Avis & Lilia Headcanons with an inexperienced partner 🥺🥺🥺
baby, i got you - also, I can never write it in headcanon format, my bad.
Lilia Calderu
Lilia is indulgent and endlessly patient. The first time she realises you are inexperienced, she doesn’t tease, doesn’t make you feel small. Instead, she tilts her head, reaches out, and cups your cheek in her palm, thumb stroking idly over your skin.
"Oh, amore," she murmurs, voice low and sweet, so full of warmth. "Then let me show you."
She isn’t in a rush, she has all the time in the world for you. She starts with kisses, slow and deep, never taking more than you offer. She lets you get used to the feeling of her, lets you breathe her in, lets your body relax beneath her touch.
If you become nervous, hesitant, or uncertain, she doesn’t push. She just smiles, presses soft kisses along your jaw, whispers, "We’ll go as slow as you like, tesoro."
She guides you with her hands, with her voice, with the careful, reverent way she touches you. She murmurs, "Like this, baby," as she trails her fingers down your spine, as she presses kisses to your shoulder, as she guides your hands to touch her in turn.
And when the moment comes? When you are ready, trembling, clutching at her like she is the only thing keeping you grounded? She whispers, "You’re doing so well, my love. Let me take care of you."
She is gentle, slow, utterly unhurried. She makes sure you feel everything, every brush of her lips, every warm stroke of her hands, every breathless sigh against your skin. She takes her time, lets you feel safe, lets you explore, lets you fall into the moment at your own pace.
And when it’s over? She holds you close, tucks you against her chest, strokes a hand through your hair, pressing lazy, lingering kisses to your temple. She hums soft Italian words of devotion, warmth radiating from her touch, from her voice, from the way she keeps you wrapped in her arms like she never wants to let go.
"You were perfect," she whispers, smiling against your hair. "Did you enjoy it?"
And when you nod, too blissed out to even speak? She chuckles softly, presses a kiss to your forehead.
Avis Amberg
Avis has never been loved the way she deserves. She is used to taking lovers out of necessity, used to paying for her pleasure, used to getting what she wants but never what she needs.
She doesn’t ask for softness. She doesn’t expect it.
But when she sees the way you look at her, uncertain, nervous, like you want to give her something real, she can’t pretend it doesn’t shake her.
"You don’t have to be nervous, sweetheart," she murmurs, her voice softer than usual, full of something unspoken. "I’ll take care of you."
And she does.
She takes the lead effortlessly, with quiet confidence, with patience, with a tenderness she so rarely allows herself to show.
She kisses you slowly, deeply. She strokes her fingers down your arms, over your waist, soothing, patient, never rushing you.
If your hands hesitate on her skin, if you falter, if your voice is unsure, she just smiles. She takes your hands in hers, presses them against her body, whispering, "You can touch me, darling. However you like. I’ll tell you what feels good."
She guides you with gentle encouragement, never demanding, never impatient, only giving, only offering. She makes sure you know you’re doing well, that there’s no right or wrong, only feeling, only pleasure.
"Just like that, love," she murmurs, voice thick with warmth, with devotion, with something deeper than she’s willing to name. "You’re perfect. Let me show you more."
And when you finally fall into it, when you surrender to the moment, when you let her lead you through it, slow and careful?
She shudders beneath your touch, her fingers tightening against your skin, her breath hitching in a way that feels almost fragile.
Because she’s never had this before.
Not like this.
Not with someone who wants to give to her, who wants to make her feel like she matters.
She doesn’t let herself think about that now. She just smiles, presses a kiss to your lips.
And when it’s over? When you are both spent, relaxed, glowing from the aftershocks?
She presses a cigarette to your lips, lets you take a drag, smirks lazily as she steals it back and murmurs, "See? Nothing to be nervous about at all, love."
But when she turns away, when she exhales smoke into the quiet of the room, she hesitates, because for once, she isn’t trying to convince herself it wasn’t real.
