Exactly What I Wanted - Tumblr Posts

Bestie!! Can we please get some teasing Choso in public, maybe like on a date or something, I'm talking like full day of non-stop teasing. Only to not let him hit when you're finally alone with him and making him beg.

Please and thank you <33

an: continuing the theme that choso loves big tits lol

cw: sub!choso and dom!reader, slight mommy kink

it was a devilish hot day. it was so hot by the time you and choso were seated at your table out on the patio of the restaurant, you had already taken off your light cardigan that you somehow thought was a good idea to wear today. your sunglasses were perched on your forehead as the unbearable heat made the space between your eyebrows and nose all sweaty and gross. you were thankful as the cool breeze of the fans hit your back. 

"um, are you okay?" choso asked you with concern on his face. your hair is frizzy from the humidity, and you looked and felt very damp, especially with boob sweat. choso, on the other hand, was calm, cool, was dry as always. 

"it's just so hot," you say, fanning yourself. "I think I'm gonna take off my bra." you reach behind your back to unclip your bra as discreetly as possible, slipping the garment off and putting it in your purse. choso's eyes widen, your erect nipples are poking through your v-neck cropped shirt that is now sliding up, barely covering the bottom of your full breasts. you notice a light flush spread across his face. 

you knew how much choso worshiped your tits. the man was obsessed with them, always stealing a grab at any chance he could. now that you're across the table from him in a public place, you decided it would be fun to play with him.

"what are you going to order?" you ask him, leaning across the table.

"m-maybe the steak?" he stutters, eyes oscillating between your eyes and your cleavage. 

"that sounds good, cho-cho" you smile, rubbing his knee up to his thigh, stopping just before you touch his groin. 

between now until the end of dinner, you ruthlessly tease him, using your hands to brush against your breasts, resting them on the table. you reach behind choso's head to gently scratch the hair on his nape, his favorite way of being touched. he shivers and excuses himself to the bathroom. 

"we should go home," he says when he comes back. 

"but we haven't even paid the bill," you raise an eyebrow.

"doesn't matter, need to get home." he throws a bill large enough to cover dinner and then some on the table and then calls a ride home.

in the taxi, you continue to torture him. you feel his erection through his pants and it takes all the willpower choso has to not fuck you right there in the back of the cab. 

"you wicked woman," he pouts, attempting to grab for your waist but you shoo his hands away.

"whatever do you mean?" you say feigning ignorance. 

"getting me all horny in public. can we at least kiss? please?"

"you're gonna have to beg me better than that. look at how pathetic you are." you tsk, squeezing his dick harder, making him grind against your hand. 

"please...i need you so bad right now. i-i'll do anything for you, i promise!" he whispered.

you're silent for a few beats, amused by how hot and bothered choso looks. he's so cute with his face bright red and his pupils dilated, staring at you as if you're the only girl in the world. 

"only if you're a really good boy when we get home, cho-cho" you nuzzle into his neck. "let mommy shower first, then I'll take care of you."

choso swallows and nods obediently, keeping his hands to himself and waiting the tortuously long 20 more minutes until you get home.

i don't think i'm too good at this therapist friend thing @loseractivities

I truly love your fanfiction, it is amazing!

Your docket is already probably pretty full and I’m not sure if this is too complex or just not a good prompt but this idea keeps buzzing around my head and I’m not a good enough writer to write it myself so I thought I might as well ask.

What if Curt went back in time to before the fall and was able to change his actions so Owen was fine in this timeline. However Curt is haunted by the memory of the monster his partner became in the original timeline. He tries not to let it show because it’s not fair to this Owen but sometimes he can’t help himself.

Hi anon!

First of all, thank you!! Second, I know I'm running on a pretty full roster rn what with the.... Everything, but a vast majority of everything that ends up in my inbox gets written at some point! So let me see what I can do!

"So… What, this is a do-over?"

Curt didn't so often find himself in a good enough mindset to consider what Barb was doing these days. Every day had been a barricade of emptiness, of feeling so insatiably alone in his thoughts because there was something so formerly present in his life just… Missing, and that was hard to come to terms with. He had tried to cope since digging his grave with his own two hands, but that wasn't easy either. Just cope, as if that was something that could be done. Just cope, as if he had any say in the matter.

Just cope, like every fiber of his being wasn't aching to do something right by him, even just to have the capacity to say his name out loud. For all he'd haunted him in the last four years, he deserved better than to be left to the formless void that currently made up Curt's mind.

When Barb suggested something that had been prevalent in her research for longer than he'd been paying attention, he finally got a little bit of his spark back. She was suggesting to him a way to do everything over, to start from the beginning and make sure that none of this shit ever happened in the first place. On one hand, it wasn't fair, because Curt had been thoroughly haunted for years now, to the point where he'd convinced himself that the best course of action was literally to kill the love of his life in point blank range. He'd lived with the ghost of that man for longer than he cared to admit, and it had become more and more obvious by the day.

Those who said he was digging himself deep into the throws of his own depression were wrong. Those who said he drank to forget were wrong, too. This was all about getting rid of the past, sure, but he knew that he'd never be able to forget it.

Still, Barb's idea of a do-over was very tempting, and it wouldn't be the first time that Curt had given himself up for the sake of testing out some new theory of hers. Maybe one day he would even learn to recognise the effects of what he'd done to himself by letting her run her hypotheses on him… But, today was not that day.

She nodded, confident that she knew what she was doing. It took a lot to see through what she had once felt for Curt, especially given that it was so obvious that he was anything but okay over what he'd had to do, and that had led to a whole number of open doors and things he wouldn't have admitted to anyone else.

"Yep. That's what it should be, anyway. You're gonna go back to '57, and… Just like you said, you're gonna get a chance to do it all over again. I don't know if this is the right idea, Curt…. I mean, that date?"

"You asked me to pick," Curt answered, a little too sharply for a man as nervous as he was. "And I've made my choice. June 12th, 1957."

"Okay, I just wanted to know you were sure you'd rather go… There than anywhere else."

"Barb… I want to fix things. I want to be the one to make things right, in the one way I never got the chance to. Would you give me that much, please?"

He was going to take the place of his idiot former self. He was going to swap out, and pretend like he had been there the whole time, and that all of this was meant to happen. By no means was he ready for it, but he'd managed to convince his aching mind that he was. God damnit, he couldn't even bring himself to think of his former partner's name without opening up a wound that was never meant to be there, and he deserved better than that. He deserved the honour of being known, the pleasure of staying alive following the avoidance of certain obstacles.

All of those obstacles were his fault. He knew fine well that he was the only person capable of not making those mistakes again, of saving him, even if he couldn't save himself.

"Okay, Curt. June 12th, 1957…. Good luck out there."

Curt managed something of a smile, and held his hand up in a mock salute. He took a breath, rounded his shoulders, and tried to remember exactly what conditions he was going to be letting himself into.

1957 was exactly as he remembered it to be. This facility, the one that he was standing in front of now, was exactly as he remembered. Only… This one was in tact. Not yet blown to the ground by a series of bad miscalculations and a judgement which— again— rested entirely on his shoulders. There were certain things that he knew he had to fix, and he tried to work them out over and over again, just to make sure he had the right course of action here.

He had to stop himself from setting the explosives timers to three minutes. That one had been the most fatal mistake, the one that had cost him the most. He was allowed to at least keep the decision to blow the place to the ground, because without that decision, they'd have both been caught, and imprisoned, and the torture would've been real that time, rather than a mockery put on by the world's most incompetent man and one who was only pretending the whole time.

But, to counter that, he had to ignore the need to counter the point about the safety barricades, because then even if the worst did happen again, they'd be ready for that eventuality, and it wouldn't be so bad.

Most important of all, he had to stop himself from taking that goddamned snack break in the middle of the job. That fall was caused by that. Caused by him believing wholeheartedly that such a menial little step wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things.

God, thinking about it like that had really made him realise how badly he'd fucked up. How right he was to blame himself for all those years, even if there was a small part of himself trying to run that it couldn't have possibly all been his fault.

Because it was, wasn't it?

Okay. Couple things to remember, but all should be fine. Take the blueprints, eliminate the chance of being followed by the ….. present Agent Mega, and make the escape without any of those slipups. Simple.

"Simple," he muttered to himself, solidifying his plan in his head. This was going to be easy. This was a sitch, he had this in the bag, and he'd had more than enough time to think about it since he'd done it the last time, so he was convinced that this was going to go better. This… Could not possibly be as bad as the last time.

Getting rid of his double was the surprisingly easy part. He'd made sure that nobody could find the bastard, and that would count doubly for when the place was blown to the ground. That was one part of the track covered, and he already felt a little better about what he was about to do because of that. If the first part— disposing of a version of himself that was arguably more capable and less prone to the throws of alcoholism— was that simple and went that smoothly, then he had hope that the rest of it would be just as smooth.

He took the blueprint file and slipped it into the inner pocket of the leather jacket he'd travelled in. It wasn't the same getup he'd been wearing previously, but it was certainly more comfortable and a little more bearable too. New outfit, new course of actions, new outcome. That's how it worked in his head, and it made a whole deal more sense than it had any right to.

Making his way through the halls of the facility was the hard part. He knew he was bound to get caught at some point, because this had all happened before, and it probably didn't matter where, because as far as he was aware, they already knew that he was in the facility, so it was only a matter of time before—

"Ha! Agent Curt Mega himself! And here I thought they were joking about you…"

A voice from behind him. Not one he thought he'd heard before, but this particular patch of his past had been rather blurred over by the rock bottom that he'd hit not two months after the first time he'd found himself in this situation. He raised his hands slowly, not bothering to turn around. Getting caught, that was a constant. That was the only way he could start to get out in the right company, and the only way he could set everything else into motion.

He felt the barrel of a gun press against the back of his head, as the agent dared to get a little bold and crossed the distance between them. If Curt was trying to do exactly as he had last time, he'd have put up a fight until they had no choice but to flip that gun and give him a hefty blow to the side of the head. This wasn't that time, though, and he knew exactly what he had to do to set everything up right. So, true to a nature that nobody saw coming from him, he went peacefully.

All was going exactly as smoothly as he'd expected. He'd ended up with the same poor bastard who didn't really know what he was doing, and it was just the two of them alone for a while. Perfect opportunity to throw a few meaningful insults his way and pretend he wasn't already aware of how little damage this man could actually do. He swore that guy bruised his knuckles trying to land a good blow to the face… Where did they dig up agents like that?

It hit a block when he heard another someone enter the room from behind, and chuckle to himself. The laugh alone was enough to turn his blood to lead, but the voice that came after was a lot worse, and almost sent him into shock despite the fact that he knew exactly what was coming, when it should've been coming.

"You're even stronger than your reputation suggests, Mr Mega…"

That accent wasn't so much of a botch job as he recalled, but it still sent a deep shiver running all the way down his spine. Not so much because the man was intimidating at all, or knew how to make an impact, but because that voice and whichever identity it went with came back to one man and one name. One true voice. One true set of personal history that really did not have it's benefits, as far as Curt was concerned.

Owen Carvour.

It was painful to think of him as alive, after he'd spent years convincing himself that he was dead. It was painful to be here right now, feeling the wrap of chains digging into his wrists and knowing there was nothing he could do to get away from hearing that voice again. For once, he couldn't run. for once, he had to stop, and he had to think. He couldn't let himself seem suddenly afraid, or anything that wasn't the suave confidence that he'd portrayed the last time this went down, because then Owen would ask about it in the event that he did actually let him go.

The last time Owen was behind him in this positon, he was dead set on actually killing him, on making that impact he had seemed so incapable of in this facility, and making sure Curt bled for his mistakes. That would never happen again. Because Curt knew he was going to fix this. Because Curt— who had already seen all of the mistakes and all of the consequences— was not going to come all the way back here and end up fixing nothing.

He had to save Owen. If nothing else, the two of them were going to make it out alove tonight, and he didn't care what the price was.

He put on a cocky little smirk, and looked over his shoulder at the disguise Owen was wearing that near enough managed to fool him something chronic. God, he really was so good at this, wasn't he? He really was such a fantastic actor, and he really did relish in it… He was right, he was definitely cut out for the stage.

"You don't know how long I've been waiting for this…"

Curt was trying to keep himself together, to try and keep from passing out. It was getting more and more difficult by the second, but he was trying, and that had to account for something. The man behind him was a stranger by all accounts, and there was nothing about him that would even suggest that the two of them had met before, yet… This wasn't the first time he'd mentioned this supposed grudge match that he had against him.

He tensed, trying to focus on one thing at a time, and trying desperately to ignore the fact that there was something painfully personal behind each of the mad assassin's words. That they didn't themselves cut and leave a mark. That there was something between them that he could never figure out.

This Owen hadn't killed so many people in cold blood, and he didn't delight in torturing the life out of him. And he was never going to be that man, either. Curt knew he should feel relieved at that, but all that remained in his chest was a stagnant, dormant panic, waiting to erupt.

Keep it together, Mega.

"That so? Well, that all depends on what they're saying about me, doesn't it?" He managed, in the smoothest, most put-together tone he could, one that well matched the smirk pulling at his lips.

The fake Russian hummed, his eyebrows raising. "They say you're quite formidable. I was ready to prove them wrong, but it seems I have my work cut out for me, no?"

"Do your worst."

This back and forth was familiar to him, as was every stage of the so called "torture", which really wasn't painful so much as it was vaguely irritating and very funny. That poor agent they'd recruited didn't know what he was doing in the slightest, and it took all of Curt's energy not to laugh whenever something went wrong.

Eventually, Owen had "taken what he wanted" out of the interrogation, and lined up the barrel of his gun. Curt could see that it was pointed at him, just as it was last time. That was a false sense of fear, striking him while he was supposedly "vulnerable", but this time, it struck a little more of a chord than probably intended.

"I am going to single handedly dismantle EVERYTHING you ever believed in!" Owen dared to step down, closer towards Curt, and pushed the unwavering barrel of his gun straight out towards Curt's forehead. In that exact moment, Curt wished he would just pull the trigger, and be done with the heartache for another day. Add another number to his already expansive tally, and move on.

He said the only thing he thought he could in the moment, the only thing his mind would let him say.

"We used to share those beliefs…"

He closed his eyes, hoping to god that this wouldn't have a different outcome this time, that he hadn't accidentally brought back the ghost of Owen to torment him all over again in a way that was more real.

But no, it was exactly the same as last time. Owen lowered his gun, the incompetent henchman was shot twice through the knees, and then Owen was once again behind him and setting him free before the bastard could even hit the ground.

"Owen-" Curt breathed, hoping that he was able to pass it off as relief that all of that was finally over, and not as the fact that he had been genuinely worried that Owen would shoot him while he couldn't defend himself. He needed to pick himself up. He couldn't let himself carry on knowing that the dead Owen still lived on in the confines of his mind. He'd finished that job himself, he was not going back to it now.

"You goddamn bastard, really let him loose on me, didn't ya?"

"Took me a while to find you, I'm afraid… But even after that, it's always rather fun to watch people try and knock some sense into you, don't you think?"

There was a teasing edge to Owen's tone, one that Curt had so sorely missed over the last years. He stretched out his back, ignoring the way that his wrists felt, and then accepted his gun from Owen. This was starting to feel familiar again, and he liked it. Now was only the getting out part, and he'd been running his instructions to himself since he'd gotten there, so he knew exactly what he had to do to ensure that this Owen— the Owen that was willing to laugh with him, and share his missions, and toast to the end of it all— stayed alive no matter the cost.

That, after all, was the only reason he'd come back.

"Sure, sure… When are you ever gonna let me do this shit to you?"

"Good luck catching me, first."

The time came for he and Owen to make their escapes through the compound. Owen was the one who led the way, as he always did, looking like he was making up a plan on the spot. Curt once again got that call from Cynthia, the one where she sung Owen's praises as she did every time the two of them had the chance to speak, and once again told Barb that he had to blow up the entire facility.

While that did throw Owen off his rhythm a little, he was able to regroup in good enough time to formulate a different direction to all of this, and Curt was listening so intently to the every intonation in his voice that he completely forgot to take the snack break in the first place. His voice sounded so wonderful when it wasn't broken by years of trying to be someone else. He'd forgotten how rich it was, how full of intent his every word was… When he realised that he'd missed it off completely because he was too engrossed in literning to Owen actually talk to him with intent again, the two of them were on the floor, ready to set up their charges.

Still, Curt wasn't going to be one to back down from a challenge… He was just going to… Listen to Owen this time, give them that extra minute.

He started unzipping the bag on the ground, looking between all of the handmade explosives devices they were going to be using to blow this place to kingdom come, and with it, hopefully, all of the memories that came with a knowledge of the future. "Hey, Owen." How he'd missed just getting to say his name like that, and to someone who would respond to it as well? "Remember our record?"

"Sorry?"

"Y'know, our record. Last one was Berlin, I think. We got outta there in six minutes or something.. Think we can beat it? How about five?"

Owen deliberated on that for a while, trying to decide whether five minutes was really a fitting definition of breaking their record. They needed to go above and beyond for this, and go out in a blaze of glory if Curt was really that insistent upon blowing the place up. He shrugged. "Not enough… Four?"

"Four?" Curt raised his eyebrows like he was surprised, or impressed. "That's the spirit! Four, if you think we're gonna make it out in time."

"Sure we can. Do you doubt it?"

A little. He'd seen how badly three minutes could go for them both, adding only a minute extra didn't seem like it was going to cover what they needed to cover. Suddenly there was doubt there, and he thought Owen could see it too. "How about I meet you halfway?"

"Four and a half?"

"Four and a half still breaks our record," Curt pointed out.

"That is true…" Owen hummed, toying with the idea of it. Then he nodded, satisfied. "Four and a half minutes it is, then. What's that… Two hundred and… seventy seconds?"

The bomb timers were set to seconds. The two of them had to convert as fast as they could, come up with a number they could both agree on, and then lock that in. When he put it like that, it sounded awful, like they had no time at all, but Curt supposed that it was much better than a mere one hundred and eighty.

"Two…. Seventy, yeah. Three hundred's five minutes, right? So yeah?"

Owen nodded dutifully, and the two of them set about locking in the times in their respective areas. Curt felt strangely assured this time around, that things were finally starting to look up. He'd campaigned for more time, and that felt like the right move to him. That felt like something he knew he should be doing.

They passed the charges between each other, covering a lot of ground all at once. Owen made the suggestion to lock the barricades, but Curt said nothing at first, lost in his own head a little bit. He knew that protesting was the wrong move. They needed those barricades to get them by if something was to happen to either of them, and now that they had a little more time on their hands, they may have actually been able to do something about it if the worst was to come to pass.

"Curt?"

"Barricades… Remind me?" He asked as if he didn't already know, and Owen sighed. That was fair, but he needed to know what they did, so he knew how much of a correct measure it was to not ignore the request.

"They're the levelling doors on the silo, they'd prevent either of us from being pursued, and besides, it might be useful if you're planning on levelling this whole place… Might stop some accident or other."

"Right. And you can do that?"

Owen shrugged. "Should be easy enough… I see no reason why I couldn't."

"How fast?"

"Fairly fast, I'm rather confident with what I'm seeing."

"Okay. Do what you gotta."

That was definitely the right move. Curt smiled a little as he passed Owen on the way back to the main floor, and Owen looked up for a brief moment and managed a smile of his own. This was one fight that— after all this time and all that thinking about it— Curt was finally going to win. Tonight, he was not going to lose Owen. Tonight, he was going to walk out of here with his head held high, and Owen was gonna be right there by his side.