#The Lost Neruda Poems
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And yet, as they say,
the heart is a leaf
and the wind makes it throb.
Pablo Neruda, Then Come Back: The Lost Neruda Poems (Translated by Forrest Gander)
#Pablo Neruda#Then Come Back: The Lost Neruda Poems#poetry quote#poem quote#poetry quotes#poem quotes#Then Come Back The Lost Neruda Poems#Then Come Back#The Lost Neruda Poems#Forrest Gander#poetry#quote#quotes#poetic#translated#Poetry except#poem excerpt
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Gained in Translation
I speak four languages (at varying degrees of fluency) and do translation both for smooth and peaceable family reunions and for fun, with works of literature I enjoy. It's practically a truism at this point that meaning gets lost in translation; in fact, I'm currently reading an excellent book, Babel by R.F. Kuang, in which there is magic powered by the meaning lost in translation. But a topic I hardly ever hear anyone discuss is how meaning can be gained in translation.
Example 1: References
A type of meaning that can be gained in translation is that when you translate from language A to B, you can make references to other texts in language B that the person who wrote the original in language A wouldn't have been aware of. Here is an example from a translation I did of a Pablo Neruda poem:
Yo te recordaba con el alma apretada
de esa tristeza que tú me conoces.
I remembered you with my soul gripped
by the tragic ordeal of being known by you.
These lines in Spanish reminded me a lot of the meme based on the viral New York Times article about how you need to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known in order to reap the rewards of being loved. So I decided to make a subtle reference to that quote in the way I phrased the English translation. This meaning, of course, doesn't exist in the original Spanish; I added it in.
Example 2: Meaningful Distinctions
Meaning is often gained in translation because the target language makes a distinction that the source language does not. The translator has to choose one side of that distinction, and so meaning is gained.
Here is an example from the Spanish localization of the Japanese RPG Fire Emblem: Three Houses. There are two unlockable scenes in which the character Hubert is given a gift as a romantic gesture. Now, I don't speak Japanese, but through reading the analyses and translations done by Japanese speakers, and by checking for consistency in the kanji, I can see that the same word for "gift" seems to be used throughout these scenes. However, in Spanish, there are multiple words for "gift" with rather different connotations, which becomes relevant in the localization.
In Spanish, there is no generic word for "gift" that applies in every situation. There is a distinction made between gifts that are personal, between people who care about each other, and gifts between people who are not close, such as charitable gifts and formal gifts given to a diplomat. The translators of the game had to choose which of these words to use in the Spanish, and they used the distinction to add some very interesting meaning to these romantic scenes.
In each scene, what happens is that Hubert notices the person has a gift and comments on it, thinking it's for somebody else. In these lines, in Spanish, Hubert uses the personal intimate word for gift. Then, when he finds out the gift is for him, and reacts very awkwardly, he switches to a formal word for gift, creating an emotional distance between himself and the romantic token. This is excellent characterization and adds a layer of meaning in translation.
Example 3: Meaningful Ambiguity
Sometimes, the opposite phenomenon occurs, where the target language does not make a distinction that the source language does, and that ambiguity or vagueness adds something to the translation.
I have a Finnish friend who has told me that fiction that plays with gender is often more meaningful for him in Finnish translation than in the source language, because Finnish does not have gendered third person pronouns. Where books like The Left Hand of Darkness or Ancillary Justice have to make a conscious decision about which gendered pronoun to use for characters that fall outside the Western gender binary (The Left Hand of Darkness uses "he" and Ancillary Justice uses "she"), the Finnish translations can just use the default neutral pronoun they use for everyone, and never have to resolve that ambiguity in any direction. My friend has told me that there are some books about non-gender-normative characters that he wishes he'd read in Finnish instead of English because the experience would have felt more authentic in some ways.
What It Means
The reason why I bring all of this up is that the concept of meaning lost in translation is tied to the idea of translation as an act of violence. Indeed, there is a saying in Italian, "Traduttore, traditore," which means "Translator, traitor." I agree that translation can definitely be an act of violence that destroys the intended meaning of a text and warps it to suit the needs of the speakers of the target language. But when we focus only on what is lost in translation, at the expense of what is gained in translation, then we deny that translation can be an act of liberation and power.
I was raised in a bicultural household speaking both English and Spanish, and when I translate between these languages, it makes me feel empowered and proud of my heritage. It feels insulting to me to claim that when I translate, I can only ever deplete the meaning. That is not true. Every translation requires a translator, and we are more than thieves and traitors. We are more, even, than archivists, trying to minimize loss and decay as much as possible. We are creatives and inventors who can add something beautiful and meaningful to the text via our translations.
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Pablo Neruda, from "We Have Lost Even", Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair
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How about odd socks for the soft prompts?
Eddie tries to write his vows. Poem excerpts from E.E. Cummings’ [i carry your heart with me(i carry it in], Mary Oliver’s The Mango, and Pablo Neruda’s Finale. Plain text version on AO3 here and under the read more!
Dear Buck oh its not a letter
Buck
Evan Buckley (?)
From the day we met, I
I take thee to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part except I don’t want to stop loving you when either of us die. I don’t want to part. Till the glaciers have melted and the oceans have dried up, till Mount Whitney (the tallest mountain in California, I looked it up) is eroded to a molehill, till the heat death of the universe do us part. Maybe that will be enough time
I keep thinking about that time you wore those fucking socks to work and Bobby and everyone were trying to really gently asses if you were having a breakdown because we just see AND YOU’RE GOING TO DIE on your ankle and then you laughed and pulled up your pants and it said “GET LOST IN NATURE AND YOU’RE GOING TO DIE” which like I still think is kind of a fucked up thing to put on a sock but you just did one of your beautiful sunshine grins (we weren’t even together but god I still got light headed looking at you) and were like “I thought it would be neat to remind people the importance of safety in nature” and I was kind of teasing and annoyed and laughed about it and that was like three years ago Buck and I still feel guilty about it because if you were going through some kind of crisis I don’t ever want to be annoyed and laugh about it, I want to be there for you no matter what and I hope I’ve proven that to you over the years, that I don’t just love you on easy days, I love you every single day all the time even when everything’s fucked even if I can’t write wedding vows to save my life christ this is terrible
I love your nose and your birthmark and your eyebrows and your hair and your shoulders and the bends of your elbows, and your wrists and hands, and I love your nipples and hip bones and cock and ass and knees and your shin, I love the scars on your shin, I love every scar you have because none of them killed you
How about
i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
Or
But this was a rich house, and clever too.
After salmon and salads,
mangoes for everyone appeared on blue plates,
each one cut in half and scored
and shoved forward from its rind, like an orange flower,
cubist and juicy.
When I began to eat
things happened.
Or
your head on the pillow,
your hands floating
in the light, in my light,
over my earth.
It was beautiful to live
when you lived
The world is bluer and of the earth
at night, when I sleep
enormous, within your small hands.
Before the ceremony I told Shannon “It’s going to be okay” and in the moment I believed it because I had her and I was scared but she was my best friend and up there in front of her parents and mine I said the regular vows but I think that first one was what counted even if it didn’t end up being true. Maybe I’ve been telling you my vows for years. You can have my back any day. There’s no one on earth I trust with my son - with our son - more than you. Every time I tell you I love you, isn’t that a promise?
I’ve been happy before in my life, despite everything I don’t think I was an unhappy man, not always, only sometimes, but you make me happier than I thought was possible. That kind of feeling when you laugh too hard and you’re not getting enough oxygen to your brain. Isn’t that romantic, you give me hypoxia
Here’s the thing you know I’m going to get up there and just start crying immediately so I don’t know why I’m trying so hard to find words I won’t even be able to get out
No hi this is me two hours later of course this is important you’re important you knowing how much I love you is so important to me and I will stand up there blubbering at you for hours if that’s what it takes
I trust you. I love you. I am happy with you. I want to wake up beside you always, Buck I’ve never seen anything more beautiful than you next to me first thing in the morning (or night or afternoon or whenever we’ve finished sleeping), touching your warm body with your lungs breathing and your heart beating and the solidity of you feels like a miracle
I’ll buy you socks so your feet don’t get cold and I’ll bring you fruit because you like to eat sweet things and wherever I live will be your home and I’ll be by your side as long as you do me the honor of wanting me there and everything I have and am is yours and I
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do you have any book recommendations for us :D
MAYBE SO.......!!!! u know i love talkin abt books!!!
well, ok since ive posted about most of the books ive been reading recently MAYBE i can also post about some that i ordered and am waiting to arrive??? because all of these sounded very interesting to me!!!
SO books i have coming in the mail:
surrealist novels:
the woman in the dunes by kobo abe
the hearing trumpet by leonora carrington
the melancholy of resistance by laszlo krasznahorkai:
the third policeman by flann o'brien
nadja by andre breton
(been really into surrealism lately if it isn't apparent. most excited for melancholy of resistance i think)
horror, gothic, etc:
bruges-la-morte by georges rodenbach
the damned (la-bas) by joris-karl huysmans
floating dragon by peter straub
classics, short stories, etc:
french decadent tales (oxford world's classics) by stephen romer
in watermelon sugar by richard brautigan
swann's way (in search of lost time, #1) by marcel proust
selected short stories by balzac
icefields by thomas wharton
some ive picked up recently & stoked to read:
ada, or ardor by nabokov (my most beloved author of all time)
carmilla by le fanu
nightmare alley by william lindsay gresham
a king alone by jean giono
twilight of the idols by nietzsche
transparent things by nabokov
dark water by koji suzuki
selected poems by jorge luis borges (also beloved)
trolled my goodreads for more recs
books ive read & enjoyed so far this year:
the iliac crest by cristina rivera garza
the tenant by roland topor (FAV!!! huge fav)
crimson labyrinth by yusuke kishi
pedro paramo by juan rulfo
carolina ghost woods by judy jordan
death in her hands by ottessa moshfegh
the unbearable lightness of being by milan kundera
in the lake of the woods by tim o'brien
disgrace by j m coetzee
goth by otsuichi
books i enjoyed from last year:
the lottery & other stories by shirley jackson
the vegetarian by han kang
rosemary's baby by ira levin
piercing by ryu murakami (an all time fav)
the bloody chamber by angela carter (fav)
starve acre by andrew michael hurley (also a fav)
the glassy, burning floor of hell by brian evenson
the devil's larder by jim crace
monstrilio by gerardo samano cordova
and as a bonus, literally anything by nabokov. i have a big book of his short fiction that ive been reading slowly for a long while. despair by him is my fav book of all time, hands down. he is a master of absurdism (and a master of every language he writes in).
ALSO!!!! if youre into poetry, anything and every single thing by: t.s. eliot, baudelaire, rimbaud, borges. i also love neruda's poetry but i have heard he was an awful man so keep that in mind
#thotbox#thotmail#talky cherub#library cherub#i buy 95% of my books secondhand#i have something of a problem but i figure books are not the worst addiction one can have.....OOPS
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tonight i can write (preview)
note: so... another WIP gets added to the list days after i posted a snippet of mystified ch2... thing was... i was supposed to write that fic but my american lit professor sent a neruda poem we can work on for finals and i just snapped and re-read it again like 4 hours ago and here is the product of my neruda obsession (i'm blaming spike and spuffy authors for this)
inspired by pablo neruda's tonight i can write
He lifted her closer in his embrace and whispered lines of poetry in her ear. The words depicted her fortitude and compassion. His prose sang praises of her victories, big and small.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Until he had gone out of words. Until he felt the last embers of her warmth seep away. Elijah could no longer find the words. He simply held her and instead hummed a lost song to occupy the silence. It was an ancient song to lull the children into sleep. Henrik had requested it of him the night before he was found dead, torn up by wolves. Elijah barely remembered the words now, having not spoken the ancient language in many years. He hoped Henrik would find it in himself to sing it to her.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear the immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to the pasture.
#inspired by pablo neruda's tonight i can write#i'll make my own gifset for now I'm borrowing these two#i wrote this until my ring finger went numb lmao#and i love it so so much I'll probably have this up earlier than mystified LMAO#i wrote this instead of sleeping like a normal person#elejah#elena x elijah#elena gilbert#elijah mikaelson#the vampire diaries#tvd#the vampire diaries fanfiction#tvd fic#tvd fanfiction#kaizsche wips#fic: tonight i can write
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Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
Poem XX: I Can Write (Pablo Neruda)
#the west wing#cj cregg#danny concannon#cj x danny#danny x cj#creggcannon#gr: the west wing#gr: photosets#gr: edits#my graphics#(I had to find how the hell I used to tag these)#is this good? not really. I'm so rusty. was this fun to make? yeah!#onekisstotakewithme#happy birthday Ally!!!
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AND IF OUR LOVE MUST BE IMMORTALISED, LET IT BE LIKE THIS.
synopsis: all obey me characters + poems that describe your love.
LUCIFER + “if you forget me” by Pablo Neruda.
lucifer wants you to know one thing - for perhaps his whole life - he has felt that something was missing. holiness and rebellion are two sides he tampered with and in them both, and even with every step he has taken to live - something was missing. you. with all of his choices, you melt into everything. he notices it all. you are the fire and the red branch and he must be the ash. you are in everything and everything carries him to you. yet, he has lost so many things already and he knows that humans are fickle creatures. when he is alone, he can’t help but think of the darker what ifs. still, he wants you to be free. lucifer lets you decide. but just know, that if you go against the darker voices in his mind - if you choose to remember him and love him (the same way he has already decided to do with you) - he will never truly be ash. the two of you would be destiny that burns forever.
‘my love feeds on your love, beloved,
and as long as you live it will be in your arms
without leaving mine.’
MAMMON + “how do I love thee” by Elizabeth Browning.
It would seem that Mammon has been counting the ways he loves you since the first day he met you. yes, since the very first day. he knows that he is full of flaws but the love in him remains holy. perhaps thats from the times he was an angel, because since then and forever forth he has imagined love to be the same way. he has dreamed of loving someone in day and night, in righteousness and praise and greed even. his soul dances around you; if he could - he would place it in your hands and watch it glow. he loves with passion and grief and warmth and selflessness and he would, after everything, pray to God for you. mammon would bend the knee to that extent if you wanted him too. he is just thankful that after everything - after almost losing love itself and falling - the concept of love has not changed; and it now carries your name.
‘i love thee freely, as men strive for right.
i love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
i love thee with the passion put to use
in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.’
LEVIATHAN + “somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond” by E.E. Cummings
Levi is aware of how silly it sounds to say that he loves adventure when others know his habits. but he truly loves it. the adrenaline and the heroism, and the tales and connections of all those legends - but out of them all, knowing you has been the biggest adventure of his life. he wasn’t expecting you or seeking you out when you first arrived but, over time, the seasons of nature changed and you stayed the same. sometimes you are too near and he is stuck between wondering why and pulling you even closer. his love is definitely a quiet one but it is steady - it brings balance. the answer always seems to be you. protecting you in his own way and letting you gently recognize all of his layers - its all so intimate. his love is deeper than anything else. whatever you say, he is willing to do. and he finds that in perceiving the world with you - that love unlocks more charm and power than ever before.
‘somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near’
SATAN + “i dreamed i forgot” by Leila Chatti
many would describe that before satan came to be - all he had was dreams. he lived in them, through the eyes and the body and the wings of the man with whom he shares a complex relationship with. that is why he hates dreams that feel like prophecies. he knew his flaws oh so well, and he knew you too - so for a while he refused to admit to love. but dreaming of you means remembering you. dreaming of you means loving you. he always dedicates words to you. he was a fool when standing before you. he wanted so badly to cherish but while working on himself he doubted that he was capable of such a thing. but through dreaming of you and through watching you - he knew that denying love was impossible. satan’s love feels like a rush after the calm. it feels like he always calls out to you. now when he dreams that you forgot him, or that he forgot you, all he has to do is hear you sleeping peacefully next to him. satan wants to thank you a thousand times over.
‘i dreamed i forgot you
but to dream you was remembering.
i have words for you
only, a linguistic fidelity.’
ASMODEUS + “don’t go far off” by Pablo Neruda
Asmo felt like he, for the first time in his life, had to beg someone to love him. when met with you and your eyes - the inner workings of his doubt started to make him realise just how love stood high above infatuation and lust. asmo would wait for you no matter how long it took. he would wait for you in empty stations and parking lots or his heart would be lost otherwise. you ground him when your arm is wrapped around his. he wouldn’t say he is begging for your love but he is begging to be close to you.’ stand together and don’t go off too far in this love so that you look like a stranger’. ‘love me as much as i love you’. ‘home is the place both of us step in’ - he feels like he shines most naturally when your attention is the only one that matters.
‘don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.’
BEELZEBUB + “i thank you” by Henry Timrod + “cottages” by M.A. + “aubade” by Amber Flora Thomas
(i couldn’t decide on just one for him leave me be. the last one is erotic.)
with Beel love has always existed in its simplest nature. you were drawn to one another the same way the sun replaces the moon. but that is usually what happens to love that starts as a close friendship. as admiration. beel has thanked you so many times before he confessed. he has always felt that love towards you but actually noticing what it was just took him a bit longer. but does it really matter when he continued to treat you the same way? his love is always patient and kind and calm like the gentle wind. his love is always a ‘thank you’ and ‘lets build a home together’. ‘lets be at peace and let me bring you flowers’. ‘let us eat at this table together. i will bring a vase and you put the flowers in. i will kiss you and you kiss me back.’ it is so, so simple and thats what makes it truly wonderful.
‘what not, do I see, when I see
any rendition of your existence?
you reinstated the dream in me;
its sparkling collective of wishes’
BELPHEGOR + “to you” by Frank O’Hara
he knew that he loved you because the stars seemed to spell it out for him. he knew that he loved you because his love found rivers and mountains and sunsets and sunrises in your being and in your eyes. his love continues to turn you into stories connected to him because it doesn’t let you go. you chose each other and you continue to stay together. consistency. before he met you, he found comfort in the stars but true happiness was only found when he held you under them - when he talked to you. ‘i will always love you’ slips off from his tongue so easily when he sees you. you two build love, like architects do, and then you showcase it to the rest of the world.
‘what is more beautiful than night
and someone in your arms
that’s what we love about art
it seems to prefer us and stays’
DIAVOLO + “be arrogant” by Mahmoud Darwish
Diavolo has always seen you as someone so magical that you simply had to be hiding in everything. no, rather, everything was hiding in you. Sometimes he still blurs that line but he doesn’t mind - you’re that special that both of them are true. so, what he wants his love to convey is that you should always feel what he thinks of you. for a long time he has been the one with the biggest distance than the rest - almost unreachable. but even then. even while you were not aware - you remained the one he loved. yes, you are everything to him - a human, a lover, an angel, that special someone he loses his arrogance for. his love makes him feel small when he stands next to you. he loves comparing you to the earth itself - full of hope and possibility and too good to be true because he has lived so long yet it is your existence that truly shines.
‘no matter your distance from me.
you will remain an angel in my eyes and flesh.
you will remain as our love wills to see you.’
BARBATOS + “sorting laundry” by Elisavietta Ritchie
(actually made me cry while thinking of barbatos)
his love is unable to control the way you overflow into everything. into his dreams, his fantasies, his hopes and his hands. he has done ‘mundane’ chores for centuries and when they’re connected to you - they become his place of unravelling. he wonders how you have come to be folded into his life. all these ‘silly’ things are actually stories. when you got so emotional over the washing machine eating your favorite sock and when he gifted you these flowers that you liked so much that magic simply had to be used to keep them forever. you keep overflowing into everything. into public and private displays of love, into his constant thoughts. He doesn’t even dare to imagine what would happen if suddenly one day - you decided to leave him. he never lets you fold your own laundry. something about this act makes him so emotional that you can’t help but give in to his sincere eyes.
‘well washed dollars, legal tender
for all debts public and private,
intact despite agitation;
and, gleaming in the maelstrom,
one bright dime,
broken necklace of good gold
you brought from Kuwait,
the strangely tailored shirt
left by a former lover...’
SIMEON + “being to timelessness as it’s to time’ by E.E. Cummings
simeon knows that time matters in all things and its his tendency to always wonder about it while he loves. since time exists in all things that means that his love does too. in the air, the ocean, the land. in the places so many people cannot reach. he knows that lovers suffer but his suffering is rather sweet - its not tangible; it is simply worry for you. simeon will stand in front of anyone who asks - and if someone deems his holy love as anything but true - he won’t remain quiet. when your fingertips brush he is overjoyed. his love finds immense joy in all things that come back to you. this love has no fear. this love knows just what to say. it doesn’t matter what sages have to say; it only matters when you speak.
‘love is the voice under all silences,
the hope which has no opposite in fear;
the strength so strong mere force is feebleness:
the truth more first than sun more last than star’
SOLOMON + “poem for haruko” by June Jordan
(big thanks to @gatchagay that is the biggest solomon lover i know. i just couldn't find the perfect poem for him and they helped me)
when he walks from a simple grocery run to the place he calls home, solomon can’t help but wonder about his long life. you are definitely inside this home - if your form wasn’t sitting on the sofa that is already 3 years old then it would just be a simple house he holds no fondness for. because of you - so much has happened. the reason solomon never thought just one place could hold all of his love and sadness and happiness - is because he never had anyone to share those things with. he has witnessed the world change but his love for you just keeps blooming as it always has. that is the natural tendency. and when he comes inside, you hold his hand and he can’t help but bloom all over. plenty would describe him as fickle but he only dedicates himself to that which is truly worth it. you, this home, and the fact that your trace can be felt everywhere.
‘now I do
relive an evening of retreat
a bridge I left behind
where all the solid heat
of lust and tender trembling
lay as cruel and as kind
as passion spins its infinite
tergiversations in between the bitter
and the sweet’
RAPHAEL + “love’s philosophy” by Percy Shelly
he has always seen holiness in everything. and there is truly nothing more holy than love. his love often feels like water - constantly wrapping around you; not changing in intensity but instead shaping to the way you need it to be. He is an angel and his love has been predestined; divine laws dictated it. Despite this, he knows that it doesn’t come without any work. His love is both an eternal attempt and admiration as well as divinely eternal.
‘nothing in the world is single;
all things by a law divine
in one spirit meet and mingle.
why not I with thine?—’
THIRTEEN + “serenade” by Djuna Barnes.
for someone that is best characterzied as ‘impulsive’ you would expect the same to be the description of their love. but, thirteen fell for you impulsively and so quickly that actually wording it, actually sounding it out and allowing herself to be so vulnerable was hard. rejection would destroy her after she finally found you. she doesn’t ask you to come, she just asks you not to leave. she thinks that being, uncharacteristically, quiet about the love but expressing it as if it was actually spoken - would make your own feelings reach that cliff of impulse and it would all come crashing down. you would come right into her arms. in this love, you were the first one who had to start it by saying something - but once you did - that was everything she had been waiting for.
‘three paces in the moonlight’s glow I stand,
and here within the twilight beats my heart.
i’m not asking you to finish,
but—to start.’
MEPHISTOPHELES + “i am not yours” by Sara Teasdale
He belongs to one of those that refuses to admit the true reason his gaze lingers on you. one of those who feels his fingertips tremble when you stand near while he chooses words opposite of that. what good would it be to admit that he is so utterly lost in you? he has expectations placed on him - how could he get lost like a simple snowflake in the sea with a human? you are so different from him and he swears that this distance will clarify the situation but, when distant from you - he grows even more lost. his love confession came as a surprise to himself the most. it was like rushing wind. denial means nothing when love plunges so deep.
‘i am not yours, not lost in you,
not lost, although I long to be
lost as a candle lit at noon,
lost as a snowflake in the sea.’
a/n: if you disagree with my choice of poems *shows you the list of my classes* i major in this and you’re wrong. this was so so fun but so hard?? because not only did i not want basic ass love poems; they had to fit the characters perfectly and they had to incorporate both the good and the bad since the game makes us see so much of their flaws. AND TO ADD TO THAT - THEY HAD TO BE GENDER NEUTRAL. tf u think i am?? to allow a poem mentioning she or him to slip inside and ruin your reading experience?
i hope you enjoyed it!!
#obey me#obey me x reader#obey me headcanons#obey me scenarios#obey me brothers#lucifer x reader#mammon x reader#satan x reader#belphegor x reader#diavolo x reader#barbatos x reader#thirteen x reader#raphael x reader#mephistopheles x reader#solomon x reader#simeon x reader#not gi#not twst
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poema xiv. | javier peña
Abstract: When you saw him from the stage, it felt like the world had stopped moving - there was you, and him, and the space between you needing to be filled. Years gone by without the other and still you haven’t been able to stay away from him for more than twenty minutes - not when he looked at you like that, like nobody else was in the room. Not when his lips moved and mimicked yours, and the words you’d once shared became yours all over again.
You hadn’t thought it’d end like this. You hadn’t planned it. But how could you ever be parted from Javier?
Words: 6.6K
Content: f!reader; second chance romance, a smidge of angst and guilt, so much kissing, smut (fingering, unprotected sex, some descriptions of bodily fluids)
A/N: the poem is love poem xiv by pablo neruda (english translation + an analysis i think about daily and have based most of the fic on); spanish translation for the bits that are not part of the poem will be at the end
also on AO3 - masterlist
feedback is always greatly appreciated. you can send it here, too
Javier knows your voice better than his own.
For years, he’s heard that voice in the back of his mind - he recognises the tilt of it, the cadence, the drawl. He recognises the words, an old litany that seems to come from a dream. Even before he turns towards the stage, he knows it’ll be you. It shouldn’t surprise him, really - this was your home as much as it was his. He just didn’t expect you to be here, still.
He wonders whether you’ll recognise him, too, if you’ll even see him - it’s a short lived thought, because when he looks up at last, you’re already looking back at him, words falling from your lips like a chant, a dizzying siren song. For a moment, he wants to flee, thinks he cannot stay and face you, not after all these years - but there’s a warm recognition in your eyes, a quivering to the corners of your lips, and he feels at home at last.
You’re sitting cross-legged on the stage, a long skirt he remembers from your days together draped over you and pooling around you - he hasn’t had much time for art these past years, yet at any time he would look at you and see a painting, something so moving it could bring him to his knees. Perhaps it has, in the past.
You’re not even holding a microphone, the whole place fell silent the moment you’ve reached the stage, eyes turned towards you in reverence - it happened before, he knows, and he missed it. Over and over he’s lost these moments of religiosity, just when he needed it the most. He grips his beer as he listens to your voice, hangs onto each word like a lifeline.
“Mis palabras llovieron sobre ti acariciándote. / Amé desde hace tiempo tu cuerpo de nácar soleado. / Hasta te creo dueña del universo. / Te traeré de las montañas flores alegres, copihues, / avellanas oscuras, y cestas silvestres de besos.”
He’d almost forgotten these words, but as they echo through the place he’s pulled back to another night - less people, less distance between the two of you, a book propped up on your naked back as he read with a smile on his lips, watching as you dozed off, the tip of his fingers tracing the line of your spine with a goosebumps-inducing slow touch.
“Quiero hacer contigo / lo que la primavera hace con los cerezos.”
He mouths the last line with you, remembrance of those same words kissed into the skin of your shoulder, arm, wrist, a sleepy smile his reward as you caressed his cheek. It feels like he’s remembering a past life, yet the images are crystal clear as if they happened just a day before. He chugs down on his beer to quench the memories.
You’ve looked at him through your eyelashes during the whole performance, but at the first burst of clapping your face breaks into a wide smile, head bowed in silent thanks as people you’ve known most of your life cheer you, embrace you with their appreciation - Javier doesn’t join them, a pang of something like a heavy weight on his chest making him turn back around towards the bartender, empty beer at his side as he calls for something stronger. Whiskey, or rum, or mezcal.
“Hello, stranger,” the first sip is accompanied by the voice from his dreams, and he closes his eyes as your body slips into the seat next to his. He’s holding his breath, the alcohol burning his tongue, the roof of his mouth, and his throat when he finally gulps it down.
“Didn’t think you’d still be here,” he murmurs, at last turning to look at you. How often has he wished it would happen? Sitting at a bar so far away from home, he’d turn his head and see you there, smiling at him the way you are in that moment, greeting him with a I missed you and I’ve come for you. Daydreams induced by alcohol, he knew, perhaps the only thing keeping him sane when he missed you the most. “Hi,” he says then.
“And where else could I have gone?” your hand wraps around a glass he hasn’t heard you call for, the drink familiar, always the same - gold mezcal, clean, drank in small sips similar to small kisses. He’s tried to chase the taste of you with it when he was away, but it never felt the same as when he tasted it from your lips.
“You?” he scoffs, shaking his head a little as he lets the ice in his drink rattle softly against the glass. “Anywhere in the world.”
There’s a moment of silence, surprise overtaking your features at the corner of his eyes, fingers curling around the glass - and then you scoff lightly, turning your head so you’re not looking at him anymore. He can see your free hand curling over your knee, a fidgeting motion with the fabric of the skirt that covers your leg whole.
“I stayed,” you say with a shrug, and he knows there’s no malice but he cannot help hearing something more. I stayed and you didn’t. You left me behind. And then, “I missed you, Javi.”
The weight of the world drops on his shoulders and he lets go of his glass, white knuckles turning back to their color as an exhale leaves him. His hand rests on the bar counter and, after a beat of hesitation, you reach for him in silence - you know he’s heard you, can see it in the pout of his lips, the slouch of his shoulders.
“I missed you, too,” he whispers, like a confession meant for a Church and its priest, heavy on his alcohol-coated tongue. Your fingers wrap around his hand, tender yet decisive, squeezing it as he meets your eyes at last - your smile feels like a reward he does not deserve, but it eases the ache in his ribcage. “You were great up there - this place needs a little poetry, every now and then.”
“Ah, I just like to get drunk and have people looking at me for a little while,” you’re beaming, leaning in a little - he knows you’re not drunk, knows it’ll take more than the drink in front of you to get there, too. You’re still holding his hand, thumb rubbing his knuckles absent-mindedly, and it feels like no time has passed, and slipping into the familiarity of your touch is scarily easy. “How are you, Javier?”
“Holding up,” you quirk up an eyebrow at him - it’s not a lie, he thinks, because he couldn’t lie to you, you still know him too well. It’s too easy for you to call him out on his bullshit, and he cannot deal with that tonight, so he sighs. “It’s odd, being back. Slow.”
“I thought Chucho would’ve put you to work right away,” you chuckle, and slowly move your hand away from his. His fingers twitch on their own accord, squeezing your hand once before letting go of you, and he looks away for a moment as he clears his throat.
“Oh, he did,” he nods with a tilted smirk, tapping once, twice the glass, ice half-way melted already. “But it’s - easy. I get to bed and actually sleep, perhaps a little sore, but not -” he stops himself, holding the glass a little tighter. “Doesn’t matter, no point boring you with it.”
“When have you ever bored anyone in your life?” you scoff, and he can see you swinging your legs a little from the high stool, heel tapping the wooden legs as you tilt your head to the side a little. “What is it?” you ask then, gentler.
You still know him too well.
“We’re gonna be here all night, tesoro,” he almost grumbles, the endearment rolling off his tongue before he can think too much about it. You shrug again, picking up your glass and crossing your legs - it’s a dangerous display of balance, skirt covering part of the stool as your knees jut outwards.
“I have nowhere else to be,” you declare, sipping slowly at the drink. Small kisses, he thinks.
Javier knows he could lay himself bare in front of you - he wants to - and you’d take him as he is, even after all these years, even after all the hurt. Yours, his. What you and Javier had has always been complicated - it was love never made explicit; it was comfort and holding each other all through the night; it was passion that scorched the both of you and left indelible marks on your skins; it was meals filled with laughter; it was his father wondering if he was going to need his mother’s ring.
And then it was all over, the feelings still there, overwhelmingly so, but the distance too great, the fear of impossibility too big and crushing. It was a quiet break-up neither of you really wanted but that seemed like the only solution, and it left a sour taste in your mouths. It was a quick, cold goodbye regretted by both parties - you wished you’d hold him tighter, he wished he’d kissed you longer. Selfishly, you’d wished he’d stay, he’d wished you’d go with him.
That was, until he’d actually started working, and life had become a nightmare. It made him glad you stayed behind, even if it pained him. Even if it meant he could no longer sleep.
That’s what he starts with - how difficult it was to actually sleep there, how each hour was frantic, day or night bleeding into each other, no sense of routine marking the days, weeks, months, years. He won’t go into details, he doesn’t want you to know what it was like, but the drinks keep coming and he cannot help leaning into your support, aching from the knowledge that you’re listening to him, and your hand has found his again, soothing circles making his skin burn.
The monologue turns into conversation, his need to be distracted by the past years presenting in questions of your current life - your work, your home, your parents. The place starts emptying around the two of you, and one or the other is drawing closer, because now your legs are off the stool again and he’s sitting right between your knees, one hand on your thigh, head tilted leaning on his other hand as he looks at you, so close as you are.
He missed you, the truth of the statement was not lost on him before, but it hits him right in the chest when you reach over to brush your thumb across his mustache, smiling as you mock him over his lack of ability to keep crumbs off of his face from the nibbles stolen from behind the counter, an apologetic look turned in the bartender’s direction. It makes his heart jump in his chest, it makes him wonder if he should get up and get as far away from you before he does something you both might regret. And then -
“Javi?” your hand rests atop his on your leg, breathlessly calling his name until he meets your gaze. “Will you drive me home?”
He remembers how it all began - just like this. A drink, two, chatting, getting closer, will you drive me home? That night, you barely made it home - he stopped the car in the middle of nowhere and kissed you, kissed you, kissed you until you dragged him to the backseat, laughing and panting as you barely got some of your clothes off. He fell for you there and then, he knows.
“Yes,” he says, because he missed you so terribly much, and he’s tired, and though he can sleep again it’s never as good as when he slept next to you. So he holds your hand as you get off the stool, walk through the bar, get outside and sigh at the cooler air, tipping your chin back to let the night wash over you.
He leads you to his car, fingers still intertwined, and before he can reach for the door you turn to him, so close he can feel the hem of your skirt brush the top of his shoes. His gaze unwillingly falls to your mouth, and you’re smiling, free hand reaching up for him. He doesn’t hear it, just reads it on your lips - come here, as you tug gently at the collar of his shirt, and he’s leaning forward without need for further instructions.
Javier kisses you - he doesn’t start slow, lips crashing onto yours. It’s desperate and needy, as if he fears it’ll be over too soon, as if he thinks you’ll disappear any moment now and he needs to take and take and take as much as he can, prodding at your mouth with his tongue until you yield, parting your lips for him with a sigh.
Your back is pressed against the side of his car, the hand not holding his reaching up to sink into his hair - it’s homecoming, each piece of you fitting together, your bodies remembering each and every part, each and every movement.
Neither of you wants to break it off, his hand carefully dipping underneath your shirt as he presses himself into you further and further, your head craned back and resting against the glass of the car, arm hooked around his shoulder for balance. Eventually, your lungs demand air, the world blurred with dizziness once he parts with a gasp - and immediately dives his head back down, open mouthed kisses left along your cheek, and jaw, and neck. It’s easy to succumb to the bliss of his touch, letting yourself be pulled back in time as his lips mold to the curve of your neck when you tilt your head to the side, exposing yourself to him furthermore.
“Did you ever think of me? When you were away?” it slips from your lips before you can stop yourself, a pathetic whine that makes you tense for a moment, eyes opening wide, and then -
“Every day,” he replies, kissing his way across your collarbones, hands gripping your waist so tightly it’s almost painful. You relish in it, the ache that keeps you grounded, that reminds you it’s real, he’s here. “It was unbearable.”
And then he stops, so sudden it makes you gasp when his forehead hits your shoulder, a heavy exhale caressing your skin. He’s still gripping your hip, still pressed harshly against you, but every motion has stopped - he’s perfectly still, almost not breathing.
“Javi?” you whisper, turning your head as much as possible. Your chin brushes the side of his head, and his only acknowledgment of having heard you is a squeeze to your side. Slowly, you drag your hand up the nape of his neck, through his hair again, a gentler caress. “Javi, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean -”
“I’ve missed you every day,” he lifts his head a little, and you stand cheek to cheek as his chest heaves. “But I’m not who I used to be.”
“Neither am I,” his hair spikes up under your touch, and he leans into you to the point you feel your breath shorten. You don't mind it that much. “But you’re still my Javi underneath all that,” he shudders, something between a sigh and a sob leaving his parted lips. “And we can just try.”
Time stretches as you hold onto each other, the parking lot almost too dark for comfort, and then he kisses your cheek - it’s chaste, quick, then moves up to your forehead and lingers there as your eyes flutter shut.
“Let’s go home,” you say in another whisper, and he nods ever so slightly, lips still brushing your skin as he eases his hold on you.
It takes him a moment longer to take a step back, and without his support your body feels weightless. You squeeze his hand still in yours, a reassurance for the both of you, and his lips - raw and red from kissing - bend in a little smile as he opens the door for you. Then it’s you lingering before stepping inside, still refusing to let go of his hand - as you do, he bends over and leans into the car, pressing yet another kiss to your lips that you chase with a sigh of surrender.
Javier’s smiling when he climbs into the driver’s seat - a little one, that spreads the redness of his cheeks further. The alcohol, the kissing, the tender touches - he feels as if his heart might burst out of his chest, and he’s quick to drive out of the parking lot, one hand immediately reaching for you.
His hand rests on your thigh, thumb rubbing circles above your knee and wrinkling the fabric of the skirt mindlessly - it’s a comforting touch, its heavy weight familiar and soothing hat has you melting into the seat with another sigh, eyes fluttering shut as your head tilts slightly to the side and you part your legs ever so slightly. Your muscles twitch, encouraging him forward, and though his eyes remain fixed on the road - it’s not a long way to your house, and Javier seemed determined to make it even shorter - he chuckles, squeezing the soft flesh of your inner thigh in earnest.
“Tan impaciente,” he hums, but obliges, curling his fingers around the fabric of the skirt until it’s bunched up enough for him to slip his hand underneath. You’re still my Javi - teasing and willing, warm hands knowing exactly where and how to move, a slow drag of his fingertips across your inner thigh as you lean further into the seat, head tipped back - that has him slow the car down a little.
Javier’s touch is electrifying, brushing all the right places as he moves up and up and up, shapeless figures dancing across your skin until he reaches your core. His grip on the wheel tightens as he presses two fingers above your underwear, eliciting a soft gasp from you. He doesn’t linger - he never has, he’s never been mean with it, always reaching for your pleasure before anything else. So he pushes your underwear aside, and drags one finger across your already damp folds with a soft groan until he reaches the apex of your core.
Your body reacts as it always has, writhing under his touch quietly, mouth agape as he rubs at your clit, slow circles with just the right amount of pressure. It’s almost fascinating how, even after the time spent away from each other, he has not forgotten how to make you fall apart on the tip of his fingers, roll by gentle roll, wetness spreading over his fingertips as he quickly glances at you - eyes hooded and hands gripping the sides of the seat, hips rolling to second his movements.
“Eyes on the road, Peña,” you warn breathlessly, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth before your lips part in a quiet gasp, twitching into his touch. “God - right there, right -”
It hits you suddenly, a rippling sensation that starts from the stomach all the way down to your toes, back arching slightly against the backrest of the seat as you grind down on his hand, a silent orgasm that has your chest heaving, mouth open in a silent cry. Javier can’t stop himself from looking away from the road, still touching you slowly, dipping down and down where you’re clenching around nothing.
“Diosa,” he says almost under his breath, and your eyes - that had fallen shut, heavy-lidded - open to look back at him. You wrap your hand around his wrist, pulling him away from you - your knees knock together almost right away, legs numb and shaky. He’s looking at the road again, but glances at the corner of his eye as you bring his hand to your mouth - a gentle kiss against the pad of his fingers first before wrapping your lips around his digits, lapping at your own release with hollowed cheeks. Javier groans again, shifting a little in his seat as he grips the wheel tighter, thumb stroking your cheek down to the corner of your mouth. “We ain’t gonna make it to your house if you keep this up, tesoro.”
You release him with a soft pop, leaning a little towards him so that your cheek is resting against the back of his hand, eyes lifted to keep looking at his profile while the hand wrapped around his wrist moves up along his arm.
“Don’t care,” you hum, hand now brushing the side of his neck - his throat bobs, an askew smirk making its way across his lips yet again. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” you add with a grin of your own, gently scratching the nape of his neck - he shifts in his seat again, rolling back his shoulders.
“I do care,” he turns his head, kisses your wrist, a gentle brush of lips and his mustache tickling your skin. “I want -” the words hole up in his throat, and he leaves one last caress with his knuckles across your jaw before moving his hand away.
I want to take it slow, peel away each layer - one by one, with no rush; I want to lay you bare on a bed and kiss each and every inch of your skin, mark you as my own all over again; I want you over and under and all around and hold you in my arms and feel you fall apart again; I want, I want, I want.
“You,” he manages to say, voice so soft it’s almost drowned out by the engine as he pushes down on the accelerator a little. “Time. I want you and time. Not like this,” he sighs when you brush his hair back, a curving motion in tucking a wild strand behind his ear as it sticks out. In truth, he could stop the car and crumble underneath your touch, but he’s aching for more, for all. He reaches over, pulling your skirt down so it falls back in place over your legs.
And it does not take long to get to your house - because he called you impatient, but every bit of him feels on fire, eager and longing for you, so close, so close, your hand so warm where it’s resting still on his neck, and it’s driving him insane.
So when he parks in front of your place - just like he remembers it, down to the plants on the porch -, he’s out of the car almost before he’s even shut the engine off, and while you’re reaching for the keys he’s there behind you, arms wrapped tightly around you, hands slipping underneath your shirt. One rests against your stomach, the other trails up and up and up, a low chuckle leaving you as you step towards the entrance, steps long and wobbly with the added weight of Javier.
“I still have neighbors, Javi,” you hum as his lips latch to your neck, tilting your head a little to leave more room for his open-mouthed kisses, the tender bites that leave red marks that will be gone by morning. “I would like for them to still think nicely of me,” your front pushes against the door as he presses himself into you - broad shoulders encasing you, hands still exploring and straining the buttons of your shirt, stomach and thighs and his length trapped in his tight jeans hard against you.
“Not the first time we’ve given a little spectacle,” he replies, his whisper a warm breath against your ear that makes you shudder as you unlock the door at last.
As soon as the door clicks open, he’s pushing the both of you inside, maneuvering you around so that he can crash his mouth on yours - he shuts the door just as you drop your keys, reaching with both your arms up and around his shoulders, pushing his jacket down a little. Again he doesn’t kiss you slowly, as if picking up from where you left it in the parking lot - open-mouthed, tongue brushing the roof of your mouth with a groan as he backs you towards the bedroom.
“Shoes,” you warn - remind him, really, kicking yours off before leaning back into the kiss, one hand tangling in his hair as the other falls back down to his chest, working on the buttons of his shirt. He chuckles against your mouth but obliges, steps faltering as he removes his shoes without breaking away from you.
After that, it’s a dance through the house, chasing each other as each layer gets shed and dropped mindlessly to the floor - his jacket and shirt, your skirt, his belt, your shirt, his jeans. By the time you reach the bedroom there’s a trail of clothes left in your path, and the two of you stand still kissing in your underwear, hands mapping each other’s skin eagerly. It’s all consuming, dizzying, and as he undoes the clasp of your bra you’re backing him into the bed until he falls seated on the edge of it, breaking the kiss at last.
Panting, pupils dilated, he looks up at you, his hands fallen to the back of your thighs to nudge you forward. He licks his lips as you take off your bra, too, squeezing your legs once as a half-groan leaves his parted mouth. And then -
“This is new,” he tilts his head a little, eyes trained on your left side. He takes his hand away from your thigh, cupping your ribs as his thumb brushes right underneath your breast, the touch so delicate it has a shiver run down your spine. He traces a circle around the tattoo now adorning your skin, a single cherry blossom that’s starting to fade.
“I was drunk,” you shrug, hands resting on his shoulders. He leans in a little, pulling you forward at the same time, your knees hitting the edge of the mattress in between his thighs. “I forget it’s there half the time,” you admit, and sigh when he kisses the thin lines, dropping your head back. “Javi.”
He adds nothing but a hum, the tip of his tongue darting out to taste your skin, down your ribcage, down and forward to your stomach and down again, following the line of your underwear before stopping at your hip bone. He hooks one finger underneath each side of the last piece of fabric, bringing it down enough to nip the soft skin there, eliciting a small gasp out of you as he finishes undressing you fully.
His gaze lingers for just a moment before you’re climbing into his lap, sitting on his thighs as a hand finds its way through his hair again, pulling his head back gently until he’s looking up at you, lips parted - he can feel your heat against him, the remainder of what happened in the car dripping down your thighs and settling onto him. Unable to help himself, he grins, though it quickly vanishes when you lower your mouth to his all over again.
He could get lost in this - the feeling of your kisses, the taste of your lips, the way you’re slowly rocking against him, creating just enough friction between the two of you that it makes his head spin, your thighs shake lightly, but leaves you tethering on the edge. So he wraps one arm around your waist, holding you against him, and flips the two of you around so that your back is on the mattress, legs dangling from the bed and quickly reaching up to lock him in as he steps out of his underwear.
He kneels on the bed, guiding you back and holding his weight above you as he moves, hard length brushing your folds with each shift, causing both of you to sigh and groan and plea, hands searching desperately for something to hold on - his shoulders, the sheets, his hair, your hand - until he settles both of you exactly where he wants you to be, in the middle of the bed, covers ruffled already underneath you. One of his hands dips between the two of you, wrapping around his length to align himself with your entrance.
“Can I -” he’s breathless, hazy eyes wandering across your body underneath his as if it were a dream, a mirage, something he can’t quite believe just yet.
“Sì,” you urge, arching into him, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Yes, Javi, please.”
He gasps as he sinks into you, mouth hanging open as he forces himself to keep his eyes on you, on your expression, his movements slowly as you open your legs furthermore to accommodate him, gasping breaths making your chest heave. And then he’s toppling over, head falling into the crook of your neck as he mouths at the skin, hips stuttering when you clench around him and drag your nails down his back.
“Te extrañé,” he whispers against you, words drowned by your keening as he pushes himself forward - so he repeats it, over and over until the words are etched into your skin. “Te extrañé, te extrañé, mi amor, mi querida - fuck. Te extrañé.”
He groans when he presses himself flush against you, a shuddering in his breath that ripples across your shoulder and makes you hold him tighter with a weak cry, back arching into him - your eyes flutter shut, stars dotting your vision as the line of pain and pleasure blurs, vanishes, and your body recognises him. You’re trembling when both your arms wrap around him, holding him tight against you, legs braced at each side of him.
“Darling, my darling,” you’re cooing, hand brushing the side of his head, and there are tears dwelling at the corners of your closed eyes because you had forgotten how his weight over you felt, how familiar and comforting it was - still is. “I’ve missed you, too. I -” you gasp when his hips shift, rutting into you and pushing you a little higher on the bed. “Así.”
“Yes?” he seeks confirmation, pulling his head up from the curve of your neck - his hand moves up, ghosting your neck before cupping your jaw as you’re nodding, bottom lip trapped between your teeth as you grip his shoulders harsher. “Mirame, tesoro. I need to see you,” he pushes his thumb a little into the juncture of your jaw, and your mouth hangs open - heavy breaths fall from your lips as you force your eyes to flutter open.
You’re breathing into each other as he starts to move, agonizingly slow at first - he pulls his hips back until he's almost fully out of you, and then, still slow, buries himself back in until he's pressed flush against you. Back and forth, back and forth, the drag making you feel each part of him, and he kisses the corners of your eyes, kisses the tears away.
Time and you, he said - I want time and you. So he’s taking his time, and it's maddening and oh-so-good. You trace his face with the tip of your fingers, something you used to do when he was asleep in the early mornings and you’d wake up before him, committing to your memory each bump, each curve, each shape.
He kisses the pads of your fingers when you trace the line of his lips, then wraps them around your thumb, sucking it into his mouth. There’s nothing provocative to it - it’s another attempt to be close to you, closer. It’s what the whole night has been about.
When you saw him from the stage, it felt like the world had stopped moving - there was you, and him, and the space between you needing to be filled. Years gone by without the other and still you haven’t been able to stay away from him for more than twenty minutes - not when he looked at you like that, like nobody else was in the room. Not when his lips moved and mimicked yours, and the words you’d once shared became yours all over again.
You hadn’t thought it’d end like this. You hadn’t planned it. But how could you ever be parted from Javier?
He picks up his pace, gasping when his hips snap against yours and you keen, the sound sending a ripple down his spine, the burning in the pit of his stomach brighter. The movements are smooth, slick gathering between your bodies - his, yours, it’s impossible to discern in that moment. It’s all just noise, skin against skin and sighs and moans and suddenly there is no telling where you end and he begins.
Javier, his name from your lips, over and over, and he kisses it right from your mouth - you try to keep him close, arm wrapped around his shoulders, try to arch into him to get just a little more, meeting his thrusts half-way. Por favor, Javi. Javi. My Javi.
He straightens his back with a strangled moan, heavy-lidded eyes looking down towards you as you writhe against him - his thighs press into yours as he pulls you closer by the hips, one hand staying there to keep guiding your rocking against him while the other shifts up, brushing your tattoo again. The new angle has you shuddering, knees pressing harshly into his sides as you moan, back still arched, each muscle going taunt.
“Diosa,” he repeats, out of breath, gaze wandering down your body as his thrusts start to falter, and it’s now mostly a rocking against each other, desperately seeking your release. He groans when his gaze falls to the place your bodies meet, the mess you’ve made of each other - and he can see himself shifting inside you, his hand moving down from your ribs to your lower stomach, pressing down.
You squeeze around him as you’re coming, orgasm washing over you so suddenly it knocks the breath out of your lungs and you’re grasping for him, back and shoulders and head lifting off the mattress as you reach for his shoulders, arms, anything to hold onto to as your whole body seizes and shakes against him, vision flashing white. He hooks one arm around you, sitting back on his heels and pulling you tight into his chest, letting you ride out your high with a string of curses and heavy panting, gushing around him, and then -
“Inside,” you mutter into his chest, leaving marks down his back he hopes never fade. “Want you inside, Javi. I want to feel you,” there’s a pleading note in your voice, a whine that drags on as he tumbles over the edge with one last thrust at your words.
A broken moan escapes him, his eyes falling shut as he muffles it into the crook of your neck, biting the soft skin there. The whole room is spinning, and he’s holding you so tightly he can feel the shift of your ribs as you tilt your head a little, trembling hand coming up to his hair to comb it back as his own orgasm goes on and on and he’s twitching inside of you until he’s spent, and still he holds onto you while you cradle his head, regaining your breaths.
You remain like that a while longer, your releases dripping down yours and his thighs, the thin layer of sweat formed making everything the more sticky - and yet he doesn’t mind it one bit, because he feels calm, at peace at last, with the sound of your heart beating under his ear, and your fingers brush his hair at the side of his head. He’s fallen asleep countless times under that same touch, and his breathing slowly starts to even out.
“Still with me?” you call in a hum, thumb tracing the shell of his ear. His forehead falls to your chest with a softer groan, arms tightening around you even more if possible, and you smile while resting your chin on top of his head. “Javi?”
“Why that poem?” his voice is low, warm breath fanning across your skin - unable to help yourself, you snort, moving your head back to look down at him. He keeps his forehead to your skin, the tip of his nose brushing your sternum.
“Are you seriously asking this right now?” he nods a little, and you can feel the smile on his lips as he kisses your chest once before tilting his head back to meet your gaze - his eyes are dark and impossibly soft, delicate smile grazing his mouth. You sigh, hand caressing down his jaw before hooking your index underneath his chin to guide his head a little higher. “Because it reminded me of you - of us,” you admit softly, and he brushes his lips to yours.
He guides you back towards the mattress, movements slow and careful, but remains so close the friction brings a whine to your lips, and he kisses you again in apology, his weight pinning you down to the bed.
“Why?” he asks, voice still hoarse, and keeps kissing your jaw, your neck, hand wandering down to hitch your leg up his side - he doesn’t move, ever so careful with you, but still peppers your skin in gentle, mind-numbing kisses.
“Mientras el viento triste galopa matando mariposas / yo te amo, y mi alegría muerde tu boca de ciruela,” he lingers above your heart, gaze lifting towards you as he nips the soft flesh of your breast, gaining a small gasp from you and your fingers tugging at his hair without pulling him away. Yo te amo, you repeat under your breath, before continuing. “Cuanto te habrá dolido acostumbrarte a mí, / a mi alma sola y salvaje, a mi nombre que todos ahuyentan,” the first time you heard this was with his voice, mere weeks before he was gone. It stuck in your mind almost painfully, a constant reminder of his absence - that was what you had to get accustomed to. “Hemos visto arder tantas veces el lucero besándonos los ojos / y sobre nuestras cabezas destorcerse los crepúsculos en abanicos girantes.”
The late nights bled into early mornings, sunrises spent outside in the circle of his arms, or the first morning lights waking both of you up because you’d forgotten to close the blinds, too taken with the other - he doesn’t need to be reminded. He doesn’t need further explanation. Javier has never been too eloquent, so instead he kisses his affection across your skin, caressing you with reverence, and just a few words fall from his bruised lips.
“También yo te amo,” another whispered confession, this time for you only. And furthermore, “I’m sorry.”
“Javier,” you guide him up again, until the tip of your nose is brushing his and you cup his cheeks, a gentle brush of your thumbs across his skin as you lean in. “Tú estás aquí. Ah tú no huyes,” you whisper with a smile, and he chases another kiss but you turn your head, causing him to whine. “Tú me responderás hasta el último grito,” he pulls up, hand resting by your head. “I could never resent you, nor regret you - I just missed you. But you’re here now.”
“I’m staying,” he all but blurts out - and he knows it’ll be complicated. He knows you’re different people. He knows it’ll take time, and work. But you’re smiling up at him in such a way it makes his whole body warm again, and his heart beats a little faster.
Afterwards he picks you up again and carries you to the bathroom, deaf to your complaints but not to the laughter you reward him with as he props you up on the sink to clean you up, to kiss each and every spot he’s grabbed a little too harshly - inner thighs and hips and jaw, and time stretches on before he lays you back onto the bed without its discarded sheets, nestling into your side right away because he’s staying, he knows, as long as you’ll have him, as long as you’ll welcome him into your arms.
Perhaps this time he’ll ask his father for that ring.
spanish - english translation:
tesoro: darling
tan impaciente: so impatient
diosa: (lit. goddess) beautiful
sì: yes
te extrañé: i missed you
mi amor: my love
mi querida: my dear
así: like that
mirame: look at me
por favor: please
también yo te amo: i love you too
#javier peña x reader#javier peña x you#javier peña x ofc#javier pena x reader#javier peña fanfiction#javier peña fic#javier peña#javier pena x you#javier pena x ofc#pedro pascal characters
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Settle your perfect hips here and the bow of wet arrows
loosens into the night the petals that form your form
let your clay limbs climb the silence and its pale ladder
rung by rung taking off with me in my dream.
I can sense you scaling the shade tree that sings to the
shadows.
Dark is the world’s night without you my love,
Pablo Neruda, Then Come Back: The Lost Neruda Poems (Translated by Forrest Gander)
#Pablo Neruda#Then Come Back: The Lost Neruda Poems#poetry quote#poem quote#poetry quotes#poem quotes#Then Come Back The Lost Neruda Poems#Then Come Back#The Lost Neruda Poems#Forrest Gander#poetry#quote#quotes#poetic#translated#Poetry except#poem excerpt
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What does reading a Neruda poem feels like? It's akin to experiencing the narrative of a discreet philanderer, whimsically caring for a soulmate concealed from the visceral chain of day-to-day life. He discards his ashtray, eager to crush smoke at the tip of his fingers. Standing by the bridge connecting the rustic airs of country to elsewhere, he disregards his impulses, only to lose his love to insanity. Neruda embodies the classic fragmented man, maintaining a facade while amassing each letter as a possession. He's the lover who doesn't fumble before expressing his tender confessions to her, yet feigns not to over-emphasize on her helpless complaints. You cannot question the supremacy of his truth. He doesn't deny sitting in a rusty coffee house with a suitor or engaging in a para-social relationship. Yet, in his heart of hearts, he has sealed the contract of his choice, intending to write velvet impressions of his lost one. Everything like the crystal moon, the wind, the clay, the red branch, the flowers and the scent of nature exists only to collect reminiscenes of her, of a memory, neither extinguished nor forgotten. To him, there is no good or bad, but decadence or divine & she's the trouvaille his flammable heart encountered by chance, and forgetting her would mean forgetting himself.
#desi tumblr#desiblr#indian aesthetic#lit#literature#english#pablo neruda#spilled ink#spilled words#spilled thoughts#writers on tumblr#poets corner#poetscommunity
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get to know me (tagged by @ashstfu) <3 thanks for tagging me love!! <3
last song – mezzanine (remastered) by lady lamb
favorite color – teal + black
last movie / tv show – the gods must be crazy (1980)
sweet/spicy/savoury – sweet
relationship status – uh.
last thing i googled – best gun brands
last read – currently reading selected poems of neruda, selected poems of marina tsvataeva, new and selected poems of mary oliver & orhan pamuk's my name is red
current obsession – guns!!! & poetry, specifically mary oliver & tsvateva's, i'm having loads of fun analysing them!!
looking forward to – getting the trophies medals badges & other stuff for ranking 1st internationally!! not kidding i have lost the ability to feel sad
tagging @2truehearts @iscariotmilf @chernobyldogs @saintflint @werewolfenthusiast @horrorwild @boydrudolo @andrewblur @woundposting + anyone else!! <33
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Here we are at last face to face,
we have met,
we have lost nothing
pablo neruda section iii of “ode and burgeonings,” love poems tr. donald d. walsh // five year anniversary of the golden lovers reunion
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ℙ𝕒𝕓𝕝𝕠 ℕ𝕖𝕣𝕦𝕕𝕒 ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕞𝕡𝕥𝕤
Part I
An assortment of prompts taken from a variety of poems by Pablo Neruda. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. Reblog, please do not repost or add.
“ You look like a world, lying in surrender ”
“ To survive myself I forged you like a weapon ”
“ I will persist in your grace ”
“ I have gone marking the atlas of your body with crosses of fire ”
“ What comes over you all at once? ”
“ You are like nobody since I love you ”
“ Let me remember you as you were before you existed ”
“ I alone can contend against the power of men ”
“ You are here. Oh, you do not run away ”
“ You are far away too, oh farther than anyone ”
“ Your presence is foreign, as strange to me as a thing ”
“ I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too ”
“ She loved me, and sometimes I loved her too ”
“ Love is so short, forgetting is so long ”
“ I dream, burdened with my moral remains ”
“ Who is able to boast a more enduring patience? ”
“ I have conquered the angel of dream ”
“ You keep watch over the sea like a thief ”
“ I feel myself exist ”
“ I prize my own lost self ”
“ Who loved the list, cared for the absolute? ”
“ I work at night, surrounded by city ”
“ There is death in the bones ”
“ Death is drawn to sound ”
“ I do not know, I am ignorant, I hardly see ”
“ Death lies in our cots ”
“ It happens that I am tired of being a man ”
“ I can love you only with kisses and poppies ”
“ My feet are burning with fatigue ”
“ I am my lamenations that have no genesis ”
“ Clasp me to your life, your death ”
“ I want to be, my love ”
“ I'm of no use, I do not know ”
“ I live suddenly and other times I follow ”
#rp meme#rp memes#rp prompt#rp prompts#rp starter#rp starters#memes#starters#prompts#roleplay meme#roleplay prompt#roleplay starter#roleplay memes#roleplay prompts#roleplay starters#sentence meme#sentence memes#sentence prompt#sentence prompts#poem meme#poem memes#poem prompt#poem promots#poetry meme#poetry memes#poetry prompt#poetry prompts#pablo neruda
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I remembered you with my soul clenched
in the sadness of mine that you know.
Pablo Neruda - 'We Have Lost Even,' Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair, translation W.S. Merwin
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(Poem #1149) Don't Go Far Off
Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.
Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.
Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,
because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?
-- Pablo Neruda
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