#MK system/reader

[midgardian-witch]

You haven't seen The Mummy?!

Jake hasn't seen The Mummy and Reader realizes things about their feelings towards Layla and the Moon Knight System.

AO3 [MASTERLIST]

tags: fluff | references to The Mummy (1999 - 2008) | light angst | panic attacks

ships: Layla/Reader, MK System/Reader, Layla/MK System/Reader

Disclaimer: I do not have DID so my description of it is based on the show and my own research.

"What do you mean 'Jake hasn't seen The Mummy'?" 

You look at the man in front of you in disbelief and frankly even a bit offended. 

"Well, he didn’t front much before Marc and I knew of him, yeah? Usually just to protect us in a fight. So there wasn't really much opportunity for him I guess?" Steven answers sheepishly. Meanwhile, Layla is watching the exchange from the sidelines, holding back laughter at your comically exaggerated outrage. You jump up from your seat next to Steven and scramble to the bag you had left near the entrance when you arrived at Steven's apartment earlier.

"We'll watch The Mummy right now and I don't care if Jake protests. Because given what you guys do? This should be mandatory for new Avatars to watch!" 

By that point Layla has given up on holding back her amusement. Shaking with laughter she is half draped over Steven, her giggling muffled by his shoulder. Steven too is giggling excitedly as both of them watch you return with your laptop in hand. Steven's electronics are well on their way to being called retro (if they aren't already) so your laptop would have to do. You aren't even sure if any of the men paid for a streaming service. 

"I'll get us some snacks then, yeah?" Steven offers with a soft smile on his face. Layla watches him walk into the kitchen, looks back at you for a moment - a whirlwind of motion as you set everything up - and follows her husband/boyfriend. 

You don't notice them leaving your presence, too focused on finding the right streaming service that actually has the movie you'd like to watch (and not the horrible mess that is the 2017 remake). Just thinking about the way both Layla and Steven will complain about and correct the Ancient Egyptian, how Marc will defend the aged special effects with his life (this man has a soft spot for action-adventure movies and it shows) and how Jake will critique the fight scenes between bites of popcorn, makes you grin. 

The three (or five?) of you hadn't been friends for too long and yet it feels like you had known them for ages. A chance meeting in London had pulled you into their orbit. When you stumbled into them something just clicked. You got to experience Layla and Marc together first - their relationship so full of trust and love (though it had been rocky for a bit as they had told you later) was and still is a beautiful thing to behold. 

You'd learned about Marc's DID much later. Meeting Steven and Jake for the first time made you so nervous you thought about bolting before you had even set up a time and place to actually meet. What if Marc liked you but his alters didn't? What if you didn't make a good first impression? Instead of giving into your anxieties, you spoke about your worries to Layla. She held your hand and reassured you that both Steven and Jake would like you. Maybe they wouldn’t like you the same way Marc did but there was no way they could hate you. “I doubt they’d offer to meet you if they didn’t already like you at least a little bit” Layla reasoned. Talking to her had calmed you down. Meeting Steven and Jake respectively still had you nervous but all worries were forgotten after just a few minutes with each man. They had been so kind and happy to meet you in person themselves, it was hard to remember your fears. 

Since then you had become fast friends and spent as much time together as their chaotic lives as Avatars and your own schedule would allow. Between billionaire philanthropists with high-tech armor, aliens and literal Norse gods walking around, finding out your new friends worked for Ancient Egyptian deities was not that hard to come to terms with. Weirder things have happened after all. 

"All done?" 

You look up from your setup to find Layla looking at you, a soft smile on her lips. It's funny the way your heart feels lighter every time she does that. There were still moments in which you wondered how such a gorgeous woman can even be real and also friends with you. You return her smile and nod your head towards the couch, "Take a seat. Once we got the snacks ready we can start". 

"Already on it!" Carrying a big bowl of popcorn in one arm and a few bags of chips in the other, Marc returns from the kitchen. He places the snacks next to your laptop. Sitting down in the middle of the couch, he pats the spaces next to him. Layla cuddles close to her husband as you stand there for a moment just admiring their intimate moment. They were such a beautiful couple. Catching yourself staring, you turn back around to start the movie. 

Just before your finger can hit play, you hear Layla wonder out loud: "You never told us that this was your favorite movie". 

You tilt your head towards her. "It never came up I guess? To be honest, the main reason I like it so much is that I had a huge crush on the main characters when the movie first came out"

Marc's reaction catches your attention from the corner of your eye, his eyebrow raised and his lips curling into a sly grin. He leans forward and you notice how the way he holds himself changes. 

"Is that so, corazón?" 

You clear your throat, feeling like you have a lump stuck in it from Jake's teasing. 

"Well yeah? I mean what's not to find attractive? Evy is a beautiful woman who knows so much about her specific field of study. She has such a passion for Ancient Egypt, the stories and the language. Yes, she is a bit of a klutz, but it's endearing! And the way she is not just a bookworm but can also kick ass and is adventurous and kind?" 

You stand up straighter, not looking at the other two out of embarrassment as you try to defend yourself. 

"And Rick? Not only is he good looking with a body that could absolutely be sculpted by some gods. He is kind and he cares so much more than he lets on in the beginning of the movie. He is funny and yes, he is also a bit of a dork but again, it's charming. He is adventurous and knows the risks of the jobs he is taking and still does the dangerous thing because he wants to know more about the ancient mysteries and he wants to help Evy. The way he openly shows how smitten he is with her! The way they work together, fight together, a librarian and a mercenary turned adventurer that maybe shouldn't work together as a team or a couple but they do! And it's beautiful to watch and how could you not have a crush on th-"

You stop yourself mid sentence as your brain catches up on what just spilled out of your mouth. Head slowly turning, your gaze meets your friends sitting on the couch before you, their expecting, knowing eyes watching your every move. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

How did you not notice? 

"...them. Have a crush on them," you finish under your breath.

You have a crush on them. On both. All. All of them. Oh God. 

"I- I think I need to. Leave. Go. Go to the uhm somewhere. Yes."

Your legs move faster than you can think as you try to extract yourself from the situation. This situation where you in real time figured out out loud that you had a crush on your friends right in front of them. The embarrassment curling in your gut is making it harder and harder to breathe. Your hands start to shake and your face is heating up. How could you not have noticed you were falling in love? 

"Hey, no, wait a second, yeah? You don't need to be embarrassed, love." Steven gently touches your shoulder, not forcing you to stop walking but asking you to, both with his words and his gestures. His voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts as your body freezes for a second. The warmth of his hand on your shoulder grounds you until you can finally breathe again. 

"No, but this is embarrassing, Steven. I don't even know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. You've pretty much said everything already." Layla’s face fills your vision as she steps in front of you. "And to be honest I am relieved you did. We planned on telling you how we feel about you for weeks and just couldn’t find the right time." Her hands find yours, her warm fingers caressing them gently. 

It takes a second for you to catch up on her words. You look up at Layla, her smile radiant and eyes shining with joy. Steven's thumb is drawing lazy circles along your shoulder blades as he continues. 

"We were a bit nervous. Well, me and Marc were. Jake and Layla were pretty confident about the…uh. Whole confessing bit. Seems like you were a bit faster though, eh?" His nervous chuckle makes your cheeks heat up even more. 

"So you. All of you? You like me too?"

You see Layla nod and hear an affirmative grunt from behind you from who you assume is Marc fronting. The blind panic you were feeling slowly recedes and your limbs start to feel heavy from the loss of adrenalin. 

"We'll start things slow, OK? See how we all fit together. We don't have to decide right away," Layla reassures you and pulls you into a gentle hug. 

You let yourself sink into it, your arms finding their way around her waist. Another set of arms wraps around you from behind. Surrounded and enveloped by the people closest to your heart, Layla’s warmth in front and the solid weight of Marc's chest at your back, makes you feel safer and calmer than you ever felt. Staying like this forever sounds like the best idea ever until you remember what brought all of this on. 

"Starting slow sounds good. But there is one thing we have to do right away."

You reluctantly wiggle out of their embrace and make your way back to the couch, pulling your soon-to-be-lovers with you. The three of you settle down together, Layla and Marc flanking you on each side, staying so close as if they never want to let you go again. 

"We still have to make Jake watch The Mummy," you offer with a sly grin. Jake's answering groan is muffled by Layla's laughter and the beginning sounds of the movie starting. 

[soft-girl-musings]

Salt & Pepper

Moon Knight System x GN!Reader

cross-posted to ao3

tags: rated T for teasing, domestic fluff, author does not condone touching people's hair without permission, no use of Y/N

wc: 1,078

fic summary: Marc, are you familiar with the term "silver fox"?

A/N: i might have a problem lol

_____________________

“Put. It. Down.”

Marc Spector does not startle easily. So when he nearly falls from his perch beside the bathtub, you’re surprised you have to steady him.

“Jesus, where’s the fire?” Marc picks up the towel and small cardboard box he’d dropped because of your outburst.

Shifting your focus, you zero in on the latter: hair dye, just as you’d suspected.

“So this is what you get up to when I’m away?” You tut, cradling his temples and shaking your head. "What happened to you?" 

"What? Nothing, I'm-"

"-I wasn't talking to you," you sigh, resting your forehead against the crown of his head. "How long has he been treating you like this, you poor things?"

“Ha-ha.”

You release his face to study it. "But seriously, how long have you been dying your hair?”

 “... For a couple of years. Started to turn gray from stress a while back, and I guess it never stopped.” He fidgets with the loose edge of the container.. “You really never noticed?”

You take the box and set it beside him. “You hid it well.”

You’re not judging him for dying his hair, it’s just… surprising. Marc’s never been one to fuss over his appearance, as far as you could tell. When you first saw his closet, you’d half expected it to be lined with the same outfit ten times, like in a cartoon. Most days, “dressing up” means adding a jacket or blazer.

 “Since when do you care? About your hair, I mean.” 

He shrugs. “I’m not gettin’ any younger, honey.”

“Neither am I.” You kiss the bridge of his nose. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course not.”

“Good. Goes double for me, don’t you forget it.” Leaning in, Marc tries for another kiss, but you duck and grab the hair dye before turning away with a mischievous smirk.

“Gotta keep you honest,” you wink and dart out of the room before he can catch you.

_____________________

"Love?"

"Hm?"

"Might fall out if you keep playing with it like that.”

You’d been standing behind Steven for the past couple of minutes, meaning to check in on his preparations for his morning tour but had gotten distracted. Very distracted.

“Sorry,” you sigh, your fingers leaving the wisps of hair at the nape of his neck and trailing down to his shoulder. “It’s just… hm.”

Your conversation with Marc must have taken root: over the past few weeks, you’ve noticed the hair that had been dangerously close to another round of boxed dye abuse steadily turning lighter. A subtle blend of silver strands mix with the darker curls that frame his face, making his hair shine a bit brighter in the light of the desk lamp.

“It’s like starlight,” you finally state, leaning in to rest your head against his.

Steven sputters and puts his book aside. “Starli- that’s a bit much, yeah?” His brow furrows, but there’s no denying the smile tugging at his lips.

“Not if it’s true,” you contend. You adjust the reading glasses that had slid down his face and tuck a stray curl behind his ear. “It’s a good look on you.”

There’s no denying the heat rising to his cheeks when you talk. “This– you don’t–” Steven caves and sets his book down, hopelessly flustered. “Either go away or get over here. Cheeky.”

He makes room for you to settle into his lap, which you giddily accept. Your hands sink back into his curls and he shivers as you scratch his scalp.

“Did I ever tell you I had a thing for my professor, once upon a time?”

“Oh my days–” 

You’re not sure who kisses who, but you’re certainly not complaining. Neither is he.

_____________________

The time apart has been agony.

You check your phone for the fifth time this evening. They’ve been gone for what feels like months (it’s been weeks) handling some business in California, of all places. Marc said he’d call when they were on their way home, meaning no news is sad news.

You’re pulled from your pity party by a knock on the door. It’s late, and you’ve already signed for your dinner delivery. Slowly, you get up and grab the bat you keep by the entrance (with a sock slipped over the end per Jake’s advice).

The knocking continues, getting more urgent. You take a deep breath and look through the peephole. A large brown eye stares back and you yelp, dropping your bat. The unmistakable boom of Jake’s belly laughter mocks you from behind the door.

“You’re hilarious,” you groan, standing the bat back on its head and unlocking the door.

You’re ready to lay into him when you open the door, but you’re stunned into silence. Jake’s smile is highlighted by silvery stubble, dusted with black. He adjusts his cap as his dark eyebrows raise in mock surprise.

“What, no hello?”

You tear your eyes away from his jaw. “Hm? Oh. Hi.” You open the door wider for him to step in. “Marc said you’d call first.”

“No fun in that, is there? Besides, you looked ready to handle some trouble.” he shrugs off his coat as you lock the door behind him.

“Trouble, yes. Nuisance, debatable.” You sidle up to him and drape your arms around his waist. You place a kiss on his cheek; it’d be impossible for him to not notice how you let yours drag along the rough line of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he laughs again. “But man, is it warm in here…”

He tosses his cap and it takes everything in him to not lose it when your eyes widen at the sight of his hair, now more gray than black and curls longer than you’ve seen them before. You’re too enraptured to be embarrassed at your obvious loss for words.

“Your hair…” You reach up to touch it, but Jake grabs your wrist.

“Tsk, tsk, you threaten and barely say a word to me, then go straight for the goods without so much as a ‘please’? What happened to decorum, hm?”

“You fucking tease,” you huff. “...please?”

“Well, since you asked nicely–” Jake can barely finish his thought before your lips are on his, your hand tangled in his starlit hair as soon as he lets go.

“I take it we should cancel Marc’s haircut?” he murmurs as you catch your breath.

Your free hand grazes the scruff on his cheek and you grin. “I wouldn’t complain if you did.”

_____________________

A/N: marvel you cowards give us gray-haired moon knight

ty for reading <3

event tags:@moonknight-events @spacecowboyhotch @juneknight

addtl tags: @mrs-lockley @lunar-ghoulie @shadystarlightgentlemen @casa-boiardi @nerdieforpedro @queerponcho (lmk if you'd like to be added to/removed from this wee tag list)

[avocadoart]

I love the MK system so Marc Spector giving me a kiss on the cheek or just jake lockley with a kitten

Here you go!! You get a kiss because I can't draw animals!! Also please ignore if he doesn't look like. Him. I used 0 refs for this

Click for less grain | RBS appreciated :3

[moonyflesh]

MARVEL IS PROGRESSIVELY COMING BACK ?!

[traveller-of-the-knight]

He is so disappointed, he had to wear his sad mustache :((

[lizzie-is-here]

lonely is a man without love

part ii- the scarab

“the moon taught me there is beauty in darkness too” - marine ashnalikyan

summary: you meet marc spector, and he meets the real you

wordcount: 2.4k

warnings: language, violence

a/n: yuhhh so excited for this. part three coming very soon hope y’all enjoy!!! also tfw your professors let you take finals early so you can go to the taylor concert. if any of y’all fellow swifties will be in nashville on may 7, i’ll see y’all there! feel free to leave feedback, i love it and love u all 🫶🫶🫶

taglist: @thefictionalgemini @ravenz-hope @undiscl0sed-d3sir3s @iateall-yourcookies @disregardedplant @sunflowers-4 @yellowumbrelllaaaa @bagsy-not-it @local-mr-frog @thescarletredwitch @jupitersmoon167 @creamecafe @stevenknightmarc

sorry it wouldn’t let me tag some of y’all 😭

previous part | series masterlist | next part

For all accounts, you think you’re handling the situation pretty well.

Your sort-of-friend sort-of-target that you thought was innocent and also British turns out to be not-innocent and American? Shocking.

He’s also covered in blood and tried to knife you when you broke into his apartment because he doesn’t know you’re secretly an ex-Russian agent turned Avenger that could kill him easily? Arguably less shocking. Reasonable, even.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait,” you say, holding a hand up. Steven- no, Marc, sighs exasperatedly, waiting. “You are a mercenary?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“Just answer the damn question!”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Yes.” You sigh, leaning against a bookshelf full of volumes on Egyptian history, mythology, and archaeology.

“So what? Was ‘Steven Grant’ just an alibi?” you ask.

You really hope not. One, because he’s sweet and kind and an absolute nerd. And two, because if he isn’t, then that means that Marc’s dedication to a cover is better than yours. And that simply will not stand.

“No, it’s more complicated than that. He’s, like, a facet of me. Another personality. We share the same body, but when the other is in control, it’s like the other is asleep. You’re stuck.” You perk up, visibly relieved.

“Oh, so he’s an alter? Like, you have DID?”

“Is that what it’s called?”

“Do you… Do you not know the name of your own personality disorder?” His silence speaks volumes.

You chuckle under your breath, watching him stammer to try and recover from his fumble. Taking out the gun from your waistband, you go to set it on the table. In an instant, Marc has your wrist in a death grip, attempting to jostle the gun from you.

“Again, seriously? This went so well for you literally a minute ago,” you snark.

With a dramatic eye roll, you effortlessly twist under his arms, kicking out his legs. He rolls over and stands back up, kicking the gun from your hands.

You take a moment to watch his fighting style, scanning him as he circles you. He’s good, yes, but his form is sloppy. Basic US military training, most likely nothing specialized.

Deciding to take one out of Nat’s book, you leap up, wrap your thighs around Marc’s head, and flip him over, holding him in place as he thrashes on the floor.

“Заткнись, ты такой чертовски г��омкий, Иисус, черт возьми, Христос [Shut up, holy fuck you are so damn loud Jesus fucking Christ],” you hiss. Eventually, he taps your leg, wheezing.

“Truce,” he sighs. You roll off of him, nodding.

“Sure, truce.”

He’s huffing as you stand, checking your gun and finally setting it down.

“So, why are you here?” Marc asks.

You shrug. “Heard there was a vigilante, so I was sent to check it out.”

“By who?”

“None of your business.”

“Why are you Russian?”

“Also none of your business.”

Marc rolls his eyes, but accepts that that is as far as he’s gonna get for the moment.

You frown, glancing around the room. All of the items in here seem very Steven-ish. Mostly Egyptian decor and books. You have a hunch, though you hope it isn’t true.

“Steven doesn’t know about you, does he?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

Marc shakes his head. “I was the… original, I guess? I set him up with a safe place here, but vigilantism is part of my job. Can’t stop, even if you want me to.”

“I’m not asking you to.” Observing the fish tank, you watch the one-finned goldfish happily swim around. You’ll have to tell a certain one-armed assassin about him. “I just need to make sure you’re hurting the right people.”

“That seems subjective,” he jokes. You chuckle, but shrug. He gets oddly contemplative before speaking again. “Do me a favor?”

You haven’t known this man for ten minutes, but you nod. “Sure.”

“Don’t tell Steven about me.”

———————————————————————

It’s not even a week later when trouble comes calling.

You get a text from Steven, who has been oddly silent this week. It’s asking for you to come to some storage lockers, promising to explain everything. He’s worried, and a part of you wonders if he’s more worried about the whole vigilant thing or about his alter.

Hopping on your motorcycle with no sense to put on your helmet, you speed through traffic in record time. Eyes flickering to signs as you zoom past, you finally spot him sprinting frantically out of the building.

He trips and falls as you skid to a halt.

“Shit! Steven, you can’t be running into traffic like that,” you curse, hopping off the back and grabbing your helmet from the seat compartment to give to him. “Hop on. We’ve got to get you back to your apartment.”

He awkwardly climbs on, holding your shoulders.

You raise a brow and drive off. “Why’re you grabbing my shoulder like that? I get you’re British, but come on, you’re not the queen.”

“Why’re you Russian, all of the sudden?” he asks.

You don’t respond.

Unsure about what to do, he wraps an arm around your waist as you speed up further, nimbly wearing between cars. Your breath doesn’t hitch and you don’t blush, but your heart rate quickens a bit anyways.

When you arrive back at the apartments, you head in together. Steven locks the door, catching a glimpse of Marc in the fish tank.

‘She shouldn’t be here.’ He can’t really tell Steven that you’re not a civilian yet. He can’t freak him out more. And honestly, Marc himself doesn’t even know what you are. A special agent? A military operative?

‘You need to get her out of here. You’re way out of your depth.’

“I just want my life back,” Steven replies aloud.

You stand up from where you’re feeding Gus. “What?”

“No, sorry.” He waves a hand. “I wasn’t talking to you, just talking to myself. Sort of.”

“Marc?” you ask.

He nods. “So… you met him?”

“…Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you; he didn’t want you to know yet.“

Steven doesn’t have it in him to be mad. Especially not when you pick up one of his books.

“Marceline Desbordes-Valmore?”

“Yep,” Steven mumbles. He begins reciting a poem, which you join in on. “She’s my favorite poet.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him you only learned her work for a mission in France, and every time you hear them you can see the gun you used to shoot down a politician that happened to be a literary buff. You’d gained his trust with poetry, convinced him to take you back to his home, and killed him.

You eventually smile and set the book down. “I’m more partial to Mahmoud Darwish. ‘ربما القمر جميل ‘فقط لأنه بعيد [‘Maybe the moon is beautiful only because it is far’]?”

Wandering over to his desk, you gesture at a paper.

“Why do you have Egyptian funeral rites here?”

“You speak French, Arabic, and read hieroglyphics, but have a Russian accent?” Steven seems almost in awe of you. No one looks at an assassin like that. “Who are you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Before he can respond to your smirk, there’s a demanding knock on the door. You’re gone by the time Steven opens it.

You hear him greet the officers, followed by them forcing their way into the apartment and searching the place. All the while, you’re climbing onto the roof and ducking from view with a bag of contraband clutched close to you.

It takes all of your strength to not just kill them when they arrest him, despite how easy it would be.

———————————————————————

You track the car easily. It leads you to a sort of community, almost cultish. You’re in a black tank top and cargo pants now, weapons concealed all over.

A man lets him out of the car and frees him from the handcuffs as you jump from roof to roof, watching and waiting. He guides him around, pointing out a goat and speaking butchered Mandarin.

You watch as strange things begin to happen. A stack of trays shakes and falls, trash goes up in a whirlwind. A shadow flickers just beyond your vision.

Down at the table, Harrow’s pushing for the scarab.

“Maybe you know someone who has it?” he suggests.

In a bowl, Marc shakes his head.

‘No, don’t give her up. She’s a civilian, she’ll get hurt. Just give me the body.’

People begin surrounding the table as you ready your gun. Slinging the bag of money, weapons, and a small scarab over your shoulder, you drop into the shadows.

“Sorry, is that… Is that what… You’re all into that, like, killing children and that?” you hear Steven say. “Maybe that’s just me, but that’s- I kinda draw a line there at child murder.”

The man stands, raising his staff that glows purple with power and demanding the scarab. Steven begins backing away as the man gets confrontational, and you decide enough is enough.

“Hey, dipshit. I’ve got your bug right here.” You hold it up, gun raised in the other hand.

“You couldn’t possibly understand the value of what you’re holding,” the man says. “Let me have it, I’ll keep it safe.”

You stand next to Steven, training the barrel of a polished gold gun on the head of this cult leader.

“Do you have a suit or something? That’d be really helpful right now,” you grumble.

“‘Do I have a soup’? What are you saying?” he whispers.

With an exasperated sigh, you hand him the scarab and start running. A man grabs your arm and you slam him into the wall, shooting him with little regard to Steven’s shriek.

You tuck the gun into your holster as you race up some stairs, attacking another man before throwing him off the high platform.

“That was awesome,” Steven gapes as you drag him along.

“Here, bolt the door,” you yell, backing away as you survey the room. A few windows are backup exits, but there’s not much here. Well, some dead bodies.

“Oh my god, I’m going to die in an evil magician’s man cave.”

There’s a pounding on the door as you start trying to calm Steven down. Admittedly, you’re a bit lacking in the social skills department.

“Ok, hey, we’re gonna be fine okay?” His breathing quickens. “Um, not to say that I don’t appreciate you, but is there a chance Marc could come out? He seems to be familiar with guns, yes?”

“No, no I can’t! Stop, please, both of you,” he begs, growing more panicked. Shit. You guide him to the ground as he rambles. “Please stop, leave me alone, both of you!”

You let him take a moment as the door starts splintering. It bursts open, but you don’t see anything?

“Jackal, jackal. Jackal!” Steven yells. Even though you don’t see any such dog, he gets tackled out of the window.

You run to the ledge, embedding a grappling hook in the ground and muttering curses in Russian under your breath.

The fall is familiar, and you land crouched as the hook retracts. Hurrying around, you finally see him, now in a white suit that covers his face, fighting the air.

He’s literally punching the air. His eyes are also glowing.

“Ok… what the fuck what the fuck,” you hiss. Firing off a few rounds, they embed in the air as something yelps.

A force grabs you by the throat before you stab at it with a shattered bottle on the ground, rolling away as heavy footsteps beat the rain-soaked pavement.

It drags you back as you cuss, firing off shots into air that occasionally connect. Letting you go, it targets Steven instead, knocking him against a car.

The man seems to have a conversation with his alter before rising.

“Get away from her, you.” He’s bouncing on his toes like a boxer. “Yeah, I see you, you plug-ugly coyote.”

This was about to end horribly. This random Brit was about to get absolutely murdered trying to keep whatever it was away from you.

“You’re in the wrong ends, mate. You’re in my yard now.” He throws his rather nice jacket on the ground as he continues taunting the beast.

“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee, my name is Steven with a V,” he says at the same time you hiss, “Отлично [Perfect], he’s gonna die before I even recruit him.”

He throws a punch that seems to knock him off balance, cheering and whooping before, if unsurprisingly, getting kicked across the street.

Then it happens. Steven turns around, something about him changing. The suit morphs, becoming almost like mummy wrappings. Marc.

“Get it away from the civilians, I’ll follow,” you call.

He dashes away, with you following behind on the ground.

———————————————————————

Marc lands on the ground once the creature is dead, staring into the mirror.

He doesn’t trust this situation. Harrow, Khonshu, you. He doesn’t know who’s lying, who’s honest, and who’s halfway in-between.

Steven appears in the mirror, disrupting Marc’s train of thought. They go back and forth, bickering as the wind grows stronger.

“You told (Y/N) to keep you a secret from me, and then we left her behind,” Steven accuses, growing more frustrated in the glass.

“Oh, please, what do you even know about her? What do either of us know about her?” Marc yells. “We can’t trust her.”

Steven shakes his head, pacing. “She’s my friend. She needs to stay out of this, you don’t need to drag an innocent civilian in.”

“She’s not a civilian!”

“…What?”

“The night she found out about me, she disarmed me like it was nothing. She had a gun.”

“That doesn’t matter, I trust her, she’s helped me and saved me from muggers, and-“

Steven’s argument doesn’t provide much solace for Marc, who groans and runs a hand over his face.

The arguing continues, growing louder and louder as they start talking over one another.

By the time you’re there, Marc’s glaring at the ground. The chairs are scattered around (the work of Khonshu, but you don’t know that) and he’s ready to start his third fight with you that he knows he’ll lose.

“Who are you?” he asks again, eyeing the weapons covering your person. The Black Widow buckle on your belt should give it away, but you suppose the public isn’t quite aware of you, yet. “Why are you following me?”

You tap the buckle and watch him instantly tense up. “I’m with the Avengers. And you are my mission.”

[thirstworldproblemss]

Favorite moon Knight fics??

Fav Moon Knight Fics you say....?

It's possible I might have a few so freakin' many, 'nonny, you don't even know...

List Notes:

Fics are Sorted by type of pairing, then alphabetically by Title

Uses AO3 Ratings: General audiences - Teen & up - Mature - Explicit

Check your Content Settings if you're 18+ and want to be able to see mature content (Settings -> scroll down to Content You See -> Community Labels -> Mature -> show)

Graphics: MK header is mine; adorable moon & stars divider by @straywords

Links sometimes misbehave on desktop–If none of the links are working, try opening in dashboard mode (click the eye-shaped button in the far top right)

— MK System x Reader — .

B-Roll by @heybluechild [ Marc x F reader, 2.2k, E, oneshot ] Summary: You and Marc make a sex tape. (smut, humor)

Chocolate by @bits-and-babs [ Steven x F reader, 6.1k, E, oneshot ] Summary: After weeks of pining for your coworker Steven Grant, sharing chocolate over a late shift causes sparks to fly. (pining, soft smut)

Disaster [ao3] by @softlyspector [ Marc-centric MK system x F reader, 6k, T, oneshot ] Summary: Marc's mental health takes a turn for the worse when you give him some news. After chasing him to Chicago, you, Steven, and Jake are left to pick up the pieces. (heavy angst--mind the warnings!, angst with a hopeful ending)

The First Time by @youvebeenlivingfictional [ Marc x F reader, 3.2k, E, oneshot ] Summary: The first time you and Marc catch one another in a tight spot, you both make it out by the skin of your teeth. You’re both wounded; you’re both riled up as all hell. (violence, angry smut, feeeeeeelings)

Gift of Min & Redux [ao3] by @astroboots [ Steven x F reader x Marc (x Jake), 21k, E, twoshot ] Summary: Marc brings back a trinket from his trip that may or may not contain an ancient sex god/aphrodisiac. Either way, Marc’s not telling, and it’s for you and Steven to find out. (Smut, sex pollen)

Idling by @juneknight [ Jake-centric MK system x F reader, 10k, E, in progress as of 7/6/23 ] Summary: Jake keeps having to front for Marc and Steven's new girlfriend. (angst--mind the warnings!, promises of future smut)

keep your vigils on the road [ao3] by @charnelhouse [ Steven x F reader x Marc (x Jake), 4.2k, E, oneshot ] Summary: They’re on the run. It’s kind of a vacation. (smut, violence)

Killing me by @astroboots [ Jake x F reader (x Steven/Marc), 2.4k, E, oneshot ] Summary: Jake takes it “easy” on you after a long night with Steven. (smut)

Moon Struck [ao3] by @softlyspector [ MK system x dancer F reader, 43.3k, E, series ] Summary: Steven asks you out, Marc falls in love (slowburn, some angst with a happy ending, eventual smut)

No fish were harmed in the making of this meet-cute by @writefightandflightclub [ Marc Spector x F reader, 2.1k, G, oneshot ] Summary: You have a dilemma. You don’t want to sell the man any more fish. But you do want him to keep coming back to your shop 👀 (fluff, humor, angry meet cute)

Obsessed by @juneknight [ Marc x F reader, college AU, 7.2k, E, twoshot in an ongoing series ] Summary: Marc likes eating pussy and offers to eat yours. (smut, college roommates AU) ...Honestly, I probably could have listed ALL of Dorm Room Marc here. Other Favs: The Thing About Marc Spector, Pushing Buttons, Sweet Requitement

Pornstar MK Boys: Marc, Steven, Jake by @runa-falls [ MK system x F reader, porn star AU, 3.0k, E, threeshot ] Summary: as a fluffer, it’s your job to know how to keep the boys interested. each alter has their own preferences (porn star AU, smut)

Shadow of a Doubt by @writefightandflightclub [ Marc x F reader x Steven (x Jake), 7.1k, E, oneshot ] Summary: Marc was first. Steven was second. Khonshu’s never going to love you. …And you’re wondering if Jake will ever get there at all. (relationship/character exploration, some smut, angst with a hopeful ending)

Sting by @bits-and-babs [ Marc x F reader, 3.5k,E, oneshot ] Summary: Marc relies on your amateur skills to patch him up following a brutal fight. (blood, smut, pain kink)

Stone Heart by @magpie-to-the-morning [ Steven x demisexual F reader, 1.5k, T, twoshot ] Summary: Maybe Steven’s one-sided friendship isn’t so one-sided after all... AKA a Moon Knight Pygmalion AU (fluff, romance)

Take Care of You by @tropes-and-tales [ Steven x F reader x Marc, 3.8k, E, oneshot ] Summary: For Steven, it was love at first sight. For Marc, it was a slower thing. (smut, feeeeeeelings)

Where To, Miss? by @foxilayde [ Jake x F reader, E, 7.5k, oneshot ] Summary: Jake Lockley is your driver, escorting you safely in your nighttime travels. There’s something about him. Tonight, you’re going to find out what that something is. (violence, blood, and surprisingly soft smut)

— Intra-MK System Pairings — .

All this time I was just waiting for you by @nakimochiku [ Steven x Marc, E, 20.6k, complete ] Summary: Things never seem to go Steven’s way romantically. Marc helps him work on that. (pining, smut with feeeeeeelings)

in the aftermath by queenie [ Steven x Marc x Jake, E, 37.5k, complete ] Summary: Having his own body is strange (separated into their own bodies after the show AU, slow burn, eventual smut)

last night i watched myself sleep by sweaterlou [ Steven x Marc, E, 19.4k, complete ] Summary: A look into Marc and Steven's relationship progression; from sharing a body to sharing a bed. (pining, smut)

the loneliest number by unstuckintime [ Steven x Marc, 9.6k, E, complete ] Summary: The problem with Steven is that he wants so much and he’s so lonely. He’s so lonely and he asks Marc for it all the time. (smut, feeeeeeelings)

making two reflections into one by marin27 [ Steven x Marc, 101k (as of 9/22/22) , M , incomplete ] Summary: After falling into the sands of Duat, Steven is sent back in time to fix things. He may or may not end up fixing the wrong, but no less important, things. (TL;DR: The fic where Steven fixes his relationship with Marc as the Moon Knight plot happens in the background.) (back in time redo AU, slowburn, pining, feeeeeeelings)

Our Body by apartment [ Marc x Steven, 1.4k, E, oneshot ] Summary: There are benefits to sharing a body, Steven realizes, especially when getting kidnapped is commonplace these days. Or: the "you don't have him; he has you" meme, plus marc's attempts at being a boyfriend (violence, smut)

paths diverted by solarzenith [ Steven x Marc, separate bodies, 6.8k, E, oneshot ] Summary: Khonshu reanimates them, with an ultimatum: come back as one, or come back separate. Marc makes the decision readily, too easily, and Steven had no idea Marc wanted him out of their head so badly. (pining, angst with a happy ending, smut)

see through my act, tell me I'm wrong by snapdragonpop007 [ Marc/Jake x Steven, 31k, T, complete ] Summary: “Leave him alone,” Marc scowled up at Jake from the reflection on the tiled floor. Jake ignored Marc and made a beeline right towards the gift shop as The Man In The Gift Shop Named Steven got back to his feet and went back to the register. “Jake if you go in there I swear to god—” (Steven gets a separate body AU, slow burn, feeeeeeelings)

— Canon / MK System x Layla El Faouly — .

do not enter is written on the doorway (but you can stay) by FlowerCitti [ incidental Marc x Layla x Steven, 19.8k, M, complete ] Summary: When it came to heroes and other vigilantes, Marc didn’t have any interest in interacting with them. He travels with Khonshu’s will, continuing to protect those under the moon and following through with Khonshu’s severe judgments. He kills and keeps Khonshu content and fed, shielded under the darkness of night and the flickers of the moon. (Or, Marc meets the Avengers. And then gets shot in the head.) (plot-centric MCU crossover)

Marc/Layla Ficlet by @writefightandflightclub [ Marc x Layla, 0.3k, T, oneshot ] Summary: How did Marc tie the knot with Layla? (mild angst)

not quite a meet-cute by notmadderred [ MK system-centric, Marc x Layla x Steven, 8.3k, T, complete ] Summary: Layla meets Jake and things get complicated for both of them. (character exploration & bonding)

so this could be the death of me (or maybe just a better me) by @quinnathy [ MK system, Marc x Layla mention, 25k, T, complete ] Summary: One time Marc saves Steven, one time Jake saves Marc, and one time Steven saves Jake. (And so forth.) (character exploration and bonding, some angst)

To Sleep by @radiowallet [ Steven/Marc x Layla, 1.2k, T, drabble series, ongoing ] Summary: Sometimes Steven dreams. For Marc it's a nightmare. Layla El-Faouly does not sleep. (angst, yearning, mentions of canon-typical violence)

.

— Canon / Gen (no Pairing) — .

Jake's not very good, very bad day. No worse than that by Beyney [ Jake-centric, gen (no pairing), 6k, T, oneshot ] Summary: The Avengers think Moon Knight just has no marbles left to lose. The system is not amused. Khonshu is gleeful, and Jake just doesn't want to deal with this shit anymore. At least the god will keep bringing him back if this mission goes way more sideways than it already has, right? ...Right? (MCU crossover, Jake whump, violence/death mention, does some of the MCU crew a little bit dirty for the sake of the story)

That's all I've got for you for now, 'nonny, but this is definitely a non-exhaustive list. I've read so many wonderful MK fics, I'm sure I've missed some that should've been on here and will no doubt discover even more amazing stories in the future. Chances are I'll wind up coming back to add to the list, and you all should feel free to reblog/reply/send me an ask with your fav MK fics!!

Thank you for the ask, dear anon friend! And thank you for being patient with me—it turns out I have a lot more fav MK fics than I originally thought, and it took me a little while to get this list together. Hopefully they'll be something new-to-you here for you to enjoy! 💕

🧡 twp

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Want more to read? Check out my other Author, Fic, & Fanwork Recs

[vintagegirl01]

Plush Size

Marc Spector x fem! reader (Implied moon boys x fem! reader)

Summary: Missing the MK System, you decide to make a plush toy of Moon Knight for yourself, so that you have something to cuddle with when they are on missions for Khonshu. While this plush ends up being used for that particular reason, the moon boys are shocked to see that you are no longer as clingy to them as you once were. This leads them to become touch starved, resulting in them hiding the plush.

You miss them all very much. It has only been a day since they left but you miss Marc, Steven, and Jake very much.

Though they have been on missions longer than this most recent one they are currently on. Nevertheless, it’s true when they say absence makes the heart grow fonder.

As you look through Pinterest to look at sewing machine projects that you want to do. You see some pins on how to make dolls. This sparks the idea to create a doll in the form of your boyfriends’ Moon Knight persona that you could use to cuddle when they are gone. With this newfound inspiration, you get to work.

_________________________________________

3 Days Later…

Marc is currently fronting as he enters the key to your shared apartment. Though this mission was shorter, the desire to get home to you was what kept him going.

When he locks the front door, Marc notices the silence within the house. No tv nor music playing in the background.

Imagining the worst case scenario, Marc grabs his gun from his travel bag and begins walking around the house in preparation to fight to the death for you. He hears both Steven and Jake from the headspace, trying to reassure him that you are safe and more likely to fall asleep. Though he appreciates the reassurance from them both, Marc’s mind can’t help but wander to think the worst.

As he finally approaches the door to your shared bedroom, Marc finds you asleep on your bed. Although, instead of snuggling into his side of the bed like you normally would when he was gone, Marc is shocked to see you snuggling up with a plushie that looks nearly identical to what he looks like when he wears Khonshu’s ceremonial armor as Moon Knight. Marc smiles to himself as he returns to his regular clothes, beginning to strip to nothing but his boxers and crawls into the bed to get well earned rest.

________________________________________

In the coming weeks, Marc notices how often you cuddle with the plush version of himself and is a bit restless to say the least. Though Marc is happy you have something to remind you of himself when he is away, the feeling isn’t there when he begins to notice that you sometimes even hug the mini him when you both are lounging around together in your room or living room.

Despite Marc always being a bit closed off at the start of your relationship, you helped him open up. Once feeling as if he had to wear the world on his shoulders, that feeling slowly faded away when he was around you.

No longer receiving those cuddles as often as he was once used to, Marc begins to devise a plan. One that will ensure he gets your attention.

________________________________________

As you finish showering and changing into your pajamas, you exit the restroom and enter the bedroom.

When you walk to the bed, you notice that your Moon Knight plushie is no longer laying on the side where you normally sleep. In shock, you look under the bed to make sure it isn’t there. Noting it isn’t there, you move your pillows to see if they aren’t under the bed.

“Marc”! Have you seen mini you?”, you ask.

Marc comes in and says he hasn’t but agrees to help you find him (unbeknownst to you that he hid it).

________________________________________

Thirty minutes of you two looking and not having any luck. Defeated, you lay on your bed a bit upset.

Marc gets into bed next to you and wraps his arms around you. He is a little shocked by the fact that you are upset about this.

Curious to understand why that is, he asks: “Why are you upset about losing the mini me”?

You answer.“Because it’s something to remind me of you when we aren’t together. Also, I figured it would be a good substitute for when you don’t want to cuddle me as I know I can be a bit too much sometimes.”

Everything begins to make sense to him. Marc goes to your closet to get something. When he comes back out, you see that he’s holding your missing plushie.

“I’m sorry I hid this from you”, he says ashamed. “I missed your cuddles and thought that mini me was taking away your attention from me. Despite what you may think, I love our cuddle sessions. It’s because of you, I feel safe enough to be vulnerable. Can you forgive me, baby?”

The moment Marc finishes, he is shocked to see you get up from the bed and grab the plushy from him. You put the plush on your bed and pull him in for a hug.

“You know you can ask me for cuddles whenever”, you say.

Marc looks at you with puppy eyes, “Can we cuddle now?”.

You take his hand and lead him both to your bed. Both of you get settled in with Marc laying his head on your chest as you run your fingers through his curls. Staying this way until sleeps takes over.

[foreverinadais]

forehead kisses: mk system

summary: how and when the moon knight system give you forehead kisses.

warnings: fluff (i swear this was therapy to write), tiny bit of angst but not between the reader and the boys :)

word count: 1.8k

~STEVEN~

The tears had gathered in your waterline as soon as you reached the door. Something about this place, this flat, offered a sense of home you had never had. The familiarity alone made you feel safe enough to cry.

You tapped the door, a weak attempt of a knock, but Steven heard, had been waiting by the door since you had messaged you had left. A bright beam was on his face, a soft glisten in his eyes as he swung the door open, ready to bear hug you into his arms. But his expression faltered at the sight of yours; watery eyes, lip trembling, body hunched in defeat.

He didn’t say anything as he took your hand in his own, leading you through the doorway, nudging the door shut with his foot. You followed meekly; his hand soft, warm. Your grip tightened. He noticed immediately.

“D’you want to talk about?” He asked, voice so soft, so gentle, it made you want to crumble. You shook your head, not a no, just a not yet. He nodded in understanding, taking your work bag off you, placing it on the side, before getting to work on ridding you of your jacket. All in a silence so comfortable, it made the thoughts begin to dissipate in your head.

He led you to the sofa, sitting down and leading you to do the same- you did. “C’mere,” he whispered, “need’t hold you. Can I hold you, my love?” You nodded, and as soon as your body met his, the dam broke. He tutted, but not at you; at whatever it was that had caused you any kind of pain. One hand stroked up your back, the other cradled your head into his shoulder.

“ ‘s okay, let it all out, there you go.” You did, all the pent up emotion of the day, week, coming out all at once to him. And when your sobs subsided to sniffles, he was there, still.

“ ‘m sorry.” You croaked, releasing yourself from his grip, only slightly, only to wipe at your eyes. He was already there, swiping a stray tear away with his thumb, a concerned look evident in the lines between his eyes.

“Whatever for?”

“I didn’t want to cry, not to you. I didn’t want to ruin your day and now I have and ‘s not fair-”

“Don’t be silly, baby. You didn’t ruin anythin’, you never have, ever. I want you to cry to me. I would do anythin’ to be the one you cry too for the rest of time, ’kay?” You sniffled, looking down from his gaze, nodding hesitantly. “Hey, lemme see your wonderful face. Missed you.” He demanded, but his tone was light, cheeky.

You obliged, the first smile since entering his flat appearing on your lips. He grinned in triumph, pulling you in for a kiss, then another, and another. You giggled, his name leaving your lips with a laugh. “I love you.” You whispered, and he could swear his heart reinvented itself every time those words left your lips.

“I love you more. Promise.” You hit his chest in joke protest, but he caught your hand in his, pulling you back into his body. His breath fanned over your head, and you swore your heart sang as he pressed a firm, sure, loving kiss onto your forehead. A sigh of contentment left you, and you felt your body finally relax. “Now, tell me about your day, sweetheart.”

~MARC~

You had looked after him plenty of times before. Cleaned up his wounds, bandaged his cuts, leaving affirmations and soft touches in your path. Marc accepted it, though he would never admit just how much he needed your touch. He would never ask for it.

Especially not today.

When Marc had stumbled through the door at a late hour, muttering under his breath with irritation, you knew instantly the type of day he had. You put the bookmark in your book, placing it on the side before swinging out of bed. You never slept until you knew he was safe, until he was back with you.

Marc had his back turned away from you, lost in thought, or argument, struggling with his jacket before hanging it up. You called his name softly, enough to break through the wall in his mind, and he turned instantly.

“Oh, baby.” You whispered at the sight of his bruised eye and bust lip. He shrugged, laughing, but you could tell it wasn’t in humour. “What happened?” Marc sighed, shaking his head, coming close to you, but not close enough. You filled the gap immediately, running a hand through his curls before cupping his jaw.

“You should see the other guy.” You smiled, rolling your eyes.

“You say that every time.”

“ ‘s true.” You rose an eyebrow, a silent encouragement to get him to continue, to be serious. He sighed again, dropping his gaze form your own. “Got jumped by three of Harrow’s guys. Fought them off alright, but they managed to get a few hits.”

“You fought them off? You did good, why are you feeling bad?” He knew you didn’t mean physically.

“Cause I almost didn’t! ‘s, I don’t know, embarrassing. Konshu would be pissed off and…” he trailed off, but you encouraged him with a gentle grab of his hand. “Don’t wanna bother you.”

“What?” He seemed exasperated, and you ran your thumb over the skin of his palm, feeling his heartbeat increase.

“When I come back… hurt, or whatever, it’s you that has to deal with it. ‘s not fair, not for you. I just, I wanna give you the best, baby. Feel like I don’t do that.”

“Oh, Marc.” You whispered, sympathy and care dripping off your tone. “You could never bother me, ever. I hate seeing you hurt, but I love caring for you, I’ll do it happily. Because I love you.” He didn’t seem convinced, and you tipped is gaze up to meet yours. It was rare you were in charge of such intimate actions, and it made his heart skip a beat, his mouth run dry. “You give me the best every day. Promise.”

“Don’t deserve you.” He muttered quietly, but you caught it, crumpled it up, threw it away.

“ s’not true at all.” He sighed once more, playing with your fingers, yearning for your touch. You heard him silently, tugging his hand toward the bed. “Let’s lie down, yeah?” He nodded, stifling a yawn as you got comfy under the covers, him not far behind.

He didn’t reach for you like he normally did, not when he felt so vulnerable. No, you reached for him, pulling him to you. He gripped your waist tightly; afraid you’d vanish if he let go for even a millisecond.

“How’s your head, baby?” You asked, and he hummed.

“ ‘s fine. Hurts a little, but ‘m fine now.” You smiled, reaching down, moving the stray curls out the way before planting a kiss on his forehead. His skin flushed, heart stopping at the action. You repeated it once, twice more for good measure, repeating ‘I love you’ so it stuck.

Marc felt his eyes shut, consumed by your love, finally feeling at peace.

~JAKE~

Jake had been anxiously awaiting for you in his car for well over an hour. He had dropped you off with a kiss and soft words of praise, and you had told him he didn’t need to hang around, that you’d call when you were finished. But after you had left, he found himself staying. Not wanting to miss as you came out, so he could be there for any and every reaction you had.

So that he could celebrate you or comfort you- he didn’t think for a minute it would be the latter.

But your nerves had transferred over to him, leaving a pit in his chest. He knew you should get this job; you had worked your ass off ever since he had known you. He was ready to march in and show or tell that to anyone who didn’t agree.

He glanced at the clock again, a profanity leaving his mouth at the time. He felt such an intense urge for you, to see you and kiss you and know you were okay. He wished for your success well over his own. Like, it only mattered if you were happy, if you got your dreams- you had scolded him for thinking that more times than he could count.

Jake jumped at the sound of the passenger door opening. Fuck, he had zoned out, lost in the thoughts of you, like he usually was. You were there now, scrambling into the passenger seat, eyes lit up and wild. He didn’t have to ask because you were already exclaiming - “I got it! I got the job!”

A sound of utter happiness and pride left Jake, and he felt his heart beam as you practically leapt into his arms, ignoring the way the gear shift dug into your thighs as you settled in his lap. Jake held you close to him, praise and love falling from his lips as though it was all he could ever say to you. Your body radiated warmth- as though you were the sun personified.

Jake pulled away, kissing all over your face; your cheeks, your jaw, your eyelids, eventually your lips. You laughed, happily accepting, feeling dizzy all over again. “ ‘m so fucking proud of you.” He said, pulling away, a look of sincerity etched into his features you had never seen before. You smiled gratefully, emotion rising in your throat as you thanked him, hands in his hair. “Seriously. Tan orgulloso- so proud.”

“Thank you, Jake. I couldn’t have done any of this without your support-”

“Na-uh, this was all you. All you, mi amor.” He kissed you again, and you sighed with joy.

“Love you.” You murmured, and he grinned, face heating as if he had never heard you say it before.

“Te amo. Love you so much.” You spent a moment, then, staring at each other, taking in the serene moment. His eyes scanned every inch of your face, desperate to keep this memory of you forever. Smiling, proud of yourself, thighs squeezing his legs, hands in his hair. Fuck, it was everything he could ever wish for.

Lost in the thought, he cupped the back of your neck, bringing you down softly so that your forehead was level with his lips. He kissed the skin, lips lingering, taking in the moment. Your breath hitched. You had kissed him countless times, even just in the car, but somehow, this moment felt so intimate, you could hardly breathe.

He noted your flustered expression as he pulled away, tipping your chin up with his fingers. “Now, how should we celebrate?” You grinned, wasting no time before capturing his lips in a passionate kiss. “Good plan.”

[midgardian-witch]

...I have the feeling my poly Moon Knight/Layla/Reader fanfics may be turning into a series? Not sure if people are interested in that but yeah 😅

(For those that have read both 'You haven't seen The Mummy?!' and 'Anxious Attachment': I may be writing something short about Reader and Steven meeting for the first time. If people wanna talk about possible meet-cute-esque tropes for that I am open to ideas 👀)

If people want to send asks in general to talk Moon Knight, Werewolf by Night, fanfic or not: feel free. Asks are always open (also for anons) 👍

[genderfluid-insomniac]

headcanons of how the reader gets Red to chill out and take breaks from work

Red Son

At first you tried to use water to get him to “chill out” but that resulted in you getting chased around his lab for an hour with him screaming to you that that wasn’t funny…..

So you took a more non-literal approach which was to coax him into eating and drinking during his work and testing his inventions, staring slowly and not immediately jumping to dragging him off cold turkey. It took him a couples seconds to be convinced that a little food and water wouldn’t hurt and eating into between writing equations.

He did appreciate it and it showed through small notes he left or items that you owned that had broke or stopped working showing up on your desk looking brand new and working perfectly if not better then before. After a week or two it gets better with him allowing you to sit next to him or leaning of him (maybe even all comfy in his lap if you both are far along in the relationship but the door has to be locked) and asks you in you want a drink or food if it’s near lunchtime.

You’ve successfully gotten him to be a lot better taking breaks so he doesn’t burn out and sometimes literally but even with your help you can only do so much to help him calm down. If it’s with MK and his gang that’s causing him trouble and making him loose his temper then there’s not much you can do but be beside him so he’s able to rant to you until it’s out of his system. Anything else that’s troubling him you can rub his back or put on smooth jazz music which is the best way to calm his anger.

[gallaghersgal]

MIND OVER MATTER, lip gallagher

chapter two of BORDERLINE. lip x bsf!reader (nickname: MK)

TAGS & WARNINGS → general shameless themes, smoking, swearing, karen's here and she's a bitch, lots of best friend moments <333

CHAPTER SUMMARY → the days get colder and lip remains stubborn. it's mostly due to his on again off again relationship with karen jackson, the girl who says she's pregnant with his baby. and, conveniently, the girl that hates your guts.

A/N → thank you so much for waiting on this one!!! took me a while to update because i just want every little detail to be perfect 🥹

WC → 1.7k

As autumn gave way to the icy cold of winter you found yourself staring out the window of your seventh period classroom. An old pair of wired earbuds connects both you and Lip to your school issued laptop, which the two of you were using to form your monthly shared playlist. It was a tradition you had started yourself at the beginning of this year, but Lip had wormed his way in as he seemed to do with everything else in your life, insisting he be allowed to add songs since he had to ride along with you everywhere. You’d told him it came with his lack of license, and he’d pestered you until you allowed him ten songs per playlist. 

Lip’s elbow digs into your ribs and pulls your focus away from the flurries starting to fall outside the window. “Skip this shit,” he mumbles, referencing the Taylor Swift song that just started.

You roll your eyes but skip it regardless, it didn’t fit in with your november lineup. Satisfied with the song that follows, you navigate away from the playlist, opening up your email. “I signed us up for a tour at UChi,” you say casually, eyes flicking over to gauge his reaction. He rolls his eyes and ignores you entirely, clearly annoyed with your choice. So this is still an uphill battle. Got it. “If you won’t go for yourself, at least come along for me? That way ‘m not alone.”

You watch Lip as he considers it, finally nodding his head after a moment of silence. The dismissal bell rings and your teacher gives some spiel about homework but neither of you care to listen. Like a well oiled system you return each other’s borrowed things–your pretty pack of highlighters Lip liked to use for annotation, the pencil he miraculously had when you forgot your own, the laptop which belongs to you and earbuds that belong to him–packing them up and practically racing each other out the door. You stumble through the back row as Lip dashes in front of you, pulling out a chair to leave in your path. It’s easy to laugh, easy to forget how much you’re having to push him to take his future seriously. 

By the time you catch up to him in the hall, there’s a little blonde nuisance at his side. She kisses him obnoxiously, which you think is a little much for the fact they aren’t even official. You’d never say it aloud but you’re not convinced her baby even belongs to him. Her school slut reputation hadn’t come from being a prude after all.  But of course you’re willing to play the part, to be the supportive best friend, because you knew the alternative; being painted as a jealous whore, for the simple act of looking out for your friend. Safe to say, Karen Jackson makes you seethe with rage. 

She doesn’t even offer a greeting, just looks you up and down with a disgusted glare. Lip says she doesn’t talk about you behind your back, but you think he’s just trying to save your feelings. You understand it can be hard to keep the peace between two girls who are equally important to him. Though, you wish he’d wake up from his lust induced haze to see she’s just using him. As always you play the part you’re meant to play. The best friend, ever supportive, standing quietly to the side as they have their moment. A moment that makes you sick to your stomach, but is theirs nonetheless. Not your place to intervene. 

You decide to wait in your car instead of dwelling on it.

Hours pass idly by before you’re in the Gallagher house for the night, too cold and tired to walk the twenty or so steps across the street to your own home. It wasn’t your fault Ian rolled a joint and passed it up when you were already dozing off in Lip’s bed.

When you stub out the joint, Lip tosses a pillow down to the foot of the bed. You can’t help but find it odd, the way you sleep head to foot to keep air between you as if you haven’t shared each other’s space for as long as you can remember. Lip was always wherever you were, and the same went for you. Inseparable for as long as you could remember. But then there came this… tension. The awkward energy] that came with growing up, getting crushes, going on dates. Suddenly it wasn’t normal to curl into your best friend’s side. Instead, he slept on an air mattress when he visited your house, and you occupied opposite ends of the bed at his. 

You’re not sure when the change came about. You find that you hate it. 

With nightfall comes snowfall, and when you wake from an uncomfortable strain in your back you see the soft, white flakes falling outside the window. You sit up, accidentally bumping your head in your excitement. The thud along with the pained groan from your chest wake Lip up, blue eyes blinking blearily up at you in the dim glow of the streetlight. 

“Fuck’re you doin’ MK?” he grumbles, swatting away your hand when it gently shakes his hip. “Go back t’sleep.”

“Look, ‘s snowing,” you murmur, awe painted in your tone as you lean down to turn his head towards the window. 

His next words are muffled by the pillow he shoves over his face, attempting to hide from you and your antics. “We live ‘n fuckin’ Chicago, it snows here. Not like its a miracle.”

“Come outside with me?” you ask simply. The pillow is pulled away from his face and Lip gives you a puzzled look, which you fight with a drawn out whisper of “pleeeeaseeee?”

Lip has never been able to say no to your pleading. Tonight is no exception. Within ten minutes the two of you are outside in your pajamas, fingers clad in fuzzy gloves and feet nestled into too-big snow boots. The snowfall is already slowing when Lip pulls one of his gloves off, struggling to light a cigarette against the icy wind. Without a word you step closer and shelter the light with your body until it catches the end of the cig. When he exhales you mimic the motion with frosted breath. 

Lip is still laughing at your antics when you grab his bicep, tugging his body to the ground with you. “Wha- what the fuck!?”

“Snow angels,” you reply simply, “come on, have a little whimsy, some childlike wonder.” The snow is cold against your back but you begin to move your arms and legs regardless. You tilt your head and are pleasantly surprised to see a boyish grin formed around the cig tucked neatly between his lips. He mimics your motion, arms and legs pushing snow aside until his elbows are brushing grass. 

He offers you the last drag or two from his cig, propping himself up with his elbows dug into the compressed snow where his back had been. “Y’know, I don’t think I’ve made a snow angel since I was–shit–like, five or six?” He hauls himself up and uses his teeth to remove the remaining glove, his hands dipping down into the snow.

“Don’t you dare,” you warn him, your teeth baring with a nervous smile as he steps closer, “Lip! Don’t you fucking-” it’s too late, there’s snow down the back of your crew neck sweatshirt. You shriek, jumping to your feet and packing a snowball of your own for revenge. It’s easy to laugh with him. To forget the troubles that plague your young hearts, subjects far too mature which were introduced at far too young of an age.

You end your little snow escapade on the steps. Lip brushes the gathering snow off the wood to give the two of you room to share a seat and a cigarette. The smoke warms your body and the comfortable silence warms your soul. You watch as he rubs his hands together, lifting them up to feel the little heat provided by the tendrils of smoke. 

When he passes it to you, you take a drag and exhale through your nose, taking both of his hands in your own. You want to scold him lightly, it’s not smart to go without gloves in the snow, but with two hands occupied you can’t exactly hold the cig anywhere other than your mouth. So you stay quiet, and so does he.

Minutes pass in familiar silence. You write your name in the snow at your feet, digging out the letters with the heel of your boot. Lip does the same with the cigarette butt when it’s finished, and you complain how unfair it is that his writing looks much neater compared to yours. He smooths out the snow over your name, rewriting ‘MK’ in the space. 

As you head inside you become aware of how wet your clothes are, the snow melting in the slightly warmer temperatures, though you notice it’s not much. Lip lends you some clothes of his and politely turns his back while you change. Not that you would’ve cared much, anyway. 

“Fuckin’ freezin’ in here Lip,” you mumble, shivering in your hoodie and borrowed boxers as you climb the ladder after him. 

He laughs in response, reaching out to tug you into the softness of his chest. “C’mere, snow miser,” he grumbles, referencing a childhood favorite movie the two of you would watch every Christmas. A smile graces your lips as you settle against his chest, his warmth more familiar than anything you’ve ever known.

Lip tells you quietly about how Frank blew his most recent disability check, leaving Fiona scrambling for the small but important number he often contributed to the heat bill. He rambles on about how each of his siblings were dealing with the cold–something about Carl convincing Debbie her frosted breath was a magical power–and you feel yourself drifting off to the gentle sound of his voice.

In the morning the sun peeks through the worn curtains of the boys’ room. Gentle rays attempt to tug you from the comfortable embrace, but your unconscious mind only snuggles further into Lip’s chest. Carl is the first to take notice of this, snickering and elbowing a distracted Ian in the ribs as he pulls on warmer clothes. The older boy eyes the two of you and grabs Lip’s phone from his desk to snap a quick picture before ushering his younger brother out of the room. 

And when Fiona heads out to head to work, there are still two names written in the snow. With careful footing, she allows them to stay.

THX 4 READING → dedicated to my lovely @notsonian. beta'd by @tinyphantomsalad.

[juneknight]

Pleased to Please

The sequel (AKA Jake's Revenge) to Making Trouble.

About this: MK System/fem!reader, use of 'slut' as a term of endearment. An unnecessary amount of gloves. Jake Lockley.

*

You wake up to Marc pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You hum in pleasure, burrowing deeper into the covers, sleepy enough to miss what he says the first time he says it. His voice rumbles over you again, warm with mirth. His hands work the blanket away from your face, and he repeats himself again: 

“I know it’s Sunday, but I have errands to run. Want to come with or stay in?” 

You crack one eye open. 

*

The two of you stand at the bus stop leaning against each other to make room for the others who crowd around for the same purpose. Someone jostles into you, and the look Marc gives them is cold—it makes strange butterflies unfold their wings in your belly. You lean in to press a kiss to his cheek, turning his focus back to you. 

“What errands do you need to run?” you ask in his ear to make sure you are heard over the rumble of traffic. 

“Swapping out supplies,” he says, explaining the duffle bag he has over one shoulder. “Boring stuff, but I’ll buy you coffee after.” 

“Now you’re talking.”

The two of you shuffle your way onto the bus. He crowds you protectively, looping an arm around your waist to keep you close while his hand grips the bar to keep you both steady. You’ve gotten used to taking the bus after meeting Steven. Before him, you had walked or taken the tube, not the biggest fan of London drivers. Occasionally, you and Marc would go in on a cab together; you had never felt safe doing such a thing alone. And with Jake…

Your face flames. Leaning in to whisper in Marc’s ear again, you says: “It’s a shame we don’t have Jake’s car, isn’t it?” 

Marc’s eyes go heavy-lidded, a smirk tugging up the corners of his mouth. He remembers as well as you do your activities in Jake’s car only days before. He glances towards the window of the bus—likely hearing some colorful commentary from the man in question—before turning his eyes back to yours. 

“We’d just end up making more trouble in it, wouldn’t we?” he says back, letting his voice dip low under the guise of privacy, as if he doesn’t know what the timber of it does to you. 

“You’re probably right,” you breathe back. “How much further ‘til our stop?” 

“Not much. You’re already thinking about going back home aren’t you? Crawling back into bed?” 

“As long as you join me.” 

“My god, you two are better than television,” says the woman behind you both who has been clearly standing close enough to hear. You jump, startled by her sudden intrusion into your private conversation, embarrassment making your face burn hot. Thank god she had said something before the two of you really got going—

“Mind your business,” Marc says, uncharacteristically cold as he glares at the woman. 

Middle-aged, clutching a recyclable tote in her arms, the woman looks like her first instinct is to argue back—perhaps something about how the two of you were making your business right there on a public bus—but the look on Marc’s face stops her words in her throat. She shuts her mouth with a click and nods, awkwardly trying to shuffle to a different spot on the bus to stand. 

You frown up at Marc, but he smiles down at you like nothing is wrong. Reaching up, you lay the back of your hand against his forehead. “Are you feeling alright? You’re acting strange.” 

It’s Marc’s turn to frown, his head tilting to one side, warm brown eyes roaming over your face. 

“What do you mean?” he wonders But before you can answer, Marc glances forward and says: “Shit, this is us.” 

He helps you press your way to the front and guides you two back out onto the dreary London street. You glance up at the building, frowning in thought. 

“Storage units? Do you have a unit here?” 

Marc just grins in answer, holding up a  keyfob with the business’s logo on it. 

*

The building is cool and quiet, sounds oddly muffled as you walk through the halls lined on either side with storage units. Occasionally you pass one with the door open, lock hanging loosely on the outside. You shiver. Places like this always make you feel odd, knowing how much history is here, each unit a snapshot of someone’s life. You cheer yourself with the thought that you’re about to see a snapshot of Marc’s. 

When you arrive at unit #43, you bounce a little on your toes as Marc unlocks it and opens the door, a gentleman allowing you entrance first. But whatever you were expecting inside, you cannot help but be disappointed. 

The unit is mostly empty, perhaps ten-by-ten. It is very utilitarian, with walls of alloyed metal shiny enough to see yourself in, even if your figure was a fraction distorted. A lightbulb hangs in the corner casting an unflattering fluorescent glow over the room. There are a series of storage totes, opaque to conceal their contents. A cot is in the corner, with a poor excuse for a pillow and a blanket folded with military precision. 

“Do you sleep here sometimes?” you ask, baffled at the thought. 

“I used to,” says Marc, going to the corner and setting his backpack down. He kneels, the zipper loud in the quiet of the unit. “It was a safe place, a place of my own, before Steven and I—reconciled.” 

That makes you inexplicably sad, imagining Marc spending any length of time here, stretched out on a cot too short for him and listening to the hum of lights all night. 

“That’s terrible,” you murmur.

Marc makes a sound in the back of his throat, derisive, clearly not feeling so maudlin about it. He says something, but you are too entranced by testing the cot, sitting heavily on its coarse fabric. It barely gives under your weight, unyielding and uncomfortable. At last you become aware of his gaze on you. You glance over to see him kneeling at his duffel bag, eyes glittering with some foreign emotion as he watches you. 

“Sorry, what’d you say?” you ask. 

“I said, Take your clothes off.” 

You blink, unsure if you heard him properly. “What?”

“Do it slow,” he adds, his chin tipping down and the look in his eyes simmering into something condensed, something so heated that you can feel it from across the room the way you feel the heat of flames when standing too close to a fire. Shifting, he sits with his back against the wall, one leg outstretched. “I want a show.” 

“I don’t—oh my god,” you whisper. “Jake? Has it been you this whole time?”

He runs a hand through his curls, pressing them back. The grin that settles on his mouth is so unlike Marc. At the beginning of your relationship, you had been so insecure that you would mix the boys up and potentially offend them, but you had quickly learned that such a thing was very unlikely. Each of their personalities was so unique, so distinct from the other: the way they stood (or slouched) the way they walked, the way they smiled and laughed—each of them had a million little tells, characteristics that set them apart. 

“Don’t feel bad,” he says. His voice is a little flatter than Marc’s—less likely to fluctuate with emotion. It is softly accented; you know that he mostly prefers to speak Spanish. “I am very good at what I do.” 

“You even took the bus—oh, Jake you hate the bus—” 

He hums. “We’re walking home.” 

“I just—why? I would have come with you anywhere.” 

“No, you wouldn’t.” 

“How can you say that?”

Jake looks up at you, brow cocked. From within the duffle bag, he removes his leather gloves and begins tugging them on. Those fucking gloves. Something about them makes your heart pound. The buttery softness of them, the scent of well-maintained authentic leather, the methodical,calculated way that he puts them on and takes them off. Or maybe it’s just the connotation that comes with them: that Jake is about to get his hands very, very dirty. 

“Because you’re a good girl,” he croons. “If you had known Marc was taking you to my car, you wouldn’t have gone with him—just the same way you wouldn’t have come with me if you knew I was bringing you here for my revenge.” 

“So this is Marc’s storage unit?” you breathe. 

Jake nods slowly. He says: “You know what else I know?” 

“What?” 

“You’re such a good girl,” he says, voice soft, needing nearly no volume for the sound to carry to you just feet away, “You’re going to take your punishment without complaining. Because you know you deserve it, don’t you?” 

“Jake,” you sigh shakily. 

“Undress,” he says softly. 

You stand up. Your knees are knocking together, you’re so full of adrenalin, hands shaking as you slip clothing item after item off. You fold them the way you know Jake likes you to, sitting them neatly on top of the stack of storage totes. As you turn, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the walls and it makes your face burn. Fuck, you hope that the helpful guy behind the desk out front doesn’t come to see what’s taking you both so long. 

When your eyes find Jake again, you suck in a gasp. All the things you might have suspected he would have—the tripod wasn’t one. Sleek, it is simple but effective. He whistles a little beneath his breath as he fits Marc’s phone into it. When he realizes that you have stopped undressing, his whistling stops, lips puckered softly, dark eyes finding your own. Whatever expression you wear must delight him.

“Problem?”

“Come on, J,” you whisper, shifting on your socked feet. “Marc is going to be pissed enough, isn’t he? What do you plan to make him do, watch it in 3D?” 

Jake points to the tripod, a look of near-comical innocence on his face. Some might not guess that Jake has the silliest humor of the three of them, sometimes bordering on cheesy or even slapstick. Demasiadas telenovelas, as he might say. “What, this? You think—? Oh, darling girl. This isn’t for Marc. 

“The walls? Those are for Marc. Let him see the way I fuck you in every angle, I don’t care. But this? This is for me. I intend to remember this for a very long time,” he says, his words ending distractedly as he plays with Marc’s phone, getting the settings just right. He eyes your socks pointedly.

“It’s cold in here,” you gripe.

Jake snorts softly, but he doesn’t object. He stands and goes to you, gripping your bare shoulder gently and moving you a fraction this way—a hair that way. Into the best view of the camera, you realize. Being treated like some doll, stop-motion, only made to be bent and twisted into whatever shape pleases him has a surprising effect on you. Even as your thighs clench together tightly, you find yourself…bashful. Crossing your arms over your breasts, you shrink in on yourself. 

“Qué es eso?” Jake wonders. He abandons the camera and comes to you. His presence is more comforting than intimidating the way some might imagine it to be. You lean your head against his chest and let his hands encircle your wrists, drawing them away from your chest. “Who is this shy woman? I remember the way you let Marc strip you naked with nothing but my tinted windows to protect your modesty.” 

“You know how he gets,” you whine. “He uses that voice, that tone, and then I’m naked.” 

“This voice?” he asks, mimicking Marc’s Chicagoan accent flawlessly. He slips into it the way you might slip into a comfortable shirt, familiar and well-worn. He leans back away from you a little to grip your chin firmly, to lift it up for his inspection. “This tone?” 

It is. It really is. And as much as it makes your thighs clench, it drives you even wilder how easy it is for him. Jake is so fucking good at it, at pretending, at impersonating—his skill makes you swoon. It makes your heart pound. It makes your pussy wet. 

Jake must sense this. Maybe he senses the ripple that seems to pass through you, or maybe he feels the goosebumps that rise on your arms. Either way, he laughs, soft and teasing, rumbling against where your bury your face in his chest. 

He clicks his tongue at you until you look at him once more. 

“I’ll play Marc for you another day,” he says, eyes growing steelier than the walls. “But right now—it’s me fucking you. I’m going to fuck my cock so deeply inside you that there won’t be any room for him. ¿Me entiendes? 

“Now, lay on the cot. I’m hungry.” 

Jake eats pussy masterfully, but true to character, he is a mess of contradictions. First he spreads your thighs wide, leather-clad thumbs finding your slippery outer folds to part you to his gaze. He lets go and leans in to suck and kiss at every part of you that isn’t your clit: sucking at your folds, tonguing your hole, kissing your thighs. He is clean shaven (like to keep up the charade of Marc), not a hint of painful stubble to chafe your sensitive pussy. 

Jake leads with his tongue and lips, knowing how sensitive you are. For many long moments, he eats you without purpose, like he is giving you head just for the sake of it, no goalpost ahead to punt your orgasm through. 

But then he becomes frantic, pressing his tongue as deeply into you as he can, sucking on your clit, dragging the flat of his teeth against your folds. He is lackadaisical and then frenzied, patient and then desperate.

The whole time, you have both hands over your mouth, nothing but the aborted gasps in your throat, the frantic breaths through your nose, and the wet, lurid sounds of Jake eating your pussy to fill up the quiet room. 

When you get close, your heels dig into his back. He finally either gets bored with you or decides that he’s warmed you up enough. Your loud groan of protest has his eyes sharpening in a warning that makes you flush. He’s right, though. You have to be quiet. 

Jake guides you into the next position he wants, and it’s almost unbearable: on your hands and knees, face towards the camera of Marc’s phone. Jake leaves you like that, on your hands and knees while he undresses slow and methodical, only the slightly warped imagine of him on the metal walls your visual.. 

Sometimes he says something, low and light and Spanish, before chuckling at whatever Marc’s response is. 

“Is he mad?” You wonder, unsure what you want the answer to be. 

“No,” Jake croons, kneeling behind you. He draws you up til you kneel, back pressed flush against his bare chest, cock hard between your thighs. In your ear, he says: “He is livid.”

“Jake,” you whine. 

He clicks his tongue again. He holds up his hand in front of you, leather gloves still in place.

“Open your mouth.” 

You open. Carefully, he has you tug the glove off with your teeth. He holds it while you do the same with the other. Then he makes you open your mouth so he can tuck the palms of his gloves between your teeth for you to hold. 

“Drop those, and you’ll be punished,” Jake says, bare hands smoothing along your back, down your hips, finding your ass. He spanks you, once, hard. A warning that you feel all the way to your toes. “Leave a single mark from your teeth on my leather, and you’ll also be punished.” 

You whine in dismay at this twist, trying to find the perfect balance between keeping the gloves in your mouth but not biting with enough force to leave a mark. Distracted by this, you miss whatever Jake says to his reflection, though his bright laugh at whatever its response is makes you shiver. 

Gently, he urges you back onto your hands and knees. His cock nudges against the wetness between your legs. You make a desperate little sound, shifting, arching your back to offer his cock more contact with your pussy. The fire Jake had lit inside you with his mouth flares to life again, unsatisfied and aching.

“Can you take it?” Jake wonders, slipping and sliding along the seam of you, soaking his cock in your own arousal. “Or do you need my fingers to open you up?”

You try to answer him with the gloves, but the words are nothing but muted sounds. His cockhead, thick enough alone to be a pleasing stretch, presses at your entrance. 

“What was that?” Jake wonders, cupping a hand to his ear. 

No use in trying to tell him twice. Instead you press back, welcoming him into your body. Your eyes shut, and you nearly drop the gloves when your mouth craves to fall open and release a groan. It is by the skin of your teeth (pun intended) that you manage to keep the gloves in your mouth. You seethe with jealousy at the quiet but robust moan that Jake gives out, his fingers dimpling the skin of your hips with force as he grips you and pulls you back further and further on his cock. 

“Impaciente,” he reprimands breathily. “Who is fucking who? Are you fucking me? Go ahead then. Fuck me.” 

Jake lets go of your hips, crossing his arms contemplatively across his chest. You whine, leaning forward and then sinking back onto his cock. The throaty hum that Jake gives makes you shiver, pleased to be pleasing him. You begin an unsure rhythm, rocking on and off his cock.

For a while, it is enough for Jake. But then he takes your hips in his broad hands again. 

“Do you need help? Here.” He gives a series of near-brutal thrusts, the sound of his balls slapping your cunt loud in the enclosed room. You choke on a groan, head falling forward and eyes screwing shut with pleasure—and then a burst of pain across your scalp has your eyes opening as Jake tugs your head up. Back to face the camera. “Head up. I want to see your pretty face. I want to watch you wreck yourself on my cock.” 

He makes you go on like that for an endless amount of time. Eventually you find a rhythm, making sure not to turn your face away from the camera as you rock back against his thighs, taking his cock to the root again and again. 

“Why do you look so sour?” You make a confused sound. Jake’s hand smooths across your flank. His other hand points. “Not you. Him. You’re putting on an amazing show for him, and he isn’t even appreciating it.” 

All of the sudden, there is a distant bang. You freeze, Jake’s cock halfway buried inside you. Distantly–so distantly, you can hear the sound of approaching footsteps. Behind you, Jake’s body begins to shake with quiet laughs even as your own seems to seize with terror at the thought of being caught. The lock for the unit only hangs loosely, offering the two of you no privacy should someone decide to investigate the noise and open the door. 

Jake draws you up, lowering himself onto his haunches as he tugs you back against his chest. In your ear, he murmurs: “Perhaps Marc is the only person we should give a show to. Oh—oh no? You’re shaking your head, but your cunt can’t lie to me. Not when I know her so well. If you don’t want anyone to see what a beautiful little slut you are, then you had best keep quiet.” 

Keep quiet—simple, except that he reaches down between your legs, fingers tracing along your stretched entrance, and then dragging up over your sensitive, otherwise-ignored clit. Your body jerks, desperate to get away from the sudden stimulus and desperate to get closer all at once. You whine, the sound echoing off the walls and back to you. It takes all of your fortitude to press your tongue to the roof of your mouth and try to stifle any further noises. 

Jake takes your clit between his fingers and rubs softly, purring into the nape of your neck at the way your pussy spasms around his cock. In the distance, the footsteps draw closer, the quiet murmur of voices heard. Can they hear you as well as you can hear them? Fuck, you imagine they can. Your orgasm, so far denied of you, swells low and sweet in your belly, and you dread it just as much as you ache for it—

All at once, a warmth fills you, Jake’s cock twitching where it is buried deep inside you. He groans so quietly against your skin, trailing off into a little breathless laugh. The feel of his spend filling you has your cunt clenching, approaching that edge. But before you can let yourself trip over the ledge and down into pleasure’s abyss, Jake’s fingers freeze. 

Did you hear that? a voice asks. Your heart pounds, entire body flashing hot and then cold with panic. Jake’s hand reaches up and wraps around you throat, fingers flexing gently in warning. As if you need one!

Rats, probably. City’s got ones bigger than your cock—not that that’s saying much. 

You make too many jokes about my cock for a bloke who's straight. 

The voices begin to fade away. Jake’s fingers relax, stroking the line of your throat softly. 

“Good girl,” he murmurs in your ear. “Very good girl, keeping quiet, fucking me so good. Did you cum?” 

As if he doesn’t already know. You shake your head, slow and emphatic, gloves flapping softly against your cheeks. 

“Do you want to cum?” 

A nod. 

“Roll over. On your back. Shh, shh—I know it’s cold.” 

You lay there shivering, looking up at him, the taste of leather on your tongue. You’re nearly shaking with need, thighs spread so he can kneel between them. He’s cum, but his cock hardly looks softened, flush and dark between his legs. Jake grips his cock and strokes himself a few times, the muscles in his belly tensing. He is so fucking hot, you feel like if you laid here long enough looking up at him, you would cum. 

With his other hand, Jake reaches for Marc’s phone. He works it softly off of the tripod and turns the screen to face you, lets you look at yourself in the front facing camera. Your hands cover your eyes at the brief glimpse you catch of yourself looking so fucked-out, thighs splattered with pearly seed, cunt swollen, nipples hard, those fucking gloves held between your teeth.

Jake laughs softly as he takes the camera and turns it the proper direction so that he can film you. “Hands down, what did I say? I said I want to see your pretty face.” 

Two of his fingers, thick and strong, slip inside you. Your hands fall away from your eyes, mouth going slack enough that the gloves slip dangerously and you have to tighten your lips to keep from dropping them altogether. Jake’s grin behind the phone is downright sinful as he takes obvious, obscene pleasure in your struggle. His fingers squelch as he begins a moderate pace of fucking you with them. 

“All you have to do is ask me, and I’ll make you cum.” He pauses to slip his fingers from you and drag the mess of yourself up over your sensitive clit, delighting in your whine and writhe. “So go ahead and ask real pretty. I’m all ears.” 

You ask, words severely muffled around the gloves. 

“I can’t understand,” he says, pointing the phone towards your pussy in a move that has tears filling your eyes with how tightly your cunt grips at his fingers. You didn’t know you liked being filmed so much—wouldn’t have imagined such a thing in a thousand years. “Keep asking. I like to hear you struggle. Say, ‘Please make me cum, Jake’.”

You’re desperate enough to keep trying, feeling the muscles in your belly tighten, though you desperately wish he would stroke your clit. You would cum nearly straight away, you are so close to the precipice. You repeat his words. 

“Who? Did you say—Marc?”

Your eyes widen in panic, head shaking furiously. You repeat his name again and again, though he puckers his lips to look doubtful. He slips his fingers out of you again and you nearly wail, desperate for the release you have worked so hard to earn. But instead of taking his hands away, Jake takes your slippery clit between his fingers again, working the little pleasurable knot with dextrous, merciless skill. 

You cum before you know you are cumming, back arching against the chilly floor, barely aware of Jake tugging the gloves from between your teeth to hear the way your voice grits out his name. He rubs and softly pinches your most sensitive flesh until you are whining and shaking and whispering for him to stop, it is too much, you are too sensitive. 

He adjusts the camera to take in your entire expression: dilated, heavy-lidded eyes, mouth swollen and parted, tears clinging to your lashes. 

“Good girl,” he says again, soundly absurdly pleased. He sets the phone down, using the free hand to smooth softly across your trembling belly as you are riddled with spasms and shivers in the aftermath of your release. 

Then, a sound you dread, one you dread more than even footsteps or voices: 

Jake clicks his tongue in displeasure. 

Eyes wet and wide, voice raspy from your whines and cries, you ask, “What is it?” 

His eyes flash up to you, smile spreading slow and dangerous across his face. It makes you shiver, makes your pussy clench. He holds up his glove, pointing. “What is that? Hm? There, denting the leather.” 

A toothmark. 

“Looks like you are due for that punishment after all.”

Gripping both gloves loosely in one hand, Jake brings them down to spank your clit.

*

I'm currently raising money to afford the emergency care provided to my perpetual-pup who passed away on 8/25. Please consider leaving a tip if you enjoyed this; every penny goes to him. Reblogs are invaluable. And come leave a request in my inbox, if you'd like.

[dearlawdimasimp]

Master Sorcerer of Kindness and Humility

Pairings: MK System x Sorcerer!Reader, Khonshu x Sorcerer!Reader

Warnings: English isn't my first language, Spanish is from google translate

Word Count: 2.2k+ words

Summary: Things in the Sanctum Santorum has been…pretty fucking hectic lately. To put it simply, chaos is in every fucking corner and as a Master Sorcerer of one of the Sanctums in the world, you have to assist the Sorcerer Supreme. Some things are still the usual, but double the effort. Like teaching the new recruits, now, from three different Sanctums instead of one, keep said recruits from the restricted area of the library, guarding the said restricted area of the library and the whole library itself.

With your growing exhaustion, so did the worry of the moon boys grew.

a/n: Hai so uh it has been awhile since i posted eheh I just noticed i have MANY rotting fics in my docs so decided to post now ( ´∀`)/~~ Enjoy lovelies! (^o^)／~💜 (this fic is crossposted on AO3 under the same title and author name ^-^)

Things in the Sanctum Santorum has been…pretty fucking hectic lately. To put it simply, chaos is in every fucking corner and as a Master Sorcerer of one of the Sanctums in the world, you have to assist the Sorcerer Supreme. Some things are still the usual, but double the effort. Like teaching the new recruits, now, from three different Sanctums instead of one, keep said recruits from the restricted area of the library, guarding the said restricted area of the library and the whole library itself.

The supposed assigned sorcerers for each class told you that they are needed on a mission across the globe and are in need of a substitute, of course being the kind soul that you are you agreed on subbing them for the meantime while they're off to save humanity. The library duty has always been yours though, you volunteered on the job when Wong said he needed someone to take his place as he takes the Sorcerer Supreme, and ever since the world has gone back to its normal state, you remained as the librarian.

Your overloaded schedule leads to early mornings and late nights, and less time with your moon boys™.

To say that they are concerned of your health is a bit of an understatement, they're fucking worried as every time they see you, your eyebags grow darker and puffier than the last time.

But, somehow, even with all the things going on with you (only knowing what you are allowed to talk about), you still insert a little bit of your time to cook Steven his favorite breakfast before he goes to work, you still brew up Mark's favorite coffee, prepare Jake's uniform for his side-job during the night as a limo driver, and bring Khonshu offerings on the small altar you've made for him that is purposefully placed on the windowsill where the moon usually shines.

They are thoroughly impressed, but at the same time endlessly worried as your eyes grow weary and exhausted each time you enter the flat.

However, you still have the same warming smile on your lips every time you greet them after work. Joy was etched into your tone as you kissed them and mingled with them for a few hours, dismissing their worries with gentle eyes and kept on insisting that you love your job. You even still have the fiery stare whenever they tell you to rest and let them handle the dishes, which diminishes when Khonshu lays his hand on your shoulders, coaxing you to rest. The god pulls you to the shared bed and once your head hits the plush white pillows, you're out like a light.

The system continues to take care of cleaning the kitchen before joining their sorcerer in deep sleep and joining you in the dreamworld for a while before the Lunar deity of Egypt pulls them to another night of being his fist of vengeance. They would be back and join you once more in bed, and let sleep pull them to its cocoon. And you wake up not an hour later to start the day.

And this went on for a few more days before the moon boys decided to put an end to this. Their last straw was when you had fallen asleep mid-conversation while in front of your food. You were in that level of exhaustion to the point that you couldn't keep yourself awake while eating. They drew the line at that.

They carefully laid your slumbering self down on the bed before donning on the suit, “We'll be back, hermosa.” Jake held your hand and kissed your knuckles tenderly. “We just need to have a bit of a word with them, love, don't worry.” Steven gently lays your hand down on your stomach and leaves a kiss on your forehead before Marc leaps out of the window and out to the London air as Khonshu guides them with his wind to the London Sanctum.

The trip wasn't long before they landed on the Sanctum's roof. The place was brimming with magic and the system could feel it. Marc tries to enter through the window but the scenery changes before his foot lands on the stained glass. A confused and ungraceful landing led him to curse under his breath as he observed his surroundings.

“Be vigilant, Spector.” The god throws caution to the wind, his rumbling voice echoing in the minds of the system. Marc keeps his snarky remark to the god to himself, wanting to tell the god he knows what he's doing. He rolled his eyes instead as he composures himself, and inspects the room they are in.

The place is reminiscent of those temples that houses holy relics, it was old but in tip-top shape. The floor below him looks furnished and one that can be compared closed to an old mansion, and the slabs holding what he thinks are relics had intricate wood carvings were carefully placed on both sides of the hallway he's in. It was leading to an illuminated room and so he took no more than a second to head to the light.

His eyes wandered around the hallway he's walking down in, Steven was gushing at the designs while he and Jake kept silent and kept an eye for any threat.

The room they entered was spacious, save for the relics enclosed in glass and the big circle window that allowed the moonlight to fill the space. It had intricate swirls which Marc remembers, was the same design of the brooch you have on your collar.

However, it wasn't the window that had caught their attention but rather the man behind it, who was eerily calm while peering out the glass. The London night visible to the man that had a red cape that's barely touching the wooden floors.

“An unexpected visit from the Knight of Khonshu himself. You know, you're lucky you're under the protection of the Master Sorcerer here in London.” The man states with a booming voice, bouncing off the walls and glass in the room. It was humorous, but full of threat.

“Or else what?” Marc quips inattentively, keeping distance from the sorcerer who had yet introduced himself.

“Or else I would have thrown you to the ocean the moment you stepped foot on the Sanctum.” The man's baritone voice lowered an octave as he turned to finally meet Moon Knight's glowing eyes.

He had a goatee and the robes he wore were akin to their beloved but in the deep shade of blue instead of your favorite color.

Goatee. Red cloak. This was the Stephen Strange you can't stop complaining about.

A dry chuckle escaped his lips through his masked face. He believes the sorcerer's powers alright, he just can't keep a straight face after the memory of you audibly cussing Strange out had just played in their minds.

“Right,” Marc takes out his crescent daggers from his chest, “I'm only here-”

“Trust me you don't want to fight me.”

“Let us finish, pendejo!” Jake growls as he fronts, not wanting to waste more time and to get out of the place as soon as possible.

They weren't planning to fight. They weren't stupid. They can feel every ounce of energy and magic in the building. They stepped into a lion's den. But if it is what it needs for these sorcerers to hear them? They will face these magic wielders head on.

It seemed that Strange was a bit perplexed at the alter's rage or maybe it was the suit change, but they couldn't care less.

“We're only here because that Master Sorcerer you talked about is always on the verge of passing out every time they go home.” Marc's jaw clenches under the mask as he continues with a step forward to the sorcerer—who promptly took a step back— as his fingers flex around the sharp gold crescent on his hand, “For the past weeks they have been wrung out and just a while ago, had passed out while eating.” When he finished his sentence the room was suddenly swept with a wild draft, with no windows open.

They were not able to notice the confused and worried squint of the former sorcerer supreme's eyes as Marc continues, his tone nothing but purely scathing.

“My point is, We will not be allowing them to come to work tomorrow and until she gets the proper rest she deserves, and not until you fix her schedule that is ethical and appropriate hours of work.” He ends his spiel right in front of the sorcerer, looking up to him with a keen glare, his glowing ivory eyes illuminating the sharpened features of Stephen Strange.

“Or else?” The sorcerer rasps as he stares right back at the avatar, standing his ground, and using the exact words back to the stark white cloaked man.

As if on cue, stronger gusts of wind shakes the glass covers and uncovered relics. The Egyptian God of the Moon materializes behind the sorcerer and with a booming, bitter voice, he answers, “Then you will face the consequences of causing harm to one of whom is under my protection, Stephen Strange.”

The said sorcerer turns his body to the side to glance at the moon god. In all his glory he was towering over him, moonlight was illuminating his monstrously tall and slender figure as the bronzed crescent end of his staff that is nearly scratching the ceiling reflected it. His loose, darkened, silk robe was flowing and whipping around without the presence of the wind, his crouched figure wrinkling the bandages on his torso as his bleached bird skull head tilted down and gave Stephen a hollowed stare.

With a sigh, which had displeased the moon collective and took it as an insult, he nodded to accept their terms. He honestly had no idea you had worked yourself to the bone and will consult the other Master Sorcerers and Wong of your schedule. He knew you were humble and kind, but he didn't know it would be up to the point that your.. acquaintances.. had to show up and tell them of your over-extended goodwill.

“I will inform our masters of such, thank you for bringing this to our attention.” He ends the conversation as he does not want to deal with whatever this is. He was not intimidated, not one bit—okay maybe a bit but he has faced much worse! What's intimidating him is the fact that a literal god has taken you under his wing and has gone out of his way to announce his displeasure.

“As you should.” And with that, the moon party calmed down before they vanished in a swirl of blur and whirling sand. Let's just say you were confused when you woke up late, about to dash to the bathroom before you were stopped by your moon god and gave you a letter that was sent by the Sorcerer Supreme that basically said take a break. You were perplexed as you stared at the paper then up to the moon god, who ushered you back to bed and lulled you to sleep. When you woke up you were pampered by the boys with food and cuddles, all gently forcing you to stay in bed and to let them service you for the day as they had also taken the day off. You couldn't help but tear up at their tender loving care all day and being such gentlemen for doing such. Your love for them was overflowing and you kept promising them that you would do the same to them if ever need be, which they dismissed because as they said, “Today is all about you, love. So you better descansar(take a rest), and we'll take care of the rest, sweetheart. And not just today, up until the last day of the week or maybe next couple of weeks, you got that baby?”

This has earned a heartful laugh from you and an affectionate shake of your head before pulling them into a kiss. You were puzzled and have a lot of questions as to how or why you were given a large amount of time off but you really couldn't complain especially if it meant more time with your moon boys.

Back to the sanctum however, the former sorcerer supreme was fuming at the how fucked up your schedule was and how fucked up you were for taking it even though you were literally doing the impossible, and the fact that none of the other masters pointed it out to Wong, who was also equally fuming to the masters that had asked you to cover for them for a ���mission’ when they were just taking a fucking vacation.

"You are lucky their patron didn't know of your whereabouts, or gods knows what he will do to you.” Wong warned them, displeased and infuriated, written all over his features.

Oh but Khonshu heard, of course he did, and made those masters’ month a living hell through inconveniencing them at every chance he gets. To which Strange and Wong only but gave them a deadpanned stare of ‘deal with it’ when they asked for their help.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Big Tech’s “attention rents”

Tomorrow (Nov 4), I'm keynoting the Hackaday Supercon in Pasadena, CA.

The thing is, any feed or search result is "algorithmic." "Just show me the things posted by people I follow in reverse-chronological order" is an algorithm. "Just show me products that have this SKU" is an algorithm. "Alphabetical sort" is an algorithm. "Random sort" is an algorithm.

Any process that involves more information than you can take in at a glance or digest in a moment needs some kind of sense-making. It needs to be put in some kind of order. There's always gonna be an algorithm.

But that's not what we mean by "the algorithm" (TM). When we talk about "the algorithm," we mean a system for ordering information that uses complex criteria that are not precisely known to us, and than can't be easily divined through an examination of the ordering.

There's an idea that a "good" algorithm is one that does not seek to deceive or harm us. When you search for a specific part number, you want exact matches for that search at the top of the results. It's fine if those results include third-party parts that are compatible with the part you're searching for, so long as they're clearly labeled. There's room for argument about how to order those results – do highly rated third-party parts go above the OEM part? How should the algorithm trade off price and quality?

It's hard to come up with an objective standard to resolve these fine-grained differences, but search technologists have tried. Think of Google: they have a patent on "long clicks." A "long click" is when you search for something and then don't search for it again for quite some time, the implication being that you've found what you were looking for. Google Search ads operate a "pay per click" model, and there's an argument that this aligns Google's ad division's interests with search quality: if the ad division only gets paid when you click a link, they will militate for placing ads that users want to click on.

Platforms are inextricably bound up in this algorithmic information sorting business. Platforms have emerged as the endemic form of internet-based business, which is ironic, because a platform is just an intermediary – a company that connects different groups to each other. The internet's great promise was "disintermediation" – getting rid of intermediaries. We did that, and then we got a whole bunch of new intermediaries.

Usually, those groups can be sorted into two buckets: "business customers" (drivers, merchants, advertisers, publishers, creative workers, etc) and "end users" (riders, shoppers, consumers, audiences, etc). Platforms also sometimes connect end users to each other: think of dating sites, or interest-based forums on Reddit. Either way, a platform's job is to make these connections, and that means platforms are always in the algorithm business.

Whether that's matching a driver and a rider, or an advertiser and a consumer, or a reader and a mix of content from social feeds they're subscribed to and other sources of information on the service, the platform has to make a call as to what you're going to see or do.

These choices are enormously consequential. In the theory of Surveillance Capitalism, these choices take on an almost supernatural quality, where "Big Data" can be used to guess your response to all the different ways of pitching an idea or product to you, in order to select the optimal pitch that bypasses your critical faculties and actually controls your actions, robbing you of "the right to a future tense."

I don't think much of this hypothesis. Every claim to mind control – from Rasputin to MK Ultra to neurolinguistic programming to pick-up artists – has turned out to be bullshit. Besides, you don't need to believe in mind control to explain the ways that algorithms shape our beliefs and actions. When a single company dominates the information landscape – say, when Google controls 90% of your searches – then Google's sorting can deprive you of access to information without you knowing it.

If every "locksmith" listed on Google Maps is a fake referral business, you might conclude that there are no more reputable storefront locksmiths in existence. What's more, this belief is a form of self-fulfilling prophecy: if Google Maps never shows anyone a real locksmith, all the real locksmiths will eventually go bust.

If you never see a social media update from a news source you follow, you might forget that the source exists, or assume they've gone under. If you see a flood of viral videos of smash-and-grab shoplifter gangs and never see a news story about wage theft, you might assume that the former is common and the latter is rare (in reality, shoplifting hasn't risen appreciably, while wage-theft is off the charts).

In the theory of Surveillance Capitalism, the algorithm was invented to make advertisers richer, and then went on to pervert the news (by incentivizing "clickbait") and finally destroyed our politics when its persuasive powers were hijacked by Steve Bannon, Cambridge Analytica, and QAnon grifters to turn millions of vulnerable people into swivel-eyed loons, racists and conspiratorialists.

As I've written, I think this theory gives the ad-tech sector both too much and too little credit, and draws an artificial line between ad-tech and other platform businesses that obscures the connection between all forms of platform decay, from Uber to HBO to Google Search to Twitter to Apple and beyond:

https://pluralistic.net/HowToDestroySurveillanceCapitalism

As a counter to Surveillance Capitalism, I've proposed a theory of platform decay called enshittification, which identifies how the market power of monopoly platforms, combined with the flexibility of digital tools, combined with regulatory capture, allows platforms to abuse both business-customers and end-users, by depriving them of alternatives, then "twiddling" the knobs that determine the rules of the platform without fearing sanction under privacy, labor or consumer protection law, and finally, blocking digital self-help measures like ad-blockers, alternative clients, scrapers, reverse engineering, jailbreaking, and other tech guerrilla warfare tactics:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/21/potemkin-ai/#hey-guys

One important distinction between Surveillance Capitalism and enshittification is that enshittification posits that the platform is bad for everyone. Surveillance Capitalism starts from the assumption that surveillance advertising is devastatingly effective (which explains how your racist Facebook uncles got turned into Jan 6 QAnons), and concludes that advertisers must be well-served by the surveillance system.

But advertisers – and other business customers – are very poorly served by platforms. Procter and Gamble reduced its annual surveillance advertising budget from $100m//year to $0/year and saw a 0% reduction in sales. The supposed laser-focused targeting and superhuman message refinement just don't work very well – first, because the tech companies are run by bullshitters whose marketing copy is nonsense, and second because these companies are monopolies who can abuse their customers without losing money.

The point of enshittification is to lock end-users to the platform, then use those locked-in users as bait for business customers, who will also become locked to the platform. Once everyone is holding everyone else hostage, the platform uses the flexibility of digital services to play a variety of algorithmic games to shift value from everyone to the business's shareholders. This flexibility is supercharged by the failure of regulators to enforce privacy, labor and consumer protection standards against the companies, and by these companies' ability to insist that regulators punish end-users, competitors, tinkerers and other third parties to mod, reverse, hack or jailbreak their products and services to block their abuse.

Enshittification needs The Algorithm. When Uber wants to steal from its drivers, it can just do an old-fashioned wage theft, but eventually it will face the music for that kind of scam:

https://apnews.com/article/uber-lyft-new-york-city-wage-theft-9ae3f629cf32d3f2fb6c39b8ffcc6cc6

The best way to steal from drivers is with algorithmic wage discrimination. That's when Uber offers occassional, selective drivers higher rates than it gives to drivers who are fully locked to its platform and take every ride the app offers. The less selective a driver becomes, the lower the premium the app offers goes, but if a driver starts refusing rides, the wage offer climbs again. This isn't the mind-control of Surveillance Capitalism, it's just fraud, shaving fractional pennies off your paycheck in the hopes that you won't notice. The goal is to get drivers to abandon the other side-hustles that allow them to be so choosy about when they drive Uber, and then, once the driver is fully committed, to crank the wage-dial down to the lowest possible setting:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

This is the same game that Facebook played with publishers on the way to its enshittification: when Facebook began aggressively courting publishers, any short snippet republished from the publisher's website to a Facebook feed was likely to be recommended to large numbers of readers. Facebook offered publishers a vast traffic funnel that drove millions of readers to their sites.

But as publishers became more dependent on that traffic, Facebook's algorithm started downranking short excerpts in favor of medium-length ones, building slowly to fulltext Facebook posts that were fully substitutive for the publisher's own web offerings. Like Uber's wage algorithm, Facebook's recommendation engine played its targets like fish on a line.

When publishers responded to declining reach for short excerpts by stepping back from Facebook, Facebook goosed the traffic for their existing posts, sending fresh floods of readers to the publisher's site. When the publisher returned to Facebook, the algorithm once again set to coaxing the publishers into posting ever-larger fractions of their work to Facebook, until, finally, the publisher was totally locked into Facebook. Facebook then started charging publishers for "boosting" – not just to be included in algorithmic recommendations, but to reach their own subscribers.

Enshittification is modern, high-tech enabled, monopolistic form of rent seeking. Rent-seeking is a subtle and important idea from economics, one that is increasingly relevant to our modern economy. For economists, a "rent" is income you get from owning a "factor of production" – something that someone else needs to make or do something.

Rents are not "profits." Profit is income you get from making or doing something. Rent is income you get from owning something needed to make a profit. People who earn their income from rents are called rentiers. If you make your income from profits, you're a "capitalist."

Capitalists and rentiers are in irreconcilable combat with each other. A capitalist wants access to their factors of production at the lowest possible price, whereas rentiers want those prices to be as high as possible. A phone manufacturer wants to be able to make phones as cheaply as possible, while a patent-troll wants to own a patent that the phone manufacturer needs to license in order to make phones. The manufacturer is a capitalism, the troll is a rentier.

The troll might even decide that the best strategy for maximizing their rents is to exclusively license their patents to a single manufacturer and try to eliminate all other phones from the market. This will allow the chosen manufacturer to charge more and also allow the troll to get higher rents. Every capitalist except the chosen manufacturer loses. So do people who want to buy phones. Eventually, even the chosen manufacturer will lose, because the rentier can demand an ever-greater share of their profits in rent.

Digital technology enables all kinds of rent extraction. The more digitized an industry is, the more rent-seeking it becomes. Think of cars, which harvest your data, block third-party repair and parts, and force you to buy everything from acceleration to seat-heaters as a monthly subscription:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

The cloud is especially prone to rent-seeking, as Yanis Varoufakis writes in his new book, Technofeudalism, where he explains how "cloudalists" have found ways to lock all kinds of productive enterprise into using cloud-based resources from which ever-increasing rents can be extracted:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/28/cloudalists/#cloud-capital

The endless malleability of digitization makes for endless variety in rent-seeking, and cataloging all the different forms of digital rent-extraction is a major project in this Age of Enshittification. "Algorithmic Attention Rents: A theory of digital platform market power," a new UCL Institute for Innovation and Public Purpose paper by Tim O'Reilly, Ilan Strauss and Mariana Mazzucato, pins down one of these forms:

https://www.ucl.ac.uk/bartlett/public-purpose/publications/2023/nov/algorithmic-attention-rents-theory-digital-platform-market-power

The "attention rents" referenced in the paper's title are bait-and-switch scams in which a platform deliberately enshittifies its recommendations, search results or feeds to show you things that are not the thing you asked to see, expect to see, or want to see. They don't do this out of sadism! The point is to extract rent – from you (wasted time, suboptimal outcomes) and from business customers (extracting rents for "boosting," jumbling good results in among scammy or low-quality results).

The authors cite several examples of these attention rents. Much of the paper is given over to Amazon's so-called "advertising" product, a $31b/year program that charges sellers to have their products placed above the items that Amazon's own search engine predicts you will want to buy:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is a form of gladiatorial combat that pits sellers against each other, forcing them to surrender an ever-larger share of their profits in rent to Amazon for pride of place. Amazon uses a variety of deceptive labels ("Highly Rated – Sponsored") to get you to click on these products, but most of all, they rely two factors. First, Amazon has a long history of surfacing good results in response to queries, which makes buying whatever's at the top of a list a good bet. Second, there's just so many possible results that it takes a lot of work to sift through the probably-adequate stuff at the top of the listings and get to the actually-good stuff down below.

Amazon spent decades subsidizing its sellers' goods – an illegal practice known as "predatory pricing" that enforcers have increasingly turned a blind eye to since the Reagan administration. This has left it with few competitors:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/19/fake-it-till-you-make-it/#millennial-lifestyle-subsidy

The lack of competing retail outlets lets Amazon impose other rent-seeking conditions on its sellers. For example, Amazon has a "most favored nation" requirement that forces companies that raise their prices on Amazon to raise their prices everywhere else, which makes everything you buy more expensive, whether that's a Walmart, Target, a mom-and-pop store, or direct from the manufacturer:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/25/greedflation/#commissar-bezos

But everyone loses in this "two-sided market." Amazon used "junk ads" to juice its ad-revenue: these are ads that are objectively bad matches for your search, like showing you a Seattle Seahawks jersey in response to a search for LA Lakers merch:

https://www.bloomberg.com/news/articles/2023-11-02/amazon-boosted-junk-ads-hid-messages-with-signal-ftc-says

The more of these junk ads Amazon showed, the more revenue it got from sellers – and the more the person selling a Lakers jersey had to pay to show up at the top of your search, and the more they had to charge you to cover those ad expenses, and the more they had to charge for it everywhere else, too.

The authors describe this process as a transformation between "attention rents" (misdirecting your attention) to "pecuniary rents" (making money). That's important: despite decades of rhetoric about the "attention economy," attention isn't money. As I wrote in my enshittification essay:

You can't use attention as a medium of exchange. You can't use it as a store of value. You can't use it as a unit of account. Attention is like cryptocurrency: a worthless token that is only valuable to the extent that you can trick or coerce someone into parting with "fiat" currency in exchange for it. You have to "monetize" it – that is, you have to exchange the fake money for real money.

The authors come up with some clever techniques for quantifying the ways that this scam harms users. For example, they count the number of places that an advertised product rises in search results, relative to where it would show up in an "organic" search. These quantifications are instructive, but they're also a kind of subtweet at the judiciary.

In 2018, SCOTUS's ruling in American Express v Ohio changed antitrust law for two-sided markets by insisting that so long as one side of a two-sided market was better off as the result of anticompetitive actions, there was no antitrust violation:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=3346776

For platforms, that means that it's OK to screw over sellers, advertisers, performers and other business customers, so long as the end-users are better off: "Go ahead, cheat the Uber drivers, so long as you split the booty with Uber riders."

But in the absence of competition, regulation or self-help measures, platforms cheat everyone – that's the point of enshittification. The attention rents that Amazon's payola scheme extract from shoppers translate into higher prices, worse goods, and lower profits for platform sellers. In other words, Amazon's conduct is so sleazy that it even threads the infinitesimal needle that the Supremes created in American Express.

Here's another algorithmic pecuniary rent: Amazon figured out which of its major rivals used an automated price-matching algorithm, and then cataloged which products they had in common with those sellers. Then, under a program called Project Nessie, Amazon jacked up the prices of those products, knowing that as soon as they raised the prices on Amazon, the prices would go up everywhere else, so Amazon wouldn't lose customers to cheaper alternatives. That scam made Amazon at least a billion dollars:

https://gizmodo.com/ftc-alleges-amazon-used-price-gouging-algorithm-1850986303

This is a great example of how enshittification – rent-seeking on digital platforms – is different from analog rent-seeking. The speed and flexibility with which Amazon and its rivals altered their prices requires digitization. Digitization also let Amazon crank the price-gouging dial to zero whenever they worried that regulators were investigating the program.

So what do we do about it? After years of being made to look like fumblers and clowns by Big Tech, regulators and enforcers – and even lawmakers – have decided to get serious.

The neoliberal narrative of government helplessness and incompetence would have you believe that this will go nowhere. Governments aren't as powerful as giant corporations, and regulators aren't as smart as the supergeniuses of Big Tech. They don't stand a chance.

But that's a counsel of despair and a cheap trick. Weaker US governments have taken on stronger oligarchies and won – think of the defeat of JD Rockefeller and the breakup of Standard Oil in 1911. The people who pulled that off weren't wizards. They were just determined public servants, with political will behind them. There is a growing, forceful public will to end the rein of Big Tech, and there are some determined public servants surfing that will.

In this paper, the authors try to give those enforcers ammo to bring to court and to the public. For example, Amazon claims that its algorithm surfaces the products that make the public happy, without the need for competitive pressure to keep it sharp. But as the paper points out, the only successful new rival ecommerce platform – Tiktok – has found an audience for an entirely new category of goods: dupes, "lower-cost products that have the same or better features than higher cost branded products."

The authors also identify "dark patterns" that platforms use to trick users into consuming feeds that have a higher volume of things that the company profits from, and a lower volume of things that users want to see. For example, platforms routinely switch users from a "following" feed – consisting of things posted by people the user asked to hear from – with an algorithmic "For You" feed, filled with the things the company's shareholders wish the users had asked to see.

Calling this a "dark pattern" reveals just how hollow and self-aggrandizing that term is. "Dark pattern" usually means "fraud." If I ask to see posts from people I like, and you show me posts from people who'll pay you for my attention instead, that's not a sophisticated sleight of hand – it's just a scam. It's the social media equivalent of the eBay seller who sends you an iPhone box with a bunch of gravel inside it instead of an iPhone. Tech bros came up with "dark pattern" as a way of flattering themselves by draping themselves in the mantle of dopamine-hacking wizards, rather than unimaginative con-artists who use a computer to rip people off.

These For You algorithmic feeds aren't just a way to increase the load of sponsored posts in a feed – they're also part of the multi-sided ripoff of enshittified platforms. A For You feed allows platforms to trick publishers and performers into thinking that they are "good at the platform," which both convinces to optimize their production for that platform, and also turns them into Judas Goats who conspicuously brag about how great the platform is for people like them, which brings their peers in, too.

In Veena Dubal's essential paper on algorithmic wage discrimination, she describes how Uber drivers whom the algorithm has favored with (temporary) high per-ride rates brag on driver forums about their skill with the app, bringing in other drivers who blame their lower wages on their failure to "use the app right":

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4331080

As I wrote in my enshittification essay:

If you go down to the midway at your county fair, you'll spot some poor sucker walking around all day with a giant teddy bear that they won by throwing three balls in a peach basket.

The peach-basket is a rigged game. The carny can use a hidden switch to force the balls to bounce out of the basket. No one wins a giant teddy bear unless the carny wants them to win it. Why did the carny let the sucker win the giant teddy bear? So that he'd carry it around all day, convincing other suckers to put down five bucks for their chance to win one:

https://boingboing.net/2006/08/27/rigged-carny-game.html

The carny allocated a giant teddy bear to that poor sucker the way that platforms allocate surpluses to key performers – as a convincer in a "Big Store" con, a way to rope in other suckers who'll make content for the platform, anchoring themselves and their audiences to it.

Platform can't run the giant teddy-bear con unless there's a For You feed. Some platforms – like Tiktok – tempt users into a For You feed by making it as useful as possible, then salting it with doses of enshittification:

https://www.forbes.com/sites/emilybaker-white/2023/01/20/tiktoks-secret-heating-button-can-make-anyone-go-viral/

Other platforms use the (ugh) "dark pattern" of simply flipping your preference from a "following" feed to a "For You" feed. Either way, the platform can't let anyone keep the giant teddy-bear. Once you've tempted, say, sports bros into piling into the platform with the promise of millions of free eyeballs, you need to withdraw the algorithm's favor for their content so you can give it to, say, astrologers. Of course, the more locked-in the users are, the more shit you can pile into that feed without worrying about them going elsewhere, and the more giant teddy-bears you can give away to more business users so you can lock them in and start extracting rent.

For regulators, the possibility of a "good" algorithmic feed presents a serious challenge: when a feed is bad, how can a regulator tell if its low quality is due to the platform's incompetence at blocking spammers or guessing what users want, or whether it's because the platform is extracting rents?

The paper includes a suite of recommendations, including one that I really liked:

Regulators, working with cooperative industry players, would define reportable metrics based on those that are actually used by the platforms themselves to manage search, social media, e-commerce, and other algorithmic relevancy and recommendation engines.

In other words: find out how the companies themselves measure their performance. Find out what KPIs executives have to hit in order to earn their annual bonuses and use those to figure out what the company's performance is – ad load, ratio of organic clicks to ad clicks, average click-through on the first organic result, etc.

They also recommend some hard rules, like reserving a portion of the top of the screen for "organic" search results, and requiring exact matches to show up as the top result.

I've proposed something similar, applicable across multiple kinds of digital businesses: an end-to-end principle for online services. The end-to-end principle is as old as the internet, and it decrees that the role of an intermediary should be to deliver data from willing senders to willing receivers as quickly and reliably as possible. When we apply this principle to your ISP, we call it Net Neutrality. For services, E2E would mean that if I subscribed to your feed, the service would have a duty to deliver it to me. If I hoisted your email out of my spam folder, none of your future emails should land there. If I search for your product and there's an exact match, that should be the top result:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2023/04/platforms-decay-lets-put-users-first

One interesting wrinkle to framing platform degradation as a failure to connect willing senders and receivers is that it places a whole host of conduct within the regulatory remit of the FTC. Section 5 of the FTC Act contains a broad prohibition against "unfair and deceptive" practices:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

That means that the FTC doesn't need any further authorization from Congress to enforce an end to end rule: they can simply propose and pass that rule, on the grounds that telling someone that you'll show them the feeds that they ask for and then not doing so is "unfair and deceptive."

Some of the other proposals in the paper also fit neatly into Section 5 powers, like a "sticky" feed preference. If I tell a service to show me a feed of the people I follow and they switch it to a For You feed, that's plainly unfair and deceptive.

All of this raises the question of what a post-Big-Tech feed would look like. In "How To Break Up Amazon" for The Sling, Peter Carstensen and Darren Bush sketch out some visions for this:

https://www.thesling.org/how-to-break-up-amazon/

They imagine a "condo" model for Amazon, where the sellers collectively own the Amazon storefront, a model similar to capacity rights on natural gas pipelines, or to patent pools. They see two different ways that search-result order could be determined in such a system:

"specific premium placement could go to those vendors that value the placement the most [with revenue] shared among the owners of the condo"

or

"leave it to owners themselves to create joint ventures to promote products"

Note that both of these proposals are compatible with an end-to-end rule and the other regulatory proposals in the paper. Indeed, all these policies are easier to enforce against weaker companies that can't afford to maintain the pretense that they are headquartered in some distant regulatory haven, or pay massive salaries to ex-regulators to work the refs on their behalf:

https://www.thesling.org/in-public-discourse-and-congress-revolvers-defend-amazons-monopoly/

The re-emergence of intermediaries on the internet after its initial rush of disintermediation tells us something important about how we relate to one another. Some authors might be up for directly selling books to their audiences, and some drivers might be up for creating their own taxi service, and some merchants might want to run their own storefronts, but there's plenty of people with something they want to offer us who don't have the will or skill to do it all. Not everyone wants to be a sysadmin, a security auditor, a payment processor, a software engineer, a CFO, a tax-preparer and everything else that goes into running a business. Some people just want to sell you a book. Or find a date. Or teach an online class.

Intermediation isn't intrinsically wicked. Intermediaries fall into pits of enshitffication and other forms of rent-seeking when they aren't disciplined by competitors, by regulators, or by their own users' ability to block their bad conduct (with ad-blockers, say, or other self-help measures). We need intermediaries, and intermediaries don't have to turn into rent-seeking feudal warlords. That only happens if we let it happen.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/03/subprime-attention-rent-crisis/#euthanize-rentiers

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[theemissuniverse]

“MY INSIDES ARE RED AND YOURS ARE TOO” MILEENA X FEM READER FINAL PART

REQUEST BY : @zhivaxo

May I request an MK1 Mileena x Fem Reader?

The reader is an earthrelmer, and when Mileena meets the reader , she falls in love and through the story. You see them get closer and closer until the reader almost dies and Mileena saves her?

Mileena and Tanya are not together?

I hope this is okay with you if not it's cool :] have a good day

ADDITIONAL : I made the reader Raiden’s twin sister. In the original timeline the reader was a thunder god and in MK 11 Raiden and reader gave Liu Kang all their power to save them so in this timeline she is the new earthrealm’s champion. Also in the original timeline, Mileena had an obsessive crush on you but nothing came of it. This is more so a story because the idea came to me and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Also plot will change from mk 11 becaussse I said so

PART 1

“Wake up! (Y/N)! (Y/N)! Stay with me.”

You heard a voice say. You blinked your eyes slowly and saw Liu Kang in front of you.

“Lord Liu Kang? What happened?”

“You blacked out. I healed you with my fire. You must take it easy.” Liu Kang offered his hand for you to take. 

When you looked around, you realized you were back at the temple in Earthrealm. You were confused. Why were you back in Earthrealm? Where were the others? “What happened?”

Liu Kang’s face was full of sorrow as if he did not want to speak what had happened into existence. “Sindel is dead. The others are in Outworld, preparing.”

”What am I still doing here then? Come on.” You started to walk. When you did, Liu Kang gripped your arm to stop you firmly in place. You gave him a look. “What?”

”I cannot let you leave, (Y/N). Your body needs rest.”

”I don’t care about rest. My brother and friends are out there. I can’t just let them do this alone!” You saw the unsure look on Liu Kang’s face. “Please, Lord Liu Kang. You told me that I am destined to be your chosen one. What kind of chosen one just sits on the sidelines while her friends go off to war?”

Liu Kang really did not want you to leave. Though, you were right and he understood the position you were in. He sighed and then began to conjure up the portal using his fire power.

You were happy that Liu Kang didn’t put a fight and allowed you to leave. “Be careful.” He told you.

”I will.”

Mileena was worried about you. Not only that but she was completely heartbroken over her mother’s death. All she could think about was you now.

It was obvious of the connection the two of you shared but Mileena now recognized she had feelings for you. She hated it. Not only that but she felt weak to her knees every time you were around.

How was she supposed to go on without you?

“Princess Mileena.” Shang Tsung called her attention.

She gritted her teeth but held back her aggressive nature. “Empress now.”

”Yes…I have a proposition for you.”

Mileena rolled her eyes. She couldn’t believe he would even say that to her. “I am not interested whatever it may be.”

”I think you might. We all know you are fond of that Earthrealmer. However, how would you ever have a real relationship with her considering your condition?”

The mention of you tugged on her heart strings. She just didn’t understand why he was concerned. “Get to your point, sorcerer.”

Shang Tsung had this smug on his face. He knew that whatever he was about to say, she would be interested in. “Unfortunately, I cannot cure Tarkat once it has entered a beings system but I can prevent it. I can make an antidote that will prevent (Y/N) from catching the disease. All she would have to do is drink it.”

Mileena was absolutely interested. She could finally stop being so scared about being around you. About getting you infected. She knew though that this would come with a price. “What do you want?”

”Simple. When all this is over spare me and Quan Chi. You can live your happy ending with the Earthrealmer…we’ll live ours.”

That would mean that after all this, Shang Tsung wouldn’t be arrested for his crimes. Was it worth it? Letting a mad man out on the lose?

You were worth it. You were always worth it. “Fine. But if I find you lying sorcerer, I will have your head.”

”Very well.” He spoke, unbothered.

You went through the portal. You were met by the group. “I will never get over that.” You mumble to yourself.

Raiden had looked at you, completely confused. “What are you doing here? You’re suppose to be resting.”

”I’m done resting.” You told him. “I’m fine. I’m prepared to do whatever it takes.”

Raiden did not seem convinced. Mileena ran to your side and pulled you into a hug. You hugged her back. “I thought you were badly injured.” She told you.

”Nah. Just needed to take a quick cat nap.” You told her. The two of you pull away. You take the amulet out of your waistband and you walked over to Raiden before handing it to him. “Here.” 

Raiden looked at you in disbelief. Why were you giving your amulet to him? “No. I’m not taking that from you.”

You rolled your eyes a little. “Just take it string bean.”

”(Y/N), you almost died. I am not taking the one thing that can save you.” 

“Well I can’t walk around with it knowing that you also share this power too.” You told him. You raised the amulet to him. “Take it.”

Raiden was still unsure. Mileena admired how protective you were with your brother. It reminded her of the relationship she had with her sister. That’s when Mileena stepped up. “Take it, Raiden.” Mileena then gently grabbed your hand before looking deep in your eyes. “I will protect her.”

Your brother looked between the two of you. Despite him not wanting to, he believed Mileena. He let out a sigh before taking the amulet. “I am not keeping this. As soon as this is over - you will get it back.”

You knew that you couldn’t argue with him there. You let out an exasperated sigh and looked around for answers. “What’s the plan?” 

“We must divide our forces.” Scorpion spoke. “Raiden, Shang Tsung, Quan Chi will use their magic to attack the portals. As they do, Kenshi and Jerrod will grind down the Dragon Army. The rest of us will attack our dark doubles. If they’re defeated, it will hopefully throw the dragon warriors in disarray.

”An astute strategy.” Quan Chi complimented.

”Truly. I could not have devised a better one.” Shang Tsung co signed.

You rolled your eyes at the two. “Chill out. You’re still the bad guys remember? We don’t like you.”

Everyone got into their positions. When everyone was ready, you all immediately attacked. Fighting without your lightning powers was slightly weird. Lucky for you, you were strong enough to take everyone that was in your path. 

One had caught you by surprise. They pinned you to the ground and started choking you. Mileena went behind their back and put a sai right through their head.

You threw the warrior’s body off of you. “Where would I be without you?”

”Surely, dead.” Mileena teased before helping you up.

The two of you continue to fight. You still fight until you realize that the portal is closed. “They did it.”

Mileena looked at you with loving eyes. She wanted to tell you before everything was too late. “(Y/N), I must speak with you.” 

You looked at her curiously. “Alright. What’s up?” 

“Shang Tsung is going to make you a potion that you can drink. So, it can be prevented to get the Tarkat disease.”

You scoffed at the idea. Why would she trust Shang Tsung to do that? “And what did he want in return?”

”His freedom.”

”And you believe him?”

”Yes. I do.”

You couldn’t understand why she would do this. Why she would want to do this? To even trust a man like him. “Why? Why do all this?”

Mileena did not stop looking in your eyes. She caressed your face with both her hands. “Dearest (Y/N), have we not already made it so obvious?”

Was this it? Was this Mileena’s confession? If it was…it wasn’t enough. “I want to hear you say it.”

“(Y/N), you have been by my side through it all. Even when I felt betrayed. Even when you learned of my monstrous face. You did not run. You are the most courageous woman I have ever met. Nothing would make me more happy than to finally be yours.” Mileena then took your hands. “We can do it. We can be together. I know we can. Do not run from this.”

All you wanted to do was kiss Mileena. You caressed her face with your right hand and looked into her beautiful eyes. The eyes you couldn’t help but swim in. “I don’t want to run from this feeling.”

When Mileena realized you were leaning in slightly, she carefully stopped you by placing her finger over your lips. “Not yet, darling. A time will come for that.”

You knew you couldn’t kiss Mileena right now but god did you want to. You heard a whistle and when you looked you saw Johnny. “Aww. I knew you two would get together.”

Mileena grabbed one of her sais and threw it at Johnny. It barley missed his head and landed in the rock wall. “Ah! Okay! Okay!”

You laughed slightly and wrapped your arms around Mileena’s waist. She was your woman.

Armageddon had arise. Liu Kang gathered people from different time lines to fight in the war. You were scared. Not for you but for your people. What if they had died?

It was up to all of you to stop Titan Shang Tsung. You and your brother had worked as a team defeating all of the enemies you had came across.

It was in the midst of everything that you had lost Raiden. You didn’t know where he was but you hoped he was okay.

You saw four warriors that you did not recognize come down the stairs. You were about to attack until you seen a fan in your vision. Titan Kitana had stopped you. “Allow me.”

In a swift motion, Titan Kitana had defeated them all. Your eyes wide at how easily she had done it. “That was Fan-Tastic.”

Something about it made Titan Kitana smile as in the previous timeline, you also had a sense of humor despite being a god. “You’re welcome. Now hurry. There’s no time to -“

Titan Kitana was pushed off the stairs. You wanted to help her but you had to get to Titan Shang Tsung.

You saw Mileena getting attacked by her double. You immediately kicked her off. Mileena stabbed her double in the face. “I’m never getting used to that.” You said.

”You’re telling me.” You helped Mileena up and the two of you ran up the stairs where Liu Kang was. “(Y/N). Mileena. It’s only a little further. Follow me!”

The three of you made it to the top. “Your defenses have failed Shang Tsung. This is over.” Liu Kang told him. 

“I do not think so.” 

“Realize sorcerer that you’ve brought this on yourself. Avarice and ego have again proved your undoing. We have no choice but to eradicate you.”

”It is you who will be eradicated. You and your followers. And once you are dead all timelines will be mine.”

Liu Kang ran over to fight Quan Chi as you and Mileena fought Shang Tsung. Shang Tsung managed to over power you both and you both fell to the ground.

Liu Kang began to fight both Quan Chi and Shang Tsung. He managed to match them blow for blow until he was eventually taken down by Quan Chi’s magic.

Mileena was weakened on the ground. Shang Tsung walked over to her. “This would’ve been painless if you just submitted.”

Shang Tsung began taking Mileena’s soul. You watched as her body started to become lifeless.

Something inside of you snapped. Seeing the woman you loved dying flipped something inside you. You had thought you didn’t have any strength. Now you did.

”No!” You screamed. You raised your hand instinctively and lightning shot out your hands. Shang Tsung fell to the ground. Your eyes widened when you did this. You had given the amulet to your brother. How did you have lightning powers?

Mileena watched you in shock. She was too weak to help you though and she hated it. She hated that she couldn’t protect you.

You looked at your hands and then back at Shang Tsung who stood up from the ground. “I don’t know what just happened…” You started to say. “But I’m about to kick your ass.”

Shang Tsung was not bothered by your threat. “Your power is no match for mine. You will fall. The question you must ask yourself is…if Liu Kang couldn’t finish us…how possibly could you?”

You went for the first hit. Shang Tsung blocked it. Quan Chi tried to come up behind you but you stunned him with your lightning. Shang Tsung tried to hit you but you dodged it and kicked his leg, making him fall down.

You spun and kicked Quan Chi. This knocked him down. Shang Tsung tried to use his magic on you but you moved out the way. This made the magic be used on Quan Chi and sent him flying back.

Shang Tsung punched you in the face. You felt your nose bleed. Quan Chi then came up and swept your feet. You fell down. Shang Tsung tried to stomp on your head but you quickly move and zapped him with your lightning.

Quan Chi came up from behind. You grabbed him and threw him over your shoulder. Then you punched him in the face, knocking him out cold.

Shang Tsung seemed to be displeased by this. He tried to charge at you. You blocked every hit he threw. You punched him in his gut. You kicked him in his private area. This made him fall to his knees. You then did a spin kick and kicked him in the jaw where he fell back.

Shang Tsung was tired. He couldn’t fight anymore. You towered over him. Your eyes glowed a blue light. You rubbed your hands together and raised them to his chest. “Clear.”

You shocked him through his soul. Shang Tsung screamed in agony. He then finally passed out.

You watched as the magic that binded Liu Kang broke. You ran over to help Mileena up. Liu Kang ran over to you, impressed at what you had done. Especially as he knew you gave the amulet to your brother and you still gained your powers. “And they call me the Chosen One.”

You shrugged cockily, dusting your shoulders off. “Yeah, well. I am amazing.” Mileena playfully hit you in the chest. 

Liu Kang smiled at you. He then used his magic to make the two sorcerers become nothing. When he did that, the whole universe started to shake. “What’s happening?” Mileena questioned.

”The timeline!” Liu Kang exclaimed. “Without Shang Tsung to hold it together, it’s falling apart! You two must return to our timeline before this one collapses.” He started to use his power and it wrapped around you and Mileena. “Thank you for your aid the two of you. May we one day meet again.”

Being back in Earthrealm sucked. Yes, everything was back to normal but it had been days since the victory of Armageddon. You hadn’t seen Mileena since.

You sat at Madam Bo’s with your Earthrealm comrades. “I still cannot believe you gained lightning power and stopped Shang Tsung.” Raiden said.

”Yeah…” You looked at Liu Kang curiously. “What is up with that?”

”The amulet Raiden now carries was yours in a previous timeline. It must have bonded with you and given you enough power when Empress Mileena was dying.” Liu Kang explained.

You slung your arm around Raiden’s shoulder. “I guess that means you get to keep the amulet after all.” He smiled at you.

”Speaking of Mileena…” Kung Lao said before looking at you. “What’s going to happen between you two?”

You shrugged. “We said we wanted to be together. Shang Tsung is working on a potion that will prevent me from getting Tarkat. I haven’t seen her since Armageddon though.”

”You see her now.”

That voice. You knew and loved. You turned around from your seat and saw Mileena standing before you. “Mileena?!” You exclaimed. You didn’t think twice. You got up from your seat and hugged her.

Mileena hugged you back. “It’s good to see you too, darling.” 

You pulled away from her. “How are you here?”

That’s when Liu Kang stood up from his seat. “I invited her here. Her palace needs some…reconstruction and I believed that it would be best if she would stay in Earthrealm for the week.”

Johnny looked confused. “Don’t they got hotels in Outworld?” He was immediately smacked in the head by Kenshi. “Ow!”

Mileena payed her attention towards Liu Kang. “Lord Liu Kang, thank you for allowing me to stay here.”

”You are always welcome, Empress.” He told her before bowing.

Mileena made a motion to you that she wanted to talk to you in private. You looked back at your friends. “I’ll be right back.”

”Sure you will…” Kung Lao teased slightly.

Mileena noticed you were about to flip him off and she pulled at your arm. You took her hand and led her out the restaurant. All the way to the outside where there was a flower garden. 

The Empress took something out her pocket. She revealed it to be the potion. “Shang Tsung made it.”

You carefully took the liquid and observed it. “How do we know if it will work?” 

“We don’t.” Mileena bit her lip slightly. “(Y/N). You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to-“ She was cut off by you opening the bottle and drinking it. “(Y/N)!”

You finished drinking it and threw it somewhere in the grass. “Finally.” You grabbed Mileena by the hips and kissed her.

Mileena was shocked a little at how sudden it was but did not hesitate to kiss you back. She wrapped her arms around your neck and pulled you closer, deepening the kiss.

It was a very passionate kiss. The two of you had waited what felt like forever. Her lips tasted like cotton candy and hope. Mileena thought your lips were delicious also.

The kiss was starting to get sloppy. The two of you were using a lot of tongue. You picked Mileena up by her ass and made her legs wrap around your waist. You pressed her up against the tree and continued to kiss her like if you stopped she would disappear.

Mileena moaned in the kiss. “You bring out the animal in me.” She said in the kiss.

”Are you trying to turn me on?” You asked her also in the kiss making Mileena giggle.

The two of you continued to kiss. Your lips started to inch towards her chin. Then they went down her neck, making her moan. “(Y/N), we’re in public.”

You really didn’t want to stop nor did you care that you were in a flower garden right now but if she wanted to stop, you’d stop. You pulled away from her neck and gently set her down to her feet. “I guess we’ll know if it works now.”

Mileena looked into your eyes dreamily like she had never seen anyone more perfect. “You are mine now, (Y/N). Do not forget that.”

You smile at her words. “I will not, Empress.”

THE END

INTROS/COMBAT