The Wrong Interest 2
Conquest x GDA!reader (1.7k words)
TW: Noncon, yandere, size difference
Summary: You were just an underling at the GDA. Someone who filed reports, stayed out of the way, and went home when told. When Conquest stopped mid-flight, no one questioned it. You did. A man that size should be easy to find-But it's too late when you realize he's already in your home.
★★★★★
Going to sleep was hard.
Tossing and turning, flipping and fluffing your pillow.
You would think that with how tense your muscles were with Conquest around, your body would just drop, but no. At the end, sleep evaded you. The sun rose, and you had to get ready for work.
In the mirror, your eyes were red. It was like you aged ten years in a single night. Skin around your nose was congested. You swallowed, and your mouth tasted sour.
You figured time was not on your side, and it was gonna take a lot of work to get you looking somewhat passable.
In a hurry, you did your hair, washed your face, and moisturized with a gallon tub of cream.
Satisfied you looked somewhat presentable, you stepped out of the bathroom to your living room, ready to confirm last night and maybe face the fact that you're fucked, life sucks, and you have been visited by a living, breathing atomic bomb.
In the living room, you looked around. There was no crater-like dent in the couch. There was no slightly ajar door, and there was no sound of air wooshing through an open window.
Like having an alien abduction.
Did that shit really happen?
The Pentagon was still going crazy.
It was like when you used to work in fast food, and the rush of customers made service sloppy, leading your coworkers to ignore the smaller things.
At the end of the day, nothing changed; you were never given the time of day.
—--------
It eats at you. Makes your chest hurt.
Every light was green as you headed home, like the universe was serving you up on a platter. You actually wished there was some traffic. What if you were wrong? What if last night was actually real, and Conquest was gonna kill you at a place you thought was safe?
You expected something. After all that, the boogeyman did say he would be back.
But there was nothing. You checked everywhere.
You can’t help but think he was watching you sometimes. While washing the dishes, you poked your head up to the sky. Clear.
You liked keeping the windows open; there were no neighbors, but it made you paranoid. You shut the blinds. Double checked the windows. Attached a chair to the door as a stopper. Threw flour on the floor. Realized that was dumb; that thing could fly. Instead, you strung threading wire in and around your house. Kept the lights on in every room. Put a large knife under your pillow. Set an alarm to ring every two hours and repeated your mission. Looked around the house again while carrying said knife. Researched defensive attacks for enemies online. Ran drills on where to run and where to hide. Last resort, ran the numbers on how long it would take to call the GDA to your place. This was every day for a week straight; the only real vacation was work.
In the second week, morale died off, and you, too, were getting tired. You stayed late at the headquarters not because you wanted to get a promotion, but to spy on your coworkers, maybe they knew something you didn’t. They talked about sending choppers to areas of interest, and you swerved your car to the side when city helicopters whirled above.
You can’t eat. You spent your paycheck on over $2,000 worth of motion detector cameras with 360-degree motion, HD video, 2-way audio, and infrared night vision.
Maybe you were going overboard. It was tough, meticulously going frame by frame on a one-minute video of a civilian captured during the Conquest fight, only to realize the camera was pointed in the wrong direction. The only information you gathered was that the cameraman had poor eyesight.
You rationalized that it really was stress. It was getting to you. It was an open secret that talking to work therapists in the GDA meant your job was as good as gone, so no, you weren’t gonna risk it.
—-----------------
Work was starting to go back to normal. A small dedicated team was left to Conquest’s whereabouts, and you were back to dispatching heroes.
You spent your lunch with your associates. Money was tight, and you stole a few pinches from their plate.
You stopped hesitating about inserting the key into the knob of your home.
When you opened your door, you didn’t stand by ready to run at any sound. You swung it open and tossed off your shoes and clothes.
You were worried you would have another stress-induced hallucination, so you took it upon yourself to relax. You actually started cooking more home-cooked meals. Took the time to sit down at the table. Even started considering getting a gym membership.
It didn’t mean you stopped being aware; you still checked the locks before bed. But for now, you were starting to get hopeful. Life, at least at home, was somewhat serene. Besides, all those stupid cameras did was capture a squirrel getting run over on the other side of the street.
To clear your head, you put on some music. Loud, contagious. The salad on the island needed more dressing.
You swished your body around, twirling toward your fridge.
Kneeling down, you scavenged. Ranch? No. Ceasar. Proud of your choice, you stood up and lost all feeling in your fingers. Sauce plopped and exploded. A single drop landed on white boots.
Your gaze climbed upwards. Prickly heat like a thousand tiny needles scattered over your cheeks.
Right in front of you stood Conquest.
You stopped breathing.
No.
No, it can’t be, he’s not supposed to be real. He’s not supposed to be here.
The more mass an object has, the harder it is to stop its motion. Ask yourself how someone like Conquest was able to move across your living room to your face.
With one hand, your cheek was in his palm. He tilted your head upward. You were face-to-face with what you thought was a manifestation of your anxiety.
“I didn’t tell anyone,” you said, gasping as the hand around your jaw tightened. “I never told anyone, I promise,” you repeated, your face remained squeezed by Conquest; the pressure from his hand was increasing. He’d pop your head like a grape, splatter the juices around.
He squinted. “I believe you. Else I would've had a worthy fight.”
He stilled. “Fascinating how long it takes your blood to calm.”
He lowered himself to your head, mustache brushing over the tips of your ears before sinking to your neck.
Your heart battered against your ribs. Eyes rolled toward the ceiling. Lifted inches off the ground, you hovered and realized you were flying.
He lowered to the floor far more gently than expected. It's almost too delicate, as if he were aware of how weak you were.
Music rolled on. Some ridiculous ad featuring car insurance played.
The floor was hard and cold; it stung where your shirt had risen. Your hands tingled as they traced the ridges in the vinyl floor.
Limp legs were pried apart. Your panties ripped like tissue. You focused on your breathing.
At first, you didn’t react to what he was doing; you could feel it, but you didn’t dare look down and confirm what you suspected. It's fear that allowed you to ignore the sensation.
“I don’t have much experience in this. Most of the time, this sort of thing is solely about procreation. Sad, I wasn’t sent to this planet for that purpose.”
Knees on either side of your legs.
Both his enormous hands engulfed your waist, splaying out on the bare skin below your rib cage.
They stayed there for a moment before rolling down over to the curves of your hips.
Pausing, one hand rested on your hip, and the other trailed down toward the middle of your thighs.
The lower his hands slid, the more you could feel his warm breath venting against your neck.
You kept your eyes up, searching for irregularities on the ceiling. You were doing everything you could to not remind him that you were a living being. You wanted him to think of a toy. Grow bored with your existence.
You felt it then, a prod below. Two fingers pressed at your entrance. The other hand remained at your hip. He didn’t force himself in; he lingered, waiting for your body to respond. Then he ran it down your slit. It made your stomach clench.
Leaning his weight further on your chest, his mustache pressed against your collarbone. He mumbled straight through your breastbone, but you didn’t know what he said.
His thumb found your clit, grazing over it, running down the slit, and back up again.
He applied pressure. Sluggishly dragging the pad of his thumb over the bud. Despite the fear, your body betrayed you, slicking against his thumb. Your anatomy’s way to protect you from the roughness.
You wished he had finished, but he didn't remind you of a sex-crazed individual consumed with lust. There was no fight in you either, no way for him to fulfill some sick power fantasy. If he wanted power, he got it in the fight with Mark. This was something different. It felt like he was running a checklist.
Conquest hummed against your chest. You listened to the smacking of his digits on your skin, gathering the slickness. He spread two thick fingers and inserted, but not too much. It was massive, stretching. He held them inside you, turning his wrist to map you internally.
After aimlessly rubbing and touching, it was getting to be too much. He found that you reacted more when his thumb landed on your clit. Your hips involuntarily buckled and twitched.
You closed your eyes when it came. He didn’t increase his speed. He anchored over your swollen clit, the other hand clipped to your pelvis. Muscles contracted, a gasp tore out, spine arched, and your thighs trembled. For a few seconds, horror turned to an explosion from your nervous system.
When you opened your eyes, you felt light. Nothing to fasten you to the ground, you finally looked down. Conquest once again was gone, but this time you knew he was here, for the floor beneath you was lubricated.
Taglist: @joyfulllittlething @shslsimpette @missmannequin
A/N: I hope I got the tag thing down. I'm somewhat new to writing on Tumblr. Hope you all enjoy.
