Romantic Or Realist Novels & Stories

"Well, you're everything I expect my mate would be, not your snobbishness though -just your hight, your handsome face, your abs and your aura" I turned in his arms and stared at his face. "I want my mate to be very romantic and creative, because I'm beautiful, hot and creative" He smiled when I said I'm hot. "Romantic?" I nodded. "How do I know if I'm being romantic? Am I romantic?" he asked. I scoffed and rested my head back on his chest. "You're far from being romantic" I said. "Oh" there's a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Yeah, I want my mate to always kiss me goodnight, make me breakfast in bed and wake me up with a kiss to eat the breakfast"

Then my fingers dip in, searching for something to ease the tension in the room. "Do you like romance?" I ask, raising one above my head. It is only when I have asked him that I think about how the question might sound to him. Come on! He isn't smiling when he says, "What a cliché. Rom coms always seem to have the same stories with nothing fancy, nothing real. Give me something real, please."

I said. "I thought we were friends. I thought that even if the romance wasn't real, the friendship was. But you were working for him." "I’m sorry," she sobbed. "Liam, I am so, so sorry." "Was any of it real?" I asked. "Did you ever actually care, or were you just waiting for the next check?"

The one who does not come with lies or betrayals, the one who still knows how to be a gentleman and is clear that romanticism does not go out of fashion. The one who does not come to make you cry and helps you wipe away your tears, the one who knows that your relationship is a priority and therefore guards it as a treasure.... That mature man who does not need to go around conquering hundreds of women to disguise his low self-esteem, because he knows that a real man is capable of turning his partner into his wife, his friend and lover.... The one who can be as perverse as tender, as passionate as cheesy, as crazy as sane....

We have some classes together but not everything because we both have chosen a different career path but we try to do some together so we have time together as a couple. Anyways back to English literature!.....i like it because it often goes about Romantic stuff from the old ages long long time ago, like shakespeare and all that and i love that sh*t, absolutely love it! A couple that can't life without each other (Romeo & his beloved Juliet) and so on! I can just emerge myself in it, drown in it with my eyes closed so to imagine myself during that period of time, being one of them! Many now it sounds like a mushy sucker of Romance but i don't freaking care!

She has a strange idea of what is romantic and what is not. I want to roll my eyes at her words, but there's no point if she won't see that. "How can you call a savage's behaviour romantic?" I cross my arms in front of my chest. It seems the more I try to explain to her what a real romance is, the more she tries to resist. "Don't you understand? Our men behave like that only when they have feelings for someone. And with Alpha wolves, it's a little different."

You're exactly who I'm writing for. Writing romance — the steamy, unapologetic, adult kind — is genuinely the thing I love most. I love slow burns that make you yell at your screen. I love the moment two characters stop pretending they don't want each other. I love writing the tension right up until it snaps, and then writing what happens after. This genre gets dismissed a lot by people who've never actually read it, but I think it's some of the hardest, most emotionally honest writing there is, and I'm proud to spend my time here. I don't plan on going anywhere. This is home for me as a writer, and I intend to keep building worlds and couples and slow-burn chaos for as long as readers keep

Instead, he leaned back slightly, his attention shifting toward something far more comfortable. “Your book,” he said. “You read it?” I asked, though I already knew the answer. “I did,” he confirmed. “And?” He smiled faintly, tilting his head slightly as if considering his words carefully. “You don’t just write romance,” he said slowly. I blinked. “You write conflict.” Something about that made me sit a little straighter. “Your characters feel real,” he continued, “they’re not polished, they’re not perfect, they’re… human.”

Of all genres, romance. I just want to be reminded of what it feels like to be loved. To be wanted. And I'm not saying it to sound like a ‘Bitch’—as Jordan will call it. But then, no man was made to be an island or live solemnly on an island. Secondly, it pulls me out of reality and I'm just hanging on the edge of fiction and harsh reality flavored with chaotic people. “Yeah. It does.” Because sometimes, you don’t read stories for the truth.

Bianca padded softly down the stairs, still wrapped in nothing but the thin towel, damp hair clinging to her shoulders. The house was dim now, just the warm glow from the kitchen light spilling into the hallway. She was heading for a glass of water, or at least that’s what she told herself.She froze at the bottom step when she saw him. Dominic was leaning back against the counter, head tilted, one hand gripping the edge while the other moved with slow, deliberate strokes. His cock was out, thick and heavy, veins standing out as he worked himself. The scotch glass sat forgotten beside him. His jaw was tight, breathing rough, eyes half-closed, lost in whatever fantasy was playing behind them.