Dreams to reality

This is an 18+ place. Minors don't interact for ur own peace of mind. Send me dms and asks, this is a threat. No restrictions, anything can be said. Anons are great too<33 About me:

Not very sane, i think? My mental state is not really good, if you make it worse I'd probably like it tho...

I like to paint, portraits, landscapes, love anything and everything. Specially ethereal beings. Traditional art speaks louder to me than digital, so I often paint irl. 🎨

other than that uhhh.....I choke up trying to speak to ppl?? socially anxious? Whatever 🥲

She/her, loves my comfort bubble (personal space) but at the same time doesn't mind if someone comes along. Issues. Can comfort/give u therapy. But please don't actually be mean to me, I would keep thinking about those words and it would hurt. Sorry if u think I'm weird, u can ignore my blog if u want

Have a fear of needles

If anyone wanna give fanfic ideas, please do. Requests are open

Heads up:

My comfort zone might not be comfortable for people, just saying.

Tw: lots of yandere shit, bone breaking, Stalking, kidnapping, knife play, etc

(I'll keep adding into this the more fanfics i make)

New to tumblr, have no idea what I'm doing.

🦢

She made out with a guy, full on. Better than what happened w me. And she highkey likes the guy. Well forget it. Good while it lasted ig

What exactly should I do now lmao

What exactly should I do

What can I do

Give us tea 😭😭 girl

HIII AND TYYYY SMM 🤍🤍

AND YEAHH I made out with her 😭😭 We were drunk, shit happened, I was crying and she asked me if making out would make me feel better. I was laughing n shi taking it as a joke(cuz we always joke abt it) BUT IT WASNT

Not sure if I'm good at it and I still don't know how she felt about it, yknow.. if it was good or bad?? or like idk.. she was good 😭 I think.. idk how this is supposed to work BUT I LOVED IT.

I rly hope she liked it too.. I swear I'll do better next time :")

Imagine your stalker finally work up the courage to finally confess to you, reader's answer is simple they're a lesbian and already have a girlfriend, the stalker doesn't believe it, but when he finally breaks into reader house, he finds them in bed cuddling with their girlfriend.

(.·°՞(¯□¯)՞°·. Pretty please can you spare reader gf from a terrible fate, thank you a lot, love your works!)

                             ╱|、

                          (˚ˎ 。7 

                           |、˜〵         

                          じしˍ,)ノ

Absolutely beautiful, but uh- want readers fate to be good or bad?

Good= stalker feels frustrated looking at the scene but decides to leave. (He'll continue stalking reader hoping that they break up)

Bad=

He'll kidnap reader (ofc, typical)

He'll play the long game and ruin the relationship by creating misunderstandings between reader and gf (example breaking into their house and messing things up on the phone/other ways)

Suggestions would be great ^^

Yandere Knight x Princess!Reader, Kidnapping, Enemies to Lovers, Baby-Trapping, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Mention of deaths, Obsession, ACTUAL smut this time (cuz I haven't been feeding yall for so long)

The world burned around you. The sky was black with smoke, and the air itself seemed to scream—shrill cries of steel splitting flesh, the dying roars of warhorses, and the final, gasping sobs of your people.

The throne room had been breached. You had seen the doors crumble beneath a battering ram made from your own sacred oak trees. The guards died first, your cousins, your friends, your parents and siblings—cut down like animals.

Their blood still coated the marble and your gown. You sat among the ruins, your fists clenched so tightly that your nails had broken your skin. You couldn’t even feel it. There was no pain left, just numbness.

And then... he walked in.

Tall and clad in blackened steel, his pauldrons shaped like wolves’ heads and fur cloaking his shoulders, he moved with the calm, lethal grace of a predator who had already won.

He didn’t look at the gold or the tapestries. Didn't even care about the gem stones adorning the well crafted marble statues or the beautiful paintings you could only witness once in your lifetime as the royal palace rarely allowed anyone to see it.

His pale, sharp eyes found you instantly. Sir Kael Vaeren. The name was a curse on every soldier’s tongue.

A knight not born of nobility but blood—a monster raised by war, loyalty only to victory. You’d heard the stories: how he’d taken cities without siege, how he would burn fields only to salt them afterward so nothing could grow.

You had not thought he would come for your family's kingdom next. You hadn’t thought he would come for you.

“The princess lives,” one of his soldiers muttered behind him, half-awed, half-nervous.

Kael said nothing. His gaze roamed you slowly—taking in your torn gown, the crown half-fallen from your tangled hair, the blood at your collarbone.

His lips parted, just slightly. Not in disgust.

In satisfaction.

He walked toward you with slow, deliberate steps. You refused to flinch, even when your legs screamed to run.

“Kill me” you hissed. “If you have any honor, do it now.”

His voice was a rumble. “I didn’t come for your corpse.”

Your eyes widened a fraction. Before you could move, he reached you. A hand gripped your jaw—not rough, but firm, like he was testing how fragile you were.

His gauntlet dragged down your neck, the cold metal making you shiver.

“You were the last flower in this dying garden,” he said, low and calm. “But instead of crushing it... I’ll plant it somewhere else.”

"Oh, damn you and your poetic bullshit!" You turn and try to crawl away, trying your best to stay calm and plan an escape. He chuckles seeing your frantic escape.

That was the last thing you heard before the world tilted. He had thrown you over his shoulder like a sack of potatos.

Your screams echoed down the marble halls as he carried you out of the only home you’d ever known, out into the smoke and ruin, the castle collapsing infront of you in fire.

You hit his back with your fists, pressed your whole body weight on his shoulder but none of that affected him. To him it felt like a bunny thrashing around like it hated being carried.

The last thing you see is your family's corpses and the suffocating smoke making you unable to breathe. You pass out.

You woke up. The thick pelt beneath your cheek smelled of smoke, leather and..animal fur? The tent was dim, lit by flickering lanterns and the soft crackle of fire.

You were no longer in chains. But your wrists still bore the red marks. And then you realized: you were no longer in your dress?

Your body was bare beneath a thin blanket. You sat up sharply, only to flinch as the blanket slipped off your shoulder. You clutched it tightly to your chest as the tent flap rustled.

He entered. Taller without armor, somehow more terrifying. He wore only a loose tunic, dark trousers, and gloves that still bore faint traces of blood.

His hair was damp from battle, sweat clinging to his brow. But his expression was... calm.

He looked at you as if you belonged there. As if this had always been your place.

“Rested?” he asked, like this was normal. Like you hadn’t just been dragged from your burning kingdom.

“You bastard,” you spat. “You murdered my family—my people. What do you want from me?!”

He approached slowly. Not threatening, but inescapable. “What I want,” he said, “is already mine.”

He reached you before you could back away. One large hand gripped your jaw again, thumb brushing the curve of your lips.

“You’re going to stay here,” he said softly. “You’ll eat what I give you, warm my bed and you’ll give me what no battlefield has ever given me.”

You blinked. “What...?”

“Legacy,” he breathed, voice darkening. “I need an heir afterall, so why not take it from you.” Your heart dropped.

“Never,” you whispered. “I will never bear your—”

He moved quickly. His mouth crushed against yours, swallowing your refusal. He kissed you like a man who had waited through blood and death to claim his prize.

"I never asked for your opinion, now did I?" He murmurs before pushing his lips on yours again.

His tongue forced past your lips, hand gripping the back of your head to hold you in place. You dug your nails in his back only to get a moan from him.

"Mph—?!" You fought,clawed at him, twisted, kicked—but it was like wrestling stone. And he was just becoming more aggressive.

When he pulled away, his lip was bleeding cuz you bit him but he just smiled wiping the blood off with his fingers.

“You’ll learn.”

You didn’t expect him to be gentle. But he was. At first. Just to show that he's some sort of gentleman for giving foreplay instead of directly fucking you.

He peeled the blanket off your shoulders with slow, reverent hands, as if unwrapping something precious. His eyes burned as they drank you in.

You tried to cover yourself, but he caught your wrists and pinned them above your head with one hand.

“Don’t hide from me, I saw everything while I undressed you before anyway.” he whispered.

"You—!" His mouth found your chest first—hot, hungry, wet. His tongue swirled around your nipples before he sucked, teeth grazing just enough to make you flinch. "–ah..."

His hand slid down your belly, over your thighs, until he cupped you fully. “You’re already wet,” he murmured. “Your body knows what your pride refuses.”

"That's...that's just discharge. Don't get your hopes too up." You glared at him.

He looks up at you trying not to laugh. "Darling, as much as I hate to tell you this.. I'm not a virgin yknow. There's a reason why I fuck so good."

(HAUNTING ADELINE REFERENCEEEE AAAA🦅🦅)

You hated him. You hated yourself more for the heat pooling between your legs. For the part of you that arched despite your shame.

He slipped two fingers inside you—thick, calloused and slow. He worked you open, curling them until your back arched, rubbing your clit in small circles. You gasped, thighs shaking, shutting any arrogant insults that would come out of your mouth.

Then he removed them slowly. You almost felt embarrassed by the sounds you were making down there in this quiet tent.

You barely had time to breathe before he was on top of you, pushing inside in one sharp thrust. You screamed. He groaned against your throat, biting and marking your skin while pressing his full weight over you, hips grinding deep and slow.

“Now you’ll remember this every time you think of your pathetic kingdom, just me forcing on you...hm..i wonder how your family will react knowing I fucked their precious princess....”

He fucked you hard. Deep. His pace brutal, body slamming into yours with punishing rhythm. One hand gripped your throat. His other hand slipped under your thigh, lifting it to spread you wider.

"Ha.. as if they're alive to even react anyway..."

You cried, moaned, fought, but he did not stop. You sobbed when he came—deep inside you, holding you down as his cock throbbed with release. You leave nasty scars down his back the whole time, but he likes the pain. It feels like little cat scratches compared to the wars he's faced.

He didn’t pull out. Didn’t even move. He stayed inside you, breathing heavily, as if trying to seal it in place. You pant hard, both from his brutal fucking and sobbing while covering your eyes with your hands.

“Awh darling...I'm just trying to keep you full.” he whispered against your temple and presses hard on your lower stomach. You gasp and arch your back feeling him still inside.

"Fuck you..! Ugh-" Your voice breaks, still feeling him press harder on that exact spot.

"Your wish has been fulfilled love, I did fuck you." He kisses your cheek tenderly although his hand is a different story.

"I promise I'll be there for you in every step of the process." He goes back to gently caressing your stomach. "I'm not that mean, especially when youre gonna be so..so sensitive."

"Nothing is going to happen! Stop saying that... I don't want this.....-" You argue helplessly.

"Oh no...is the signs already showing? Don't be so angry love. I know... I know mood swings are the worst. Let me help you." He coos, gently brushing your hair out of your face.

You turn away, your tears sliding down your face. "You're the worst.....I..I..dont need your hel...p..." Your eyes roll back, falling unconscious from exhaustion.

B l a c k o u t

Just had to take a break to read angst mangas and sob the whole month because YES. Like ugh who wanna be sane for so long right? And is it just me or it feels satisfying after reading downright heart wrenching angst. On everyone's souls we relate to this

(Oh and also having mental breakdowns and panic attacks cuz my close friend of 2 yrs cut me off everywhere without saying anything, she ghosted me)

(Theres also a war going on and that one funny little disease we had in 2020 is also sorta lowkey returning HAHAAAA TOTALLY NOT CRASHING OUTTTTT)

Hii thankyou sm anon^^ I'm glad that u like my writing💕 And yep I like that one too, it was one of my wild imaginations. Even I had to read it twice or thrice before posting lol

I have no reason to post this but I love this gif so much 😭 it looks so dumb 😭

Tw: Manipulation, gentle dom, psychological control, power play, brainwashing, stalking, smut idk

You think you're in charge.

He lets you speak first during arguments, lets you set the pace when you go out together. You even think it was your idea to move in. It makes you feel strong, clever and independent.

He watches you with soft eyes, nodding attentively, even when you're wrong. "Of course, baby. Whatever you say," he murmurs, kissing the crown of your head like you're his delicate little pet.

But behind that sweet, sleepy smile is a mind ten moves ahead. He suggested your favorite brand of shampoo before you even told him you liked it. He always texts just as you're thinking of him and when you bring up something private from weeks ago, he's already taken care of it.

You joke about him being psychic. He laughs along. You don’t know he’s reading your messages. Or that your friends don’t text you back because he made sure they wouldn’t.

You pace the apartment one night, annoyed about something— some minor thing he “forgot” and he just leans on the doorframe, amused. Watching you vent, eyes shining like you’re the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

"I don't know why you're smiling" you snap.

"I just love seeing you like this." he says warmly. "So full of passion. It’s... adorable." You think you've won when he apologizes. When he lets you sleep on the couch and tucks a blanket over you gently, as if you're punishing him.

But he never minds losing battles. Because you never notice he's already won the war. He has your passwords, your schedule, your routine memorized.

He made you dependent, gently. A new job near his place. Friends who slowly faded. A social circle that always included him— always revolved around him.

And when you cry in his arms, convinced that he's the only one who truly understands you, he strokes your back and whispers, "I’m just lucky to have you." He means it.

You really believe this is your idea.

That you’re free.

That you chose him.

And he’ll never take that illusion away. Because chains are lighter when you don’t even know you’re wearing them.

You're laughing over iced coffees with your friend at a café one afternoon. He sits a few tables away, pretending to scroll through his phone, letting you have your space. Like the "trusting" boyfriend he is.

Your friend raises a brow. “So… everything’s still good with you two?”

You grin, leaning in like you're about to share a juicy secret.

“Good? Please. I’ve trained him.” You laugh, tossing your hair back. “He’s so soft for me. I tell him to jump, and he’s already mid-air. He does whatever i ask him to do.” You grin feeling proud and holding your head up high.

Your friend chuckles. “Damn. What’s your secret?”

You sip your drink with a smug smile. “Simple. I don’t let him control the narrative. I set the rules. Like, even in bed? He thinks he’s taking the lead, but he’s only doing what I let him. I’m totally in charge.” (Yeah right, totally)

Across the café, his fingers still on his phone, but his eyes—those sharp, amused eyes—lift to you. He doesn't call this stalking, he's just keeping an eye on you.. without your permission or notice.

He's watching. He hears every word and he smiles. Just that quiet, indulgent smirk, like he’s listening to a child playing pretend. Like he's watching you flit around in a pretty little cage you decorated yourself, flexing about it to your friend.

Big enough to feel like freedom, padded in soft illusions. A cage with your name on the door, because you wrote it there and forgot it was his idea.

He loves when you say things like this. Loves how passionately you believe them. That you think you tamed him. That you think you made him this way. That you're in "control".

He watches you giggle with your friend and leans back in his chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest.

Later that night, when you’re straddling him, teasing, whispering filthy things with that same cocky grin, he lets you take what you think you want. Lets you ride out your fantasy. He grips your hips just enough to make you feel powerful, while guiding every movement without you realizing.

Even if you're on top of him, he's the one moving your hips up and down. You just take it like he's helping you ride him, nothing more. He grips your neck and pulls your face closer to his, kissing you while you're moaning and whimpering.

"Look at you..being so good for me" He says while squeezing your neck gently. "Are your legs getting tired darling?"

"N...no.." You lift your hips up and down on his cock, panting softly. "I..I can keep going.." You struggle as pleasure takes over your body.

"Mm..I can see that." He rocks his hips up towards you to meet your thrusts. You throw your head back as he moves faster, trying to keep yourself in control and biting your lip hard to not scream. He puts both his hands on your hips, ramming you on him and coaxing you smoothly.

"You wanted this, I'm just helping you.. still following what you told me, love, nothing more."

When you collapse against his chest, breathless, he strokes your hair and murmurs, “You’re incredible. You did so well for me baby..”

He’s proud of you for playing the role of top so well. You drift off to sleep, curling in his arms, limbs tangled and lips parted in exhaustion, he watches you like a predator watching a bunny, trusting him so easily.

He feels like he's giving you freedom, letting you do and act how you want. Not out of mercy. Just to see how long you’ll run before you realize you're still in his jaws.

He plans to capture you completely. Soon enough. No need to rush, this is the thing with bunnies, it's necessary to be patient them. They get frightened so easily. It's better to lure them out and make them vulnerable first, to fully enjoy breaking them once they trust you.

You start watching for it.

The patterns. You begin to notice how you rarely choose your own meals anymore— how he always “suggests” something he knows you’ll enjoy before the waiter even arrives, so by the time the question is asked, it doesn’t feel like a choice at all.

You see how he’ll never forbid you from going out, but always gently encourages you to stay — offering small reasons, subtle guilt, the ghost of sadness in his smile that makes you feel selfish when you pull away.

“You’re free, love,” he always says. “I’d never want to trap or.. suffocate you.”

And yet, every decision you make feels like one he would’ve made anyway. Every deviation from his preferences tastes like disobedience.

Every act of defiance feels like betrayal.

One night, you bring it up while curled beside him on the couch, half-wrapped in a blanket, his hand absently stroking your hair.

The words spill out like a joke, too soft to be a challenge, too careful to sound like doubt. “Do you ever… want to force me to do things?”

There’s a pause.

You feel the air shift. His hand stills for a moment on your hair before continuing its gentle rhythm, and when he speaks, it’s in the same soothing voice he uses when you're trembling from nightmares.

“Force you?” he repeats, as though the idea is foreign — absurd.

You nod slowly. “You’re stronger than me. You could, if you wanted. I mean… you could pick me up and carry me anywhere. Make me do anything you want..” (Dont give him ideas 😟)

He says nothing at first. Then, without a word, he pulls away slightly, just enough to look down at you. Assessing.

“Yes,” he says at last. “I could.”

The admission hangs in the air between you like smoke. He shifts, and in one smooth motion, he brings you into his lap—not roughly, not with force, but with the kind of strength that doesn’t ask for permission because it doesn’t need to.

His hands settle on your hips, grounding you, holding you still. You feel the strength in his fingers–the unspoken potential for violence resting just beneath the surface.

You squeeze your thighs together feeling flustered at the sudden shift, even if he looks like he could snap you in two. You didn't want to like this at all, uhm, you don't! Ofcourse you don't, you couldn't, you're supposed to be in control here.

“I could drag you wherever I want,” he murmurs, pressing his lips softly to your jaw. “I could make you scream for me, cry, beg. I could break you down and build you back up in my image, and you know what, baby?”

His voice drops to a whisper, so tender it almost sounds like affection.

“You’d still thank me for it.” You tremble — not from fear, not exactly. Something elsw. A bone-deep understanding that the only reason you’re safe is because he allows you to be.

“Maybe I wouldn't be too forceful” he continues, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Because I don’t need to force you. That’s the beauty of it. I guide. I coax. I offer… suggestions.”

He smiles, and it’s not cruel— not overtly. But it’s dangerous, the kind of smile you’d see on a predator who doesn’t need to chase because it already knows its prey has nowhere to run.

“I let you feel powerful,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Because I love watching you think you’re free.”

And it clicks.

It slams into you like cold water, like the final piece of a puzzle you didn’t realize you’d been building. All the little choices you thought were yours.

The friends who drifted away. The routines that shifted. The diet changes, the wardrobe tweaks, the hobbies you abandoned and the ones you picked up— all of them traceable, in hindsight, to him.

You look into his eyes and realize he never needed to cage you because he built the world around you so carefully, so sweetly, that you decorated your own cage— and thanked him for making it.

And now?

Now, he just smiles as he holds you gently in his arms, stroking your head and back like you’re his precious pet.

And you are.

Because the cruelest part of all is that he doesn’t need to be cruel.

He’s already won.