The Wrong Interest 1
Conquest x GDA!reader (1.6k 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.
★★★★★
The ground was shaking. Miniature earthquakes kicked up specks of concrete.
Conquest was winning. Mark and he were launching each other into buildings, well, it was mainly Conquest fulfilling this task. It was like watching fireworks. Nice from a distance, but you never wanted to be too close, and you never wanted to be the one holding the pyrotechnics when the flame reached the fuse. So, was there any wonder why you were internally screaming, "Hurry up and get me out of here"?
Why’d the higher-ups have to send you into the battle? Not like you were much of a trooper. But here you were decked out in layers of synthetic Kevlar fibers, hands shaking as the tips of your fingers typed away on your electronic tablet, stopping when sounds of explosions quelled.
You looked up. Head swiveling side to side. Eyes scanned over the prettiest shade of blue. It was a beautiful day.
It wasn’t good for the wrangle to hush. It just meant that the fighting bodies were traveling.
Your job should have guaranteed you a nice spinny chair, coffee, and watercooler talk, but no. You're just a simple underling reporting on and dispatching heroes to fight or help any remaining civilians.
In your ear, “manage the scene near Omni Kid” sounded out, and you were teleported near the child, Oliver, you believed. The kid looked bad. Real bad. Your eyebrows scrunched up, and your mouth twisted, and right before you could give your condolences, the director appeared in the corner of your eye.
In a crisp blue suit, and brow cocked up, he yelled to the men in his ear, asking if anyone or anything was ready to be scrapped together.
As the medics prepared Oliver, it was as if everyone, in that moment, gained a sixth sense.
This large meatball of pure muscle managed to evade Cecil’s orbital sensors, but it couldn’t avoid detection from those on the ground.
Only a few feet away lay the absolute perfect killing machine. A cosmic butcher. With its singular beady eye hidden beneath its lowered lid, its face was blank. It skimmed over each face, and your heart began to thrum. Only Conquest’s own weighty breaths were audible.
Suddenly, its symbolic upper hair twisted upwards. Its mouth opened, revealing a mashing of teeth. The goliath had found prey.
Your vision blurred, and your feet felt light. Its gaze was fixed directly on you.
—------
“Lost him?! How can we lose someone like that…FUCK.” Cecil’s fist slammed on a desk.
As abruptly as Conquest materialized, he evaporated. Windows shattered as Conquest blasted through the air, and hands shot to cover your eyes. All in the ‘safety’ of the indoors, you were left to watch the rest of the fight onscreen.
A bizarre report then traveled a few minutes after. At the request of Invincible, left in a bloody puddle, a truce or something more ominous was agreed. All that beast said in response was “I'll let you rest, but I expect a better fight soon,” as he projected through the sky.
The Pentagon frenzied.
You, on the other hand, tried to keep your cool. You were hallucinating, yes, that was it. Surely your eyes were starting to fail.
For once, you were grateful for your bottom-tier position. This time, it was the higher-ups scrambling to locate enemy number one. As the clock neared quitting time, you robotically gathered your uneaten lunch and headed home.
You don’t remember entering your car, buckling in, or driving as far as you did, just the squeezing on the steering wheel.
Eyes roamed as you arrived in the suburbs. Only affordable because the area was still under development, most houses were skeletons. No neighbors.
Getting out of your car, you rummaged in your bag for your keys. Grunting as you reached the bottom of the bag and sighing as you finally entered the key in the knob.
Like steam, the stress of your job rose above your shoulders.
Your home looked dark even when you went to turn on the lights. The shadows were too long.
You sluggishly get out your work clothes and shower. Rubbing the suds in your hair, all you think of is what happened out in the field, how scared you were. You blinked and rubbed your eyes. You were finally out with a long shirt and pajama bottoms.
You get out to the kitchen and shimmy around trying to find something good to eat in your nearly empty refrigerator. After considering a browning salad bag, you opted to get a metal spoon and a tub of half eaten icecream.
Grabbing the remote and plopping down on your couch, you scrolled endlessly on your chosen streaming service and finally decided that, since your ice cream was starting to melt, you would watch a lazy reality show.
Spoon dangling from your mouth and finally resting your head back on the couch, your eye noticed movement.
There, sitting down beside you, almost floating, not even causing an indent, sat the most wanted man on earth. The man who had beaten Invincible into a red pulp. Conquest.
The spoon dropped with a clank, and when it fell, the whole house quieted save for the dramatic music emitting from a tense moment onscreen. That scar looked deeper in his skull, and the metal from his fake arm shimmered on.
Mouth agape, you could not speak. You wished you had just jumped up from your place, but your heart grew heavy and shackled you down.
You don’t move. Eyes stayed glued to a corner of the floor. Had it always looked that uneven?
How easy it was for him to drag Invincible’s body through a city and cause that much destruction.
Your thighs tighten as he moves closer to you. His breath doesn’t feel heavy or grunting, more like a trained dancer, graceful and light. It’s actually starting to make sense as to why he was never detected when he entered Earth’s atmosphere.
Everything freezes. Maybe he’ll grow bored and leave. Or maybe he’ll give you a fast death. Please don’t drag it out.
You think it worked.
He lets out a sigh.
With his good hand, he touches your bicep. The tips of it grazed over whatever hair remained there, dragging down to your forearms.
A normal response to such stimuli would be to shiver, but your body locked up tighter, turning you into a living marble.
“Even your breathing is different. Unique. No creature on Viltrum compares. I'm starting to realize why that worm was so sentimental.”
He grasps under your armpits, pulling you in the middle of his lap.
You were never much of a fighter, even if all GDA agents were required to attend a yearly seminar.
With your back to his chest and his rib cage rising, the TV in front of you is clearer to see and blurrier. The voices drone on.
“Look at me,” you aren't given much time to fulfill his request before he grabs the bottom of your chin.
Facing him on the monitors is different from seeing him in person. Every pore, the white from his eye, that scar across his face is magnified.
His mustache twitches upwards.
“You're different from the Viltrumite women.” he drops his smile, and you wish it weren’t so abrupt. “Soft?”
He slides his arm across your stomach, and his hot breath on your neck snaps you back to the TV.
Conquest laid his head on your shoulder. He reached down and picked up the spoon from where it had fallen and inspected it, twisting the metal as it shone and gleamed in the television's blue light. He cleaned the spoon with his uniform as he picked up the sloshing bucket of melting white cream. Then he dipped the spoon and scooped out a chunk.
“Here. Nutrients, I suppose.” The spoon neared your face; afraid he would shove the metal into your lips, you complied and opened, taking in the white cream. It tasted too sweet now, but as you were about to swallow it, Conquest put a finger on your neck, the exact spot where he would be able to feel you swallow. You downed it, and his finger ran chasing the sensation until it landed in your stomach. Grabbing at you. Kneading fists full of pudgy flesh.
—--------------
Conquest keeps you trapped. His thighs are like a bear cage.
His hands are still on your stomach he remains like that for a while. Your breathing is shallow; you don’t move at all.
“Are you afraid?” There’s a pause, and you contemplate whether responding meant more constriction around your waist. Before you could reply, he answered his own question. “You should be.”
He sighs.
“I’ll return for you afterward. And if you tell anyone, I'll flatten the land around you.”
Like a doll, he pulled you off of him.
You remained still, certain that the predator would return. Maybe he was playing a trick on you, and when you fell for it, well, God only knows what he would do to you.
After a few minutes spent analyzing every sound and buzz, your thighs unclenched, and they felt tired. Like removing a few tons from your body. Maybe this feeling would help you get just a few minutes of sleep, you hoped at least.
You didn’t let your guard down. Your ears adjusted to every sound, even jumping when your refrigerator began to buzz.
You should tell someone. Yeah, you should, but all that answered back was the words from Conquest.
Besides, what would the GDA do? Being around the director gave you a front seat to some of his more questionable tactics. They would treat you like a dangling piece of cheese in a grand trap, or worse, an experiment, guilt-tripping you into thinking it was for the greater good, when you knew full well that the director valued a more utilitarian view of morality.
A sharp pain in your fist, and you realized that you had clenched your fist so tight that the nails were starting to dig in.
Shakily, you got up from your couch and headed toward sleep.