Dating Manigoldo didn’t mean the flirting stopped. If anything, it got worse. Because now he had full permission — and he milked it.

He’d walk into a room like he owned it — eyes locked on you like no one else existed. Didn’t matter if you were just brushing your hair or giving orders to Bronze Saints, he’d lean against a wall and grin like he had all the time in the world.

“Do you know,” he said one day, arms lazily crossing his chest, “that you’re the only reason I don’t skip temple duties? I mean, sure, protecting the world is important… but seeing you after? Now that’s motivation.”

You rolled your eyes, trying not to smile. “Do you ever stop?”

He walked over, looping his arms around your waist, nose brushing your cheek. “Only when you’re asleep. Sometimes.”

And gods, he was shameless.

If you walked by in armor? “You’re gonna kill me looking like that.” If you walked by in casual clothes? “You’re gonna ruin me looking like that.”

Sometimes, during meetings, he’d rest his hand on your thigh — under the table — and grin without a single ounce of shame while continuing the conversation like nothing was happening.

“I don’t get how the world expects me to focus when you exist,” he’d whisper in your ear one evening, arms sliding around your waist from behind. “You’re the most beautiful distraction I’ve ever had… and the best one I’ll never give up.”

And the most dangerous part?

He wasn’t just joking. Because as much as he flirted… he loved harder.