Soft Gf Novels & Stories

“Dad, I agree to move to Haven State for the arranged marriage. Let’s do it quickly before I change my mind.” Her father, Joe Stone, replied instantly. “Good girl, I’ll have it sorted within a month at most!” Just an hour ago, Tara Stone had been in the backseat of a luxury car, her soft sighs slipping out as Leo Carter kissed her. His phone rang, and he answered in Genovian, his tone impatient. “Calling at a time like this?” The voice on the other end chuckled. “What’s up? Busy with something important? How much does she resemble Nina Lucas?” Leo absentmindedly stroked Tara’s delicate face. “About seventy percent similar. If you don’t get to the point, I’m hanging up.” “Wait, don’t! Nina’s flight lands tomorrow. She’s returning to revive her career back home. I thought I’d give you a heads-up. Nice of me, right? Your first love, your ‘one true love,’ is back. Think you’ll finally ditch the stand-in? What if she won't leave you?” Leo replied coldly, “There’s no problem money can’t solve.” Tara, her head lowered against the seat, felt her tears streaming uncontrollably. Leo had no idea she understood Genovian. Three years of heartfelt devotion, and to him, she was nothing more than a dog.

My mother never believed me. To her, I was always just a lying pup. In my pack, every cub wore a Moon Oath Collar. Red meant you lied. White meant you told the truth. My sister’s collar always glowed a soft white. Even when she pretended to be sick to get out of an exam, her collar only gave off that gentle white light. Mine was different. Even when I was truly sick, my collar would burst into a violent red, and the punishment current would follow immediately. On my sister’s birthday, Mother prepared a bonfire feast for the whole pack. Just before they left, a splitting pain tore through my head, and I collapsed on the floor, begging her to help me. For one second, she almost picked me up. Then my collar flashed red. “To ruin your sister’s birthday, you’re even pretending to die? What a vicious child.” Then she walked out with my sister and left me alone on the floor. I died alone on the cold floor. But when I opened my eyes again, I was no longer inside my body. My soul drifted after my mother as I whispered the truth she had never believed. “Mom… I wasn’t lying. I really died.” And when they finally found my body, the red collar on my neck was still flashing.

She was too soft, too chubby, and too gentle for a brutal world. That’s what her Alpha told her the night he rejected her in front of the entire pack. “I need a Luna with teeth, not tits.” Moments later, Emara Dell lay dying in the snow...murdered by the same wolves she once healed. But death is only the beginning. Under the blood-red moon, the Goddess resurrects her as the Shadow Luna: powerful, untouchable, and burning with shadowfire. Her heartbeat awakens an ancient guardian across the sea....Fenric, the legendary Bone Wolf, a monstrous, devastatingly beautiful male who rises with one purpose: Find her. Claim her. Destroy anyone who ever hurt her. Bodies begin to appear beneath crescent moons. Wolves whisper of a feral god hunting in the dark. And when Emara and Fenric finally collide, their connection is explosive, forbidden, and dangerously addictive, and filled with heat that could burn a world to ash. But jealousy has consequences. Lyrina Veega, the Beta’s daughter and Corvin’s childhood favorite, performs a forbidden ritual to steal Emara’s power… and accidentally tears open a divine rift, awakening a forgotten god. Now war is coming. Desire is a weapon. And Emara must decide if she will rule the shadows...or let them consume her. A dark, high spice paranormal romance full of feral devotion, explosive chemistry, brutal revenge, and a heroine who rises from death as something no Alpha could ever control.

“None of them are supposed to touch you Julia.”Silas whispers into my ears and I swallows. “You are ours!!” Sebastian grabs me from behind and I let out a soft moan of pleasure when he pushes into me. “You’re ours to mark, ours to own, ours to f*ck. To use and we do not fucking share Julia.” ******** When Julia moves in with her stepbrothers, she’s warned to behave. What no one warns her about is them. They bully her relentlessly—control where she goes, who she talks to, how she dresses. At school, they let others torment her with words and rumors, but the moment someone goes too far, the punishment is brutal. No one is allowed to touch her. Because she’s theirs. They humiliate her in private, invade her space, watch her like predators marking territory. The way they look at her makes her uneasy… and worse, makes her think things she shouldn’t. Julia doesn’t know they’re Alpha werewolves. She doesn’t know dominance is instinct, or that desire and possession are tangled together in their world. She only knows that the lines between hatred, control, and something dangerously forbidden are starting to blur. They call it protection. They call it discipline. But Julia is starting to realize the truth. She isn’t just being bullied. She’s being claimed in every way that matters.

After ten years studying interior design overseas, I came back to my hometown to do work that mattered to the people who raised me. I offered the full package, from site survey to soft furnishings. The materials were chosen by hand. The price was fair to the bone. The town had just gone through a redevelopment. Everyone was getting new units. With the new family policy, every family wanted a third bedroom too. My business was good. Customers from the next county were driving in. Then a girl just back from a city college kicked open my studio with her phone on a livestream and her neighbors at her shoulder. "This is the dishonest one. Look at her. She has been ripping the village off." "In the city, an eighty-square-meter unit can be done for twenty thousand dollars. She is charging eighty." "That's a sixty-thousand-dollar margin. Sixty thousand. Right out of our pockets." The village fell in line behind her. They demanded the difference back. When I refused, they smashed my studio. They beat me into a coma. The pile-on online killed me. When I opened my eyes again, I knew exactly what I was going to do. I would refund every single one of them. And then I would tear out every single thing I had installed. Let's see what twenty thousand dollars actually buys you.

''After a few seconds of them staring at one another, Dante finally spoke. But his voice had changed; it was breathless and soft, echoing with a sweetness that Nate could have never imagined existed within him. With the knife left on his palm for Nate to grab, he cooed sheepishly, "Can you...tease me...with this?" Nate Kennedy was devastated when his parents announced their moving overseas. As for him, he was forced to move to a new city, get an apartment near his aunt and enroll in a brand new school. It all started going left when he encountered an assassin named Dante Hercules known not only in their city, but across the entire territory. But Nate didn't know he was an assassin when NAte threatened to kill him after Dante had laid a hand on his aunt. Neither did he know that Dante was into submissive sexual pleasure, relished being dominated violently and carelessly. He had been looking for someone for years and years, until now; he found Nate Kennedy. That is the deal; Nate must keep Dante sexually satisfied. If he fails, he dies, without any remorse. But that was what he thought in the beginning; what happens when emotions start to get involved? When one falls in love with the other? When the dangerous lifestyle of Dante puts Nate's life in jeopardy, which he never thought he would care for?

My husband was the leader of the rescue team. As I was trapped in a cave and surrounded by a pack of wolves, I desperately called him over and over. Yet, he hung up on me every single time. When the fire nearly burnt out and the wolves got closer, he finally called me and angrily accused me, "Can you stop wasting public resources? I'm the rescue team leader first, and then your husband." In the background, I heard a soft, feminine voice saying, "Howard, my arm has a cut. Can you take me to the hospital?" I was familiar with that voice. It was my husband's first love. Ever since her husband died, she clung to him. And my husband... He didn't just tolerate it; rather, he seemed to enjoy it. A wave of despair washed over me as I ended the call. My hands were trembling, and I tried to call the police, but before I could, the leader of the wolves pounced on me. I fell hard to the ground, and the rest of the pack, sensing the signal, ran toward me at an extraordinary speed. I didn't stand a chance to fight back, and in mere moments, I was ripped into pieces. Before my consciousness slipped away, I struggled to glance down at my lower abdomen one last time, and my lips quivered. "My baby, I'm sorry I failed you…"

In the coastal quiet of Baler, a studio is born—not of architecture, but of intention.* Founded by Yam, a poet whose words cradle pain gently, and Franc, an artist who paints tenderness into walls, the studio becomes a refuge for those learning to stay—with grief, love, longing, and themselves. As visitors arrive, they leave behind more than footprints: a sigh recorded in bamboo, a poem tucked into the “Found Letters” shelf, a mural painted in crooked lines. Through zines, tea, silence, and sketchbooks, the studio teaches softness as revolution. Ren creates the *Window of Soft Returns*, an installation of anonymous voice recordings—each whisper forming a community of echoes. Drew builds the *Staircase With No Wrong Turns*, inviting people to walk through emotions without shame. Franc offers brushstrokes as brave work, and Yam curates writing circles that map healing in half sentences. Together, they host festivals that feel like hugs, and they begin traveling their archive, letting softness cross oceans. Even those who once left—like Miguel—return, discovering that some doors never truly close. Others, like Tala, capture the studio’s sound and turn it into a podcast of breath and becoming. Over seventy chapters, the studio transforms into something larger than itself: a mural of memory, a sanctuary for second chances, a place where return is sacred and voice is proof of survival. In the final bloom, the studio stands not as a monument—but as a reminder: > *“Staying isn’t easy. > But chosen together, > it becomes home.”*

You... you did say you'd pay me 1,000€ euros for an hour, right?" she asked. "Yes, Allysa, I confirm that's what I said," he replied with a big smile. Allysa lay down on the bed, and the second man approached her. She thought she should be wary, but strangely, the man inspired confidence. "Now, you're going to have to take off your clothes," he said in his soft, warm voice... There are encounters that turn a life upside down, moments when fate knocks at the door with disconcerting brutality. Allysa Moreau never imagined that losing her virginity for 1,000€ euros in a sordid basement would lead her to cross paths with Paolo Mancini, a billionaire and mafioso whose empire extended far beyond her comprehension. Driven from her apartment, desperate and confronted with the relentless reality of poverty, Allysa had made a decision she could never forget. She had sold herself, not for pleasure at first, but as events unfolded, she developed a taste for it, and to prove herself right, she told herself it was for survival. For Paolo, this story was not trivial. Allysa had his youthful features and palpable innocence, a curiosity in a world where everyone wore masks. Their story was not meant to exist. A mafia billionaire and a homeless teenager had nothing in common. But in a world where rules are meant to be broken, Allysa and Paolo would discover that chance doesn't exist. Desire, fear, and secrets would forge bonds.

Inside the tattoo studio, Seth Jones let his fingertips trace the dip of Rita Searle's waist and move slowly up her spine. With a soft rustle, her dress slipped to her ankles. He stood over her, taking in the blood-red rose inked across her chest. They had been married for three years, and this was the anniversary gift he'd be giving her—999 roses tattooed into her skin. A broken sob scraped up Rita's throat. "Seth, it hurts… Please, stop…" Her tears splashed onto the back of his hand, but he only pressed the needle deeper, dragging it along until angry red welts marked her body. "Victor wanted those damn roses so he could give them to another woman, and that led to Tara falling off that cliff and ending up in a vegetative state. I'm just giving him what he wanted. You should be grateful." Lying on the cold tattoo table, Rita felt the chill spreading through her. Her eyes stung, weighed down by grief churning behind them. "Isn't it enough? You bought out Searle Group, you hung Victor over a cliff, and left him for the vultures. What else do you want from us?" Seth grabbed her by the throat and forced her chin up. "And isn't Tara innocent in all this? Rita, you and Victor destroyed her life. Don't you owe her for that?"