#fuck Barto

[stickmarionette]

Marti Perarnau (Pep's authorised biographer) got the details on his aborted reunion with Messi and oh my god

It all starts with a WhatsApp sent by Sergio Aguero to the City squad. 'Something big might be happening. Leo's just asked me how long Pep has left on his contract.'

Everyone back in Manchester is immediately buzzing but Pep, on a flight back from Lisbon, doesn't see the message for several hours.

..

Unbeknown to Pep, Messi is also struggling with a major headache of his own. For the past four days, he's been brooding over the 8-2 mauling handed out to Barcelona by Bayern Munich. Shame. Humiliation. Their worst result in living memory. It's all too painful and Messi has come to a decision. It's time to take the initiative. He needs to move on.

Perhaps Pep has a place in his squad for his former protege.

In another part of Barcelona, Pep's still feeling the effects of his sore head when his phone buzzes.

They meet the next day. Twelve o'clock at Pep's place. It's the second time they've met like this. The last time was in the summer of 2016 when Messi was facing a 21-month prison sentence for tax fraud and looking for a lifeline.

...

Four years on, the situation's very different. Messi's frustration with Barcelona has mounted with each Champions League elimination over the last few years. He's rapidly losing patience with his club. Which is why he's here, sitting on Pep's huge sofa, ready to talk. 'Boss, I just want to go as far as I possibly can. I still want to do great things.'

The pair of them are still talking six-and-a-half hours later.

They've never had this kind of long, intense conversation before. Back at Barca, whenever they chatted it was always about the game, the tactics to be used or their next opponent.

But they've both changed a lot since then. The quiet, reserved kid, who only seemed to come fully alive with a ball at his feet, is now a grown man. With a beard!

This is an adult who knows what he wants and has carefully considered everything he's about to say. A professional, with an exhaustive knowledge of football, who speaks with precision and intelligence. Pep's heard how much Messi's changed but now he's witnessing it for himself. And today, it's Leo who does most of the talking.

Messi has a very specific purpose. Sick and tired of the way he's been treated, and of the dishonesty and betrayal he feels he's had to put up with. He's ready to leave.

Pep can relate. He himself feels he had to put up with similar treatment as a player, meted out by then club president Josep Lluis Nunez, who had also seemed to take against Johan Cruyff and do everything he could to push the great Dutch coach out of the club. Pep, as a new coach, had similar problems under president Sandro Rosell.

In Johan Cruyff, Pep Guardiola and Leo Messi, the club had three of their brightest and most brilliant sons, all of them skewered on the lance of mediocrity.

So no, Pep doesn't need the details. He understands exactly what Messi's saying.

'You do know that it rains a lot in Manchester?'

...

Today, Pep discovers in Messi a man who is surprisingly well-informed about world football. It's obvious that he has superb football vision and a precise grasp of the concepts, tactical variants and innovations they chat about. 

They discuss Liverpool and Bayern, Antonio Conte and Thomas Tuchel, Kevin De Bruyne and Kalidou Koulibaly. Pep talks him through City's squad, their new signings and the defenders he's got his eye on. Leo has opinions on all of it.

...

'We train hard in Manchester…'

'Doesn't bother me. I'm ready for hard work.'

'And I still give long tactical talks. Maybe you'll get bored…'

'I'll cope, I can cope with anything you throw at me.'

'Leo, we're both much older than we were. Maybe we won't get on now.'

'Pep, I just want the chance to do great things, to feel like I'm ready to smash it again.'

At 6.30pm they say goodbye with a warm hug. It's not going to be easy but if they pull this off, there's no knowing what they can achieve.

[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?”

[the-other-nightmare-people]

[trafheartlaw]

YASSOPP YOU BASTARD 😭😭😭😭

[kyyuuuy]

no acesan this time, sorry guys...

[willlic]

Hey has anyone written/can someone write an AU of the bartelomeo yasopp thing? I'm still so fucking angry at him and would love to read eyebleach where barto beats him specifically before leaving, or maybe usopp or luffy lays a smack down later? Robin even, they were vibing on dressrosa. Or heck, even shanks giving him a shitty look for just making decisions without his say so. Plz I need something, anything plz my bbgurl barto didn't deserve this.

[sabu-makes-art]

Join the Barto Club.

Party night every Friday!

[buggyandthebartoclub]

a Kidd for @guilty-sugar (special thank you to @mandiemegatron who's tip let me get the brush sets I've been testing out- this one is sooo good. love love love you both <<<333)

[hauntingblue]

LUFFY!!!!!!!!! I HAVE BEEN CONVERTED!!!! LUFFY BELIEVER FULL TIME!!!!! LET US WORSHIP THE SUN!!!!

[turquoisedragonmaster]

Me, after reading the latest One Piece chapter: yeah I could beat up Red Haired Shanks

The Narrator: She definitely couldn’t, but it’s the thought that counts

[yujkuro]

I don't know what else I'm doing

[meowmeowmessi]

i hope culers watching this game realize they aren't touching the ucl in the next 20 years. not even within sniffing distance of the big ears. and i'm being generous with this estimation

[strawberriemarswrites]

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.

[dybalassunshine]

Miami just reunited Leo and Busi and they've already done more for me than Barca has in years :)

[melpcmene-arch]

I feel like you can easily deceive Bartolome if you mention that one of the straw hats wanted this, etc. He won't think twice 'cos he's already fangirling and honestly very happy to be useful to the crew!

[franeridan]

read the first dressrosa volume and id never gone back to reread this arc in full after reading it the first time so I'm just now realizing but wow wow the coliseum part is So Much more fun to read after you know who the characters taking part in it are ????