#i have more but yeah it was getting long

[bixels]

Learning that fans hated Applejack and called her "boring" is crazyyy to me because I genuinely, unironically believe AJ's the most complex character in the main six.

Backstory-wise, she was born into a family of famers/blue collar workers who helped found the town she lives in. She grew up a habitual liar until she had the bad habit traumatized outta her. She lost both her parents and was orphaned at a young age, having to step up as her baby sister's mother figure. She's the only person in the main gang who's experienced this level of loss and grief (A Royal Problem reveals that AJ dreams about memories of being held by her parents as a baby). She moved to Manhattan to live with her wealthy family members, only to realize she'll never fit in or be accepted, even amongst her own family. The earlier seasons imply she and her family had money problems too (In The Ticket Master, AJ wants to go to the gala to earn money to buy new farm equipment and afford hip surgery for her grandma).

Personality-wise, she's a total people-pleaser/steamroller (with an occasional savior complex) who places her self worth on her independence and usefulness for other people, causing her to become a complete workaholic. In Applebuck Season, AJ stops taking care of herself because of her obsessive responsibilities for others and becomes completely dysfunctional. In Apple Family Reunion, AJ has a tearful breakdown because in she thinks she dishonored her family and tarnished her reputation as a potential leader –– an expectation and anxiety that's directly tied to her deceased parents, as shown in the episode's ending scene. In The Last Roundup, AJ abandons her family and friends out of shame because believes she failed them by not earning 1st place in a rodeo competition. She completely spirals emotionally when she isn't able to fulfill her duties toward others. Her need to be the best manifests in intense pride and competitiveness when others challenge her. And when her pride's broken, she cowers and physically hides herself.

Moreover, it's strongly implied that AJ has a deep-seated anger. The comics explore her ranting outbursts more. EQG also obviously has AJ yelling at and insulting Rarity in a jealous fit just to hurt her feelings (with a line that I could write a whole dissection on). And I'm certain I read in a post somewhere that in a Gameloft event, AJ's negative traits are listed as anger.

Subtextually, a lot of these flaws and anxieties can be (retroactively) linked to her parents' death, forcing her to grow up too quickly to become the adult/caregiver of the family (especially after her big brother becomes semiverbal). Notice how throughout the series, she's constantly acting as the "mom friend" of the group (despite everything, she manages to be the most emotionally mature of the bunch). Notice how AJ'll switch to a quieter, calmer tone when her friends are panicking and use soothing prompts and questions to talk them through their emotions/problems; something she'd definitely pick up while raising a child. Same with her stoicism and reluctance at crying or releasing emotions (something Pinkie explicitly points out). She also had a childhood relationship with Rara (which, if you were to give a queer reading, could easy be interpreted as her first 'aha' crush), who eventually left her life. (Interestingly enough, AJ also has an angry outburst with Rara for the same exact reasons as with EQG Rarity; jealous, upset that someone else is using and changing her). It's not hard to imagine an AJ with separation anxiety stemming from her mother and childhood friend/crush leaving. I'm also not above reading into AJ's relationship with her little sister (Y'all ever think about how AB never got to know her parents, even though she shares her father's colors and her mother's curly hair?).

AJ's stubbornness is a symptom of growing up too quickly as well. Who else to play with your baby sister when your brother goes nonverbal (not to discount Big Mac's role in raising AB)? Who else to wake up in the middle of the night to care for your crying baby sister when your grandma needs her rest? When you need to be 100% all the time for your family, you tend to become hard-stuck with a sense of moral superiority. You know what's best because you have to be your best because if you're aren't your best, then everything'll inevitably fall apart and it'll be your fault. And if you don't know what's best –– if you've been wrong the whole time –– that means you haven't been your best, which means you've failed the people who rely on you, which means you can't fulfill your role in the family/society, which makes you worthless . We've seen time and time again how this compulsive need to be right for the sake of others becomes self-destructive (Apple Family Reunion, Sound of Silence, all competitions against RD). We've seen in The Last Roundup how, when no longer at her best, AJ would rather remove herself from her community than confront them because she no longer feels of use to them.

But I guess it is kinda weird that AJ has "masculine" traits and isn't interested in men at all. It's totally justified that an aggressively straight, misogynistic male fandom would characterize her as a "boring background character." /s

At the time of writing this, it's 4:46AM.

[thelostmoongazer]

so i recently watched all the sonic movies

[lmadsadness]

soundwave and his weird ahh husband who always somehow managed to get into his quaters without waking him up

[tzarrz]

i listen to fog lake too much

[coffeebanana]

okay but what if. video game designer marinette...

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Swapping tips on how to be a bestie in the bath.

[archiepelago]

alternate surface au inspired by a few ive seen around on tumblr :3

[weirdglassthing]

LOA Shiptober Day 4: How They Met

October content month was ambitious..

This one took me. Shockingly long. Whoops! I’ll probably end up jumping around the prompt list and it might extend into November 😋

I’ll try to do day 31 on the actual date of Halloween though 🫡

[aashidoodles]

Domestic Shiguang Yingdu Edition: Part 5

Except every time Lu Guang makes an error in the timeline something chill(?) happens

[mohntilyet]

veilguard spoilers regarding a josie romance. but can we talk about the letter josie sends to a romanced inquisitor because. i’m sorry. fucking losing my mind at the fact that the inquisitor and josephine are close enough friends with the guy the inquisitor duels in her romance to be invited to meet his third child. implying they’ve been invited to the other two. at a baby shower and getting introduced as the one who dueled the baby’s father because he was trying to steal your girl. antivan romances insane.

NO LITERALLLYYYYY. AND HE’S AN IN LAW. ITS TOO FUNNY. i cannot imagine how they met and how yvette probably was like “teehee…. the man that my sister spurned…. has fallen in love with ME!” and the best/worst part is that ortranto really has. i like to think of them running around with each other and secretly meeting as though their families actually hate each other (they really don’t lol) . the ortrantos would probably be delighted to have their son actually marry a montilyet like they wanted, even better that they’re actually in love and it’s not arranged!

i have this image of josie going like “you can’t marry him. is this a joke, because it’s not funny. i almost embarrassed him! the only reason the ortrantos do not hate us is because he is a very kind man who saw that i was in love with the inquisitor! ….yes i suppose a very kind man like that could love you…….. yes of course i want you to be happy…… yvette gabrielle montilyet, i fear you are not hearing what i’m saying— DON’T SAY YOU ARE ALREADY AN ORTRANTO. DID YOU ELOPE? ah okay. don’t do that. i said don’t do that. yvette come back and listen to me” etc etc

of course i must believe that there was a big scene caused (once again) by a montilyet and ortranto that ends with lord ortranto making a speech where the publicly declares his love for yvette in front of all of antiva city to see and hear. so there’s no backing out from this one. in my mind there’s a rehash of the big “BECAUSE I LOVE HER!” (ortranto, desperate but genuine), “you do?” (completely aghast josie who has somehow missed the fact her sister has been giggling even more than usual), plus an “OF COURSE HE DOES!” (a thrilled yvette) that reminds josie so fondly of her own love story that she's immediately relaxed (and suddenly accepting) about this whole thing <3

[daily-odile]

AUGH I’d love to see more time looping odile if possible,,,,, how do you think she’d like; “devolve” over each of the acts as compared to Siffrin over time :O

ok im gonna be honest i did like portrait edits months ago and just never finished them. so here you go

act 3:

act 5:

[fauchart]

S?? E?? - 'When Snakey Met Annie...'

An early season Bob-centric episode in which Ann finds Snake again after he's robbed her diner and, charmed and stupid, she tries to get him to date her - he's entirely uninterested until she mentions living across the penitentiary. The wheels start to turn and all of a sudden, he welcomes the idea... Meanwhile, Bob had been reading self-improvement books (anger management, how to let go of grudges, revenge isn't the answer etc) and was on his very best behaviour, planning on waiting out his sentence and come back to society a changed man, ready for a fresh start... But when the opportunity to escape is presented as readily as it is here, he shrugs off all of his good decisions, throws his book above his shoulder and switches back to crazed maniac in an instant - and back to hunting Bart he goes! Though the focus of the episode will be Bob and Bart, several times throughout the episode there will be appearances of Snake trying to drop the charade with Ann now that he got what he wanted - but each time he'll have to keep up the farce for one reason or another;

(Listen, Snake growing a conscience and suddenly refusing to violate carpool lane rules for a one-off joke is hilarious to me. Don't look at me like that)

While their B-Plot is going on and intermittently shows them fleeing the law by car in gradually stupider situations - Bob has managed to corner Bart against the big window pane of the Mall. As he lifts his knife, about to strike... Snake's car suddenly crashes through that window and flies out of the mall above Bart, before ramming straight into Bob and splattering him on the pavement. The end of a sequence parodying the Mall Car Chase scene from the Blues Brothers.

"Dude, that was not a shortcut." Cut to both Bob and Snake getting handcuffed. Snake looks a little more sincere when he says "I'll call you!" to Ann-Doreen as the cops make him sit in the car. Mirroring that, Bob says "I'll kill you!" to Bart as the ambulance takes him away. Roll credits.

WELL THAT WAS A LONG ONE. LOL. I worked hard on this one, so for once I'll say; please reblog and give me your thoughts! I hope you liked it!!

BONUS INFOS:

This would be the second episode with Ann-Doreen (outside of like, crowd shots and other non-speaking appearances in the background) and the one to properly set up the relationship she has with Snake. Lots of fun for that poor bugger!

I've made all the panels rectangular because I wanted to try and work in a format that's similar to actually watching the show - it's not 16:9 (nor square like it should technically be for early seasons) but I think we get the feeling anyway :]

That one other guy in the prison is just this random unnamed prisoner from 12x10 'Pokey Mom'. His first appearance would thus be in that ep I made, since it predates season 12!

Also here's me knowing in advance I'm putting way too much effort into this post:

[scarapanna]

I liked your art, you won🎉🎉🎉

WE WON NO REDEMPTION WAHOOOOO/silly

I'm still terrified of the redemption route for this clown though hdhghfg, I want his silly self to stay evil and wimsy and goofy and with redemption uhhh

We're like

I dunno I'm sooo scared devsis is gonna take away that aspect which is what makes him just so funnn. Please pretty please let him be god awful and rotten and rude and goofy if you take that route Devisis I want him to keep his funny wimsy qualities. Please please pleaseeee write him well y'all are doing sooo good with him don't fumble by taking the redemption route (And if they do it better be good and he better stay chaotic and goofy and sassy and condescending and all his "rotten rabid thing" qualities)

If they do him (And his fun aspects justice in this dreaded hypotetical) then I may be cool with it. Though the mean ass possum has grown on me so much I'd 100% miss that evil and unhinged part of him TONS, devsis have mercy pretty please/silly

[Longer more insane ramblings are in the tags hsfhfhhv]

[demaparbat-hp]

Almost

[jadewritesficshere]

Grey

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

Synopsis: Steve gets a wake up call from yall's daughter

Contents: talks of aging, kids being kids, references to smut but nothing explicit

Steve groans as his consciousness comes to. Something is hitting his face. Someone. Repeatedly.

Steve squints his bleary eyes open as a hand smacks him in the jaw again. A small smile appears on his face even though his jaw stings from the impact. "Morning," Steve's voice is still thick with sleep as he turns to look into brown eyes barely peeking over the edge of the bed.

A quiet voice repeats back ,"Morning," to Steve before arms reach up over the edge of the bed to try and grasp something. Small hands grab the blanket and tug it off of him slightly as the child attempts to climb up. At two and half, Amelia Joy Harrington can barely see above the edge of her parents' bed, let alone get on it.

Steve hoists Amelia up and sits her on his stomach. Steve winces as Amelia scrambles, a stray foot hitting his thigh precariously close to his crotch. Arms are thrown around his neck in a hug as Amelia lays her head against her dad's chest.

Steve feels like his heart could burst out of his chest from the joy he is feeling. A hug from his baby? The best way to wake up in the morning. Who cares if his jaw is still stinging and probably red, his little girl loves him.

Steve sighs in contentment. Steve holds his daughter close until she starts to fidget and wiggle. Amelia sits up and throws her hands in the air. "Happy Birthday!" She whispers excitedly, except she has no concept of how quiet a whisper should actually be and says it in a much too loud voice.

"What?" Steve asks, hand hovering near Amelia's side in case she slips. Amelia's eyebrows furrow as she pouts at him, a look that is an exact copy of you. Her arms slowly lower as she stares at Steve. "Happy Birthday. You old." Amelia pouts at him.

Steve blinks at Amelia in confusion but nods his head. First off, rude, he isn't that old. Steve isn't sure where she gets her unfiltered, blunt commentary (it absolutely isn't him). Second, it absolutely isn't his birthday. Not even close.

"Why uh...why is it my birthday?" Steve asks, unsure if Amelia fully understands the concept. Not sure if he can explain the idea of a birthday to a two (and a half) year old. "Grey." Amelia declares giving Steve whiplash. Before Steve can speak, Amelia points at the comforter," Blue." Steve smiles," Yes, blue."

Amelia points to her shirt," Green." Steve nods. Amelia taps under Steve's eye, lashes brushing against her finger causing him to close it. Steve hopes she doesn't attempt to actually poke his eye.

"Brown." Amelia declares. "Thats right." Steve grins, his girl is so smart. Amelia points to his temple," Grey." "That's ri- what?! No!" Steve's mouth drops open as Amelia giggles. "Uncle Dustbin says grey is old. Birthday makes old. Happy Birthday!"

The creak of the loose floorboard in the hall notifies Steve of your approach. You peek into the doorway of the room, seeing your two favorite people. One looking aghast and the other giggling at her father's reaction.

"What's going on in here?" You ask, leaning against the doorway. "Grey. Birthday." Amelia announces, like it explains everything. And it does in her little mind.

You hum in response, looking at your husband who seems lost for words. Amelia slides off of Steve and off the bed, Steve guiding her so her feet land on the ground absent-mindedly. He would never let her fall or get hurt. Or you.

Amelia half walks half dances in your direction. A prance in her step, she stops in front of you and grabs your hands. "It's daddy's birthday," She says before headbutting your leg. You chuckle and pat her head as she dances out of the room, in her own little world.

"You lying to my kid again?" You ask once Amelia is gone. Steve sputters as he sits up," I did not- our kid- did not lie." "Uh-huh, sure," you say sarcastically. Steve rolls his eyes at you as he gets up out of bed.

Steve stretches as he rocks on his feet, back cracking, before strolling over to you. "Good morning," Steve mumbles, hand landing on your hip. You hum back as he leans in and kisses you. Soft. Slow. Sweet. Leaving you longing for more as he pulls back.

"Love you," Steve says, fingers running along the waistband of your pants. "I love you too," you want to melt into him. Curl up in his arms and stay in this moment. Let the love and adoration fill the air around you.

"Do I look old?" Steve is the first to break the silence. Your brow furrows in confusion," huh?" "Amelia she," Steve huffs out a laugh," said I have grey hair." You chuckle as you bring a hand up, fingers threading through his hair," You have some but its nice." "Its nice huh?" "Makes you look distinguished. Handsome." You bite your lip and look up at him.

Steve knows that look. Knows it well. It's the look you gave him the first time you moved past just making out. The same look you gave him on your first anniversary. The same look you wore on your wedding night. The same look you gave before Amelia was conceived.

Steve can't help the smirk that spreads across his face. If getting old gives him that look, well, he won't complain.

"What about me?" You ask, batting your lashes. "Beautiful," Steve kisses your cheek," Gorgeous," he kisses the corner of your lips. He continues to alternate between kissing all over your face and praising you.

"My love," Steve whispers before kissing you softly on the lips. You sigh into the kiss, one hand tangling in his hair, the other trying to pull him closer.

A loud crash from the living room has you two pulling back from the sweet moment you stole. "What was that?" You call down the hall. "Nothing!" Amelia yells back, making you sigh but smile. Steve can't help but grin too. His life was a little hectic dealing with a rambunctious child, but he wouldn't trade it for the world. And he thinks, if life is like this, he can manage getting old with you. He wouldn't want it any other way.

[grifffins]

need to know your horny Headcanons about Lilia & Avis

This was meant to be a headcanon post, but somewhere along the way, it spiralled into something filthier, more like a fic in disguise.

Lilia:

Lilia Calderu is the embodiment of indulgence, she doesn’t just enjoy pleasure, she luxuriates in it, revels in the way bodies move together, in the unhurried, hypnotic rhythm of slow, lingering touch. I feel like she’d be a switch, she craves intimacy and nothing satisfies her quite like slow, drawn out sex that stretches on for hours, leaving both of you flushed, breathless, and completely sated.

I dooo feel like she’d lowkey has a mommy kink, and she wants to be adored and worshipped. The first time you call her Mommy, she smirks, tilts her head, strokes her fingers through your hair as if she’s merely humouring you. But when you say it properly, when your voice catches, soft and reverent, when your hands tremble against her skin, when your lips press into her throat and you whisper it like a confession? Oh, she shudders.

She cups your face, makes you look at her, fingers tilting your chin up as she hums in satisfaction. And when she strokes your cheek, when she leans in so close that her lips barely graze yours, when she coos, "Good girl," in that soft, velvety voice? She watches the way you wilt under her praise, the way your breath stutters, the way your fingers tighten.

She is obsessed with being worshipped, adored, cherished. She loves the way you suck at her breasts, the way you nuzzle into her chest, the way you cling to her as if she’s the only thing that matters. She’ll let you do it for hours, let you nuzzle and suckle, let your lips and tongue tease her nipples while she sighs in pleasure. She’ll lounge on the couch, sip her wine, read a book, watch tv, let her fingers run through your hair as you lazily mouth at her skin, lost in the warmth of her body.  (I also read this amazing fic and i’m now convinced lilia has a lactation kink.)

She’ll also let you eat her out for hours, too. She has the tiniest bit of a pillow princess streak, and she is not ashamed of it. She loves being pampered, spoiled, utterly ruined with slow, careful precision. If you kiss down her stomach, spread her open, let your tongue drag through her soaked folds with agonising patience? She tilts her head back, gasps softly, fingers tightening in your hair as her thighs tremble.

She lets you take your time, lets you kiss and suck and tease, lets you worship her the way she deserves to be worshipped. And if you drag it out, make her wait, hold her down when she tries to squirm? She shudders, grits her teeth, glares down at you through hooded, dark eyes, but she never tells you to stop.

And when she finally comes apart? When you flick your tongue over her clit just right, when you suck at it just enough to push her over the edge?

Lilia is loud, breathless, shuddering, gasping your name, fingers clenching at the sheets as her thighs squeeze around your head. Lilia is loud in bed.

She is also about the soft, slow, aching intimacy. Morning sex is a regular occurrence, where she is warm, sleep heavy, body pliant beneath you as she sighs in pleasure.

There’s no urgency, no frantic desperation, just slow, lingering touch, lips pressed against each other in lazy, unhurried kisses, fingers tangling in hair, bodies moulding together like they were meant to fit.

She hums, murmuring soft Italian against your lips, voice thick with sleep as her nails trace gentle patterns down your back, fingers dragging through your hair as she pulls you closer, unwilling to part from you for even a second. If she’s on top, she straddles your thigh or presses her slick centre against yours, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles, dragging out every second of pleasure, rubbing against you with sinful, lazy movements that send shivers down your spine. She takes her time, lets you feel everything, every soft, heated slide of her against you, every teasing grind that has you clutching at her waist, desperate for more. She smiles against your lips, utterly indulgent, utterly in control, letting you drown in the sensation as she whispers, “Just like that, baby. Let me feel you.”

If she’s beneath you, she sighs, tilts her head back, hands sliding over your shoulders, down your back, over the curve of your waist, pulling you in until there’s nothing left between you. Her fingers tangle in your hair, nails scratching lightly against your scalp as she guides you down, breathing soft, reverent praise into your ear. Her thighs press against yours, holding you there as she grinds against your leg or moves in tandem with you, pressing her dripping core against yours in slow, teasing drags that leave both of you breathless. She moans, lips parting as she murmurs sweet nothings into your mouth, voice thick with pleasure, soft little whimpers, sighs, hushed Italian slipping from her tongue as she trembles beneath you. She wants to feel you everywhere, to be consumed by you, to pull you so deep inside her world that she’s the only thing you’ll ever crave.

And when she comes? It’s soft but loud, drawn out, breath hitching, thighs trembling, hands clinging to your shoulders as her body shudders through the pleasure.

Afterwards, she is lazy, utterly satisfied, stretching like a spoiled cat, pressing languid kisses along your jaw.

And when you call her Mommy again, voice laced with exhaustion, stroking your fingers over her thigh?

She smirks, presses a kiss to your forehead, and murmurs, "You are utterly insatiable, tesoro."

Okay now Avis:

Avis Amberg is a woman who thinks she knows control. She’s spent her life managing appearances, mastering the art of social manipulation, playing the perfect housewife while indulging in her private affairs. She’s had lovers before, fleeting distractions, carefully chosen and kept at arm’s length, but none of them have ever truly known her, truly taken her apart, truly ruined her, none of them she truly trusted for her to give them control.

But she trusts you.

She’s a brat, a tease, a woman who knows her own mind and enjoys making you work for her. She’s calculated, measured, slow to react, until you catch her off guard. Until you push her against the nearest surface, pin her wrists, press your body flush against hers and murmur, "Is this what you wanted?"

And that’s when you see it, the sharp inhale, the way her pupils blow wide, the way her lips part like she’s about to say something clever, but nothing comes out. 

She tests you, constantly, winding you up just to see what you’ll do about it. She drags her fingers down your arms, lets her lips hover near yours but never quite closes the distance, smirks when she sees the frustration flicker in your gaze. She wants you desperate, she wants you impatient, she wants you hungry for her.

But when you catch her wrist, pull her back, shove her down onto the bed, pin her hands above her head?

She shudders.

Her cocky smirk falters, her breath catches, her body tenses beneath you, torn between resistance and surrender,  and then she lets you have her.

Avis Amberg is a squirter.

The first time you make her squirt, she doesn’t even know what’s happening.

She’s never done it before, never thought she could, but you drag it out of her, take her apart with your mouth, with your fingers, with slow, torturous precision until her body gives in completely.

She’s already wrecked, back arching, breath coming in these soft, hitched gasps as you work her open, as you edge her until she’s trembling, until her thighs are quivering around your head, until she’s gasping your name like a prayer.

She fights it at first, tries to keep some level of control, but then her voice breaks, her back bows, and she lets out a sharp, breathless moan—

And then wetness floods the sheets.

She jerks, gasping, utterly undone, and she doesn’t even realise at first. Her legs are shaking, her chest is rising and falling in uneven breaths, her body twitching from the aftershocks. And then she looks down. Sees the absolute state of the bed. Sees the way her thighs are drenched, sees the way you’re smirking at her. "You squirted, sweetheart."

Her eyes widen, her face flushes deep red, and she stares at you in utter disbelief.

"No, I did not."

You laugh, drag your fingers through the mess, bring them up to her lips.

"You soaked the fucking bed, Avis. You drenched it."

She glares. Turns her head away with a haughty little huff, pretending she’s not absolutely wrecked over this.

But she can’t stop thinking about it. Every time you touch her after that, every time you pin her down, whisper filth in her ear, tell her you’re going to ruin her again? She shivers, thighs pressing together, already so fucking wet for you

Avis also loves the strap.

Loves letting you fuck her with it, when you make her take every inch, when you stretch her open until she’s gasping, whimpering, hands clutching desperately at the sheets? She loses it completely. She moans, curses, squirms, squirts all over again, completely and utterly wrecked. You make her watch sometimes. Make her look down, see how soaked she is, how messy she gets just for you.

Avis also loves orgasm denial, being edged. She doesn’t beg. She refuses to. But if you tease her, make her wait, draw it out enough? She gets so impatient, huffing, shifting, her fingers twitching like she wants to grab you but won’t let herself.

And then she finally snaps, she grits out, “Please,” in that defiant, frustrated way

She’s a mess when she falls apart, breathless, back arching, gripping at your wrists like she’s trying to ground herself. She’ll curse, whimper, let out these sharp, high pitched gasps that she’d be embarrassed about if she had the brainpower to care.

Also we all know It’s canon that Avis Amberg likes to be called Mama.

I think she’d be down for overstimulation too. She doesn’t think she likes overstimulation, not until you push her past the edge for the first time. She’s still shaking, breathless, thighs trembling, and when you keep going, she lets out a soft, broken gasp, hands gripping at your arms. It’s too much, but she doesn’t want you to stop.  She whimpers, body tensing, then melting, utterly undone beneath you.And when you murmur, “Just one more, Mama,” she shudders, moaning as pleasure washes over her again, completely lost in you.

She loves pushing boundaries, but never so far that she risks her life, or her image. But she adores lowkey exhibitionism, just enough to make both your pulses quicken, just enough to watch you both squirm. Just enough to feel the thrill of the possibility of being caught. Whether it's in her office, or a public restroom etc. 

She'll slip her panties off discreetly under the dinner table, pressing the silk into your palm while smiling serenely at your shocked expression. She sips her drink, watching your eyes widen, your cheeks flush, delighting in the way your fingers grip the delicate fabric beneath the tablecloth.

When you finally rise on shaky legs and head to the restaurant bathroom, she doesn’t hesitate to follow you moments later. She presses you against the sink, coming up behind you, gathering your skirt in one hand and shoving the other roughly into your underwear, fingers pushing inside without hesitation.

Later, when you're tangled together in her bed, the only light coming from the glow of a half burnt out cigarette in the tray, you both take your time. No teasing games, no sharp, biting words, just deep, slow strokes of her fingers, her body pressed against yours, warm and unhurried. She kisses you softly, languid and thorough, her lips moving in sync with the slow thrust of her fingers, curling just right.

She whispers against your skin, murmuring sweet, filthy things in that voice that always sounds so composed, even when she’s falling apart with you. Her free hand strokes over your stomach, down to your thigh, squeezing gently, possessively, like she’s mapping you out in the dark.

Afterwards, Avis always shares her cigarettes with you, leaning close, pressing the filter to your lips as you both catch your breath, smoke curling lazily between your parted mouths. She smiles against your cheek, voice low and smoky, whispering teasing promises of next time. She loves these quiet moments, the intimacy of sharing a single cigarette, bodies tangled, hearts racing, just you, her, and the lingering, decadent taste of stolen pleasure.