•Plug daughter
Choso x pd!reader
Synopsis- It was just a regular day for Choso, go to work, stop by the plug and reup what he doesn’t expect is for the plugs fine ass daughter to be giving him the shit.
CW- reader is a WOC not specified but just making it known, readers hair is mentioned once, reader wears makeup+nails, reader has tattoos, drugs (obv) but not talked about that much other than fein!choso, oh yeah fein!Choso bcz why not, a little taste of mechanic!cho because why not! Choso is a loser and immediately horny for reader, lowkey was picturing lightskin cho in this toooo, readers dad is mentioned+named so you have a daddy idk luv you,
TW- this series will be talking about (barely) drugs/dealing NOT romanticizing i grew up around ts
(I edited it until I was bored and didn’t want to anymore)
(See end for A/n)
Life was shit. As usual. Or it was for Choso at least.
An endless cycle of repetition. Wake up, smoke, go to the shitty excuse of a job he has, work, come home, smoke some more, munch his feelings away and then pass out on the couch watching some fuckass children’s movie.
He was sure some would see his way of living as pointless, a waste of a life, but to him; it was structure. It was routine.
Today was going to be no different, like any other day, except when he woke up for his scheduled wake and bake he realized—
“Fuck! I’m out already.” He looks in disbelief at all the smoked clips on his rolling tray. Huffing as he plopped down on his couch, tray in hand. Groaning in agony he cranked his head to look out the window, still dark outside, sun hasn’t even come up yet.
Just great.
“Got up for no reason.” He clenched his jaw in irritation, crumbling the empty plastic wrap that once held his bud into a ball, dropping it on the ground without a care. “Whatever. I’ll just pick some up after work.” The last word stressed his lip as he thought of having to function in that shithole without even the slightest bit of relief.
His eyes flash to the tray lying pointlessly in his lap then a thought pops in his head. Picking each stubbed out piece on his tray he takes his time cracking open every one until he has enough to put in a bowl.
Mostly ash but for Choso, It’ll do.
“This has to be the raunchiest bong hit of all time.” He whispers to himself before lighting the bowl, cursing when the cherry pops through and ash taints the clear water settled at the bottom of the bong piece.
He had to peel himself off the couch and go to the bathroom, making himself get ready for the day. He took his hair out of the pony it was pulled into, hair efficiently falling over his eyes; pulling his white tank off, before hopping in the shower he shot a text to his plug.
“Hey. Got 20?”
He sighed, putting the phone on the counter finally stepping into the shower. The water was excruciatingly hot, it stung his skin but he forced himself to stay under. Endless cycle.
Stepping out of the bath, Choso wrapped a towel around his waist barely holding onto his v-line. His phone pinged, immediately he picked it up.
DD
“Yeh. just slide through.”
He sent a quick text back.
“cool. coming through after work.”
He quickly got ready for the day, slipping into some oil stained timberlands lacing them up, already done with the day. Ready to get it over with so he can get his shit.
Choso worked at a car lot. Repoed cars that his boss could sell for a pretty penny if they could fix it up. By fix it up Choso found out, was just make sure it wasn’t dangerous to run. Or at least to where it wouldn’t make the company liable. Asshole.
The sun beamed down harshly on Choso as he unscrewed the final lug nut from the tire, throwing the lug wrench to the side he grunted in irritation picking the tire up and dropping it to a roll; putting it in a nice, pretty pile with the other three tires.
He did. By himself.
Choso wasn’t sure why he chose to work at the shittiest place he could think of, maybe it was the pay, maybe he just got so use to shitty situations that they just became the standard. Either way he got paid, he’s got a roof over his head and food in his belly—
An infuriatingly loud laugh cracked through the air, it left a silent ringing in Choso’s ear that made him want to smash the man’s face in. It was followed by many more outrageous cackles, tryhards. His coworkers are the most obnoxious bunch making the process ten times slower and harder on Choso. But he just kept picking up and rolling and screwing tires, one after another, one after another.
Endless cycle of repetition.
His muscles strain from the nonstop work. He wore blue jeans and a white wife beater; already stained with car grease and dirt. His porcelain skin already red from the sun's intensity and smudges of oil wiped across his skin painting a stark difference, sweat dripped and burned into his eyes.
But he pushed through it.
Like he always does. On and on the day goes. He’s just trying to make time go by, only one thing being on his mind.
By the time the work day ends and it’s time to clock out, everyone else is spent, even his coworkers who did next to nothing all day.
But, not Choso.
Choso’s chuckling while he jumps in his truck, eagerly turning the engine on, the old truck grunting and growling with exhaustion as he presses on the brake; backing out of the car lot and on the road he goes. “Fina-fucking-lly.” He exasperates, feeling the door beside him until he finds his pack of cigs.
He uses the notch in the side of door to wind the window down, air whipping through the truck. It was so hot Choso had stripped his shirt. He looks in his rearview mirror, fixing it before lighting a cigarette, tatted hand flexing as he takes a puff, the nicotine immediately hitting him, taking the edge off just a tad bit.
He whips his way through the backroads, the quicker way to his plugs house, twisting and turning down dangerous curves. The cement that paves the roads are cracked, most covered in dirt and already dulled to the ground.
Many houses line the road, brick and mortar type; but you can tell they haven’t been fixed up in ages with the dusted brick that make the house and cracked windows. The people and children who sat and played outside, old families you could tell have been there for years and probably will stay there forever.
If you looked closer though, you could see the sweaty blinged out man sitting off on his own dabbing up a child up, a transaction. That child dabbing up a lady obviously drugged out of her mind, a transaction. The lady in a sleazy dress leaning over the side of some beat up car trying to sleep her way to some cash, a transaction.
Choso had come to a realization that everything in life was a transaction, the man, the child, the woman.
Everything.
Just the way it was with him and his plug.
He was about half done with the cigarette when he pulled into his dealer's house. A small brick house that looked like it barely had two rooms. He digs his smoke into the already well piled up cigs in the ashtray.
Turning his car off he looked around to see if Diego, his plug, was around; usually he sat outside. Today he wasn’t.
“Guess I’ll just knock.” He leans over the seats, digging in the receipt filled glovebox finding his wallet quick, shoving it in his pants pocket. He hops out of the truck, door squeaking as he slams it shut.
He walked across the dirt driveway, three cars lining up beside the bushes that grow by the house. The front door was open but the inside was protected by a screen door. Still allowing him to see inside.
Stained wood cabinets and shelves line the small walkway further into what had to be the kitchen, harsh on the eye paired with the eggshell white walls and brown granite tile. A bald man sat at an island, cutting something and when he saw Choso the man’s eyebrows scrunched up in confusion. Choso perked up, not wanting to give him the wrong idea, putting his hand up to greet him. Another person whipped around the corner and then back, they conversed about something, Choso could not hear.
The bald man waves off to someone that he could not see. Sooner than later a girl—a woman saunters down the short hallway.
Choso’s breath is taken away, his eyes go down your body, low rise jean shorts that let him see all of your legs, along with the tats that cover them and the little anklet that dangles on your left ankle.
Then.
Oh fuck.
A leopard print bra.
That’s all that his mind can seem to focus on is the leopard print bra that your boobs strain against along with the small excuse of a white tank. He almost didn’t have time to appreciate the expensive jewelry that blinged against the sun's rays; almost blinding him. You were so pretty, so perfect. Too perfect for this place. He was sure he was hallucinating.
“Hello? Who are you?” Your voice, god your voice could bring angles to their knees and beg for more.
“Uh-uh yeah..” He was breathless, you had caught him completely off guard. He's dangling like a fish caught in a hook.
“Hellllo? I mean I asked you a question—“ You sounded annoyed.
“Uh–yeah, sorry. Diego said I could slide through and get bout 20’s worth.” He tried to avoid eye contact, sound as nonchalant as possible. But he already knows his voice is shaking and he sounds like an absolute fucking loser. Doesn’t help that his eyes can’t seem to stop and slip a look down at you every now and again.
Your thick hair is pulled into a bun, pretty little strands falling to frame your face. Those chub cheeks a dash of blush painting them giving you an all more innocent look, naturally pouty lips lined brown, and wide, lash lined brown eyes that somehow reminded him of a doe. 
“Ooooh…” You say looking him up and down, licking your lips. Taking in his shirtless appeal, his sleepless eyes with dark circles that pulled against his skin, perspiration shining off his skin from a hard days work, his peachy skin tinted red from the sun. A little gold chain hanging from his neck catching the sun’s glare. Even his pants hanging onto his prominent v-line, allowing you to ever so slightly see just the hem of his boxers; and the tattoos just made you want to fall to your knees. Shit, he was so hot.
Choso swears he’s gonna die seeing the tip of your lush pink tongue dart out and brush against your plump lip. But when he notices you staring at him up and down, suddenly Choso is all the more conscious that he is shirtless. He wraps his arms around himself trying to seem as inconspicuous as possible.
“Well, I’ll go get it for you.” He nods curtly as you close the screen door, he tries to make sure his eyes stay everywhere but your swaying hips no matter how much he wants to know how your ass looks in those little shorts—
“Here you go.”
Gosh, you were quick.
Your voice cracks like lightning through his internal fight with restraint. He’s fumbles to get his wallet out feeling like a fool when he quickly hands over the money. Then you pass over the plastic wrapped bundle into the palm of his hand; savoring how soft and smooth your skin feels against his rough ones. Even your long acrylic nails scrap against his fingers and he wonders how it would feel scraping down his back while he fucks you—
“No. No. No.” He checks himself mentally, he stuffs the weed in his pocket looking back at you, it’s like he’s stuck, hypnotized by your beauty. And you’re staring right back at him.
That is what you two do for a pretty minute, just stare at each other. A soft smile on your face as you lean on the screen door, looking him up and down taking in his form once again.
“Sooo uh—“
“What’s your name?” You cut him off before he even tries to speak and he answers without the skip of a beat.
“Choso. Kamo. Choso Kamo.” He answers quickly and then pointedly.
Your tongue rolls behind your lips, as if you were tasting his name out on your tongue.
“Choso,” his name rolled out like candy, sweet, seductive; when you get a taste you just want more and more.
You’re squinting at him, observing him more like it. “That’s cute,” suddenly you pull a piece of paper out of your back pocket. “Here's my number.” You hand him a small piece of paper looking around to make sure no one’s seen.
“Hit me up some time.” You wink before closing the screen door stepping into the house walking out of view.
Choso is left stunned.
You’re not even halfway to your room before you hear the ping of a notification.
XXX-XXX-XXXX
“Hey.”
“Wanna hang sometime?”
You giggle and reply before you hear someone call your name.
Choso is in his truck and down the road before he gets your message, he smirks opening it seeing the first reply.
YOU
“Sure, I’ll text when I’m free”
But, it’s the second one that catches his attention.
“Oh and my dad says hi”
XXX-XXX-XXXX
“Who?”
YOU
“Diego, silly.”
His smile drops and his phone slips from his fingertips as he stares off into the road, like a deer caught in headlights.
Wondering what the hell has he gotten himself into.
A/n- I wish that it was longer but I really couldn’t think of anything but I’m so ready to explore on this story and just for reference Choso is going to piss yall off further in this sorry but be prepared for more parts, slowly at first tho cause im I slow writer although im about 3/4 through part 2 so :) but send in questions or requests for this couple im open to talking about out of canon or timeline shit (I’m bored can you tell) but I can’t waaaaait to have all of this out of my system have been thinking about this concept day and night. Also if you have something to say about this go to hell, I don’t care reader is a WOC and ngl I thought of lightskin Cho when writing this so like I said go to hell. Anyways hope you guys like it tell me what you think (unless it’s rude)