Older bf Toji catching Megumi staring at your ass (Sorry, idk what to write about😔)
Toji likes to think he’s a pretty chill guy. Especially when it came to his kid—he didn’t nag, didn’t hover, and gave lots of space, didn’t ask Megumi how school was unless Megumi cornered him first. But even Toji had limits.
Like, for example, when his own son was caught eyeing his girl like he was about to risk getting grounded and knocked out just to admire some bare thighs.
It started when you bent over in front of them to grab something off the coffee table. A completely normal, innocent thing. You were just picking up your phone.
But Megumi—sitting on the couch next to Toji, supposedly watching whatever boring-ass documentary he’d put on to seem smart—snapped his head so fast, Toji could’ve sworn he heard a crack.
Toji blinked.
Megumi’s eyes were locked on your ass like it was a final boss fight. He stared like he was trying to memorize every curve, every swell as if it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. His gaze lingered way too long, too openly like he wasn’t even trying to hide how much he was checking you out.
“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.
How They Flirt With You {Thranduil, Legolas, Haldir}
These characters are part of a request - honestly, I should had written them earlier but better now than never!
⇢ ˗ˏˋThranduil
Flirting, to Thranduil, is not some casual amusement. It is warfare in silk and gold. He doesn’t pursue. He doesn’t woo. He reigns, and waits for you to falter first.
His presence is overwhelming. All poise and control, the kind that dares you to come closer even as it warns you not to.
He doesn’t lower himself to ask if you’re drawn to him. He knows you are. You wouldn’t dare approach otherwise.
“You’ve been watching me. Tell me — was it awe or envy that froze you in place?”
He speaks like frost biting the edge of a blade — cold, gleaming, beautiful. Every word is chosen. Every pause calculated. And you can feel it: he is testing you.
Thranduil’s compliments are puzzles — double-edged, laced with both flattery and warning.
He praises your mind, but questions your intent.
He notes your beauty, but wonders how long it will last.
He enjoys your presence, but reminds you how easily he could dismiss it.
“You are… intriguing. Like a flame in a glass vessel—delicate, flickering, easy to extinguish.”
His words stay with you long after he’s gone. You’ll lie awake, wondering — was that affection… or a warning?
He doesn’t need to touch you to seduce you. He simply exists near you and that is enough to set your skin aflame.
He walks past so close your sleeve brushes his but he does not glance your way.
He leans near to speak and you catch the cool scent of something ancient, something wild but he pulls back before your breath steadies.
His fingers pause near yours — not quite touching — and then withdraw with maddening restraint.
“You flinch so easily. And yet… I haven’t even begun.”
You ache for his touch. He lets you ache.
Thranduil flirts by giving you nothing. And in that nothing, you crave everything.
He answers questions with questions.
He leaves you suspended between offense and flattery.
He silences you with a single, steady gaze and the unbearable knowledge that he knows what you were about to say.
“You think I am toying with you. How strange. I was merely watching how long it would take before you broke the silence.”
Even when he says nothing, he’s winning. You speak to fill the space and he watches, amused, listening for the cracks.
If you earn something real — his interest, his time, his trust — his demeanor shifts so slightly that only the most observant would notice.
His wit still bites, but there’s a shadow of softness in it now.
He does not smile but his voice lowers, as if the words are only for you.
He lingers longer than he must. His silences stretch not with condescension, but contemplation.
“I do not often stay where I am not needed. Yet here I am. Still. Curious, isn’t it?”
And in that stillness, he gives you the closest thing to a confession Thranduil will ever offer.
⇢ ˗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.
If anyone is interested, feel free to request headcanons/scenarios or drabbles - I’m open to them!
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