Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In the kitchen, you prepare breakfast, sureness in every movement. Hunger gnaws at Conquest the second you begin.

He's not used to actually having the desire to eat. It was always a chore before. Meals on Viltrum were focused on getting as many calories and vitamins into them as possible, taste and texture be damned. Another result of his kinds desire to be the best of the best, the result of putting strength above all else.

That is not to say feasts didn't happen. What was the point of winning a grand battle or conquering a planet if you did not celebrate it even a little?

No Viltrumite would ever admit they enjoyed those feasts. It was the only time food would be focused on flavour than anything else. A decadence not often allowed.

With you, however, every day was like a feast, regardless of what you made or if you even made it yourself. Conquest had never understood the importance some cultures put on food before, but he did now.

A soft humming fills the air, blending with the sizzling of eggs and bacon; the smell was simple, grounded, yet divine simply because he was not used to it.

With an increasing sureness, Conquest sets the table, grabs the plates and utensils, gets the jams out (so many– humans were such frivolous yet wonderful creatures), gets the tissues– he even pours you both a glass of fruit juice!

It's the most domestic Conquest has ever been. The most domestic any Viltrumite has probably been– except Nolan.

Had he done this, too? With his human wife and half-breed son? Conquest can finally see the appeal, can finally understand why one of their best turned traitor.

If Conquest got this every morning for twenty years straight, he'd turn traitor as well!

(If he wasn't already, that is.)

The toast pops out of the toaster, and he grabs them without even a blink. His mouth waters at the thought of smothering it in jam. So far, strawberry is his favourite.

You finish cooking, and fill his plate. "A big man's gotta eat." Is all you said the first time you cooked for him, and it had taken all of his self-restraint from mating with you there and then. It was the only way he knew how to properly show his appreciation.

Eggs, bacon, fried tomatoes, and toast; the yellow centre wobbles as he adjusts his plate, popping when he dips a bit of toast into it. It leaks, and he runs the bacon through it, tastes mixing and exploding on his tongue the second he takes a bite.

Appreciation for your work comes in the form of a satisfied moan, and you smile to yourself, proud.

Food was an expression of love, Conquest discovered not long after meeting you. A form of labour, work, effort put in to satiate a need, a necessary part of life; what was not necessary, however, was just how much effort you put into it. The tastes were always pure bliss, the food's appearance carefully adjusted to appear as appealing as possible. Unnecessary, but appreciated.

When he was done, his plate was wiped clean. He licked his lips, then drank his orange juice– he prefers pomegranate or strawberry (again), but he's not picky– muffling an embarrassing belch in his fist.

He's full. Satisfied. And the day hasn't even fully begun.

When he opens his eyes from where they'd fallen shut, a moment taken to simply appreciate this moment, he meets your gaze from across the table.

Sunlight streams in, reflecting in your irises, adding depth to their colour.

Beautiful. He thinks. And he knows without a doubt, sunlight filtering in and warming his face, that you think the same.

Chapter Text

In the time spent with you, Conquest discovers facets to the feeling called ‘love’ that he never knew of before.

He understood the basics of it, a feeling of care and warmth that, if romantic, could cause desires to mate outside of breeding.

It was a callous way to look at love, sure, but that was the Viltrumite way of thinking.

But with you, he understands there are more facets to it, feels those differences himself as time goes by, and he can begin to put them into words.

The affectionate side of love is warm and comforting, the world softer, safer, because of it; it's in the casual touches traded throughout the day, the way you nearly bump into him and he adjusts you with a hand on your hip. Or the way you'll lean in to kiss his cheek or nose or between his brows, a simple gesture that speaks louder than words. Or the way your lips curl into a smile when he calls you Darlin’ or Sweet thing, beckoning you close so he can steal a kiss from your soft lips.

It's in the soft squeeze to the back of his neck, a concerned “You're so tense,” whispered into his ear, your hands beginning to knead at his muscles, tension sunken deep into them, utter bliss as you work it out.

Love is the way he learns to change, to soften himself for you, to tear his walls down so that he can finally be something more.

The laborious side of love is in tasks and actions, a steadying service that both grounds him and allows his mind to wander. He helps you tend to your garden sometimes, the task easier for him than you, what with his strength; pulling weeds and roots out takes no effort, and digging up ground to plant new fauna…

He blinks, fingers rubbing his palm.

There is dirt under his nails.

It's cloying, thick, but nothing like blood, he finds; it crumbles out easier, is less sticky, but dirties him up just as much.

He's snapped out of his random reverie by you grabbing his hand, leading him towards a sink. Gently, nimble fingers rub and scrub with soapy, bubbly water, cleaning the dirt from under his nails thoroughly.

An act of service, foreign to him, like everything else you do.

Or when you wanted to rearrange the living room, and he moved all the furniture for you as you directed him on where to put what; a show of partnership, working together on something.

Viltrumites did not often work together. He can't remember the last time someone congratulated or thanked him for something.

But you did, often.

“Can you pass that over, hun? Thank you.”

“Hey, Conquest? Mind getting those cobwebs? Ah, thank you!”

“Y… you did this for me?” You stared at the new bookshelves, your earlier words of not having enough space echoing in the space between you two. “I… thank you. Thank you, love.”

You… supported him. Praised him. It was so… foreign to him. Alien.

Everything you did was.

“What's this?” He raises a bushy brow, holding up the large piece of fabric.

“It's a sweater.” You say, shrugging. “You don't have many clothes aside from your uniform, so I thought I'd buy you some. Check if it fits. It's an XXXL, so it should, but…”

It did.

And it was the softest thing he'd ever worn.

Gifts were foreign to him, but not to you. Your home was filled with them. Gifts from family, from friends– even gifts to yourself, treats bought with your own money and earned through hard work.

Every inch of the place was so, so different than what he was used to. Clutter was a foreign concept to Viltrumites, comfort almost as much. To have so many useless things lying about…

At first, Conquest couldn't comprehend it and shrugged it off to being a human thing. But as time went on, he began to appreciate them for what they were.

They made the house less empty, gave it more life and colour, a vast inverse of houses on Viltrum. His own apartments were cold, empty, each step tending to echo. They were stark and cold, whites and greys and silvers with the odd plant for some attempt at decor and the odd red tapestry depicting Viltrums history.

Cold. Empty. Desolate.

All words he'd use to describe his old home.

For yours? Eclectic. Colourful. Lively. Warm. They couldn't be more different, and Conquest adored it. A new feeling, but one he welcomed.

And, the longer he was with you, the more things belonging to him were also added.

His clothing in the drawers, his uniforms hung in your wardrobe; his moustache care kit beside your own toiletries in the bathroom; a bedside table's drawers filled with different items of value– items you got him, a beaded bracelet you made, a shell from his first beach trip, a photo album that got more and more full every day.

The longer Conquest spends with you, the more he changes, the more he learns, the more he… evolves.

(“I am capable of so much more.”)

One day, you make him a bouquet of wildflowers. It stuns him, leaves him feeling weird.

Need it be said that Viltrumites didn't give each other flowers, or was it obvious enough? Because they didn't. Ever. Did Viltrum even have flowers? Conquest can't even remember, brain coming to a full stop as he holds the bouquet.

Dandelions, poppies, daisies, lavender, a giant ass sunflower smack dab in the middle, tulips. A shiny blue silk string bundled it all together.

It was… cute? He didn't have the words for it, too confused. He only knows that he likes it.

The bouquet ends up in a vase on the kitchen table for a full two weeks before the flowers finally begin to wilt. And, though it's silly to admit, he mourns them.

And ain't that something? Something insignificant, something he never would've looked at twice, became so important to him for a brief amount of time all because you made it so?

Ain't that something, indeed.

Chapter Text

Allowing you to push him towards it, Conquest grunts as he sinks into the couch, raising a brow as he watches you grin and giggle and move about like some excitable pet. Fondness glows in his chest.

“Alright, what are you up to this time, darlin’?” He rumbles, shifting his weight as he lays his arms along the back of the sofa, manspreading comfortably.

It distracts you for a moment, the sight making warmth spread through your veins. Conquest, despite how he may disagree, was a work of art.

Snapping out of it, you grin, turning the TV on.

“You told me Viltrumites don't really have art, right? No theatre, music, fiction books…”

He shook his head, watching you. The confirmation made pity well up inside you for a moment, and you mourn the years he's spent without such simple joys.

Well, good thing you're about to fix that.

“Well, from now on, I want to have movie nights with you!” You tell him, excited to share more of your culture, your joys with him.

A raised brow is your only response.

At your small huff at his silent reaction, Conquest chuckles, loud and deep.

“Sorry, I just don't have anything to say.” He raises his hands in surrender half-heartedly. “So, movie night?”

With an excited nod, you begin telling him how “All couples do this” and “It'll be fun, you see!”

He watches with fond amusement as you start a movie, grabbing a bowl of popcorn before settling beside him, cuddled up under his arm, eyes on the television. He huffs quietly, then looks forward as well, curious about this movie, Alien.

For the first ten minutes, he's silent, interested by the sheer experience of watching something that wasn't educational; he's sucked in by the atmosphere and acting, but not all that interested. Yet.

But the second they land on the Alien planet and the facehugger jumps out? Oh, he is interested!

“Huh,” he watches, listening to the explanation of it bleeding acid and keeping its host alive, “Can't say I've ever heard of an alien species that… wait, no, sequids do something similar. But they don't bleed acid.” He shifts as he thinks of those parasites.

He mentally makes a note to make sure none come to earth. Wouldn't want you getting hurt, after all.

At the famed chestburster scene, he genuinely tenses up, eyes widening a bit. And when he sees what comes out–

“Hah! The worm is as big as my–”

You shove him, exasperated. “Conquest!”

“What?!” He laughs, letting you try to shove him. “I'm just saying. That's the big danger they'll be facing? It's cute! Looks like one of your earth critters.”

“It does not.”

You roll your eyes and finally stop your playful hitting, slumping against him; your warmth bleeds into him, and he sighs, playing with your hair absentmindedly as he keeps watching.

When the xenomorph is fully grown and shown, he gives the screen a calculating look.

“... yeah, I could beat it.” He decides, sure of himself. Acid blood? A strong exoskeleton? Please. That would give it a few minutes of survival time at most.

You snort, face squished against his thigh. “I don't doubt it.” You murmur, eating a bit of popcorn.

“Shame it's not real, though.” He sighs as the movie ends. “Maybe I would've actually had a proper challenge.” He says, mourning a potential fight.

“Yeah, shame.” You roll your eyes. “If this is your reaction to xenomorphs, I already can guess what you'll say about Yautja.” You say, sitting up. Despite that, you already know you'll be watching Predator next. And knowing Conquest, he'll probably enjoy it if for no other reason than there's so much fighting and killing.

Chapter Text

First off, Viltrumites don't have cinema. They barely have art. And whatever art they do have is from being their purge. Afterwards, they were more focused on conquering and spreading the reach of their empire than anything else.

So with that said: this is new to him. He might not show it, might not act like it, but this is a completely new experience for him and he savours it.

Smartly, you start him off with the Alien franchise. It's a good introduction, what with it being a mature horror with good special effects, a unique creature he'd love to fight if it was real (and which he mourns that it's not), and is overall an amazing movie.

Instantly, he's interested. He rolls his eyes at some dumb decisions here and there, lightly sneers about some design choices (“Ships that dark and cluttered are a safety violation in at least three galaxies.”), but the second the chest burster scene happens? Eyes wide, tense, on the edge of his seat.

Once the credits roll, he stares off in thought, then mutters sadly that, “Shame it ain't real, would've torn that fucker in half, acid blood or not…”

After that, I imagine he'd be a big movie lover, but boy is he blunt with his opinions about space films. He'll point out every single inaccuracy like he's being paid to do so. A proper critic, this man.

On the type of movies I think he'd like a mix of things. Horror for the gore and absolute carnage, action movies are a hit or miss for him since some of the fight scenes are unrealistic, and comedies, while nice, he doesn't always get, but when he gets them, he gets them.

(Cut to him on the floor clutching his stomach after watching Scary Movie.)

But, oddly enough, he also loves family films and romances. (It's the loneliness)

Something about these simple, oftentimes silly stories about friendship and family and overcoming evil together… it soothes something in him, something he can't fully acknowledge yet; so he lies and says he watches them because he knows you like them. And yeah, you do, but you're only rewatching [insert favourite animated movie] for the 9th time for him.

Chapter Text

The air was sticky with salt and water, and the sun was shining so bright the water surface reflected it.

With a groan, you fell back onto the pale yellow sand, relaxing as you soaked up the heat. Conquest watched you with no small amount of interest, wondering if that really felt as good as it looked.

“Having fun down there?” He asks, hands on his hips as he surveyed the area. It was empty, as expected of a random tropical island.

When you said you wanted to go to the beach, he didn't know what you meant. He'd never been to the ‘beach’ before, so you had to explain it to him.

Now that he was here, he could understand the appeal. It was warm, the air was clean, and there was absolutely nobody else around.

Perfect.

“Immensely.” You groaned, already sleepy from the heat. But you forced yourself up, grabbing the beach bag you'd packed. Standing, you pulled your clothing off, now in your swimwear.

A glint appeared in his eyes as you stripped, and he hummed low in his throat, pointedly looking at your backside.

“Definitely glad we're alone now,” he mumbled, unable to stop himself from laying a hand on you. A shiver ran down your spine as he gave your ass a quick squeeze. You heard him mumble something about soft as a cloud before you turned to face him, forcing him to release you.

“Mind rubbing this on me?” You ask, holding out the sunscreen. Then you pause, looking him over. Did he need some too? Better safe than sorry…

Meanwhile, Conquest gave you a borderline feral grin, shark teeth on display.

“You're asking me… if I want to oil you up?” He chuckles, grabbing the bottle. “Darlin’, that is the stupidest question I've ever heard. Of course I do!”

Sunscreen was squeezed into his palms, both metal and flesh, and he rubbed them together before reaching for you.

Coarse palm and heated steel rubbed and squeezed at your soft flesh. The way it gave under his strength, squishing and divoting, was pure bliss to his eyes. He was thorough with it, lathering your arms, back, legs, and other bare areas with it; he was gentler with your face, using his real hand as he spread it across your cheeks and nose.

Once he was done, you took the bottle from him and gestured for him to undress so you could return the favour.

“I don't need it, darlin’.” He tells you, but appeases you by letting you rub some on his face. Okay, fine, this wasn't half bad. He nearly purrs as you rub it into his neck.

Once done, you pull away, and he mourns the loss of your touch. Sighing, he lets his gaze wander, taking in the way your skin shines…

And then watches you walk into the water. Once the water came up to your shins, you turned to look at him, grinning.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” You tilt your head, a gleam of mischief in your eyes. “Don't tell me you don't know how to swim, old man.”

Your words are teasing, accentuated by a playful eyebrow raise.

It pulls a scoff from him, and he shoots you a vicious grin. “Oi, watch your mouth, little one!” He warns with a mock glare, beginning to undress. “Or I'll find a better use for it. Do you think you can speak with a sore jaw?”

You laugh at his ‘threat’. “Really? Do you promise?”

You keep laughing, lightly splashing before it dies off as you freeze, staring.

Conquest didn't have a swimsuit. Conquest didn't own a swimsuit.

Conquest was naked.

Your jaw drops, eyes wide as your eyes darted down to his–

“Oh, that shut you up real good, didn't it?” He chuckles lowly, gravelly, beginning to walk towards you. Your eyes can't decide whether to look at his face or his… wow, it's big–

The sea water laps at his thighs as you both go deeper, and you clear your throat. “So, uh…”

Conquest raises a brow, amused, waiting for you to continue.

“... have you ever gone swimming before?” You finally ask, face feeling hot– all of you does, actually. The water cools you down, thankfully.

He considers it, running a hand through the water. “Not really. I was taught to swim, of course, and how to fight underwater. But for fun? No.”

You splash him lightly, smiling. “Well then… let's make up for lost time.” You suggest, both wanting to make memories and move on from the fact his dick was out.

(And what a dick it was!)

Hours are spent under the warm sun, splashing about in the water or messing around on the sandy beach. After a bit of coaxing, Conquest gets into the whole ‘play’ thing, splashing you back– perhaps a bit too strongly because he damn near causes a small tsunami and has to pull you out.

Blinking the salty water out of your eyes, you listened to him apologise for it, trying to not appear too worried, still clinging to the false strength he'd been taught to wield like a shield, but was actually a sword with no hilt, hurting him just as much as it hurt others; and as you look at his concern filled eye, vision blurry with tears from the sting of sea salt, you laugh, catching him off guard and using this opportunity to shove him under as well.

It takes him a few seconds to snap out of his surprise but when he does, he's all too willing to mock wrestle with you, dragging you closer to shore to avoid potentially drowning you.

It's there that you lay on the wet sand, staring up at him, water lapping at your lower half as he shields you from the sun. You tap out, caressing his cheek gently, your face flushed and sore with delight.

“Okay, okay, you win.” You pant, breathless, and Conquest savours this win more than any other. Yet when your eyes dip to look at what else dangles above you, he feels his blood warm.

His hand squeezes your hip, silently asking…

You meet his eyes again.

“Not in the sand.” You whisper, and he takes you in the sky, holding you tight.

Later, feeling more languid and still thrumming with the after waves of pleasure, you lay under the shade of some palm trees, head on his chest as you run your fingers through the silky grains, pulling out tiny shells. Once you've regained your energy, you begin looking for shells for real, digging around in the sand with Conquest happily following behind you, carrying a bucket for all your finds.

“Maybe I can make you something with all of these.” You offer, even later, as you look through your finds one last time, packing up; it was late noon, and you were both hungry, so it was time to head home.

He looks surprised, pausing in the midst of packing up.

“You'd do that for me?” He asks, shock colouring his tone. He doesn't ask why, yet it's heard in the space between you anyway.

“Of course.” You shrug, tugging on your clothes after dusting any excess sand off; eh, you'd shower once home anyway. “I love you, and I like doing stuff for you.”

So simple, and yet it rocks him to the core anyway.

Tucked against his chest, he flies you both home, your words playing on his mind.

I love you, and I like doing stuff for you.

Yeah, he's starting to get that now.

Chapter Text

“No!”

With a furious, agonised yell, he awoke, eyes snapping open as he snapped upright into a sitting position, eyes wildly darting around, taking in his surroundings, before they land on you, blessedly in bed beside him.

Instantly, he relaxes, hurried breathing coming to a stop before he takes in one long shaky inhale, rubbing his face harshly, trying to ground himself in reality. He digs his nails into his skin, pulling, the brief sting pulling him further away from that atrocious imagery.

Slumping, he flops back onto the bed, turning onto his side smoothly to tug you against him. Miraculously, you're still asleep. Small mercies, he figures.

Almost desperately, his hands roam, following every slope and curve of your figure; he buries his nose in your air and breathes, taking in the mixed smells of your shampoo and skin's natural oils with desperate hunger, a desire to be further grounded in the here and now, in you and your presence.

His heart pounds like a drum against his ribs, and he wonders if you can feel it rattling, trying to jump out of his body.

Conquest was afraid.

Limbs tightening around you, he gives the dark corners of your bedroom a wary, suspicious look, paranoid after that– that nightmare.

Slowly, steadily, he calmed down, but he didn't ease his grip. No. Conquest made that mistake in his dream and had to watch as you– beautiful, perfect, amazing you– were brutalised, made an example of in his stead.

He can't get the image of your agonised face out of his mind, can't ignore the echoes of your screams and bones crunching into tiny fragments ringing in his ears. He wants to, but he can't.

So he holds you, and reminds himself over and over that you're here, that you're alright, that you're safe.

Conquest stays awake the rest of the night, guarding your sleeping, vulnerable form, silently making promises that that will never come to pass. He won't let his nightmare become reality. He'll die before he lets you be harmed, will betray his fellow Viltrumites before he lets anyone hurt you–

(He'll rip Thragg limb from fucking limb if he ever lays a hand on you like he did in his nightmare)

–will betray the empire he dedicated his life to before losing the one person who loves and cherishes him beyond the name of conqueror.

Chapter Text

It was a week after the incident dubbed the ‘Invincible War’ that something extremely fucking important was brought to Cecil's attention– and far too late in his opinion.

Hands on his hips and a tension building in his temple, he stared at the large screens, all showing different angles of footage of what could only be another Viltrumite, and a fuckin’ scary one at that.

“Donald, please tell me how this escaped our attention for so long?”

Seven days didn't seem like long, but in this business? It might as well be an eternity with the shit they had to deal with, such as aliens with enough strength to destroy the entire fucking planet.

Donald gives him a nervous look, handing over a stack of papers. “We were overwhelmed with other things, sir. After the attacks, a lot of our attention went to rebuilding our defenses. We simply didn't notice him. He didn't exactly make an entrance, sir.”

“Flying down from space isn't an entrance?” Cecil sarcastically asks, taking the papers, reviewing the information his people had gathered from afar, occasionally glancing up at the screens.

A few days after the alternate universe variants of Invincible attacked, ‘Conquest’ (name learned through a recording after a Mx. Y/N __ called for him) flew to Earth. Satellite footage showcased him seemingly taking the scenic route, taking a moment to land outside of the city. There, he met a human and seemingly got distracted.

Eyes narrowing, Cecil glanced at a screen showcasing you and Conquest in your garden, the big as hell Viltrumite helping you pick weeds of all things.

“... sir?” Donald ventured after a few minutes ticked by with Cecil saying nothing. The GDA director glanced from screen to screen, then read over some of the info, the estimations of his strength, speed, age, and other things.

If he attacked right after he arrived, we'd be fucked. Cecil thought, mind filled with different thoughts. But something stopped him. You stopped him.

Mark wouldn't have won that fight alone, no doubt about it. Not after already being in a few fights, not with Eve out of commission; the boy hadn't left her side for even a second while she recovered. No, if Conquest hadn't gotten distracted, they'd be screwed ten times over.

“... keep an eye on them.” He finally spoke, pinching between his eyes, sighing. “If anything changes, inform me immediately. If they keep playing house, leave them. I'll figure out how to approach without starting a fight we cannot afford.”

As he walked out of the room, his eyes trailed to live footage of you and Conquest, the mean old Viltrumite following you around as you seemingly foraged in the woods near your house.

It had taken Nolan twenty years to act, Cecil reminded himself, yet he had hesitated at the last second, left when his mission was seemingly about to be completed. He knew he was missing some parts to the story, but he had a pretty good idea on why Nolan left, on why this Viltrumite hadn't attacked yet.

It was so simple he wanted to laugh. Like something out of a fairytale.

Just as Cecil began to look away, the single eye of Conquest looked up in the direction of the invisible camera, and Cecil felt a cold shiver run down his spine.

Conquest smiled, adjusted his grip around you, and–

The footage became static.

The room paused for a second, and Cecil made an extra note.

Make sure nothing happens to Y/N __ at ALL costs.

Chapter Text

A cold wind rustles the trees, making his hair sway; it stings his eyes.

Staring down, his fingers flex at his sides as he clenches them into fists. Taking a deep breath, he kneels, head bowed, respectful; it's the least you deserve.

“Hello, darlin’.”

His voice cuts through the silence, filling the void around him with sound. It wasn't fair, though. Every moment of your life had been filled with so much colour, so much ambient noise. To have your grave be so quiet seemed like an injustice.

“I… I'm sorry I couldn't visit on our anniversary.” He sighs, shoulders slumping as he just… deflates. “There was an issue at the edge of the galaxy. Mark needed me and… I know you would've wanted that. Me helpin’ others. You were good like that.”

He swallows, an uncomfortable lump in his throat. He can barely speak around it.

“Still. You– you deserve better. It's our anniversary, after all! Hope you didn't think I'd forget.” He forces a laugh. It comes out wet and weak.

His hands shake in his lap.

“... I'd never forget it.” His voice trembles as he whispers. “Never. Not in a million years.”

He takes a few deep breaths, trying to stay calm before he truly broke down.

It never got easier, even after all these years. It just… hurt. So. Damn. Much.

“So–” his voice wobbles, “–happy anniversary, darlin’.” He whispers, finally letting the tears fall, feeling every bit his age as he stares at your tombstone, the weight of his wedding ring the only thing keeping him tethered right now.

For a while, it was quiet. He lets it be. He gazes at the inscription of your name, the photo of your smiling face, and the trinkets and half withered flowers left for you by those that knew you.

Gazing into those pale imitations of your eyes, he begins telling you about all that's happened since his last visit. He proudly tells you about how your eldest son, Orion, had recently had his third child, a boy.

“Another grandkid! Can you believe it, darlin’? We…” He huffs out a soft laugh; his moustache quivers on his upper lip. “We did good, huh?”

He rubs at his face, distracting himself, getting himself back under control. It never got easier– this, coming here, talking to you like you– like you could actually hear him.

He hopes you can though. Viltrumites didn't have religious beliefs like other species did, but he hoped, prayed, there was some sort of afterlife you were listening from.

Another breath, another shaky sigh.

“... Cassandra is finally getting married. Ain't that something? I can barely believe it myself.” Their Cassie had always been more focused on hobbies and work than personal relationships; Conquest would be a liar if he said it hadn't worried him when she was younger. He wanted the best for his kids, and them having everything he hadn't had prior to you was a part of that. “She's going to have a spring wedding, on the beach we always took her to… says it… makes her feel closer to you.

“She feels bad.” He tells you, eyes straying as he notices a caterpillar crawling onto him.

He lets it be.

“Silly things thinks she shouldn't have put it off so long, that if she'd just listened and focused on making relationships earlier, you would've been able to see our little girl walk down the aisle.” He lets out a huff, shaking his head. “For such a smart girl, she sure misses the obvious, huh? I told her straight how you'd have felt about it. That you would've wanted her to take her time and only take this step when she was ready for it.”

He extends a finger as he stops speaking for a moment, the caterpillar shuffling onto his finger. He lifts it to eye level, considering it.

Once, he would've squished it without reserve. Now, he considers it precious.

Looking back at your tombstone, he smiles sadly. You truly did weaken me. The old me would be sickened.

Gently, he lays the caterpillar down on the sun-warmed stone. Maybe, if it chooses to, it'll turn into a butterfly right here. You'd like that.

“... so I'll be walking her down the aisle come spring.” He concludes. A ray of sunlight pierces through the clouds, bright, and reflects off of some sea glass pooled in front of your grave. He spends a moment pulling some weeds out, smoothing out the pile.

“I know you'll be there. I can… feel it, as stupid as that sounds.” He says, laying a hand over his chest. “Mostly ‘cus I know you wouldn't miss it for the world if you were still–” alive “–around. Why would that change now that you're…”

And he can't get the words out. No matter how many years passed, he just couldn't say it out loud. It just made it all the more real. It just made him feel how alone he truly was.

Because while you'd given him multiple beautiful, intelligent children, Viltrumite children who'd live long past him, they weren't you. They could never be you. And it wasn't fair for him to look for you in them, even if they tried to fill that gap in his heart.

So, even as his family grew and expanded, even as he was surrounded by people, the spot at his side was still empty; the other side of the bed still cold.

He was still alone.

Chapter Text

Rolling over, the bed springs creaked and adjusted under your weight as you got comfy all over again, eyes still glued to the pages in front of you. Eyes tracing the words, you were completely sucked into the book you were reading, not reacting as the bedroom door opened, your husband stepping inside.

Glancing around, Conquest huffs as he spots the large stack of books on your bedside table, all showing signs of being thoroughly read. Of course, he thinks, amused. He kneels on the edge of the bed, crawling on top of you.

“Hello, pumpkin’.” He murmurs into your ear, kissing right under it. “I see you've been busy.” He says, glancing at the page, reading a few sentences before scoffing.

“Really, doll? Another shitty romance novel?” He teases, avoiding your playful swat despite the fact it wouldn't have stung even for a moment. He chuckles, giving you a big ol’ smooch to apologise for his ‘insult’.

“It's not shitty.” You mumble, distracted; it makes Conquest roll his eyes fondly, laying his weight on top of you, knowing you've always enjoyed it.

He hums, watching you read, gaze unwavering, tender, mind wandering as he just… watched you.

106. He thought. One hundred and six years old. And you don't look a day over thirty.

When he first met you, he'd known how insignificant your lifespan was compared to his. He knew he'd outlive you, and thought he'd be fine with it. And at first, he was.

He hadn't loved you at that point, hadn't been softened, moulded into something new, hadn't become Love or Hun yet; he was still Conquest, feared and unwanted, and you were just a distraction, a reward for all his previous jobs, a pet.

But then he went and fell in love, and the knowledge that each and every day was one day closer to the day you died– to him losing you– crushed him inside.

You weren't just a reward to him, then, not a well taken care of pet he'd show off and briefly mourn before moving on. No, you were his spouse, his partner, the one who birthed his children, the one he'd spent many glorious years with.

And he could've lost you.

But then Conquest had already made his decision, had already decided which side he'd fight for. When he went to the GDA, and later the Coalition of Planets, he made his terms very clear: if they found a way to extend your lifespan to match his, he'd join them.

One would think he'd struggle over such a decision, but he found it to be easy. You were his lover. How could he choose his people who were practically strangers to him, who never cared or spoke to him or congratulated him on a job well done–

or wished him a happy birthday, or made him his favourite meals randomly because “You looked like you needed it”, or massaged his aching stump, or bathed with him, made love to him, cared for him

– over you?

His darlin’.

No, the decision was quite easy. And they came through, finding a way to tie your lifespan to his through arcane means. As a general rule, Viltrumites didn't mess with magic or mystic stuff or whatever you wanted to call it; his kind considered it cheating half the time and utter bullshit the rest of the time.

But in this case, he was thankful for it.

Now you'd live the rest of your life with him. The oldest a Viltrumite could get was actually unknown, the longest recorded age being 11,000, but who knows? Maybe Conquest would live beyond that. Or not, that was fine too. Even if he only lived a thousand more years, he'd be happy, because they'd be spent with you.

As you finished another chapter, you yelped as Conquest abruptly yanked the book away.

“Babe!” You yelled, shocked.

With a grunt, he marked the page and chucked the book aside. “Enough reading, pumpkin.” He says, grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder, giving your ass a playful smack. “Don't tell me you plan to spend the rest of your life reading badly written books? And here I thought you'd want to spend it with me.”

You huffed as he carried you out of your bedroom and down the hall of his personal (space) ship, the interior mostly the same as your old earth home.

(Which was still around, don't worry. It's just that the ship was bigger and could travel, which was perfect for your family.)

“No. But I'm practically immortal now! How can I not try and read every book there is? Ooh– or watch every show or movie…” You sounded giddy at the very thought, and how could you not be? You'd live longer than any human on earth before you– well maybe except the Immortal– which meant you could do so much more than you ever could in your previous lifespan.

As he carried you towards the ship's greenhouse, Conquest chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

“Save some things for us to do together, darlin’.” He chides playfully, setting you down as he enters the slightly humid room, some of the more sentient plants reaching for you already. He gives them a sharp look, watching them wither slightly under the weight of his glare.

Giving your husband a look, you smile. “Oh, don't be silly. There's an infinite amount of things for us to do together! Hell, I could even read to you from my books!” You offer, fighting a laugh at the way he grimaces.

“... if you insist.” He sighs, not really enjoying those romance books you liked, but for you? He'd do it. Especially since you loved it when he read to you. The way you complimented his voice more than made up for any cringe worthy dialogue and nonsensical character decisions.

Grinning, you gave your husband a kiss on the cheek and went to put your gloves on, missing his fond look.

Conquest really won the lottery with you, didn't he?

And now he had thousands of years to get his fill of you. Yeah, he really was lucky.

Chapter Text

Thin branches snagged and scratched at your skin as you ran through the forest, nearly tripping a few times as you looked back, up, for any sight of him.

Your breathing was ragged, heart pounding hard, making your chest ache, burn; your throat, lungs, felt dry, growing sore and achy the longer you ran without a single break.

You needed to get away. You needed to–

A root, perfectly angled, grew out of the ground. Your shoe snagged on it, and vertigo hit you, sudden and sickening as you fell, fell, fell–

A whimpered yelp escaped unwillingly from your throat as the taste of iron filled your mouth, a blooming sting emanating from your tongue from where you'd bitten it on your way down. Your palms were scratched, bleeding. And your front felt bruised, knees sore from taking the hit at an odd angle…

But your ankle–

It caught your attention, and you carefully pushed up, turning onto your side, freeing your foot from Mother Nature's trap. You tested it weakly, wincing in prep for any pain, but thankfully, there was none.

A soft sigh of relief escapes you as you slowly get back up, only for your limbs to fail you, sore and stinging and–

“Don't tell me you're hurt already.” A voice came from behind you, and you froze. “Aww, you are, aren't you?” A sigh. “That's a shame. Ruins half the fun.”

You stay still, almost like if you do so, he won't be able to see you. Your eyes are trained on a spot in front of you, unimportant, and your tongue throbs with stinging pain.

A sigh, and then the crunch of him landing on the ground.

“C'mon, worm. Show me how bad it is. Don't hide, now,” he croons, all sweet and mocking. “I can practically smell it, you know. Now, how bad is it?”

Swallowing, copper running in thin rivulets down your throat, you turn, facing him.

Conquest stares at you, patient.

A beat. Once, twice, thrice–

You don't say a thing.

His shoulders relax imperceptibly.

You bare your teeth at him, showing the blood on them. He takes it in, tilting his head a bit as he considers…

He smiles, soft.

You would've said if it truly hurt.

And then the smile turns vicious, and he shoots forward, reaching for your neck, just enough time for you to–

Gasping, you throw yourself out of the way, everything aching, lungs burning still, and yet you have to keep going– you want to keep going–

Conquest snags you by the back of the neck, grip firm as he wraps his big fingers around your nape, squeezing–

And you go limp, adrenaline trickling off, submitting from the familiar, comforting touch.

A slightly mocking coo, and he sweeps you up into his arms, gazing down at you as you, exhausted, look up at him with hooded, weak eyes. Pained.

He sighs as if exasperated, a finger pressing to your lips. “Open.” He says, unnecessary as it is; you do as told, eyes closing as you relax, feeling digits spreading your lips apart, a rough pad pressing on your tongue, pulling gently to see the damage.

He tsk's, pressing down on your tongue until saliva wells up, flooding past your lips and drenching his finger. Without opening your eyes, you already know he's watching the thin trail of spit drip down his palm and wrist.

 “Well…” He heaves a sigh. “It ain't too bad. But I think we'll have to cut act one short.” He says, rising with you in his arms. “Otherwise you might twist your ankle next.”

A grumble escapes you as Conquest flies you home, his movements so smooth and steady you barely feel it. His finger is still putting pressure on your tongue, so you can't tell him how offended you are over him treating you like you're delicate.

Accidents happen. It's fine. Especially when running through the woods from your predatory mate.

In no time at all, you're home, and the first thing Conquest does is tend to you. Silky, moist feeling ‘bandages’ are applied to your palms and knees, the alien medicine attaching itself to your skin and numbing the area; likewise, he adds smaller strips of the stuff to your face, over tiny cuts here and there.

For your tongue, he makes you drink a spoonful of slimy, cold medicine, your tongue healing up instantly– it also makes your mouth taste like mint. Nice.

A hum rumbles in his throat, thoughtful, considering, as he looks down at you with his severe gaze. A thumb hooks your mouth open, letting him watch your tongue heal before his very eye.

Once he was sure his mate was all healed up, Conquest felt much better. Especially with what he was about to do next.

“Humans… so fragile, so weak.” He murmurs, leaning down, getting on your level; it would be demeaning if it weren't part of an act, a scene. “If I hadn't grabbed you back there, who knows what would've happened? Some predator could've gotten to you.” His thumb pulls free, wet, as he pats your cheek.

As if. The only real predator in a thousand mile radius was him.

“And then what would you do, hmm? Cry? Beg for help?” He leans in closer, breath hot against his cheek; his eye dares you to try something.

So you do.

You spit on him, the clear glob landing on his cheek, sliding down excruciatingly slow.

The world stops. Conquest stops. He stares, eyes wide with disbelief. That… was new.

Bringing a hand up, he wipes the spit down to his mouth, licking your saliva along his lips and into his maw; your eyes are glued to him, and the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows makes heat bloom between your legs.

“Right…” He says, finally breaking the stillness. “Back to it.”

And then he's grabbing you again, flesh hand knotted tight into your hair, gripping it by the roots so it doesn't hurt as he drags you towards the bed as rough as he dares to be.

It's exquisite for you, the perfect blend of pain and pleasure. And when you kick and hit him, he doesn't even blink, probably doesn't even feel it. That's the best part about him. You can let out all your anger on him and he wouldn't even bat an eye at it, just encourage you to do better, feeding your anger with mocking words until you were left exhausted and drained, all pliant and perfect for him to scoop up and play with.

When you make contact with the bed, you're breathless, exhaustion weighing you down. Now you truly are weakened prey, unable to resist your ‘captor’ as he takes from you however he desires. A whimper escapes you as you watch him undress, loincloth pulled aside to show where he can pull himself out of.

He's hard, you see, trying to scramble back– not very hard, of course, not that you could manage it even if you wanted to in your state– and his metal hand wraps around your ankle and tugs. You're yanked back to the edge instantly, legs spread for him to fit between. Which he does, hips slotting between your welcoming thighs.

Eyes half-lidded, lazy, you peered up at him, too comfortable to even lift your hips to help him pull down your shorts. But that was fine by Conquest. He enjoyed a bit of manhandling, and it was oh so easy to move you about.

As the fabric hits the floor, his gaze seers into your flesh down below, drinking in the view. You hadn't worn underwear today. Not seeing the point with a scene planned. In all likelihood, he would've just ripped them off of you, and as hot as it could be, it both stung and made your wallet weep.

“I can never get enough of you, you know that?” He says, a rasp to his voice as he touches you, palming at your centre, stroking, coaxing your body to full arousal and beyond until you were aching something fierce with desire. “No matter how we do it. I used to hope I'd go out in battle, covered in blood and buried under the corpses of my enemies. Now…”

The bottle of lube popping open sounds off like a gunshot in the quiet of the bedroom, making you flinch with how mesmerised and focused you'd been on your husband's rich voice.

A thick finger, smothered in lubricant– strands so heavy and thick they droop from his digit onto your skin– presses into you, your body welcoming him, more than used to him by now.

“Now,” he says, breathing in deep, the scent of your arousal thick in the air; Fuck, his cock twitched, a drop of pre hitting your leg, hot, “I hope that the last thing I do before I go, the last thing that I see is this perfect little hole clinging to my cock as it overflows with my seed. I'm going out with a bang, darlin’, I can promise you that.”

Muffled squelching reaches your ears, your eyes mostly shut, just a sliver of sight visible through your eyelashes as your hole, snug and hungry, clenches around his finger. Another is added, and your breathing picks up.

“Even if I'm on death's door, you're gonna get this sweet ass over to me and ride me, understand? Gonna let me suck you dry, eat you out, mould your insides to the shape of my dick one last time…”

His voice is a low, raspy growl at this point, lost in fantasies of death and sex: his two favourite things. Well– behind you, of course.

Another finger, a bigger stretch.

The sounds were more audible now, lubricant like honey, thick and gloopy and looking so, so sweet as it mixes with your own arousal and drips out of you, trails down your flesh and cheeks in shiny rivulets; Conquest could imagine dipping a strawberry into you, biting into the sweet fruit, made even better by your own flavour.

Perhaps he'd do that next, make a feast of your form. Lap actual honey from your chest and off your nipples, carefully eat grapes from between your legs, lick chocolate from the length of your spine…

Yes, Conquest liked the sound of that. He'd remember it for later. For now, though–

His fingers come out with a small pop, your hole clenching around air, a slight gape to it. And how could it not, when one of his fingers alone were as big as some earth men's cocks?

The bottle creaked as lube drizzled out, landing on his cock soundlessly. It messily slides down along his shaft on its own, the heavy length weighed down by its own size, gravity doing most of the work for him. He still strokes himself, though, rubs the lube in, around, under his foreskin, even. It makes him pulse, balls tight as he releases them from the protective pouch all Viltrumite men have to protect their genitals.

He notches the head against your entrance, watching you jolt, eyes widening briefly as you realise it's time. Then you go all languid again, smiling as you shift your hips, circling them, helping him push it in, in slow, round movements.

He holds himself in place for you, cock long and thick and so, so heavy; it was always the weight you felt the most when you two made love. As the ruddy mushroom tip pops into you, both of you release a sigh.

The feeling of rightness settles over the two of you as he steadily slides in. Earlier, he'd planned to be rough, wild; but then you'd gotten hurt, and his concern won over his lust. Next time, he thought. Sometimes, things like this just happened. Injuries were normal when couples tried kinky things, even if they were minor, bruises and discomfort.

As Conquest settles inside of your silky depths, walls hugging him, he considers that, next time he chases you, you should just do a home invasion scene. You're less likely to get scratched up in your own home than in the woods, as thrilling as it was.

A groan tumbles out of him, and he rolls his shoulders back, hands on your waist. He squeezes, gentle. And then he pulls halfway out before thrusting back in.

The loud PLAP that echoes through the room is downright diabolical; wet and meaty and harsh. And it's repeated with every thrust, strings of slick connecting the two of you as he builds up a steady pace, pounding away at you. Leaning over you, he adjusted his hold on you, throwing your legs over his shoulders.

Brows knitted together, you whined and gasped, lips permanently parted now as that feeling in your belly grew and grew, heat building, tightening–

Conquest growled to himself, grunting as his balls smacked against your ass and his cockhead rammed against some deep part of you that had your toes curling, sparks racing up your spine–

A shudder wracked through your body suddenly, a sharp cry of his name escaping your lips as the heated coil in your belly snaps–

“Conquest!”

– and you cum. You cum hard and quick, and you're delirious with heat and pleasure and you can barely breathe! It's– too– much…!

The feeling of you squeezing his cock in a vice grip sends him over the edge like it always does, and he falls over the edge right with you, spilling his seed deep into you in thick, hot ropes of it, sticky and overflowing until it spills out of your stuffed hole and onto the sheets.

A hand plants itself by your head as Conquest leans closer, hovering so as to not crush you, but still wanting to be close to you. As you crack your eyes open– skin shiny with sweat and chest heaving with exertion– you think to hell with that, and pull him down onto you, hugging him, his weight comforting to you.

And Conquest would be lying if he said he didn't like it either, so he just settles on top of you, sighing as his eyes fall shut, nose buried in your hair. His cock is still inside you, softening as the bliss of his orgasm fades away. More cum floods out as well, but that's something to deal with later.

What a waste, he idly thinks, feeling your heartbeat reverberate through your chest and into his. Pure Viltrumite sperm, and it's just dripping onto the bed sheets.

He should really plug you up, make sure it takes. He didn't care if you could get pregnant or not– it was the principle of the matter. His seed was for you. It should be in you. Simple as.

Mind fuzzy, Conquest rolls onto his side, cuddling you, allowing himself to drift off. Absently, he reminds himself to check on your bandages when he wakes up. You should be completely healed by then. And with that final thought, Conquest was out, faintly snoring into your shoulder, bodies still locked together.

Chapter Text

The first time Conquest realises what's happening is far after its begun. From there, he thinks back, tracing these… feelings… to when they first began.

The first instance he can recall is during the early few days. For some reason, he was still in your home, playing the role of guest perfectly. At first, he told himself this was the smart thing to do– that with all the destruction out there, clearly something had happened, and in all likelihood, Mark wouldn't be in perfect health or at full strength. Conquest not leaving immediately was for his own benefit, he told himself. In a few more days, he'd leave, and the boy would be ready for a fight. Oh, he couldn't wait!

… except he found another reason to stay. And then another. And another. And–

At first, he stayed in your guest bedroom, sparsely decorated compared to your own and yet still so much nicer than his own apartments back on Viltrum, better than the ship he lived in most of the time. And then you went out of your way to offer him more blankets, more pillows.

“Anything else I can get you?” Is your constant question, hands wringing together with a worry that you weren't doing enough for your unexpected guest.

And what does he want? What can you possibly get him, little one? He doesn't need these… comforts. Doesn't need to be taken care of. He's Conquest! A Viltrumite warrior, not some… green boy, untested in battle and needing a caretaker!

He doesn't need your kindness. He doesn't.

And yet he can't find it in himself to refuse it.

Not when you catch him clasping at his arm, at where his stump is under the tight metal prosthetic, a grimace on his face. Not when you kindly, gently, full of understanding, ask him to take it off; he wants to refuse, but what could you do to him, regardless if he took it off or not? So he humours you, watching with a (curious) warning eye as you warmed water, baby oil, and flat rocks of all things.

You direct him, gently bathing his stump in warm water before pressing the hot stones into his skin, into where the muscles pain him so terribly. He doesn't feel much of the scorching heat, but his muscles do, relaxing.

Something in his chest feels warm.

And then you go further for his sake, warm oil dripping from your palms after the rocks cooled, nimble fingers rubbing and kneading at the skin, the flesh, at his very muscles with precision and delicacy; it's heaven in small doeses, and a sigh escapes him, exhaustion and bliss, as his eyes slips shut.

Finally, after so long, his stump stops aching so much.

He thanks you, robotic, not stumbling over his words because he's not an insecure child, but… not used to saying it, not used to having a reason to say it.

You smile.

(The warmth spreads.)

The second time he feels that… that warmth, that odd sensation of his heart skipping a beat of all things– it could do that? Why was it doing that?– was when you came home after a long day and pointedly said, “Today's been long, I want to relax with something simple, don't judge me.” And put on a… what was it called… a Disney movie? That's it– the ones with all the colourful women in dresses with animal sidekicks and musical numbers.

He watches you relax, shoes kicked off, slumped on the couch, weariness in your features as you unwind in your own way.

He doesn't. Judge, that is. Can't find it in himself to when this method of relaxing clearly works, and that light in your eyes begins to return. He… he'd almost been worried for a moment there.

Which is shocking in its own right, that he'd be concerned for you. Though before he can mull that over any longer, he spots you standing, humming along to a song as you sway gently to the rhythm. It amuses him, the sight, and he can't help himself from moving closer, standing behind you as you let out all the tension from your body: rolling your shoulders back, shaking your arms out, arching your back…

Then you give him this– this look, and something warms in his gut. It's… coy, sly, maybe. A glance over your shoulder, a small smile on your lips. “Dance with me?” They utter, the sound of your whisper washing over him.

He acquiesces, taking one of your smaller hands in his and laying a hand on your waist with the other. Despite what it may seem, Conquest does know how to dance… vaguely. He has no actual experience, of course (how would he?), but he'd observed how others did, read about ancient Viltrumite celebrations and holidays where dancing was a part of it; a lost bit of culture, buried under all the blood and viscera of his peoples actions.

But he does know the basics. And so do you.

It's… just swaying. A warmth under his metal hand, only just felt due to the highly advanced technology its made from, but it's nothing compared to his real hand, to the sensation of flesh gripping flesh, warm and soft in his calloused, deadly palm.

He could crush you. The thought echoes, but he doesn't. Conquest could never.

Why? He wonders. Why? He doesn't understand why the thought of hurting you makes him… uneasy. Maybe it was due to your kindness, how polite you'd even. Believe it or not, Viltrumites could be polite (rare though it was for others to see), and him killing you as repayment for your gentle ways would not be polite. Would not be nice.

He assumes that's the reason and lets the issue lie.

The music is soft, and so is your smile. Your eyes sparkle a bit, joy staring back at him. With a jolt, he realises that he's making you happy. He's the cause of your joy.

It's… a new experience for him.

Glancing at the screen, he watches the princess be spun around and twirled about, and, carefully, he does the same to you, holding your hand high above your head, spinning you in a way that makes giggles burst forth from your chest.

He feels… warm. Light. What is this feeling? Why is he feeling this way?

When you stop spinning, you bump into him, chest to chest as you gaze up at him with a grin, skin warmed with a joyful flush; he can hear your heart beating.

I want more of it. He decides, trying another move he'd witnessed, lifting you up with ease and then carefully dipping you, a surprise filled squeal leaving you; your fingers dig into his arms, holding on. Like he'd ever drop you.

It's– it's fun. This… swaying and dipping and twirling. Dancing with you is… nice. He almost swears it's better than fighting. He gets a similar thrill to it (somehow), and he wants more.

You read it on his face because by now, you know him enough to know when he's asking for something silently. Because if there's one thing you know about Conquest, it's that he'll never ask for something that can be perceived as a weakness aloud, outright. Never.

So you turn the movie off and put on a playlist of random music. Ballroom music, ethereal sounding; classical music Conquest is adept at following and moving your body to; modern music that's suitable for him, more sound that words.

The couch and coffee table get moved aside, and Conquest– he… he humours you. Yes. That is what this is. He's simply humouring his host, giving you some joy in return for how good you've been to him.

Not because he likes this.

Not because he's having fun.

Not because you make him feel warm.

No. None of that. That would be ridiculous, after all. And if he was… well. He doesn't have to admit it.

(And at some point, near the end of the day, Conquest falls onto the carpet, not quite tired but having had his fill, with you on top of him (his arms still wrapped around you).

You giggle, giddy, tired, and give him that same look from earlier.

The warmth spreads, fluttering in his gut, heating up his cheeks, making his heart skip a beat.

Why? He wonders. Why? What are you doing to me?

He doesn't realise he's giving you a similar look, the hard lines of his face softening, his honey-brown eye shining with emotion.)

The third time is when he knows something is up with him. When he knows he's starting to falter, that he's making excuses and that it needs to stop.

Your humming fills the air, and it's the sweetest sound he's ever heard. He doesn't care if your voice isn't suited for it, if it's broken, uneven; the little tunes you hum under your breath always catch his attention, always… calm him.

There's a bundle of flowers in your lap, he spots, and your deft fingers pluck them up and bend them into shape, winding together into a circlet.

Coming outside to sit on the porch with you, he considers it, watching simply because he wants to. There's no rush. No orders. No responsibilities. Just…

Just you. And him.

Just you and him.

Glancing up, a smile blooms across your face, far more beautiful than the blooms in your lap.

“What are you doing, pet?” He asks, the nickname coming out half-heartedly. It no longer sounds as right as it used to, but Conquest was yet to find something more suitable to call you.

You take it in stride, though, and answer whilst adding another flower into the mix.

“Making a flower crown, Conquest.” You say simply, pausing to look it over; the pause goes on longer than intended before you ask, “Would you like me to teach you?”

Would I like you to… He gives you a weird look, a little startled by the offer. On one hand, he feels like he should be, hmm, insulted? He's a Viltrumite, after all. He has a job to do. He's above sitting here and making flower crowns.

But on the other hand…

“Hm. Alright. Show me then.”

This is new. Something he'd never be able to do again. And… and Conquest does want to do more. There's always been this itch under his skin, a desire to make, not break. To create instead of destroy.

But he was a Viltrumite. He wasn't supposed to– his kind didn't–

With an eager look, you begin walking him through the steps, passing him a few flowers to try with.

– but he was on Earth. Not Viltrum. He was here to do a job, but… there was no time limit, no deadline. So if he wanted to do this…

Nobody had to know.

Big fingers fumble before he gets a grip, figuring out how much strength he could use before it became too much, and he slowly copies your instructions, winding and binding the stems together, the flowers bright and pretty, glaring, as he makes the most simple of circlets.

That afternoon is spent like that. Sitting on your back porch, sun shining, all clear and warm, flowers laid between you two as you worked mindlessly, a comfortable silence between you.

It's also the first time you two have such an important conversation.

“... Conquest? I… I know you probably have to leave soon, but I was…” you take a breath, and his attention is entirely on you. “I was hoping that, before you left, you'd let me make you dinner, o-or something.” You stammer out, face burning.

He considers it, idly rubbing the petals of a poppy. “That would be… nice.” He clears his throat, wondering how he can say what's on his mind, but it's hard. How does he tell you that he doesn't want to leave?

“I just… I've really appreciated your company over the last few weeks, and…”

Conquest shifts, teeth clenched together. Don't be a coward! He chides himself, hearing the warble in your voice.

“... so have I, sweetling.” He murmurs, catching your look– surprise mixed with hope.

… his palms feel sweaty for some reason.

“And… well, I know you're probably busy and have a very important job to do–” you'd never pried no matter how curious you got, letting him have his secrets beyond what he willingly shared with you. God, you had no idea, did you? Conquest feels a twinge in his chest at the thought of your horrified face when you learned of what he was supposed to do. “–but maybe you can visit some time…? If you'd like?”

And damn it, but Conquest feels it all at once. Those damn flutters in his gut and his heart is fuckin’ racing like he's in battle and– and–

“I don't wanna leave, darlin’.” He finally says, turning to face you. The pet name feels right on his tongue as it comes out, unintentional. “To be honest, I was supposed to complete my assignment weeks ago. But I haven't. I… prefer being here. With you.”

Once the words are out, he risks a look at your face, and is relieved when everything there looks positive.

Then you give him that beaming smile of yours, and you giggle– all innocent and giddy, like everything is right in the world.

And it might as well be.

“So, uh, that means you're staying?” You ask, shy, playing with the flower crown in your hands.

He grunts an answer, nodding. Yeah, he is. And it feels right. Better than he was imagining. You two were– ah, fuck, were you two living together now? Heh, that's what mates–

Oh Sweet Emperor help me I want them to be my mate that's why I've been feeling this way– shit, have I been courting ‘em already? Oh, I am an id–

While Conquest was having the realisation of all realisations as he finally figured out why he was feeling this way, you, unaware yet happy the man (alien?) you were crushing on was going to stay, turned to him, gently placing the crown of tulips, carnations, lilies, and orchids on his head. You smile.

“It suits you.” You murmur, his breath catching in his throat as you adjust it, the crown of flowers sitting comfortably on his brow.

He tries to shake the feeling off, but he can't, the weight of the different flowers making him feel… grounded in a way he's never felt before; secure, even. With a harsh swallow, he places his own, slightly less perfect flower crown on your head, cupping your cheek in his palm afterwards. He nearly engulfs that side of your face as he does, thumb stroking along your cheekbone as he just gazes into your eyes, drinking you in with a newly awakened thirst.

So good to me… He thinks, that warmth you bring him settling in his ribcage, chasing away the ache and chill of loneliness, guarding his heart against it. What did I ever do to deserve such a sweet thing like you, hm?

Chapter Text

It was a miracle he even fit, honestly. Settling further into your bathtub, Conquest let out a small, almost silent sigh as the warm water eased into his muscles, forcing them to relax.

As you got in as well and settled in his lap, facing him, a smirk lifted his lips as he eyed you through a lazy, half-lidded eye. A small growl rumbling from his throat as you poured liquid soap in your hands, honey-thick and dripping messily onto his skin as you reach for him.

You wash his shoulders and chest kindly, switching to the use of a sponge to thoroughly soap him up, foamy and bubbly, a pastel tint to it from the colour of the body wash.

Had he ever known such a gentle touch during bathing before, he wondered, brow dipping as his breathing deepened, sweet scent filling the air as your washed beneath the water, across his broad abdomen and stomach, thick with muscle and a healthy layer of fat; it was almost ticklish, the way you scrubbed along his waist with surety. Like this was some daily task of yours, and not a gift to him, something unique and mesmerisingly new for him.

For Conquest heavily doubted he'd ever even been washed with such gentleness as an infant. Certainly not, he thought. All he'd ever known growing up was the Viltrumite Empire's army barracks with its harsh teachers and even harsher instructors. Bathing back then rarely lasted more than five minutes, always rushed, always cold, always scrubbing his skin raw with plain soap to remove the smell of rot and filth.

Yet here I am… Conquest thought, head tilting back with a bone deep sigh as you slid soap-slick hands up and around his neck, gliding effortlessly along his skin, squeezing at the tight flesh of his nape and collarbone, tension having sunk deep into his skin. You rid him of it with each squeeze, with each delightful knead of your fingers into his thick flesh.

One would think that, what with how invulnerable and strong he was compared to you– and how weak you were compared to him, that he wouldn't be able to feel it; that you wouldn't be able to offer him these little delights.

Oh, how utterly wrong such a thought is. Just because he's been born and raised and trained to shrug off pain, to toughen up to all sorts of attacks, doesn't mean the same goes for pleasure. The Viltrumite way has only made him more sensitive to these types of things, more vulnerable‐weak-hungry for these blissful touches, a taste of heaven whenever you deign to give it to him.

Because Conquest, as a Viltrumite, has grown so used to cold showers, blasts of icy cold liquid hitting him from above, that he's now been left vulnerable to warm baths, letting his body sink deeper and mind drift away. It's nothing like the boiling waters or lavas he's been trained to withstand, but a simple, human delight.

He's only known the kiss of a fist before you, and so true kisses immobilise him. The only intimacy he's known is that of somebody's body pressed against his as he kills them, their blood warming his skin, so now when you pull him close for a hug, to make love, to simply be close to him– he's weak, unable to even think of an escape.

And why would he want to, when you're his salvation, his heaven, his god?

Viltrumites aren't much of a religious race, if they ever were, but Conquest can see the appeal in kneeling in reverence now, so long as he can look up and see you as he does.

A low murmur brings him back to the present, and he hums in response.

"Tilt your head back, hun." You murmur into the steamy air of your bathroom, shampoo in hand. He does, awaiting the next gift you give him.

He savours every moment with you, don't you know?

A pleased hum rumbles in his chest as you wash his hair, massaging his scalp also. He'd be embarrassed by it– whether 'it' be the act of being cared for like a child or his balding head– if it didn't feel so damn good.

You're close, maddeningly so. He can feel all of you, and can imagine a few ways to repay you for your kindness later on, when your lips brush his brow and he melts.

Like a fuckin' puppy, he thinks, wrapping his arms around you, absently wondering how he'd resisted the urge so long.

Tilting his head back, you pour a jug of water over his hair, rinsing the shampoo out, ever gentle with it, mindful of soap getting into his eyes– heh, like he'd even feel it. But that doesn't matter to you. It never does. So what if he was invulnerable? To you that didn't mean a thing. He still deserved kindness. Still deserved to be treated with a gentle hand.

A giggle escapes you, making him crack his eye open.

"What are you laughing at now?" He scoffs, fond.

"Nothing…" He raises a disbelieving brow, and you break. "You look funny with your hair all wet and limp, 's all. Like one of those fluffy cats that gets wet." You explain with a teasing grin, making him sigh and shake his head at the ridiculousness of your statement.

Most Viltrumites won't even speak to me and yet you mock me. My fearless, brave little mate.

"Whatever you say, darlin'." He rasps in response, withholding his amusement as he sinks back into bliss, your fingers now combing through his hair.

Chapter Text

Letting you fret over him for a bit, Conquest looked on with amusement as you patted down his jumper, checking him over for the nth time, making sure he was presentable for a day out.

Obviously, there wasn't much you could do about his fierce appearance and prosthetic arm, but you figured in a world full of superpowers and odd individuals, Conquest would only get a few glances before being ignored.

You hoped so, at least.

“Okay,” You took a deep breath, “Are you ready?”

“As I'll ever be.” He mutters, glancing out the window, at the distant town where you two were heading today; his first time into town, in fact.

You had a lot of shopping to get done, and with Conquest falling deeper in love with you, he refused to let you out of his sight for so long– a mix of possessiveness and protectiveness fueling him to follow you wherever you go.

So, doing one last check on him, you exited the house, Conquest at your heels.

The drive to town was quiet, Conquest's keen eye focused on the unfamiliar surroundings, ingrained instincts seeking out any threats to his mate.

When you parked near the shopping centre, you reached over, squeezing his hand with a reassuring smile on your face.

“Come on. We've got a lot to buy.”

Conquest liked Earth markets. There was something so… rustic about most of them, even the most rich and fancy places had a 'grounded' feel to them compared to stores on other planets. Not that Viltrumites did much shopping, of course, but Conquest did get out and had seen plenty of different cultures and their markets… before destroying them.

Hm. Best not to mention that to you. No need to reinforce how bad he was in your mind.

As you went from store to store, buying what you needed (and buying a few extra things here and there), Conquest took on carrying duty, arms full of bags. He didn't mind, of course– no need to remind you how strong he is, right?– though he didn't like that it kept his hands full. What if he needed to hit someone or wanted to touch you?

Humming, Conquest leaned down. "One sec, pumpkin." He whispered in your ear, disappearing briefly as he flew out of the mall, fast, putting all the shopping into the trunk of the car. Then he was back, barely two seconds having passed.

At your amused look as you figured out what he just did, he just grinned, resting a hand on your opposite hip, squeezing gently.

"Come on. What's next on the list?"

Looking around the store, Conquest stood still as you held up clothes to his body. Soft music played over the speakers, some brain numbing pop song about summer and parties. The store was clean, bright, lots of whites, creams, and wood browns for contrast.

"Mmm, how about this one?" Your voice catches his attention, and he looks down, humming as he eyes the colourful shirt.

"I like it." He says plainly. It makes you sigh but you still smile.

"You can have opinions, Con. You don't need to agree to all my suggestions."

"I'm not," he murmurs, watching you check the size of some pants next. For some reason, you look shy and almost flustered as you look at some grey sweatpants. "I like it. I don't mind wearing them so long as they fit and are comfortable."

"Hm." You walk around a rack, grinning as you hold up a large t-shirt. "So what you're saying is… you'd wear this?"

It's a white shirt with rainbow coloured blood splatters and an unicorn on the front. Except the unicorn is standing proudly above a cartoonish dead body. There's some text claiming 'The horn isn't just for show' on top of the image.

Conquest stares at it, deadpan.

"Yes. Put it in the cart." He says, turning away, smirking to himself as he hears you let out a choked laugh, taken by surprise.

As you keep looking around, Conquest wanders a bit, ignoring the occasional stares from strangers. He ends up wandering into an aisle filled with tiny soft clothes in soft colours. It makes him pause.

An unfamiliar feeling fills him as he, hesitantly, picks up a little bundle. It's a powder blue colour, and as he holds it in his palm (a single palm– so, so small), he sees it's a onesie.

A tiny blue onesie.

Conquest feels frozen, staring down at the baby clothes with something akin to wonderment. He can't even conceive the thought of something so small, yet here lies the proof. Are all babies so small, he wonders, to be able to fit in this outfit? In his palm?

The thought of his one, big hand cradling a newborn nearly undoes him.

It feels like he can't breathe, chest aching with such yearning he hasn't felt in forever.

He makes a sound, pained, almost. A hand lands on his shoulder, nearly startling him.

"Hun? Conquest?" You whisper, peering over to see what has him so… oh.

Giving the big man a soft look, you smile, leaning against him.

You understand.

"Come on," you whisper, tugging his arm gently. "We'll add it to the cart."

Conquest's heart soars at your words, at what the hidden promise nestled between the letters mean. It's unspoken, neither of you ready for that step yet, but it will happen.

The baby onesie is added to the pile of clothes, a silent promise that it will see use in the future hanging between you two.

Conquest clings to that promise, keeps it close to his heart, letting it soothe that yearning ache he's had for millennia. He holds onto it for the rest of the trip, on the drive home, and for the rest of the day.

It warms him, the thought of little honey-brown eyes and your hair and tiny chubby fists…

Emperor help me, he thinks. I've gone weak. And yet he finds he can't give a shit.

Later that night, as you get ready for bed, Conquest feels the soft cotton of the onesie again, imagining just for a moment… before carefully tucking it away in his bedside drawer, and rolling over to face you.

That was still a while away, after all. And he had you, which was more than enough for him.

Chapter Text

Upon coming to the startling realisation that he saw you as mate material and wanted you that way, Conquest had been mentally reviewing all previous interactions, seeing them in a new light.

And now that he officially lived with you, he needed to take things up a notch and properly court you. How else was he supposed to get you to agree to be his mate?

… which was easier said than done. See, Viltrumite courtship rituals– back when Viltrumites still courted each other to have partners and not just to mate– are… specific and hard to do when one half of the courting pair… can't do them.

Viltrumite courtship rituals have changed throughout the ages before falling out of favour, as even the simple act of having a committed partner to rely on and be loyal to was deemed a weakness– something about how it would cause attachment, which, obviously. But before they did, however, there were a good few steps to proper courtship.

The first step was, of course, making one's intentions known. This was done bluntly and honestly.

"What's the term humans use when they're seeing each other romantically, again?" Conquest asks abruptly.

"Dating." You answer simply, still doing your own thing.

He hums, nods, then says, "I want to date you."

You choke on your spit.

The second step was– not all that surprising, really– battle. If a Viltrumite was going to take someone as a partner, they needed to make sure who they'd potentially be mating with wasn't a complete and utter weakling. And so a duel would occur from sunrise to sunset, the two Viltrumites giving it their all. If the approaching person (the one who proposed the courtship in the first place) managed to:

• Hold their opponent down for a full twenty-five minutes,

• Knock them unconscious,

or

• Break all their limbs,

then they'll have proved their strength to the other and everyone else.

Which, obviously, Conquest couldn't do with you.

He looked at you as he mulled it over, eyeing your arms, your legs, eye sweeping over other parts calculatingly.

If Conquest even flicked you on the forehead, you'd die.

Yeah, battling is off the table.

It's not like he needed to prove his strength to you anyway.

The third step was more common and expected: acts of service, proof they could provide to their mate, and future young. Back before Viltrumites just took what they wanted from each other and only mated for offspring, this was a necessary step as, even then, it was every Viltrumite for themselves (except when it came to outside 'threats'– then the whole empire would unite). So, this show of effort and care meant a lot. Especially since, again, back then, Viltrumite couples did stay together for the agreed upon duration– which could just be until their offspring grew to adulthood or even go on indefinitely. It depended on the couple, truly.

And this was the step you had fulfilled immaculately since the very beginning. Caring, polite, providing for him, talking to him and hearing, listening to what he was truly saying; the food you fed him as rich as ambrosia, the moments of play and fun as fulfilling as staining his fists with the blood of a strong enemy, the simple moments of domestic bliss simply spent in one another's vicinity easing something cold in his chest.

Yes, you've fulfilled your end of this courtship ritual and have proven yourself more than worthy of him.

Now it's time Conquest proves himself worthy of you.

The thing about Conquest is that he's a quick learner. Sure, he's better at adapting to a fight and learning a new opponent's physiology and abilities than anything else, but in the end, it's all the same.

He sees. He learns. He adapts. Not always in that order, but you get the point.

So when you complain about your tap leaking? He looks up tutorials online– the human's Internet being one of the more impressive parts of their technology if he's being honest. So much stuff, and it's not even all useful!– and, once you've left the house, he gets to work.

Gentle, he reminds himself, gentle. He uses a scanner he'd retrieved from his ship (hiding on the dark side of the moon for the time being) to find exactly where the issue was and then assess it himself. A simple fix, from what he's researched.

It's fixed in less than ten minutes. He almost finds himself disappointed, for some reason having expected it to be more difficult, to require more strength, to not need such a delicate touch from him.

Hmm.

He goes in search of more things to do.

The house has a fireplace; he spends a good twenty minutes outside chopping wood for it. He finds he likes the feel of an axe in his hands, even if he can do it with his bare hands. It's oddly fun and satisfying.

You have a few bird feeders hanging around, so he tops them up. Then he checks your garden, plucking a grasshopper off of your young lemon tree. He flicks it into space. Then, almost humiliatingly, he finds himself tidying up. Even as he makes sure your home is clean and warm for your return, he wants more. This isn't enough! These are common tasks! Not fit for courtship!

But what else is there? As much as he's learned about you and humans in general so far, there is still so much he doesn't know. And how can he appropriately prove himself if he doesn't know what you lack for?

But Viltrumites are blunt. Viltrumites are straightforward. Viltrumites aren't cowards.

Conquest ain't a damn coward.

So he asks.

"C'mon, darlin'." He exhales in frustration. "There must be something you want! You've been doing all sorts of things for me. Let me do something for you now!"

You'd already rejected his offer a few times, claiming you had all you needed and that you couldn't ask him for anything.

Pah, humans and their customs! What, did you feel guilty at the thought of asking for something? At the possibility of being a burden? You were going to be his mate, ask him for stardust for all he cares! He'll get it for you, just– please, ask him to do something, anything!

Conquest hates feeling useless. And that's how he feels right now. Because despite how you thank him, despite how praises fall from your lips and make his heart ache, it's not enough. He doesn't just want to make you happy with these acts. He wants to awe you. He wants to surprise you. He wants to shock you.

He feels frustrated that he just can't. He wants to hit something, but shockingly, doesn't want you to see it, see him, as a brute. So he swallows his frustration and thinks.

What can he do for you that you can't refuse, that'll mean the world to you, that'll prove he's the perfect mate for you?

The answer comes when you make a random comment under your breath about how much everything costs. It makes something ding! in his brain and Conquest is quick to go, leaving you with a quick promise he'd be back soon and a brief kiss on your head.

Oh-ho, this was going to be perfect! He was damn near giggling with how excited he was! Flying into deep space, he shot off, eager to fix this little issue human society had forced upon all its people.

Within the human's own solar system were quite a few planets with some interesting things to be found. Such as gemstones. More specifically, diamonds.

Rare and expensive on earth, but on Neptune and Uranus?

Conquest grinned, beginning to collect some at random. Oh, you'd be so happy!

A few hours later, you stared at the large clump with wide eyes, stunned.

"I…"

Conquest preened.

"This enough to have you living comfortably?" He asks, like he didn't just deliver five diamonds the size of bowling balls to your house.

"... yeah." You said, feeling faint. "Yeah, this– yeah." You say, voice sounding high and pinched. God, this– you needed to be careful, lest you crash the economy!

While you were worrying, Conquest just looked proud, all puffed up and feeling satisfied he'd dealt with such a big issue for you.

While you figured out how to sell the diamond (only one) without crashing the economy, Conquest sought out other ways to impress his mate-to-be. 

He got his answer while checking the food supply.

Sifting through your freezer, he finds it lacking in meat. There's a bunch of pre-made meals, packets of vegetables, and way too much ice cream, but not a lot of meat.

Conquest seeks to fix that.

Which leads to you coming outside after hearing a loud thud, and nearly shrieking in surprise because there's a fucking dead moose on your doorstep.

Your eyes are wide as you look from the carcass to your… something.

"Conquest! What the actual fuck." 

He stood with his hands on his hips, looking proud. "What? Don't you like meat?" He asks, gesturing to the body and– and…

You sigh. "Yes, but… God, is this even legal? I'm not sure hunting moose is fine…" Not that there were any moose near where you lived. Just how far had he gone to hunt for you? If it wasn't so shocking, you'd be flattered.

…

No, you were definitely flattered. How could you not be, when Conquest had spent the last week doing so much for you?

Conquest watched you patiently as you clearly mulled something over. His expression softened a bit as you walked past his newest gift, coming to a stop before him.

He arched his brow, heart oddly speeding up. "Darlin'?" He asks, uncharacteristically soft. But he was getting used to it, getting used to the way he was beginning to soften his hard edges for you, make himself something more than just a weapon of conquest.

He was moulding himself into the perfect mate for you, somebody that actually deserved you, even if it was difficult for him to do so.

You break the silence, shifting your weight from foot to foot, looking up at him with those mesmerising eyes of yours.

"You said you wanted to date me. Is everything you've been doing a form of… courtship?" You ask, needing to be sure; needing it to be stated plainly.

He inclines his head. "They have been, yes."

You take a breath, feeling… unbalanced, flustered in a way you haven't been before. You've never…

"Well then." With a smile, you reach for his hand, bringing it up to your lips. Pressing a kiss to his knuckles, you give him a soft look, hoping you convey your growing affection for this alien man clearly. "I accept."

Conquest's expression becomes one of sheer joy and pride, grin wide and happy. You shouldn't be surprised when he picks you up and hugs you, but you are, yelping as he (gently) squeezes you.

Laughing, you hug him back, not expecting a display of affection like that from him, but… maybe you've had more of an effect on him than you initially thought.

"Though… please don't bring me any more dead things." You tell him with a slight grimace. "The grocery store is literally five minutes away."

Conquest practically purred when he hummed in response. "No promises."

You sigh. "I'm dating a damn cat." You mutter, idly wondering how you're going to deal with his 'gift' to you.

Hopefully Conquest knew how to field dress animals. You certainly did not.

Chapter Text

Passing by Conquest as he lounged on your couch, reading something on the Viltrumite datapad he'd retrieved from his ship at one point or another, you paused.

You eyed him.

He was focused, expression neutral, relaxed, slowly scrolling as he read… something. Probably something to do with Viltrumite history.

(He was actually reading about child raising, but that was currently unimportant.)

A few seconds passed by with you just watching him before Conquest even glanced at you, and by that point, you'd already made your decision.

“Yes, d–?”

Before he could even finish his sentence, you were on him.

Hugging his arm to your chest, you ‘immobilised’ him, keeping him happily captive and still as you pressed your lips to his cheek. Then again. And again. And– once more– again.

Mwuah, mwuah, mwah! Mwuah, mwuah…

Conquest blinked in surprise, a little stunned by your… ‘attack’. Slowly, a smile spread across his lips as he chuckled, setting his tablet aside.

“Now, what are you doing, pumpkin?” He asks, pulling you close– you never stopped kissing him, mwuah'ing all over his face. The soft, wet click of your lips hitting his jaw, cheek, along his scar, and the side of his nose filled the air as he just watched you, confused yet utterly content to just stay like this.

Pressing a kiss between his eyebrows, you say, “Kissing you. Duh.” Then you're back to smooching him.

A kiss to his left eyebrow, then to the crown of his head, then the tip of his nose (followed by a playful bite), then a line of tiny kisses along his scar.

Conquest just hums, closing his eyes. Like this, he really resembled a big, happy cat. You swear you can almost hear him purring.

Pressing an exaggerated smooch to his lips, he growls, cupping the back of your head and pulling you back in for a longer kiss. Which you acquiesce to after a moment of pretending to consider it.

Chapter Text

A knock at the door caught Mark's attention. His mother, working at the kitchen island, glanced up.

“Expecting anybody, Mark?” She asks, still typing away.

“Not that I know.” He says, getting up. Eve or William would have texted if they were coming over, after all. Unless it was an emergency.

As he approached the door, he faintly heard talking on the other side of it. The voices were unknown to him, which had him hesitating.

“... just don't start anything, okay? It's weird enough we're doing it like this…”

“How else were we supposed to do it, darlin’? Start a fight downtown?”

“Oh, you'd just love that, wouldn't you?”

That amused yet fond response has Mark confused yet plenty weary, and– taking a deep breath in preparation– he pulls the door open, tensing for a fight.

What he sees on the other side makes him both tense up ten times harder and nearly makes him stumble back in shock and fear because holy fuck–

There, standing on his doorstep were two individuals. One, you, a normal human person, completely ordinary, made even more so by the towering figure of strength and horror standing beside you, a hand protectively threateningly gripping your waist.

Looking up at a scarred face, balding white hair, a fucking blind eye, and crooked, jagged teeth revealed in a sinister grin, Mark knew without a single doubt that this guy was a Viltrumite. The uniform was a dead giveaway, of course, but even without it this guy screamed stand ready for my arrival or something equally as threatening.

All at once: chaos.

“What–”

“Mark, who is it–?”

“Hi, I'm Y/N, and this is–”

“Woah, who's that old guy–?”

And Mark didn't waste any time, remembering what destruction his alternate selves caused and not wanting a repeat with this terrifying Viltrumite right here. He shot forward, fist out to hit him, ready to push you out of the way– he probably grabbed you as blackmail or something, a prisoner– the mixed shouts of his mother, brother, and you filling the air as he yelled—

Only to jerk to a sudden stop, the Viltrumite's much larger hand enveloping his fist, holding it still without even a hint of strain. And Mark had done all that training, too!

“Easy there, boy. Is that anyway to treat guests that come in peace?” The Viltrumite asks, amusement coating his words; it didn't escape Mark's attention that he'd moved a bit, putting himself between Mark and you. A shield.

It confused Mark enough that he stopped, glancing between you and the Viltrumite. You didn't seem scared. Worried, yes, but your attention was on the bigger man, a hand coming up to rest on his shoulder.

“Conquest…” You whisper, a bit of a… reminder in your tone. Whatever it was for, it makes ‘Conquest’ sigh and release his grip, pushing Mark back a bit.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, darlin’.” Conquest murmurs, patting your hip fondly. “Right, well, can we talk or do you want to take this to the sky? Because let me tell you something, Mark, I am hoping you want to fight, and it's only because my pretty little mate here wants to settle things diplomatically that I haven't already started anything.”

Mark rears back, faintly aware his mom was standing now, watching wearily, and that Oliver was at the stairs, ready to back his big brother up no matter what.

And then– confusing him even more– Mark watches you smack Conquest's shoulder, huffing heavily. “Honey, please. You promised!”

And you know what? Conquest has the gall to look ashamed, apologetic, grumbling to himself before sighing.

“I did…” He turns to Mark again. “Alright. My mate has spoken. No fighting unless you start something. Now, let us in. There are some things you should know about, and believe me, it took a lot of convincing from my darlin’ here for me to do this, so you better appreciate this.”

Mark is speechless, glancing between the terrifying Viltrumite that would make his father look weak and the human who seemingly had him leashed.

He was stunned.

He was confused.

He had no fucking idea what to do next.

But thankfully, his mom did.

Coming to her son's rescue, Debbie Grayson stepped forward, smiling a little tightly. “Of course. If you don't start any trouble, we'll hear you out. Please, come in, is there anything I can get you?”

Smiling, you stepped in, a hand delicately tucked into Conquest's elbow as you led him in. “Oh, thank you, Mrs. Grayson. And don't worry, Conquest won't start any trouble. Right, dear?”

Conquest held your gaze, fondness shining in them. “Whatever you want, pumpkin.”

You beamed.

Everyone else just felt vaguely unsettled.

A few minutes later, everyone was sitting down in the living room, Conquest idly taking in his surroundings as Mark and Oliver eyed him with a mix of wariness/weariness and curiosity. Debbie, meanwhile, played the perfect hostess, offering you and your… husband refreshments.

“Oh, thank you. You didn't have to.” You say, taking a sip of your drink. Debbie waves you off, saying it was no issue.

“So,” Mark cut in, a little antsy, “You had something to say?” He says pointedly, Conquest giving a hum as he nods, uncrossing his arms.

“I do.” He says, glancing at Oliver with some interest, the half Thraxan boy glaring at him. “I was sent here to prepare this planet for the Viltrum Empire. In other words, to make you give in.” He grins, vicious. “And you would've, make no mistake. I would've had the time of my life beating the shit out of you.”

Silence. The Graysons look vaguely horrified as you just sigh, elbowing your mate.

He grunts like he actually felt that, and lets his smile drop. “Except obviously I didn't do that. I got… sidetracked.” At that, he gave you a look, one filled with affection. “And honestly, I'm quite happy here. I've got a mate who doesn't fear me, a comfortable home, and I don't have to deal with other Viltrumites treating me like I'm unstable.”

Well that's not worrying, Mark thought, wondering just why the hell Viltrumites would find this guy unstable, then promptly decided he didn't want to find out.

“Okaaay.” Mark says. “So… why are you here then? If you're so happy playing house, then, uh, why come here?” Not that he wasn't thankful knowing there was an even stronger Viltrumite hanging around, but y'know. Now he wouldn't be able to sleep at night, knowing he shared a planet with this guy.

“That would be because of me.” You say, setting your drink down. “Conquest has told me much of Viltrum, and I figured it was best you knew too.”

The older man nods, looking vaguely uncomfortable for a moment as he mulls something over. Finally, he makes eye contact with Mark.

"Here's the thing, Mark. When the Empire needs to subjugate a planet quickly and efficiently, they send me. I have never failed a mission before, not once in five thousand years. By now I should have already been done, I should've already made you bend and break, I should've had this planet ready. Except I haven't."

Conquest takes a breath, gazing upwards in thought. "By now the other Viltrumites will have realised something is wrong, that I've…" He sucked on his teeth. "Abandoned my mission. And that's going to make them mad. Very mad. Especially Thragg. Now, if you think I am scary, then you've seen nothing yet. Even I am weary of him. But–"

The room was silent, three increasingly horrified faces staring back at him, though the two half-Viltrumite boys also had a look to them, a look that said bring it on, we're ready. 

Cute.

But they'd need more than misplaced confidence though.

"–but… all the other Viltrumites are scared of me. They think I am unstable. They don't even talk to me. So if they are ordered to fight me? Well…" Conquest grinned. "They know it'll be a fight to the death."

"What, so you're saying you'll… fight for Earth?"

Conquest makes a considering sound, eye going to you. "If necessary. Mainly to keep my mate safe. But I don't think it'll come to that. See, the Empire has a secret, one closely guarded." And here Conquest genuinely looks uncomfortable. "One which, being of Viltrumite descent–" He sent Oliver a slight glare of disgust, "–you deserve to know."

He sighs, fists clenched. You lay a supportive hand on his shoulder, nodding.

"There are less than fifty pure-blooded Viltrumites alive."

What?

Mark stared at him, uncomprehending for a long moment. That… no… it couldn't be true, right? How–?

"It was the Purge, wasn't it?" Mark whispers, and Conquest nods.

"Yes. On one hand, we succeeded. The weak were purged–"

You clear your throat, giving him a pinched look. Conquest sighs and rolls his eyes. Clearly, there'd been some kind of argument about that topic between you two before.

"–but at the cost of much of our breeding pool and kind in general." He finishes. "Along with the true royal bloodlines heir being lost, but that's unimportant now." He waves it off. "The point is: the Empire doesn't have the bodies to spare to bring both you and me to heel. Now, Thragg himself could do it no doubt, but he doesn't fight unless everyone else has failed."

"Like a final boss." Oliver whispers, getting an amused look from his family, you, and a confused look from Conquest.

Mark rubs his face. "So… you're saying… what? We're in danger but not?"

Conquest shrugs. "Pretty much. Don't get me wrong, the danger is there, it's coming, but we've got time."

Mark felt a sense of foreboding.

"For...?" He asks.

Conquest grins, vicious, wide, teeth glinting with a deadly promise.

"To train, of course!" He gives Mark an amused look, taking joy in his obvious fear. "Nolan clearly slacked off with you if Anissa could easily wipe the floor with you, so I'll be training you, boy. Can't have the planet my mate lives on be destroyed, now can I?"

"And innocents be killed, Con." You sigh, reminding him.

He waves it off. "That too. Now," he gives Mark a serious look, all mirth gone in an instant, "What do you say, 'Invincible'? Do you want to finally live up to your name?"

And really, what choice does Mark have? The Viltrumite threat is ever looming, Angstrom nearly got his loved ones killed again, and Cecil's training program is out of the question.

So he nods, expression solemn.

"I accept."

Conquest grins. "Good." He purrs.

"Can I join too?!" Oliver quickly cuts in, flying towards Conquest and making the old man blink in surprise. "Please?! I wanna kick Viltrumite butt too!"

Conquest barely withholds his disgusted look at the thought of training this… halfbreed, but–

You stare at him pointedly from the corner of his eye.

– Conquest doesn't want to agree, but… it's not a bad idea. They need all the help they can get (even if he could probably kill a good five to ten Viltrumites on his own if he focuses– the one thing he has over the rest? Experience. He knows tricks none of those fuckers could ever dream of), and the boy doesn't even look that bugish. Just purple.

Then, remembering something he'd seen on TV more than once, Conquest says, "Only if your mother agrees." And thankfully, that's enough to get the boy out of his face, now beggin' with puppy eyes (bug eyes?) to his stepmother or whatever she was to him.

As Oliver begs her to let him, Debbie gives Conquest a weary look, obviously not liking the thought of such a dangerous man training her son. She glances at you, and, understanding her look, you give a small nod and flash her a reassuring smile. A silent promise you'll ensure your mate goes easy on the boy.

As the Grayson family discuss the matter– or rather Oliver badgers his mom about being allowed to be trained, Mark watches on in amusement, and Debbie slowly begins to give in, smiling softly at her step-son– you look up at Conquest, a proud smile on your lips.

"You handled this wonderfully." You whisper, nudging him gently. "So, do you have a training regime in mind yet?"

Nodding, a dark smile appears on his face. "Oh, I do, pumpkin. I'll be giving these two the proper Viltrumite Army treatment. By the time I'm done with them, they'll be able to take down Nolan with ease!"

For a moment, you feel pity for those boys. Having heard stories from Conquest about his days in the army, you knew they were in for hell.

… well, at least it'll mean they'll be able to actually save people from threats now!

Chapter Text

Observing the planet he was sent to take to task from high above, old eyes took in the odd amount of destruction on it with interest. When Conquest was ordered to come here to handle the errant Viltrumite boy, Nolan's boy, he hadn't expected this!

Maybe Anissa was wrong about him, Conquest was pretty certain the boy had wisened up some based on how he'd seen what was clearly a Viltrumite causing terror. Good on him! Though it wouldn't be enough. Once Conquest was ready for a fight, oh boy, he was getting that fight.

Flying down, he took in the damage caused, humming, a bit impressed. Not bad for a shrimp. Maybe Nolan's boy would be a worthy opponent. Conquest couldn't wait to feel the warmth of the boy's blood stain his skin.

Despite his reason for being here, Conquest couldn't help but take a minute detour. Finding a less populated area, full of greenery, he landed, looking around. For a moment, he allowed himself some... peace. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, chest expanding, muscles relaxing.

This– moments like this were a secret he held close to his chest, something he'd never tell any of the other Viltrumites, something he'd take to his grave– or make others take to theirs if they ever learned of it. Because despite his bloodlust, his enjoyment of battle and making his opponents suffer... Conquest was... Conquest wanted...

"Myah."

Thoughts abruptly interrupted (and it was probably best they were, otherwise he'd have acknowledged just how alone he was, how much the ache in his chest, the yearning for something more ate at him), Conquest (he doesn't even get a real name) looked down in surprise, seeing an... earth creature? Looking up at him.

Small and fluffy and clearly well taken care of. A pet, simply put. Recognising it as a cat, he huffs, hands on his hips.

Raising an eyebrow, Conquest stares at it curiously, glancing around for its owner or… is it wild? It looks well taken care of.

"Well, hello there." He says, finally, more amused than anything. It meows back, and he huffed a laugh. Well, at least he's getting a bit of entertainment, a starter course before the main meal. Maybe he'd even take the fight far away, a tiny bit of mercy for this random creature with the bravery to approach him.

And then the cat rubs itself against his feet and–

so, so lonely

– Conquest huffs, crouching to look at it. "Fearless thing, ain't ya?" He mutters. The brief warmth makes his chest ache, and he clenches his jaw, not liking the feeling. Never mind, maybe he should just crush the little critters skull and be done with such weakness–

A voice.

Clear and loud, coming from nearby. Rich with concern and care.

“Vee-vee!” The voice calls, and the cat perks up, meowing. It leaps off, heading towards the voice before pausing, glancing back at him.

Was it… waiting for him–? No, no, he was being ridiculous. He shakes his head, preparing to fly off in the direction of the nearby city. It was time for his long-awaited battle–

And then that same voice, closer now. “Vee? Where are you, baby? Your mommy will be very sad if I lose you– oh!”

Conquest stops, turning to look at you as you appear, staring at him with a touch of weariness; he's unsurprised, used to it, expects it, even.

But then you speak, calling out politely, and that surprises him.

“Um, hello there.” You give him a tight smile, carefully bending down to pick up the cat. “I wasn't aware anyone else lives around here.” You say, glancing around carefully, and… well. Conquest certainly can't hold that against you. This area is further out. He didn't spot any houses when he landed, so if you live around here…

“I don't.” He states simply, wondering why he's even responding.

You blink. “Oh.” You shift on your feet, looking like you're about to take a step back (scared of him like everyone else) but you don't, remaining in place. “Are you here to get away from things, then?” You ask, gesturing vaguely in the direction of the half destroyed city.

Conquest blinks at the human, wondering if you're blind. Did he look like some… what's the word… tourist? In his uniform and his metal hand and all his scars?

“... something like that.” Is what he says, and you nod, an understanding look in your eyes.

Really, Conquest should leave. He doesn't have to kill you, though inevitably innocents will die. They always do. Not that he cares. But he doesn't need to kill this polite human who'd just come to grab their cat.

He should leave.

He doesn't.

Because then you ask him how long he's been travelling for, and he tells you he's been travelling for weeks to get here. Not untrue. After all, that's how long it took to get to Earth. Though you take it differently.

It's… intriguing how you briefly gape, giving him a worried look– not for yourself, but for him.

“How long?? Geez, uh, you must be tired–” you say, searching for a vehicle– but no, there aren't any roads around here, so either he walked or he has powers, but even then–

“Would you like something to drink?”

And oh. Oh. That's the moment, right there, that changes things. Because in all his years, Conquest has never been asked something so simple.

(“All the other Viltrumites are scared of me. They don't even speak to me.”)

And… he's in no rush, right? And he is a little thirsty. Flying through space does that to a man.

So he accepts.

(He pretends there's not a warmth soothing that ache in his heart, that he feels so much lighter over something so minuscule, over a simple polite offer anyone would give to anybody.

Except Viltrumites.)

And you beam, earlier weariness fading in the face of his earnest answer (he doesn't realise he'd shown his surprise, that you could see how touched he was by your offer).

“Alright! Well, follow me then, sir.” You instruct, turning, and he follows like the good soldier he is, briefly amused he was following the command of a little worm like you.

—

When he arrives at your house, Conquest takes a moment to stop and take in the sight of it. It was… different. Very different from Viltrumite architecture, and even the architecture of the city in the far distance; there's no greys or muted tones on your house, only a rich brown wood for the base, the windowsills and door painted bright colours. Plants lined the walls and windows, vines growing up the walls and vibrant green bushels in pots beneath the windows.

The path leading up to the home was made of stone, moss growing thick in between the gaps. It was very… natural. Wild yet tamed. It had a charm to it that Conquest would admit he liked.

When you let him in, however, he didn't know where to look. Everywhere he turned there was something to see. So much decor. So much… useless junk.

And yet it had an air to it he was unfamiliar with, one that held such… comfort that he felt uneasy.

As you entered, you set the white and orange cat, 'Vee-vee', down. Immediately, he ran off. And, moments after, the sounds of many cats were heard.

Slowly, Conquest looked at you, curious.

A little embarrassed, you chuckle, rubbing your hands together. "Oh, uh, none of them are mine. I'm just looking after them for some friends. With all the destruction in the city, people had to be relocated to shelters, many of which don't allow pets." You say, a frown progressively growing as you speak. You sigh.

"It's the least I can do, right? Give these little guys a safe place and ease my friends’ minds."

He just stared at you, confused. Conquest had never had a pet before, but he knew it took effort. So why would you take care of so many when they weren't even yours?

Conquest, as a Viltrumite, would not understand your reasons even if you explained it. So, with enough awareness he wouldn't be able to wrap his mind around such kindness (and not caring enough to think more on it), he shrugs the issue off and just answers with a nod.

You clear your throat. "Anyway, I'll get you a drink– any preferences? Oh, and if you'd like, I can offer you something to eat?"

He stares at you for a moment, then speaks, voice a little quieter than intended.

"Water will do. And… something with meat." He says, eyes glued to your face. Such earnestness…

"Of course. Just wait a moment please." You say, presumably making your way to the kitchen. He watches you but doesn't follow, instead taking a moment to look around. Peeking into what seems to be a living room, he just stares at all the things, the air smelling like a mixture of old and new books, floral detergents, a bit of wet earth, and so many more he can't place.

And there are cats staring back at him. One is laying in your plant pot, white fur probably dirty now. A couple lounge on the sofa. And when he stares into a dark corner, it blinks back at him, a pure black cat mewling sweetly at him in greeting.

Conquest huffs, shaking his head in bemusement. What does he even say? Or think? He's completely out of his depth here, yet… he can't find it in him to care all that much.

It's interesting. Unique.

As the delicious aroma of food fills the air, Conquest decides he'll let you live. Not only that, he'll ensure the fight doesn't come anywhere near here.

Good deeds should be rewarded, after all. And you've been unfailingly polite to him.

As he walks into your kitchen– filled with colour, plants, and windows letting in a nice breeze– Conquest can't help but wonder if you'd still be so nice to him if you knew what he was.

You gesture for him to sit and he does, looking around idly as you set a large glass of cold water before him, and a plate of meat filled pastries. He eyes them while drinking from the glass, interested.

When he takes a bite of one, he thinks he might have died and been sent to the afterlife. It's so good.

He tells you as such, and a bashful look overtakes your darling features.

"Oh, thank you! I made them myself."

His opinion of you rises a little higher.

Conquest eats his fill, finishes his water, and gets ready to leave– but then a cat jumps in his lap and starts purring, so he goes still. Shooting you a questioning look, you give him a shocked one in return.

"Huh, Gremlin doesn't even let me touch him. He must like you."

Conquest just stares at you in disbelief, the cat bumping its head against his chin. He'd heard that animals have good instincts.

This one must be dumb, then, to like someone like him.

With him now stuck in place, you offer him another drink, something sweeter. Pink lemonade served with slices of strawberries. This time, you join him, making idle conversation with him about this and that, and–

And Conquest really should leave. He's been here for over an hour. He should be pummelling Mark into red slush right now.

But then you mention starting dinner and offer him some and… Well… it would be impolite to refuse, right? How can Conquest repay the first sign of kindness he's ever been shown with impoliteness? Hm? He can't.

So he stays, soon being covered in very dumb cats who think he's friendly when he's very much not, and watching you bustle around your kitchen with such familiarity it intrigues him.

He's certainly never spent much time in the kitchen of his ship or his apartments back on Viltrum. He never had any need to, meals prepared by machines most of the time.

You make spaghetti and meatballs with sauce. He has no idea what that is, but he knows it smells good.

You eat together, and there's an… air to the room now, something crackling on the edge of his senses. By the time his plate is empty, it's late, the sky dark.

He should definitely leave now.

He stays for seconds.

Then, then, it's time to leave. And he is. Absolutely. He's up, he's… helping you tidy up– the polite thing to do, of course. Conquest has got some manners. And he's going to leave. Something in his chest aches at the thought, but he's not– he can't stay. He has a job to do, and Conquest has never faileda task given to him in all five thousand years of his life.

He's not going to start now.

But then you open your fucking mouth and ask, "Do you have a place to stay? I… it's dangerous out there and I'd feel really bad if you were hurt and… it's dark, I…"

You keep speaking, and Conquest is torn.

You're concerned. You care, however minimal it is. You're kind. You're offering him a place to stay for the night.

He should leave.

Instead he accepts.

(It's the best decision he's ever made.)

Chapter Text

(Fem! Reader, bottom! Conquest, pegging.)

Leaning over the bed with his arms folded beneath him, Conquest felt rather… vulnerable. An odd feeling, considering just what he was. He doesn't think he's felt this way since he was a child.

Then again…

Looking up, Conquest stared at his reflection, cheeks flushed and dark red, a hazy look in his eye. His back was arched slightly, pillows under his crotch. His thighs were spread, enclosing you between them as you worked diligently between his legs. He saw you reach for that bottle again, shivering before he even feels the cool lubricant dribble onto his puffy hole.

Embarrassed, he presses his face against his forearms, trying not to react too much as your fingers dipped into him once more. A muffled groan against the sheets as you shoved the digits deep, rubbing at that spot within him he couldn't make any sense of.

Laid out like this, with you playing with his asshole in preparation to fuck him, Conquest felt vulnerable, embarrassed– shy, even. Not that he'd admit it, but–

You twist your fingers with a squelch, and he gasps, hips jerking. A soothing hand strokes his hip as you murmur something to him, lost to the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Once more, he wonders why he agreed to this.

Prying at his hole some more, testing how stretched he is, how relaxed he's become, you lean forward, kissing the arch of his spine. Glancing back down to the slick mess you've made, you eye the way he clenches. Needy, you think, leaning back to put on your strap.

Conquest can barely recall how this started, can only just remember something about pride and something new and whatever else you'd said that convinced him to bottom for you. He didn't really get it. Did humans lack pride or something? What did that have to do with you fucking him with a fake cock?

Still, Conquest would do damn near anything for you, so obviously he agreed. He just hadn't expected it to feel so good though.

With a deep grunt, he stretches, feeling your form between his legs. Looking up at the mirror again, Conquest felt hot as he saw you were watching him through it, eyes on him, hooded and pupils blown wide, simmering with affection and lust.

Something notches at his entrance.

Reaching forward, you take his hand as you push in, the dildo sinking into your man as he breathes heavily, fast, panting through the unfamiliar pleasure. You also sigh, the strap-on grinding against your clit. Rolling your hips slightly, you give yourself some pleasure while nudging the tip of your cock against his prostate.

Who knew Viltrumites would have them? Conquest certainly didn't know he did.

Blanketing yourself over him, your lips pressed along his shoulders as you found a good angle and rhythm, knees digging into the mattress as you pulled out… and slammed back in.

Conquest grunted, feeling your breath hitting the back of his neck as you fucked him, and a soft growl escaped him, cock twitching against his belly as it was squished between him and the bed.

“I-is that all you got, worm?” He growls, tone not too dissimilar to the one he uses when he's training younglings. “Put your hips into it! F-fuck me harder!”

And you do, god, you do. 

Gripping his waist, you pound away, addicted to the sting of flesh slapping together and the wet sucking sounds of his greedy hole swallowing your cock. Cheek pressed to his back, you whine deep in your throat, clit stimulated to high hell from all the grinding.

Under your ear, you can hear his heart and lungs working over time, groans reverberating through him as he rocks back into your thrusts, taking it like a champ, eager for more. The odd shape of the dildo rubs against his prostate repeatedly, and Conquest moans from deep within his throat as he finally cums, cock spilling against his stomach as you keep rutting him, trying to get as much pressure as possible while getting him off as well.

“That's it, darlin’! That's it, that's a good–” he grunts, pushing up a bit and twisting round to reach back, pushing you. “That's enough of that.” He growls, quick to turn around, taking off the whole strap-on piece so he can access your dripping hole, burying his face in it as he laps and sucks at your clit, tonguing your pussy hungrily until you keen, high and ecstatic, cumming on his tongue with lazy rolls of your hips.

Coming down from your high, you share a look with Conquest, both of you panting, flushed and sweaty.

“So…” You grin cheekily, “wanna do that again?”

(Trans! Conquest, pussy eating, male! Reader, slight breeding kink at the end.)

When you first got to see Conquest undressed, you never expected to find what you did.

Not that you're complaining! Not one bit, especially not with your face buried in his cunt the way it is.

Nosing at his clit, you glanced up, mind foggy with hunger, lust, and the stench of his musk.

Watching you eat him out with lazy, half-lidded eyes, Conquest leaned back against your headboard, one arm behind his head while the other lay across his stomach, hand close enough to pet your head.

With a deep sigh, he shifted his hips, and you moaned into him, tongue swirling around his dick before sucking it, hands splayed along his inner thighs, only able to keep him spread open for yourself because he allowed it.

A hand brushed some hair out of your face, gentle, resting on your head as you buried yourself further in his quim, face drenched in his slick. An easy feat, as he was a big man.

“If I knew you'd be such an eager pet…” Conquest suddenly spoke, voice drowning out the sound of your slobbering and sucking, “I would've had you like this on our first meeting. Would you have liked that, darlin’? Between my legs, eating me while I ate your food?”

You whine at the thought, eyes rolling back as you shoved your tongue into him, muscle coaxing his walls for more tasty pre. You know he'd never, but the thought of this hulking beast of a conqueror coming into your home and instantly taking control was…

Hips jerking, you grinded against the bedsheets, your prick aching almost painfully.

“Ah, ah, ah!” Conquest chides, gripping you by the hair. “No touchin’ or grindin’ ‘til I give permission, remember?” He growls, crossing his right leg over the left, squeezing your head between his thighs. “Don't want me grabbing the cock ring do you?”

It's an empty threat. Conquest prefers milking you dry over denying you, but the false threat always makes you lightheaded and hard, so you listen, whining into his pussy as you look up at him, probably a right mess with his juices smeared all over your face.

God, you're gonna stink after this. And knowing Con, he'd probably try to lick you clean.

You pretend the thought doesn't make you harder than you already are.

“Good boy. Now, back to it then.” He says, gesturing for you to continue. And you do, licking up the slick that dripped out of him, sucking his folds into your mouth with a quick nibble to the pink-ish flesh, before your tongue flicks his t-dick, and your lips envelope the little bud, suckling the pearl until his thighs shake on either side of your head, his breathing harried as his face creases up.

“Mmm– mmmm!” He whines, brows furrowed and lips damn near pouting as he feels that hot pressure in his belly tighten up and get ready to burst.

You give one last suck and the dam bursts.

Conquest groans loud and long as he cums, gushing a bit. You think you cum as well, a sudden wave of pleasure hitting you hard enough to black out briefly.

When you come to, only moments have passed, but Conquest has already gathered himself, looking down at you in amusement as he pants, cheeks flushed.

“Enjoyed yourself?” He asks, letting you free. As you weakly sit back on your knees, nodding, he laughs, looking down pointedly.

“You made a mess, kitten.” He teases. Looking down, you see the proof of your orgasm, your seed puddled onto the bed sheets.

Conquest hums, languidly stretching before leaning forward, cupping your cheek and making you look at him. “You spilled your milk, kitten.” He murmurs, running a finger through it, gathering some up. “Bit of a waste, don't you think?”

You nod slowly, knowing Conquest hates you wasting your spend. You have something he doesn't, something he wants, after all.

He leans in, kissing you sweetly for a moment, moustache tickling you. You giggle. He smiles against your lips before pulling away, eyeing you. Licking some of his juices off of your cheek, he pushes you back.

“Now, you're going to make up for that waste, darlin’. Really, you should know better at this point.” He says with a sigh, like this next part is some great chore for him.

Straddling you, he sinks down onto your cock in one move, making an appreciative noise as he rolls his hips. You nearly cum just from that, addicted to how his walls grip you like a fist.

Fucking Viltrumites.

“Now, I'm gonna ride you until you give me every last drop of your sperm, got it? Can't waste something like that. No, no… can't do that.” He places a hand over your heart, lifting his hips until only the tip is in him. “Not when it might be the one to finally take.”

He slams back down, and you realise you have another very long night of breeding ahead of you.

Oh no.

Chapter Text

Oh, he does.

You usually try to be understanding about how he is- and you are! You're probably more understanding than most others would be in your situation. But you still have your limits.

And those limits include Oliver ending up with half his teeth missing and a black eye.

If Debbie's horrified gasp or Mark's annoyed yet exasperated glare wasn't enough, then your hard stare made sure Conquest knew he'd gone too far.

"C'mon, darlin', the insect was asking for it!" He tries to defend on the way home, flying with you in his arms, your own crossed as you stare ahead, ignoring him. "Literally! He whines worse than a baby when I hold back on him- even Mark gave me the go ahead!"

Though he obviously regretted allowing it when Conquest did so much damage. You wouldn't be surprised if Mark put his foot down from now on.

As you landed at your home, Conquest's large hands settled on your hips, a soft, "Pumpkin." Leaving his lips as you remain cross. Finally, you sigh.

"Fine, I'm forgiving you just this once, but next time, don't beat the kid black and blue, that's what Mark's for." You say, finally looking at him.

Beaming, Conquest leans in for a kiss, only to blink in surprise as you walk away.

"Uh, darlin'?"

You shot him a grin. "Oh, and no kisses for a day." You say, watching his jaw drop in disbelief.

Conquest stares after you in horror, realising the error of his ways. For the first time in over 3000 years, Conquest had been punished, and he finds he doesn't like it. Not one bit. Pouting (not that he'd ever admit to doing so), he follows you inside, thinking about all the kisses he'll miss out on. No pre-dinner kisses, no forehead kisses, no goodnight kisses...

At least it helps him learn his lesson, as Oliver doesn't end up that damaged again until he's much older and can actually take it.

Chapter Text

Okay, so, definitely, but let's not forget Conquest has powers here.

He could crush you, could smother you in that dripping heat between his legs, hairs tickling you and folds soaking up all your hungry moans as you lick and suck and devour him whole— but that's mean, no? Why would Conquest ever do that to his sweet lil Darlin’? He doesn't want to hurt you!

So he hovers, keeps himself up instinctually, grips his own body because anything else will shatter into fine dust under his grip. Even him rocking his hips against your face could be dangerous. Do you realise that? Are you aware that with one buck of his hips he could genuinely bust your nose?

You might not, but Conquest does. So he's gentle. It'd kill him if he hurt you after all. You may be willing to be hurt like that, to wear it as a badge of honour, but he ain't. And if you want to be marked up so damn bad, c'mere, let him give you a nice necklace– metal or flesh hand? Your choice, darlin’.

As for scissoring... hoo boy. Just know the first thing he thinks of is that he wants both sets of lips to kiss.

No, literally.

His flesh hand gripping your jaw, holding you still as his tongue plunders your mouth, swirling around yours fora bit before dipping, moving through the tiny cavern in exploration; he licks the back of your teeth before his tongue glides back to yours, slick and hot as they twist and slide together.

Down below is wet and sticky. His metal hand on your hip, occasionally reaching lower to squeeze your ass, he holds you against him, pussies clicking together wetly. His clit nudges yours, folds gliding over each other, trails of shiny arousal connecting you to him.

"Look at that..." He purrs, pressing down, making your pussy squish against his. "Fuckin' beautiful. Listen to that!" He says, rolling his hips, sticky, squishy sounds filling the air of your bedroom, ears burning at the sheer lewdness of it all. "They're kissing, darlin'. Fuckin' making out all messy…"

He lets go of your jaw just to squeeze your mound, giving it a few wet pats, purposefully hitting your hard nub until it aches with need. He parts your lips, then presses up, cunt dragging across yours until you feel lightheaded with need.

You may have created a monster by unleashing his libido. Five thousand years of pent up sexual frustration all let out on your fragile, mortal body.

Poor you.

Chapter Text

Ooh, probably!

No longer being a part of the Viltrumite Empire, Conquest no longer has to fit such rigid systems, which includes how a Viltrumite can dress, look, etc.

With you, he gets to try new things, like different moustache styles.

(He'll never shave it off though. Don't even think about it!)

He lets it get longer after a year together, noticing how you like to run a finger along the shape of it while he rests. There's no sweeter feeling than you laid on his chest, gently playing with his facial hair. Or head hair (even if he hasn't got much left...). And once it's long enough, he finds himself fiddling with it, twirling a long end around a finger curiously. It's just so... different, y'know? He can't help but touch it.

But then he notices the way you watch him intently when he does it, or how your eyes flicker to right above his lips as he talks, eyes tracking the slight movements of his moustache twitching and quirking with every word he speaks. It makes something warm coil in his chest, a masculine sort of pride at how something so simple, so ordinary, can attract your attention to him.

He likes it. A lot.

So he grows his facial hair out, tries different styles both for you and him. He lets you trim it, perched in his lap, giggling as you tug on the white strands, muttering for him to "Stay still" as you try not to mess up. He won't mind if you do, the rest of him is crooked anyway. He cares more for these little moments, listening to you suggest hair care products you read about online or suggesting styles for him to try. And he does, feeling all the better for it.

And then one day you come home to find he's got mutton chops and- god. Conquest thinks he's killed you with how you short circuit, staring at him in disbelief and- was that heat in your eyes? Oh, yep, you like it alright.

You spend the rest of the evening running your fingers through the soft yet bristly hair, giggling in that innocent way he adores. He'll probably only keep this style for the winter, but that just means something new for the summer.

Chapter Text

Absolutely heartbroken. Wonders what he did wrong, where did he mess up for you to seek out somebody else for comfort, affection, your needs? Did he do something wrong, darlin'? ls it him? ls he- what, too old for you now? Not handsome enough? Hm? What, does he scare you now?

(Hurt and sadness quickly turn into rage. It's what he's most familiar with, after all. And he doesn't think he can trust you enough to see him so vulnerable. Not anymore.)

He'll make you watch him, quite literally, rip the person you cheated on him with into little pieces. Have you ever seen someone pinch a bit of a person's skin between their thumb and forefinger and pullk the skin and muscle coming off as easily as playdough? No? Well you're about to. And he doesn't care how much it upsets you; if you try to look away, he'll make you watch, make you watch every single second of it even if you cry and beg and throw up. He won't stop until he's done and you've learned your lesson.

There's two ways for this to end.

1. He kills you. Simple as. Conquest can't trust you after this, so getting rid of his one weakness is easy (it's not, it's not– it's agonizing, it hurts– god, why did you do this to him?! Why why why?). Then he completes his mission like he should've done at the start, distractions be dammed.

2. If you've already had a child with him by this point, he keeps you alive, but... things are different now. The first thing he does is reclaim you, fucking you into the dirt until you're broken, blood staining his flesh and eyes red and swollen with tears. Conquest (ignores his aching heart) stares at you, nothing in his beautiful gaze. Then he takes you home and leaves you to clean up, focusing on Orion, on his son, the only one who hasn't betrayed him. He decides then and there that you only have one use anymore, and that's to be his breeder pet. The Viltrumite Empire needed more numbers, after all.

Congratulations, you unlocked the worst ending(s).

Chapter Text

Obviously, Viltrumites are a lot like humans in appearance, but what do they have that we don't? As a race who are the definition of ‘survival of the fittest’, they've spent generations cultivating the best genes, everything about them is dedicated to strength, power, and perfection.

Sfw:

• Secondary eyelids– aka the ‘nictitating membrane’. A thin, see-through eyelid that protects their eyes from dust, immense heat, and keeps their eyes moist while maintaining vision. Useful for Viltrumites who have traversed every environment and fight a lot.

• Fangs/sharper canines. Ancient Viltrumites all had these teeth, but as they evolved as a society, some saw it as animalistic and a sign of ‘barbarism’. There were many disagreements on it among them, as on one hand it was another tool, another weapon to use against their enemies; on the other, only animals on their planet had such sharp teeth. Were they animals too, then? Them?

  • After the Great Purge, there were only a few Viltrumites with fangs left. These include: Conquest, Thula, Nolan, and later Mark (his sharpened throughout teenhood, a small sign his powers were coming in). The opinion amongst the last 50 something Viltrumites wavers and changes about fangs, but since Conquest has them and they've seen how he uses them in combat… well, I'm sure you can imagine what side they fall on more often than not.

  • But fangs weren't just for ripping throats out. In some ‘tribes/units/regiments’, a ‘mating bite’ was their version of claiming a mate/marriage. Even with their regenerative abilities, these bites would typically take ages to heal or even scar permanently. Something in their saliva, most likely.

• Not biology related, but: back when there were more Viltrumites, I imagine they'd refer to different groups of Viltrumites by militaristic terms rather than races like humans. Ancient Viltrumites used terms like tribes and such.

• Did you know that humans have stripes? We do! They're referred to as ‘Blaschko's lines’, and are only visible under ultraviolet lights. Just like humans, Viltrumites have their own– but instead of stripes, they have spots.

  • Conquest himself has spots similar to a jaguar's (he's your kitty now), and on the off chance you'd get to see them, you'd see they're most prominent on his back, shoulders, hips, and outer thighs. (On another note: Mark takes after a human more here, having stripes. We have them from birth, after all, and his Viltrumite DNA didn't kick in fully until he was an adult.)

• Adrenaline: I'm putting this here because the misinformation in this fandom in regards to this theory is crazy, but— yes, Viltrumites also have adrenaline, just like humans. If anything, Viltrumites get an adrenaline rush more often with how much they go into battle, but maybe, just maybe, it becomes less effective/stronger the older a Viltrumite gets since they've experienced it so much while younger. But that's a big maybe.

• Female Viltrumites actually get a ‘boost’ during pregnancy since they're carrying another life. Humans, meanwhile, suffer during pregnancy. It confounds Conquest at first (and it confounded Nolan when he learned too), but he gets used to it. If you get pregnant, he genuinely needs to be told what you can and can't do because he doesn't get why you're suddenly so incapable. Your ankles are swollen? The smell of cooked meat makes you sick? Everything hurts?? He's so confused but goes along with it, probably carries you around everywhere once you reach six months.

• Still on the topic of pregnancy– human babies are born at 9 months before their skull is fully developed, reason? A fully developed skull wouldn't fit through a woman's vaginal canal during birth. Viltrumite women don't have this problem as their body can heal from it easily, so they carry their babies for a full year. Again, if you're pregnant and go into labour at 9 months, Conquest– even if he's been told before– is still worrying because it's not time yet! What if the baby is extra underdeveloped?? (The baby will be fine– Mark was, after all. Humans and Viltrumites are compatible for a reason.)

• Hell hath no fury like a new parent Viltrumite: Much like how women's hormones kick in and make them adore their babies, Viltrumite parents put their baby above all else. Since they're not born with their powers, baby Viltrumites are the most vulnerable creatures on Viltrum, so it's up to their parents to lock in and protect them until they get their powers.

  • This is further proven when you give Conquest an heir. He'll proudly show off his baby to the other Viltrumites and this scares them. Even Thragg is weary as Conquest proudly presents his first child to him, because everyone there knows that if they even breathe wrong in that child's direction they'll be wiped out. Conquest already doesn't give any real fucks about the Empire and his kind. His ‘loyalty’ to them is only because it was all he knew.

Nsfw:

• All Viltrumite men have a pouch/sheath for their genitals. With male genitalia specifically being so sensitive and just… hanging there, it's an obvious weak point. So they have a sheath their penis and testicles ‘pull’ into when not in use (re: mating). A sheath is visible only by a thin yet long divot in the skin along his crotch.

  • Around you, Conquest lets everything hang out, so to speak. It's not like there's anything on Earth that can actually cause him harm, and letting you see how endowed he is both amuses him and gives him a feeling of pride. For Viltrumites, showing off how strong and virile they are is a mating/seduction tactic– and while not employed anymore (modern Viltrumites seeing it as a barbaric, animalistic custom which they are above), Conquest still has the instinctual urge to show himself off to you like that.

  • Female Viltrumites can similarly ‘pull’ their outer labia together, sealing themselves up. This is to prevent unwanted mating– whether it be because it's nonconsensual or because she finds her mate unworthy.

• Now, Viltrumites do not have knots, but the base of their cock is noticeably thicker than the rest. So while the rest of your hole is all relaxed and loose and stretched from his cock, that last bit of himself is thick enough to plug you up no matter what. There'll be no wasting sperm on his watch.

• Like human men, Viltrumite men's tips are shaped to scoop out cum (IRL this is just a theory, but we'll say it's true in universe) from other, less worthy breeding partners. Unlike humans though, Viltrumite ‘tips’ can actually thicken and flare a bit– not by a lot, but just enough that all his cum will get pressed against your cervix longer to ensure higher chances of breeding before flooding out of you from excess.

• Female Viltrumites vagina muscles are much stronger than a human’s, allowing them to ‘lock' their partner in place until they're sure they've been bred.

• On the topic of breeding– Viltrumites can sniff out when you're at your most fertile/virile. Remnants from ancient instincts, they can tell when their partner is ready for a baby, at least physically. If you ovulate, just know Conquest also knows and is barely holding himself back from putting you in a mating press (if you're not ready for kids, that is. Once you are, you'll be pregnant by the end of the day). If you're a guy, it's a little harder for him to tell since, biologically, he's keyed more into telling when a female is ready for mating, but he'd learn over time. He becomes very familiar with your scent/musk regardless. Adaptability is a Viltrumite trait.

• Not really biology related but– most Viltrumites are virgins. Conquest is especially, most definitely, a virgin. He's only known his fist as a lover. Despite that, porn (if it can even be called that with how methodical/scientific it is) exists and is readily available for educational purposes so Viltrumites know what to do should they have a mate (yes, it's as clinical and cold as it sounds).

  • And if you must know– the first time Conquest sees human porn or even just a heated scene in a movie, he has a very… embarrassing reaction. Full on blushing, trying to cover his crotch, avoiding eye contact. (I should make Conquest nsfw headcanons too…)

Chapter Text

They stared at the phone.

“... Sir–”

“I'm getting to it, Donald.” Cecil gritted out, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You'll have to do it soon, we've got eyes on Mx. Y/N right now but…”

“Yes, I know, Donald, except I'm scared shitless because I have to call the most powerful being this side of the galaxy to explain how his fucking spouse got kidnapped!”

Glancing at the screen again, watching his people track you, Cecil considered how best to go about this.

… Fuck it.

Biting the bullet, Cecil called Conquest.

Looking away from where he had the boys practicing Viltrumite style fighting, Conquest held up the device humans often used to communicate. Extremely clunky compared to what he was used to, but he'd adjusted.

Humming, he narrowed his eyes. Why was Cecil…?

Something was wrong. 

It was instantaneous, Conquest getting this overwhelming feeling in his gut, a new sense he's never experienced before awakening to scream wrong, wrong, wrong in his ear.

He picks up the call.

“Speak.”

“Y/N has been kidnapped–”

A boom echoes through the air as he shoots off, everything around him becoming background noise, invisible to him.

“Location.” He growls into the phone, shooting up into the sky, eye darting from one moving object to the next as if he'll spot you like this. Yet he can't just do nothing. Everything feels like it's taking forever, all the while you've been taken.

Cecil sends him something on the device– a tracker showing your and your captors movements– and Conquest moves.

A blur of white, he disappears from the view of anything watching, multiple sonic booms echoing through the sky as he flies towards you, his darlin’, his sweetheart; Emperor help him if anything happens to you, he'll wipe this stupid planet out starting with the worms that took you–!

3.2 seconds.

That's all it took for him to reach you.

He sees the truck that's supposedly carting you off. He doesn't even stop. The only reason he slows down is because he doesn't want to hurt you.

Conquest shoots over the roof, hand lower to rip a long strip right down the center of it. He watches dispassionately as the driver loses control for a moment, car swerving on the road. He just goes ahead of it, and grabs the hood.

Metal scrunches beneath his grip like paper as the fast moving vehicle is suddenly met with an unmovable, titanic force of strength; it buckles, bends in on itself, breaks. The men inside jostle, slamming forward. The driver only has a split second to lift his bleeding head from the steering wheel before Conquest is slowly squeezing his skull between his hands.

Sitting on the grass, blanket wrapped around you, you watched with morbid curiosity as Conquest plucked another bone from one of your kidnapper’s ring finger. It was done with precision you didn't often see from your– admittedly– brutish husband. He rarely was so careful with others.

Shifting in your position, you tried to speak, only to fail, lips barely parting. Instead you swallow, heavy and thick, and continue watching.

Of your kidnappers, only two were alive of the original five.

Number one, the driver, had his skull crushed in after answering Conquest’s questions. They'd planned to sell you. Traffickers. It made your heart hammer faster, but one look at Conquest comforted you.

He'd come for you. He always would.

Number two, the one that tried to make threats, had been… well. You know when an eraser gets dragged across a piece of paper or whatever and leaves a trail of its… ‘bits’ behind? That. Except it was a man being dragged along the road at neck breaking speeds until only a long line of viscera was left.

You might've felt a little sick if you didn't feel so glad.

One less monster in the world. One less monster to fear.

Number three had put a gun to your head… Conquest had ripped his dick in half– the long way– and used the man's gun to… well… it ended up with bullets being fired up the newly made hole, let's say.

The last two had tried to flee. They didn't get very far.

Conquest had focused on you, checking you over, holding you, hugging you, muttering words into your hair. He'd set you down carefully, then began his revenge on those that tried to take you from him, performing his twisted vivisection before you like an offering to a king or a god.

He was onto the pinkie finger now.

A few feet away, number five was whimpering, stinking of piss and blood, both legs broken. He was next.

Finally, just as Conquest began to move onto the next hand, you croaked out, “I wanna go home.”

All movement ceased.

Conquest, silent as the grave, looked up.

“... let's get you home, pumpkin.” He finally spoke, standing up. He walked over to you, picking you up– still wrapped in the blanket– and flew off. If he happened to stomp on their heads as he left, you wouldn't mention it, eyes closed and face shoved against his neck.

Over the next week, as you recovered from your traumatic experience, Conquest never left your side.

Among the get-well-soon! card Oliver sent and the texts from Debbie and Mark, a GDA nurse was sent to check you over; the entire time with Conquest observing, finger metaphorically on the trigger, ready to attack at the first sign of danger.

You appreciated it too much to be annoyed, clinging to him just as much as he clung to you.

“... my hero.” You muttered a few nights after the event, leaning back as Conquest washed your hair.

His movements paused. “Pardon?”

“You're my hero.” You repeat, smiling a bit, turning your head to look at him, some of your old energy returning. “You saved me.”

Conquest huffs. “Of course I did. You're my mate.” He emphasises, continuing to wash your hair, rinsing it out slowly.

“Well, yeah, but…” You bite your lip, eyes slipping shut. “I've never been saved before. I guess I'm just…”

You never finish your sentence, not finding the words for it. But you don't have to. Conquest understands, slightly, what you're getting at.

Thankful / heroic / proud of / changed

It makes him feel a little hot behind the ears, but he shrugs it off.

He only did what was right, after all.

Chapter Text

When Conquest looks at you, he sees perfection, the most beautiful, handsome, amazing person, the epitome of what a mate should be. You're everything he's ever dreamed of when he was young and still had dreams, everything he could've ever wanted in a mate.

When Conquest looks at himself, however, he doesn't always see what you see in him. There are days, rare but still, that he feels a little… undeserving of you. Because as much as he tries to soften himself, gentle his violent ways for you, Conquest is still just that: a conqueror. A killer. A butcher.

And you're you. Even when angry, violent– even when you're cursing and wishing the worst on somebody, it doesn't compare to his own, to the things he's done.

Plus, he's old.

But you've assured him time after time that you like how old he is, how mature he is; that you've always preferred your men a little older. You like his white hair, his scars, even his crooked shark teeth because they're all him. How could you not love all the parts that make up his form?

Yet, again, there are days when all your assurances go in one ear and out the other.

Such as now.

There's a man flirting with you.

Tall, head full of hair, closer in age to you. Charming in a boyish way. He's slow with registering all the items, taking his time while scanning them. He was probably feeling encouraged by the fact you and Conquest were the only ones in line.

Conquest watches with his arms crossed, shoulders tense as he glowers, glaring at the man until he looks up and pales dramatically.

With a nervous chuckle, the boy says, "Your grandpa sure is protective, huh?"

Conquest's eyes widen. Grandpa?! Oh, this little–!

While you had been content with ignoring the cashier's flirting up until then– hoping he would make a mistake or you could get a discount– his words instantly make you scowl.

"That's my husband, you blind mongrel." You snap, making the guy pale even more.

He began working faster, now thankfully silent, and quickly handed the bags over to you.

You did, in fact, get a discount. Probably because the boy was worried he was about to lose some teeth.

As you exited the store, you grabbed Conquest's hand. "Sorry about that." You murmur.

"'S not your fault." He mutters, still annoyed he was assumed to be your grandfather of all things.

You wince. "No, but I should've shut down his flirting from the start. I just thought I could ignore it, maybe he'd make a mistake while distracted and– I'm sorry."

He heaves a heavy sigh, and tugs you closer. "Probably. I care less about that though and more about the fact he called me your grandpa!"

You frown, leaning into his side. "He's just an idiot. He shouldn't have assumed." You murmur, hoping to comfort your partner.

As you both got in your car, you leaned over the centre console, kissing him.

"I love you." You whisper, reminding him softly.

A bit of the tension bleeds from his shoulders, and he sighs, kissing you back.

The next occurrence happens months later, and once more, Conquest glowers– well, it's more of a pout this time– as a woman keeps giving you shy, sweet looks from a few feet away.

It was disgusting. Only you looked cute making that expression. 

Once more, you're ignoring the stranger flirting– well, trying to flirt with you with you, instead eyeing the different items consideringly. Grabbing a few balls of yarn, you wave Conquest over, gesturing for him to grab a box of buttons from above.

The woman tries starting a conversation, asking if you're into knitting and such.

You shrug and hum. "A little, but my husband is interested in learning." You say, not even looking at her as you check your basket and see what else you might need.

Conquest gets to watch as the woman's eyes widen and dart towards him in realisation. Her lips part in an 'o' shape and she looks embarrassed.

Conquest just stands there smugly, laying a hand on your lower back for emphasis.

The longer you and Conquest are together, the less…– ugh– insecure he feels. You assured him as often as possible, made sure he knew how much you loved him. And while it didn't happen often, you always made sure to make it known you weren't interested when others showed you interest, verbal or otherwise.

So by the time you two had been mates for two years, Conquest was completely secure in his relationship. Nobody would be replacing him in your heart.

He was, however, caught unaware when somebody flirted with him.

It was during one of your summer travels, the both of you visiting all sorts of places together and making memories. You wanted to go to a horse ranch since you'd only seen horses once in your life.

While you were petting a brown mare under the eye of her handler, Conquest was leaning casually against a fence, watching you with a content smile, idly playing with the cowboy hat you'd bought him.

"Hey there." A sourthern drawl reached his ear, a woman appearing at his side. She was a little older than you, tanned, curly blonde hair.

Conquest just kept watching his mate. "Yes?" He asks, having little patience for anyone that wasn't you, your friends, or the Graysons.

The woman laughed for some reason, leaning against the fence with him. "Is that anyway to talk to a lady? 'Yes'." She imitated his gruff voice, laughing again. "Well, I just thought I'd check on ya, big fella. You seem pretty lonely over here."

He blinked, eyeing the way you flinched and then laughed as the horse nudged at you for more treats. He grunted.

"I'm fine."

"Mmm, ya sure? Big man like you…"

She rested a hand on his arm.

"... should have someone tendin' to him." She purred, and Conquest sneered, disgusted.

Before he could say anything or just kill this woman for the audacity, you were calling out to him, walking over to him.

"Con! They have babies! Do you want to see them?" You ask excitedly, briefly glancing between them before completely ignoring the woman, giving him a starry-eyed look. Cute.

With a soft grunt, he pushes off the fence, nodding. "Sure, darlin'. Lead the way. What's a baby horse called anyway?"

"A foal. Filly for a girl, colt for a boy." You tell him, eager to see them, practically dragging him along.

Nodding along, Conquest subtly glanced back, finding the woman staring at their retreating forms in shock and some anger. Clearly, she wasn't used to being dismissed.

It made him chuckle a bit, and you looked up in confusion.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, pumpkin." He said with a pat on your bottom, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

Chapter Text

Ex-military, retired, lives in the countryside because he can't stand the city and all the shit that regularly happens there.

(Back in his day, they actually killed repeat offender villains, not just lock them up so they could just escape a little later.)

He's old. Lost an arm during service and wears one of the better prosthetics offered on earth. And he's so fucking lonely you wouldn't believe it.

He hasn't got anybody. No family, no friends, the only acquaintances he has are the workers at the shops and bank in town. Usually, he fosters animals, but he's getting too old for that too, now. Knees don't work like they used to and all.

It's a bitter feeling, knowing he's gonna die out here and nobody will care. He damn near gave his life to this country, and this is how they repay him? By leaving him out here, abandoned, forgotten?

Name: Connor Smith. 

Callsign: Conquest. 

Age: 63.

A bitter, lonely old man yearning for the glory days where killing made him respected, feared, earned him glory. Oh, he knows it ain't right to take joy in killing, but what do you want from him? To be one of them little pussies that breaks after their first kill? Nah, he'd never be that pathetic.

(Because while here he's human and more well adjusted, has gotten therapy, has been surrounded by goodness and kindness because that's just how humans are (unlike Viltrumites), he's still Conquest. A warrior, a soldier.

And killing's the only thing he's ever been praised for.)

So there he is, sitting on his porch, enjoying the sun on his face, trying not to think Bad Thoughts (aka putting himself down like a lame horse because does he even have anything left to live for?), when he hears a vaguely familiar sound: something coming through the atmosphere.

And then there's you. Appearing before him like an angel of death, clad in silver and white, young and ancient in equal measures.

Well, he thinks, eyes wide, this is certainly interesting. Despite that, he remains seated, watching the alien hovering over the grassy fields near his home with some curiosity.

What? He's too old to be rushing around in a panic. His knees hurt!

Looking around, you take in the empty fields, the rustic home nestled nicely among the fauna. And the impressive looking man seated on the house's porch.

(Obviously, you've taken Conquest's role in the Viltrum Empire… in a sense. You're still the one they send to deal with things, but you're not quite the oldest. Not the most feared. But… you are treated with weariness, considered off-putting by the other Viltrumites due to your nature.

(You make art with another species blood one time and they never forget about it. Not your fault the people of Merzak had such colourful blood.))

You land.

Slowly, you approach him, interest overriding any orders you have. You'll get to teaching Mark Grayson a lesson later, for now… the man catches your attention.

He watches, unafraid. Perhaps too old to care. It makes your interest grow.

You stand on the first step, looking up at him, drinking him in. He's old, clearly, yet his physique is impressive, the scars speaking to the life of a warrior.

You're supposed to take a mate. One of Thragg's orders was to seek out someone to sire/carry your heir, and despite knowing you should seek out someone younger, someone with more life in them, you know then and there no other will compare to this man with eyes like yours; eyes that spoke of a long-term weariness with the life you've been dealt, a desire for more.

He rises slowly. You hear his knees creak, a nearly unfamiliar twinge in your heart.

When had you last felt sympathy for anything? A long time, you knew. Viltrumites saw such emotions as a weakness, and while you could get away with your fascination for pets, sapient species were a different matter entirely.

You introduce yourself, blunt, straightforward, tell him your purpose in being here.

His eyebrows rise. "That so? Well, Invincible is mainly seen in the city. You'll want to fly south for an hour, probably." He says, accepting your inhuman origins with ease.

You glance in the direction he pointed to. "Hm." You consider going now, then decide against it; Invincible will be there no matter when you go. Your choice of mate may not be here when you return.

Human lifespans were so pitiful.

"What's your name, then?" You ask, turning your gaze back to him, staring into his eye, not blinking; it makes even other Viltrumites uneasy, yet your mate doesn't even waver under the weight of your gaze.

"Connor Smith. But Conquest works too." He offers in a low, smooth tone, holding a hand out.

You take it, curious as to what method of greeting this is.

He turns your hand in his grip, bringing it up to his lips, pressing a polite kiss to your knuckles.

And perhaps for the first time in your life, you blush.

—

1 year later

—

Connor "Conquest" Smith, 64, is a father now. A little late, but better late than never, right?

Orion is a perfect baby. Smooth skin and chubby cheeks, wild curls the same colour as your hair, and eyes just like his, a beautiful golden-brown you can get lost in.

You never did get around to dealing with Invincible, but you'd completed one of your orders, so you didn't particularly care what Thragg would say. You had an heir, that was the most important part.

Cradling his son against his chest, Conquest leaned back against the couch, feeding the baby with a bottle, his boy suckling greedily, a content little look on his face.

A chuckle escaped him as Orion kicked his feet happily. "He's such an excitable little fella, ain't he?" He whispered to you as he felt you lean over his shoulder, hovering in the air. "I envy him. Imagine having that much energy all the time."

You hum, content to watch your family. "You say that as if you're decrepit or something." You murmur, watching the milk steadily disappear; he had his father's appetite.

Conquest's eye dimmed. "But I will be soon. I'll be seventy before he's even ten. Most humans barely make it to eighty… I'll be dead before he's an adult." He says, shoulders slumping with defeat.

The reminder of his own mortality– of his ever nearing end– was sobering. It was unfair. He gained everything he ever wanted, only to be too old to enjoy it in full? Utter bullshit.

You glance at him, frowning. "Hm? Oh, don't worry about that." You say, dismissively. "I've been putting medicine in your meals since we first mated." You say casually.

His head snaps up.

"What."

You shrug. "Yeah. Other alien races have all sorts of medications for age related issues. The ones I've been giving you should slow down your aging for a couple more decades. You'll be alive plenty long enough to see our son grow. And give me another." You say, kissing his cheek.

"I– and you didn't think to mention this?" He asks with a huff, though he's smiling, finding some amusement in how you've been giving him the greatest gift imaginable– more time in this world with his family– and you forgot to tell him.

You blink. "Should I have? I worried you'd reject it in the belief it was 'unnatural'. I know some of you humans do that. Reject modern medicine in the belief natural is better."

Conquest huffs again, shaking his head. Orion finishes his bottle, and he takes it from him, hefting him up over his shoulder to be burped.

"Yeah, darlin', but not me. I figured you'd know better by now."

You watch him with loving eyes. "Better safe than sorry." Is your simple reply, listening to the baby burp, cooing after as he stretches his tiny limbs.

He hums, accepting this easily. It was done anyway, and he was hardly about to reject your gift to him. Rising carefully, he set Orion in his bassinet, the baby reaching for his bear plush.

Watching his son happily for a moment, he smiled. Then he turned towards you, "So," he rasps, a glint in his eye, "you want another?"

You smirk, flying over to him, hugging him from behind. "Yes. And so do you."

"I do." He says, kissing your cheek. "But are you ready? You only gave birth a few months ago–"

"Viltrumites heal fast, remember? I was healed completely within a week." You reassure him, stroking his chest. "Now… how about we go and make Orion a little sibling?"

Conquest grins wickedly, plucking you from the air, carrying you easily. "Like I could ever say no to such an offer."

Chapter Text

I'm trying to imagine how they exist in the same universe. Like maybe Krypton and Viltrum were on opposite sides of the universe, vaguely aware of each other but not all that interested in each other. They're like neighbours who hate each other except they're thousands of light-years apart.

I'm going with the idea that Kryptonian! Reader grew up on Krypton but moved to earth a while ago, finding it more suited to their tastes than anywhere else. They didn't really do the superhero thing, but they were the friendly neighborhood vigilante when necessary.

I imagine when Conquest first meets you he mistakes you for a human for... obvious reasons, but very quickly notices you're a little too strong, too fast, to be fully human.

One of their supers? A hybrid of species? A– oh. A Kryptonian... hm.

He probably wants to fight you at some point. He loves the gentleness you show him, the care, the love, the warmth; but the thought of fighting someone so similar to him yet different as well strikes a cord of need within him.

I don't know whether their strengths are comparable because, again, my knowledge is lacking AND the power scaling between different series/comic runs seems kinda inconsistent while Invincible mostly keeps it consistent.

(Take that “mostly” with a grain of salt though.)

Regardless, I think he'd love battling you.

I think he'd see it as a form of foreplay or roleplay. If he wins the spare, he'll carry you off like a war-prize to have his way with (completely ignoring your giggling as he growls dirty things to you, moustache tickling your throat as he nips at your skin).

He's still gentle, of course– you're his mate after all! But he knows you can handle some play-fighting and grappling too, so he indulges in that often, touch starved as he is.

I feel like if you ever got in the blues reminiscing about the place you were born, he'd comfort you with a heavy hand on your back, but still give you space. He doesn't know what to do here, after all. He doesn't look back on the Viltrum of his childhood with any pride or happiness or nostalgia, it was practically the same as it is now, after all: a lifeless, cold, pale husk of what should've been the greatest civilisation there ever was. Krypton sounds (sounded) somewhat better, still with it’s faults, but certainly nicer than Viltrum.

Yet you still left. Still moved to Earth. And did you ever regret your choice?

“Never.”

So he holds you close, thinking that his answer is much the same. He doesn't regret staying here either, though it's the person he found that made it a home for himself.

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I do think he'd be a little disappointed about it.

Like Viltrumites probably have their own cultural “thing” in regards to having an heirthere's definitely a significance behind it when those Viltrumites were calling Mark Nolan's heir + their population being super lowso Conquest not being able to have his own heir even now when he has a loving mate... sucks.

It fucking sucks.

But he does come around to it... IF:

• You can't biologically have kids (gender doesn't matter. I headcanon some amab humans can get pregnant in my au. Why? Because look at how much weird shit goes on on Earth. Mpreg is not even weird here).

• You already had a few kids biologically but couldn't/didn't want anymore for whatever reason (too old, hard on your body, previous pregnancy/birth was hard, etc).

• You tried but it didn't work. He'd probably try other ways before resorting to adoption (alien tech probably has so many solutions to infertility and whatnot).

Regardless of the reason though, Conquest would still love the little ones. It's just... y'know. He wanted a Viltrumite kid. A little boy or girl he could teach all he knew, just in a healthier manner.

... maybe you should adopt a super kid. Cecil should be able to help in that regard, right?

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Funnily enough, I got into a similar discussion on Reddit when somebody made a post about what would happen if Conquest came to earth instead and somebody replied to me about how Conquest would find care and friendship in the disabled community.

At first, he definitely sees you as weak. Crippled, pained, unable to function at full capacity. Yet despite that your kindness towards him knows no bounds. How can he hate you, look down on you, when despite the difficulties you face you still show him– him– kindness?

When you help soothe the aching flesh of his stump, he finds himself honour bound to help you with your aches. Usually, it's a shame for a Viltrumite to have an injury like his, the only thing saving him from callous comments being howhe lost his arm. It earned him enough respect and fear to keep their comments at bay.

But you didn't. Your pains, your disability, does not come from fighting a vicious beast stronger than you. It comes from within. From an accident. From any possible thing that, to a human, would earn you some sympathy, but from a Viltrumite?

It would only get you put down like a dog.

Conquest does his best, learning what he can, helping you when you need it. Rough, calloused hands used to shattering bones instead cradle you when you have no strength to move or even sit upright. He washes you with warm water and Epsom salts, hands usually bathed in blood now rubbing tenderly into aching flesh. He seeks out other civilizations, knows that other species have different medicines that might work on you, that may just help you a little more.

And to learn that you were ashamed of yourself? That you believe yourself unworthy of him?

Oh. Oh darlin’.

Conquest gets it. He understands. His words had been meant to inform you of the nature of his kind, not to make you feel... weak. Didn't you know that you were strong? Living day to day likelike this? Always a second away from an ache in your bones, a spasm in your muscles, a pain in your flesh? How could he ever see you as weak when you keep moving forward even when you barely have the strength to?

Conquest has seen Viltrumites kill themselves rather than live on when they lose a limb. He himself is an oddity in that regard. But while they took the easy way out, you never did. Still haven't, even when you Clearly just want it to stop hurting.

You're the strongest person he knows. He hopes you know that.

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Standing in line at the bank, you wait patiently for your turn, gaze distant as you think about the things you plan to do later, silently hoping you're not stuck in here too long since Conquest is waiting for you outside. He hadn't felt comfortable coming inside, not that you're surprised. He's only been on earth for a couple of months and is still adapting to... well... people. It's obvious he'd prefer to only be around you, and a small, possessive part of you enjoys that.

Still. He needs to come out sometimes, hence you bringing him along for some outdoor chores. Like going to the bank and grocery shopping.

As you lost yourself in thought, a commotion occured behind you, snapping you out of thoughts of what you were going to make for lunch and if you could convince Conquest to try something new tonight.

Turning around to see what was going on, you froze suddenly as your breath stilled in your chest, eyes wide as the barrel of a gun stared back at you.

“Don't move!” The robber yelled, waving his gun around, balaclava clad face looking at everyone, a warning in his eyes. “If anyone moves I'Il–”

A flash of white. A burst of air. The gun crumbling to the ground in pieces.

Like a cartoon, the robber blinked incredulously, frozen in place, stupefied, while everyone breathed a sigh of relief, peoe around you calming down from that near call.

Looking up, hand over your still racing heart, your gaze met Conquest’s, your partner giving you a thorough once-over, expression severe when he glanced down at the other man.

“Pointing a gun at my mate? And I thought I'd already seen the peak of human stupidity.” Conquest mutters, grabbing the would-be robber by the scruff of the neck. He whimpered.

And then, just like that, he was gone.

Swallowing, you blinked rapidly, calming down. Turning around, you saw the line was gone, and stepped forward.

“Hi, I'd like to withdraw...”

Five minutes later, you were outside, walking to your car when Conquest appeared by your side. Swallowing again, you looked up at him, hands tightened into fists to hide their trembling.

“Darlin, are you–?”

He doesn't get to finish his sentence as you throw yourself at him, gasping for air scented with his familiar musk, something alien and metallic and masculine and him. Familiar. Home.

A heavy hand rests on your back, rubbing small circles just like you showed him to.

“Oh, darl’? I thought– are you alright, pumpkin?” He asks, unsure, still so stiff with you even when he wants to be more comforting. Which is in of itself a comfort to you at the moment, a familiarity that grounds you.

“Y-yeah, I'm fine. Just... shaken.” You shiver, then shake yourself, snapping out of it a bit more. “But... I'm good. Thank you for the save.”

He gets an odd look in his eye, tilting his head at you.

“Like you need to thank me for it.” He huffs, guiding you in to your car.

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“This… is stupid.”

Glancing over at Conquest, you grinned to yourself as you took in his appearance and what he was currently wearing. With a giggle, you simply said, “It's Halloween, Con. It's tradition to dress up. Plus, I think you look dashing.”

Looking up, Conquest raised a brow. “‘Dashing’.” He repeats in a dull, unimpressed tone. Once more, he looks over his outfit, unable to see what you did. He looked ridiculous, not dashing.

Reaching up to adjust his eyepatch, he watches you approach him from behind in the mirror, wrapping your arms around his middle. You hummed, hands exploring the opening of his white shirt, the ruffly silk baring most of his upper abdomen and silver dusted pecs. You give him a rather hungry look, hands reaching up to give them a squeeze.

It's enough to make him preen, satisfaction filling him at the knowledge his mate once again found him attractive.

It's also enough to make him hate the costume less.

Dressed as a pirate for Halloween, Conquest had only agreed to this for you. The sight of you so happy and eager for the 31st had stilled his tongue more than once about this ‘holiday’ and his opinion on it. So yes, while he didn't get it, so long as his little mate was having fun, he'd go along with it.

Plus, you looked good in your own outfit.

Really good.

With a low hum, Conquest pried your hands off of him– mourning the loss for a just a moment as he did– and turned to face you. Interlocking his fingers with yours, he looked you over, hunger burning in his eye.

“You look good in uniform, darlin’.” He says in a delighted tone, resting his metal palm on your white-clad hip. He thumbed at your loincloth, humming. “Like a proper Viltrumite mate.”

You smiled, a soft thing as your eyelids drooped. “Yeah? I figured a Viltrumite’s mate would would, I dunno, maybe wear a golden collar or some such.”

He chuckles at your words, dipping his head to press a kiss to your lips.

“Mm, not typically. We only mate with our own kind, after all. And Viltrumites aren't ones to wear flashy jewelry.” He says, eyeing your bare throat. “But I think we can make an exception for you…”

As he speaks, his metal hand slides up until he's gripping your nape, the golden digits wrapping around your throat. The sight of you swallowing created a phantom sensation, he could almost feel it. So delicate… so breakable…

His thumb pressed over your pulse. Your lips parted, a hitch of breath escaping you.

… you both might have gotten distracted after that, arriving in town a little later than planned.

Conquest was starting to realise humans dressed up for a lot of things.

For a holiday called St. Patrick's Day, you wore a green hat and insisted he wore a green jumper with a four-leaf clover on it. He didn't get it, but hadn't minded it at all.

For Breast Cancer Awareness Month (and wasn't that a thing to have a holiday– or at least a whole month– dedicated to), you wore pink for most of the month, and got him to as well. Again, he hadn't minded, aware that at least this time, it was for a fairly serious thing. Plus, pink was a nice colour. Especially on you.

For Easter, you'd put on some bunny ears and clipped a tail onto the back of your pants and made him chase you around the house while he wore some dumb looking bear ears. He hadn't cared too much about them when he finally got you beneath him, though, growling playfully against your ear as he asked if you liked him all beastly.

(The answer was an obvious yes.)

And then finally came Christmas. Conquest couldn't not know about the holiday even if he tried. It bled into the months before like a toxin, infecting everything before it. Halloween had just finished when he already began to see adverts for the season.

When December properly came about you went all out, asking him for help– like you needed to– to decorate the house. While snow fell outside you baked cookies and gingerbread, teaching him as you did. Seasonal songs played over the radio and nights were spent watching holiday movies.

It was… nice.

And then Conquest realised his mate had been dressing him up in Santa-esque clothing for the past month. It had hit him suddenly as he passed by a mirror and saw the red sweater he was wearing, and then he recalled all the other outfits you'd picked for him the past month.

With a startled blink, he looked at you then, realising how sneaky you could be. He hadn't even questioned you picking out his clothes because you usually did! And he liked it! So he hadn't even thought to question it, not once, no matter how many red coloured clothes ended up on his body.

As you coloured in the Christmas cookies with icing, Conquest walked up behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist.

“Am I supposed to be your very own Santa Claus, darlin’?” He asks, watching you colour a hedgehog shaped cookie blue. Odd, that's not their natural colour. He lowered his lips to be right by your ear, whispering the next part. “Because if I am… shouldn't you be in my lap telling me what you want?”

Icing splooged out of the nozzle as your grip tightened, eyes wide.

Conquest smirked at your reaction.

“Well?” He asks, patting your bottom. “You don't need to ask very hard, of course. You've been very good this year! Such a good mate…”

His breath was hot against your already burning skin. You squeezed your eyes shut to remain calm, wishing, praying, you hadn't let him watch all those movies. Where else had he learned to flirt from?

“Santa’s got a lot of presents in his sack for you, pumpkin.” He licked the shell of your ear. “How ‘bout you come upstairs and see what you got?”