Do you enjoy writing romantic scenes, or do they make you scrunch up your toes? Both my current series are romance dramas, but as of yet there haven't been a lot of romantic scenes written into them (More coming soon for "Damsel in the Red Dress" though.)
That said, I do enjoy writing them, though I think I might have delayed onset embarrassment for some of them that I'm waiting to kick in lol.
I think my favorite part about writing really romantic parts in my stories is the dynamics. Every couple will have a different dynamic, and every person in a couple has a different way of interacting and showing affection to their sweetheart. It's fun to think of what forms of affection suit each character's personality.
As of yet not a lot of romantic anything has been shown for "Hushabye Prince" but there is some for "Damsel in the Red Dress," though I admit it's a very unusual form of romance that includes a lot of annoying and teasing each other so far.
Share your samples below (but again, sfw, I'm talking like PG-13 and under.)
Don’t know what possesses me but I walk over to him without the slightest grain of hesitation - of bashfulness - of worry that I’ll regret this later and sit down on the edge of his bed, taking his face in both of my hands.
“Yah. Viejo.”
I can feel his furious heartbeat through the delicate skin - red and white and that perfect cashew brown all at the same time. I could find it in me to kiss him right now and forget about anything else - about reason and consequences - but instead, I press his forehead against mine and just breathe. I feel the heart skip beats, flip, somersault, and then calm down into a steady rhythm. I feel the skin growing hot under my fingertips, but I know if I open my eyes now, it’ll break the spell.
I whisper a sort of prayer my mother used to say to my brother and me when we were small.
Peace, my sweet, my heart.
“I can see you,” I say softly, “I’m no idiot, Kattar. We haven’t been friends for 15 years for me to be that blind.” The heart speeds into near panic -
Not this time - we’re not lying this time-
“You can pretend - pretend to be as angry and as cold as you like. I still see you. You don’t have to hide that you’re hurting from me.”
I feel the salt water running down onto my fingertips and my hands - the dark hair shrouding his face…
Getting down on the floor like a man-sized breed of black cat he crawled over to where I stared zombie-fied at the small screen and laid down so close to me that our shoulders touched.
“Hey, go take a shower.”
“I will when I get home.”
I can still feel him pushing my shoulder with that half-playful but dead serious air - “Yeah, not a chance. I don’t want you being nasty in my room. We’ve been outside all day in humid, 90-degree weather. You’re not about to wait until you go home to be clean.”
“What do you want me to do? I don’t have anything to change into. I’m not about to steal your mother’s clothes again.”
“Just wear something of mine.”
“Right, cuz that makes sense,” I rolled my eyes.
“It’s the miracle of drawstrings. En serio. Go wash.”
The same gentle nudge follows the command, even as I resist with a will, trying to keep him from snatching the phone back.
“No! This is my protective layer. Defense against the creepers when I walk home alone.”
“Look, I will drive you home and back thirteen times if I have to. So go take a shower. You smell like sweat.”
“There are so many worse things I could smell like.”
“But that doesn’t make it good though!”
“If it bothers you so much then keep your distance.”
As if.
I pushed him over with both hands - feeling his dark eyes laughing at the wall. They’d squinted into those shining black lines, as he rolled back again, quickly, grabbing me by the shoulders so we were resting face to face.
“Not happening. So ve a lavarte before I blockade you in the bathroom.”
