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Ace wiped the blood from his face, wincing slightly as he walked through the back door of his apartment building. His knuckles were bruised and raw from the intense match.
“Hey, babe, I'm home.” He called, “Got into a little trouble at the ring today.” He warned his girl so she wouldn’t get too scared seeing him like that. Even if Clary absolutely despises his sport, she always makes the effort to watch him, but today she had an important video call for her next book. He’s actually very grateful she couldn't assist.
“In the kitchen!” She yells back. “What do you mean, trouble?”
Ace limps into the kitchen, abandoning his gym bag by the couch when he walks by it, his white tank top stained with blood and sweat. “The new champ had it out for me,” he explains, “Gave him a good fight though.” Finally, he spots his gorgeous girl; she has her back to him, busy cooking something; whatever it is, it smells amazing. “Did you win?”
He leans against the doorframe, watching her with a pained but affectionate expression.
“Course I did. But that bastard got some good hits too.” He touches his ribs carefully, waiting for her to turn around, which she does as soon as their dinner - salmon if his nose doesn’t betray him -is secured in the oven. “Oh my God, Ace!” she leaps.
Ace's face is swollen, one eye slightly blackened, a split lip that just stopped bleeding and a bruised cheekbone. His usually perfect hair is messy and matted with sweat. “It's not that bad,” he tries to play it off, but hisses as he shifts his weight, “Just a few bruises.”
“Just a few bruises, my ass,” she mutters, getting closer to check his wounds. Her fingers linger tenderly on his bruised skin, her eyes shine with worry. “Did you see the medical quip?”
Ace catches her hand, holding it against his chest as he tries to maintain his tough demeanor.
“Nah, didn't want to waste their time, I’m fine.” he attempts to grin; however, it looks more like a grimace. She frowns, knowing better than to argue with him on that. No matter how much his stuff, his coach, closer to a father, really, all his friends and her try to talk to him, he can’t get into that stubborn mind of his that can ask for help whenever he needs it.
“Okay, go sit on the couch, I'll clean you up.”
Ace lets out a small groan as he moves to the living room, carefully lowering himself onto the couch. At this point, he doesn’t try to shrug her off anymore, knowing she’ll check him in his sleep if she has to. “You're too good to me, Clarice,” he mumbles, wincing as he stretches his legs out. She leaves for the bathroom and returns with the first service kit.
“I don't understand why you do that.” She says as she sits next to him and carefully starts to clean his face, sanitizing his wounds. Ace flinches slightly at the sting of the antiseptic, his jaw clenching.
“Because I'm stubborn, and I don't want anyone else touching me.” he reaches up to cup her cheek, admiring how much concentration she puts into such a small job. “Not when you're right here.” She shakes her head, “No, I don't understand why you fight.” It isn’t the first time they have had this conversation. Clary understands it all, really; the passion and the love for the sport, the bond with the other guys, his family, the pressure and fear of letting anyone down if he had to take a step back. She hates it, of course, but she does understand. But God above, she can’t comprehend. “I don't like seeing you get hurt.” She adds softly.
Ace's expression tone down, his thumb gently stroking her cheek as she works on his wounds.
“It's who I am, babe. The ring is where I belong,” he sighs deeply, “But I hate making you worry.” She leans into his touch, “You're so much more than that.” There are many more things she’d like to share: how he doesn’t have to hurt to prove himself, how no one is expecting him to always be fine, how the people who love him are worried about him. Instead, she kisses the palm of his hand, hoping that her eyes could tell him what her mouth can’t formulate, and by the way he pulls her closer, despite the pain, they can. At least a little bit.
“I know, Babe, but boxing is my passion. It's how I express myself.” His voice becomes softer, “You're my everything else.” She doesn't seem so convinced, but drops it in favour of focusing on taking care of his wounds. “Where else does it hurt?”
Ace shifts uncomfortably, wincing again as he points to his ribs and stomach. “Pretty much everywhere. That guy had steel fists.” He tries to laugh it off, doing his best to ignore the strong, stabbing pain in his ribs. She carefully pulls his shirt up and frowns at his bruised abdomen. “I'm gonna get you some ice packs.” “Thank you, Sweetheart.” He lets out a sound that is all pain and discomfort, “You’re the best nurse I could ask for.” A little attempt to lighten the mood. It doesn’t make her smile, not when the worst possibilities are flowing in her mind. She quickly returns with the packs they keep in the freezer exactly for this, gently presses them against his skin, then frankly searches for some cream in his bag, ignoring his protests. “You really should’ve seen an actual doctor,” her scowl is kind of adorable to him, “What if there’s internal bleeding?” She begins to carefully apply some cream on a particularly bad bruise, of a concerning purple and yellow to the sides. He winces in pain, and she kisses him as an apology. “Does Whitebeard know about your state?” she can’t help but ask. Newgate, who is not only the owner of his gym but a sort of coach-mentor-father figure too, would hardly have let this slip. “Probably.” Is the boy’s vague answer, which tells her all she needed to know. “He’s been calling me, but I turned my phone off.” There are a few things that this man hates as much as people trying to take care of him. “That poor man.” Clary raises her eyes, a small smile on her lips, “I still don't know where he finds the patience to put up with you,” she jokes. Ace chuckles weakly, then immediately regrets it as pain shoots through his chest.
“Hey, I'm a delight! Just ask my adoring fans,” he grins mischievously, knowing what the idea of thousands of people simping over her boyfriend does to her. The drawbacks of being with someone famous. “They only do that because they don't know you.”
Then she gets up to grab her phone, messes with it for a few seconds, then puts it to her ear, clearly waiting for someone to pick it up. Ace watches her suspiciously, recognizing her determined expression. “Who are you calling? Not Whitebeard, right?”, he tries to sit up straighter but fails. She doesn't give him an answer, “Lay still.” She gently pushes him back. “Hello? Yes, he is here,” she says into the phone, “Came pretty bruised too. Figured you would've wanted to know it.” Ace groans again, this time in frustration rather than pain. “Traitor,” he mutters under his breath, knowing full well who she's talking to. She gives him a reproachful look. “Yes, and he's totally being a baby about it.” She smiles at something Whitebeard says and turns to him. “Your Pops would like you to know that you're an idiot and you don't deserve me.” She perks proudly at that; it’s so cute how she’s still looking for Whitebeard's approval. She knows how much he matters to Ace. On any other occasion, he beams in joy watching two of the people he loves the most in the world interact, but not when they are coalescing against him.
Ace rolls his eyes dramatically, though he can't help but smile at her banter with Whitebeard.
“Tell him I said he's a meddling old man... and that I'll see him tomorrow.”
“He wants to come by the gym tomorrow.” She refers, ignoring the insult. “Of course he's gonna want to train. He's not happy if he doesn't break every bone in his body.” He makes an offended sound, which she doesn’t acknowledge. “Yes, I know”.
Ace groans louder this time, throwing his head back against the couch. “Great, just what I need. A lecture from both of you,” he reaches for her hand again, “You're really going to talk about me like I'm not here?” She pulls her hand away, “Shh, I'm on the phone.”
He can hear Whitebeard's laugh through the device. “You're both terrible,” he mumbles, pretending to be offended, “I'm wounded, and you're conspiring against me.” That just gets him a roll of eyes and a loud sigh. Her interlocutor must ask about it, because she looks straight into the eyes as she says, “Nothing, he's just dramatic.” Since he’s a very mature young adult, Ace sticks his tongue out at her playfully, even if moving too much makes him flinch.
“Your boss wants to tell you that if you dare show your sorry ass tomorrow, he's gonna kick it to the next solar system.” She tells him with a smirk, then adds, “As he should.” His eyes widen in mock horror, though he knows she's right. He’s in no shape for even stepping in the gym, but he’s still gonna make a show out of it. “That's abuse of power! And I'm no sorry ass!”, he protests, ignoring her giggles, “I won the match, didn't I?”
“And you need to rest,” she strokes his hair gently, “Maybe see a real doctor.” She returns her attention to the phone, clearly being asked something. “Oh, he said he didn't want to waste their time. Can you believe the idiot?” Whitebeard's voice comes through louder, clearly getting irritated with his stubbornness. He frowns; nothing will save him from his mentor's lecture next time he steps into the gym. “Stop telling him everything!” he complains, though he leans into her touch. She gives him an unimpressed look, “I don't know, I don't think so,” she whispers into the phone, “He came all the way here on his own.” Ace's face flushes red with embarrassment and frustration, and he tries to sit up again despite his injuries. “Hey!”
“Ace, if you don't lie still, God help me, you will sleep on this couch for the next month.” She pauses. “Actually, I'll sleep here. Alone.” That freezes him on the spot, his eyes widening at the threat, and he quickly settles back. “No, no, I'm lying down! See?” “You're evil, Clary,” he pouts.
She rolls her eyes at him, unfazed, then chuckles at the phone. “Okay, yeah, I'm putting him on the phone. Thank you for everything, Sir.” She then passes him the phone and gets up. “Gotta make dinner.” She tells him, kissing his forehead. He takes the device with a defeated sigh, watching her walk away. “Pops…”, he starts nervously, “Look, I know what you're going to say…” “I'm so proud of you, son,” came the voice of his father from the phone, catching him by surprise. Ace's expression softens instantly, his tough facade crumbling at Whitebeard's words.
“You... you are? But I lost my temper and went all out...” his voice wavers slightly.
“You fought with honor and pride, my boy,” he assures, “Which is why I'm mad we didn't notice how much you were really hurt.” He feels a lump form in his throat, tears beginning to form in his eyes. He may be a tough, strong boxer, but hearing his Pops, the man he most looks up to, the closest thing he ever had to a father, saying he’s proud, makes him feel like a little boy. Probably even cry like one. Sue him. “I didn't want to worry anyone... I just wanted to win,” he admits quietly, “But Clary is right, I should've gotten checked.” Whitebeard chuckles at that, slightly impressed, “That girl did some miracle, having you admit you needed help.” Ace laughs softly, affection dripping from his voice, “Yeah, she's something special. She always calls me on my bullshit.” He glances toward the kitchen, from where are coming sounds of plates and forks. She’s probably taking longer so as to give him some privacy, and the thought makes his heart explode from love. Never in his life has someone ever treated him with so much care.
“She's a keeper.” His father’s voice distracts him from thinking about her, “And a sweetheart, for putting up with your stubborn ass.” Ace smiles warmly, feeling grateful for both of them.
“She really is. I don't know what I'd do without her... or you, Pops,” he says sincerely, “I'll see you tomorrow...if she lets me.” His coach grins at that, then adds, “Don't come tomorrow, Ace. Take the day to rest and heal.” “I'll have Marco stop by and take a look at those injuries, too.” Ace nods, though he's reluctant to miss training. “If you must.”
Whitebeard laughs loudly in his ear, “I'm gonna make sure he brings breakfast too.” Because that man knows all the tricks to his heart - and mind, too.
“Breakfast? You're spoiling me. Just don't let him burn it this time,” he teases, knowing full well Marco is an excellent cook. “I won't,” he promises, “Take care, my boy. Ah, also, make sure she drops the 'sir' bullshit. Anyone who loves my sons is a daughter of my own.” Ace's heart swells at the familial declaration, his eyes getting misty. He hides the sincere emotion with a smirk, “I’ll see what I can do, no promises.” Then, more honestly, “Thank you for everything. I love you, Pops.” They exchange goodbye one last time before he ends the call and sets the phone down, closing his eyes as he waits for Clarice to return with food. She doesn’t take long; she was just waiting for him to finish. “You're getting better at handling your father's scolding,” she teases, setting a tray with a few plates and a water bottle on the coffee table.
Marinated Salmon, rice with grilled vegetables, and garlic bread.
She hands him a plate, chuckling when his stomach growls loudly at the sight of food. “You must be hungry,” she says as he launches into his meal. “You're the best cook in the world, you know that?” he says, moaning as the salmon basically melts on his tongue. “Even better than Thatch.” She smiles and helps him get comfortable, then sits next to him with her own smaller portion. “I'll tell him you said that.” He grins mischievously, leaning against her shoulder. “Please don't. He'll challenge you to a cooking duel, and I can't handle that much food,” he jokes, then looks at her seriously, “You were a real lifesaver today, Clarice. Thank you.” Her bottom lip trembles at that, “I hate it that you fight like you don't care about your life." She confesses, keeping her eyes on the food. She doesn’t dare to meet his gaze, scared of what she would find there. “I hate it that you don't seem to care whether or not you'll be coming home.”
Ace's expression turns guilty as he listens carefully. He never really stopped to think about it; he’s aware she’s concerned about his well-being, of course, and for all he hates causing her any stress, he never really stopped to consider how it was impacting her. “I... I do care,” he tells her, grabbing her hand. There was a point in his life when he didn’t, when he was just a ghost walking, a wandering motherless son, but he’s not five years old anymore. He’s not as lonely or lost as ten-year-old him was. Not as angry as he was at seventeen. He has his passion-turned career, his father, and close friends - more like brothers, really. He has Luffy and Sabo - he always had; since Lu took one look at the brat he was as a kid and saw someone worthy of his love. He has her. There are so many reasons why he wakes up every day, now. “I just get caught up in the moment sometimes,” he admits quietly. It’s hard to explain it out loud, but for her, he’s willing to try. “The crowd, the adrenaline... It's hard to think straight.” He squeezes her hand. “But you're right. I need to be more careful. For you.” She shakes her head, clearly unhappy, “No, you gotta be more careful for yourself. Your life matters, Ace.” She says it with so much confidence, like it was never a question or a doubt. His heart misses a few beats, feeling the weight of her words. As long as he remembered, he couldn’t help but question his existence. How could he not, when it caused so much pain to so many people? A lifetime wondering if he was worthy of love, if he wasn’t just lying, fooling everybody, and then this girl came by, and with a few kind words and gentle touches, she made it hard to be mad at life. “I know. And I promise to try harder,” he vows, looking into her eyes, “You make me want to be better, Clarice. To live a full life with you,” he shares. “Good.” It’s her reply before she gently presses her lips to the side of his mouth, careful not to touch his wounded side, “Because I want to live a full life with you, too. All domestic and clingy.” Ace chuckles softly, a warm blush spreading across his cheeks. “Domestic and clingy sounds perfect,” he quickly agrees, returning to his food, “Just you, me, maybe a few little ones running around someday.” he can’t help but dream out loud, “Though I'm not sure how I'll look like as a stay-at-home dad with these muscles.” It feels easy to imagine a future and a life with the girl next to him. He sits on his old couch, stained by all the years he spent eating instant ramen there, despite being injured and hurting, and he knows he has everything he always secretly wanted. Even if the last comment gets him a light push. When he looks at her, she’s slightly red but wears a smile that matches his. “Uhm, you could keep up the gym,” she tries, “I know Sir Newgate wants you to do it. We'll get a bigger place, with a yard,” she shares, “A dog too. You'll run with him early in the morning while I get things done.” She bites her lips, then adds, “Get the kids ready.”
Ace's eyes light up at her detailed plans, imagining the future they're building together. The life they are going to build, “A big house with a yard and a dog…”, he muses, his thumb stroking her hand, “I can see it. You're in the kitchen making breakfast while I'm chasing our kids around.” She leans into him, “A house full of happy laughs. Kids jumping in our bed.” She lowers her voice. It’s their little fantasy, their little bubble. A small place to call their own; not too big or too small; nothing too modern or too fancy. A warm, comfy living room in which they could host dinners, catch up with friends and family, celebrate birthdays, and spend rainy afternoons doing absolutely nothing. Ace’s hands itch with the need to pull down on one knee; to put to use the ring he bought four months ago. His little secret. Well, his and Izou’s. He couldn't have gone on his own.
“It'll be a nightmare to clean, but we'll get home at night, cook dinner together, eat, and talk about our day.” Clary’s voice wakes him from his trance. She sets her eyes into his, “I'll tell you how much I love you and I'm grateful for you every day.” It sounds like a promise.
He wraps his arm around her carefully, pulling her closer, “That sounds like heaven,” he whispers, kissing her forehead. “And I'll tell you how much I love you too, every single day. I'll never take our time together for granted.”
“You really are my angel, taking care of me like this,” he says between bites, “And this food is amazing. You're definitely the one who'll be teaching our kids how to cook.” He can’t stop himself from keeping their fantasy alive. Their little, not-so-far, dream-future.
“You have other talents,” she teases him, and he raises an eyebrow playfully, a smirk forming on his lips. “Oh? Like what? Being handsome and charming?” he asks with mock innocence, though he knows exactly what she means. “Try being handsome and a troublemaker.”
Ace laughs heartily, then winces from the pain but continues to grin. “You're just feeding my ego now, Babe.” he winks at her, stretching to put the empty plate back on the table. She’s faster, taking it from his hands and pulling him a glass of water. “The trouble part wasn't a compliment.” He feigns hurt, placing his hand over his heart dramatically. “You wound me, my love! I'll have you know my trouble-making days are behind me... mostly,” he adds with a cheeky grin, “Unless stealing kisses from you counts. If it does, consider me guilty as accused.”
She looks doubtfully, “Right now, you look like you could break with one kiss.” He pretends to pout, though his eyes are still twinkling with mischief. “Not even a gentle one?” he pulls out his secret weapon: the worst case of puppy eyes ever. “A little boo-boo kiss?”, he pleads, enjoying the amusement on her face, “Even though,” he begins, faking consideration, “It’ll probably take you more than one kiss.” She bites her lips to hide a smile, “You’re impossible.” She leans in and gently brushes her lips on his, caressing the side of his neck. “Be good now. Don’t move so much.” Ace melts at her touch, his eyes fluttering shut as he tries to stay still. “I'll be the best patient ever,” he whispers huskily, his voice thick with affection and desire, “I'll follow every instruction my pretty nurse gives me.” Clary shakes her head, clearly amused by his nonsense. “You’re ridiculous,” she says, with the same tone in which she would tell him he’s the best thing that ever happened to her. She must have had a very fucked up life to think of him as the best part of it, but he’s not gonna question his luck. “You're going to be the death of me, Clary,” he murmurs, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, “In the best possible way.” She smiles at that, “I'm a pretty way to die,” she teases, “Am I not?”
Ace's heart skips a beat at her words, his expression turning serious and sincere.
“The most beautiful, and the only way I would ever want to go,” he says with absolute certainty. “You're my everything. My moon and stars.” Her smile grows wider, her hands reaching out to gently hold his face. Love and adoration clear in her eyes. When she looks at him like that, no word is necessary. He can hear her whole heart-song in the silence. But she decides to phrase it anyway, because it’s important to her that he knows. “You're my whole world, Portgas D. Ace.” She looks at him with so much sincerity, he feels his heart miss a beat or two. “You could ask me to marry you right here, bleeding and dirty, to run away and get married…”, she pauses to think of something absurd enough to pass the message, “on…on a pig farm and I'll still say yes.”
Ace's breath catches in his throat, his eyes widening with shock and hope. “Really?”, he asks softly, his voice trembling slightly, “You'd marry me right now, looking like this? On a pig farm?”, he chuckles weakly, a mixture of hilarity and tenderness, “Because I was actually planning to propose properly... but I might just do it now.” Don’t blame him: he’s love-drunk and high on pain. Her eyes widen, clearly taken aback by his abruptness. “Well…I…”
Ace's expression turns serious again, though there's a playful glint in his eyes, as he struggles to get up. At this point, he might as well do that right, like he tried with Izou all those times: a deep breath, on one knee, opening the case with both hands, check twice that he holds it right - she has to face the ring, not you! -, a clear and simple but sweet speech. He can do it.
“Hold that thought,” he attempts to sit up straighter despite her protests, “Hand me the gym bag.” he pauses, “Don’t go through it! It’s already weird like this, let me take the ring.”
He looks at her with determination, “And then I'll ask you properly, with pigs and all.”
She doesn’t seem to have heard a thing, probably still processing it all, “Do you actually have a ring?” she whispers. He nods slowly, a sheepish grin spreading across his face, “I've had it for months now,” he confesses, “Been waiting for the perfect moment.” To be fair, if he had to be completely honest, then he would have to tell her how many times he had been so close to pop out the big question, but too much of a coward to do so. How much he wanted to make it perfect; however, their beach day, planned after weeks of trying to get free, had been ruined when Luffy broke his foot and had to be rushed to the ER; their reservation at that fancy restaurant blew up because the new waitress messed up; the trip to Osaka was cancelled when a match had been rescheduled. He has a long list of failed attempts. And also a long list of missed occasions.
“It's been burning a hole in my pocket for a while, now.”
She stops his hand, her eyes shining with love, amusement and devotion. “Yes.”
Ace stares at her in disbelief, his brain high on exhaustion, tiredness, and warmth, then laughs joyfully and a little shocked. Months of ruined attempted proposals, and she doesn’t even let him ask? “Did you just... did you just say yes before I even asked?”, he asks incredulously, tears of happiness forming in his eyes, “That's not how this works, Clary!”
“Don't care.” She shrugs, a wide smile on her lips, “Yes is my answer.”
He pulls her into a tight embrace, mindful of his injuries, and kisses her passionately. God, how much does he love this woman. “You're impossible. I love you so much,” he murmurs against her lips, “But I'm still getting down on one knee when I can stand properly.” She smiles into his lips, too drunk on joy to worry about anything else, “I'm your fiancée now!”
Ace grins widely, his heart soaring with pure happiness. “That you are. My beautiful, impatient fiancée,” he teases, then suddenly gets a mischievous look, “But I'm keeping the ring on me until I propose properly. No peeking!” She pouts a little, but she can't hide her smile very well; she doesn’t seem to mind at all: ring or no ring, they belong to each other. Had so for a long time. He chuckles at her pout, booping her nose playfully. ”That doesn’t work on me, and you know that,” he tells her, as if he hasn’t melted in every single time she gave him that look for a few seconds too long. He’s a simple man, okay, he can’t stand to see anything else but a big smile on that beautiful face. “I'm stronger than I look, even injured,” he says anyway, “And I want to see your face light up when I actually get to the asking part.” “If I let you get there.” She teases him. Ace narrows his eyes playfully, pretending to be offended. “You little! Fine, I'll just have to make sure you don't spoil yourself the surprise,” he grins and tries to grab her hands, “No more touching my bag!” She completely ignores him by asking, “We are actually getting married? Are you really asking?” His expression softens again, and he squeezes her hands gently. “Yes, Clarice. I'm really asking. I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he says earnestly, “Will you officially marry me, even though I'm a bleeding mess right now?” She smiles so wildly and starts nodding even before he can finish the phrase, “Yes! Yes! I wanna marry you.” It isn't the warm, sweet proposal he had in mind, but it’s theirs. It would also make a funny story to tell their children. Ace laughs joyfully again, pulling her into another hug. “You're making me the happiest man alive,” he says, his voice thick with emotion, “I can't wait to call you my wife.”
She presses their forehead together, careful where she lands her hands, “I don't want to wait. Let's get married tomorrow.” She hasn't stopped smiling for a second; her eyes sparkle with excitement and a hint of mischief. He knows she’s high on excitement and pure happiness; she isn't thinking straight. “Tomorrow?”, he repeats, pretending to consider it seriously, “As much as I'd love that, I think we deserve a proper wedding, not just running off to the courthouse.” She shrugs, as if her constant need to have pretty much everything under control would allow her to escape and get married on a dirty road. “We ran off to the beach side.” She begins to plan anyway, “Marco is coming tomorrow, isn't he? He'll be your best man.”
“We get married in a day; no stress, no boring planning, no having to pick up expensive invitations no one will keep anyway.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement, “No dealing with annoying relatives. Just us, our love, and the sea.” Ace looks at her with adoration and admiration for her spontaneity; he knows she doesn’t really want to escape and do it in a rush, but hearing the love and trepidation in her voice is well appreciated.
He can actually imagine it: him waiting at the altar - well, not a proper one, but who cares? - with a black suit, a little basic but elegant; his brothers by his side - he could never do it without them -; a Priest or someone who has the power to claim them husband and wife; the wind in his hair, the calming sound of the waves, and then: her. She would wear a cheap cream dress - they were in a hurry and didn't double check the colour -, her hair would get messy with the wind, but she would wear the biggest, warmest smile, and he would totally cry. She would look gorgeous, whatever she’d wear. There wouldn’t be hours wasted at a table, trying to figure out how to fit their big families into a reception; paying for them all would leave them broke. Even though Pops is totally gonna want to help pay. “No family drama sounds perfect,” he agrees with a grin.
He gently strokes her hair, letting his imagination run free, “But picture this: you spend months picking up the perfect dress. You go through every boutique.” His hand finds its way to her face, cupping her cheek, “We search for the perfect venue, something that just feels right.”
“You and your friends have fun discussing colors and flowers.” He can see them already, all curled up on the table, carefully picking up every little detail; he would come home to a dispenser of options, pull them some wine, and they would lie on the couch, just like now, choosing together what fits better for their big day. “We taste something like a hundred cakes’ flavour, Thatch’s going all out.”, his friend, who happens to be a pluri-prized chef who’s in charge of every athlete's alimentation, would want to handle their catering. And Thatch is a genius with food. “And I wait for you on the other side of the altar.” Emotion shines in Clary's eyes as Ace begins to describe it. “Our family is here to celebrate with us. My brothers are the groomsmen. Carla is your maid of honour. And they all watch me cry as you walk towards me.”
Clarice listens intently, her heart fluttering at the image he paints.
She can see it too: the white dress, the previous hours spent getting ready with her bestfriends, the flower bouquet, the emotional tears for the both of them. She's going to need strong water-proof make up. “Pops walks you down the altar,” Ace adds, “I like the idea of getting married by the sea.” Clarice snuggles closer to him, imagining Whitebeard’s proud smile as he gives her away. “That would be beautiful too,” she whispers, her voice filled with longing, “Pops would be so happy to walk me to you.” “He'll kill me if we let him miss it.” Ace points out, “He'll blame me 100%.” No one would ever believe that sweet, caring Clary, always looking out for others, would've actually run away. He can already hear it, Pops’s steady voice as he scolds him, his stubborn mind, and his bad influence on her. Clarice giggles softly, picturing Pops' protective fatherly glare at Ace. He may think of all the lost boys that came by his gym as his sons, but he’s still a man of other times. “He'll definitely blame you for rushing things,” she teases, “But he'll forgive you when he sees how happy we are. How happy we make each other."
He kisses her temple, “I'll get you the wedding you always dreamt of. The princess’s dress, the gorgeous venue, a portrait of us drawn live-in.”
She looks up at him with adoration and a hint of playful skepticism. “You promise? Even if I want,” she pauses to think of something absurd, “I don't know, an ice sculpture and helicopters?”
Ace frowns at that, “An ice sculpture on the beach? May not be your best idea.”
He sounds like he actually considers it, mentally planning how to get her that and how to make it last. She bursts into laughter at his serious expression.
“You're right,” she pokes his chest gently, “It'll melt before we even cut the cake.”
She leans into his touch, sincerity dripping off her voice, “In that case, all I want is you. You are all I ever wanted.” Ace’s dark eyes shine with so much love and happiness, “You have me,” he whispers, “You’ll have me for as long as you’ll want me.” He brushes her hair tenderly, letting the black curls pass through his fingers,“You'll be the most gorgeous bride out there.”
“They will all think, 'How did that son of a bitch get so lucky?', and they’ll have no idea.”
She melts into his touch, her eyes closing briefly. “And you'll be the handsomest groom,” she murmurs, then adds with a teasing smirk, “Even if you're bleeding on our wedding day.”
“I'll try not to, I promise,” he tells her, crossing his fingers and pressing on his heart, “Not getting into flights until we put a signature on this.” Clary raises an eyebrow, looking at him skeptically again. “I’d like to see it.”
“I'm marrying you, knowing full well you'll probably get hit again tomorrow.” She frowns at that. “Even if I'm not happy about it.” He chuckles at her frown, kissing it away. “I'll be extra careful for you, my protective wife-to-be,” he says with a wink, “Though I can't promise anything if someone calls me a pretty boy again.” “What?” She frowns in confusion. “Who called you that?”
Ace grins sheepishly, remembering the incident that led to his current state.
“Some rookie in my last match,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck, “I might have knocked him out for it.” “You're telling me you got so beaten up because some idiot called you pretty?” He looks slightly embarrassed now, his cheeks reddening. “Well... when you put it that way... “, he mumbles, “But he said it in a condescending tone! And I'm not pretty, I'm rugged and masculine!” She caresses the base of his neck, “I don't know, I happen to think you have a very pretty face.” She pauses, pretending to think about it, ”It may be why I said yes in the first place,” she jokes. Ace gasps dramatically, mocking offense and slightly pulling her hair for that insolence. “You only said yes because of my looks?”, he puts his free hand over his heart, “I'm wounded, Clarice. Truly wounded.” “It’s one of the main reasons,” she lies, teasing him. He narrows his eyes playfully, catching her lie. “One of?” his tone drips curiosity. “What are the others, then?” Clary lays her head on his chest, smiling at the sound of his heartbeat. ”You're looking for compliments, pretty boy?” Ace wraps his arms around her, pretending to pout. “Maybe I am. And I'm not a pretty boy, I'm a tough guy,” he says with mock indignation, “Just ask my opponents.” She makes a disgusted face, “I would rather never see those beasts, thank you very much.” He laughs softly, the vibrations rumbling through his chest. “You're so protective of me. It's adorable.” It is quite the scene; a pretty, delicate girl like Clary, a curled head and long fingers shaped by constantly typing on a computer, so concerned about his bigger figure. He’s not used to letting people in, allowing them to worry about him, to care for him; Clary pushed her way into his heart through all his walls, one gentle touch at a time.
His expression gets more serious, more sincere, “I fight for us. For our future and our lives together.” She sighs, “I know, Ace. But I can't stop thinking...one bad hit, and that's it. You're gone.” Her voice breaks in the middle of her sentence, “Forever.” His gaze softens, and he holds her tighter, a hand placed protectively on top of her head. “Babe, it may not seem like it, but I'm always careful.” “I promise I'll always come back to you,” he says gently, “Besides, I've got the best motivation now - our wedding.” “Our wedding,” she repeats dreamingly, “Oh, it'll break the hearts of lots of your fans. Hundreds of little girls crying that I stole you from them.”
Ace chuckles at the thought, imagining the fan reactions. He has his fair number of people gushing over his good looks, but he knows that a good amount of his fans beam over their relationship, too. Haruta showed him some cute videos they made; his favourite moment is him, just proclaimed winner at the Olympics semi-final, jumping out of the ring and running straight to the stands, looking for her. He can assume their engagement is going to warm lots of hearts. His fan base grew to love her pretty quickly: he was worried about that, he couldn't care less what others think, but people on the Internet can be cruel, and it's hard to date someone when his so-called fans are constantly checking for one small mistake. Clarice is a small author herself, and at the beginning of their relationship, many people accused them of faking it, of being fan press, of her using him for attention. She posted a long message basically telling them to fuck off. Then he posted a picture of them kissing; she’s good with words, he’s good at acting. “Let them cry,” he says with a smirk, “I only have eyes for you, my future wife.”
She chuckles softly, while he nuzzles her hair affectionately, his voice turning tender again. “You're tired, aren't you? Let's get some rest. We have a busy day tomorrow planning our perfect wedding.” She stands up. “Can you get up? I'll run you a quick bath. Let's get you all clean and relaxed.” Ace tries to stand but winces slightly, his body protesting. “Yeah... that sounds nice,” he admits, taking her hand for support, “Though I might need some help getting in and out of the tub.” She frowns with concern at that. “Ace, be honest with me. Do I have to take you to the hospital?” He shakes his head quickly, though his face shows discomfort, “No hospital. Just... maybe some more ice packs after the bath,” he assures her, “I'm really fine, Clarice. Just sore.”
They slowly and carefully reach the bathroom. Clary fills the tub with warm water, puts some soap and a lavender bath bomb. The one he claims to hate, but she knows he secretly enjoys.
Then she turns to help him get out of those dirty and stinky clothes, frowning when he winces as he lifts his arms. “You're too good to me, you know that?”, he says, watching the bath bomb fizz and release its calming scent, “Even when I smell like a locker room.” She smiles, gently pushing him towards the bath, and helps him get in. Ace moans loudly; the warm water feels like heaven on his sore muscles. He sinks deeper into the water, closing his eyes in relief, “God, this is heaven.”, he groans, “You're magical, Love. How did I get so lucky?” She gets behind him and begins to wash his hair, gently scraping the roots like she knows he loves. “You're a beautiful person. That's how.” Ace melts under her touch, completely relaxed now. “Beautiful?”, he echoes softly, voice full of self consciousness, “I'm a mess.” He turns his head slightly to look at her, murmuring in appreciation at her hand movements, “Keep doing that, it feels amazing.” “Yes. Beautiful,” she picks his forehead, “No one insults my future husband. Not even himself.” He smiles warmly at her possessiveness, leaning back into her touch. “Alright, alright. Your husband is beautiful,” he concedes playfully, “But only because you think so.”
“You should know I’m always right.”
She focuses on washing and brushing his hair, singing some wordless melody and helping him relax. She also messages his tensed shoulders, careful not to apply too much pressure, then washes his back for good measure. Ace's breathing becomes deeper and more even as he drifts in and out of consciousness, completely trusting her with his care. “You're going to put me to sleep like this…”, he mumbles drowsily, “And then who will carry me to bed?” She pauses, fully aware that she couldn't even if she wanted to. “I guess you'll sleep there. But I'll keep you company.” He opens one eye, looking at her with a teasing glint despite his exhaustion. “I think I’d rather sleep in our bed.” “Then you'll have to get out before you fall asleep.” She pulls his hair lightly, while he shakes his hands, splashing some water playfully, just like a little kid throwing a tantrum.“That's cruel, Clary,” he protests, though he knows she's right, “I'm injured, remember?”
She rolls her eyes. “Yes. So cruel of me to cook your dinner, run you a bath, wash your hair,” she counts on her fingers, “I'm such a heartless girlfriend.” She cups her cheek, faking concern, “Maybe I should set you free and save you the torture of a marriage with me.” Ace suddenly sits up straighter, water sloshing everywhere as he grabs her hand. “Don't you dare!” he says with mock horror, “I'll crawl to our bed if I have to. There is no way you’re getting out of this engagement.” “Oh my God, Ace!” She can't help but giggle at his dramatic performance. As if she’ll ever want to break them apart, as if she hasn't spent months memorizing how the sunlight shines on his features. Even more, as if her breath doesn't stop every time she sees him hurting, as if her heart doesn't start beating again only when he’s safe in front of her. She spent the five hours waiting for him to come back, constantly checking her watch and her phone, anxiously texting anyone in his team, nothing on her mind but the thought of him, bleeding on the floor, gasping in pain. She shakes the bad thoughts away. “Careful with your wounds.”
He grins sheepishly, settling back down, “Oops. I forgot about those for a moment.” he chuckles, “But seriously, I'm never letting you go. You're stuck with me forever now.”
She smiles at that and gently helps him out of the tube. “Just teasing you, I'm not going anywhere.” Ace steps out carefully, wrapping a towel around his waist. “I know you were,” he smirks, leaning against the sink for support, “But it's fun to pretend you'd ever get rid of me.”
They finally reach the bedroom, and Ace collapses onto the mattress with a satisfied groan.
“Now this is what I call a proper ending to a rough day,” he pats the spot next to him invitingly, “Come here and let me cuddle you properly.” “No funny stuff!” She warns, beginning to change into something she could sleep in, “You need the rest.”
He raises his hands in surrender, though his eyes roam appreciatively over her body. “I promise to be a perfect gentleman... for now,” he says with a playful wink, ”Though I make no promises about tomorrow.” She rolls her eyes, “That if you can stand, with those bruises.” Her eyes linger on his exposed stomach with concern. Ace flexes his abs dramatically, wincing slightly at the movement. “I'll be fine after some sleep. These are just battle scars,” he tries to sound tough, but winces again, “Though they might make me look even more attractive to you.”
“The only thing they make you look like is a careless idiot.”
He gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest where a particularly nasty bruise is forming. “Careless? Me?” he feigns hurt, “I'll have you know I was being incredibly careful until that last match. My honour was at stake!” She caresses his chest lightly, “I'll argue with that.” Then she lowers to kiss his hair, “Get some sleep, darling. I'll clean and then get back to you.”
Ace's eyes flutter shut at her touch, a content smile spreading across his face.
“Mmm... fine. But don't take too long,” he murmurs sleepily, “I need my goodnight kiss first.”
She chuckles at that, and leans over him to kiss him gently. He responds to the kiss lazily, his hands coming up to hold her waist. “Perfect…”, he murmurs against her lips, “You're the best medicine, Clarice.” His eyes are already starting to droop. She strokes his hair, basically making him purr, “Go to sleep now, Love.” Ace melts completely under her touch, his breathing becoming deeper and more even. “Love you…”, He mumbles one last time before drifting off, his grip on her loosening.
Morning light begins to filter through the curtains, casting a warm glow across their bedroom. Ace stirs awake first, wincing as he stretches carefully. He looks down at Clarice, sleeping peacefully in his arms, a soft smile spreading across his face despite the pain. He gently brushes a strand of hair from her face, quietly whispering to himself, trying not to wake her. He decides to let her sleep a little longer, carefully reaching for his phone on the nightstand to check the time. On the screen, several missed calls and messages from his manager and team, no doubt about his performance from yesterday. He sighs and puts the phone back down, knowing he'll have to deal with that eventually, but he’ll take as much free time as he can. Ace pulls Clarice even closer and begins to kiss her forehead tenderly, then her nose, her cheeks, her collarbone; he maps her beautiful face with his lips. His stomach growls loudly, ruining the sweet moment, and he silently curses his metabolism for being so demanding.
“Mmh”, she moans, “Ace.”
He freezes, his eyes widening as he looks down at her with a mix of surprise and amusement. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he whispers huskily, “Did I wake you with my stomach or my kisses?” “Both”, she struggles to open her eyes, sleep latched on her lashes, and she reaches to touch his cheek. “How did you sleep?”
He chuckles softly, running his fingers through her hair. “Like I got hit by a truck. But seeing you makes it better,” he jokes, though there's a hint of genuine affection in his voice. Clary’s fingers trace the bruises on his face gently. “You rest some more. I'll make breakfast.” She suggests trying to sit up. Ace quickly catches her wrist, preventing her from getting up. ”No way. You're not going anywhere,” he says firmly, "I'm not letting you cook while I just lie here.”
She smiles, gently passing a hand through his dark waves, “Can't I spoil my fiancée?”
His heart skips a beat at the word "fiancée," and his grip on her wrist loosens slightly.
“You already spoil me so much,” he admits, his voice softening, “But I guess I can't argue with that.” “You should know by now, to never argue." She gently kisses his lips, then gets up to the bathroom. Ace's eyes linger on her long legs, exposed by the shorts she wears as pajamas. He groans and throws an arm over his face, lying back on the mattress. He goes back and forth from sleeping to lying awake until the smell of fried bacon and pancakes reaches his nose. His stomach growls yet again, louder than before, and he sits up with a determined look on his face. The smell is too tempting to resist. “I'm coming to help you whether you like it or not!” he calls out, swinging his legs over the side of the bed despite the protests from his body. Clary hands him an aspirin and water as soon as he steps into the kitchen.
Ace takes the medicine gratefully, downing it with the water. “You're too good to me.” he says, leaning against the counter, “Let me at least set the table.” He places plates, glasses, and some juice bottles from the fridge on the table, kissing her temple gently and placing a hand on her lower hip when he passes behind her. Clarice leans into his touch, her focus still on flipping the last pancakes. “Thanks, babe. The food is almost done.”
He frowns when he sees her place a third plate on the table full of bacon, eggs, some harsh brown, and another plate full of fresh made pancakes with fruit and yogurt. He likes a salty breakfast, she likes it sweet, so they compromise. Clarice notices his frown and explains. “I made extra because you need the protein .” “And because…”, she begins to say, before being interrupted by the doorbell. “There he is.” She gets up to open the door and let Marco in.
Ace raises an eyebrow, confused and slightly annoyed.
“Marco? What's he doing here this early?” He asks, wincing as he sits down at the table. “I'm here to check you, dumbass.” His physical therapist and best friend replies, leaving a small kiss on Clary's cheek as a greeting. “You haven't answered any of your messages, but thank god you somehow got Clary.” Ace rolls his eyes at Marco's comment and looks away, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I was busy sleeping. And I'm fine, really.” She guides their friend to the table. “I sanitized the split lip, applied cream on the black eye, and made him ice packs.” She says diligent, while putting some food on a plate for Marco. “He took an aspirin yesterday at 22 pm and one this morning when he woke up.” Marco sits down next to Ace, examining him critically while eating. “At least someone's taking care of you properly. Did you actually follow my instructions?” he asks Ace pointedly.
He avoids Marco's gaze and shoves a forkful of bacon into his mouth, chewing slowly. “Mmm... busy fighting,” he mumbles between bites, clearly trying to avoid the question. The blonde keeps his gaze on him, unfazed. Ace sighs in defeat, knowing Marco won't let it go.
“Fine, I didn't. Happy? I was just focused on winning,” he admits begrudgingly, reaching for his glass of juice. Clary pulls it out of reach. “Water for you,” she commands, “Have to keep you hydrated.” Ace pouts at her like a child, but doesn't argue; he just takes the glass. “Yes, mom.” He says sarcastically, though there's a hint of affection in his tone. She rolls her eyes and turns to Marco. “See what I put up with?” The blonde smiles at them with amusement. Marco chuckles and shakes his head, taking another bite of his breakfast. “Poor Clarice. She's got her hands full with this stubborn ass.” He teases, gesturing at Ace. She nods enthusiastically, “I take care of him, and get disrespected back." Ace feigns offense, putting his hand over his heart dramatically.
“Hey! I respect you plenty. I even made you breakfast, too.” He points to the plate he set for her.
“I’m sorry, who cooked this food?” Marco laughs harder at Ace's expression, clearly enjoying the banter. “She got you there, buddy. Can't argue with that.” Ace throws his hands up in surrender, a playful smirk on his face. “Alright, alright. You cooked the food. I just set the table.” He concedes, reaching for her hand under the table. “Aren't you a bit old to hold mom's hands?” She teases him, gaining a loud chuckle by Marco, who's eating and watching them like it's a movie.
Ace's cheeks flush slightly, but he maintains his grip on her hand.
“Never too old for that. Besides, you're my fiancée, not my mom.” He says with a wink, making Marco almost choke on his food from laughing. “I'm sorry, fiancée?!” Marco jumps in,“When did this happen? Why didn't I know?” Ace grins proudly, showing off her hand, forgetting that there is no ring, since he didn't give it to her. “Last night. I proposed after the fight.” He says smugly, ignoring Marco's shocked expression. “It was all very spontaneous,” she explains, “We were just talking, I made a joke, and he jumped in about a ring and...well, long story short, I said yes.”
Ace perks up at that, “Actually, she said yes before I even got to ask,” he says proudly, unfazed when she slaps his arm lightly. “Don't go around telling people that!” she hisses.
Marco looks between them suspiciously, then bursts into laughter again. “You're both insane. That's the most Ace proposal I've ever heard.” Their friend laughs out loud, processing it, “Wait, so you didn't even properly ask her? And she still said yes? That's even worse!”
Ace defends himself with a cheeky grin. “What can I say? She loves me that much. Right, babe?” He squeezes Clary’s hand affectionately. She starts putting some granola in her yogurt. “Maybe, however, I was promised a do-over.” Ace's eyes light up with mischief as he watches her eat.
“Oh yeah, thanks for reminding me.” He leans closer, completely forgetting about his injuries. “Gotta make it perfect for you.” “I might need some help with planning.” He glances at Marco for assistance. “Thankfully, we have an expert on romance here with us.” He teases, sticking his tongue out at him. The blonde sticks his middle finger at that, then turns to Clary. “If he's holding you hostage, blink twice.” She giggles and blinks three times, playing along.
“She's my prisoner. And she loves it.” He kisses her temple gently.
“You're both impossible.” Marco shakes his head again, though he's clearly entertained by their dynamic. “Does Pops know? Did you call him?” Ace's face pales slightly at the mention of their father. “Uh... I might have forgotten to call him. With everything that happened last night…” He admits sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. Marco laughs again, enjoying Ace's predicament. “Oh boy, you're in trouble now. Whitebeard is going to have a fit when he finds out.” Ace groans and buries his face in Clarice's hair.
“I'm dead meat. He's going to ground me forever.” He mumbles, sounding genuinely worried about Whitebeard's reaction. Clary massages his hair gently, “Technically,” she begins, “We aren't engaged.”, she raises her empty hand for them to see. “Let's have a date, you drop the question, I wear the ring, and we have dinner with everyone later,” she shrugs, “Announcement dinner or whatever.” Ace lifts his head, looking at her with admiration and relief. “You're brilliant, babe. That's perfect!” He kisses her passionately, forgetting about Marco again, who coughs loudly to remind them he's still there.
“Ahem, so you're saying you're going to trick Pops into thinking you're not engaged?”
“We are engaged,” she tells him, “It just was…unconventional.” Marco raises an eyebrow skeptically. “Unconventional" is putting it mildly. But hey, whatever works for you two lovebirds.” He smirks, shaking his head in amusement.
“Just make sure you actually propose properly this time, Ace. And clean up your act before we see Pops.” Ace nods seriously, though there's still a playful glint in his eyes.
“I promise, Marco. No more unconventional proposals. I'll do it right this time.” He holds up his hand in a mock salute, then turns to the girl at his right. “Tonight's the night, beautiful. You're going to get the proposal of your dreams.” Marco watches with amusement as Clary lights up at that, eyes full of adoration. “I can't wait to tell this story at your wedding.” She blushes even more, hiding her face in Ace's chest while he laughs heartily. “Don't you dare, Marco! You will be uninvited!”, he playfully threatens his brother. “Though... maybe just the funny parts.” he adds with a wink, knowing Marco will probably tell everyone anyway. “Too late, already planning my best man speech:“And then Ace accidentally proposed, without a ring, while bleeding and covered in blood!" He mimics holding a microphone. Ace groans again, this time louder: “I really hate you.” “And I won’t forget to mention how Clary said yes without a question being asked.”
Marco bursts into laughter at his own joke, while Clary tries to stifle her giggles against Ace's chest. “You're never going to let us live this down, are you?” Ace asks with a defeated sigh.
“I'm surrounded by comedians. My own fiancée laughing at my pain.” He pretends to be hurt, but he's smiling too much to be convincing. She smiles and gently kisses his cheek. “I'm sorry, love.” Ace melts at her kiss, his expression softening instantly, even though he still tries to tickle her as revenge, but winces when he moves too suddenly. “Ow... maybe Marco's right about taking it easy,” he reasons out loud. Clary stops giggling and gives him a concerned look again, immediately shifting into caretaker mode. “See? You're still in pain. No more tickling until you're fully healed,” she scolds him gently, while Marco smirks, enjoying the role reversal.
“I told you so, champ. Now you're grounded from tickling, too.” Ace groans and slumps back, looking defeated by his own injuries. “This is torture. Being teased and not being able to fight back.” He complains, then looks hopefully at Clary. “Can I at least have a kiss to make me feel better?” She rolls her eyes but gently kisses his forehead, “Happy?”
“Very much so,” he hums contentedly, “Though I was hoping for a real one.” He tries to pout again but can't hide his smile. Marco pretends to gag in the background.
“Get a room, you two.” Despite his annoyed tone, his smile betrays how affectionate he is, “Or at least wait for me to be gone.” he says, starting to gather his supplies. “Sorry, Marco.” Clary looks genuinely sorry, always too kind for her own good, “Thank you for coming to check on him.” The blonde waves her off, his expression softening slightly.
“No problem. Just make sure he stays put and doesn't try to sneak out for training.“
Ace protests immediately, “Hey! I wasn't going to train! I was just going to... lie here and think about how amazing my future wife is.” They both ignore him and his pathetic attempt to sweet-talk them. “I'll play dirty if I have to”, she reassures him, walking their friend to the door. “Say hi to Sir Newgate for me. Ah, don't forget our engagement dinner.” The blonde nods, giving her a knowing smile, “Leave it to me,” he says, “And take care of this idiot. He’s lucky to have you.” Clary blushes slightly; she honestly shines in pride at that. She wears Ace’s love like the most prized jewelry, and that’s exactly why Pops and all of them, obviously, love her so much. Ace grumbles something incoherent about not needing to be taken care of, but they both know he secretly loves the attention. “I’m lucky to have him, too.” Marco smiles warmly at her honesty, exchanging one last goodbye before leaving. Ace's heart melts at her words, and he watches her return to his side with a lovesick expression.
“You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.” He says softly, reaching for her hand again. She takes it to her lips, gently brushing a kiss against his fingers, “I always hoped to be loved one day. You make me so glad to be alive.” Ace's heart misses a few beats at her words, not for the first time, taken aback by so much honesty, so much devotion. He’s never been particularly religious, but this girl makes him want to pray and thank every God above them.
“And I'm glad I found you,” he hopes she can hear just how much he means those words, “You make my world brighter.” They end up moving to the bed, chuckling in each other's arms as they call all the people they love to dinner.
Thank the Lords they know the owner of the Baratie, ‘cause no way in hell they would've found a restaurant ready to guest their very big, very loud and very chaotic family in such a short time. “Thank you again, Sanji.” Clary says on the phone, while Ace is still talking to Luffy and Sabo. Their wallet is gonna be a lot lighter paying for both of them, but it’s for a good cause. “I'm not sure how I'm going to survive dinner with our families,” he complains after hanging up the phone, “They're all going to be so loud.”
She giggles, gently stroking his hair, “Maybe”, she agrees, “They're gonna be so happy for us.”
Ace nods, thinking about how his father and brothers will react to seeing them engaged.
“Yeah, especially Luffy. He's going to cry all over the food. And Pops... he's probably already planning a big celebration.” That man had not so subtly hit that he was ready to pay for their wedding whenever they decided to be ready. Actually, his real words were “whenever you decide to man up”. It’s always good to know your father has your back, Ace guesses.
They eat a quick lunch, they sing and dance around their kitchen while they're cooking together. They even ordered some sweets at their favorite bakery for the occasion.
“Those pastries better be worth the wait. I'm already imagining your reaction when you see them.” They eat between laughs, playfully touch that linger a little too long, and Ace’s hands raise up to trickle her. When it's the moment of the dessert, Ace gets her to cover her eyes, then sets the box with the ring on a big plate, with macarons all around it. It’s not exactly the elaborate, beautiful proposal he had in mind when he brought the ring, but it will do the job. After all, she already said yes. He guides Clary to the table, his heart racing with anticipation.
“Okay, open your eyes!” He says excitedly, his voice filled with joy and nervousness.
He watches her intently, waiting for her reaction. Her eyes shine, a mixture of surprise and emotion, and he quickly kneels at her side, a bit awkwardly due to his injuries.
“Clary... I know I already proposed, but I wanted to do it properly this time,” he starts, reaching for the ring box, his hands slightly trembling. He opens it to reveal a beautiful ring; nothing too big or luxurious, as he knows she wouldn’t have liked it so much, it’s a rose-gold band, with an intricate mark and pretty points of light in between. Ace watches as she admires the ring, a mixture of pride and hope on his face. “You are my holy light,” he says, trying really hard not to stumble on his words. You’d think that he’d be easier when she had already so eagerly accepted, but it’s still a very emotional moment for the both of them, “I’d gladly spend the rest of my life loving you. Between fights, silences and misunderstanding, just as much as I’d love you in happiness and success,” he takes a deep breath, “Will you do me the honour, and marry me?”
Tears shine at the corner of her eyes, a big smile across her face; she’s giving him her hand even before the word “Yes” forms on her lips.
Ace's eyes sparkle with happiness, and he carefully slides the ring onto her finger.
“I love you so much, Clary. More than anything in this world.” He stands up slowly, wincing a bit but determined to kiss her properly, and he cups her face with his hands.
“Now we can tell everyone at dinner that it's official.” He chuckles through his own tears as she rests against his collarbone. “I love you.” she whispers against his skin, her arms around his torso in a slightly awkward hug, since she’s still set. However, none of them have it in themselves to mind; not even Ace, whose body is starting to complain; he just wraps his arms around her, holding her close and breathing in her scent.
“I'm the luckiest man alive.” He murmurs into her hair, gently swaying them both, then kisses the top of her head, and tilts her chin up to look at him. The raven wipes away her tears with his thumb, his expression tender and playful. “Hey, no crying on our engagement day.” he gently scolds her, as if he hasn’t shared his fair amount of tears, “Even if it’s happy tears.”
They get ready together, stealing kisses from each other. Clary helps him but on his finest black complete, and he puts up the zip of her green dress; he sits on the edge of their bed as she messes with her curls in front of the main mirror.
“You look absolutely stunning, darling.” he says appreciatively, his eyes roaming over her figure.
He adjusts his tie, green to match her dress, looking absolutely dashing despite the bruise still pretty bad on his cheek. It should be studied, how he manages to look so handsome when he was beaten to hell and back the other day. “I'm going to have to fight off every man there who tries to hit on you tonight.” he jokes, as if she couldn’t say the same thing. Clary rolls her eyes, then raises her hand, where the ring shines, “I would hope not. Loose the tie, please?” Ace loosens his tie with a smirk, letting it hang loosely around his neck. “The ring does the talking.” He says pridefully, standing up to kiss her one more time. He runs his fingers through her hair again, messing it up slightly, and she answers by biting his bottom lip. “Don’t you dare,” she threatens, then raises her hands to his jaw, taking the tie off and loosening up the first buttons of the shirt. “Much better.” she murmurs in appreciation, enjoying the sight of his exposed throat. Ace's breath hitches as she undoes his shirt, his skin tingling under her touch. “You're trying to make me forget about dinner, aren't you? Because it's working.” “Oh, I would never,” she pretends to have no idea what she’s talking about, “It's our night.” “You're such a tease, Clary.” He nuzzles her neck, his hands roaming up her back. “Alright, let's go face the family.” He holds out his arm for her to take.
They drive to the restaurant together, Ace's hand on her thigh. When they park outside, they see most of their family already there: Sanji and Thatch bringing food for anyone, Marco, Izou, and Haruta happily chatting with Jimbe, Luffy stuffing everything he can in his mouth while Law watches disgustedly. Sabo and Koala watching, amused. All the people they love, ready to celebrate them. Ace squeezes her thigh gently as they take in the scene, his heart swelling with love for their family. He helps Clary out of the car, waving at the group.
“Ready to make some noise?” He whispers, excitement building up again. Her smile is so big that he's sure her muscles would hurt. “As ready as I'll ever be.”
Ace leads her to the entrance, his smile matching hers. “That's my girl.”
“Everyone, we have an announcement to make!” The chatter dies down as all eyes turn to them.
His eyes give her a silent encouragement, and she takes a deep breath. “We are getting married!”