#new moon knight

[geekhead79]

Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu #1 variant cover

[1800-l0g4n]

The moon haunts for you

[my-secret-shame]

[monsieuroverlord]

19 of Peach Momoko's Kimono Variant Covers

Source here

(Note: the article says "all 19 of the covers" but I'm not seeing the Spirits of Violence one, so I think there might be more than 19 -- I specifically checked for potential Akihiro, so maybe soon! It's still up for pre-order ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

[hellysriggs]

Morning, Gus, my little one-finned wonder.

@mcuchallenge: Moon Knight vs. The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

[lockley-spktr]

Two years later, and we’re finally getting new Moon Knight content.

Based on the scene titles, I’m almost certain one of them is Marc confronting his mother. It's been on my mind since I heard about it two years ago.

The release date is April 30th, 2024.

You can read more here.

[jujapaya]

Haha. This is what happened right.

[metakazkz]

Abysstale sans Meet Dca Au Arabian knight

This is the first time that Abyss!sans fly into a desert at night to explore it. He thought this night would be peaceful until he received an unexpected visitor. Unfortunately, Abyss!sans wasn't fast enough to escape from a Djinn.

Abysstale sans (me) metakazkz

Djinn Moon Arabian Knight @agent-darkfest

Sans undertale (toby fox)

Fnaf (five nights at freddy's )

Artwork by (me) metakazkz

[copingchaos]

A must watch for everyone. Please share

[clazaries]

Just a Neighbour Thing

(MarcSpector! x f!reader)

Summary: Your neighbour Marc Spector is a pain in your ass. Until he saves your life. w/c: 3.9k Warnings: a lil bit of violence but nothing too graphic. Fluff! a/n: I'll be posting a masterlist soon because I think I've got about three or four fics out now and a few to come!

Marc Spector is an elusive character. A man of very few words and an enigmatic personality - not that you know him well enough to judge his character - but from the rare occasions where your paths crossed in your apartment building, it can be summed up with a small smile from you and a smouldering glare from him. Often aloof, the opportunity to get to know him better as a neighbour never seems to present itself and it leaves you struggling to understand who’s to blame. It’s obvious personal defects are the cause; but his or yours? 

There’s been many occasions where you’ve had to confront his brick-wall disposition, mostly due to the fact that his ringer on the main lobby doesn’t work, so naturally people go for the next best option which is to press the ringer directly below it: yours. You deliberately leave his mail to accumulate at your door until it becomes an unavoidable mound of tax letters, local advertisements and rent notifications and only then do you brave the trip to the apartment above to deliver his post. 

It’s always the same. You knock on the door in a rhythmic pattern that’s become yours. Within seconds he answers the door with the same cold expression, wordlessly takes his mail no matter how hard you try to start up a conversation and before long, you’re staring face to face with the shabby wooden surface of his door. The only thing that changes with each encounter are the clothes that he wears. Different but fairly relative to his style. Purely functional and never dressed for any occasion.

You didn’t mind it for a while. There was some satisfaction and fulfilment to be found while doing your neighbourly duties and despite the fact that there was every possibility he wouldn’t do it for you, you weren’t someone who held a grudge or felt like they had ever been owed a favour. But the mailman had happened upon you on a very bad day and you didn’t feel like accepting his parcel. You had recently been made redundant after the company you worked for did a reshuffling of working positions and yours wasn’t to be included in the new phase they had turned over. So you wallowed at home, watched numerous brain-rotting films, ate a load of junk food and drank lots of wine. 

It was nothing personal towards the mailman when he chapped on your door and demanded a signature for Marc’s parcel, but you couldn’t pretend to be the ‘lovely-neighbour-from-downstairs’ any longer. 

“This is for 8B upstairs. Says there.”

“I know. I can read,” the mailman grumbles, “but I tried knocking on his door but there wasn’t an answer. The parcel needs to be left with someone and you’re the nominated designee.” 

“Can’t you just leave it with another neighbour?” 

“No, says it needs to be left with you.” 

You look at the large rectangular box and consider it. Aside from Marc’s address scribbled on the top, the box is littered with numerous stamps from various international postal services, few you recognize. It looks to be well travelled and handled with very little care yet there’s nothing to suggest what’s inside. With a sigh, you take it from the mailman. It could be important, especially if it’s gone through so many countries to get here and the fact that you would be to blame if it got stolen or damaged. “Fine, I’ll take it.” 

The mailman looks to his feet where a growing pile of letters addressed to Marc starts to spill over into the threshold of your apartment, judgement washing over his features. “Do you…do you normally take all of his mail as well?” 

“Do me a favour? If you ever see the guy from 8B, tell him to come collect his fucking mail.” 

There’s a part of you that feels slightly bad for the mailman when you slammed the door in his face, but then you remember that if Marc stopped being so fucking immature about answering his own door to receive his mail, then you wouldn’t need to feel bad about anything. You leave the parcel sitting on your hallway table, waiting for the day Marc grows some responsibility and asks you for it. 

~~~~

When you placed the parcel on the hallway table, you didn’t expect that it would be sitting there for over a week collecting dust, nor did you expect the curiosity of what’s inside to completely consume you. You walked past it every time you left or entered your apartment. It was in the corner of your eye every time you sat in the living room. It practically radiated temptation every time you took notice of it, screamed at you like it was begging to be opened and you had to force your grubby hands to keep still and not reach for it. But you so desperately wanted to know what was inside. Why was it so conspicuous? Why has it suddenly become the most interesting thing in your apartment?

Perhaps Marc was testing you, sending you a little something of no importance to experiment with your curiosity and test whether or not he could trust to leave you with his personal belongings like he does with his letters. That’s certainly what it felt like by the turn of day eight of the parcel being there and you simply refused to be a rat in his experiment. 

That determination lasted for two whole days before it started to truly pester you. It was starting to get in the way and it felt as though it was getting impossibly bigger and bigger. On day nine you were ready to break it, smash it against every wall, rip every piece of cardboard that keeps it together and deliver it in that state to Marc yourself. From your sofa you stood, eyeing the parcel as if it was taunting you and with adrenaline thrumming through your veins, you stomped towards it. Hands outstretched, you were ready to throw it in any direction but something stopped you at the very last second. Something peculiar and completely out of the ordinary. You halted just centimetres out of reach from the parcel, centimetres out of reach from your door where you could hear the whispers of two or three men right outside. You could see the moulds of their bodies through the peephole. 

“Look, I’m telling you he lives here-”

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. All his mail is sitting here. It’s definitely the right apartment. The parcel is in there.” 

The parcel. They’re here for the parcel. 

“C’mon let’s get this over with. He’ll be back soon. Where’s the crowbar?” 

In the very few heart-stopping, crucial seconds you have before anything happens, you quickly banish all hysteria and muster all rationality and flip over the keyless lock and quietly shuffle away from the door with the parcel in hand. You estimate you have about 15 seconds before they make any headway of getting into your apartment, not enough time for you to hide, but enough time to hide Marc’s parcel. After all, that’s what they are here for. With your heart pounding in your chest, your eyes scan over every nook and cranny of your apartment, quickly assessing each spot based on how likely the intruders are to find it and with the seconds dwindling into single digits, you make a snappy, slightly reckless decision. There’s a ledge just outside your kitchen window where you occasionally leave out some seeds for the birds and you think it’s just low enough that the parcel won’t be seen from the window. It’s risky but you’re running out of time, you have to move. 

Scrambling over counter tops and at the sacrifice of knocking over a few utensils, you manage to wrestle the window open and precariously place the box on the window ledge. It’s risky. The ledge isn’t wide and it’s windy, but whatever is in the parcel is just heavy enough that it stays rooted to the spot. 

Pulling back, your hand grazes the handle of a kitchen knife which, now that the intruders have made their way into your apartment, seems like a good idea to have. 

They round the corner into your living room and immediately start looking for the parcel, noticing you only a few seconds into their search. You point the knife in their direction standing courageously but your wavering breath tells a different story.

The three of them turn towards you from where they stand, and given their expressions, they are just as shocked to see you here than you are to see them. You weren’t supposed to be a variable in their plan. They were supposed to be burglarizing Marc’s empty apartment. Not yours. 

The two taller brown-haired men have similar features and builds, almost identical and you begin to wonder if they are twins. Brothers at the very least. But it’s the ageing stout man standing where the living room and kitchen divide who stares you down. He’s dressed smartly in a tweed suit with a golden pocket watch hanging from his waist coat, the type of man who doesn't like to get his hands dirty, because of course, that job belongs to the bulky twins behind him. This is a man who loves to watch it as it happens. He’s more business than manual labour. 

His facial features morph from shock to something sinister, his lips twisting into a smile that’s as greasy as the hair on his head as if the cruellest of ideas just crossed his mind. 

“I didn’t know Marc had a girlfriend,” he sneers. 

“He doesn’t,” you snarl, aiming the knife directly at him with two hands. “He doesn’t even live here either.”

“Oh, so his mail just gets delivered here on a daily basis?” The man hovers over to your coffee table and picks up multiple letters addressed to Marc, the ones that were delivered last week and remained there because of your stubborn nature. 

Okay, not off to a great start. “He doesn’t live here.”

He grins but it falls flat a split second later. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Now where is he?”

“I don’t know because he doesn’t live here.”

“Bullshit. Where. Is. He?”  

“Not here. I’m not afraid to use this knife.”

“Oh, not from there you won’t. Let me help you with that.” The man crosses the space between you in three long strides until you’re pressed flat against the counter and the point of the knife grazes the tip of his waist coat. The audacity of this man is staggering. “Save yourself the hassle and tell me where Marc is.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know where he is! Now get the fuck out of my apartment. Whatever it is you’re looking for isn’t here.”

“And have you call the cops on us? Not a chance, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out to grab you, and he almost does, but with your quick reflex swinging the knife around, you knick the palm of his hand. The man stumbles backwards with a pained yelp, watching the blood seep from his hand and drip onto your kitchen tiles, enraged that you would even do such a thing. Despite your heart racing and the slightly dizzy feeling of adrenaline raging through your veins, you stand strong, holding the knife even higher in warning. 

“You bitch. Boys!” He shouts and the two brothers come running to his side, sizing you up. “Tie her up. We’re not leaving without that package and I’m certain she knows where it is.” 

It was easy enough to defend yourself against this puny man with a knife, but against two brutes who manhandle you as if you are lamb for slaughter, you don’t stand a chance. Relentless, you squirm and wriggle and fight to get out of their grasp, and while you had accepted that you were fighting a losing battle, there’s still some pride to be had about how hard you made it for them. Rather than tying you up unscathed, Thing 1 ties your hands with a bloody, swollen nose and Thing 2 ties your ankle with a forming black eye and a bruise developing on his ribs. 

With you strapped to the chair, they stuff a gag in your mouth to dim your screams while they scramble to ransack your apartment, turning it upside down to find the fucking parcel Marc left you with. After 15 minutes passes by, your home is a riot; furniture broken, plates, mugs and bowls smashed, everything you own on the floor. 

“Boss, it ain’t here. We’re searched everywhere.”

“It has to be!” The stout man shouts, eyes glaring at you enraged. He crouches down, fiery ageing eyes level with yours. He rips the gag out of your mouth and presents a new threat. A razor sharp knife, gleaning in the light as he holds it directly in front of your face. “For the last time. Where is the parcel?!” 

“I am telling you. I don’t know,” you spit, trying with all your might to sound as convincing as possible. “I don’t know what parcel you’re talking about. I don’t know where Marc is--I don’t even know the guy! And he sure as shit doesn’t live here. And if any of you had half a brain to actually read the letters will realise that his address is the floor above me. He never answers his fucking door and that’s why I have all his mess at my door.” 

The guy jabs the point of his knife underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards. A nauseous feeling stirs in your stomach, raising your body temperature and conjuring a little bead of sweat to drip from your hairline. Your teeth clamp down onto the inner lining of your cheek, hoping, praying, pleading for someone to burst through your door and save you.

You can’t see anything change within the man in front of you, not taking your word for gospel and the more frustrated he becomes, the more danger faces you. Temperament rising, the man grunts and knicks the skin of your chin, splicing the skin open. “Argh, fuck!” 

“Marc might not live here, but we know the parcel was delivered! And if you do end up with all his mail then it should be here. Now stop lying to me, you little bitch, and tell me where the fucking parcel is or you are going end up with a lot worse than a cut to your chin.” 

You watch in horror as he presses the edge of the knife over your wrist tied to the armrest of the chair and no amount of squirming can break the ties. Fuck, please tell me that I’m not going to lose a limb over a fucking parcel…

Tears pool in the corner of your eyes, your brave facade failing. You’re absolutely terrified

“I’ll give you some context then. That parcel contains something I want, an ancient Egyptian artefact that contains unimaginable power and would bring me a lot of wealth, and Marc Spector has no business taking it from me--” So that’s Marc’s surname. “And unless you want to keep your thieving hands, you’ll tell me where it is.” 

As he begins to press the knife’s sharp edge down onto your skin, you start to consider the depravity of the situation, the truth finding its way to your lips. There’s nothing more you want than for this to all be over, to be wrapped up warm and safe in your bed but you can’t shake the arrogance of this guy and his stooges, busting in here like he is entitled to, making a mess of your home, harming you, all to take something that was clearly meant for Marc, all because he thought it would be better with him than with Marc. 

No. Fuck that.

“I. Don’t. Know.” A glob of saliva gathers on your tongue and you spit it into the face of your capture, because if your words can’t send the message, hopefully that will. 

“You should believe her, by the way.” A voice emerges from behind you and simultaneously, all three men turn towards your front door in stupor. You try to twist your head over your shoulder as far as you can to catch a glance but he’s just out of your sight, however you don’t need to wait long before you get confirmation of who is standing at your door. 

“Marc Spector,” your captur states. “Finally.”

“Mind telling me what you’re doing in my neighbour’s apartment?”

“For the very same reason why you’re here, Marc. The parcel. Our parcel. The one you stole.” 

Marc snickers. Having gone so long without seeing what a smile looks like on his face, you’re itching to turn around and see him, but you only get as far as Thing 2 who stands with your back to you, blocking your view. “Torturing women for information? Tsk, tsk, that’s a little beneath your remit Donald, is it not? You’re wasting your time. I have the parcel locked up in storage.” An obvious lie, but not obvious enough to them. “She’s got nothing to do with it. In fact, I don’t even know her.” 

“I don’t care who I have to go through to get what is mine, whether it’s her or you, I will have it by the time the day is up. Boys!”

“Your mistake.”

In the space of a second, the three men in front of you disappear and you’re left to stare at the vast emptiness of your white walls as chaos erupts behind you. Grunts and groans of pain are spliced in between the sounds of punches and kicks being thrown, furniture breaking, bones crunching and bodies thumping to the ground, all of which you try to drown out by hunching your shoulders over your ears and closing your eyes. 

After suspenseful minutes of fighting, it’s clear one man stands victorious. Who? You don’t know. Aside from worrying about what kind of state of your apartment would be left in, you have no idea who you’ve been left in the apartment with and the likelihood of Marc succeeding against three men is slim and the anticipation is killing you.

At last, when a fully mummified figure with white glowing eyes kneels in front of you, you’re taken aback. 

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” His hand comes to tilt your head gently, inspecting the small cut to your chin with a small tut.

“...Marc?”

The mask that covers his face dissipates to reveal the Marc you recognise, looking more worried than you had ever thought he was capable of. He begins to make quick work of your bounds, easily ripping through them with a single fingertip where all the strength in your arms couldn’t. 

“What the…”

“It’s a lot to explain. I promise, I’ll explain later. Are you hurt? Are you alright? They didn’t do anything terrible to you, did they? Fuck. This is all my fault. I’m so sorry-”

“Marc, hey, I’m okay. Just a little shaken up I think.” Now free, you come to stand in front of Marc who, weirdly enough, seems to don this mummified Egyptian regalia as a suit of armour. You remember this ‘Donald’ guy mentioning something about an ancient Egyptian artefact and you assume it has to be related to whatever Marc is wearing. You even try to mention it, but you can’t seem to get a word in with Marc fussing over your safety and blaming himself for any harm that Donald and his men have caused you as he gently dabs the blood away from your chin. After futile attempts, you decide to leave it be, marvelling over the new Marc as he carefully handles you with care despite having treated you with such indifference up until a few minutes ago. 

Donald and his two bodyguards lie unconscious (...or dead?) on your apartment floor and you look over them with satisfaction, Marc’s unparalleled strength no match for them. Marc quietly lingers behind you, observing them over your shoulder with a similar resolve until he notices the complete disarray surrounding them. 

“Sorry about the mess.” 

You chuckle lightheartedly. “I’m just glad you came when you did. They got what they deserved.”

“Look,” he pulls you away from them to lock eyes, sincerity twinkling in his irises, “I really am sorry. I thought I was careful enough to not get anyone involved in my mess, but I guess I was wrong.” 

You crunch your eyebrows together, recollecting every instance of Marc giving you the cold shoulder. You always thought he was just an unfriendly neighbour, someone who had no interest in anyone but himself, who viewed everyone as an inconvenience. But it was his safeguard, his way of not letting anyone he knew or cared about come into harm. “So you being an asshole was on purpose?” 

“Completely. It was nothing personal.”

“I see,” you sigh, but with a gentle bump of shoulders, you add “I could’ve helped you, you know. You just needed to ask.” 

He shakes his head dejectedly. “It would’ve been too much of a risk.” 

“More of a risk than not asking me? I still got caught up in the crossfire anyway, if I had known why, or at least expected it, I could’ve been better prepared. I don’t need to know what trouble you got yourself into or what shady business you run, but I’m not just your neighbour, I could’ve been a friend if you had allowed me.” 

“It had never worked out for me in the past. I didn’t want to make the same mistake again.” 

“Okay, I get it. You’re forgiven. But Marc? A word of advice for the future? Just answer your fucking mail then maybe, just maybe, I won’t need to be dragged into all of this again, yeah? They thought you lived here.” You pick up a handful of unopened letters addressed to him and bluntly shove them against his chest with an appointed look and smirk. 

He reciprocates the smile with less enthusiasm and turns his attention to your door. “Speaking of, I’ve got a very important parcel I need to track down. I actually have no idea where it is. I can’t let it fall into the wrong hands.”

“About that.” You don’t say another word as you lead him to your kitchen window, awkwardly mounting your counter to reach for the parcel lying just outside your window. As soon as you bring it into view, Marc’s face lights up like you’ve never seen before. 

“You had it?! This whole time?! I heard you tell them you didn’t have it!” 

“I’ve had it for weeks, actually. Those clowns didn’t exactly take the quiet approach when breaking into my flat so I knew what they were here for. I just had enough time to hide it before they came in. And I can be quite the convincing liar when I need to be.” 

Marc quickly discards the parcel, throwing it onto the kitchen counter before throwing his arms around you, knocking the air out of you and squeezing tightly like his life depended on it. “You…are an angel. I can’t thank you enough.”

The two of you embrace for longer than what’s normal between two neighbours, partly in Marc’s resounding appreciation and partly because it feels nice. 

“In all honesty, I was two seconds from opening the parcel myself. The curiosity was killing me.” Marc’s laughter shakes his body, his warmth slowly leaving you as he draws back. 

“I can show you if you want. I figure you’ll be needing a place to stay while we get your apartment cleaned up. It’s the least I can offer for all the trouble I’ve put you through.” 

“Yeah. That would be nice.”

[geekhead79]

Moon Knight: Fist of Khonshu #0 - "Khonshu: Strikefile" (2024)

[marvelgotchaforgaza]

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[my-secret-shame]

[vintagegirl01]

To the New Year

Steven Grant x female reader

Summary: You have a crush on a certain Brit. Though, you haven’t worked up the courage to tell him how you feel. Will you be able to tell him how you feel before the year ends? Or will that certain Brit beat you to the punch?

A/N: If it wasn’t clear before, none of these stories necessarily take place in London. Though if you prefer it to take place there, that is completely fine. Now sit back and enjoy another one of my Steven Grant fics.

You and Steven are neighbors that have lived across from each other for a year now. In that time, the two of you have become extremely close from having dinner together to simply sharing book recommendations with each other. Despite the two of you having a huge crush on each other, neither have taken the steps to moving your relationship forward from friendship to more. Both fear that the other would reject them. Therefore, here you are on the morning of New Year’s Eve getting ready for a night alone when you hear a knock at the door.

Steven, adorned in his cozy sweater, his messy dark curls framing his warm features, knocked on the neighbor's door, a shy smile playing on his lips. He held a small bundle of flowers in his hands, the stems wrapped in a bit of tissue paper. He'd been wanting to talk to you for a while, but fear had held him back. However, it was New Year's Eve, and he was determined to finally make a move.

"Hey, neighbor. I hope I'm not interrupting anything," he said, his voice carrying a hint of nervousness.

You smile. “Not at all. Though I’m surprised you aren't still at work today, Steven.”

Steven chuckled, shifting the bundled-up flowers in his arms. He glanced up, his cheeks tinging a soft shade of pink.

"Well, I asked my boss for a day off since it's New Year's Eve. Thought maybe I could spend some time with you, especially since...", he paused, searching for the right words, his heart beating just a bit faster in his chest.

You heart twinged at the word “friend” for you know that is all you will be to the handsome, kind, Brit you’ve come to know and love.

You take the flowers from him and smell them. “These are beautiful, thank you. Though what’s the occasion?”

Steven watched as you took the flowers, his gaze fixed on your face. He noticed the brief flicker of disappointment in your eyes at the word "friend," and it only served to further confirm his suspicions. Nevertheless, he pressed on, deciding that tonight was the night he would finally express how he truly felt.

"No occasion, really," he said, leaning against the doorframe. "Just... wanted to do something nice for a friend."

The word "friend" hung in the air, and Steven's heart thumped in his chest.

You let him in as you begin putting flowers in a vase. You find some scissors to cut the stems to help fit the flowers. “What did you have in mind?”

Steven stepped inside, his gaze following you as you busily arranged the flowers. He leaned against the countertop, watching you with a mixture of nervousness and expectancy. He took a deep breath before answering your question.

"Well, I was thinking maybe we could just... hang out. You know, chat, watch some movies or something. I'm open to suggestions."

He fiddled with the sleeves of his sweater, his heart still pounding in his chest. He was hoping this would be the perfect opportunity to tell you how he felt.

“That sounds fun! We could order take out to that restaurant you introduced me to.”

Not only did you choose this restaurant to accommodate Steven's food needs as a vegan but you also found yourself liking some of the options that were offered.

Steven's face lit up at the mention of the vegan restaurant he'd introduced you to. He knew that it wasn't your usual kind of place, and the fact that you were willing to go there made his heart skip a beat. His lips curled into a soft smile.

"Yeah, that sounds perfect," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of relief. "I can call in the order if you'd like. Then we can just relax and chat for a bit before the food arrives."

“Perfect! Can you please order me that plate that you ordered the last time we ate there? I can’t remember the name but it was so delicious and actually filling.”

Steven chuckled softly, a warm smile playing on his lips. He was glad that you enjoyed the food he introduced you to.

"Of course, I remember the dish you're talking about. It's called the 'Vegan Buddha Bowl.' I'll make sure to add it to the order."

As Steven reached for his phone to make the call, he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. This evening was shaping up to be even more perfect than he had imagined. He wanted to enjoy every moment with you before finally confessing his true feelings.

_________________________________________

A few hours later….

The sun had dipped below the horizon, casting the room in a soft golden glow. Soft music played in the background, the sound of laughter occasionally filling the air. The food from the restaurant had long been consumed, the empty dishes sitting on the coffee table. Steven and you were comfortably nestled on the sofa, engaged in a lively conversation.

Steven leaned back against the cushions, a content smile playing on his lips. He felt relaxed, yet his heart still fluttered nervously. He knew he had to seize this moment to tell you how he truly felt about you.

“Oh, Steven... Tonight’s been a wonderful New Year’s Eve. I’m so happy to have spent it with you.”

Steven's smile widened at your words, his heart swelling with warmth. He nodded in agreement, his gaze intently fixed on you.

"Me too. Spending the whole day with you has been the best way to end the year."

His eyes searched your face, his heartbeat quickening. The moment was perfect, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. It was now or never. It was time to tell you the truth.

You smile at him. “To think, in an hour we’ll be into a new year. Anything you’re hoping for this coming year?”

Steven's mind was still racing, his heart pounding. But he managed a small smile as he focused on your question. He leaned slightly closer to you, his eyes locking with yours.

"Actually, there is something I've been hoping for. Something that I've wanted for a while now."

His voice was slightly hoarse, filled with both excitement and nerves. The air around them seemed to crackle with anticipation as he carefully chose his next words.

“Oh, Steven…”. You take his hand into your own. “I’m sure whatever it is, you’ll get it because you’re such an amazing man. One of the best I know.

Steven's cheeks flushed at your words, his heart nearly bursting in his chest. Your touch sent a shiver down his spine, and he held your hand gently on his own. He swallowed nervously, his gaze locked with yours.

"Thank you," he said, his voice a mere whisper. "But... I don't know if you're right. You see, the thing I've been hoping for... It involves you."

He took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to say.

You look at him curiously. “What do you mean, Steven?”

Steven's heart thumped louder in his chest as he met your gaze head-on. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his hand still holding yours, his thumb gently rubbing slow soothing circles into your skin.

He took a shaky breath, his voice soft but filled with sincerity.

"I... I've been wanting to tell you this for a while now. And I think tonight is the perfect time. You see, I... I have feelings for you. It's more than friendship."

“Oh… it’s not hate, is it?”, you ask insecurely.

Steven's eyes widened in surprise at your question. "Hate?"

He shifted closer to you on the sofa, now holding both your hands in his and shaking his head quickly, his expression filled with disbelief.

"No! No, not at all. I could never hate you. I actually... I love you."

The words came out in a rush, filled with nervous anticipation as he waited for your reaction. His heart was pounding so loudly, he was almost sure you could hear it.

You look at him in wonder, trying to hold back the smile that wants to break across your face. “Steven, can you repeat that again?”

Steven swallowed, his mind racing, heart pounding. He tightened his grip on your hands, his eyes fixed intently on yours.

"I love you," he repeated firmly, his voice only a bit shaky. "I'm in love with you. I've been wanting to tell you for a while now, but I was afraid... afraid that you might not feel the same."

He held his breath, nervously awaiting your response.

You bring him in for a hug. “Oh Steven, I’m so happy you feel the same. For I too was afraid you wouldn’t share the love I have for you.”

A wave of relief washed over Steven as he sank into your embrace. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close as his heart swelled with love. He couldn't believe that you felt the same, and the knowledge that you had been struggling with the same fears only made his heart feel even more full.

"You...you love me too?" he asked, his voice a mix of disbelief and hope.

“How could I not be in love with you, Steven Grant? You’re intelligent, kind, and handsome.”

Steven's heart nearly leapt out of his chest at your words. He still couldn't believe this was actually happening. He held you tighter, feeling a surge of happiness and love. He leaned his forehead against yours, his breath a bit shaky.

"You...you think I'm handsome?" he asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

You giggled. “That’s what you got out of what I just said to you?”

Steven chuckled sheepishly, his cheeks slightly flushed. He pulled back slightly, his eyes still fixated on yours. He felt a bit embarrassed that he had focused on such a trivial part of your statement.

"Well, I... I suppose the other things are more important," he said, a soft smile on his lips. "But the fact that one of the most beautiful, smartest, and kindest people I know thinks I'm handsome... It's just..."

He trailed off, a small sigh escaping his lips as he gazed at you affectionately.

You touch his face sweetly. “It’s a minute until midnight, got anything you want to do?”

Steven's eyes fluttered closed as you touched his face. The feel of your fingertips sent a shiver down his spine, and he let out a soft sigh.

"As a matter of fact, I have one thing in mind that I want to do," he said, opening his eyes to meet your gaze.

He leaned in closer, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. The minutes were ticking away quickly to the new year, and there was only one thing he wanted to do in those last moments of the year they are currently in.

Steven's heart was pounding loudly in his chest as he drew closer to you. He let go of your hands, bringing his fingers up to gently brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

"Can I... can I kiss you?" he asked softly, his voice filled with a mix of hope and anticipation.

You nod, your lips meeting with his own.

Steven's mind went pleasantly blank as your lips met his. It was as if everything else faded away, leaving only the feel of your mouth against his.

The fireworks outside were nothing compared to the fireworks he felt within. His arms instinctively wrapped around you, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss. Time seemed to stand still, the countdown from the outdoor revelers a faint background noise to the overwhelming connection he felt with you in that moment.

The moment you two finally pull away, you both look at one another with a loved up smile.

“Happy New Year’s, Steven.”

“Happy New Year’s, love.”

You both cuddle into each other as you two listen to the ambience of the fireworks that continue to ring outside.

Perfect start to the new year.

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[egophiliac]

HOW WE FEELING ABOUT THE UPCOMING NEWSS 👹👹👹

man, it's a good thing they stopped doing the episode 7 SSRs, because I'm really low on keys and gems right now and --

OH NO

[vampyrebellion]

⭐️✨🌙🎀🪽