brat taming with choso ! 𐔌՞ ܸ.ˬ.ܸ՞𐦯
in which you refuse his princess treatment !? (smut)
you’re on one knee in the hallway, fingers fumbling with the laces of your left sneaker, when you hear choso’s footsteps stop behind you.
“princess?” his voice is soft, confused. “what are you doing?”
you glance over your shoulder. he’s standing there in his usual black hoodie, hair loose, brows drawn together like you just announced you were moving to another country. you finish the knot, double it, and stand up.
“tying my shoes,” you say, brushing your hands off on your jeans. “we’re gonna be late if we don’t leave soon.”
he blinks. “i always do that for you.”
“yeah, well.” you grab your bag from the hook by the door. “i can do it myself today.”
choso doesn’t move. he just watches you, quiet, like he’s trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. you’re already reaching for the doorknob when he finally speaks again.
“did i forget something?” he asks. “did i do something wrong?”
you pause, turn around. his face is open, genuinely worried, and it makes your chest twist. “no, baby. you didn’t do anything wrong. i just… wanted to do it myself this morning.”
he nods slowly, but the crease between his brows doesn’t smooth out. “okay.”
you make it all the way to the kitchen before he appears again. you’re standing at the counter, pouring cereal into a bowl, when he stops in the doorway.
“princess,” he says again, softer this time. “i made you breakfast already. it’s in the fridge. the good yogurt. the one with the strawberries you like.”
you look at the bowl in your hands, then at him. “i know. i just felt like cereal today.”
he stares at you for a long moment. “you hate that cereal.”
“it’s fine.”
“you said it tastes like cardboard last week.”
you sigh, setting the bowl down. “choso, it’s okay. i can make my own breakfast. you don’t have to do everything for me.”
he doesn’t argue. he just watches you eat three bites of the cardboard cereal before you give up and push the bowl away. he doesn’t say anything when you grab a banana instead. instead, he keeps watching, quiet and thoughtful, like he’s cataloging every small rebellion.
by the time you’re in the car, he’s still quiet. his hand rests on your thigh like it always does, thumb stroking absent circles, but his mind is clearly somewhere else. you don’t push it. you just let the silence sit between you, warm and familiar.
he doesn’t ask again until you’re home that night.
you’re in the bedroom, changing out of your work clothes, when he appears in the doorway. he’s been home for an hour already—long enough to shower, long enough to make dinner and leave it covered on the stove. but he doesn’t mention any of that. he just leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you pull a t-shirt over your head.
“sweetheart,” he says, and there’s something different in his voice now. lower. “come here.”
you turn. he’s still in the doorway, but his eyes have that look—the one he gets when he’s been thinking too hard about something and finally decided what to do about it. you cross the room slowly. he meets you halfway, his hands finding your waist, pulling you in until your chest is pressed to his.
“you’ve been doing everything today,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your temple. “tying your shoes. making breakfast. carrying your own bag. i didn’t stop you. but i need to know why.”
you rest your forehead against his collarbone. “i don’t know. i just wanted to feel like i could handle things. without you doing everything for me.”
he’s quiet for a moment. then his hands slide down to your ass, gripping you firmly, lifting you until your legs wrap around his waist. he carries you to the bed like you weigh nothing, laying you down on your stomach, his body already covering yours.
“you can handle things,” he says against the back of your neck, his voice low and rough. “i know that. but you don’t have to.” his hands are already working your jeans down your hips, yanking your panties with them. “you don’t have to do anything when i’m here. that’s the point.”
you feel him shift behind you, hear the sound of his zipper, feel the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. he doesn’t wait. doesn’t tease. just pushes inside in one slow, deliberate thrust that has you gasping into the mattress.
“choso—”
“shut up,” he snaps, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you harder. “you wanna act like you don’t need me? fine. but you’re gonna take this cock like its the only thing you need.”
his hips snap forward, burying him deeper, and you moan, your fingers fisting the sheets. “you were so fucking stubborn this morning. tying your own shoes like i wasn’t right there. making that shitty cereal like i didn’t already have something ready for you. what the fuck was that?”
you whimper, your body rocking with every thrust. “i just—i wanted—”
“you wanted to be difficult,” he growls, his hand sliding around to your clit, rubbing tight circles that make your thighs shake. “you wanted to prove something. but look at you now. face down, ass up, dripping all over my cock because you can’t even pretend you don’t need me.” his pace is brutal, each thrust punching a moan out of you. “say it. tell me how badly you need me.”
“i- i need you,” you gasp. “cho, please—”
“that’s right,” he pants, his voice dark and mean. “you need me. you need me to fuck you like this because you can't make yourself cum as good as i can. but you’re still my good girl, aren’t you? my perfect little princess who just needed to be reminded who she belongs to.” his fingers work faster, his cock hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, and you’re so close you can barely think. “cum for me. cum on this cock like the needy slut you are. show me how much you need it.”
you cum with a broken moan, your walls clenching around him, your body shaking. he fucks you through it, his pace relentless, his hand still working your clit until you’re sobbing into the pillow. only then does he let himself go, his hips stuttering, his cock pulsing as he fills you.
he collapses on top of you, his weight pressing you into the mattress, his breath hot against your neck. for a long moment, neither of you moves. then he rolls off you, pulling you into his arms, his hand stroking your hair.
“now,” he murmurs, his voice already thick with sleep. “are you gonna be good and let me take care of you?”
you press a kiss to his chest, your body still humming. “okay.”
