Hey Nana...

“Ugh. You’re so infuriating, Matt.”

Your frustration is received with a humorous chuckle as Matt folds his cane and places it on the small coffee table. “You think I can’t defend myself.”

“I didn’t say that.” Matt softly refutes. 

“You said I’m weak.”

“Fragile is the word I used, not weak.” he corrects you. He plops down on the couch and pats down the spot next to him. “Come sit with me.” 

You ignore him, crossing your arms as you stand. 

“I’m not fragile. Or weak.” you hiss. 

Matt raises his hands on the air, showing his palms. 

“Alright. Duly noted. Now come sit, I’ve missed you and I wanna cuddle.”

“Matt.” You groan, blinking away tears of exasperation and frustration. “I’m so sick of this. You have no right to follow me wherever I go. This is why I don’t tell you anything, who I go with or where I go because you don’t know what privacy means. You can’t just do that!”

“Has it occurred to you that maybe I ran into you by coincidence? How can you be so sure that I was following you?” Matt questions you, lips curling into that arrogant half-smirk you despise so much. 

“Matt. I’m not in the mood.” you curtly interrupt him, patience running on thin ice. 

Matt sighs. “C’mon, don’t get so worked up over this.”

“Well, whose fault is it?”

“Fine. I won’t follow you anymore.” Matt relents, sounding as truthful about it as a pathological liar can. “Satisfied? Now come here and give me a hug.” 

You chuckle, a bitter and unamused sound. 

“That’s what you said last time and the time before that and before that as well. You just won’t change, won’t you?”

You shake your head and look away, quickly swiping away a tear that insisted on escaping from your eyes. The sound of a small sniff is all it takes for Matt to get back up on his feet with a groan. 

“Sweetheart…”

You bat his hand away when he reaches for you, turning your back on him before going to the kitchen. Matt trails after you as you search the cabinets for a glass. 

“Please, let’s not argue. It’s pointless and-”

“You’re the one taking this too far, Matt. You have control issues or maybe trust issues and- ”

“Okay, alright. You’re right. Maybe I do.” he relents, but you know his admission is but words meant to placate you. That’s what he always does.

And then the lawyer in him kicks in. “But I’m just looking to protect you, that’s all. New York is a big city and Hell’s Kitchen is a dangerous place. So tell me why it’s so wrong wanting to protect someone I care about?”

You turn around and nearly collide with Matt from how close to you he silently managed to get himself. 

“I’ve lived in New York my whole life and I managed just fine.” you say. 

“And then I’m the one who has issues, right.” Matt scoffs, brown eyes divagating around as he shakes his head. “Managing just fine might be a hyperbolism to say, you know. Especially when you aren’t aware of half the shit that happens around you. Or did you notice the sleazy guy that followed you all the way from work?”

You blink, lips parting as your heart begins to race. 

“What? No, there wasn’t-”

“Yes, there was. I handled him a few blocks before you reached the apartment but you never once noticed him. Not on the street or the subway. So caught up in your own little world, earpods on and watching videos on your phone. Funny, right?”

Matt tilts his head, shrugging his shoulders. 

“And you know what, this wasn’t even the first time. There’s been so many times you failed to be aware of surroundings. Failed to notice when someone had bad intentions towards you. Like last week you took a shortcut on your way home, but didn’t realize there was a guy with a knife in the alley, waiting for you.”

You gulp, faltering in your stance as Matt takes a step closer to you, warm hand cupping your cheek.

“You need me to protect you.” he affirms like it’s a mere observation, a simple truth that you can’t deny. “You can call me whatever you want, argue all you need but it won’t change the fact that you need me. To protect you from the monsters lurking around, to keep you safe from the dangerous of the city”

You swallow back the words that threaten to slip away and Matt leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. 

“I did it to protect you.” 

The words ring in your ears, echoing again and again in your mind, refusing to slip away into oblivion. Engraved into your brain, in a perfect loop as they keep repeating themselves. 

You can hear the words as if Dex is still repeating them into your ear, frantic and hurried, his voice laced with panic as his fingers dig so deep into your forearm that it hurt.

Even though it’s been hours, those words absolutely refuse to disappear, insisting on haunting you.

Your brain can’t let go of the imagery of the man on the ground either, dead eyes wide open and blood leaking out from where the bullet had lodged right at the center of his throat. The sound of him gurgling blood and the heaving breaths. That’s something you’re not sure it’ll ever leave your mind. 

“... sir, please, you have to let us do our job.”

“I’m not stopping you, am I? All I’m saying is that I wanna be there. She needs me, can’t you see that, she’s…”

The argument reaches your ears despite your attempts to block it out.

From where you’re seated alone in the waiting room of the police station, you can both see and listen to the heated discussion Dex has been having with the detectives for the past fifteen minutes, just outside. Part of you is glad for the distance. 

A couple more minutes go by before an officer comes to fetch you. 

You’re taken to an interrogation room, where a man and a woman are already seated opposite to you. She introduces herself as an FBI agent while the man is NYP detective. When you take a seat on the uncomfortable metal chair, they begin to talk. “We’d just like to go over a few things, if you’re okay with that. It’s very important.” 

The man shuffles through some papers before he speaks again, not waiting for your answer. 

“According to agent Pointdexter, you two were approached in the street by an unknown man while you were running errands. Is that correct?”

You nod and he slides a photo towards you.

It’s strange to see that guy - alive and with color in his cheeks, instead of morbidly pale and blood gushing out of him. He looks young. Younger than you thought. 

“And this man, you had absolutely no idea who he was? Never met him before?”

Your voice is small, so small it might disappear into thin air. “No.”

“Alright. And what happened after he approached you?”

You swallow with difficulty, fingers fidgeting the hem of your shirt.

“He… uh, he asked for money. Demanded it. S-said we needed to give him our wallets and phones and jewelry.”

The detective nods, encouraging you to continue. “And then what happened?” 

“We didn’t have anything with us. So when we didn’t give him anything, he… he got aggressive and then he took out a knife from the inside of his jacket.” It’s strange to put what happened into such simple words when in reality, the fear you felt at the sight of the shiny metal is something you might never forget.

You force yourself to continue. 

“Dex tried to calm him down. The man was really scaring me, he was so close and I thought he was gonna use the knife to hurt us.” you bite your lip, tasting the metallic taste as it opens up. 

The woman, FBI Special Agent Fiora, takes over. 

“And that’s when agent Pointdexter grabbed his own gun?”

“Yeah.”

The woman presses on. “And the attacker didn’t surrender at that?”

“I… No.”

The woman smiles at you, angling her head in the slightest. “You’re telling me a man armed with only a knife refused to back down when a gun was pulled out?” 

She knows. She must know or else why would she be asking these questions. You gulp, sweat beading in the back of your neck. 

“That’s what happened.” your voice sounds fragile, breakable even to your own ears. 

“Alright. If that’s what you say happened.” the agent echoes you. “So, just to make things clear, what you’re saying is that agent Pointdexter did attempt to diffuse the situation before using lethal force.”

You hesitate for a second, before nodding. “Yes, he tried.”

“Verbally?”

“Yes.”

That’s not a lie, you tell yourself. Not entirely, at least.

Dex tried. In the beginning, after he had pushed you to stand behind him he tried to talk, to calm the guy down. But only for a very brief moment before he completely gave up, pulled out his gun and shot the other guy right in his throat, making him bleed out to death. 

“And only when the attacker didn’t surrender did he shoot the man. In self-defence. Is that correct?”

You lie with all the teeth you got. “Yes.”

–

“I did it to protect you.” 

Dex stands next to the bathroom sink, hovering over you as you rub cleanser all over your face twice, as if that would erase everything from your brain.

It doesn’t and you can still see everything clearly as if it happened just moments ago: the red blood pooling underneath the fallen body dripping from the hole in his throat, the red splatters staining your clothes. You hand-washed them three times, scrubbing them as best as you could with a mix of baking soda and water, but there’s little hope for them. The damage is already done and the stains won’t leave. That was your favorite shirt. 

Dex refuses to leave the bathroom, standing with his arms crossed as he watches you pat your face dry with a towel and proceed with your usual skincare routine. He got inside while you were halfway through a very long shower and hasn’t left since, determined to stay posted near you. 

“I did it to protect you.” he repeats again, frustration seeping into his voice, when you are done moisturizing your face. 

“I know.” 

“Then why can’t you even look me in the eyes?” 

The words come out more aggressively than you expected and your breathing turns sharp. 

“It’s not like that.” the fragility in your voice is nothing compared to the energy in his. 

He pushes for an answer, crowding your space. “Then what’s it like?” 

You hesitate for a long moment, unsure if this is a conversation you are ready to have right now. Sharing your feelings is something you tend to avoid, especially when unsure of the depth of what you’re experiencing. 

But Dex won’t back down, you know it. He’s determined to get the words out of your mouth and he won’t be satisfied until you do. 

“You killed someone.” 

Despite the reluctance with which you spoke the words, your boyfriend reacts as if you dropped a bomb on him. His face tenses up, an upset scowl taking shape. He exhales, although it sounds more like a breathless chuckle. 

“I’m FBI swat. What do you think a sniper does?”

“I know that.”

Dex scoffs. “It doesn’t look like it, then. You’re acting as if I’m the bad guy here when all I did was protect you. I saved your life and you’re behaving like you can’t even stand to be near me, like I’m a monster you can’t wait to leave.”

You turn to him, hurt. “That’s not true.”

“Right.” he scoffs again. 

You look away from him, uneasy at how defensive he is. Dex doesn’t allow the silence to stretch for too long before he’s back into vicious attack. 

“Then what is it? Tell me. I wanna know.” he demands, volume rising. “Wanna know why you’re behaving like this if it’s not me and what I did.”

You bite your lip, risking a glance through the mirror. He’s becoming jittery now, shifting his weight from one leg to the other and then back again, the skin from his face slightly dewy. Like he’s about to have an anxiety attack. Or worse. 

So you cave in, stomach spinning wildly. Turning around, you face him. 

“You didn’t give him a chance, Dex.” you quietly utter. 

Ben looks at you, brows pushed together.

“You just shot him.” you whisper, voice breaking as you recall the events from earlier. “You didn’t give him a warning or a chance to surrender or try to disarm him or anything like that. You… You just took the shot and killed him. And the more I think about it, maybe that wasn’t-”

“I did it to protect you!” Dex spits, redness stinging his face. “He was gonna hurt you and I couldn’t let that happen, I couldn’t let him get to you.”

“You had a gun, Dex. All he had was a knife.”

“A knife he was ready to use.”

“He would’ve backed down if you had given him the chance to but you didn’t.” you fire back, composure breaking. Blinking furiously to keep the tears tat begin to clog up your eyes. “You didn’t have to kill him, Dex. That wasn’t necessary-”

“Yeah, well, maybe I wanted to.” Dex shouts, booming voice overpowering yours. He closes his hand into a fist, a shadow of something dark and dangerous looming in his eyes. “Did that cross your mind? That maybe I wanted to kill him. It cost me nothing to pull the trigger and watch him bleed out and I’d gladly do it again.”

Your heart sinks. His confession makes you nauseous in more ways than one and your hand reaches for the basin, gripping it hard until your knuckles are white. 

“...what?” 

“And who cares if he died? He was a criminal, a scumbag. One less of those breathing and the world keeps spinning just fine.”

Somehow it’s the flat tone that upsets you the most, even if the words aren’t far behind. Clearly your ears are not working well or perhaps you’re having a hallucination, a sign of post-traumatic stress or whatever it was that the medic told you after the quick examination at the police station.

Because this can’t be Dex.

He doesn’t talk like this, doesn’t behave like this. 

“Dex, you don’t mean that.” you gently say. “This isn’t you. It was a long day and you’re tired.” 

Dex scowls, shaking his head with a bitter chuckle. 

“Yeah, you know me so well, don’t you.”

The words land poorly and you press your lips together, trying to keep yourself together. A cold, bad feeling begins to take root.

Leaving Dex behind, you return to the room. Something breaks in the small bathroom, violently shattering against the floor and you wince. This isn’t going to work out, not until Dex calms down and you don’t believe that’ll happen anytime soon, judging from his behavior. So you make your choice. 

At the sound of a zipper bag being open and the shuffling of clothes, Dex comes out with water sprinkled on his face and tousled hair.  

“What’re doing?”

You hesitate for a second, “...I think maybe I should go spend the night at my parent’s.” 

You hurry up in shoving clothes into the small overnight bag but even with your back to him, you can hear the upset sound Dex lets out. 

“You’re ditching me?” he questions you. 

“Dex.” your voice comes out tired, small. Exactly how you feel. “I’ll come back tomorrow, but I think it’s best if we sleep apart tonight. Just for tonight, Dex.”

You’re not sure if you’re telling the truth or not. 

The silence that follows is unsettling. Dex doesn’t argue or shout like you’re half-expecting him too, he doesn’t break or throw things around the room. In reality, he makes no sound other than his raged breathing and you don’t dare to turn around and face him.

When you finally stuff the last shirt into the bag and get ready to zip it close, strong arms wrap themselves around your torso. You’re taken by surprise as Dex holds onto you tightly, face brusquely mushed in the crook of your neck. 

“Don’t go.”

Wetness damps your shoulder as he exhales shakily.

“Dex-”

“Please, don’t leave. I-I’m sorry.” he attempts, lips pressed against your skin. “Fuck, I messed up, I know that but please…”

“Listen, you’re right - I’m tired and it’s been a long day and I took it out on you, but please, I didn’t mean to.” Dex pleads, arms tightening around you. “I’ll apologize as much as you want me to, but don’t… don’t go. You’re all I have left and if you leave, I’ll have no one.” 

His words, teary and frantic, chip away your composure. You know he doesn't have any living family left. For all you know he doesn’t even have friends, only work colleagues with whom he’s not close at all. All of this makes it harder to leave.

If you pack your things and leave for the night, you’ll go to your parent’s house. Your mom will comfort you with sweet words and cook your favorite food while your dad is going to kiss your forehead and offer to pay for some self-defense classes.

You’ll be comforted and taken care of, but what about Dex? Are you really going to leave him to struggle on his own when he is the only reason you’re still alive and standing?

“I didn’t mean it. What I said earlier, I didn’t mean it. It was bullshit, alright?” he continues.

You sigh tiredly. “You can’t just say stuff like that, Dex, it wasn’t nice.” 

“I know. I know, you’re right. I won’t say it ever again. I promise. Just, please, don’t leave. Okay?”

A beat goes by and you hear the sounds of your resolve shattering down. 

Pushing the boy inside, Zeff locked the door. Thoroughly surprised, Sanji whirled around. “What are you doing? I wasn’t finish-”

“This isn’t a joke, Sanji.” Zeff frowned, his voice slightly raised knowing that they couldn’t be overheard. “Are you really thinking of proposing?”

Sanji’s mind wandered into an imagination where you baked pastries with his ring on your finger and his hard expression softened. He stepped forward and pointed to the door where he knew you were busy working away.

“That out there is the most kind soul I have ever met. I would go to the ends of the Earth for them. I would give up my dreams to find the All Blue in a second if they asked.” Sanji declared. “All my life, it’s been a raging whirlpool of pain, chaos and anger. And every time that I think I’ll drown, Y/n reaches in and brings me to life.”

Zeff had seen Sanji go through the many phases of affection before you came along. And he had never seen something like this before. The devotion he had to you was fierce as it was intense.

Resting his hands on his hips, Zeff stopped scowling. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes’.”

Sanji had also calmed his emotions. He took a seat at the empty table, leaning forward and resting his arms against the wood.

“I’ve been wanting to propose for months. I have the ring and everything.” He said sadly. “I almost dropped on one knee in the pantry but-”

Zeff’s face scrunched up. “Alright, I really don’t want to know about what happened in there.” He said effectively diverting the conversation away from that singular event.

Sanji shook his head and glanced at the door. “I almost did it last week too but that stupid pirate captain kept stealing Y/n away to compliment the dishes.”

It was clear that Sanji wanted to marry you. And Zeff, despite constantly being frustrated by the two of you, couldn’t be happier. He had hoped for Sanji to experience a love beyond cooking and you were the perfect choice.

Sanji lowered his head. “Go on. Tell me that you don’t think I should.”

Zeff moved forward and slowly took a seat opposite the young man. “I can’t, Little Eggplant. I’ve watched you persevere against impossible odds and I think that if your heart and your head are both aligned in this decision, then the only way is forward.” He supported.

Sanji looked at the man in awe. He certainly hadn’t been expecting the response. But appreciated it nonetheless.

“We should probably head back. Can’t have you going soft on me, old man.”

Zeff leaned back in the chair. “Wouldn’t be a good look.” He stood up as Sanji did the same. “But at your wedding, I’m doing the cooking because your talents, Little Eggplant, are abysmal.”

He walked by the blonde-cook. Sanji tilt his head and smirked. “Only if my other half agrees.” He quipped and paused his walk. His stomach flipped as he said those words - his other half. There was something about it that made him feel warm and safe.

Zeff looked back to give a witty reply but saw Sanji’s expression. His ‘Little Eggplant’ was no longer a bratty child (on his good days).

“Apples.” Zeff stated loudly to snap Sanji from his frozen state. “You and Y/n can take the day tomorrow to sail out and replenish the stock that you damaged.” He opened the door a smidge, letting the noisy kitchen drown his next words. “And don’t bother coming back until there’s a ring on their hand.”

~ More One Piece imagines here ~