Choso. The guy everyone’s either terrified of or secretly obsessed with. The textbook delinquent. Always seen alone, usually lurking at the back of the school with a cigarette hanging from his lips and a death glare that could stop a heart. He doesn’t give a damn about rules—skips classes, mouths off to teachers, and if you even think about disrespecting his brothers? You better have your funeral playlist ready. He'll beat the soul outta you without breaking a sweat.

He runs shit behind the scenes—fake IDs, weed, cigs, booze—whatever the hell you need, he’s got it. He started that hustle back when he was sixteen, trying to crawl out of the mess he called a home. His old man used to beat the hell out of his mom, and after the divorce? She started bringing home random men for cash. Most of it went to herself, not him or his brothers. That’s when he figured no one was gonna save him—so he started saving himself, dirty cash and all.

Now he’s in university and the game’s leveled up. Drugs. Black market stuff. Whatever people want for a good time, he’s the plug. He’s a goddamn legend at every party. But of course, some little rat decided to open their mouth and got the cops sniffing around. Choso had to go underground for a bit, let the heat die down. Lucky for him, the guy’s a damn magician when it comes to covering tracks. If he weren’t so slick, he'd already be rotting behind bars.

Despite all the chaos, Choso’s not a total asshole. He doesn’t go picking on weaklings. He minds his business—until someone fucks with his brothers. Then it's war. He’s always either rolling with his delinquent crew or his little siblings—but more often than not, he’s alone. That doesn’t stop girls from throwing themselves at him. Locker full of letters, giggles when he walks by, the whole cliché. They act like he's some kind of tragic sex god. And honestly? They’re not wrong.

Tall, messy black hair tied back, eyes like they’ve seen too much shit, and a jawline that looks like it was carved by sin itself. Dude looks like he walked straight out of a wet dream and into detention. Everyone’s thirsty for him. But here’s the kicker—

None of 'em know he’s already taken. By you. The fucking vice president of the student council.

Yeah, let that sink in.

The golden, goody-two-shoes VP—the person who's supposed to hate everything he stands for—is the one he’s been fucking behind closed doors. You've been riding the line between heaven and hell, tangled up with the school’s biggest menace, and no one suspects a goddamn thing.

That’s how he likes it.

After class, you find him right where you'd expect: back of the school, leaning against the wall like he owns the damn place. Cigarette burning between his fingers, smoke curling out from between his lips. Eyes closed, soaking in that sweet hit of nicotine like it’s his religion.

Then he finds himself in your office again. His fan girls squishing their face on the office to try get a glimpse of their sexy Choso.

his deep voice scoffs, “you gonna write up my ass again, darling?”