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strawberriemarswrites · 4 months

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CHAPTER SIX

Chapter Summary: You have a date planned with Cavendish. Bartolomeo isn't exactly thrilled, but he'll take care of that. Pairing: Bartolomeo x F!Reader Rating: Mature (18+ for the story, SFW chapter) TW: stalking, Barto breaking shit, very mild violence. The boy's getting a bit more unhinged Ao3 Link: Chapter Six (3,494 words)

Your date with Cavendish was in four days. That was four days for you to stew over if you’d made the right choice. What if the whole thing was a set-up for an elaborate and really mean joke? Maybe he was a clout chaser and was trying to get a video of your “gratitude”, or worse, your humiliation. What if things went sour, what if he got angry?

Probably the worst prospect of all: what if you enjoyed yourself?

You shifted your weight from one leg to the other as you stood outside Bartolomeo’s door, hesitating only a moment longer before knocking. If nothing else, you could at least ask him for help.

The door opened and thankfully this time Bartolomeo was wearing a shirt. He was distracting enough on his own, his bare chest didn’t need to distract you further.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorframe with his usual relaxed regard.

You smiled wide, tapping your fingers together. “Hi. Uhm. Can I borrow you for a few minutes? I need a second opinion. Maybe a couple second opinions.”

He returned the smile. “Yeah, sure. What’s up?”

“It’s partially something I need to show you,” you said as you backed up to your apartment door. “You wanna come over for a little bit? Play with Luffy?”

Try as he might, he couldn’t hide the way his eyes lit up as he nodded. Your smile widening even further, you led him inside. Luffy immediately came trotting up, his little legs swinging out wide and awkwardly as he ran. He greeted Bartolomeo with a loud meow, weaving between his ankles.

He laughed, crouching down to pet him. “Hey, Mister Luffy. Keeping out of trouble?”

“No,” you answered, giggling, “he’s got his own toys, but still keeps trying to fight my plushies.” You then gestured between the living room couch and your small dining table. “Sit wherever — want a drink?”

Bartolomeo nodded and opted for a dining chair, while Luffy came zipping back over to you with another loud meow. You set down a soda on the table, briefly standing between Bartolomeo’s knees. Your mind wandered for a moment, wishing you could sit on one of those knees, or straddle them both while fiercely making out with him —

You shook the thought from your mind and stepped back. “So. I need to put an outfit together for something, and I have it narrowed down to two.”

His bare brow ticked up in surprise. “Oh. Uh, sure — I mean. I dunno how much help I’ll be, but I can try.”

You scratched the back of your neck. “I’m just not sure which one looks better. And...” You sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I dunno. I’m not sure I’m making the right choice.”

“In... what you’re wearing?”

Despite yourself, you laughed, shaking your head. “No, uh...” you paused to take a deep breath, steeling yourself as you averted your eyes, “I have a date.”

Bartolomeo’s nerves lit on fire. His jaw ticked, his free hand clenched tighter, red crept into his peripherals — he quickly took a drink, thankful that you were looking away. When you did meet his eyes again, he asked, “Where at?”

“Some place called Baratie.”

He nearly bit his tongue to try and relieve some of the anger, miraculously keeping his tone even. “Ritzy. Figures.”

“You’ve been there?”

He laughed, almost barking, “Hell no. Never been able to afford somethin’ like that. They must wanna impress you real bad.”

You shrugged, giggling as the tension rolled off your shoulders. “Probably. He was kind of a dick growing up.”

“Oh?” He propped an elbow up on the table, resting his cheek against his knuckles. “What made you wanna go out with him, then?”

“That’s the thing,” you said with another sigh, moving to one of the dining chairs across from him. “I don’t really know that I want to. But... I feel kind of bad for him? He says he wants to make amends.”

“What’d this guy do that was so bad?” It almost hurt Bartolomeo to ask that, as knowing how someone had hurt you in the past was likely to make him even more furious. But he needed to know.

You leaned back in the chair and tipped your head up. “He was always really over dramatic. And he kind of just... expected people to bend over backwards for him at the drop of a hat, and would throw a fit when they didn’t. But it wasn’t like he went out of his way to make anyone’s life hell, he just was annoying.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean. He’d make your life hell in the moment because he would act like you committed a crime against humanity, but then it was like he instantly forgot anyone who stood up to him existed. He was surprised by it almost every time.

“I was one of the people that pushed back,” you continued. “We’d get assigned group projects together and he wouldn’t pull his weight. Sometimes the other students would just roll with it and take on the extra load, but I always got in his face about it. Among other things, but that was the most common one.”

Bartolomeo smirked at that. “You? Gettin’ in someone’s face?” The image it brought to mind, of you standing up to someone with your hands on your hips and a mean glare, was equal parts adorable and sexy.

You gave him a lopsided grin. “Hey, sometimes you have to be a bitch. I’m not exactly physically imposing, and yeah I prefer to be nice when I can, but oh my god the snobbery. I can only take so much.”

He laughed again, “And you wanna let this guy apologize?”

“Well...” you hesitated, “apparently he got arrested about a year ago and made it out on bail. He hasn’t talked about it yet, but my coworker knows how to dig stuff up.” You pulled out your phone, unlocking it to re-read some of the messages. “He has talked about his parents, how they won’t speak to him, or acknowledge he’s their son. It’s sad.”

Bartolomeo felt his heart soften a little. You were willing to go out with someone with a rough past. But then it hardened again, because that someone should be him. He took a deep breath through his nose — no, this was fine. It could be worse. He would take care of it, before this guy inevitably hurt you.

For now, Bartolomeo had to be a friend.

“It’s real nice of ya to give him a chance,” he said, trying not to grit his teeth.

You apparently didn’t notice, your cheeks turning pink as you fidgeted. “You think so?”

“Yeah,” he said and took another drink. “Any guy’d be lucky to be with a girl who doesn’t care ‘bout his past, and is willin’ to forgive stuff. As long as he doesn’t keep on being a dick.”

You nodded, shifting to sit up a little straighter. “Right — exactly. It’s more important that they’re making the effort to do better, and how they treat people now.”

The reassurance helped to balance out some of the fury. He nodded to the hall. “So, what’re you caught between?”

You practically jumped out of your seat, beaming. “Right! Okay, stay right here — I’ll be right back.”

As you rushed off, Bartolomeo’s eyes fell to your unlocked phone on the table, and he downed the rest of his drink.

Your heart raced as you changed into each outfit in turn, Luffy going back and forth between weaving between your legs and trying to climb up Bartolomeo’s. He was very quick to encourage wearing a blue dress that had a sailor collar, his eyes gleaming, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was picking something he liked as opposed to just a non-biased opinion. Then again, you could have just been bringing your own feelings into it.

It wasn’t long before Bartolomeo’s phone pinged, and he sighed as he checked it. “Gambia needs help at the bar. Got packed outta nowhere.”

“Wait,” you put a hand out as he stood, gesturing to his phone. “Is there any chance I can have your number? So I can text you if it starts going south?”

He smiled and handed it to you, watching as you rapidly typed something in before your own phone pinged. When you handed it back, he saw you had messaged yourself the words “Barto’s phone!”

“You really think it’ll go that bad?” he asked, one brow raised.

You shook your head as you saved his information, paused, then shrugged. “I really don’t know. But it’ll be nice to have someone I can text for an emergency bail-out call.”

“You can text me anytime, sweetheart, not just for bail-outs,” Bartolomeo said, his smile widening at the faint flush in your cheeks. As he turned to leave, he saved your information with a heart after your name.

Now, to find out just who the hell was Cavendish Bourgeois, and why he thought he could try to claim what belonged to him.

It didn’t take long to track Cavendish down. Smug idiot broadcast practically everything about himself, except that assault and battery against him. He even tried to make his community service look like it was charity work or something. But anything Bartolomeo wanted to learn about him, he could easily find. Where he worked, which college he went to, what kind of car he drove. By the time there were only two days left before the date, he had even narrowed down where he lived to three buildings. By the day of, he knew which parking garage he’d find a particularly nice classic Mustang.

Bartolomeo didn’t like the guy on principle, given he was trying to take you out on a date. The more he looked into him, the more he just got annoyed by him. He didn’t doubt what you said about his parents disowning him, but even still, everything aside from the criminal record seemed so perfect. Then he got to the activity feed showing how frequently Cavendish was in and out of relationships in the past year alone. Guy had some issues on that front, that much was clear. Bartolomeo even did a little digging through the names that came up, lining up dates to see if any posts said anything deeper about what might have happened between Cavendish and his exes. Unfortunately, most were vague vents about wishing for consistency in a relationship and jokes about him sleepwalking, with only two saying anything about him being a stuck-up asshole, which was already obvious enough.

Bartolomeo hefted the metal bat over his shoulder and crossed his ankles, leaning back against the Mustang with one hand in his pocket. He was surprised just touching the damn thing didn’t set off an alarm, but then again, the pretty boy seemed arrogant enough to assume no one would dare steal anything from him.

But he thinks he can steal from someone else, he thought, his grip on the bat tightening. It was now about twenty minutes before the reservation. It broke his heart a little, knowing that you were about to be all alone, waiting for someone who wasn’t going to show. And it was going to be because of him.

The crazy things one does for love.

The slide of the elevator door echoed through the garage, accompanied by a very posh voice.

“No, no, I’m serious. I think she’s actually gonna be okay with it. Yes, I’ve told her a little. So far she’s been nice about me trying to be... nice...”

Cavendish rounded the corner and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the beast leaning against his car.

The corner of Bartolomeo’s mouth quirked. “Hey.”

Cavendish hung up his call and took a few steps forward. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bartolomeo drawled and nonchalantly switched which ankle was on top, pointing at him with the bat. “Seein’ as you’re askin’ out a girl who’s already spoken for.”

“What are you talking about?” Cavendish approached another few steps before stopping. “You mean—”

“Keep her name out of your fuckin’ mouth,” Bartolomeo growled, bearing his teeth. “You’re not worthy to say it.”

“She’s never said anything about a boyfriend.”

“Just like you ain’t said anything about that criminal charge on ya.” Bartolomeo smirked, lifting the bat over his shoulder again. “You keep that from all the people you date?”

Cavendish folded his arms. “No. I was going to mention it tonight.”

“Don’t bother.”

With that, he casually swung the bat downward without turning around, the barrel slamming into the car door and denting it.

Cavendish lunged, gripping Bartolomeo by the shirt in one hand, the other still holding his phone. His voice was low, dripping with venom as he said, “You have no idea who you’re messing with.”

Bartolomeo laughed, the loud, mocking sound reverberating through the garage and surrounding them. “Ooh, so scary. I’m shakin’.”

Cavendish released him only to quickly throw his fist. Bartolomeo leaned out of the way, though he would admit it was a close call. He definitely didn’t expect an actual fight. With equal speed, he swung the bat upward, cracking the end into the opposite hand, sending Cavendish’s phone shattering against the ceiling.

“What the fuck is your problem?!” the blond snapped, his voice cracking slightly.

Bartolomeo shoved him back. “I already told you my problem.”

He then wheeled around, swinging the bat with both hands and slamming it down against the windshield with a resounding crash. When Cavendish tried to lunge again, Bartolomeo stopped him by jamming the bat into his chest. As the former crumpled to his knees, the latter tipped his head back with the bat’s end.

“I oughta bust up your face, but I’m feelin’ generous. So, I’m only gonna warn you once,” he said, his lip again curled back in a snarl. “Stay. The fuck. Away. From my girl.”

Cavendish spat blood onto Bartolomeo’s boots. “Or what?”

He grinned. “Then you better hope all I do is bust up your face.”

As he left Cavendish behind with a broken phone, broken car, and at least one broken rib, Bartolomeo pulled out his phone. He’d need to hurry home — he had to be there waiting for you when you came back.

You were about to start pulling the threads on your napkin. It was twenty-five minutes past the reservation time. You texted Cavendish a few times, trying to make sure he was still coming, then asking if he was okay when there was no response, then just a string of question marks. At this point, it was starting to become clear he wasn’t coming. In the back of your mind, you hoped he was okay.

Then again, for all you knew, he bailed on purpose to embarrass you. You mentally chastised yourself — you should have known better. Or seen this coming. There was no way Cavendish had been serious about making amends.

You checked your phone one last time, now realizing that it was thirty minutes past the reservation time. With a heavy sigh you tucked it back into your purse and started rummaging through it for cash. Even though you hadn’t ordered anything, you felt it was rude to have occupied a table for so long, so the least you could do was leave a nice tip for the very patient (and growing notably more concerned) waiter.

As it so happened, while you were searching, said waiter set a to-go container down in front of you, making you jump. He gave you a sad smile as he straightened back upright. “I thought you might like some tiramisu to take home.”

Your chest tightened and you resumed searching for cash. “How much do I owe you?”

He shook his head, putting a hand on your shoulder. “Nothing. It’s paid for. A pretty girl like you doesn’t deserve to get stood up.”

You flushed at the contact and set your purse back on your lap. “Thank you.”

He nodded and glanced at the empty seat across from you. “I don’t suppose you’re going to be calling him again, are you?”

“Nope,” you sighed, sinking into your seat. “I should have listened to my gut.”

“The gut’s usually right. I’m sure yours must be starving.” He smiled and gave his hair a light toss, continuing, “Are you by chance doing anything else this evening? Maybe I can take you somewhere with better food than here.”

You blinked a few times, then laughed, shaking your head. “No — that’s very sweet, but. I think I’m just going to go home. Thank you, ah...”

“Sanji.” He retrieved a pen from his pocket, scribbled something down on his order pad and tore it off, holding it out to you between his index and middle finger. “If you ever change your mind.”

You giggled, slipping his number into your purse. “Thank you, again. I’ll think about it.”

As you hailed a taxi home, you blocked Cavendish’s number. Fuck him. You didn’t need some pompous asshole begging for redemption. And as kind as he was, you weren’t planning on calling Sanji any time soon, either. You just wanted to go home and share dessert with someone who’d appreciate it.

Bartolomeo didn’t have much nice to wear, but he did manage to find a pair of jeans that weren’t full of holes and an old purple flannel he couldn’t remember the origin of. He reasoned that if he left the shirt open with something underneath, it’d seem innocuous enough, and not like he was deliberately dressing nicer for you. He again felt his chest twinge a bit when he remembered you were probably going to be upset coming home, and that it was directly his fault, but he shook the feeling off — you’d never have to know his involvement.

And if you ever did find out... he could convince you it was the right thing to do. You’d come around. He’d help you. It’d be fine.

Bartolomeo heard the elevator ding and practically flew off the couch, stumbling toward the door. He peered out the peephole, his heart skipping a beat when he saw you come into view, carrying a clear plastic container with a little cake-looking thing inside. Your face was stained with streaks of makeup, and he heard you sniffle, making his throat tighten.

You reached for your apartment doorknob, then paused, before rubbing your cheeks with the heel of your palm and turning around to face his door. He backed up a few steps as you knocked, and waited.

After a beat the door opened, and you stared up at Bartolomeo through watering eyes. He looked nice. It was a different look than what you normally saw him in. Maybe he had gone out himself.

He wasted no time, seeing the tears welling back up. “What happened?”

You hiccupped and shook your head, shakily lifting the to-go box. “D-do you wanna come over and — and share this?”

He nodded and followed you across the hall. You set the to-go box down, and before he could sit you went face-first into his chest, gripping his shirt and sobbing. His heart sang with the contact, and he gently pat your head. “That bad, huh?”

You nodded, wailing into his chest, “He fucking stood me up! I feel — I feel s-so stupid!”

“You’re not.” Bartolomeo pressed your head closer to his chest, the other arm going around your shoulders. “He’s a fuckin’ prick, leadin’ you on like that.”

“He’s — he’s a bastard is what h-he is!” You continued sobbing, just barely aware that he was rubbing his arm up and down your back, his fingers weaving into your hair. He was so warm, and you felt so safe in his arms. It made you cry even more that he wasn’t yours.

“You’re gonna be okay,” he said, his voice rumbling in his chest as he continued petting you. “This guy — soon enough, he ain’t gonna matter. He’s gonna be a sad, lonely shithead ‘cause he gets off on makin’ people feel bad. But you’re gonna be okay.”

You sniffled, nodding. “Y-you’re right. Fuck that guy.”

Eventually, you pulled away to get a couple forks, sitting down at the dining table with a huff. Bartolomeo sat down across from you and reached over to pat your knee, making your cheeks flush from more than just the crying session. You handed him a fork and popped open the to-go box, saying in a cracked voice, “Thank you. I’m sorry I got your shirt all snotty.”

He shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. ‘S what they made laundry soap for.”

“I guess so,” you giggled, then dug in.

As you shared the dessert, Bartolomeo gave you a once-over and smiled. He thought you were pretty in just about everything, but he knew the blue dress was a good choice.

#ifdyokaat #bartolomeo #bartolomeo x you #reader insert #one piece x reader #bartolomeo one piece #bartolomeo the cannibal #i'll fucking digest you one kiss at a time #yandere #yandere!bartolomeo #i debated on whether or not to have that cameo near the end lol #i don't have any plans for him to end up on barto's radar so don't worry about him lol #i just wanted to indulge a little hehehe~

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