#rip lilia calderu the woman you are | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ariascoven · 21 days ago

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✹ ── SOY CELOSA, LO SIENTO.

PAIRING : professor!lilia calderu x reader

CONTENT + WARNINGS : fem reader. legal age gap. power imbalance. jealousy and possessiveness. brief mention of vomiting. one use of y/n. pet names ( angel / little one / love / baby / dear ). biting and marking. mommy kink, reader calls lilia mamma. semi-public sex. fingering ( reader receiving ).

WORD COUNT : 3.6k

♪ favorite — isabel larosa

AO3 | MASTERLIST | C.AI BOT

Lilia Calderu, history professor — a highly respected and educated woman that treated her students with adequate respect and as her equals instead of inferiors, as many other professors at the college did. She never had any unrealistic expectations for her students, simply asking to receive the best they could do. Not too many rules either, but demanded that the few she had were to be thoroughly followed, punishing those who chose to disobey and ignore the kind-hearted warnings she gave when a rule was broken. Her gentle demeanor and method of teaching earned her a spot in the ranking of favorite teachers, but her ranking of favorite students was filled with only one person — you.

Your classmates weren't stupid, they were fully aware of the special treatment Ms. Calderu gave you and no one else. Those lingering glances and touches that lasted a bit longer than it would be appropriate for a professor to give their student, the adoring smiles being sent your way, and the way she allowed you to break the rules more often than the others. None of those things went unnoticed by the class, but you were simply too busy hanging onto every word that came out of the grey-haired woman’s mouth, standing at the front of the huge classroom, her voice the sweetest melody you’d ever heard as she talked about women’s history and rights with a passion that was beautifully inspiring.

Your usual warm smile was cruelly ripped away from you and turned into a bitter frown the day a new student was welcomed into the class and began to receive every bit of Lilia’s attention; the attention that had always been yours and no one else’s. It upset you greatly, the way the older woman barely acknowledged your presence, being too focused leaning over the new girl’s desk and explaining the lesson with gentle words.

When she called ‘angel’, that was the breaking point for you. Your jaw clenched and hands formed fists under your desk at the sound of your title being used on someone else. You were her little angel, she’d said once. The jealousy bubbling up inside of you within each infernal minute that went by was sickening, and you had to resist the urge to double over and vomit your feelings out all over the floor.

It’s not like you and Lilia even had something going on to begin with, and normally you would be ashamed of your behavior if you weren’t so enraged by the way your favorite person in the entire universe seemed to have forgotten about your existence as a whole. You were acting like a spoiled toddler that didn’t get what she wanted and you were well aware, but to pretend you weren’t affected by the situation was an arguably impossible challenge — one that you were losing and failing miserably at, unable to stop the uncharacteristically snarky remarks that left your mouth almost unwilling, retorting back to every little thing that came out of Lilia's mouth. The classroom was heavy with tension due to your behavior, shocking Lilia and your classmates, who were so used to seeing you looking at the wise woman with captivated heart eyes.

When class came to an end, Lilia dismissed everyone. As you began to stand up from your desk and gather your things, the usual warmth of her voice was missing as she called out to you. “Not so fast, Y/N. Your smartass stays behind.” Her tone of voice made it clear it wasn't a question — but an order that left no room for disobedience. You let out a huff and plopped back down onto the chair, crossing your arms in annoyance. Your eyes were unusually cold as you looked up at the professor, watching as she locked the door for privacy. Lilia’s own arms crossed over her chest as she slowly approached you with silent footsteps and a disapproving frown lingering on her lips.

“Mind to explain what the hell happened today, young lady?” She questioned, voice lower than usual, hands resting on your desk as she leaned over it, just a few inches away from you. “The little display of disrespect you showed during class is nothing like you. I need to say, disappointment is an understatement.” You felt insignificant, terribly small under her stern gaze. The words stung more than you’d like to admit, even though you knew you deserved it with the horrible way you were acting, especially towards the woman who gave you nothing but affection in its purest form.

“I’m surprised you even noticed. You seemed so concentrated on the new girl I thought you forgot about me.” The words dripped from your lips bitterly, the hint of jealousy not going unnoticed by Lilia, who simply narrowed her eyes and kept staring at you. It wasn’t like you, but at that moment, you hated Lilia — and hated the way your stomach fluttered as she scanned your face. How was she so attractive when angry?

She inched closer, a hand reaching to hold your chin between her fingers in a tight grip, the cold metal of her rings making you shiver. She doesn't speak at first, those wise brown eyes boring into yours as if reading your soul and seeing your entire life. Then she clicked her tongue, forcing your head back and eliciting a gasp from you from the roughness.

“Jealousy doesn't suit you, little one.” The huskiness of her voice made your thighs clench, heart beating insanely faster. “You know you’re my favorite, don’t you, angel?” As she questioned with raised brows, her piercing gaze was unwavering, never faltering from your flushed face, not even once.

It took a while for the words to come out of your mouth, voice trembling as you finally spoke. “You didn't even look at me today. Not until I started being a fucking asshole.” The shame, previously shielded by the immeasurable anger you felt only moments earlier, began to wash over you. Not only were you rude to Lilia, you did it in front of the entire class. As the realization finally hit you, no longer driven or blinded by rage, frustrated tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, a mixture of humiliation and genuine sadness over the feeling of rejection that Lilia’s actions inflicted on your confused little brain.

At the sight of your teary eyes and saddened face, everything Lilia could do was melt for you. You didn't even know the effect you had on the older woman, unknowingly stealing her heart and making it your own home — and she kept you there dearly, with no intention of kicking you out. Her frown deepened and a sigh fell from her lips, running her hand through her hair. She moved to stand next to you, hands carefully cradling your face and pulling you close. Almost automatically, your arms wrapped around her and you nuzzled her chest, hiding your face away from the world. Crystal tears streamed freely down your face, wetting the fabric of the professor’s silk shirt.

The sound of your small sobs filled the empty and otherwise quiet classroom, body softly shaking under Lilia’s gentle hands caressing your hair and back in complete silence, simply waiting for you to let it all out. She looked down at your crying form empathetically, heart clenching at the thought she was the one to make you feel like that — though not on purpose, she still felt horrible for hurting her special girl, the one who brightened her days even during the hardest of times.

You’re not sure how long you stayed in that position, but it sure felt like an eternity. Pulling away, you wiped your nose with the back of your hand and glanced down at the embarrassingly big wet patch on Lilia’s shirt. “I’m so sorry…” you whispered, slowly looking up to meet Lilia’s eyes.

She offered you a small, loving smile, nodding subtly. Hands moved to cup your tear stained face, thumbs gently caressing your rosy cheeks. “Don’t apologize, love.” The pet name forced a smile out of you, the usual sparkle returning to your eyes. “I’m sorry, hm? I didn’t think you’d be so upset. I’ll never ignore you again, okay? I promise.” She leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, her lips lingering against your skin for a bit longer than considered necessary — not that you would ever complain about it, obviously.

“Do you mean it?” God, you sounded pathetic, almost whiny. But Lilia loved it. She hummed and nodded, tilting your head up just the slightest bit.

“What can I do to prove how much I adore you with my whole heart, little one?” The question, spoken in a way that was seemingly innocent and genuine, was a stark contrast to the hungry look in her eyes. Desire was hiding beneath those orbs, and you weren’t sure if her pupils had dilated or if you were just imagining things.

You could feel the blood rushing to your face, the thumping of your heart loud against your ears. Your fingers held the fabric of her shirt firmly, hands shaking ever so slightly. Your lips parted, breath becoming ragged as you gathered the courage necessary to ask for what you wanted. Your mind was a mess, and it got even worse when the older woman leaned down just enough to trail her nose against your neck, the touch leaving a trail of goosebumps on its wake.

“Make me yours.” Your voice trembled, hands working to pull her even closer. You were still sitting on the chair while Lilia’s standing form towered over you, forcing you to tip your head back to look at her properly. It made you look submissive, and the words slipping from your mouth only made you seem all more irresistible.

Before your brain could process the risky words that came out of your mouth, a firm hand wrapped around your waist with a possessiveness that made you drip. You gasped when you got pulled up to your feet and practically dragged to the professor’s desk, being lifted onto the surface with a strength you weren’t even aware Lilia possessed. Hands on your knees, she spread your legs apart and stood between them before moving to cup your face.

“Are you sure you want this, love? Because once I claim you as mine, there’s no going back. It’s forever, you hear me?” You nodded frantically at her words, hips subtly rolling against the air. The motion brought a side smirk to Lilia’s face, a breathy chuckle escaping her as she shook her head in amusement. “So desperate. For me?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words died in your throat and a strangled whine came out instead when the older woman cupped your pussy under your skirt. She groaned as her palm made contact with the damp fabric of your underwear, rubbing it teasingly. You let out a quiet moan when Lilia’s lips found your neck once more, tilting your head and granting her full access. She nipped and sucked, leaving open-mouthed kisses and hickeys all over the sensitive, shivering skin. Her hand never moved from your clothed cunt, not even for a split second. But it wasn't enough, not even close.

When you moved your hips against her hand, desperately seeking for friction, a yelp was forced out of you at the canine teeth sinking into your flesh out of nowhere. The bite was painful, but the discomfort was quickly replaced by pleasure. Your eyes fell closed at the unfamiliar, yet not at all unwelcomed, sensation, a hand flying to the back of Lilia’s head and pulling her impossibly closer. Needing, craving every inch of her. She trailed kisses up your neck and peppered your jaw with featherlight kisses before capturing your lips with her own in a frantic, passionate kiss.

It was sloppy and needy, all the pent-up desire and yearning being set free after months of being pushed away and hidden from the other. The groan she let out when you tugged at her bottom lip made a sense of pride wash over you — she needed you as much as you needed her, a concept you wouldn’t deem as possible even in your wildest dreams. But there she was, the hottest teacher you’d ever had, groping your chest over your shirt. Her tongue begged for entrance and you gladly complied, parting your lips. As the kiss deepened, you simultaneously let out soft moans and gasps against each other.

When you pulled away for air, panting and with dazed eyes, you barely had time to think about your next move as Lilia pushed your underwear to the side and began to rub your clit, with no barrier of fabric between you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at the sudden stimulation, hands moving to grip the edge of the desk tightly, until your knuckles turned white. “Fucking hell, baby, you’re soaking wet.” She muttered, eyes locked between your thighs where her hand was.

You nodded and hummed, the sound coming out more like a whimper. Then every movement stopped and your eyes snapped open, wide and desperate. Although slightly annoyed at the unwanted interruption, you watched Lilia fumbling with the buttons of your shirt and taking it off your shoulders. Your bra was unclasped with a soft click and thrown away, landing somewhere in the classroom — something for future you and Lilia to worry about. Your back arched when her hands got a hold of your breasts, kneading them gently.

You let out a loud moan when her lips wrapped around a nipple, the other being toyed with by her hand. She never looked away as she swirled and flicked her tongue against the hardened peak before switching to the other one. Soft noises escaped her now and then, but you were a mess, moaning at every little bit of stimulation she gave you. Your mind went blank when she went back to rubbing your clit and planted a few kisses on your chest before pulling back up to kiss you again.

You moaned shamelessly against the heated kiss, feeling the older woman’s fingers caressing your soaked folds and sending sparks of pleasure through your body. After breaking the kiss, she brought her own fingers to her lips and sucked the wetness off them. Her eyes closed and a moan escaped her at the taste of you. Your body trembled with excitement, legs unconsciously spreading wider and hips bucking against nothing.

“You’re so sweet, my dear.” She muttered, nose brushing against yours as her fingers returned to your pussy, delving deeper into the folds. “In every way possible.” She grinned at the breathless giggle you let out at the words, enjoying the way the sound turned into a moan full of lust when she pushed two fingers inside you. Your warmth welcomed her eagerly, inner walls pulsing around her digits, which she thrusted in and out slowly.

“Mamma…” The whiny word came out of your mouth before you could stop it, too turned on to think straight. Lilia’s eyes widened at the same time yours did, simultaneously realizing what you had called her. “Fuck, Lilia, I’m—” She didn’t let you finish, her free hand grasping your chin.

“Call me that again.” When you obeyed, the desperation audible in the moan she let out matched yours. The sound made your eyes widen further, and so did the third digit that was pushed inside you without a warning. She was so deep, the pace still arguably slow but hitting just the right spots. The grip she had on your chin was firm, almost bruising, eyes boring into yours with an intensity you’ve never seen in her before. “That’s right, angel. I’m your mamma, hm?”

You nodded pathetically, head falling back and pussy clenching around her digits. You hissed in pain; not from the fucking, but from the way your hands hurt from holding onto the desk for dear life. Lilia curled her fingers with every hard thrust she gave, gradually picking up the pace until you couldn’t stop the high pitched yelps falling from your lips each time she hit the spot that made you see stars. “So close, mamma! Harder, I—”

Your legs almost gave out beneath you as you suddenly got pulled off the desk. Your mind spun at the same time your body did, Lilia’s surprisingly strong grip harshly forcing you around, a hand on your back she pushed you forward, your upper body falling onto the harsh surface. The thrill of being bent over by your much older professor over her desk after class was immeasurable, a breathless chuckle escaping you as you looked over your shoulder. Your breath hitched at the grin she had on her lips — the most sinful thing you’d ever seen. You completely gave in to the intense pleasure you felt, cheek resting on the desk and a moan falling from parted lips as she began rolling her hips against you. You pushed back, ass grinding against her.

The fabric of your skirt was quickly hiked up around your waist, warm hands running up and down the soft flesh of your ass. She chuckled at the way you pushed back, leaning into the touch you were so needy for and begging for more — begging for anything and everything she was willing to give you. Her hands found your dripping cunt once more, realizing you’d gotten even wetter. She muttered something under her breath, something you were too dazed to comprehend, mercilessly pushing three fingers inside you.

Lilia’s experienced fingers seemed to have doubled their efforts, the pleasure becoming almost too much — keyword: almost. A hand snaked around your body to play with your tits, twisting the peaks and squeezing the plump flesh as she continued railing you. “You’re so tight, baby.” She whispered, leaning over your back with her breath fanning against your ear. “Like you were made for me.”

God, you were made for her. Completely and utterly, you were hers and no one else’s, always had been and would always be. The way no one, not even yourself, had ever managed to get you so close to orgasming as quickly as Lilia did only confirmed that theory. She whispered sweet things against your ear that fueled your pleasure, nibbling on your earlobe. “You’re getting even wetter, little one. Such a horny little thing, aren’t you?” She nagged, the tone of her voice almost mocking and the wicked grin on her face audible.

“Mamma, I’m gonna cum!” You cried out, feeling embarrassed at the drool dripping down your chin but unable to stop it. You tried your best to ignore the feeling Lilia’s desk was going to break from how hard you were clutching its edges. Your body rocked with the impact as her hips thrusted against you in time with her speedy fingers. Her hand slowly slid down your body, from your chest to your clit, harshly rubbing circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves and sending shockwaves through your body. Your moans became louder and high pitched within every second that passed, bordering on pleasure filled screams as tears began to form on your eyes.

“Look at you, crying for mamma.” She cooed, feigning pity, but unable to hide the affection in her voice. Her nose trailed the same path as it did before, moving up and down your neck and sending delicious shivers down your spine. “Cum for me, my angel. Let me claim you as mine.”

The possessiveness mixed with gentleness of her words and written on her face drove you wild, more than enough to send you over the edge. Your face fell forward and buried itself in your folded arms over the desk, teeth sinking into your own flesh to muffle the sobs and whimpers dripping from your lips as you experienced the most mind-blowing orgasm you’d ever had. You felt dizzy as your juices coated Lilia’s fingers, feeling her free hand tenderly caressing your waist as you rolled your hips weakly, completely spent.

Lilia peppered kisses on your bare shoulder and back, slowing down the movements of her fingers and only pulling out the moment you stopped moving and let out a whiny sigh, body going limp. She spun you around much more gently than she previously did, and brought her fingers to your lips. With half lidded eyes never looking away from hers, you took them into your mouth, humming with approval as you tasted yourself. Lilia watched you intently, biting her own lip.

“God, you don’t know what you do to me when you give me those puppy eyes.” She whispered, slowly removing her digits from your mouth, pupils dilating at the way you stuck your tongue out. “Or when you do that. Add it to the list.” With her hand now free from the evidence of your little activity, she hugged your waist and smiled — a genuine smile that carried all of the love she held for you.

You offered her the best smile you could, mind still clouded with the aftermath of your exploding orgasm. “I love you, Ms. Calderu.” You said weakly, arms wrapping around the grey-haired woman’s neck as you used her body to support your weakened and trembling form.

“It’s mamma to you, dear.” She joked, playfully poking your stomach. The smile on her face slowly faded and made way to a frown as she realized your upper body was still naked. Looking behind you, she caught a glimpse of the shirt, hanging off the desk and almost falling off, but the bra… She looked around the classroom. “Um—”

“We should leave it there to see who finds it.” You suggested, your voice sounding weirdly serious. You stifled a giggle by biting your lip at the way Lilia quickly turned around to face you with a dumbfounded look and raised eyebrows.

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#written for aria’s coven ♡#lilia calderu #patti lupone #lilia calderu x reader #patti lupone x reader #lilia calderu smut #agatha all along #wlw fanfic #fxf smut #fem reader #professor x student

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rippersz · 1 month ago

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thank you for blessing us with your Lilia fics 🥹🫠

Here, have another. - Rip x

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙍𝙤𝙨𝙚

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader) (Song Fic; Fluffy; Character Study; Angsty; Love Confession) (~3.4k words)

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

There was a time once in history when Lilia Calderu wanted to be a performer.

She sang the songs and recited the rituals of her coven, she honed her voice for incantations and for spells, and when the time came for her to grow up, it was rumoured that her talent was so strong, so steady and intense, that even the goddesses could hear it. For a while, it made her popular. The girls loved to listen to soft lullabies before bed, the superior witches enjoyed her singing at their events, even her maestra, at times, asked for a little tune to help get her through the rest of the evening. Most nights, when everyone was already fast asleep, Lilia would lie awake in her bed and try to picture a life of free vocal pleasure. A life where she could be an adored witch and an even better performer, one with the light feet of a dancer and the voice of an angel. A woman so good she could travel the continent, go beyond Sicily, see the fruits of the world, and be loved by all for what she could do.

It was, for what was really such a short period of time, a lovely existence. Then, gradually, unexpectedly, and terribly, her life began to pause and resume out of order, transporting her to versions of herself she had yet to meet. And though she did see those unfamiliar places, the world beyond Sicily, she was never faced with the loving, excited crowd. Most times, it was pitchforks and threats, angry faces of strange men and women, children with teary eyes, and licks of fire cast toward her body. She had never seen such fear in her life, never felt hatred so strong it seemed like a physical presence, and after a short while, Lilia Calderu realised that instead of becoming a beloved singer and performer, she was destined to run and hide for most of her life.

It came as no surprise that when the gaps got so powerful, so frequent and so bad that sometimes she didn’t remember an entire day, the coven lost their combined interest in her talent. It fizzled out and eventually became a secret kept to herself. A faded myth that some girls chattered about to newcomers. The only person who heard her sing from that point forward was her maestra. The old woman didn’t care for Lilia’s reputation, she only cared for her talent. Both within magic and outside of it. So sometimes after their lessons, unpredictably to keep Lilia on her toes, her maestra would request a song. On one afternoon it would be a ritual tune, on another it would be a chant, and some evenings she asked Lilia to sing something–anything–just so the two of them could enjoy a bit of peace.

And so Lilia would sing. She would sing, sing her heart out, and she would watch the way her maestra closed her wise eyes and swayed back and forth to the sound of Lilia’s music. Those moments in her life were the ones most cherished. When she closed her eyes, they were just as vivid as the day she experienced them for the first time: the soft waves of the ocean kissing the shoreline and the great rocks of the coast, the setting sun nearly over the horizon, filling the atmosphere with great wisps of pink and purple-tinged stratus clouds, the air smelling of whatever the cooks had prepared for supper. Her maestra in her chair, tipping her head back, enjoying the lilt of Lilia’s voice until she faded into silence and the old woman opened her eyes, straightened her posture, and gave Lilia only two claps before rushing her off inside. She could picture their moments in the garden just as easily, the birds and the wildlife scurrying in the underbrush and the burrows and the trees, the smells of rich forest plants, vines, and flowers, the way the sun reflected off of the gazebo’s carved stone pillars, the familiar comfort of the bench whenever she sat down across from her. It was a unique paradise, a home she understood she would never have again.

And a community she would never have again.

Once the coven forgot about her voice, she mainly used it for herself. On slow walks around the grounds, she would hum, during her soaks in the bath, she would whistle, and whenever she had a moment alone in a secluded place, a place of utter tranquillity, of silence and precious independence, she would belt. She would belt and she would croon in every key she could and she would do it until her throat hurt or it got too late or she couldn’t think of anything else to perform.

That’s why you never interrupted her singing in the shower.

It was loud every time, louder than the water and the washing, and it would reverberate off of the tiles and the mirror and it would hit your ears through the thin walls, but you never dared ask her to stop. You couldn’t.

No, not that you couldn’t because Lilia would most definitely stop if you wanted her to but that was just it - that was the last thing you wanted.

Lilia’s voice was polished marble. It was richer than sweet chocolate, huskier than the tang of whiskey, more gentle than the fur of a kitten. It was steady, it succeeded in its rhythm, its measure, its keys and its choruses and whenever you heard the shower curtain slide open and the water turn on, you knew to prepare yourself for a performance.

And always, without fail, it was a performance you got.

Sometimes it was a happy one, a joyous loud one where her voice went gravelly as she tried to emulate a rockstar. Sometimes it was an angry one, when she sang with a growl and a bite to her lyrics. Sometimes, most times, it was sad and melancholic, ringing and chirping like an operatic bird, and tinged with so much history and pain that you worried if she was as alright as she claimed to be. Perhaps, you thought, it was a form of therapy. That was her release. To spread the swirl of talent and desperation that built up in her body, eager to be revealed to the clouds, the cosmos, the world. It was her history, coiled up like springs, and every time she disappeared into that unique space of music, it was like they all burst up at once. History springing everywhere, bouncing from the tiles, painting the foggy air of the bathroom as Lilia stood beneath hot water and opened her mouth and released.

You imagined her there, shaking with the force of her own voice, closing her eyes, curls wet and plastered to the back of her neck, her shoulders, and letting the power take hold - not in a witch’s way but in a mortal’s way. In a way that spoke to centuries of pain, of wonder, of exploration. You couldn’t remember the moment she told you she liked her water scalding hot, but you never had a doubt as ‘steamy’ seemed to be the bathroom’s atmosphere whenever she walked out from a shower. The two of you mutually agreed to disable the second smoke detector in the flat that, for some reason, was on the ceiling in the same hallway and would have no doubt gone off every time Lilia wanted to wash up.

It was quite endearing to see her slip out followed by a gust of steam, sporting reddened skin and messy damp curls plastered to her head and neck. She looked like a wet puppy. A wet puppy that was very hard to look at, partly because she needed the privacy to get dressed but also because she often walked out in nothing but a towel. A single red bath towel, wrapped around the top of her bust that fell below her knees. The first time you’d walked into the hallway and saw that, you backpedalled into your room so fast you nearly fell and cracked your head open on the floor. It was embarrassing sporting a blush for the rest of the evening, but she didn’t seem to notice - or perhaps didn’t care.

And why would she? You were two women. You could be normal about things like that. About bodies and nudity and the curves of the female figure and the curves of Lilia’s body specifically.

Yes, absolutely. Normal. You could be normal.

You could be normal about the shower singing.

You could be normal when Lilia sang of love.

You could be normal when she sang of love in different languages like French and Latin and Sicilian and Greek and something else, something ancient, that you’d never heard before.

You could be normal when her voice dipped into a low husk as she cooed, emulating the style, the niche, of a beautifully dressed jazz singer in a dimly lit jazz bar.

You could be normal when she hummed something light and sweet beneath her breath, dressing her voice up as the garlands of Spring.

You could be normal when she poured her entire heart into a note.

You could be normal when she stole your mind away with a whistle.

You could be totally normal about things like that.

You could be totally normal about it all.

Totally normal.

Yeah.

Nothing but normalcy.

───༺༻───

You had a favourite song.

It was stupid. So stupid. You weren’t sure how you allowed it to happen, but it happened and because of it, you were screwed. Screwed. So stupid…

You had a favourite song.

She sang it the same way every time, with soft prolonged vowels and crystal clear tones, like windchimes and violins. She sang with heart, with soul, her tongue was fluid in the first verse, her inflection lilting and gentle in the second, and her mouth shook with power as she belted the third. A mezzo-soprano through and through you came to learn after looking it up one day (just another example of your foolishness).

You had a favourite song.

It was cold honey in her mouth, made for her voice, crafted for most of her range. For the sweet and soft, the careful and gentle, to the rough and loud, strong and courageous. She could roar and whisper, cry and laugh, be righteous and upset all at once. It was so moving the first time you heard it, the spoon you were washing fell right out of your hands.

Some say love, it is a river

That drowns the tender reed

A sharp breath. A trip of your body as your heart ran right to a stop.

Some say love, it is a razor

That leaves your soul to bleed

You’d heard her sing about romance before, in all possible forms and ways, but you never expected those words from her lips.

Some say love, it is a hunger

An endless aching need

They were familiar. You already knew them. You’d learned when you were young, when you still had the chance to sing with your mother, with your grandmother, and harmonise when you weren’t too shy. Granted, none of you could harmonise very well, but that wasn’t the point. All that mattered was how you knew it, sang it, together.

I say love, it is a flower

And you, its only seed

Your mouth moved with hers, only silence flowing from your throat, and you closed your eyes as your body melted against the sink. You followed her pause, her break, imagining the instruments there to fill the blank space, and took a deep breath when she continued.

It's the heart, afraid of breaking

That never learns to dance

It felt so nice to listen, to recognise the music and the shifts, and you pressed one hand to your heart so you could feel its beat as you heard. So you knew that it was still going, that you hadn’t died and Lilia wasn’t an angel singing you to Heaven.

It's the dream, afraid of waking

That never takes the chance

You’d never told Lilia about your music taste. You feared that saying anything would result in an accidental slip and that your soul would spill out before you could do anything to keep it inside. You couldn’t have that, you couldn’t ruin everything you built, so you sat in your songs and you listened to the ones she sang, remembering the lyrics and copying them into Google as soon as you had a moment alone. You connected in silence. You appreciated her compassion by listening at night, before sleep, and betrayed your heart by wishing she was there next to you to sing it rather than in the other room, already drifting away into dreamland. You wanted to cross the bridge, to bring your adoration up to her and put it in her lap and tell her how in awe you were, but you never felt like it was your place.

It's the one who won't be taken

Who cannot seem to give

Then she opened her mouth and sang out your childhood, the sum of your warm memories, and suddenly you were crying like a baby in your little apartment kitchen, looking around through a curtain of tears at everything you’d made together.

And the soul, afraid of dying

That never learns to live

Was it going to kill you? Keeping it inside? Telling yourself that being normal about Lilia, resisting the temptations of love, was better than being rejected? That’s never how the stories ended, did they? If no one confessed, then it was a life lived wrong. If things were unsaid, it was an opportunity lost. If you didn’t tell Lilia, then it was another dead end.

When the night has been too lonely

And the road has been too long

Oh her belt. Oh she way she sang. Harrowed, lost, speaking of times she was familiar with, loneliness that she knew like the back of her hand, a road she’d been travelling since the day she was born.

And you think that love is only

For the lucky and the strong

Something she never had, something she could never keep for herself, no love for Lilia Calderu because she was not lucky and she was rarely strong. She lived her life in pieces, luck was not a friend, and she ran from every place where she found solace, and strength was never a lesson learned.

Just remember in the winter

Far beneath the bitter snows

But that didn’t mean time stopped moving or stopped passing. It didn’t mean the world took love away on purpose. She knew this. She understood that life was meant to be lived a certain way, and that for her it was different. But who needed linear time when she had nonlinear time? Who needed order when she experienced the bits out of order, over and over, and found that still, in every space, in every world, she maintained her talent and her passion?

Lies the seed that with the sun's love

In the spring becomes the rose

Who needed desolation and exhaustion and hopelessness when hope was so strong? So eager to persevere?

Why did Lilia need to believe that she could not be loved if you were there to love her?

“Darling? What’s wrong?”

You were dry-heaving, clutching at your chest like it would stop the breaking of your heart, the cracks and the fractures, and you were so loud that you didn’t hear the bathroom door open. Tears made your cheeks warm and your breaths, your sobs, turned you red. The world was numb, only a collection of brief sounds, but Lilia’s voice, as it always did, pulled you back. She was blurry behind tears, but you looked at her anyway, pitiful and sad, and didn’t even bother to hide when she ran forward in her towel and tugged you into her warm arms.

“Did something happen?” She whispered, patting at your hair, doing all she could to soothe you, and you could only cry harder against her shoulder.

Smelling her shampoo, feeling the natural warmth of her soft skin, revelling in the grounding sensation of loose drops of water smearing from her hair onto your head and neck, unable to hold yourself back from wrapping your arms around her and holding on like she’d fall to sand otherwise. These were the things that made you break.

“I love you,” your voice was barely there, not even a whisper, as you spoke against her skin. “I love you.”

“What? What are you saying, honey? Speak up, baby, let me help you.” She sounded so worried, so pained, so shocked but determined to help, and you shook your head to rid yourself of fog.

“I love you.” It was a croak. “I love you.” A louder croak. Until you were repeating it into her shoulder, falling apart against her body, clutching her like a dead man to life. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you Lilia. I love you Lilia. I’m so sorry, I love you.” I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. It was all you knew. It was all you felt.

“I’m in love with you.” A huff of breath, a final stutter, as you swallowed harshly and sniffled and cleared your throat. Your eyes burned something fierce, still red and puffy and wet, but you kept them open and stared at the side of her neck when you said it again. “I am in love with you.” It was a shameful whisper, an out of place declaration, but you were overwhelmed and she was there to hold you and you felt like nothing else mattered in that little moment. Only your love for her. Only Lilia.

She was quiet. Her hands still moved, running along your back over your shirt, patting down your hair, resting her chin on your shoulder. She was quiet.

“Was it the song?” She whispered, and you nodded. “Was I too loud?”

“No,” you said too quickly, loosening your grip, preparing to move away, but Lilia didn’t budge. Not a single muscle moved. And so you held on again, surprised, and admitted softly, “You were perfect.”

She was still quiet. For a little while, that’s how it was. Your heart began its slow recovery, piecing itself together, readying the battle stations for the moment she properly rejected you, and you shook lightly in her arms while you tried regulating your emotions. And Lilia was still and quiet. Petting you, holding you, not worried at all about her towel or how much water was getting on the floor. You were going to mention it, going to try and move on from the moment so you could return to the way things were as if you hadn’t just poured your soul out to her like you always told yourself you wouldn’t, but then something happened.

Her throat moved against your ear, a light buzz, then a louder one.

“Lies the seed,” she sang softly, “that with the sun's love… in the spring… becomes the rose,” she trailed off, slowly, into a gentle hum, and your heart trembled, barely holding on, and you almost choked on your breaths when Lilia finally moved.

Her hands were gentle, detaching you from her, slowly pulling back so soft damp palms could move up to cup your cheeks. There was only one place to look, into those deep amber eyes, and you felt your expression crumble when you saw the quiver of her lips, the tears, the furrow of her dark brows, the way her curls stuck to the sides of her face. No makeup, no armour, no magic, bare for the world to see, open and vulnerable in a way never experienced, felt, witnessed before. You looked at her, stunned, and saw the fear and the hesitation in her gaze. She was so scared, so worried about the consequences, about what would happen if love once again only favoured the lucky and the strong. But the desperation lurked - the same need you saw in yourself. The knowledge that to keep it inside was to kill.

And why succumb to death when you could love instead?

“You are my sun,” Lilia breathed, raspy and gentle, her chest heaving with breath. Her cheek twitched like she wanted to smile, but you were frozen, and you could only look at her like a lost child. “And I love you.”

And she loved you.

Lucky and strong.

Your rose.

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The Rose by Bette Midler you will always be famous... - Rip x

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