if it’s alright can you pls do a Lee!deuce ler!ace? (or the other way around if u want)
No rush tho
Winds of Revenge
Summary: After Deuce gets Ace punished by Coach Vargas, Ace retaliates from the ground using wind magic to secretly sabotage Deuce’s flight practice, turning it into a chaotic, laughter-filled struggle.
Lee! Deuce Spade
Ler! Ace Trappola
Word count: 1377
The sun hung heavy and oppressive over the training field, drenching the landscape in a golden heat that made the horizon shimmer. The vast stretch of green was a scene of organized mayhem. Students wobbled dangerously on their brooms, their shouts echoing across the grass as some soared daringly high while others fought just to keep their bristles from skimming the dirt. It was the exact brand of controlled chaos that defined physical education under the watchful, uncompromising eye of Coach Vargas.
Amidst the whistle-blowing and wind-rushing, Ace Trappola remained remarkably unmoved. He was sprawled out in the grass with his limbs tangled in the blades, looking like a man who had no intention of engaging in anything more strenuous than breathing. "—and then I thought, okay, that's gotta be Yuu," he continued, lazily recounting a story to Deuce, who was hovering a few feet above him. Unlike his friend, Deuce looked notably stiff, his knuckles white as he gripped his broom handle.
"You just assumed?" Deuce asked, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.
Ace cracked one eye open, squinting against the glare of the midday sun. "Look, everyone's in the same uniform and half the guys here have black hair. Don't act like it's hard to mix people up when you're in a rush."
"It is if you actually look at them," Deuce countered, his voice flat with logic.
"Yeah, well, I was busy," Ace shot back, irritably pushing his damp hair off his forehead. "So, I'm following them down the hall, right? I'm just about to call out—"
"TRAPPOLA!"
Ace froze mid-sentence, the color draining from his face before being replaced by a deep groan of annoyance. "You've gotta be kidding me..." he muttered, though he didn't dare stay seated. Under the threat of Vargas's legendary discipline, he rolled onto his stomach and braced his palms against the turf. "One...two..."
The roar snapped across the field like a whip, instantly silencing the nearby chatter. Coach Vargas stood a few yards away, his shadow looming long over the grass and his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "If you have time to talk, then you have time to drop and gimme twenty!"
"And whose fault is that?" Deuce remarked from his vantage point, a small, smug smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watched Ace struggle.
Ace shot him a murderous glare mid-rep, his face beginning to flush from the effort. "Yours! You’re the one who kept pestering me for the rest of the story."
"I asked once," Deuce argued, leaning forward over his broom. "So, what happened next?"
Ace's gaze immediately dropped to the dirt, his jaw setting into a stubborn line. "I'm not talking," he wheezed.
"What? Why not?"
"I'm already doing push-ups, Deuce! I'm not making it worse for myself," Ace hissed, his arms trembling slightly as he hit the halfway mark.
Deuce hovered there, his face a mask of feigned concern that didn’t quite hide the amused glint in his eyes. He shifted his weight on his broom, enjoying the rare view of Ace struggling while he remained comfortably airborne. "Just finish the story," he urged in a low, innocent murmur. "He's not even looking anymore."
Ace's arms nearly gave out, his elbows locking as he stared up in disbelief. "Are you serious?!"
Ace shook his head firmly, lowering his chest until it nearly brushed the grass. "Nope. Not happening. My lips are sealed."
"Thirty!" Vargas barked from across the field, not even needing to look back to sense the conversation.
"Forty if I hear another syllable!"
Just you wait, juice-head, Ace hissed internally, his arms trembling as he hit thirty-five. He could practically feel Deuce's smug satisfaction radiating from above, but a sharp, wicked grin started to form in his mind. He wasn't gonna wait for some distant future to get even. He already had a perfect, petty plan brewing to turn the tables before the period was even over. Ace was gonna make sure Deuce will hit the dirt before the final whistle blew.
Ace clamped his mouth shut so hard his teeth clicked. He glared at the grass with burning intensity as he resumed his count, leaving Deuce and the story hanging in the afternoon heat.
–––
Deuce straightened, his competitive streak kicking in as he adjusted his grip on the broom. He shot one last, mocking look down at Ace before soaring higher in the air, joining the other students as they began to circle the field. From below, Coach Vargas paced the grass like a drill sergeant, his eyes tracked on the formation as he barked out corrections for their next maneuver.
"All right, cupcakes! Back in the air!" Vargas’s voice rang, cutting through the heavy heat of sports field. "Spade! Don’t get comfortable up there! I wanna see a formation loop. Now!"
Ace, finally finishing with his forty push-ups, remained seated on the turf. He wiped the sweat from his forehead, watching Deuce fly with an effortless grace which was honestly irritating. "Oh, you think you’re so smooth, huh?" Ace muttered to himself, a sharp, feline grin spread across his face. Let’s see how that ‘honor student’ composure holds up. While Vargas was distracted by a student nearly crashing into a tree, Ace’s hand slipped into his pocket, discreetly sliding his magical pen out.
Ace leaned back on his elbows, his eyes locking onto Deuce's soaring figure with a devious, predatory smirk.
"Eyes up, Spade! Keep that posture!" Vargas roared from below. "Stop wobbling like a fledgling!"
High above, Deuce was just leaning into a sharp bank when the first current hit him. Needle-thin stream of air darted directly into his side. Deuce flinched violently, his broom jerking to the left. "Wha—?! Ah!" he gasped, trying to regain his balance. But before he could, Ace swirled his pen, sending a soft, spiraling gust of wind to coil around Deuce’s neck like a phantom feather.
"No, no, no! S-stop that!" Deuce hissed through his gritted teeth, his shoulders hiking up to his ears in a desperate shrug. "Aha- Ace! Stohohop!"
"I'm- I'm trying, sir!" Deuce called back, his voice cracking. He looked down, spotting Ace's smug face on the clean, bright green ground. "You absolute jerk!" he mouthed, though his insult was cut short as a thin, vibrating stream of wind began to patter against the both sides of his ribs. It felt exactly like drumming fingers, while another soft current blew directly into the shell of his ear. "Ace! P-plehease!" Deuce let out a sharp, strangled giggle, his legs kicking out instinctively as the ghost fingers of wind dug deeper into his sides. "NO! Nohot there! Stop it—Ah! AhaHAh!!"
The wind was relentless. Every time he tried to steady the broom for a loop, a fresh, swirling gust would find the sensitive dip of his waist. He was squirming uncontrollably, his hands shaking on the wood of the broom as he tried to swat at the invisible hands. His stomach muscles cramping from the dual effort of the tickling and the flight. "I'm going to fall! I'm actually going to—heHAheha!"
He looked down again, his watering eyes finding Ace immediately. Ace wasn't hiding it anymore. He was staring right back at him, his chin tilted up and a wicked, triumphant smirk plastered on his face. He even gave a tiny, mocking wiggle of his fingers, leaning back as if he was enjoying a front-row seat at a comedy show.
"I’ll kill you!" Deuce tried to shout down at him, but a sudden, sharp puff of air caught him right in the hollow of his throat, turning the threat into a fresh explosion of helpless laughter. "I—Ahaha!—I swear, Ace! Stoppit!"
"Spade! If I see one more uncoordinated twitch, you're joining Trappola for laps!" Vargas barked, oblivious about the magical sabotage.
Deuce could only cling to the broom for his dear life, his body bucking against the invisible tickling, desperately trying to follow instructions while tears of mirth and frustration pricked his eyes. From the grass, Ace watched every frantic squirm, his magical pen dancing as he savored every second of his airborne revenge. "Keep dancing for me, Deuce," he whispered with a chuckle. "We’ve still got twenty minutes left of class."
Inspired by this:
