Fanfic Romance Novels & Stories

Dear Readers, Love has a way of surprising us—especially when fate steps in. Thread of Destiny is a story about friendship, longing, and the magic of fated mates. It’s a sapphic paranormal romance that blends the thrill of unexpected love with the warmth of a second-chance connection.

His gaze held a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, a sentiment he seldom revealed. As she continued to dress his wounds, the room seemed to shrink, narrowing down to the unspoken connection between them. Raina, in your writing, delves into the complexities of their romance. The physical act of dressing wounds serves as a metaphor for the healing they find in each other amid the chaos of their lives. Let the readers feel the emotional nuances, the uncharted territory of love in the shadows.

But after some minutes he finally gave in to his own burning desires and since then we've made love every single day to make up for all the lost times we didn't have! And it was sweet hot, sexy, steamy and passionate and we discovered new things, new spots of our body that we liked to be touched specially him with his scars, but i showed all my love and he took it all in like a sponge and now, our sexlife is even better than before all this mess!!!. End of flashback. I'm getting out of my deep thinking by the squeezing of my hand by Riley who is waiting for my answer: "Yes I do!" I say and they pronounce us officially as husband and wife and then he lifts up my chin with his finger and looks

How can we put an end to this if we don’t stay away from each other? We were not in any kind of relationship, but when I write my diary entry that night, it feels like I’ve been jilted. I strike through the whole entry, determined not to let him mar my sexy fantasies. Just because I stopped acting on these fantasies doesn’t mean I can’t write them. This time, I’m writing from experience. When Rhys touches me in my fantasies, I feel his touch as though it were real, the scent of his skin when he embraces me so unadulterated that the lines between imagination and reality start to blur.

he asked. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say to you.” “Ouch,” he said, mock-clutching his chest. “And here I thought we were bonding.” The corner of my mouth tugged before I could stop it. “Stealing my fries isn’t bonding.” “Depends how you look at it,” he murmured, eyes on the road. “Some people would call it intimacy.” My pulse stuttered. I looked away quickly, forcing my gaze out the window again.

"You want a puppet who'll nod and smile. However, now the puppet's strings are cut, and you're freaking out." Francis' expression turned icy. "I'm not freaking out." "Then why switch my meds?" I asked, a challenge. "You're terrified. Terrified that without those drugs, I'll realize I don't love…" His response was to kiss me, a fierce, angry kiss. I fought back, but he held me by the nape of my neck, deepening the kiss until the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. He had bitten my lip. It was a kiss unlike any other in the ten years I had known him, fueled by both lust and a need to punish.

Scene Notice – Taboo Group Erotica This scene features explicit sexual content between Bianca and her three stepbrothers—Damian, Victor, and Julian. It contains themes of forbidden attraction, seduction, and multiple partners (MMMF). Bianca has always flirted at the edge of what’s acceptable, teasing the boundaries of step-sibling propriety. But tonight, the game changes. Tonight, the teasing ends. Tonight, they give her exactly what she's been asking for. All characters are consenting adults, and the story is intended for mature readers (18+) who enjoy taboo, emotionally charged, and provocative erotica. If such themes are not to your taste, feel free to skip this chapter

I told him I wasn’t the one begging for distance every time things got real. The motherfucker left the next morning after we fucked for two hours straight and I still wasn’t satisfied. Trust me, the hours weren’t the problem—I just couldn’t get enough of it. He didn't grind my pussy as much as I'd fantasized it. He barely even touched the surface. What a waste! My fourth boyfriend didn’t even give an explanation. He just stopped replying to my messages after a night he called “perfect.” That night barely even beat what my hands could do for themselves. How could he call that ‘perfect’?

I panted, and he chuckled, “Tell me, doll,” he whispered, “Tell me what you want,” “Oh god, Darian,” I panted “Please,” “Please what, baby?” he teased. “Darian,” I growled, and he chuckled. He began to speed up his movements, and I flew over the edge again. I screamed again as he continued the rub at my sensitive spot, and wave after wave of pleasure pushed through my body. Finally I couldn’t hold myself on my knees any more and slumped in his arms, panting. Darian chuckled and lowered me gently to the bed. He leaned down and kissed me, with barely a graze of the lips. As he did, the door to the bathroom opened and I smelt the fresh shampoo scent mixed with the steam. He broke the kiss and g

“There, just sent you one. This one is an angsty Harry/Zayn fic. Also has some mpreg, if that’s your cup of tea.” I began to read this fanfiction, mostly to appease Niamh, and when I realized what, precisely, the term mpreg meant, I set my phone back down. I considered myself fortunate that I’d skipped the part where Zayn gives birth to his and Harry’s baby. “You asshole,” I called her in French. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Ooh, I should send you the diagram of how mpreg happens. It’s a whole thing—”