MoonKnight One Shots/Preferences

Poetry and Promises

[It's another normal day of tender love and adoration, but reality sets in for Steven in a sudden moment of realization.]
[Word Count: 1936]
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"Here you go my dove." Steven cooed as he offered the glass mug towards me. From my sitting position on the sofa, I smiled sweetly at seeing his purely affectionate expression. "A little sugar, just how you like it. Just be careful, okay? I put an ice cube in it to cool it down, but it's still piping hot."

"Thank you, Steven." I responded, carefully accepting the slightly steaming tea from him, grinning as our hands caressed the other during the physical interaction. I softly blew air across the open face of the mug, watching the steam be displaced and interrupted.

Immediately, Steven returned after scurrying away. He gently sat beside me on the sofa, but stood up and hurriedly darted to our bedroom area. I chuckled at his nervous and always jittery composure, never seeming to be satisfied enough to relax.

He returned with a blanket, my favorite blanket in particular, draping it over my bent legs that were tucked under me at a sideways angle. "Steven, you didn't have to do this-you don't have to do all that!" He continued to tuck the blanket around me, but then stopped, slowly removing the blanket from my swollen belly.

"Of course I did, (Y/N). You're carrying our child. Our baby." His lips displayed a proud smile, while his eyes gleamed, slightly glistening with ecstatic tears. "I'm going to always provide for you. Whatever you need, my angel, I'm at your service. I owe you my life for the one you're creating." His hand warmly caressed my belly, though obscured by his t-shirt that he offered me after my shower earlier that morning. His head dipped to tenderly kiss my covered skin, then catching my lips in a chaste kiss of adoration. "I love you, my beautiful wife."

My cheeks blushed furiously at his acts of complete love and reverence. Steven would always make me blush, and everyday I found myself falling deeper in love with him. "I love you too, Steven." I returned, watching his effervescent grin return.

He relaxed against the cushions and sighed, reaching for his glasses that were hooked onto the front of his shirt. "Where were we, my love?" He questioned, not really expecting a definite answer, situating his scarlet readers onto the bridge of his nose.

Steven reached for a small book of bound poems on the coffee table and gingerly opened it, briskly licking his thumb to flip to the next page. His eyes darted over familiar words until he nodded in success. "We were here with Mr. Charles Baudelaire and his poem À Une Passante, or In Passing, written in 1855."

I sipped the tea that Steven had prepared, indulging in the perfect sweetness and temperature. "Honey, will you please translate it for us as you read?" I asked, my hand mindlessly and habitually caressing my belly and tilting my head towards Steven.

Of course, I loved when he read poetry to me, especially French poetry, but I still desired to understand. And I believed that by him conversing in two languages, then perhaps our baby could possibly benefit while being in the presence of French poetry read by their father.

We wanted to be surprised of our baby's gender when the day finally arrived, and didn't want to limit what we introduced into the developing stages. Rather, we wanted to include a wide range of languages, literature, and music to fully acclimate and soothe our child in the womb.

"Of course my love. Here we go.

La rue assourdissante autour de moi hurlait.
Longue, mince, en grand deuil, douleur majestueuse,
Une femme passa, d'une main fastueuse
Soulevant, balançant le feston et l'ourlet;

The deafening street around me roared.
Tall, slim, in deep mourning, majestic grief,
A woman passed, lifting and swinging
With a pompous gesture the hem and flounces of her skirt,