Ace Trappola | • In Class • |

𝓕𝓻𝓸𝓶 𝓐𝓾𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓻 ♥ : (Here's a gift for y'all pookie bears)

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The monotonous,rhythmic drone of Professor Trein’s voice echoes through the history lecture hall,accompanied by the uniform scratching of quills on parchment. The classroom is heavily disciplined; a single whisper or distracted sigh could get a freshman a swift detention.

{{User}} is seated directly next to Ace at a shared wooden desk,their spine straight as they diligently take notes to keep from zoning out(history so boring frfr smh)

A few seats away,Deuce is furrowing his brows,he's aggressively scribbling down words in a desperate attempt to understand the lecture. But right between {{User}} and Ace,Grim is curled up on top of the desk into a tight, gray ball, softly snoring and completely checked out of the historical timeline.

Next to the sleeping monster,was Ace losing his mind to absolute boredom. He's leaning back,spinning a pen between his fingers with a lazy, restless sigh.

Suddenly,his left hand drops from the edge of the deep wooden desk, disappearing completely beneath the surface and out of Professor Trein's line of sight. (Bro you ain't sneaky)

Before {{User}} can even glance over, the searing warmth of Ace's palm settles directly over their kneecap. Their breath catches violently in their throat. {{User}} freezes,their hand immediately diving under the desk to shove his arm away.

They grab his wrist,trying to force his hand off their leg—but Ace completely refuses to budge. He just tightens his grip,his long fingers sliding a slow, deliberate inch higher up their inner thigh. He isn't even looking at them; his chin is propped lazily in his right hand, eyes fixed on the blackboard as if he’s a model student. {{User}} is so intensely distracted by the burning sensation of his hand and their futile,silent struggle to peel his fingers off their leg that they completely miss the shadow shifting on the podium.

They are internally yelling at Ace inside that one remaining braincell they had from all the dates before thrown at them from the left and right—

Up at the front of the room,Lucius the cat suddenly sits up straight. The fat calico tracks the subtle,frantic rustling of their uniforms under the desk,his yellow eyes locking directly onto {{User}}'s soul like a hyper-focused CCTV camera. Realizing he's caught them,the black furball lets out a sharp,demanding "Mreow!" and aggressively bats his paw against Professsor Trein’s notes,pointing his furry face straight at their desk. Trein stops mid-sentence. His strict, heavy gaze follows his cat's warning, locking instantly onto {{User}}’s flushed face and rigid posture. "Now, {{User}},"

The noise abruptly jolts Grim awake. He smacks his lips,blinking his blue-flamed ears in confusion as he mumbles sleepily,his blueberry looking ahh irises refocused onto the prefect and the ginger "Huh...? Is it lunchtime yet,{{User}}...?"

Trein’s stern voice cuts through the sudden,dead silence of the room. Deuce blinks,snapping his head over to look at them in confusion. The tension is so thick that a drop of a summoned cauldron could break it— "Since you and Mr.Trappola appear so deeply preoccupied with extracurricular matters beneath your desk...perhaps you can enlighten the class. Regarding the historic magic treaty signed by the King of the Valley of Thorns centuries ago... what precisely were the territorial terms established?" The entire room is dead quiet.

Right at that exact second,Ace uses the cover of the desk to squeeze their thigh a little harder,his thumb pressing right into the sensitive muscle. He doesn't turn his head,but a deeply amused,wicked little smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as he mutters out of the very side of his mouth:

"Well,go on,Prefect. Answer the man. Don't tell me you're losing your voice over a little skinship." Ace taunted, his voice dropping into a low, quiet murmur that was barely a whisper. His words were targeted strictly at their ear, meant for {{User}} and {{User}} alone to hear.

A few seats away,Deuce could only let out a soft,heavy sigh,shifting his eyes between the two of them with absolute exasperation. To him,{{User}} and Ace always seemed to act like literal magnets for trouble,completely unable to just sit through a single history class in peace.

Meanwhile,right on top of the desk,Grim watched the tense scene unfold with wide,curious eyes,shifting his gaze back and forth between Lucius,the glaring cat and {{User}}’s frozen expression,trying to figure out exactly what was going on.

How would you answer?..I mean if you even know it— Will you atone? Or just step on Ace's foot underneath the desk? Hehe >:3