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[strawberriemarswrites]

Damn. Y'all really wanna see Barto and Reader happy, huh

The poll is closed, but because I'm still writing I'll still take votes through either replies or Ao3 comments. I think at this rate the winner is pretty clear though xD

The end is in sight.

Well. One of TWO anyway~

That's right -- I've got 2 endings planned for IFDYOKAAT. I'm going to post them both, but I want you guys to decide...

I'd go into detail what each one means, but I think that'd spoil the fun. Better to leave it to your imagination <3

[strawberriemarswrites]

The end is in sight.

Well. One of TWO anyway~

That's right -- I've got 2 endings planned for IFDYOKAAT. I'm going to post them both, but I want you guys to decide...

I'd go into detail what each one means, but I think that'd spoil the fun. Better to leave it to your imagination <3

[strawberriemarswrites]

Hi!!!

When you put enjoy while you can in the tags of Ifdyokaat chapter 9, I just .....

But am also SCREAMING because that chapter had me slowly sinking down in my bed then curling up with my hand braced against the wall at the end sentences like I don't know how to breathe now that it's all unraveling.

Stop doing this to me (but thank you so much please keep going) 💖

I'm feral for this.

Hehehehe, yesss -- I dunno what's more fun: tormenting Barto by pulling the rug out from under him like this, or seeing these reactions to it >u<

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER NINE

Chapter Summary: With the weight of suspicion lifted, you can hang out with Bartolomeo in peace. Well, hang out... among other things... Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Explicit (18+ only, NSFW Chapter; PiV sex, lots of biting, eating out, coitus interruptus/pulling out) TW: Other than references to the stalking that's been going on, none <3 enjoy~ Ao3 Link: Chapter Nine (5,095 words)

Bartolomeo’s apartment layout was a mirror image of yours. The tidiness was anything but. While it was free of trash, likely thanks to the frantic clean-up he did before letting you in, it was still a bit of a disaster. The kitchen counter was overflowing with mail, some of it just empty envelopes. The pile was accompanied by a key tray filled with change, two lighters, and a set of keys joined together by a jolly roger keychain. Turning toward the living room area, you were greeted by the sight of various clothes scattered about. Some draped over the couch, others on the floor, while the majority was piled onto a battered armchair.

Then your gaze fell on Bartolomeo, who was scratching the back of his head as he picked up some of the discarded garments. “Sorry, it’s still pretty bad. I uh... I wasn’t expectin’ anyone over.”

You smirked. “You don’t strike me as the type to clean up for just anyone.”

As his skin flushed and he continued bundling clothes into his arms, you silenced the part of your brain that insisted he was the type to break into apartments. He was the one who offered to hang out after all, making it so you didn’t have to impose it upon him. If he really was the culprit, would he really risk letting you in where you could find evidence?

You let your eyes wander once more, this time landing on his TV stand. There were dust imprints from the consoles he had let you borrow, but he still had one on the bottom shelf with different games stacked beside it. To the left of his setup was a tall bookshelf with more games, and a few shelves of DVDs. Curious, you wandered over.

Bartolomeo was doing an exceptional job at not visibly freaking out. You were here. In his apartment. Alone with him. He wished it could have been better circumstances — if he’d had more time to prepare he would have better hidden his dirty clothes. And got his shit off the counter. Maybe even put clean sheets on his bed. You cooked for him, he could have probably made something for you. He wasn’t the best, but he could’ve made like... omelets. Those weren’t too hard. It was just a matter of not letting the fact you were finally in his apartment distract him.

He could do that. Easy. Totally. Definitely without burning the eggs.

He’d probably just end up burning the complex down instead, if the fact that he couldn’t stop staring at you was anything to go by. He nearly jumped out of his skin when you looked over your shoulder, catching him in the act. 

You giggled, “What? What are you looking at?”

Bartolomeo shook his head. “N-nothin’. You uh. You wanna watch something?”

You shrugged, returning your attention to the options. “I was just being nosy, but sure.” You then picked up Screamoff the shelf and stuck your tongue out at him, asking in your best gravelly voice, “What’s your favorite scary movie?”

A smile slowly crept across his face as tension rolled off his shoulders. He could do this.

After setting up the movie and a playful argument over who would pay for takeout (which Bartolomeo won, holding his phone out of reach with one hand and keeping you back with the other), you were next to one another on the couch. There was plenty of room to sit on opposite sides, but it somehow felt... right, sitting closer to him. You wondered if it was partially from guilt, and you wanted to be closer as a way of apologizing for your suspicion.

Deep down, however, you knew it was because despite that, despite being “just friends”, you still had it bad for him. You decided from the moment he was cleared of guilt to lean against that boundary, if only just a little.

For his part, Bartolomeo was trying to lean against it as well. The close proximity made his heart race, and he summoned up the courage to let an arm drape across the back of the couch, propping one ankle onto the opposite knee. The mere inches between his arm and your back was enough to send sparks through his nerves, and he resisted the urge to let his arm fall onto your shoulders. Not yet.

The hair on your neck stood, feeling his arm behind you. Slowly, you let yourself relax, the warmth radiating from him drawing you closer as you sank into the couch. When the food arrived you assumed he would retreat back into himself, but surprisingly no — he would lean forward for a bite, and every time he sat back his arm returned as well. Gradually, over the course of the film, you found yourself leaning even closer, your hand brushing against his leg.

Bartolomeo wasn’t entirely sure when his heartbeat became louder than the movie, but he knew it wasn’t from the rising tension on screen. He could feel you inching nearer, whether you meant to or not. He was determined not to make the same mistake he had before at the diner — if you were uncomfortable, he trusted you would correct yourself or say something. And if you did, this would be a rare moment that he’d get to be so close. At least while you were awake and aware.

By the time the movie was done, you were almost completely against him, your head near his shoulder and your hand pressed between your leg and his.

Both of you separated, faces beet red as Bartolomeo took the trash to the kitchen and you skittishly retrieved the DVD. You glanced over your shoulder before pulling out your phone and quickly texting Robin,

“Any chance you can bring my keys tomorrow morning?”

The response came quickly, “Having fun?”

“Maybe? We’re watching movies. He almost had his arm around me.

“Even if it doesn’t... go anywhere. I might just crash on his couch.”

Another moment passed, then, “Tomorrow works.

“Don’t do anything you’re not comfortable with. Call if it changes.

“Have fun~”

Your heart skipped a beat. Hopefully you would, if you weren’t misreading things this time. Even if it meant you had to be the one to make the move.

Bartolomeo took in a deep breath, leaning against the kitchen counter. This was agony. It was nice, receiving the light physical contact that he did, but the pain of leaving things unspoken much longer was going to kill him. If he didn’t do something now, he never would, and he would spend who knows how long pining, and watching, and following, and breaking in...

And doing anything to keep other people from having you.

He took another deep breath, straightened his back, and turned around. Now or never.

“Well, Robin won’t be able to get my keys until tomorrow morning,” you sighed, turning your attention back to the DVD shelf. “Anything you wanna watch?”

He stepped out of the kitchen, feeling his heart beat heavier with each step toward you. “Nah, you’re the guest. You pick.”

You shrugged, running a finger along the titles, lingering on a few — Boondock Saints, Pirates of the Caribbean, Jaws — before pulling out Silence of the Lambs to read the summary. Half way through, you felt a warmth against your back.

Bartolomeo’s chest rose and fell as he wrapped his arms around your waist, bending just a bit to press his head to the top of yours. “Been thinkin’ lately. About you.”

You let out a shuddering breath, your heart racing. “W-what about me?”

His hold tightened, pulling you closer to him. “How I’ve been wantin’ to hold you like this for a while now.”

You gently put one hand on his forearm, swallowing. “How long?”

You felt his chest heave again and his breath huffed down your neck. “Since we got to talkin’, back when you first moved in.”

The movie case slipped from your hold and clattered to the floor. This whole time? As long as you have? Little moments began to creep into your mind. The way he seemed to flush at the slightest contact with you. How frequently he took time out of his day to talk to you. Every time he called you “sweetheart”. And then the bigger things — the creep at the bar and the jerk who harassed you on the train. Bartolomeo had gone out of his way to protect you. And when you were stood up by Cavendish, he was there to comfort you.

You suddenly felt ridiculous for having misread the signs.

Slowly, you managed to turn in his hold, his forehead now pressed to yours. His eyes bore into you, amber irises like crackling flames. Unable to stop their trembling, you lifted your hands to either side of his face, your thumbs stroking his cheeks as you tried to calm your rapidly increasing heart rate. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I dunno. Guess I was nervous. You’re so... you’re so cute. And good. And soft.” He averted his gaze, his cheeks turning warmer. “And I’m not any of those things.”

“Barto...” You tried to lean into his line of sight. “You’re definitely cute — you’re helping me harbor a cat, and I hear how you talk to him.” Your thumb traced the lines of his face tattoo. “You made a creep drug himself and punched some jerkwad’s lights out for me. If that’s not good, I don’t know what is.”

He cracked a lopsided grin. “Still not soft.”

“You don’t have to be.” You brushed your thumbs over his cheeks again. “Look at me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

He swallowed the thick lump in his throat. “I’ve been holdin’ back for a long time. Now you’re here, and I like holdin’ ya like this, and I don’t wanna ruin it.”

“How could you ruin it?”

The flames in Bartolomeo’s eyes flickered as he finally looked at you. “...’cause I wanna ruin you.”

Your heart fluttered, a sensation that rapidly descended to your stomach, then swelled to an ache between your thighs. With a deep breath to steady yourself, filled with confidence now knowing the truth, you were going to do what you had been wanting to since you met him.

Your hands moved behind his neck as you lifted yourself on your toes to kiss him.

His teeth made it a tad awkward at first, but after a moment, when he realized what was going on, he began kissing back — then his mouth fit perfectly against yours. He moved his hands to your hips, his grip almost too tight, and you felt his tongue push against your lips. You gladly granted access, both of you sighing between each other’s mouths as he slid inside. You let out a soft moan that ended in a squeak as he pressed his teeth into your lower lip. He then abruptly pulled away, leaving you dizzy and breathless as he leaned down and began placing soft kisses all down your neck, in between each one breathing out “please”.

Your core ached a little harder as you lifted one hand to thread it into his hair, the locks silky between your fingers. After he nipped at where your neck met your shoulder, you pulled at the base of his scalp, leaning into his ear.

“I want you to ruin me.”

You were swept up into his arms before you could utter another syllable.

With a startled shout you held tight to his shoulders as Bartolomeo carried you to his room, stealing another heated kiss from you, and another, and another, before he lowered you onto the edge of his bed. Your pants were gone all too quickly and discarded somewhere in the room as he sank to his knees between your legs, trailing more kisses down your right thigh, then the left, before nipping at the underside of your knee.

“I’ve wanted you so fuckin’ badly,” he sighed as he peppered more kisses on your skin.

You nodded, breathless. “I’ve wanted you, too.”

Bartolomeo’s heart clenched and he looked away, his voice wavering. “Don’t — don’t go sayin’ that if you don’t mean it.”

“I mean it.” You tangled your fingers in his hair and tipped his head back. “I’ve wanted you since we met.”

You could swear you saw his eyes water, and he lifted your legs over his shoulders, kissing your thighs again. “Please, please, please let me have you.”

Another flutter in your chest shot right down to your loins. “I’m yours.”

A soft moan rolled through his chest and he bit down on one thigh, making you throw your head back and cry out. He sucked on the skin there, his teeth pressing into the soft flesh and threatening to puncture, the sharp pain of a forming bruise sending pleasurable shocks through your nerves. When he finally let go, a dark hickey was left behind, trailed by a string of saliva and just the faintest bit of blood where his teeth managed to break through.

Bartolomeo then spread your legs just a bit further, stroking one thumb against your covered folds, his eyes shining in the dark room. “I’m gonna take good care of you.”

You giggled, “You talking to me or my cunt?”

His gaze flicked up to yours, the corner of his mouth lifting. “Both.”

The responding laugh quickly melted into a heady moan, your eyes fluttering shut as Bartolomeo ran his tongue over the outside of your panties. The barrier between his mouth and your core was torturously thin, the warmth and wetness of his tongue seeping through the fabric and mixing with yours. You felt the tip nudge against your clit, making you shudder and whine. He repeated the action, going slower and pushing harder against the fabric, just barely teasing your entrance.

Your grip on his hair tightened and he groaned, looking up at you. He only paused for a moment, before he pulled the fabric of your underwear aside and gave another long, languid lick to your folds. You bit back a shrill whine, falling back against the bed and holding his head with both hands, rolling your hips to meet each stroke and shivering every time the tip caught the edge of your entrance or pressed against your clit.

Bartolomeo relented, placing kisses along your hips and letting your legs drop from his shoulders. Agonizingly slow, he dragged your underwear off, his eyes flicking between your blissful face and the sight of the warm, dripping pussy before him. He could hardly believe this was happening — part of him was terrified he’d wake up and everything that had happened up to this point would be a dream. But the feel of your soft thighs in his hands, the smell of your slick, the dark hickey he left on your skin, all of it reassured him this was real. You were real. And you were right there for the taking.

He dove right back in, pushing your knees further apart as he devoured your cunt. His fangs dragged against your outer folds while he caught your clit on his front teeth, the sharp edges drawing forth a scream from you as your hips jerked upward. He lifted your legs over his shoulders again and held your hips down to the bed, pinning you in place as he teased the sensitive bud.

After letting loose another scream, you brought one hand to your face, biting your knuckle to keep from being too loud. A smart move, given you nearly screamed again when his tongue slid inside of you, his nose and the cold metal of his septum ring taking its place near your clit. With every arch of your hips, his grip seemed to get tighter, pressing you down more firmly to the mattress as he continued his onslaught, occasionally circling his tongue around the rim of your entrance before slipping right back inside.

Bartolomeo looked up after a particularly hard twitch of your hips, seeing you biting your knuckle. He growled softly, an action that sent pleasurable ripples up your spine, before pulling away, trailing wet kisses up over your hips and stomach. Stopping just above your navel, he released your hips to reach up and pull your hand away, pushing himself up onto the bed to straddle you. As he pinned your wrist beside your head, he took your chin in the other hand, looking down into your lust-hazed eyes with a mix of adoration and danger.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low, his grip on your wrist flexing. “I wanna hear you.” He then leaned down to your ear, continuing, “I want everyone for miles to know you’re my girl.”

You couldn’t help the sharp whine in your voice, “Barto, please.”

He chuckled, nuzzling your cheek. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

His nickname for you took on a whole new meaning, knowing how he’d meant it, hearing it in that husky tone. With a shuddering breath you said, “More.”

He released your wrist. “Sit up against the headboard.”

You nodded, scooting yourself backwards and upright, taking his face in your hands to kiss him again. He responded in kind, his mouth covering yours as he again slid his tongue past your lips, and you tasted yourself on him. You were so occupied with the kiss that you hardly noticed the hand drifting down between your thighs until his fingers circled your clit, making you throw your head back again with a needy cry. Electricity fired through every fiber of your being, your hips arching up to meet his hand and attempting to grind against it. All the while he kissed down your neck and shoulder, leaving soft bites in his wake and dragging his teeth across your skin.

It was only when your hands fell to his shoulders that you realized Bartolomeo was, annoyingly, still clothed. With a frustrated groan you pulled at his shirt, tugging it up to expose his midriff. 

A low laugh reverberated in his chest and he kissed your cheek. “Relax, sweetheart. I get it.”

He removed his fingers from your folds and sat back on his knees, towering over you as he slowly pulled his shirt over his head. Your heart leapt to your throat, your gaze drifting from the tattoo on his toned chest down to the dusting of happy trail peeking out from his jeans. All too eager to respond in kind, you whipped your own shirt off and tossed it aside, before pausing to make eye contact. His eyes were wide, watching you with utter fascination as you slowly unhooked your bra and let it slide off your shoulders, finally fully naked before him.

He looked you up and down, his Adam’s apple bobbing and his eyes getting misty again. “Fuck... you’re beautiful.” He nearly collapsed on top of you as he buried his face in your neck, breathing in your scent. “How’d I get to be so lucky?”

You giggled, threading your fingers in his hair. You both would’ve been luckier if you’d known sooner, you thought. If either of you had actually said anything, maybe you could have been coming home to this every day for the past few months.

You could come home to it every day from now on.

With a desperate groan Bartolomeo shoved his jeans and boxers down his hips, kicking them off the bed as he pulled you down by the waist to lay fully flat against the mattress. He cradled your face in his hands and kissed you again, smothering you with more as he covered your cheeks and trailed them down your neck, each one gracing you with little scratches as his fangs caught your flesh. You dragged your nails down his back and he responded with a guttural moan, his hips bucking and pressing his length against you as a result. You gasped at the heated contact, looking down between your bodies.

Oh shit. He really was long. You couldn’t resist reaching down and taking his shaft in your hand, sighing at the weight and velvety feel. 

Bartolomeo let out a choked gasp, his eyes widening before squeezing shut as he bit down hard on his lip. Fuck, fuck your hand felt so much better than his, so small and soft in comparison. You gave him a squeeze and he practically yelped, burying his face in your chest to stifle the sound.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he whined, rolling his hips forward and making his cock slide in your hand. “You feel so good.”

You stroked along his length, the resulting moan from him vibrating your ribcage. You lifted your hips, pressing his cock between your body and hand, crooning, “You’re supposed to say that after you start fucking me.”

He smiled and lifted his head, caressing your cheek with the side of his hand. “Anything for you, sweetheart.”

His other hand covered yours and helped guide himself down, slowly sliding along your slick folds. The pressure of his length against your core was torment, making you ache with each teasing stroke. You lifted your hips again, trying to catch the head of his cock on the opening of your cunt, whimpering with each attempt.

Bartolomeo bit his lip again, hard enough to draw blood. It was taking every ounce of restraint he had not to shove into you — he wanted to savor this moment, knowing you were as desperate for him as he was for you, drinking in every needy whine and frustrated rake of your nails on his arms and back. But he was also so much bigger than you... he thought he’d be fine girth-wise, but length? He’d likely bottom out before you even reached the base.

“Barto,” you groaned, digging your nails into his back, “stop teasing and fuck me.”

“Ohh, shit.” He slowed his hips, lining up his head with your opening. “Say that again.”

You put your hands on either side of his face, looking into his fiery eyes. “Fuck me, Bartolomeo. Please.”

“That’s my girl.”

With that, he plunged his cock inside.

Your scream caught in your throat, the burning stretch of your walls a sweet relief from the torture. He pushed in slow, inch by blissful inch, stopping just shy of your cervix. For a moment, you both stayed there, adjusting to each other and staring into one another’s eyes. Bartolomeo then pulled his hips back, then snapped them forward again, pushing in as far as he could go. He was right — he wouldn’t fit to the hilt. But he was going to be damn sure to enjoy as much he was able to drive in to the fullest.

The next thrust sent spots scattering into your vision, and you finally let out the scream trapped in your chest, clenching tight around him. His groaning grew almost feral as he picked up speed, once more burying his face in your neck and biting. You shrieked, unsure if the sharp pain was him sucking at the skin or his teeth breaking through it, but combined with the feeling of his dick bullying its way as deep as it could go, you were more than willing to endure anything he decided to do with you. Even if it meant letting him eat you whole.

Bartolomeo let go of your neck with a satisfying pop , laving over the dark bruise he left behind and tasting the traces of blood there. His hips stuttered — shit, he hurt you... you tasted so much better than he ever dreamed — but he couldn’t stop. From how tight you became when he released his bite, you weren’t letting go of his shaft any time soon, regardless. Good. He needed this. He needed you.

“Mine,” he rasped, his thrusts becoming more erratic.

You whimpered, your eyes watering as you met each thrust, hooking your legs around his waist to draw him in as deep as he could go. Your name fell from his lips with every thrust like a prayer, occasionally broken by the deep husk of “mine”.

The tension in your gut finally snapped and you saw white, screaming Bartolomeo’s name in his ear as you held tight, your cunt spasming around him. Fire flooded your veins, spreading across your back and down again through your legs. He wasn’t far behind, his prayer devolving, “Fuck, fuck, fuck—”

He abruptly pulled out, his orgasm ripping through him like lightning as he came, his seed spilling over your stomach and thighs. He quickly sat upright and took hold of his cock, pumping out the last of it onto your mound, unable to stop a bit of drool from dripping down his chin onto you. You whined and writhed beneath him from the sudden loss of contact, but in hindsight it was for the better, considering neither of you had protection.

Panting, Bartolomeo collapsed beside you, one arm draped over your chest and pulling you close as he peppered your face with kisses. Breathless, you returned some of them, struggling to keep up in the post orgasm haze, but relishing every time your mouths connected. 

After a few more placed to your forehead, he shakily stood from the bed, holding your face in his hands.

“Stay here,” he muttered, giving your cheeks a soft squeeze. “Please — please stay right here.”

You laughed, taking hold of his wrists. “I’m not going anywhere.”

This time he couldn’t help it. A few tears slid down his face and he kissed your forehead again before parting and rushing to the bathroom. He nearly tripped running back with a hand towel, truly terrified that you weren’t going to be there, that you’d fade away. But there you were, splayed out on the bed with your eyes closed, a pretty smile on your face.

When you opened your eyes and directed that smile at him, he melted, crawling atop the mattress to kiss you again as he slowly wiped away the mess he made on you. You sighed, letting yourself relax as he cleaned.

Once he was done he pulled his bedsheets over you both, staring down at you with wide, watery eyes. You couldn’t help but laugh again, stroking your thumbs over his slightly dampened cheeks. “Everything okay?”

Bartolomeo couldn’t stop the words if he tried. “I love you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and you saw your smile reflected in his eyes. “I love you, too.”

He pulled you close to his chest as you fell asleep, holding you as tight as he could without hurting you.

He was yours.

You were his.

Finally.

You awoke to find you and Bartolomeo lying diagonally across his bed, with him holding you close to his chest. His teddy bear he didn’t want falling off. You let out a content sigh, at first tempted to snuggle down closer and enjoy the heat radiating from him.

Unfortunately, your bladder demanded release, and his hold was just a little too firm to wriggle your way out of.

“Barto?”

He hummed, burying his face into your hair.

“Barto, I need to pee.”

He sighed, his breath tickling your neck as he muttered, “So go pee.”

You snorted, tugging at the arms around you. “Kinda need you to let me go first.”

“Don’t wanna.”

“You’d rather I pee the bed?”

He nuzzled the shell of your ear, purring, “Sounds kinky.”

“Eugh, gross !” you laughed, now squirming desperately to get out of his hold. “Not even remotelyappealing!”

He chuckled and lifted one arm to release you. “Go piss, girl.”

It took an embarrassing amount of effort not to laugh too hard as you ran across the hall to the bathroom. When you returned, Bartolomeo was sitting on the edge of the bed, the blanket half-draped over his lap doing little to disguise his morning wood. Sunlight managed to peek through the curtains, outlining him in a warm glow. His hair was a mess, half of it hanging over his face until he pushed it back with a yawn. When his eyes met yours, he smiled. Even with his fangs, the expression was soft, and brimmed with adoration.

How did you ever think he didn’t love you?

You smiled back and moved to stand between his knees. He took your hands in his, rubbing his thumbs over them before he suddenly laid back, pulling you down with him. You squealed, giggling as he began peppering your face with kisses, trailing them down your neck and back up again. You pushed against him, fighting to sit back upright, but his arms kept you close, denying you relief from the onslaught of affection. He barely left enough room for himself to speak between kisses.

“I wanna—” chu “—spend every day—” chu “—just like this.—” chu “—Don’t wanna—” chu “—spend—” chu “—a single—” chu “—second—” chu “—without you.”

After a few more kisses, Bartolomeo paused, then sighed. “Now I gotta piss.”

“Guess you’re gonna have to spend just a few more seconds without me.” You kissed along his jawline. “Think you’ll survive?”

“I guess,” he whined, giving you one more squeeze before getting up. He gave you a wide, almost dopey smile at you over his shoulder as he left, then leaned back into the doorway and quickly said, “Stay right there. Gonna be right back.”

Another giggle bubbled forth from you as he darted off. With a happy sigh you shifted on the bed to lay on it properly, one hand slipping underneath his pillows. Your palm touched a different fabric than the pillow case, and your curiosity piqued. Curling your fingers you rolled onto your back and pulled the mystery fabric out, holding it over your head.

A small, light purple t-shirt, with the words “Bite Me” across the front in black, drippy font.

The bed fell out from beneath you. Everything in your periphery melted away. You sat upright, sliding your legs off the bed as you stared at the shirt in your hands. Your shirt. The one you lost not long after moving in. And it smelled like your perfume. How did it smell like your perfume? The shirt had been missing for months, it shouldn’t have still smelled like you.

Your stomach lurched. The world around you began to spin just a little too fast as a horrible chill crept up your spine. Movement out of the corner of your eye drew your attention to the door.

Bartolomeo was standing at the threshold, still as stone.

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you asked a question you already knew the answer to.

“Why do you have my shirt?”

[strawberriemarswrites]

I'M SCREAMMFNGN HOLY SHIT HOLY SHIT THE TANK. THE CROUCH DOWN. THE EXPRESSIONS LOOK AT HIS BLUSHY FACE I'M GONNA DIE

A couple sketches from chapter 1 and 2 of the amazing Bartolomeo fanfic: “I’ll Fucking Digest You One Kiss At A Time” by the lovely @strawberriemarswrites

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER EIGHT

Chapter Summary: You've made a harrowing discovery, and you can't shake the suspicion that someone you trust is behind everything. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ for the story, referenced NSFW) TW: none in particular this chapter, mentions of the stalking that's going on but that's about it. Ao3 Link: Chapter Eight (4.036 words)

Your heart thundered in your chest. Bartolomeo promised he’d look out for you. He hadn’t mentioned seeing or hearing anything since you asked him to start. How did this get past him? How long could this have been getting past him? You really didn’t want to think that he was failing to keep his promise, so maybe whoever had been getting in stopped for a time, and they were picking back up again now that the weather was warmer. You had to tell Bartolomeo what you found.

The racing in your mind should have ended there. You should have closed the window and just hoped that the fan being on would be enough and wouldn’t blow around stale, hot air. You should have gone back to bed, ready to talk to Bartolomeo in the morning.

Instead, you leaned out the window, peering down the fire escape, wondering how someone could even get up to your floor without anyone noticing. Though it was hard to tell for sure, the ladder at the bottom looked too high off the ground. The average person would need to get a little creative to reach it. Although, on the subway commute you’d seen pretty tall locals, so it wasn’t that it was impossible to reach without having one’s own equipment or by exerting a bit of effort. Just unlikely.

As you leaned back in and closed the window, a tiny voice in the back of your mind piped up: Barto could reach that ladder.

You froze. No. No, that was highly unlikely. Bartolomeo wasn’t the type to do something like that. No way. He was kind to you, protective even, and... and he knocked that guy’s teeth in today!

He showed up with pretty convenient timing.

He could have just been out running errands. It was lucky that he showed up like that.

Your stuff stopped going missing for a little while after you asked him to help. How long was it before things got weird again?

Bartolomeo tricked a creep into drugging himself, he wouldn’t stoop so low as to be a creep!

Unless he was protecting something he thought was already his.

No. No, no, no.

You slowly sank to the floor, your face in your hands. There was no way that all this time, Bartolomeo had been stalking you. You felt nauseous at the thought. He’d been so kind, and supportive — he was your friend for fuck’s sake! No. You just weren’t thinking straight. You were panicking over some fucking debris on the floor, that could have come from anywhere.

Luffy hopped down from the bed and approached, purring and nuzzling your ankles. In his little kitty mind, he was trying to ask why you hadn’t come back to bed, because since you weren’t going to the kitchen to feed him, it was obviously still bed time. Then, when he leaned into your palm as you reached for him, he gradually became aware of your distress. You started making sniffling sounds, like the ones he’d done when he had gotten a little sick. He began to purr louder — purring always helped him, maybe it would help you.

You scooped up Luffy into your arms, petting him against your chest. His purring softened for a moment before picking back up, and you gradually felt the panic leave you. There was no way Bartolomeo was the one who’d been breaking in. It couldn’t have been him.

Right?

...It was too late at night to keep dwelling on the thought. You set the fan against the window — if it opened, surely the fan would be knocked over — and turned it on, carrying yourself and your cat back into bed.

Your paranoia would have to wait until morning to be sorted out. You needed a clear head to do so.

Vivi snapped her fingers in front of your face a few times. “Hello? Anyone home?”

You jumped, shaking your head free of the image of the debris in your bedroom. “Sorry, what were you saying?”

She propped her elbows up on the table and placed her chin in her hands. “I asked if you’re okay. You’ve been extra quiet today.”

You nodded, picking at your takeout lunch. “I’m fine. Just... distracted.”

“Over Bartolomeo again?” Drake asked, sipping at his coffee.

“No,” you said a bit too quickly, turning pink. “Sort of.”

Vivi cocked her head. “What’d he do? I thought you guys were doing the ‘just friends’ thing.”

“We are. He didn’t do anything.” You tapped your fingers on the table. “Or he did... guh, I dunno.”

Vivi stared at you expectantly. Drake eyed you suspiciously over his glasses.

You sighed. “After I moved in, someone started breaking into my apartment.” You scratched the back of your neck, avoiding their surprised gazes. “Barto said he’d keep an eye out, and it seemed to stop for a while. I figured he had it handled. But just last night I noticed something that makes me think the break-ins didn’t stop.”

“Do you think he’s been missing whoever’s doing it?” Vivi asked.

Before you could answer, Drake read your mind. “You think he might be the one doing it, don’t you.”

You shrank back, putting your face in your hands. “I don’t know what to think.”

Drake took another drink of his coffee. “Well let’s start with why you would think that.”

You sighed again, running a hand through your hair. “He seems kinda protective of me, the more I think about it. Like what he did at the bar, and then yesterday...” You again avoided eye contact. “He might’ve. Beaten some guy to a pulp for harassing me.”

Vivi’s brows ticked upward. “Wow, really? I would’ve thought that would be more reason not to suspect him.”

“That’s the thing,” you continued. “It was when I was going home. Bartolomeo and I — we weren’t even hanging out. He just... happened to show up.”

Drake’s frown deepened. “Sounds a little too convenient, if you ask me.”

You nodded. “Exactly. And when I think about it, the times I noticed that something was off in my apartment line up with times when he’s been home.”

“Then that settles it!” Vivi jumped up, her hands splayed out on the table. “It’s gotta be him!”

“Slow down,” Drake said, putting an arm on her shoulder to coax her back into her chair. “What would make you think it’s not him?”

You fidgeted in your seat. “Well, he’s been so nice. He comes across as this tough, scary guy, but you should see how he plays with Luffy. He even calls him ‘Mister Luffy’ in this tiny voice I didn’t even know he could do. He’s been helping me keep him secret from the landlord. And he works at that bar partly because he’s helping out his friend’s grandmother. He’s kind of... tender, y’know?”

Drake cocked an eyebrow, silently prodding with a look that said “That’s the best excuse you have?”

You relented, “He doesn’t seem tall enough to reach the fire escape. I haven’t had a chance yet to look at it from the ground, but it looks pretty high up.”

Drake nodded. “All right. How far off the ground do you think it is?”

You leaned back in your chair and twisted your lip. “Eight feet? Maybe nine?”

He pushed out his chair and stood. “How tall is Bartolomeo compared to me?”

You eyed him up and down, tilting your head. “Almost the same height. Maybe a little shorter.”

“But that’s just from your memory,” Vivi said as he sat back down. “Maybe Drake could come by and see if he can reach it? Just to make sure.”

“It’s probably best that I don’t,” Drake said, though with a tint of reluctance in his tone. “If he’s the one behind the break-ins, and if he was stalking you home yesterday, it’s better not to let on that you’re on to him. Not yet, anyways.” He finished his coffee and added, “We also don’t know how he’ll react to other people in his territory, for lack of better term. You said he beat someone to a pulp yesterday?”

You flushed at the memory of Bartolomeo’s shirt and knuckles splattered with blood, quickly nodding your head to dispel the image.

Vivi piped in, “Didn’t you say Cavendish stood you up?”

You blinked, furrowing your brow. “I did, but what does that have to do with this?”

She leaned forward, glancing around as if anyone aside from the three of you were in the breakroom. “What if Bartolomeo had something to do with that, too?”

After a beat, you shook your head. “That’s too far.”

“No, no, think about it!” Her voice was suddenly hushed. “What if he figured it out somehow? If he’s as protective as you say, then someone going on a date with you would absolutely be a threat to ‘his territory’.” She then sat back, her voice returning to normal volume. “Come on, tell me you don’t see it.”

You turned the thought over in your head for a moment, and it sent a sickening shudder down your spine. You knew if you said “no” that Vivi would call you out on the lie, so instead you moved on. “What should I do? I don’t have enough to prove it’s him to go to someone about it, but I also don’t feel like I have enough to prove to myself that it’s not him.”

The three of you sat in silence for a moment, before a phone alarm chimed. Vivi sighed and stood, silencing her phone with an annoyed grumble. She was stopped from leaving when Drake put his hand on her shoulder again.

“I think for now,” he said, “we should keep this between us. No need to worry anyone else until we know more.”

Vivi’s look of annoyance turned serious, and she gave a short nod. “Right.” She then turned to you, making a zipped-lip motion. “Just keep me posted, okay?”

With that she hurried out of the breakroom, just as an alarm went off on your phone to signal the end of your lunch. As you stood, Drake did as well, though he looked deep in thought.

Finally, as you were both leaving the breakroom, he said, “Test him.”

You frowned. “How?”

He slipped a hand in his pocket, leaning against the threshold. “Get him to say something he shouldn’t know about you. Or get him to do something that needs the fire escape. See how he reacts.”

You thought for another moment then nodded. “Thanks, Drake.”

“Any time.” He pushed off the threshold and gently patted your back. “Keep us in the loop. You know anyone here will come running if you need help.” He then smiled, adding, “That’s what friends are really for.”

Bartolomeo was getting nervous. Something was off about you — you weren’t distant or anything, still making time to chat with him and texting him, but you seemed more... tense. He’d asked a couple of different times if you were okay, and you always answered with a shrug and a smile, saying you were just tired from work. Though he could tell that definitely wasn’t the full story, he didn’t want to push.

His patience seemed to pay off, as one evening you invited him into your apartment again for dinner. You’d said you wanted to repay him for knocking the one jerk’s lights out, and who would he be to resist a chance at dinner with you? Let alone a dinner made by you.

Bartolomeo showed up at your door right on time, again wearing a flannel he’d forgotten about. He wondered if he should invest in some nicer-looking clothes, before shaking the thought away — he never before cared about the way he dressed, and he’d only start caring if you said something.

When you answered the door, his heart melted, seeing you again in the blue sailor dress he liked when you... when that Pretty Boy attempted to go out with you. His heart melted further when you hugged him before leading him inside, his stomach doing backflips at the contact.

“Thanks for coming on short notice,” you said, beaming and heading back into the kitchen.

“No prob,” he said, sitting in the dining chair closest to you. “You don’t have to go through all this effort for me, though.”

“I want to,” you said, again making his heart weak. “I’ve actually been wanting to give you a proper ‘thank you’ for a while. Honestly, probably since I got stood up by...” you paused. Your back was to him as you stirred the pot on the stove, and you tipped your head back in thought. “Shit, what was his name again?”

Bartolomeo’s posture stiffened, and he bit down on his tongue. Pretty Boy. Cavendish. But he wasn’t supposed to know that. “I dunno, you never told me.”

You shrugged before returning your attention to the pot. “Well, either way. You put up with me then, and then you saved my ass the other night. I think that’s more than enough reason to go through the effort.”

He smiled. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Something in the back of his mind, however, began to gnaw at him. He started chatting your ear off to stop thinking about it.

Part way through your conversation about the difficulty of mahjong in Yakuza 0, it started pouring rain. You cussed, taking half a step away from the stove before freezing, then looking over your shoulder. “Can you do me a favor? I don’t wanna leave this alone.”

Bartolomeo jumped up from his seat. “Sure — you need me to watch it?”

“No, no, that’s fine,” your eyes then flicked toward the hallway. “I just left my fan in the fire escape window. Do you think you could pull it in and close it?”

He nodded, turning his body instinctively toward the hall and taking a step toward your bedroom, before freezing. His brow then furrowed — would it be weird that he already knew which room the fire escape was in? By process of elimination it wouldn’t be hard to figure out, but... something felt wrong about immediately going for your bedroom.

“Which room is it in?” he asked, trying to ignore the hairs standing on his neck.

And then he saw it. Your shoulders sank just slightly, and your gaze softened. Like you were relieved that was his response. “It’s in the bedroom. Just down the hall and to the left.” You then pointed accusingly at him with a slotted spoon and grinned. “Don’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

Bartolomeo nodded again, heading for the bedroom and being careful not to trip over Luffy on the way there. He opened the door and hesitated, glancing around. It was the first time you’d willingly let him into your bedroom, and he tried not to think too hard on how you’d looked at him — maybe you were just relieved he was doing you a favor.

As he pulled the box fan out of the window frame and slid the pane shut, something falling to the floor caught his eye.

Flakes of chipped paint and bits of rust, littering the floor by the fire escape.

Fuck.

“Everything okay in there?” you called.

“Yeah, just. Distracted.” He quickly set the fan down over top of the debris and hurried back out, looking just a hair paler.

You cocked your head at him. “You feeling okay?”

He nodded, sitting back down. “I’m fine. You’re room’s just... cute.”

You gave him that thousand-sun smile, a faint blush in your cheeks as you continued cooking. “Thank you. Food’s almost done.”

The rest of the evening went surprisingly smooth, especially considering Bartolomeo was now paranoid that you were catching on to something he really didn’t want you catching on to. He didn’t think that you noticed the debris — after all, it could have been something that just happened. But that little gnawing feeling in the back of his mind told him that it may have been happening for a while, and he wasn’t as good at covering his tracks as he thought. Then it hurt him a little, to think that if you did notice it that you didn’t bring it up to him. He pushed that thought aside quickly, deciding that you were far too good to keep something like that secret from him.

Nevermind that the gnawing feeling tried to convince him you were trying to trip him up.

As Bartolomeo laid in bed that night, after jacking off for the umpteenth time since he’d started stalking looking out for you, he worried at his lower lip, his teeth dangerously close to digging in and drawing blood. The solution was easy — just. Back up off the break-ins again.

Far easier said than done.

Meanwhile, your dreams about Bartolomeo ramped up in frequency. Sometimes he came to you as the beast-like creature, his mouth dripping with blood and drool. He always brought gifts, your tired mind’s way of accounting for the weight of a kitten on your chest. He’d so far brought a heart, a hand, and something that shifted between being a head and a liver. 

There was once when he appeared normal, grinning at you like he’d just seen the sun for the first time. It was a smile offset by the broken skin on his knuckles, and the red stains on his shirt and the cuffs of his jeans. It was arguably a more unsettling dream than the monster ones, as he then approached and talked to you like nothing was wrong.

And those were just the dreams where he wasn’t fucking you. Over the kitchen counter, on the couch, in your bed, in what your brain could only imagine as his bedroom. Always moaning “mine” in your ear and leaving bite marks on your shoulders. To your immense frustration, you always woke up before you came.

Apparently, the efforts you had made to try and prove his innocence weren’t enough for your nerves to settle down. You decided to try one more idea.

After much further deliberation, you had a plan. It was pay-day, but you already declined to go out for the usual drinks. You were texting Bartolomeo when he told you that, by some miracle, he didn’t have to work, and you were going to try something a little riskier. That morning you made sure Luffy’s gravity feeder had enough food and his water fountain was still running and full, so you knew he’d be okay by himself for a little longer than usual. Then, during your shift, you pulled Robin aside. After explaining the situation to her, with only the slightest bit of judgment that you didn’t come to her sooner about the part where you worried about a stalker in the first place (though she figured you had your reasons), she listened to your plan.

“I need you to hold on to my apartment keys.”

She nodded, holding her hand out. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to see if Barto’s tall enough to reach the fire escape.” You shuffled through your purse and handed them over. “If he can reach it and unlock my apartment from within, then that might be enough to prove he’s been breaking in this whole time.”

“What if he says no? Or it turns out he can’t reach it?”

“I’ll text you and ask if you can swing by the archives to get them when you guys are done with drinks.” You shrugged, blushing faintly as you added, “I’ll hang out with him until then.”

Robin considered for a moment, before nodding again and dropping your keys into her purse. “If he does agree to help, what’ll you do then?”

You paused, frowning. You hadn’t thought quite that far ahead.

Robin could sense as much, and gently took one of your hands. “If he does it, still text me. I’ll come get you and you can stay with me for a little while until we figure it out.”

You stared at her with wide eyes, then tears began to prickle in your periphery. Without much warning you hugged her. “Thanks, Robin.”

She laughed, lightly hugging you back. “You don’t have to thank me. If this will bring you peace of mind, I want to help you. Rooster’s been good to you, so I hope he’s not behind all this.” She then held you back by the shoulders and gave you a look that sent chills down your spine. “And if he is, I’ll castrate him.”

Bartolomeo heard loud cursing right after the elevator ding. He looked out the peephole to see you digging through your purse, cussing up a storm and bemoaning, “How the hell did I lose them?!”

He opened his door a crack and leaned out. “You good?”

You huffed, frowning. “No, I’m not. I can’t find my keys.”

“Oh, shit.” He fully stepped out and shut his door, trying to subtly lean over and see into your purse. “Where’d you last see them?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned. “I think I forgot them in my work locker. Fuck.”

He couldn’t see them either, not from the angle he had. “Maybe the landlord can let you in?”

“And risk him finding Luffy?”

“...you got me there.”

“So, short of breaking and entering, I’m not getting in until I find my keys.” You pulled out your phone and started texting, before you paused. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to lockpick, do you?”

He scratched the back of his neck. “I might. But it’ll risk messin’ up your lock and you’ll have to pay for a new key.”

“Damn,” you huffed, then eyed him up and down. “...Do you know where the fire escape is from the outside?”

He froze. “Uh—”

“Maybe you could climb up and get in for me? Open it from the inside?”

Fuck. Shit. Shit shit shit FUCK. Panic slithered through Bartolomeo’s veins, and he tried to look anywhere but your face. You were on to him. You had to be. Why else would you ask him this? No — no, this was innocent enough. You did say short of breaking in, so maybe you had — what was the word? an epiphany? — or whatever. But... if you were on to him, and he did as you asked, how long would he have before you left him high and dry? Or worse?! After all the work he’d put into knowing you — shit, he was taking too long to answer!

“I dunno,” he said. “Those ladders are pretty high off the ground. I’m pretty sure I can’t reach them.”

You deflated. “Well, how tall are you?”

He swallowed. “Seven-three.”

“Come on, that’s plenty tall enough!” You looked up at him with puppy eyes. “Please? Can’t you try?”

Bartolomeo almost cursed you for having such pretty eyes. How dare you use them against him like this? With every ounce of resistance he had, he shook his head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Even if I could, I don’t wanna break the window tryin’ to open it from the outside.”

You stared at him for several long seconds, your eyes searching his face. He really hoped you couldn’t see the sweat forming on his brow. Please stop lookin’ at me with those eyes. Please, please, please I’m beggin’ you.

You sighed, finally looking down. “Okay, fair enough.” You then returned to texting. “I’ll see if Robin can bring them to me. I think she has keys to the archives.”

He let out the breath he’d been holding, passing it off as a sigh of his own. Another few seconds and he would’ve broke. His mind then circled back around — you couldn’t be on to him. You just couldn’t be. And if you were, how was he going to gain back your trust?

“Shit,” you hissed. “That’s right, it’s pay-day. I wanted to skip out on drinks tonight, but Robin’s still going. She doesn’t know when she’ll get to the archives.”

After a moment, Bartolomeo realized the opportunity before him. Not only could he regain your trust, but maybe... just maybe... 

“You wanna hang out at my place for a bit?”

[strawberriemarswrites]

...Okay so remember when I said I didn't have an ETA for chapter 8?

Yeah apparently my ass is having a very good writing day. So it'll probably be up like... today or tomorrow (technically Monday or Tuesday but it's past midnight here so, today/tomorrow).

[strawberriemarswrites]

Been a hot minute since I posted an update.

Chapter 8 is coming along. I've got the meatier chunks and now it's just filling in the spaces in between. I don't have an estimated post date for it yet though, partially because...

I've got another oneshot in the works. A Kid x Killer x Reader one >u< it's another modern AU piece, I'm actually really excited to be plugging away at this one.

After that, I do have a couple ideas for some Buggy fics, one that's in-universe and one that's... another modern AU (I'm so sorry I just love playing around with these guys in this setting >///<). I'm still messing around with the outlines for those, so it might be a little ways before I start one but that's something I'm hoping to tackle soon.

In the meantime, I've seen some other writing blogs make lists of their favorites. Is that something you guys would be interested in seeing? Barto's obviously my top fave, but I've got really big soft spots in me for Sanji and Buggy, and there's a few others that are just fun to write for. Lemme know! :3

[strawberriemarswrites]

Ok so this isn’t for me it’s for my wonderful friend Pepsi. what if bartolomeo biting hcs… 👀

@thepepsislvt Come get y'alls juice

Biting Headcanons w/ GN!Reader/SO - Bartolomeo

Mostly NSFW (18+) - 252 words

Love language is bite. Full stop.

You’ll be minding your own business and he’ll just come up and nip your ear, or your neck, or if you’re working on something he’ll steal your hand for a sec and bite the inside of your wrist.

Just. “Hey you usin’ that” and then doesn’t wait for an answer. Chomp.

He leaves hickeys all over you. Some of them have scabs from when he punctures skin.

The majority of those hickeys are on your thighs, but his favorite places to bite are actually the neck, shoulders, and hips.

In the bedroom he’s always doting on you for how good you taste. Doesn’t matter if you’re freshly showered or a sweaty mess.

(And more often he catches you in the latter state — after a heated battle he’s still full of adrenaline and dying to get his teeth into you.)

He also likes dragging his teeth over your skin, pressing down enough to draw blood. Most times it’s surface level, but the deeper scrapes he leaves on your hips and thighs.

More than once Barto’s bitten down HARD on your shoulders when cumming. Like deep enough that if he’s not real careful letting go, he’ll tear flesh. He already keeps some first aid on hand but he’ll pull out all the stops on the aftercare when that happens: warm washcloths, antiseptic, super snuggly cuddles, the works.

He also heavily encourages you to bite him back. He wears all his bite marks and hickeys from you with pride.

[strawberriemarswrites]

A Barto one-shot AND a new chapter of IFDYOKAAT?!?!!!? They were both AMAZING, thank you for blessing us 💚😘

Literally had me foaming at the mouth ugh you killed it Strawbs🥵🍓

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH THANK YOU ;u; Seriously I've been losing my mind at how well it's all been doing you have no idea.

Everyone go thank skelly here for encouraging me to post the fic to tumblr. Do eeeeeet.

[strawberriemarswrites]

giggles i did a lil somethin somethin for @strawberriemars for their fuckin amazing Bartolomeo fic <3

[strawberriemarswrites]

Ok ok I love Kid, but I also love Killer so why not BOTH

any relationship hc crumbs I can lick off the table for a kidkiller and afab reader? (idc pronouns or if they’re are any)

OOOOHOHOHOHO yes yes. I can do this. I probably should put in my header that I take headcanon requests. I'll remedy that.

General Relationship Headcanons w/ AFAB Reader/SO - Kid, Killer

SFW and NSFW (18+ only) - 569 words

K I D

In public, he’ll sometimes act in ways that make it hard to believe he likes you. It’s no intentional, he just doesn’t think about it. He’s a ruthless pirate after all, and he’s gotta show it.

In private he’ll give you a little extra attention. Mostly teasing, definitely a physical-touch-as-love-language type of guy, and it’s mostly behind closed doors.

There is the rare occasion when on deck he’ll have part of his furry coat draped over your shoulders with a hand on your waist while he’s barking orders to the crew.

If anyone seems like they’re coming onto you or posing a threat, he will make it known that you’re off. Limits. Acts first, thinks later (if ever).

(Which has led to more than one instance of you just being looked at in a way that Kid didn’t like and him just going straight for the throat).

Kid prefers having you ride him. He likes watching you squirm a little trying to make him feel good.

Notably, this carries over to eating you out, but only if you’re sitting on his face and he’s got both hands on your hips to keep you there. Again, he likes watching you squirm.

K I L L E R

Quieter in the ways he shows affection. He’s also a physical touch kind of guy, but leans pretty heavily on acts of service, too.

In fact, he combos that shit. Brushing your hair out of the way when you’re cooking together. Bandaging you up after a rough battle. Pulling his button-up shirt you keep stealing right off your back so he can launder it and conveniently leave it out for you to steal again.

He especially likes just sitting with you and letting you talk his ear off. If you’re brave enough to start idly braiding bits of his hair, he’ll leave them in.

Not as quick to anger as Kid, but he’ll still loom behind you if you’re interacting with anyone he thinks will cause trouble. You have frequently had moments where you’re talking to someone only to have a shadow cast over you mid-conversation because Killer’s rolled up.

In somewhat of a contrast to his more reserved attitude, any position where he’s bending you a little out of shape or to your limits is a plus. He likes posing you like a little doll — but mating press is his favorite.

Face-down-ass-up is a close second however. He can get a little carried away and feral when he just needs to get it out of his system~

B O T H

The definition of “scary dog privilege”

You up front and them tailing close behind, both of them effortlessly exuding the most menacing aura.

Both are protective of you in their own ways when they have you alone, but together? If Kid’s throwing hands, Killer’s throwing hands.

Unless Killer can identify whoever’s involved isn’t a threat. In which case Kid will still do a little fake-out lunge just to watch them piss their pants a little.

Kid is surprisingly willing to share you with Killer when it comes to the bedroom. Though he will taunt you the whole time, asking if you like being so full, how it feels being spitroasted, whose cock is better and you better not lie.

Afterwards you’re sleeping smushed right between them with Kid’s deafening snores and Killer’s human furnace body. You still somehow manage to get the best sleep at night like this.

[strawberriemarswrites]

Bartolommeo the Cannibal

Plus some alts. Edits for funzies

[strawberriemarswrites]

SCREAMS OH MY GOD I love this ;3; thank you so much

"C'mon, sweetheart. Let's get home."

Aaaaahhhh!!! I love this fic! This is from the lovely @strawberriemarswrites Bartolomeo fan fiction: 'I'll Fucking Digest You One Kiss At A Time', please go read it!

[strawberriemarswrites]

ONESHOT - WICKED GAME (Bartolomeo)

Summary: You and Barto have been dating for a while. You want to try something new with him, something a little more kinky. Pairing: Bartolomeo x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns are mentioned, but Reader has a vagina) Rating: Explicit TW & Tags: Consensual Dub-Con, roleplay, dominant Bartolomeo, rough sex, very light bondage, Barto being mean, slightly bratty Reader, oral, fingering, PiV. This is in the canon OP universe, you’re a member of Barto’s crew :3 Word Count: 2,527

“I dunno. Are you sure you wanna do this?” Bartolomeo’s face was rapidly turning darker and darker shades of red as he stared down at the rope in your hands. “I-I don’t wanna hurt ya or nothin’...”

You nodded, taking one of his hands and placing it on top of the bundle. “I trust you. You won’t hurt me.” You gave his hand a gentle squeeze before turning it over so that when you released, he was holding the rope. “We can start slow. The safeword isn't just for me, either — you can use it if you get uncomfortable.”

He looked down at the rope, then to your face. You were blushing as much as he was, avoiding direct eye contact. His fingers curled around the coil of rope, and he brushed his knuckles against your cheek, then into your hair, before gripping and tilting your head back. 

Your breath hitched, and you finally met his eyes.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead, giving you one last out. “You’re sure about this?”

You nodded again. “Yes.”

Bartolomeo let go of your hair, bent down, and hoisted you up over his shoulder. You cried out in surprise, trying to find purchase at this new angle, your legs kicking as he held you in place with one arm. “H-hey, put me down!”

“Not a chance.” He didn’t seem fazed by your tiny kicks, only readjusting his grip so his shoulder wasn’t digging into your stomach. “Just sit tight, you’re comin’ along with me~”

Your face lit up and you started to fight in earnest, squirming on his shoulder and punching at his back. He was hardly moved, making a mental note to actually show you how to throw a punch in case you ever actually were in danger of being kidnapped. Not that he’d ever let that happen while you were part of his crew, but still.

He kicked open the door to his quarters, not caring about the handle he’d need to replace, and tossed you down onto the bed. You bounced on the mattress once, and he was on top of you immediately after, pulling your wrists together in one hand and quickly getting to work winding rope around them.

When he pulled the knot, you gasped, feeling your wrists strain as you squeaked out, “Too tight!”

Initially, panicked, Bartolomeo over-corrected, so you showed him the trick that he should be able to slip two fingers between your wrist and the rope. As he stammered an apology, you grabbed a fistfull of his coat, tugging him down for a kiss.

“You’re fine,” you mumbled between your mouths. “Keep going. Please.”

His heart pounded in his ears. He couldn’t believe you were letting him do this to you, or that he was taking to it so easily. Maybe you’d have to do it more often.

“Ya know, I normally don’t take prisoners.” Bartolomeo smiled and pinned your hands above your head, brushing his knuckles across your cheek again. “But after lookin’ at me with those big doe eyes, I just couldn’t resist.”

You stared up at him, putting on a pathetic, pleading look. “What are you going to do with me?”

He smiled wider, sharp teeth on full display. “I’m gonna help myself to the spoils.”

He then took you by the waist and pulled you down to the edge of the bed, undoing your pants and yanking them off before sitting on his knees before you, lifting your legs over his shoulders. With his face this close to your core, he was practically salivating at the sight of your underwear. He pulled aside the cloth covering your sex and inhaled — the scent alone sent so much blood straight to his cock that he was nearly dizzy.

“Fuck,” he breathed, steeling himself, “if you taste as good as you smell, I’m never letting you go.”

You gasped again as he then shoved his tongue against your folds. Your back arched and you tucked your arms to your chest, writhing and whimpering as Bartolomeo licked long, languid strokes from the very base of your entrance to the tip of your clit. You shrieked when he began to nip and suck on the sensitive bud, twisting your hips back and forth in an attempt to pull away. He held fast, continuing his onslaught, until he felt your legs starting to twitch. Only then did he finally relent, licking his lips with a cocky grin.

Fuck, his face covered in your slick was sexy. You whined, hiding your face behind your bound hands, whimpering incoherently. He hooked two fingers around the knot between your wrists and pulled you upright, not allowing you to hide from him as he slammed his mouth against yours. He took advantage of your startled cry, shoving his tongue past your lips and making you taste yourself on him. Moaning softly, you leaned into the kiss, sliding your tongue under his...

Before giving it a sharp nip.

Bartolomeo abruptly pulled away with a mock scowl. He grabbed you by the chin, his hand large enough that his fingers and thumb pressed into your cheeks. You grinned, sticking your tongue out defiantly.

“So that’s how it is, huh?” He switched his hold from your chin to your neck, the sight and feeling of just one hand almost entirely circling your throat making his cock ache. Your breath hitched again, and you reflexively tried to pull your thighs together, feeling your slick dripping down your leg and onto the bed.

He then stood, tipping your head back and undoing his belt with his free hand, finally pulling his cock free. You moaned again, your face flushing deeper as you playfully tried to writhe out of his grip and put on the most pitiful face you could. “I’m sorry, I won’t do it again...”

“I know you won’t,” Bartolomeo said, grinning dangerously as he moved his hand from your throat to the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair and gripping tight. “That’s why instead of knockin’ your teeth in, we’ll put that mouth of yours to good use.”

With that, he shoved his cock into your mouth, pushing himself in until he hit the tight threshold of your throat. He could hardly hear your muffled shout over the sound of his own guttural sigh, his eyes rolling back. Your stifled moans and whimpers sent vibrations all along his length, and he held you there for a moment longer, then held your head in place as he slid his cock halfway out before shoving it back in.

You squirmed on the bed as he slowly started fucking your face, your tied hands settling on one of his legs. Though you whined around his dick, you still responded to every push and pull with veiled enthusiasm, your heart pounding in your chest and your cunt dripping at the feeling of him filling your mouth so completely.

Bartolomeo finally pulled back far enough that only the tip remained in your mouth, and he tilted your head back to see it on your tongue. A bead of precum swelled and dripped out, and you shivered as the salty, bitter substance hit your tastebuds.

Between heavy breaths, he smiled, practically crooning, “What’s the matter? Don’t like the taste of me fuckin’ your face?” He pulled away and leaned down, his free hand reaching for your cunt.

Eyes wide, you tried to push back. “No, no don’t touch—”

He pushed one finger deep into you, causing you to choke on the last word. He laughed, pumping his finger in and out a few times before sliding in a second with little resistance. You moaned wantonly, your face bright red as you feigned fighting back, pushing against his hand. His laughter only got louder, letting go of your head and taking hold of your wrists again, holding them up over your head and out of the way.

“Who would have guessed,” he teased, increasing his pace, “that a soft thing like you is really a cock-hungry little slut.”

“M’not,” you whimpered, feebly trying to pull away.

“Really?” he mocked, giving a particularly hard push into your cunt. “You sure about that?”

You cried out and shook your head, still struggling as another flood of slick burst forth. “Fucking bastard—”

Bartolomeo forced you onto your back, pinning your wrists down above you. “Hey now, that’s harsh — I might be a bastard, but I still have feelings, y’know.” He finally slowed his pace, leaning down until his nose almost touched yours and adding, “Keep actin’ like a brat and callin’ me names though. I might just drag you up to the deck like this for the whole crew to see.”

Your eyes widened, cheeks turning a whole new shade of red as you searched his face. Something in the back of your mind told you there was no way he was serious, but then something else piped up that he might actually be into that sort of thing. “You wouldn’t dare.”

His grin was just a touch below sinister as he said, “Call me another name and find out.” 

He then added a third finger.

You jerked your hips upward with a scream, “Fuck me!”

Bartolomeo let go of your wrists and pulled his fingers out, grabbing you by the waist and tossing you further up the bed. He kicked off his pants as he straddled you and spread you legs. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He lifted your legs up and reached down for your underwear, before pausing. “Uh... serious question.”

You cocked your head, your breath heavy from the adrenaline coursing through you. “Everything okay?”

He nodded, tracing a finger along the wet patch on your underwear, biting his lip at the shiver he received in response. “How uh... attached are you to these?”

You smiled and shook your head. “Not at all.”

Bartolomeo smiled back, face flushed, before his expression turned sinister once more. “I’ve always wanted to do this—”

The fabric tore effortlessly, the waistband digging into your skin before snapping as he ripped the offending garment free. You gasped, your cunt pushing forth another burst of fluid, aching with need. He tossed the scraps aside, then turned you over onto your stomach, lifting your ass up level to his hips. After a few long strokes of his cock between your folds, he pushed in, both of you groaning with relief.

From there, Bartolomeo was bent over you completely, his enormous frame neatly fitting over top of your body. He kept one hand on your wrists, pinning them out in front of you, while his other arm circled beneath your waist and kept your ass in the air. He leaned down and began leaving bites along your neck and shoulder, his teeth drawing angry red lines in their wake. He growled low in his chest — he wasn’t even sure why; all he knew in that moment was the angle was perfect and so were you and he was determined to pump you so full of jizz that you’d be leaking for days.

On your end, you were in sheer bliss. You couldn’t believe you’d hesitated to ask Bartolomeo to do this. You shifted slightly to help him push in even deeper, feeling him bottom out in your cunt in a way that made you scream. With every thrust that was deeper than the last, every time his teeth threatened to break skin, the incoherent growling under his breath — you were starting to get dizzy from the stimulation. At this rate, you’d probably go mad with ecstacy.

Pressure began to build. Bartolomeo quickened his pace, his teeth drew pinpricks of blood as he finally broke your skin after a hard scratch. You wailed, throwing your head back and nearly head-butting him. Desperate, you managed to wriggle the knot around your wrists free from his grip, slipping your hands downward to meet his. You repositioned them so the backs of your hands were parallel to the bed, left under right, and nestled under his massive palm, fingers peeking out on your left hand to slip between his.

Something about the gesture, how comforting it was in the moment, how it was the only way you could hold onto him from your position, all of it sent Bartolomeo teetering over the edge. The arm around your waist shifted as he frantically tried to reach your clit, and when he did, he barely even brushed his finger over it before you were screaming again. Your head violently jerked backward, your vision filling with stars as your core clenched and euphoria flooded every one of your senses. He buried his face into your shoulder, screaming an elongated “FFFFUCK” against your skin as he came shortly after, your cunt spasming around him.

Soon, his thrusts slowed, hips jerking forward sporadically as he emptied himself deep inside of you. You whined, biting your lip and dreading the moment when he pulled out.

Eventually, his breathing evened out, and he could feel his dick beginning to soften. He kissed along your shoulder and neck, both of you wincing as he finally shifted his hips back and slowly released his hold around your waist. You flopped down on your side, a satisfied smile on your face, just as he noticed the faint lines of blood on your shoulder.

“AH! SHIT! HOLD STILL, UH—” Bartolomeo leapt off the bed, searching around the room for first aid. You struggled to push yourself upright, trying to get a good look at what he was so worried about. All you saw were a few teeth marks and what you could only describe as cat scratches, barely even breaking the skin.

Before long, Bartolomeo stumbled back onto the bed on his knees, reaching for you and retreating a few times, as if he wasn’t sure if he should touch you in your horribly injured state. He started babbling, “I-I shouldn’t have been so rough — I’m sorry — I can’t believe I hurt you—”

You threw your arms up over his head, your tied hands creating a closed loop as you pulled him down for a soft kiss. He tensed, eyes wide, before quickly melting in your hold, pulling you onto his lap and hugging you close. When you broke away, you were giggling, and he was still trying to apologize.

“Did you ever hear me say the safeword?” you asked, cutting into his thoughts and finally shutting him up. When he shook his head, you continued, “That’s because I didn’t. I didn’t need to use it.”

“But... I hurt you...”

You smiled and kissed him again. “And that’s okay. You did it with my permission.” You lifted your arms back over his head, putting your wrists between your chests. “Now untie me so I can show you the next part.”

Bartolomeo’s eyes widened, his face flushing a deep crimson. “W-wait, there’s more? But we’re — I mean, if it’s another round, it’s gonna be a minute— ACK—”

You tweaked his septum ring, making his eyes water. “Untie me so I can show you how to do aftercare. You’re gonna love this even more than the sex.”

[strawberriemarswrites]

YELLS I'M EATING THIS I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter Summary: You're having some interesting dreams lately, and one day after work you catch some unwanted attention. Good thing someone's started following you home. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Explicit, NSFW Chapter (18+ only; PiV sex) TW: public harassment, Barto's full-on stalking now, first dream is nice and steamy but the second dream at the end involves a bit of gore Ao3 Link: Chapter Seven (2,877 words)

Spring melted into Summer, and you quickly learned the AC rattled for just a bit too long whenever it turned on. It hadn’t yet been pushed to its limit, but it left you worried that it would kick the bucket when the first truly scorching day rolled around. It worked for now, at least, which was a godsend given the more pressing matter at hand.

Namely, someone pressing into you while you were bent over the kitchen counter. You weren’t entirely sure how you got there, or how Bartolomeo got into the apartment, but things had apparently escalated quickly.

His hands gripped your hips, your toes grazing the floor with each languid push. He nuzzled the shell of your ear, and you were surprised his septum ring was still cold against your skin, sending shocks down your spine.

“Sweetheart,” he purred, his voice impossibly low.

“Barto,” you whined, his name echoing despite the small space. “More.”

He obeyed, pulling out almost completely only to slam back in, his pace increasing. He was long, that much you knew, even though you hadn’t seen it. No matter how deep he pushed, he always seemed to be able to go even deeper, his cock dragging against your tight walls as his pace grew more erratic.  

“My girl. Mine.” He punctuated his statement with a hard thrust, the rough handling contrasting sharply with the soft kisses and playful bites on your neck and shoulders. Sparks flew through your veins as the head of his cock pressed against your sweet spot. You hardly recognized yourself through the animalistic cry that wrenched free, your cunt being pushed to its limit.

Right on the cusp of release, a familiar rattling sound cut through the air.

Blearily, you opened your eyes. You were flopped over on your couch, dried drool on your cheek. The AC was wheezing to life, pulling you from your delicious reverie.

You groaned, covering your face. “Fuck.”

It was a beautiful evening as you got out of work for the day. The sky was a gradient of pinks and oranges as the sun began its slow descent below the skyline. Its reflection glinted off of buildings and cars, filling your vision with little sparks of gold.

The darkening sky made it easier for Bartolomeo to keep an eye on you as he followed you home, keeping three buildings between you and him.

For all intents and purposes, he could have casually walked up and passed off his presence as a coincidence, as if he was just out running errands. He imagined you’d ask if he wanted to walk home with you, something he’d do with all the enthusiasm of a puppy playing with his favorite toy. Maybe you could stop at the diner, and he’d actually get a chance to show that he loved the little brushes of contact with your legs against his. Maybe he’d even get to feel those legs around his hips—

Bartolomeo shook his head, expelling the thought. This was why he was following from a distance. He didn’t trust himself not to overwhelm you with advances, or let slip one of his more lewd thoughts.

You were blissfully unaware, a slight spring in your step as you walked down the steps to the subway platform. He watched you swipe a train pass and waited for you to turn the corner, before jumping the turnstiles and resuming the pursuit.

He’d never admit that, despite the risk of being caught, he was starting to get a bit of a thrill out of the whole situation. You hadn’t said anything about noticing break-ins in a while, which meant he was getting better about hiding his tracks. On occasion he hid on the fire escape when he knew you were awake, or sat by your door and listened to you play with Luffy or sing to yourself. Part of him felt guilty still, but that part was slowly getting quieter as he continued to get away with his antics.

Following you was another step down into the obsession pit. Bartolomeo could justify it to himself all he wanted to, despite the obvious truth. He boarded the subway car behind yours, watching your back through the windows.

The car you chose was less crowded than usual for this time of day, devoid of the locals you’d grown accustomed to seeing. It wasn’t completely empty, as there was a group of people near the front of the car who were too loud for the tiny space, horsing around and engaging in general foolishness. Not long after you sat down and started to look at your phone, however, the volume died down somewhat, replaced with some muttering and hushed snickering. Maybe they were being more considerate now that someone else was in the car with them.

If only they were that kind.

A few minutes passed before a shadow loomed over you. Startled, you looked up.

A blond man with sunglasses was staring down at you with a wide grin. He had two long scars across either side of his face, giving him an almost ruggedly handsome appearance, if it weren’t for the fact he was leaning over you with imposing intent.

“Hey there, dollface,” he said. “Traveling alone?”

You bristled, tucking your phone away. “I’m meeting someone.”

He laughed, “Sure you are. Who’re you meeting? A boyfriend?”

You shook your head, pulling your shoulders in, instinctively making yourself smaller.

The man laughed, “Aw, no need to be shy. I’m just making conversation.” He suddenly leaned over you, putting one hand over the back of the seat. “Tell you what — why don’t you ditch whoever it is and come join us?” He tipped his sunglasses down. “I’m sure my friends and I could show you a fun time.”

You tried to inch away, pressing yourself closer to the cool window. “I’m just meeting a friend. I’m sure we can have a fun time by ourselves.”

“Maybe they can join us. The more the merrier, right?” He cocked his head, looking you up and down. “If they’re half as pretty as you, you’ll both look good on either arm.”

You suppressed the urge to gag, instead shaking your head again. “I’m really not interested in a night out, thank you.”

“So a night in, then? I don’t mind going back to your place.”

You ground your teeth, a dial in your head moving a few notches from flight toward fight. Why couldn’t this guy take a hint? Abruptly, you stood, throwing him off guard enough that you were able to push past him and stand by the doors. “No. Thank you. Maybe some other time.”

One of his friends piped up from the front of the car, “Come on, Bellamy. She said she’s not interested.”

He shot the group a glare before smiling at you again, his tongue peeking out between his teeth as he regained his composure. 

“Your loss,” he said with a shrug and leaned against a support pole as the train slowly pulled to a stop. “See you around.”

You couldn’t get off the train fast enough, not caring that you were still several stops away from the apartment. You took off at a brisk jog, rushing back up to the open air and hugging yourself as you tried to come down from the adrenaline rush. You knew your way to the next station, you could get back on once the train came back around — surely they’d all be gone by then. The sky began to darken further as you slowed back down to a walk, pushing your hair back with a shaking hand. Granted, it was a brief encounter, but you were confident you’d had enough excitement for one night.

With that thought, you again tempted fate.

As you came up to the next subway entrance, you grew increasingly aware of a chill down your spine. Initially, you chalked it up to the slight drop in temperature of the crisp summer evening, but it started to feel more like there were eyes on you. You rounded the signpost for the subway entrance, trying to casually catch sight of whoever may have been behind you—

On the entrance stairs was the scarred man — Bellamy, was it? — surrounded by his entourage.

“Hey there, dollface.” He grinned, his tongue darting out between his teeth. “Where’s that friend you were meeting?”

After assessing each one of his friends in turn, the dial in your brain switched back to flight so quickly the knob broke. 

Voices shouted behind you as you ran faster than you believed you ever could, your steps thundering against the concrete. You couldn’t tell if the streets were strangely empty, or if you were running past people so fast that you stopped seeing them, only registering them as obstacles to dodge as you fled. You probably should have cried for help, but by the time you thought about it, your voice was lost in your lungs, smothered by the chilled night air that filled them. The only thing on your mind now was run.

Just as you made a sharp turn into an alley, a hand shot out and grabbed your arm, finally wrenching free the shriek caught in your chest. You clawed at the hand grabbing you, glaring daggers at Bellamy as he took off his sunglasses to stare down at you.

“Aw, you’re even prettier when you’re pissed off,” he laughed, lifting your arm over your head. With a sickening lurch in your stomach you felt your feet leave the ground, and your shoulder strained as he effortlessly held you up like you weighed nothing. He stopped when he had you dangling a good few feet above the sidewalk, his eyes wide and manic. “I’ll give you another chance: lemme show you a nice time, huh?”

It probably wasn’t the wisest decision, given the position you found yourself in, but it was the only thing you could think to do. You felt your palm sting and your feet hit the concrete before you fully realized you slapped him, hard enough to make him drop you. Staggering, you took off again in the direction you came, weaving around Bellamy’s friends only to run straight into someone’s chest. Panicked, you balled your hands into fists before you looked up and saw whose chest it was.

Bartolomeo put an arm around your shoulders and held you close, staring straight ahead at his target. In spite of the red creeping into his periphery, his expression was calm, only showing the bare minimum of the rage he felt firing through his nerves. “There a problem here?”

Bellamy’s troupe gave him a wide berth as he approached, a fading red handprint on the left side of his face. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’,” Bartolomeo started gently coaxing you behind him. “Just a friend passin’ through.”

The cocky grin from before slowly crept back up as Bellamy made eye contact with you. “Guess you weren’t lying after all about that friend.” His gaze then met Bartolomeo’s. “Not all that pretty though.”

“Funny,” Bartolomeo smirked, “that’s not what your mother was sayin’.”

Bellamy seethed, cracking his knuckles. “Looks like you and your little bitch need to learn some manners.”

Bartolomeo’s brow ticked and he took a step forward, before he felt you lightly pull on the back of his leather jacket. He looked down to you, putting an arm around your shoulders.

You tugged on his jacket again. He was outnumbered, and you really didn’t want to see him get hurt. “Come on, he’s not worth it,” you said. “Let’s just go home.”

His expression softened slightly, his fury abating. “You sure?”

You nodded, and he relented, turning his back slightly—

Before ducking out of range of a right hook. He backed up to keep out of Bellamy’s reach, nudging you further behind him. Bellamy threw another punch, and Bartolomeo brought both fists up to protect his face. 

You quickly backed away from the fight, surprised to see the rest of the group do the same, as Bartolomeo swung from the left. As Bellamy went to block, he was struck from the right and nailed in the solar plexus, knocking the wind from him. Fueled further by the anger flooding his veins, Bartolomeo started wailing on his face, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and crunching bone echoing against the buildings.

You flinched with each hit, unable to look away as Bellamy’s face turned bloodier and more bruised. One of his friends tried to step forward before another one stopped him, muttering things between them before giving Bartolomeo a wide-eyed stare and backing up further.

Finally, the sounds stopped, and Bartolomeo shoved Bellamy backward toward his friends. He looked dazed, for as much as one who could barely see through the swelling on his face could, blood staining down the front of his shirt. Cuts on his cheeks and nose stood out sharply against the bruises, and he struggled to stand upright, before staggering back and being caught by two of his bigger comrades.

Bartolomeo turned back to you, barely having broken a sweat, knuckles bruised and his shirt spattered with blood.

You gaped, your heart racing, and a faint flush crept to your cheeks.

That is. Disturbingly hot.

He pulled you to his side with an arm around your shoulder, holding you close as he led you from the bloodbath. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get home.”

When you returned back to the apartment, you spent way too long in your living room helicoptering around Bartolomeo and dressing his knuckles, trying to insist that you treat his shirt with peroxide, and fangirling about how he handled that fight. He happily let you do so, even allowing you to shove an icepack into his less bruised hand to take with him, despite him having plenty of first aid material already. He was just relieved he’d gotten off the subway in time to follow you, and that you hadn’t noticed him when you were trying to get to the next station.

And he was relieved to show that prick what happens when someone messes with his girl.

Later that night as you slept, you felt a weight on your chest. You tried to move it, assuming it was Luffy, but your arms wouldn’t listen. You tried to roll over, but your body wouldn’t budge. You felt hot, heavy breathing across your face, and with immense effort you managed to open your eyes.

Bartolomeo was straddling your waist, his arms on either side of your head to keep his body from completely pinning yours down. His lips were pulled back into a snarl, his eyes glowing. His teeth looked even larger, especially up so close. Puffs of steam came from his mouth as he breathed, and in the darkness you weren’t sure if what was dripping from his lips was drool or blood.

You couldn’t stop the snarky part of you from saying, “What large teeth you have.”

Bartolomeo’s snarl turned into a grin. It was definitely blood coming down from between his teeth. His voice came out low, layered over itself as he growled, “Better to eat you with.”

The weight on your chest moved, and you looked down. There was a pile of gore, gently beating.

“A gift?” you asked, your voice detached and distant.

He leaned down to your ear, “Our heart.”

An interesting word choice. Not “my”, not “your”. Our heart.

His tongue slid over your cheek as he pulled away, leaving behind a dark, wet trail over your face. Your arms finally responded to your demands as you reached up to try and keep him in place. But your hand slipped right through him, instead landing right on top of the messy heart on your chest.

It felt strangely furry, and made a very confused “mrrreep”.

You opened your eyes with a gasp. No Bartolomeo, no heart, just Luffy wondering why you awoke him from his sleep. You pushed yourself upright, surveying the room.

Nothing. No one. Just you and the kitty.

And it was uncomfortably hot in your bedroom.

You groaned and gently nudged Luffy off of you, stretching as you rolled out of bed to find a box fan. There was no way in hell you were going to try messing with the AC this late at night. You retrieved the fan from the hall closet, flicking on the light in your room as you dragged it over to the window to the fire escape. Before you could push it open, something on the floor caught your eye.

Flecks of rust, dirt, and chipped paint were scattered around near the window. You groaned, crouching down to look at them a bit closer. You knew you vacuumed just the day before, so where the hell did the stuff come from?

You got your answer when you opened the window and bits of rust shook loose, littering the carpet.

It occurred to you that you’d never opened this window before now.

Everything you had been trying to ignore, everything you thought had been resolved, all of it came flooding back, pouring in from the window and sending debris to your floor.

Someone had been in your bedroom. And the fire escape was how they got in.

[strawberriemarswrites]

CHAPTER SEVEN

Chapter Summary: You're having some interesting dreams lately, and one day after work you catch some unwanted attention. Good thing someone's started following you home. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Explicit, NSFW Chapter (18+ only; PiV sex) TW: public harassment, Barto's full-on stalking now, first dream is nice and steamy but the second dream at the end involves a bit of gore Ao3 Link: Chapter Seven (2,877 words)

Spring melted into Summer, and you quickly learned the AC rattled for just a bit too long whenever it turned on. It hadn’t yet been pushed to its limit, but it left you worried that it would kick the bucket when the first truly scorching day rolled around. It worked for now, at least, which was a godsend given the more pressing matter at hand.

Namely, someone pressing into you while you were bent over the kitchen counter. You weren’t entirely sure how you got there, or how Bartolomeo got into the apartment, but things had apparently escalated quickly.

His hands gripped your hips, your toes grazing the floor with each languid push. He nuzzled the shell of your ear, and you were surprised his septum ring was still cold against your skin, sending shocks down your spine.

“Sweetheart,” he purred, his voice impossibly low.

“Barto,” you whined, his name echoing despite the small space. “More.”

He obeyed, pulling out almost completely only to slam back in, his pace increasing. He was long, that much you knew, even though you hadn’t seen it. No matter how deep he pushed, he always seemed to be able to go even deeper, his cock dragging against your tight walls as his pace grew more erratic.  

“My girl. Mine.” He punctuated his statement with a hard thrust, the rough handling contrasting sharply with the soft kisses and playful bites on your neck and shoulders. Sparks flew through your veins as the head of his cock pressed against your sweet spot. You hardly recognized yourself through the animalistic cry that wrenched free, your cunt being pushed to its limit.

Right on the cusp of release, a familiar rattling sound cut through the air.

Blearily, you opened your eyes. You were flopped over on your couch, dried drool on your cheek. The AC was wheezing to life, pulling you from your delicious reverie.

You groaned, covering your face. “Fuck.”

It was a beautiful evening as you got out of work for the day. The sky was a gradient of pinks and oranges as the sun began its slow descent below the skyline. Its reflection glinted off of buildings and cars, filling your vision with little sparks of gold.

The darkening sky made it easier for Bartolomeo to keep an eye on you as he followed you home, keeping three buildings between you and him.

For all intents and purposes, he could have casually walked up and passed off his presence as a coincidence, as if he was just out running errands. He imagined you’d ask if he wanted to walk home with you, something he’d do with all the enthusiasm of a puppy playing with his favorite toy. Maybe you could stop at the diner, and he’d actually get a chance to show that he loved the little brushes of contact with your legs against his. Maybe he’d even get to feel those legs around his hips—

Bartolomeo shook his head, expelling the thought. This was why he was following from a distance. He didn’t trust himself not to overwhelm you with advances, or let slip one of his more lewd thoughts.

You were blissfully unaware, a slight spring in your step as you walked down the steps to the subway platform. He watched you swipe a train pass and waited for you to turn the corner, before jumping the turnstiles and resuming the pursuit.

He’d never admit that, despite the risk of being caught, he was starting to get a bit of a thrill out of the whole situation. You hadn’t said anything about noticing break-ins in a while, which meant he was getting better about hiding his tracks. On occasion he hid on the fire escape when he knew you were awake, or sat by your door and listened to you play with Luffy or sing to yourself. Part of him felt guilty still, but that part was slowly getting quieter as he continued to get away with his antics.

Following you was another step down into the obsession pit. Bartolomeo could justify it to himself all he wanted to, despite the obvious truth. He boarded the subway car behind yours, watching your back through the windows.

The car you chose was less crowded than usual for this time of day, devoid of the locals you’d grown accustomed to seeing. It wasn’t completely empty, as there was a group of people near the front of the car who were too loud for the tiny space, horsing around and engaging in general foolishness. Not long after you sat down and started to look at your phone, however, the volume died down somewhat, replaced with some muttering and hushed snickering. Maybe they were being more considerate now that someone else was in the car with them.

If only they were that kind.

A few minutes passed before a shadow loomed over you. Startled, you looked up.

A blond man with sunglasses was staring down at you with a wide grin. He had two long scars across either side of his face, giving him an almost ruggedly handsome appearance, if it weren’t for the fact he was leaning over you with imposing intent.

“Hey there, dollface,” he said. “Traveling alone?”

You bristled, tucking your phone away. “I’m meeting someone.”

He laughed, “Sure you are. Who’re you meeting? A boyfriend?”

You shook your head, pulling your shoulders in, instinctively making yourself smaller.

The man laughed, “Aw, no need to be shy. I’m just making conversation.” He suddenly leaned over you, putting one hand over the back of the seat. “Tell you what — why don’t you ditch whoever it is and come join us?” He tipped his sunglasses down. “I’m sure my friends and I could show you a fun time.”

You tried to inch away, pressing yourself closer to the cool window. “I’m just meeting a friend. I’m sure we can have a fun time by ourselves.”

“Maybe they can join us. The more the merrier, right?” He cocked his head, looking you up and down. “If they’re half as pretty as you, you’ll both look good on either arm.”

You suppressed the urge to gag, instead shaking your head again. “I’m really not interested in a night out, thank you.”

“So a night in, then? I don’t mind going back to your place.”

You ground your teeth, a dial in your head moving a few notches from flight toward fight. Why couldn’t this guy take a hint? Abruptly, you stood, throwing him off guard enough that you were able to push past him and stand by the doors. “No. Thank you. Maybe some other time.”

One of his friends piped up from the front of the car, “Come on, Bellamy. She said she’s not interested.”

He shot the group a glare before smiling at you again, his tongue peeking out between his teeth as he regained his composure. 

“Your loss,” he said with a shrug and leaned against a support pole as the train slowly pulled to a stop. “See you around.”

You couldn’t get off the train fast enough, not caring that you were still several stops away from the apartment. You took off at a brisk jog, rushing back up to the open air and hugging yourself as you tried to come down from the adrenaline rush. You knew your way to the next station, you could get back on once the train came back around — surely they’d all be gone by then. The sky began to darken further as you slowed back down to a walk, pushing your hair back with a shaking hand. Granted, it was a brief encounter, but you were confident you’d had enough excitement for one night.

With that thought, you again tempted fate.

As you came up to the next subway entrance, you grew increasingly aware of a chill down your spine. Initially, you chalked it up to the slight drop in temperature of the crisp summer evening, but it started to feel more like there were eyes on you. You rounded the signpost for the subway entrance, trying to casually catch sight of whoever may have been behind you—

On the entrance stairs was the scarred man — Bellamy, was it? — surrounded by his entourage.

“Hey there, dollface.” He grinned, his tongue darting out between his teeth. “Where’s that friend you were meeting?”

After assessing each one of his friends in turn, the dial in your brain switched back to flight so quickly the knob broke. 

Voices shouted behind you as you ran faster than you believed you ever could, your steps thundering against the concrete. You couldn’t tell if the streets were strangely empty, or if you were running past people so fast that you stopped seeing them, only registering them as obstacles to dodge as you fled. You probably should have cried for help, but by the time you thought about it, your voice was lost in your lungs, smothered by the chilled night air that filled them. The only thing on your mind now was run.

Just as you made a sharp turn into an alley, a hand shot out and grabbed your arm, finally wrenching free the shriek caught in your chest. You clawed at the hand grabbing you, glaring daggers at Bellamy as he took off his sunglasses to stare down at you.

“Aw, you’re even prettier when you’re pissed off,” he laughed, lifting your arm over your head. With a sickening lurch in your stomach you felt your feet leave the ground, and your shoulder strained as he effortlessly held you up like you weighed nothing. He stopped when he had you dangling a good few feet above the sidewalk, his eyes wide and manic. “I’ll give you another chance: lemme show you a nice time, huh?”

It probably wasn’t the wisest decision, given the position you found yourself in, but it was the only thing you could think to do. You felt your palm sting and your feet hit the concrete before you fully realized you slapped him, hard enough to make him drop you. Staggering, you took off again in the direction you came, weaving around Bellamy’s friends only to run straight into someone’s chest. Panicked, you balled your hands into fists before you looked up and saw whose chest it was.

Bartolomeo put an arm around your shoulders and held you close, staring straight ahead at his target. In spite of the red creeping into his periphery, his expression was calm, only showing the bare minimum of the rage he felt firing through his nerves. “There a problem here?”

Bellamy’s troupe gave him a wide berth as he approached, a fading red handprint on the left side of his face. “What’s it to you?”

“Nothin’,” Bartolomeo started gently coaxing you behind him. “Just a friend passin’ through.”

The cocky grin from before slowly crept back up as Bellamy made eye contact with you. “Guess you weren’t lying after all about that friend.” His gaze then met Bartolomeo’s. “Not all that pretty though.”

“Funny,” Bartolomeo smirked, “that’s not what your mother was sayin’.”

Bellamy seethed, cracking his knuckles. “Looks like you and your little bitch need to learn some manners.”

Bartolomeo’s brow ticked and he took a step forward, before he felt you lightly pull on the back of his leather jacket. He looked down to you, putting an arm around your shoulders.

You tugged on his jacket again. He was outnumbered, and you really didn’t want to see him get hurt. “Come on, he’s not worth it,” you said. “Let’s just go home.”

His expression softened slightly, his fury abating. “You sure?”

You nodded, and he relented, turning his back slightly—

Before ducking out of range of a right hook. He backed up to keep out of Bellamy’s reach, nudging you further behind him. Bellamy threw another punch, and Bartolomeo brought both fists up to protect his face. 

You quickly backed away from the fight, surprised to see the rest of the group do the same, as Bartolomeo swung from the left. As Bellamy went to block, he was struck from the right and nailed in the solar plexus, knocking the wind from him. Fueled further by the anger flooding his veins, Bartolomeo started wailing on his face, the sound of flesh hitting flesh and crunching bone echoing against the buildings.

You flinched with each hit, unable to look away as Bellamy’s face turned bloodier and more bruised. One of his friends tried to step forward before another one stopped him, muttering things between them before giving Bartolomeo a wide-eyed stare and backing up further.

Finally, the sounds stopped, and Bartolomeo shoved Bellamy backward toward his friends. He looked dazed, for as much as one who could barely see through the swelling on his face could, blood staining down the front of his shirt. Cuts on his cheeks and nose stood out sharply against the bruises, and he struggled to stand upright, before staggering back and being caught by two of his bigger comrades.

Bartolomeo turned back to you, barely having broken a sweat, knuckles bruised and his shirt spattered with blood.

You gaped, your heart racing, and a faint flush crept to your cheeks.

That is. Disturbingly hot.

He pulled you to his side with an arm around your shoulder, holding you close as he led you from the bloodbath. “C’mon, sweetheart. Let’s get home.”

When you returned back to the apartment, you spent way too long in your living room helicoptering around Bartolomeo and dressing his knuckles, trying to insist that you treat his shirt with peroxide, and fangirling about how he handled that fight. He happily let you do so, even allowing you to shove an icepack into his less bruised hand to take with him, despite him having plenty of first aid material already. He was just relieved he’d gotten off the subway in time to follow you, and that you hadn’t noticed him when you were trying to get to the next station.

And he was relieved to show that prick what happens when someone messes with his girl.

Later that night as you slept, you felt a weight on your chest. You tried to move it, assuming it was Luffy, but your arms wouldn’t listen. You tried to roll over, but your body wouldn’t budge. You felt hot, heavy breathing across your face, and with immense effort you managed to open your eyes.

Bartolomeo was straddling your waist, his arms on either side of your head to keep his body from completely pinning yours down. His lips were pulled back into a snarl, his eyes glowing. His teeth looked even larger, especially up so close. Puffs of steam came from his mouth as he breathed, and in the darkness you weren’t sure if what was dripping from his lips was drool or blood.

You couldn’t stop the snarky part of you from saying, “What large teeth you have.”

Bartolomeo’s snarl turned into a grin. It was definitely blood coming down from between his teeth. His voice came out low, layered over itself as he growled, “Better to eat you with.”

The weight on your chest moved, and you looked down. There was a pile of gore, gently beating.

“A gift?” you asked, your voice detached and distant.

He leaned down to your ear, “Our heart.”

An interesting word choice. Not “my”, not “your”. Our heart.

His tongue slid over your cheek as he pulled away, leaving behind a dark, wet trail over your face. Your arms finally responded to your demands as you reached up to try and keep him in place. But your hand slipped right through him, instead landing right on top of the messy heart on your chest.

It felt strangely furry, and made a very confused “mrrreep”.

You opened your eyes with a gasp. No Bartolomeo, no heart, just Luffy wondering why you awoke him from his sleep. You pushed yourself upright, surveying the room.

Nothing. No one. Just you and the kitty.

And it was uncomfortably hot in your bedroom.

You groaned and gently nudged Luffy off of you, stretching as you rolled out of bed to find a box fan. There was no way in hell you were going to try messing with the AC this late at night. You retrieved the fan from the hall closet, flicking on the light in your room as you dragged it over to the window to the fire escape. Before you could push it open, something on the floor caught your eye.

Flecks of rust, dirt, and chipped paint were scattered around near the window. You groaned, crouching down to look at them a bit closer. You knew you vacuumed just the day before, so where the hell did the stuff come from?

You got your answer when you opened the window and bits of rust shook loose, littering the carpet.

It occurred to you that you’d never opened this window before now.

Everything you had been trying to ignore, everything you thought had been resolved, all of it came flooding back, pouring in from the window and sending debris to your floor.

Someone had been in your bedroom. And the fire escape was how they got in.