Since I'd contained D'Spayre, I became the embodiment of Fear and Despair. In short, I was everywhere—I was in all their heads, all their hearts, all their oh-god-oh-god-I'm-gonna-die moments. And where fear was highest? That was when I got revved up. That was when I was in your bedroom, breathing down your neck.
I'd already been a pretty nasty guy to begin with, thanks to the Butcher's Voice always nagging me to do the absolutely insane things as humanly possible. But now? I'd sacrificed whatever was left of my humanity just to stay alive. In hindsight, it probably would've been smarter to just let D'Spayre fully possess me. Sure, he was a demon, but at least he was just that, a demon. Now, with him swirling around in my head, I'm a demon with a conscience—bless me—and tortured by the very thing that made me frightening in the first place.
So yeah, heading to a high-profile briefing with Tony Stark after demon ingestion? Not exactly bright-lightbulb material. Sitting in the waiting room in front of the SHIELD director was like being stuck in a pressure cooker—the steam gauge ticking higher with every one of his questioning looks. The guy was sharp, too. You could practically hear gears grinding in his head as he dissected every sentence, every involuntary eyebrow flicker. Maddening.
What was I supposed to say? "Hey Tony, just went out and wasted some cash on a little soul-grubbing, and now I've got an all-access pass to the buffet of fears"? Yeah, that'd be a smash hit. So I stayed cool and collected, with the whispering demons in tow.
Tony stared at me like he wanted to incinerate me. "Gonna be frank with you, Marcus," he said, his face as stone as his words. "I don't trust you. Not after D'Spayre."
My heart pulled an Olympic backflip. "Understood, Mr. Stark," I said, trying to be as chill as a cucumber tossed in a salad of hand grenades. "But I'm still on team good."
He leaned back. "I'd prefer to believe you, but we can't just ignore what happened." He placed his fist on the desk, thuds echoing like a death knell. "We'll be watching you. Just in case."
Sweat poured off my brow. "Can't say I blame you. Who's the lucky babysitter?"
"Jennifer Walters. She-Hulk."
I blinked. "You're serious?"
"She's lethal, balanced, and can handle… if I do say so myself, 'colorful' personalities."
Mixed emotions hit me like a sledgehammer. Sure, I could charm her, turn this into some wacky reality-TV romance. But she might just flip me over like a bad hand if I blew it. Even with D'Spayre juice running through my veins, Hulks are still Hulks.
Tony caught my glance and moved closer. "It's not forever. Until we're sure you're not going full demon."
"So. Probation?"
"Partnership," he corrected. "You've earned some trust with the Fantastic Four. They're vouching for you. Without that, you'd be in a very different cell today."
"Fine" I growled, teeth clenched. "I'll work with She-Hulk."
Tony smiled and stood, offering his hand. "Good. Time to meet your new partner."
We walked out, the door slamming behind us like a loud "You're in deep now." Every SHIELD operative who passed gave me that "Why isn't he in chains?" look. Real subtle.
Tony pulled me toward the training room—thumps booming from inside. "Jen's in there," he yelled over the noise. "She's your… support."
The doors swung open—there she was. She-Hulk, standing where punching bags used to be. Her green eyes sized me up like she was already planning the next spar. Sweat dotted her muscles, the air thick with ozone.
"Conquest," she said, silky but deadly. "Welcome to your reality show. I'm the host."
Thick sarcasm, but professional. Clearly, she'd done this dance before.
Tony was halfway out the door. "All right, you two," he said, "don't blow up the joint—" and he was gone.
The quiet that followed was heavy. She-Hulk cracked her knuckles. "So. What now?"
I tried to sound casual, like I wasn't surrounded by superpowers. "Guess we introduce ourselves. Talk life goals. Discuss your favorite way to crush people's dreams."
She smiled. "How about we start with your real name?"
"It's Conquest', that's all I've got, all I've ever been." I shrugged. "Like asking a shark his favorite color—it just… isn't a thing."
She looked at me like she didn't buy it. "Okay, Marcus," she repeated slowly. "Here's how this goes: for a month or two, you're mine. Every step, every breath, under my eye."
"Talk about Conquest," I muttered. No laugh.
"For everyone's safety—you included. You'll be staying with me on the Helicarrier."
My gut wrapped around my spine. "The Helicarrier?" Waking up stuck on a flying metal box with a green beast? Not my idea of a good time. "What about freedom?"
"On hold," she said, all business. "When I'm not around, someone else stops you from blowing up the planet. Buddy system. Less fun, more planetary annihilation prevention."
"Great," I grumbled. "So I'm on a leash."
"For the best," she said. "You'll have a safe suite, limited ship travel."
"Limited?" I asked.
"In short, you won't blow us all up," she said. "You'll have enough to keep you sane."
I exhaled. "So, when we're not saving the world or babysitting my demon?"
She shrugged. "We can spar. Do paperwork. Or Netflix. I'm a sucker for rom-coms."
**
From "bringer of fear and despair" to "Netflix and chill guy" wasn't exactly my professional objective after consuming D'Spayre. But there I was, sitting in She-Hulk's living room, watching a rom-com so formulaic it could be distilled into a fortune cookie message.
"So, what do you think?" asked Jen, glued to the TV, stuffing popcorn in her mouth like she was carb-loading for a marathon.
I could barely believe my own eyes were still working. Another formula couple destined to hate each other until the cliché kiss-in-the-rain ending. The plot was thinner than a beauty queen's waistline. But if this was the cost of keeping my head attached to my body, I'd sit through a dozen. "It's… enlightening," I managed without choking on my sarcasm.
Her smirk said she didn't buy it. She kept watching, though, clearly enjoying herself. "It's all right," she teased. "I know it's not your style."
Oh, she didn't know. The Butcher's Voice had just reminded me of one of D'Spayre's little party tricks—telepathy. Not the "catch a stray thought" kind, but full deep-dive, no-holds-barred mind reading. I caught hers and—well, hello. She-Hulk wanted me. Buried under duty and discipline, sure, but she was still fighting the urge to crawl into my lap. The Voice growled at the scent of repressed lust.
"You know, Jen," I said, using her first name like I was brushing her leg, "we could watch something… more exciting."
Her eyes narrowed, questioning. I leaned in close enough to whisper. "I'm more of an explosions-and-car-chases kind of guy."
She blushed—greener, sure, but definitely a blush—and spilled a little popcorn as her hand trembled. "A good action scene? I like that."
The air was suddenly electric, the kind of charge that makes you want to kiss someone or blow the building sky-high. I didn't need telepathy to know she was within reach. The way she glanced at my lips? Obvious. I inched closer, the couch groaning under me. "You're not bad for a babysitter, you know that?" I murmured.
Her eyes locked on mine, waiting for the hook. "Marcus," she growled, husky, "this is a bad idea."
Her body didn't agree. She leaned in, breathing deeper. I brushed a piece of hair from her face. "Why not? We're adults. We can have fun."
Something in her gaze softened—trust, lust, maybe both. I took advantage and kissed her. She didn't just kiss me back—she yanked me in like she was claiming prime real estate. The Butcher's Voice rumbled in approval, but I tuned it out. Right now, it was just me and the woman who could flatten a tank but was melting against me like I was worth it.
I kissed her deeper, tasting mint and something wild. Jen was panting, leaning into her pillow. "Marcus… are we doing this?"
My answer was to slide my hand down her side, over taut muscle, until I found her thigh. No hesitation. My hand moved under her leotard, brushing her heat, earning a moan into my mouth. Her hips arched into my touch—"please" without the word.
The movie kept yammering in the background, but she was making a better soundtrack. Every moan, every shiver wound her tighter until she broke—body clenching, breath caught, riding that wave until even the Butcher's Voice faded into silence.
When she collapsed against me, trembling, the Voice returned, whispering how far we could go. And yeah, I was listening. Pants were gone. She glanced down at what I was packing, her expression priceless—a mix of "holy shit" and "come here."
She didn't back off. Didn't tell me to stop. Her hand wrapped around me—strong enough to remind me what I was dealing with, gentle enough to give me goosebumps.
"Take your time," I breathed, tracing her cheek with my thumb. Her skin was impossibly smooth for someone built like a wrecking ball wrapped in silk. She nodded, and everything else just… fell away. No TV, no sound—just the hum of heat between us.
Jen kept her eyes on me, as if waiting for permission. I gave a small nod, and that was all she needed. She slid off the couch, knees on the floor in front of me, breathing hard. Then those big green hands wrapped around me, stroking like I was worth something rare and expensive, too precious to break—but not too precious to use.
Her lips hovered inches from me, warm breath teasing. The Butcher's Voice tried to intrude, muttering about dominance and destruction, but I wasn't thinking about power—okay, maybe a little.
Then her mouth was on me, and my mind blanked. She swallowed me slow, tongue tracing every inch like she had a manual on exactly how to do it. I grunted, every muscle tensing. She wasn't just doing this—she was devouring me. Her grip tightened, rhythm quickening, her eyes daring me to test her.
Without thinking, my hand tangled in her hair, pushing her deeper until my other hand wrapped around her throat, squeezing lightly. She gagged once but didn't pull back—she pushed further. The Butcher's Voice roared, urging me on.
She took me like she'd practiced, impossible in the best way, her throat flexing around me. I stopped holding back, pushing deeper, her hands gripping my thighs to steady herself. Her eyes watered, but that look never wavered.
And then I drove into her harder, watching just how far she'd go. The pressure was insane—each tight, choking squeeze making my head spin. The Voice was shouting now, ordering me to blow my load, to make hers mine. And then it happened—heat surging through me as I let go, spilling deep in her throat.
She didn't blink. Didn't pull back. Just swallowed—slow, deliberate gulps—like she had every right to. And when she finally leaned away, gasping for breath, I knew we'd just crossed a line we weren't ever coming back from.
I hauled her out of the floor, the fire in me raging to claim every inch of her. Her eyes lit up—shock, yes, but something else too. That spark. She liked this side of me. The Voice in my skull was buzzing, saying she wanted rough, that she wanted to know exactly who was in charge. Yes. I could do that.
With a low growl, I flipped her across the couch, one hand pinning her down, the other wrapped in a fistful of that wild green hair. Her leo was hiked just far enough to show everything—absolutely gorgeous. No teasing, no patience—just raw force. I slammed into her, and she let out a sound somewhere between a bellow and a moan. Flesh-on-flesh smacks filled the room, along with our grunts and gasps.
"Is this want you want, Jen?" I growled between thrusts, every word punctuated with a blow. "A monster like me taking you like this?"
She met my eyes, burning. "Yes," she snarled, voice thick with lust. "More."
I slapped her ass—hard enough to echo like a gunshot. She jolted, a full-body shiver running through her. Every strike was a warning, a promise of how far I'd go if I let go completely.
Her hips pushed back into me, matching me stroke for stroke, like our bodies were made for each other. Her walls clamped down with vice-like strength. The Butcher's Voice fed on that hunger—her need to be in my hands—and I gave it to her, inch by inch.
The air was thick with heat and sweat. Her moans climbed higher, her muscles tightening, and then—sacre bleu—she came. Hard. Pulsing around me like she was crowning me her king. She shook through it, eyes locked on mine the entire time, daring me.
I stopped long enough to spit on my cock—claiming, marking—and slammed back into her. She met me with that feral mix of rage and want that could burn a city to the ground. My palm smacked her ass again, leaving her skin flushed and glowing under that perfect green aura.
"You're mine now, Jen," I breathed into her ear. She shuddered. "Mine to fuck. Mine to control. Mine to protect. And if anyone tries to take you from me, I'll tear them apart with my bare hands. Doesn't matter who."
The Voice roared, feeding me filth that only made me harder. I twisted her nipples, dragging a groan out of her that was equal parts pain and pleasure. She clenched around me, desperate, alive—and if that didn't make me untouchable here on the Helicarrier, nothing would.
I lost myself in her, fucking her like the world was ending. Her whimpers bounced off the steel walls, heat and hunger eating the air. She took it all—every brutal thrust—her body tight and ready to snap. And when she did, she screamed, her back arching like she was breaking apart and coming back together at once.
I came right after, a roar tearing out of me as I emptied myself inside her. Primal. Animal. Claiming what was mine in the oldest way there is. She came with me, convulsing, and for that moment we were just two feral creatures locked in the same fire.
Afterward, we collapsed onto the couch, panting like we'd run a marathon. She looked up at me with those unhinged green eyes—not joy, not shock, something I couldn't pin down. Fear, maybe—fear for her job, for whatever this was. But her hand was on my chest, molding herself against me, and there wasn't an ounce of regret in her.
"That was—" she started, but I kissed her before she could finish, brushing the sweat from her forehead.
"Yes, it was," I said, still catching my breath. The Butcher's Voice was barely a whisper now, all its hunger drained out and replaced with something strange—a real connection. After becoming Conquest, that was new. And not with just anyone—this was She-Hulk. The woman who could throw a compact car without breaking a sweat, now shaking in my arms not because I'd forced it, but because she wanted it.