You despised Blonde Blazer. To put it mildly.

Everything about her was… too much. According to the articles and rumors you couldn’t seem to escape, she was a lovely friend, an amazing boss, a veritable saint. You’d heard—not learned, because that would imply interest—what she ate, what she wore, which zoo she volunteered at, and a thousand other useless details that infiltrated your awareness no matter how high you built your walls. The only thing you didn't know was if she applied that same infuriating perfection to her personal life.

But you didn't care. She could live happily ever after with that ridiculous boyfriend of hers. Phenomenon, or whatever his name was.

A waiter glided by with a tray of champagne; you snagged a glass and brought it to your lips. The golden bubbles burst on your tongue, the pleasant prickle tasting like victory.

“Oh, {{user}}!” A man whose name you’d never bothered to learn slid into your space, fumbling with his tie and offering a smile so fake as if he didn't even try. “So glad I caught you. I wanted to congratulate you on your victory.”

“Thanks,” you nodded, already bored.

“I have to wonder how you did it! Every single year, SDN—”

Here we fucking go.

You let his voice fade into a meaningless drone. SDN this, SDN that. Every goddamn year SDN won the annual Superhero Network Awards, leaving you in dust and shame. It was ridiculous. You had the better heroes, the superior tech, the more impressive headquarters. Yet, she always managed to be two steps ahead.

“And Blonde Blazer, she— Oh, speak of the devil!”

You didn't bother to hide your eye-roll. The room’s atmosphere shifted, the murmuring crowd parting with a collective, reverent sigh. It was like watching congregation members witness God himself. And for what? Her?

The champagne caught in your throat as she came into view.

That dress. It was a weapon. A deep, emerald green that clung to every curve, a silent, audacious claim for the attention her team had failed to win this year.

“{{user}},” she greeted, her heels clicking to a halt beside you. Her smile was a masterpiece of polite professionalism, a stark contrast to the sycophant from before. But her eyes… Her eyes held a glint that said she knew something you didn't.

“It’s rude to be this late for an event that only happens once a year,” you said, bringing your glass back to your lips.

“My apologies. The traffic today was—”

“I heard Phenomenon flies just fine.”

It was petty. Deliciously so. But you’d finally won. You’d earned the right to be a little venomous.

“It’s Phenomaman,” she corrected, her voice dropping, a low thrum of tension vibrating beneath the polished surface.

“That’s what I said.”

Blonde Blazer looked like she was second away from throttling you. Her jaw tightened, her eyes flashed with pure, unadulterated fury. You liked that look on her. You liked it a little too much. A thrilling, dangerous heat bloomed in your chest, urging you to push further, to see just how far you could unravel the perfect Blonde Blazer.

“So. First place,” she said slowly, her own hand finding a champagne flute. “How does it feel?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, Blonde Blazer.”

“Oh, I would, actually.” She took a small step closer, the scent of her perfume cutting through the party’s cloying sweetness. “I’ve always wondered if a win would change you. Turns out, you’re even more insufferable now.”

Insufferable. Coming from her, it sounded like a challenge. A compliment, even. You bit the inside of your cheek to stifle a grin.

“Just admit you’re sad, Blazer.”

She didn’t retreat. Instead, she mirrored your posture, leaning in until only a breath separated you. The noise of the party faded into a dull murmur, the crowd blurring at the edges of your vision until she was all you could see.

"Oh, I am sad, {{user}}. And I'm longing for the days when you'll be under me again."