why do you say romantic like it's a dirty word.

“Perhaps I need to prepare myself if we were to engage in sex, Master. M…Mostly from not knowing how to please another man. I wouldn’t want to hurt your body for our first time, but we can engage in such acts when we’re both ready. I do wish our first to be a special moment.” Saber grants an honest response as he imagines there will come a time when mana transfer would require them to exchange their bodily fluids. Fingers resume caressing his master’s cheek with care, yielding to the desire of taking things slowly. In time the King of Knights would become one with him…at least he hopes for it someday. It appeared the male wasn’t opposed to the ritual of courtship in the middle ages, ones that sought to woo a potential lover. He figured some things that were a favorite in Kurt’s eyes and desired to grant him some flowers the next day. Knights mostly favored in obtaining their lover in this manner, displaying their virtue and chivalry as well as the sacrifices they’re willing to make. “I’m grateful you would permit me to court you, Master.” The knight’s heart lit up with warmth inside his chest in between their first kiss. A soft touch left the blonde quite captivated when their lips pressed one enough, emitting his own flustered complexion.

❝ ah — you — you won't hurt me.❞ kurt flushes peony-pink at saber's straightforward praise, his explanation, his knightly plea for further explanation and preparation, all in the service of his master, so as to better breach his body, for saber to impale him and for kurt to accept his offering. ❝ not if we go slowly.❞ he says shyly, in a hushed whisper, a plume of heat rising when the armor of saber's battle attire vanishes, remained by bare skin, rosy and cream-hued flesh, lean and muscled, yet not gnarled with scars from war.

where was his wife? his nose quivered at the scent of hay, bundles of straw, dried sweet grasses turned spring-green to molasses-brown, placed around the entraces to backyard mazes; he searched among the aluminum laundry-tubs sloshing with heavy, dark water and gleaming red-skinned apples bobbing as if scarlet buoys, scattered along the surface; he navigated around doting couples with caramel-sticky faces from candied apples, and costumed covens of shrieking child-witches, but nowhere could kurt find betty in the autumnal activities.

❝ betty? ❞ he called again, with increasing urgency, wincing, winded, and gasping by the time he made it to the duck pond booth, only to find her, at last: huddled against the stall, the pink of her skirt ruffled, pleats pressed between her thighs as she crouched, a letter clutched in her fingers. ❝ betty! ❞ he cries. ❝ you can't just disappear like that, you'll scare me! ❞

there is plenty to be scared of in the small town of riverdale, and it is not just monsters of the silver screen. no, they have their own suburban horror to contend with, sending vicious and vile love letters to his spouse. kurt frets, and worries, having pleaded with the police department to do something, with archie, with jughead, to help protect them. but he is, dishearteningly, the man of the house, the husband of the marriage. it's his responsibility to protect betty. no one is going to protect him.

he is so relieved to find her, whole and alive, not a pretty blonde thread of her ponytail harmed, that he almost feels like crying, a salt-heavy lump gathering in his throat, swallowing thickly, his gaze gleaming. he wants to gather her in his arms, hold her close, platonically kiss the crown of her head, the butter-hued locks of her hair. but rather, he sucks at the inside of one cheek, dour and boyish, nose crinkling in chastisement.

❝ please don't leave my sight again. not today. ❞ he says, more of a thin sigh, rather than a scolding. ❝ not with — e - everything going on. ❞

❝ join you. ❞ kurt repeats, flatly, lips pressed together thinly. ❝ no. i'm too young. ❞ he refuses the alcohol, but he lingers, stepping around the stuffed, stiff chair, fingers dragging against tufted gold velvet. it is not his first time dealing with an intoxicated adult — he remembers his own father, drunk from earth-dark glass bottles and crushed aluminum cans of beers — but he feels his stomach wither at the sight of bedelia: the woman he is supposed to look to for guidance, the only person he could cling to, the odor of wood and dried spices on her mouth. ❝ but i can sit. ❞ he says, his tone brittle, dour. ❝ one of us has to be responsible. ❞ he gives her a sharp glance. but he does come to settle in the opposite seat: fussy and ornate and uncomfortable.

❝ and... ❞ he tries to approach the subject delicately, but there is no ginger way of bringing up the other man, his false father. ❝ why are you drinking this afternoon? did dr. lecter — ❞ he struggles to opaquely refer to the enormity of horrors they have both seen.

italy is utterly gorgeous, scented with ripe oranges and sea salt and the umami pungency of fresh wriggling fish; his life is composed of evenings at the opera and being taken along to morbid museums, although during the day he is cloistered in their apartment, away from the public, enrolled in schooling through private tutors. kurt is clumsily learning italian, and he can manage some small conversations; he even continues to practice singing. but all of the oil paintings and food tastings and choir lessons in the world cannot wipe away the nauseating film of ruby blood that tinges each moment, since their false family was fostered by a murderer. a serial killer. a cannibal. ❝ what i signed up for! ❞ kurt aches to scream, but his voice is trembling too much for that, emerging as more of a strangled cry. ❝ how was i supposed to say no! ❞

his therapist had come to his residency one dark miserable rain-soaked evening, with dr. lecter, his three-piece suit stained pink with fresh blood. and he hadn't resisted when they took him. how could he have? and then the airplane ride — first class, he had drank sparkling apple juice rather than champagne, too young — and then a brief visit to paris — even in terror he could appreciate it, practicing his french — and then the museum curator, along with his wife and son, had vanished. and lecter served the both of them heart tartare. ( kurt can no longer stomach meat, during suppers he merely picks at his gold-rimmed antique plate, nibbling morsels of roasted vegetables. even that feels as if a feast; he had stopped eating altogether for a few meals, before lecter forced-coaxed him to eat. )

𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences on this memes are taken from different sources of literature, television and media about enemies to lovers trope and enemies and lovers trope with some angst thrown into the mix. Change pronouns, names and locations as you see fit.

Does it hurt? Loving someone who can’t love you back?

Break his crown, break his throne, rip his monarchy apart.

What are we doing?

You are capable of making my blood boil like no one else, and yet I feel a magnetic pull I cannot explain.

It’s not natural for someone to be as stupid as he is tall, and yet there you stand

Like whether you should kiss me or punch me.

Most of all, I hate you because I think of you. Often. It’s disgusting, and I can’t stop.

You make me feel things that shouldn’t exist. 

Whatever this is, we should stop. I have been. . .compromised.

There’s a fine line between love and hate, and maybe we crossed it a long time ago.

I never thought I could detest someone so much, until the day I realized I was falling in love with you.

We may fight like enemies, but deep down, we both know that our hearts beat for each other.

You infuriate me, challenge me, drive me crazy, but damn it, at the end of the day, I can’t resist you.

It’s that tension that makes this so irresistible.

You’re like an addiction I can’t break free from, even if I wanted to.

You’re the thorn in my side, the fire in my veins, and I can’t help but crave your presence in my life.

Loving you feels like a dangerous game.

You infuriate me, yet you’re the only one who truly understands me.

You scare me to my core.

There’s no denying the fire that burns between us.

If any two men desire the same thing, which nevertheless they cannot both enjoy, they become enemies.

I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other.

Tell me you don’t feel this between us. Look at me and don’t look away while saying it.

You claim me your enemy and yet, let me crawl into your bed every night.

You are the bane of my existence, and the object of all my desires.

Do you even know all the ways a lady can be seduced? The things I could teach you.

I did not asked for this. To be plagued by these feelings.

I tried to deny it for so long, but I don’t want to anymore.

Follow me around. Look at me as if you find me fascinating. Touch me, and say nice things to me. And then, you pull away as if you did nothing at all.

There’s no need for these games.

Well, you know that old saying, “Keep your friends close and make out with your enemies.

You read me wrong.  I wasn't trying to lead you on.

Is that all I am to you? A resource to be used in your scheme?

Stolas, don't act like what we have is anything more than you wanting me to fuck you, okay? You make that really clear all the time. But I just- I can't do it tonight, okay?

 You'll lay a man out for implying I'm a whore, but you keep calling me one to my face.

So, the only man that can have you is one who's already tried to kill you. That's logic.

It's like a little death. Several, in fact.

Oh Max, if you really hated Kyle you couldn't have slept with him.

So go on... kiss me... kill me... Do something.

I've often wondered what this moment would be like. Me... you tied up. 

Once this is over, we should really have angry sex.

Hate and love are not so very different things. Both are focused upon another. Both are intense. Both are passionate.

It just means you'd rather be with someone you hate... than be with me.

She's difficult and irritating, and she tries to hit me all the time.

We have a deal, what are you so afraid of?

Only I can hurt you this way. Only I can kiss you like this. 

You dragged me down and now I can’t quit you. 

This is the last time we do this.

Last night was also the last time. And yet, you keep coming back.

𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐃 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐀𝐆𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences were taken from different sources about romance, marriage and specially arranged marriage and what that entails. Mentions of affairs, mistresses, wedding ceremonies and medieval talks of what marriage entails follow. Change names, pronouns and locations however you see fit.

Marriage is a marriage, whether it is arranged or not. Both necessitate the same level of dedication.

It’s not an option to be best friends with your life partner; it’s a requirement for a firm foundation in a long-term relationship.

Arranged marriage is not always a bed of roses, but it is possible to achieve with love and faith.

It’s different for women, isn’t it? They have no choice where they go. They grow up in a prison and then get married into one.

Is there anything more courageous/stupid than saying yes to spend your life with someone you have no idea about?

The country was as much of a mystery to me as the man I had married.

One day you’ll be in love with me.

You could be a titled lady. 

I have avoided the fate my father had planned for me. Surely it is I who has won, not he.

I do not care about power and wealth, father. I want to marry for love.

But if you were matched, what do you think she'd be like?

We're supposed to be unable to keep our hands off of each other. 

In this case the time is not so important for me, the person asking for commitment is.

We are trapped by convention and must marry another.

Every good child knows: duty before your heart's desire.

I am to be a bride, but whose? 

I married you to stop the bloodshed, and you keep killing. When will it be enough- when?

I found out soon after we met that Leah’s father had promised her in marriage to some young Pole.

If I ever get into an arranged marriage, I want it to be like theirs.

Arranged marriages require effort; constantly and every day. And where there is love, you want to make these efforts.

A successful arranged marriage can help climb the biggest mountain and build the biggest empire.

An arranged marriage is like wine; it tastes good with time.

You will marry him and do your duty to your House.

You are my daughter and you will do as I say. End of discussion.

Love? What does love have to do with marriage?

He'll honour his duty to family and swallow it.

I was three when my parents promised me. When a deal was struck. 

 So I was raised to be his wife. I was taught my favorite color was gold because his favorite color was gold. I was told my favorite foods were his favorite foods

I never thought what it would actually be like to have him... be gone. 

I was raised for him, and now I am... new. I am brand-new. And I do not even know how to breathe air he does not exhale.

A bride at her second marriage does not wear a veil. She wants to see what she is getting.

Marriage is a financial contract; I have enough contracts already.

The dowry, not the wife, is the object of attraction.

Arranged marriages work like this. The girl is hardly asked and is expected to follow whatever her parents deem fit.

Marry, that marry is the very theme I came to talk of.

Maybe she'll be beautiful. Maybe she'll be rich. As long as she brings swords and men.

Perhaps love is a minor madness.

It doesn't matter who the seed is. The important thing is that it has a place in your womb.

Her maidenhood will seal an alliance and must be kept safe.

Every married woman knows a man can have mistresses and we must look the other way.

All I ask is, that you do not cast me aside. Have mistresses and lovers as you please, but confide in me as I am to be your wife.

A husband’s first and foremost job in a marriage is to protect and love his wife.

Touching without looking had been incredibly arousing.

In my opinion, most marriages are based either on money or the fear of being alone.

I want you in every way there is to want. I want you in any way you choose to share.

I'm free to do with my wife as I fucking please.

The marriage of convenience lasts until you become an inconvenience.

Ours is a marriage of convenience and nothing more.

From now on, you're sleeping in our room. There's no chance in hell I'm letting you sleep far away from me again.

You agreed to this marriage and didn’t even dare to ask my opinion on the matter.

You're going to bend, and so am I. We're going to compromise, negotiate, and distract each other.

Being together means our priorities are going to change.

Men marry because they are tired; women, because they are curious: both are disappointed.

I don't think I am likely to marry, Harry. I am much too in love.

It is certainly romantic to be in love, but there's nothing romantic about a definite proposal.

They are royals, whoever they marry is not their choice but who is better for the crown.

That is a match made in a boardroom.

Once you are wed to another, you will forget me. 

I will marry a man who desires me but I have no interest in. 

I will not be a secret kept in shadows. Once you are wed, I will leave.

How can I marry them, when I am in love with another? It is not fair to them, that I think of you when I’m with them.

Ever since I met you, no one else has been worth thinking about.

Behave yourself, out here, we are wed and what you do, reflects on me.

You are being sold like a mare and do not care.

Once I bore him a son, he shall be happy, I know it.

We hate one another but for peace, we must wed. At least, let us enjoy this part of the contract.

I am doing this for my family and for the terms you offer.

A marriage is simply an alliance.

All will be well, love can be found in a marriage. If not love, at least, good company. 

Do your duty and give him sons.  That’s all men want.

I will not be paraded around in a bedding ceremony. I will wed them and bed them, but I will not be humiliated. 

You think this title gives me power, but you forget, I am a woman.

I am lucky enough to have options. None who please me but at least, I can choose one.

“whatever you feel is the best option, I will abide by it. I understand if this is disturbing to perform before a Servant like myself, though it must be done if we can hope to fulfill your wish.” Performing sexual deeds was one proposal Arthur couldn’t say he was opposed to, though it would be a first to perform in this era. His own era would not take kindly to such deeds since religious aspects had viewed them to be a sinful act against God. The King of Knights still held back from enacting anything…residing on one knee, awaiting what they would do. He wouldn’t crave to see a cut applied to such a delicate finger for blood to be granted — it’d hurt the king to see any injury on that form. Relieving himself into a cup was…an odd one, mostly because he would be honored to grant the other his mouth. In between their exchange was nothing more than Saber delivering an intense gaze but with gentleness in its wake. He could see his Master displaying an unusually weakened state, one that masked the inner desires of the flesh lying within. The concept of romance was forbidden between Master and Servant due to the hero vanishing as a transparent memory. It won’t be long until the other would forget him, seek out another lover in years of his remaining lifespan. He simply was a tool to be used and later tossed to the side. This is precisely why he’d permit his body to become a vessel, in the hopes it’ll make Kurt’s wish be fulfilled. Being told the reason for this hesitation has brought a mixed feeling into the king’s chest. Relief and concern were displayed towards these words about not being prepared for their activity of mana transfer. “Then…I am worthy in your eyes. That brings me joy how you would not be opposed should you be prepared, Master. I truly am honored.” A heart skipped a beat to his broad chest even if the armor remains attached, yet he can’t deny being concerned as well.

❝ no — it has nothing to do with you being worthy, saber. ❞ kurt protests, bewildered as to how his companion could regard himself so lowly. ❝ if anything, i'm not the worthy one — i don't deserve the love of a king. ❞ someone so brave and noble and chivalrous, royalty of gold and midas, treasure dust and coins. saber deserves to have a much more befitting and eager lover, not the boy he is bound to by the whims of fate.

he blushes still jejune pink, splotches of petal-hued color reaching his ears and cheeks and throat: he has always been reluctant when it comes to the subject of physical intimacies and amorous love. but how could he explain himself, when saber seems to misunderstand his shy hesitancy to be begrudging revulsion : it is about the act itself, not the participating partner. ❝ i — i wouldn't be opposed — to sex — if i were — prepared. ❞ he says, slowly, but it seems as if he is trying to muddle through the other's intent, rather than pronouncing his own. it still seems too frightening, too soon, too much, too filthy. but if it's for saber —

❝ ah. ❞ kurt trembles, gasping, at the feel of lambskin-gloved fingers against his spring-warm cheek, the material roughened yet worn down to butter-yielding leather. ❝ c - court me? ❞ saber truly is almost a fairy-tale knight, sword and armor and all, and kurt's girl-long lashes flutter. ❝ i can't — can't think of anything i want more. if you would have me. ❞

after all, he may not have confessed it, but he has loved saber from the beginning.

his heart is rabbiting, aching in his chest, fingers quivering as he draws nearer. their lips mere centimeters apart, his breath a warm perfume against the man's mouth. watching as saber's meadow-green gaze closes, waiting, obedient — kurt leans in, and very gingerly brushes the pucker of his lips against the other. another. another. until he is properly kissing, mouth slipping and pressing desperately against the seal of saber's lips. he is still an adolescent, plagued by desire and lust. he very tentatively opens his mouth, easing his tongue outwards for the tiniest of laves against that closed mouth, to urge saber into doing more.

looks like a solo tonight

"hey. you look tired. you alright?"

"something wrong?"

"look. i can tell you're not feeling great. want to talk about it?"

"i won't leave you. not now, not ever."

"it's okay to rest. i'm right here."

"sometimes your brain will lie to you and tell you bad stuff, but it's not true. it's never as bad as it seems."

"it will be okay. i promise."

"hey, it's alright to let it out."

"you hide behind that facade so much. why?"

"you're not going to leave me, right?"

"want to do something stupid to take your mind off all this?"

"we'll live. we'll live, both of us will, please believe me!"

"don't do this. it's not good for you."

"we will survive and afterwards, we'll... get some ice cream. or go to a nice restaurant."

"i don't know if anyone has ever told you this, but it gets better. it will get better, i promise."

"do you have anyone who supports you? do you have anyone who cares about you?"

"can i have a hug?"

"maybe it's not okay right now. maybe it won't be for a while. whichever it is, i won't leave you."

"hey, stay for a while. i gotta share this popcorn with someone."

"sleep fixes a lot of stuff. it's like emptying garbage cans in your brain."

"stay with me, please?"

"follow my breathing, okay? in for one, two, three, four... hold for one, two, three, four... out for one, two, three, four."

"let's go for a walk together. where do you wanna go?"

"there - you can cry. it's okay. i would never judge you for that."

"it doesn't matter what you say or do, i won't let you be sad alone."

"i'm your friend, idiot. i'm not going to abandon you."

"don't just repress everything! that's dumb, and it'll hurt your brain."