country bumpkin merlin not knowing anything about city life and accidentally courting arthur without knowing
merlin, watching gwen give lancelot her favor: why do you do that
gwen, heart eyes at lance and not paying that much attention to the conversation: so he knows i’m rooting for him
merlin, with an Idea: ah.
gwaine, lover of chaos, pisser offer of nobles and royals alike, ultimate wingman: merlin…you have such lonely lips. shall i introduce them to mine?
merlin, unaware of the game gwaine is playing: so you can steal my breath away? i think not, scoundrel
arthur, crushing his goblet in his hand:
merlin: arthur’s been in a bad mood recently :( i should cheer him up
merlin, remembering when arthur was put out when merlin brought morgana flowers and not him: i know just the thing
merlin, bringing a bouquet of carnations, roses, and tulips and setting them on arthur’s table while he’s eating breakfast: good morning, sire
arthur, trained on flower language in hopes that one day when he was to take a queen he could woo her easily, trying not to audibly choke on his sausage as he reads merlin’s declaration of love sitting in front of him:
arthur, who recently found out about merlin’s magic and was trying to find a way to bring it up, catching him in the act and watching merlin panic to explain himself:
merlin, Freaking: and i swear to you arthur, i have only ever used it for you. my magic is yours. my life is yours. i am yours. i would never do anything to harm you. i have protected you for years and will continue to do so at your side if you’ll have me
arthur, already believing them to be courting, desperately trying to figure out if that was a proposal for marriage or not but tired of being confused and deciding fuck it: here.
merlin, taking it: i…uh…huh?
arthur, watching merlin with hawk eyes and trying to figure out what he’s thinking and feeling: it’s my mothers sigil
merlin, confused as FUCK but is focusing on the fact that arthur is handing him something of his mother rather than a death sentence: my…my lord?
arthur, realizing how scared merlin’s must be about him finding out about his magic and trying to comfort him while also proposing, killing two birds with one stone: i will always keep you at my side, merlin, so long as we both shall live. if you’ll allow me.
merlin, almost collapsing with relief and tearing up, smiling at arthur as if he had parted the storm clouds to allow sun to shine down on them in that moment: of course…of course, arthur. always and forever.
merlin, watching the castle staff rush this way and that: wow. this banquet must be incredibly important
sir leon the long suffering, day one ride or die, one of the original merthur shippers: banquet? merlin, this is for your wedding
merlin, overworked and exhausted: my WHAT? to WHO??
leon, regretting everything he’s ever done in his life that led him to this moment: to…arthur?
merlin, over joyed but also absolutely befuddled: i’m getting married to ARTHUR?????
leon: you two have been courting for the past year or so, have you not?
merlin: i’ve been COURTING ARTHUR?????? FOR A YEAR?????????
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Possessive
how the overlords would put a claim on you
ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ
˚✧₊⁎ Carmilla Carmine ⁎⁺˳✧༚
As much as she loves spending her mornings in bed with you, wishfully thinking she could stay there all day, she can only give you 3 more minutes at best. Being an Overlord and a CEO keeps her rather busy. You’re grown, you can handle yourself (you have to in this world) she’s not keeping tabs on your whereabouts. Carmilla isn’t itching for a fight like these new “up and comers”. Giving you something to protect you when she’s not around simultaneously puts a target on your back. A simple ring with her name inscribed would suffice, satisfying any possessive vices she may or may not have
˚✧₊⁎ Zestial ⁎⁺˳✧༚
Abhorrent is jealousy, driving the younger generations to filth like, ugh, hickeys. Although, on a certain level he does understand. Being in Hell for as long as he has and alone the same amount, he knows all too well the primal need to claim what other’s might steal. One must leave their mark as a warning sign for others. Zestial’s exceptionally charming when he wants something, notably not asking when he presents you with the crisply wrapped gifts. There’s no less than twenty. Boxes upon boxes of accessories and clothes that suit you but hold his color palette, spider and web details to boot. He’s utterly thrilled when you wear them, showering you in compliments and declaring himself the luckiest soul in Hell
˚✧₊⁎ Rosie ⁎⁺˳✧༚
Goodness, have you seen how sinners nowadays go about the whole ordeal? What happened to romance!? Call her old fashioned, but Rosie likes a smidge of glamour in her techniques! She’ll walk shoulder to shoulder with you, holding her parasail over the both of you. She’ll accidentally press her painted lips on your cheek and forget, quickly getting swept up into conversation with someone or the other. It’s fine, no one would question her! Not if they wanted to live anyways. Butterflies swarm her stomach when she notices you haven’t wiped her imprint away, a proud smile spreading across her face. It becomes purposeful as the days go on
˚✧₊⁎ Alastor ⁎⁺˳✧༚
While happy to broadcast newsworthy exploits, sharing his private affairs with the world is out of the question. Of course the appeal of it all isn’t lost on him, he merely doesn’t see the point. Why broaden your horizons of potential dangers by claiming you publicly? To calm that unruly, covetous alien in the pit of his chest? He’s not that selfish! Besides, nothing less than something permanent could truly satisfy him anyhow
˚✧₊⁎ Valentino ⁎⁺˳✧༚
If he doesn’t have eyes on you, he’s working. Those measley hours apart won’t stop him from reminding all of Hell you still belong to him. He doesn’t trust anyone down here. He’ll convince you it’s for your safety that he tightens the collar around your neck. With a hum of approval, Val’s long and slender fingers twist the tag with his name on it. Heart shaped, of course, he loves you after all!
˚✧₊⁎ Vox ⁎⁺˳✧༚
Only the insecure need to put a claim on their person. That’s not Vox, no way! You’re never really out of his sights anyways, what with today’s power of technology and all! The need to brand you goes a different route. He wants everyone to know you’re spoken for, pulling you on camera every chance he gets. He wants them to stare in awe and envy but cast their eyes down when you walk by in public. A slight on you would be a slight on him personally and no one messes with The Vees
˚✧₊⁎ Velvette ⁎⁺˳✧༚
Truthfully, there isn’t much she wouldn’t do. You’re all over her Sinstagram and that says it all. Every runway show, every red carpet walk, every paparazzi shot you’re always beside her. Vel dresses you left and right to match her OOTD somehow. She snaps a pic every single day (sometimes more) to show her followers their favorite couple is thriving and stylish as always! The description never fails to scream how your all hers
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It’s lunchtime at the military base, and you can’t decide what to eat. Ghost is getting hangry.
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“It’s a simple question,” he says. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know, Lieutenant.”
“Are you hungry?” He asks and lifts his hands.
“Yes, sir.”
“What exactly are you hungry for?”
“I-I don’t know.”
He drops his arms to his sides and sits at the corner of his desk. He touches the back of his neck with one hand while supporting himself with the other.
“Every fucking day, you do this to me,” he murmurs. “If you don’t decide this time, I’ll go eat alone.”
“Oh! Is that so?” You squint and hunch forward at your desk.
“Yes!” He yells as he stands up and walks towards you. “Yes, I will. In fact, I would love to.”
Your eyebrows shoot up, and your jaw drops. How dare he? You’d been teammates for years, sticking with him through thick and thin, never betraying him once. But now he...
“...Would love to?!”
“That’s right!” He snaps and slams his hands against your desk. “So, for the last time: What. Will. It. Be?”
You lean back in your chair and bite your pen while considering your options. Ghost’s gaze darts from you to the pen, then back. He groans and grabs the pen from your hand, tossing it to the side.
“Pens are off the menu today,” he declares, snapping his fingers, “I need an answer. Now.”
Dumfounded, you stare at the pen on the floor. If someone else had done this to you, you would have slapped them in the face. Worse, if he had watched anyone else treat you that way, he would have ripped their limbs off their body.
But he’s hangry. As insignificant as this conversation appears, he doesn’t handle his hunger with the same poise he handles other, more complex situations. Not only that, but your indecisiveness doesn’t help, either. You need to make a decision quickly, so you sit up straight and place your hands on the table.
“What are my options again?” you ask.
“Pizza or burger.” He replies sternly.
“I don’t want piz—”
“Burger it is, then,” he says with a nod. He knocks his knuckles twice on the desk and strides towards the office door.
“W-wait, Ghost, wait!”
He sighs and leans against the door, his hand on the handle.
“I don’t like the base’s burgers.” You mumble.
“Nobody likes the base’s burgers!” he yells. “But we still eat them!”
“I was wondering,” you say and lower your voice, “if there is another choice?”
He’s softly bashing his head against the door, and you try to persuade him that there should be a third option—a vegetarian meal, perhaps. In response, he begins making whimpering noises. He’s the one getting on your nerves now.
“You know what?” you snap, “I’ll go check by myself.”
He extends a hand in your direction and shows you his palm.
“No, no, no, no!” he cries. “You join the others in the queue, and the entire base will starve until you decide!”
You scoff at his sarcasm, and he opens the door.
“Listen,” he says, “I’ll go check and call you, okay?”
“LIEUTENANT!” you shout, but he slams the door behind him. You peek over at his desk. “You forgot your phone...” you murmur to yourself.
The lieutenant was a very cold man when you first met him. His responses were limited to yeses and nos with the occasional shrug, and he never joined you in everyday job activities, especially at lunchtime. You’d always eat alone in the mess hall, and if your breaks coincided with that of Gaz or Soap’s, you’d sit with them and eat lunch together. Ghost would normally sit in the office or hide in a corner around the base and eat since he didn’t want anyone to see him without his mask. But slowly, he came to trust you all with his face, and you’d eat together, locked in your office.
You look at the time. Given his hunger when he left, he should have returned five minutes ago. What if he gave up on you and is already eating with the rest? Sure, your indecisiveness annoys him, especially since he has to deal with it daily, but he’d never let you eat alone, right? On the other hand... he may be trying to teach you a lesson.
You take another glance at the time. This doesn’t feel right. You start cleaning up your desk to head for the kitchen, but someone knocks on the door.
“It’s open,” you announce, “come on in!”
“I’ve got my hands full.” You hear Ghost reply.
You walk up to the door and swing it open. Ghost stands there with a serving trolley full of dishes.
“Thanks,” he murmurs while he pushes the trolley inside the office.
“You forgot your phone!” you inform him.
“I didn’t forget it,” he says as he stops the trolley in front of your desk. “I’d rather put my bare hand in a fire and let it simmer than add a third option to your dilemma and let you decide while there’s a queue of starving soldiers behind me.”
He removes the plates from the trolley and arranges them on your desk. “Here’s the fucking pizza, the fucking shitburger, and the tofu version of the shitburger.”
He places another plate with five pizza slices on his desk. He removes his mask and immediately slaps a piece in his mouth.
“That’s a lot of food, Lt.,” you whisper, scanning the plates before you.
He turns his head towards you and keeps chewing. “Yeah,” he says, swallowing, “better have all the options in front of you than squeeze any reserve of patience I have left.”
You take a slice of pizza from your tray and bite into it.
He stares at you, raises his plate to the sky, and rambles about how “you didn’t want pizza before.” You clarify that, while you still don’t want pizza, it appears to be the best option among the three.
“However,” you continue, “I would murder for a good burger.”
He swallows and takes a second pizza slice from his plate.
“I know a place,” he explains. “We can go tonight.”
“Lieutenant, you smooth operator!” you tease, “like on a date?”
He nods and takes another mouthful. He doesn’t even bother looking at you. He’s too preoccupied with nourishing his massive body to worry about your mocking.
“What kind of a place is it?” You ask.
“It’s a shithole,” he says, “but it does the best burgers you’ve ever had.”
“So, what should I wear?”
He stops eating and aggressively shakes his head.
“Nuh-uh,” he says. “I won’t get involved in your woes again—I’ll give you the address, and you’ll be there at 8 p.m.”
“Are you going to email me the menu so I can decide what to eat ahead of time?”
He swallows and looks at you. “I wouldn’t worry about that,” he says, taking another bite.
“Why?”
“Because there’s no menu at my place.”
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