Fiction Reads Novels & Stories

“Do you want me to tell you about my mermaid?” “First, explain why you read books when your friend is visiting.” “Because we both like reading? What kind of question is that? You read constantly. You should understand.” “I read when I’m alone.” “That’s only half the fun. She reads really filthy books about bikers and mafia bosses, and I read historical romances full of ball gowns and elaborate courtship rituals. Then we read each other the best passages.” She was getting animated now, hands moving as she talked. “So Daphne ’s contributions are like ‘Jax and Teague ripped my clothes off and we had this insane threesome and I came five times,’ and mine are full-page descriptions of flowers blo

he replied simply, adjusting his glasses. I rolled my eyes. “You need help. Here—” I reached for one of the novels from the table beside me, one that was light and funny. “Try reading something that won’t make your brain combust.” He raised an eyebrow. “Fiction?” “Yes, fiction,” I said, placing it in his hand. “You know, made-up stories with emotions, imagination, and people who do ridiculous things for love?” He opened the first page, his expression unreadable. For the next few minutes, the only sound was the crackle of the fire and the rustle of turning pages. Then, suddenly—

This is going to be nice, I just know it. I spend hours cooking, snacking, reading, and it feels like a dream. My fae romance novel takes me to a land that doesn’t resemble my life and I’m so happy to lose myself in it. I’m reading along happily when I come across a word that strikes me dead. Mates. Great. Just what I was trying to forget about. I put it down and pull out the other book I brought, a historical fiction novel. No mates here, no way. Dinnertime creeps around and I spend a while making a nice risotto with a side salad and garlic bread. It’s so good it borders on s*x.

I turn around and take a look at those. "They don't feel the same anymore", I tell him. He immediately frowns in confusion. "So, you got bored with ROMANCE?" "No. But there's a reason", I say, leaning against the shelf and placing my palm over the books. Then I slowly trace my hand over them. "And the reason is—" he leans back too, a foot of distance between us but we can clearly hear each other whispering. "People who read romance, mostly women—" I giggle. "They want to escape reality. So, they can find more beautiful things in fiction"

A faint, knowing smile touched his lips before he turned to the board. “Today we will discuss power exchange in nineteenth-century literature,” he began, his voice smooth and authoritative. “Particularly how submission can function as both surrender and rebellion.” My cheeks burned. He was speaking directly to me. For the first thirty minutes, he lectured normally. I took notes with trembling hands, trying to focus on his words rather than the plug inside me. Then I felt it. A low, gentle vibration started deep within me.

Susan blushed, and Alexei tilted his head, curious. “Weird books? Now I’m interested.” “They’re just fiction. Suspense, mystery… Sometimes romance.” She shrugged modestly. “Romance?” He raised an eyebrow. “The sugary kind or the ones that keep you up all night reading?” She bit her lip, thoughtful. “The ones that make you think. I like imperfect characters. Relationships that are built over time. Real feelings, you know?” Alexei’s smile remained, but his eyes grew more attentive. “You don’t believe much in instant passions?”

Fiona hurried towards the elevator, she couldn’t wait to leave her work place which felt like a sexual incantation to her lately. Colt screamed sex and she was loosing her cool. It was a good thing that it was past work time, she couldn’t wait to get home, have a cold bath and indulge in chocolates, reading a romance novel written by Bella that she didn’t even believe in the contents but had to do it anyways because to her, true love only exist in books and of course waiting for another day in sexual torture for a whole week until it was weekend when she could finally make her escape for a weekend without sexual tensions, which was becoming occasionally lately. She couldn’t remember the last

Confused but felt something at the same time. Your output, it's-- "Fiction, a work of imagination. An exaggeration of reality sometimes opposite to it. It's like playing with reality trying to make it more ideal and dream-like. " After that, Craig take his seat and continue writing in his notea leaving everyone more confused and dumbfounded.

Guess I should’ve broken things off with Reed ages ago, not that there was much to break off. Ford grabbed a stray piece of clothing, propping himself up on one of his arms, and my lips parted as I watched him clean my abdomen. I’d never had a guy clean up his mess before. “Did that just happen?” I whispered, staring at the gorgeous piece of man meat beside me. He wasn’t just man-meat, either; he was an author. He created fantasy worlds, and I had a few of his books on my shelf, now. Which meant he was smart, along with sexy.

WARNING! THIS IS A NON-CONSENSUAL STORY. PLEASE BE WARNED. IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE IT AVOID THIS PARTICULAR STORY. As I mentioned, I write based on the prompts readers give if it's not too extreme. This doesn't mean the author supports this in real life. Note: There are limits I won't cross when writing these collections, so when you request a certain story, don't cross a certain line. I won't write it. CHAPTER 1 The bar smelled like spilt beer and old cigarettes. A few people were scattered around the tables. It was late August, and most of the town was at the county fair.