choso and a misunderstanding w/ crazy fem reader
"choso are you cheating on me?"
warnings: none really just crazy reader, grammar mistakes probablymostlikely
Choso would come home to his apartment that he allowed you to stay at, (since you were kicked out of your own apartment because you stopped paying rent) only to see your face soaked with tears and scissors in your hands on the floor of his room.
“y-y/n?” he would run to your side, like he always would.
“what happened, are you-” you push him away and his eyes trail down to the scissors in your hands… and his clothes?! “what the fuck are you doing?” He takes a step back as you suddenly hold the scissors up to his heart, still no words leave your mouth.
his hands raise in surrender, curious as to why he even had to surrender. “I saw your fucking phone choso!”
a confused expression spreads across his face, “okay? you always see my phone.” he blinks as he feels you push the tip of the scissors harder into his chest. You don’t say anything, your eyes narrow, trying to sense any lie from his demeanor. you don’t sense anything but keep your grip on the scissors. He swallows as he stares down at you, a mixture of shock and exhaustion from coming home from a ten hour shift.
“who is she.”
“who is who?”
you push the scissors deeper into his chest, any harder and you’ll draw blood. but he knows better than to push your hands away, knowing you would get even more mad. “don’t play fucking stupid choso you know who!”
he sighs, “baby… I really don't know who you're talking about.” His hands are still up in surrender and you huff, "don't call me baby, cheater.”
you grab his phone from his hoodie and unlock it with one hand, not showing any sign of lowering the scissors from his chest. you open the text messages and shove it in his face, his eyes move from your angry but oh so beautiful face to the phone. the contact read “bridget” and he mentally face palmed, knowing if he really made any sudden movement you would push the scissors deeper.
“y/n.” he sighs deeply, you look at him, now slightly confused. “what?” you mutter.
“thats my director”
just a split second did you release the pressure of the scissors, “your cheating on me with your director?” the scissors go back to pressing harder. “no– no what?”
the texts in question:
Bridget
Won't be in again.
Bring the paperwork from the office to the concierge.
alright.
he inhales and looks at you, “look, my boss has been on vacation and his normal dirty work was left to me.” you scoff, “dirty work as in hooking up with her and using “paper work” as an excuse?”
“no baby-” he notices the way your eyes narrow at the pet name, “-no y/n, she is seventy years old and recently broke her hip walking up the stairs at the office, hence the reason I had to drop off paperwork at the lobby.”
“oh.” your hand falls to your side and blink up at him, “you should’ve just said that from the start.” you throw the scissors to the side, making a horrible attempt to cover his destroyed clothes by stepping in front of the pile.
A normal man would usually be fuming at the sight of all of his clothes ripped apart, being greeted after a long shift with scissors pressed against their chest by yours truly. But choso, is far from normal and is exactly where he wants to be, especially when you lean up and press your lips against his, like absolutely nothing happened.
