with emotion it leaves no room for doubt.

“I am yours… if you wish me to be.”

⇢ ˗ˏˋHaldir

Haldir is reserved to the point of severity, but therein lies the pull, because when he grants you attention, it feels earned.

He watches, silently, and when he speaks — it is brief, measured, and intentional.

He does not smile easily. Which is why when he does, even slightly — it feels like a secret.

His flirting is rarely initiated in public. He is a warden first. But alone? Then you might notice the change.

“You’re observant. I value that… though I would advise against staring too long. It gives others ideas.”

He does not court. He allows you closer. And that, to him, is courtship.

Haldir doesn’t flatter idly. His compliments are scarce and often couched in dry, almost challenging delivery.

He might say, “You’re not as incapable as I feared.”

Or, “You adapt quickly. That is… useful.”

“You surprise me. I don’t often admit that. Don’t make me regret it.”

There’s a touch of arrogance, yes but it’s earned. And when he lets you see the rare glimmer of amusement behind the cool facade, it’s intoxicating.

He does not touch casually. But if he allows himself near you, it’s deliberate.

He will correct your stance with a hand at your wrist, brief but firm.

He’ll lean in to murmur something meant only for you, his voice low, his breath brushing your ear.

He might walk just slightly closer than necessary during a patrol.

“I stay close because your footwork still falters on uneven ground. Don’t mistake it for anything else.”

(It is something else. He just refuses to admit it.)

He will test you — not cruelly, but precisely.

He watches how easily you fluster, how much you push back.

If you return his barbs with wit, he’ll raise a brow — just slightly — and say nothing. But later, you’ll find he lingers longer in your presence.

He never gives all at once. He’ll give just enough to make you question what’s underneath.

“You’re not afraid of me. You should be. I haven’t decided what I intend to do with you yet.”

And it sounds like a warning. But it feels like an invitation.

Should Haldir allow himself to care, the change is subtle but profound.

He’ll begin to offer things unasked: water, protection, information.

He will trust you with silences — not cold ones, but shared ones.

He’ll still mask his affection in discipline but now, it will be laced with quiet protectiveness.

“If anything were to happen to you under my watch, I would consider it a failure. And I do not fail.”

And if you ever touch his hand first — he won’t pull away. He won’t speak. But you’ll feel it in the stillness: he’s chosen you.