Whether they regularly hold a blade to each other’s throat, or have jealous spats in every other chapter, here’s why the fictional couples in romantasy novels might not cut it in the real world

A man approaches you in a bar, dressed head to toe in leather and armed with a multitude of weapons. He’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen – rippling muscles, a harsh jawline, defined abs. But you know what’s even sexier? His traumatic back story.

For the next few hours, he alternates between insults and flirtation before offering to teach you hand to hand combat – what’s romance without a bit of knife play? Back at his place, you have the best sex of your life, and he declares that you’re his soulmate.

This is, broadly speaking, the trajectory of most couples in romantasy fiction. And the world can’t get enough of it.

‘Romantasy’ is a combination of romance and fantasy, usually featuring a few smouldering battle scenes and a lot of “fairy porn”. Last year, five of the top 10 adult books were written by either Sarah J Maas or Rebecca Yarros, the two names dominating this scene. And in January, the highly anticipated sequel to Yarros’ book Fourth Wing sold 2.7 million copies in the first week, making it the fastest selling adult novel in 20 years.

Rhian Parry, a literary agent for The Blair Partnership who specialises in romantasy,  explains that “so much of [romantasy’s popularity] is the escapism element. Fantasy allows readers and writers to step away from a world that feels increasingly precarious.”

However, it’s not long before this mania becomes troubling. A lot of romantasy tropes are toxic or outdated, whether it’s enemies to lovers, extreme jealousy, or hypersexualised characters. This is not to say that you shouldn’t read romantasy – I enjoy the occasional dalliance with a dragon rider – but you should acknowledge the problematic side of your book boyfriends.

Enemies to lovers

This is the genre’s bread and butter. L. R. Lam, best-selling author of fantasy novel Dragonfall, says: “I really love a good slow burn and all the tension and yearning.” But how many couples do you know in real life who started out as mortal enemies? I can think of exactly zero (and if your answer is different, you should give them a therapist’s number).

“In today’s world, women frequently express dissatisfaction with dating apps, where males seem to have a strong sexual desire without wishing to establish a relationship with their dates first,” says relationship therapist Evelyn Aldous. She thinks that the enemies-to-lovers trope offers hope for reconciliation – it starts with conflict, but romance becomes possible.

But the trope also tends to disregard the more organic stages of intimacy, and not all authors rely on it. Denise Beucler (pen name D. M. Beucler) is a debut romantasy author, whose novel Memory and Magic will be published in autumn 2025. She developed the relationship between her main characters using the “12 Stages of Intimacy” – a “how to” guide for writers wanting to build romance in their fiction.

She also drew upon her lived experience. “I have been married for 16 years, and I think I started our relationship by telling him I didn’t think it was going to work out, which is kind of what happens with Tamsin and Rhys [in my book]. It develops very slowly.”

This kind of gradual tenderness differs greatly from the fiery, accelerated timelines of many romantasy couples. So, lesson one: even if the simmering tension of enemies to lovers is exciting on the page, it’s not something to replicate in your real life.

Romanticised jealousy

According to BookTok (source of all wisdom), one of the best moments in Rebecca Yarros’ novel Onyx Storm is when Xaden uses his shadow magic to blast a prince into a wall – all because he’s a bit jealous.

“Shadows blast straight through the wards and hit Halden in the chest like a battering ram, sending the crown prince of Navarre flying backward—straight into the rock wall. […] He was going to touch you,” reads the passage in question.

This kind of extreme jealousy is rampant in romantasy, and it’s usually met with adoration from fans. One TikToker wrote “I was SCREAMING” after reading the scene, and another “giggled and kicked [their] feet”. But extreme jealousy and possessiveness are not desirable traits. Aldous says: “Extreme jealousy stems from low self-value, low self-esteem, high neuroticism, and fear of abandonment. At the root is the looming feeling of low self-worth and not being loveable.” She attributes the popularity of jealousy in fiction to women’s unconscious desire for a “warrior-man”.

Of course, the protagonists in romantasy do typically have a traumatic backstory, which is part of what makes them compelling characters. Their possessiveness is a realistic response to those formative experiences, but glorifying it is a problem. According to Aldous, in real life, jealousy “makes the relationship unbearable and love will fade”.

Hypermasculinity and hyperfemininity

Romantasy tends to be strikingly idealised. All the women are ample, curvy and toned; all the men are tall, rugged and muscular. For example, in Sarah J Maas’ Crescent City series, the protagonist Bryce is described as having “luscious curves” and hair which brushes “the generous curve of her ass”. And if you hadn’t got the message already, she dons a white dress which “cling[s] to every curve and dip”. The picture of womanliness – if you were born in the 1950s, perhaps. 

It’s not only the women whose gendered characteristics are exaggerated. Romantasy men are always the most beautiful men imaginable. Rebecca Yarros’ Xaden is described as “all sharp lines and barely leashed power […] and his stomach… I mean, how many muscles are there in the abdominals?” Doesn’t that description just exude manly pheromones? If romantasy men existed in real life, they would definitely be downing Huel shakes and hitting the gym 23 hours a day.

Yet readers are drawn to these hypersexualised characters, and perhaps it says something about our personal fantasies. For Breanne Randall, fantasy author of Spells, Strings and Forgotten Things, “the romantic relationships that appear in mainstream romantasy are idealised versions of what we desire, and that’s why they hit home for so many.” She says that fantasy’s female empowerment attracts her more than romantic development: “At the end of the day, it’s telling us we can have both, our power and love.”

And even though these hypersexualised couples should probably break up, romantasy also allows space for different kinds of relationships. Literary agent Parry says that romantasy “has been a spearhead genre for diversity of all kinds, and that’s bled into the types of couples we see portrayed. More people are seeing themselves portrayed in these books.”

There’s certainly something intoxicating about romantasy couples: the slow-burn passion, the uncertainty, and the stakes. But in reality, these couples should probably break up, and when you’re reading romantasy, the simplest distinction is the most important one: it’s fiction. 

So, go forth and enjoy your horny fables. But if a brooding warrior with a tragic past tries to soul-bond with you at the bar, maybe check if he’s in therapy first.