seen from China
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from Canada
seen from United Kingdom
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from South Africa
seen from China
seen from China
Matthew Williams AKA the trail killer
Fanart for The Shadow on ao3
Bruce Wayne: still warming up to the idea that’s he’s actually a really good dad
Every single one of his kids: 🥹🥺🥹🥺
These two, I can't
The Cautionary Tale of a Hungry Man
pairing: Ryōmen Sukuna x female reader
synopsis: You were seventeen when you testified and watched them shove Sukuna into the back of a cruiser, screaming your name like a promise. Years later, the nightmares still haven’t stopped, college is the only distraction you have from the horrors of your mind. Then the world gets quiet... and he gets close.
content warnings: 18+ only, psychological horror, serial murder, cannibalism (mentioned/depicted as needed), blood/ gore, stalking/obsession, threats/violence, PTSD/night terrors, eventual smut, dark themes.
A/N: heavily inspired by the wonderful @belimah
Part 1 Part 2 ->
Sukuna has always been smart.
Smart in the soft, harmless ways people romanticize. The safe kind you tell someone about when you’re trying to make them sound better than they are.
He noticed small things.
The way girls bite their nails when they’re nervous, not because they’re scared, but because they’re trying to keep their hands from shaking while they ask a boy out. The way their laugh comes out too loud, too bright, like if they’re noisy enough the world won’t hear their heart stutter.
He knew how to make himself easy to like. Not with effort, not with begging. With timing. With stillness. With letting people talk until they filled the silence with everything they wanted him to be.
Sukuna has always been smart.
He could read a room the way some people read a text message. Fast, instinctive, and with that lazy confidence of someone who’s never had to wonder if he was wrong.
He noticed the way parents lie to their kids about holidays. The careful, loving kind of lie. The kind that comes with cookies and glitter and a voice pitched like a lullaby.
Santa Clause.
The tooth fairy.
The boogeyman.
You behave, because you’re being watched. You sleep, because you’ve been promised there’s something under the bed that wants you to be afraid.
He noticed how easily fear becomes a tradition. How quickly it turns into routine. How many adults spend their whole lives repeating stories they know aren’t true, just because the lie keeps the house quiet.
Sukuna has always been smart.
Smarter than the people who thought they knew him. Smarter than the ones who mistook his attention for kindness, his silence for patience.
He noticed what everyone avoids naming.
The way people pray to something, anything, right before their last breath. Even the ones who swear they don’t believe. Even the ones who laugh at religion. Mouths still form a plea when the body realizes it can’t bargain with time.
The way a bone pops before it breaks. That little warning the body gives itself. A soft sound. A polite announcement. As if the pain has its own form of manners.
He noticed that too.
He noticed how quickly voices change when they realize they’re not being listened to anymore. How calm turns to bargaining. How pride turns to pleading. How a person will offer up pieces of themselves, their dignity, their truth, just to stay alive for five more minutes.
Sukuna has always been smart.
And he has always been hungry.
the siren splits the afternoon open.
red and blue, strobing off windshields and storefront glass, turning everyone’s faces into quick flashes of color.
radios crackle like insects.
somebody shouts for everyone to back up, like the street might swallow you if you stand too close.
and sukuna is already slammed chest first into the hood of the cruiser.
har1wzd enough the metal dents under him.
you hear it. that ugly little thunk of bone and muscle meeting something that doesn’t give.
he bucks immediately, violent and furious, like the car is an insult to the type of man that he is. The man that he was.
his shoulders roll. his wrists twist behind him, tendons standing out, muscles corded tight like ropes pulled to snapping.
an officer shoves his weight down between sukuna’s shoulder blades.
sukuna answers with a sound that isn’t a word, just a snarl dragged up from somewhere low, wet, hungry.
“stop resisting!”
sukuna laughs, breathless and sharp. “or what?” he spits, voice wrecked with adrenaline. “you gonna ask nicely again?”
the officer yanks his arms higher.
the movement is quick. practiced. cruel.
sukuna hisses through his teeth, rage cracking across his face like a split lip.
his cheek drags on the paint when he tries to twist. you can see the smear it leaves behind, the shine of sweat, the way his jaw clenches like he might bite down on the hood itself.
“you think this is gonna hold me?” he snaps, fast. mean. “you think this is enough?”
your mother’s arms lock around you, hauling you back against her so hard your ribs ache.
your father steps in front of you like a shield, like his body can erase the sight of sukuna fighting.
like he can make this not real.
you’re shaking so hard your teeth chatter.
your lungs won’t work right. every breath feels too small, too thin, like the air is refusing to cooperate.
sukuna jerks again, trying to turn, trying to see past the cop’s shoulder.
and then he finds you.
it’s instant.
his head twists, cheek scraping the hood, and his eyes hit you like a slap.
not panic. not fear.
offense.
like your existence in this moment is something he wants to punish.
“you,” he snarls, snapping his head up off the hood.
the officer slams his face back down. “don’t move!”
sukuna’s laugh turns ugly. “you think you can tell me what to do?”
his eyes flick up again anyway, locking on you like you’re the only thing in the street that matters.
“you fucking brat,” he barks, voice cutting straight through the siren. “you think you did something?”
your throat closes so tight it hurts.
your vision blurs at the edges. your mom is whispering, frantic, right against your ear. “don’t look at him. don’t look at him baby.”
but your eyes won’t listen.
fear has your chin gripped tight in its hand.
sukuna surges against the hold again, teeth bared. “nosy little bitch,” he snaps.
it lands like a punch because he says it like he’s known you forever.
like you’re not a stranger. like you’re his problem now.
one of the officers tightens his grip. “watch your mouth.”
sukuna whips his head toward the voice, feral. “make me.”
then he looks back at you, and his mouth curls.
“I oughtta kill you,” he says, low and vicious. “i should’ve killed you when i had the chance.”
your knees go soft.
a broken sound claws its way out of you and you press your face hard into your mother’s coat, sobbing so hard it burns your throat.
your dad’s hand cups the back of your head, tight and protective, but you can feel him trembling too.
an officer shoves sukuna down harder. “that’s enough.”
they haul him off the hood.
for half a second it looks like he might slip them. like the cops might lose their footing. like he might get one hand loose and make good on every word he just said.
he fights the whole way to the open back door, cursing, snarling, jerking his weight around like he’s trying to break the air itself.
“This is bullshit,” he spits. “i didn’t do shit.”
his eyes flick back to you, quick and hot.
“You did, though,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes your stomach drop. “you fucking did.”
he lunges toward the window side as they shove him in, like the last thing he wants is distance.
“you think you’re a hero?” he snarls, voice cracking with rage. “you’re nothing. you’re a fucking kid who got lucky.”
the officer jams him into the seat.
sukuna’s shoulder clips the frame.
hard.
he doesn’t flinch.
he just twists in the back like a caged animal, breathing hard, lips pulled back, eyes bright with hate.
“This isn’t over,” he spits, muffled by the glass.
like he needs you to hear it.
the door slams.
the sound hits your ribs like a final blow.
the cruiser pulls off, lights flashing, siren screaming, and sukuna is still looking at you as they drive him away.
not like he’s scared.
like he’s memorizing you.
like he’s taking you with him.
Like this isn’t over.
you wake up like you’ve been shoved.
not gently. not gradually. like something yanked you out of sleep by the throat.
your chest is already tight when your eyes open, lungs pulling in air that tastes wrong, too warm, too thin, like it’s been used up by your panic.
the blankets are tangled around your legs. your shirt clings damp to your back. your heart is kicking hard enough you can hear it like a drum pounding in your ears.
the room is dark-blue because of the early morning, the kind of light that makes everything look unreal, softer at the edges.
you can still hear him.
that courtroom.
that voice.
you swallow and it does nothing. you blink and the image doesn’t leave.
your breath stutters and you make a sound, a broken and wrecked whimper.
“hey.”
a hand lands on your shoulder.
not rough. not startling. just there, warm and steady, like a weight meant to anchor.
maki’s voice is thick with sleep, but she’s already sitting up, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded and alert in that way she always is. like she wakes up ready to fight god.
she shakes you softly.
“you’re dreaming again,” she says, quiet to not shake you up more than you already are.
your throat burns. you wipe at your face and realize your cheeks are wet. you hate that. you hate that your body keeps betraying you in places that are supposed to be safe.
“sorry,” you croak, the apology comes out automatic. because you’ve said it too many times.
maki exhales like she’s not interested in your apologies.
she scoots closer, sits with her back against the headboard, and pats the space beside her like she’s inviting you back into your own body.
“c’mere.”
you hesitate for a stupid second, pride flaring up like it always does, and then you crawl over anyway because your hands won’t stop shaking and you don’t want to be alone inside your head.
maki leans her shoulder against yours, solid and quiet.
“same one?” she asks.
you nod. it’s the only answer you can manage without screaming.
your voice comes back in pieces. “trial,” you whisper. “him… looking at me.”
maki’s jaw tightens. the muscle flexes.
“did he touch you?” she asks, blunt, already sitting straighter.
“no.” the word comes out fast. sharp. “no, just… the stare. the yelling. them dragging him away and… he was still promising.”
maki’s hand closes around your wrist.
“you’re safe,” she says, there’s no softness in it. it’s a statement. a command. “you’re in your dorm. i’m right here.”
you try to let it sink in.
your heartbeat doesn’t care.
your stomach keeps rolling like it’s waiting for impact.
maki reaches over your nightstand and flips your phone facedown, like she knows you’re the kind of person who will hurt yourself with information if you let your hands wander.
“no doomscrolling,” she says. “not before class.”
you let out something that might be a laugh if it wasn’t so tired. “You’re so bossy.”
“Im so correct.” she nudges you with her shoulder. “You need to try and breathe. slow.”
you do. kind of.
You inhale like you’re trying to convince your nervous system that the room is just a room and not a courtroom or a street full of sirens. You try to swallow down the repeating panic of his voice.
after a minute, your hands stop shaking enough to unclench.
maki stands up and stretches, cracking her neck then looks down at you.
“shower?” she asks. “or are you gonna lay there and haunt the mattress.”
you glare at her weakly. “i hate you.”
“love you too,” she says, already rummaging for her clothes. “go.”
you drag yourself into the bathroom and turn the water cold.
not because you like it. because you need something honest. because cold doesn’t pretend it’s gentle. It’s a nervous system wake up call.
you stand under it until your skin prickles and your brain quiets down, until your thoughts stop sprinting and start walking again.
then you get dressed for classes.
You throw on a soft worn hoodie, or so to say yuji’s soft stolen hoodie.
you and maki leave the dorm together, moving through campus, like you’re just two girls with backpacks and schedules and coffee breath.
the sun’s up now. students laugh. someone skates by. a couple holds hands. life insists on being life, loud and careless.
you tell yourself to borrow some of that carelessness.
you survive classes.
barely.
Your professor drones on and on about the coding language of Python, in the seat beside you a boy in a red varsity jacket with sleep deprived dark blue eyes and spiky black hair steals your pencil. He writes down on your notebook asking for your name. As if you are high schoolers passing notes while the teacher isn’t looking.
you stare at the spot where your pencil used to be, like if you focus hard enough it’ll magically reappear in your hand.
you glance sideways.
he’s already got it. twirling it between his fingers like it belongs there.
his elbow is on your desk. his shoulder is close enough that you can feel the heat of him through your sleeve.
your notebook is open, and there it is:
what’s your name?
you blink at it.
then at him.
he doesn’t look apologetic. he looks entertained.
your lips part. your throat tightens from the ridiculousness of it.
you lean a fraction toward him and whisper, because speaking any louder feels like admitting this is a conversation.
“give me my pencil back.”
his eyes flick to your mouth. then he tilts his head, slow and writes:
name first
you frown. “why?”
he taps the pencil once against the paper, and his mouth quirks.
because i asked
you exhale through your nose, annoyed, and it comes out quieter than you want.
you whisper your name back.
he writes it down himself, right under his question, neat and confident, in a ridiculously pretty and cursive manner.
then he writes a second line.
pretty.
you freeze.
your eyes snap to him, sharp.
he finally looks at you directly, those tired dark-blue eyes half-lidded burning through you.
you whisper, flat, “you’re bold.”
only when i see someone i like
your stomach does that stupid little flip bullshit like this is a romcom and you hate it.
he writes again, quick.
megumi.
then:
you gonna keep glaring at me or are you gonna smile so i can pretend i’m charming?
you stare at the words, then whisper without thinking, “i don’t even know you.”
he watches your face like he’s cataloging expressions.
you will, coffee after?
you should say no. you should focus on the lecture. you should stop letting strangers with pretty eyes and bad manners rearrange your morning.
instead, of course you whisper, “i have class.”
megumi’s mouth twitches.
so do i, after class. i’m buying.
you glance at him again.
he’s already looking at you, like he knew you would.
c’mon. one coffee. i’ll even stop stealing your stuff
“you’re literally still stealing my stuff.”
he huffs a quiet laugh and writes:
temporary.
your eyes drift back to the front because the professor is still talking, because the room still exists, because you’re trying to remember how to be normal.
but your mouth betrays you.
“…fine,” you whisper.
megumi pauses, then slowly, finally, he hands the pencil back, brushing his fingers against yours. He definitely had enough room not to do so.
his voice is right by your ear, low and pleased.
“good girl.”
your hand tightens around the pencil like it’s suddenly the only thing keeping you upright.
and megumi sits back in his seat like he didn’t just knock the air out of your lungs with two words and a shit eating grin.
at lunch, you sit with maki and yuji in the courtyard, the table warm under your elbows, the air full of chatter and forks scraping plastic containers.
yuji is already mid-story when you sit down, animated as always, hands moving like he’s conducting an orchestra.
“i’m telling you,” he says, mouth full, “it’s gonna be insane. like, insane insane. music, lights, the whole thing. nobara said she’s literally picking out an outfit that qualifies as a war weapon.”
maki snorts, biting into her food. “nobara’s personality qualifies as a war weapon.”
yuji grins. “exactly. that’s why it’ll be fun.”
he looks at you, eyes bright,“you’re coming, right?”
you open your mouth to give the easy answer. you’re trying. you really are.
But then you see them.
two officers stepping into the courtyard.
not campus security. not a bored guard in a yellow vest.
real uniforms. real posture. the kind of presence that changes the air.
their radios hiss. their eyes sweep the crowd.
the conversations around you falter. students glance up, confused, curious, annoyed.
yuji’s grin slips. “uh… what’s going on?”
maki’s shoulders go rigid beside you. she doesn’t speak. she just watches.
one of the officers lifts a hand and his voice carries, sharp and practiced.
“everyone needs to stand up and start moving toward your dorms. now. calmly.”
there’s a beat where nobody understands.
because humans hate understanding. understanding means you have to react.
someone laughs, nervous. “is this a drill?”
the officer doesn’t laugh back. “move.”
chairs scrape.
you stand on autopilot, fingers cold around your tray.
the crowd starts to shift, a messy current of bodies and backpacks, everyone asking questions they don’t actually want answered.
maki grips your elbow. “stay with me.”
yuji is right there too, eyes wide now, scanning.
you start moving with them, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, the campus path narrowing with panicked faces.
someone pushes past you.
someone trips and swears.
and then, somewhere ahead, the sound cracks the air open.
a gunshot.
it’s sharper. flatter. wrong in a way your body recognizes immediately.
the scream comes half a second later, like the campus has to think before it reacts.
then everything breaks.
students bolt. shoes pound the pavement. voices rise into a single ugly wave. you get shoved forward, pulled sideways, caught in the surge of hurried bodies and terrified voices.
maki’s hand clamps harder around you, locking arms so you can’t be slipped or pushed away.
yuji grabs the back of your shirt to keep you close, then loses grip as the crowd swallows you.
your lungs seize.
your vision tunnels.
and through the chaos, through the flashing movement and bodies and noise, you catch a glimpse.
just a shape. Just eyes and rage and focus.
a man moving wrong, too purposeful, cutting through the panic like it isn’t touching him.
and your stomach drops so hard you feel it in your knees.
your mouth goes dry.
your brain tries to reject it.
your body doesn’t.
“no,” you whisper, and it comes out like a prayer. “no no no god”
you run.
you don’t think about direction, just speed, just an escape, just getting to the only place that feels like it has walls thick enough to make this stop.
the intercom on the nearest building crackles to life overhead, loud and distorted, the voice trembling even through the static.
“attention students and staff. this is not a drill. repeat, this is not a drill.”
another pause. like the person speaking is swallowing fear.
“a body has been discovered. lock your doors. stay in your dorms. buddy up with your resident assistants. open for no one unless instructed by authorities.”
the words hit you like ice water.
body.
discovered.
lock your doors.
your legs burn. your throat burns. you can’t tell if you’re crying or if your eyes are just watering from running too hard.
you find the path to your dorm like your feet have memorized it from every day you’ve ever tried to feel normal.
maki appears beside you like she teleported, still gripping your elbow, dragging you faster when you start to falter.
“move,” she snaps, voice rough with adrenaline.
Your feet are thumping the ground at this point.
you make it to the building in a rush of bodies, people shoving inside, sobbing, yelling names, calling parents with shaking hands.
your palms slam against the stair rail as you take the steps two at a time.
your chest is a locked drawer.
your mind is screaming.
maki’s door is there. close. closer.
she fumbles the key once. curses. jams it in again and turns it hard.
you spill inside.
maki slams the door behind you so loud it shakes the frame.
the lock clicks.
then she throws the deadbolt.
your hands are already shaking as you back away from the door like it might open by itself.
“bathroom,” maki says, and there’s no argument in her tone.
you stumble into it with her, squeezing into the cramped space, tile cold under your bare feet. she locks that door too, like layers of wood can outsmart whatever is outside.
you crouch against the tub, hugging your knees, trying to get your breath back.
maki stands over you for a second, chest rising fast, eyes sharp, listening.
then she crouches too, close enough that you can feel her presence.
your mouth opens.
nothing comes out.
all you can hear is the intercom echoing in your skull.
lock your doors.
stay in them.
open for no one.
and somewhere in the building, someone is still screaming.
you and maki stay wedged on the bathroom floor.
your knees are pulled tight to your chest, arms wrapped around them so violently it hurts, maki’s arm is hooked around your shoulders, her other hand clamped over your mouth when you start making those little panicked sounds you can’t control, she’s trying to hear everything.
outside the bathroom door, the dorm is full of noise that doesn’t make sense. footfalls slamming down the hall. someone sobbing. a voice yelling a name. the distant wail of something like an alarm. and underneath it all, that thin, sick sound of radio chatter bleeding through walls.
then it goes quiet.
not calm quiet.
the kind of quiet that feels like the air is holding its breath.
your heart stutters. your lungs forget how to fucking work.
maki’s grip tightens around you, knuckles whitening, her eyes locked on the bathroom door. she doesn’t say anything. she doesn’t have to. your body already knows.
Then
Knock knock knock
your stomach drops so hard you feel it in your throat.
the voice follows, muffled through the wood, familiar. rough and furious and too close.
“i know you’re fucking in there, you brat,” he says, like he’s talking through his teeth. “open the damn door.”
your blood turns to ice.
maki’s arm squeezes you so tight it borders on pain. you clutch onto her shirt with shaking fingers, nails digging trying to anchor yourself to her and keep from floating away into pure terror. your mouth opens, but nothing comes out. just breath. just a tiny, broken whine that you try to swallow before it turns to a scream.
please, you think, and it isn’t aimed at anyone. it’s not prayer, not really. it’s bargaining with the universe like the universe has ever been kind. please please please.
maki’s forehead presses to the side of your head, her breathing fast and controlled like she’s trying to lend you her spine. “don’t move,” she whispers, its so quiet... “don’t make a sound.”
the knocking starts again.
harder.
more impatient.
each hit makes the door shudder in its frame, the vibration traveling through the floor into your bones. your pulse is a drum in your ears. you can taste metal in your mouth, like your body is already preparing for blood.
“c’mon,” he says, voice dropping lower, meaner. “don’t make me come in there.”
your whole body locks up. you can’t stop the shake anymore. it’s in your hands, your thighs, your jaw.
maki’s hand slips into yours and laces tight, fingers crushing, trying to steady the shake in yours.
you squeeze back.
you stare at the doorknob.
go away, go away go away go away.
the knocking stops.
your breath catches so violently it hurts.
a beat passes.
then another.
the silence stretches, thin and sharp.
maki doesn’t relax. she goes eerily stiller, eyes widening, shoulders lifting like she’s bracing for impact.
you hear it then, faint through the door. a shift of weight. the scrape of something metal near the latch.
and then the sound cracks the world open.
a gunshot, right outside, deafening in the hallway, exploding through the door. the handle jerks. the lock screams. something snaps with a horrible, mechanical finality.
maki flinches hard, dragging you tighter into her chest, and you make a noise you can’t swallow this time.
“no,” you choke, your voice breaking. “no no no no”
another shot. wood splinters.
the bathroom door shudders like it’s about to give up.
you bury your face against maki’s shoulder, sobbing, words falling out in a frantic spill you can’t stop, pleading at nothing, at everything, at whatever god might be listening.
“no no no no please god please”
dividers by @honeyluvsw
ˋ°•*⁀➷ All in Due Time
SERIAL KILLER AU -- part 8
► Poly!141 x female!reader
───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
synopsis— You're realizing how much power you actually lack as you try to sort your brain long enough to think of a plan of what to do next.
warnings— murder talks, manipulation, dubcon elements?
wc— 2.5k words
NOTES— I did it, guys. It almost took me a whole ass century to write for this again. I felt so guilty with all the asks about if I was continuing or not. Thank you for the love on this story even while I was off in the wind. Just trying to get in the groove of writing again. Life has been CRAZY.
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It has happened, folks... I have officially continued an AU beyond the idea-dumping phase! Serial Killer!Griffith AU is back! Say hello once again to no. 1 yuri victim yearner Casca and her two """""straight"""""" gal pals!!!
This AU is dedicated to the lovely @emogirlguts whose insurmountable love and appreciation towards Trucker Guts had me tripping over myself to bring her back. She is all yours, sweetie. Be gentle♡
I’ve seen similar aus, but a serial killer hucklerabbot au where Robby and abbot are more experienced serial killers and Dennis is new to the game.
I thought this would be a fun idea for that.
Robby and abbot fall even deeper in love with this man after this.
rosekiller au where barty is a serial killer and evan is a mystery/thriller author who keeps giving him tips on how to kill more efficiently and get away undetected
