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God I want you in some primal, wild way animals want each other. Untamed and full of teeth. God I want you, In some chaste, Victorian way. A glimpse of your ankle just kills me. 

- Clementine Von Radics, from Want





Everything about the Oscars is blinding, dazzling luxury, and everywhere Leah looks, there’s another touch of decadent beauty. It’s in everything she sees: the lights, the cameras, the ball gowns, the crystal chandeliers. 

All that is nothing, though, in comparison to Fatin’s smile as she looks back over her shoulder at Leah. 

“Let’s find our seats, okay,” Fatin says, and it’s quiet, but it cuts through the noise of the crowd like an arrow straight to Leah’s heart. “Follow me, baby.” 

Leah nods, only halfway present, head still spinning with the gravity of it all and echoing with the remnants of her speech from the red carpet. She barely remembers what she said anymore; it’s all a haze of words soaked in love, bare fragments of phrases flooding in and out. She has this sometimes, moments where she opens her mouth and the entire world pours out, then slips away when she tries to recapture it. The only thing she remembers clearly from the red carpet is Fatin’s smile: proud and tender, so loving that it aches. 

The heady rush of atmosphere surrounds her, sweeps her away. Suddenly she’s drowning in it all, the fame and the fortune and the flashes of resistant memory. The room tilts slightly, blurs around the edges; the sound becomes a cacophony, near unbearable. Leah grits her teeth, bites down on the panic as the sheer immensity of it all threatens to run her dry. 

She realizes, too late, that she’s still standing motionless in the middle of the room. Her breaths are coming fast and harsh, the noise jagged against her ears. 

“Hey,” Fatin says softly, facing Leah now, her hand cradling Leah’s jaw. “Hey, baby - look at me. Just focus on me, okay? I’m right here.”

Fatin’s face swims before Leah’s eyes, beautiful brown lines sliding into sharper relief. Leah inhales, exhales, inhales again. Fatin’s touch is an anchor in the chaos, bringing her back to harbor; Leah’s breath comes unstuck, her panic unwinding. 

“Yeah,” Leah says: heart turning over in her chest, beat settling more comfortably. “I’m okay. Just - took a minute.” 

“It’s a lot, I know,” Fatin says. “You’re good now?” 

“I’m good now,” Leah confirms. When a hint of concern lingers in Fatin’s expression, Leah steps closer and swats gently at her shoulder. “I’m good, I promise. Let’s go sit so I can watch you win that Oscar.” 

The worry slides away and Fatin’s smile takes over, confidence breaking through the curl of her mouth. “You got it.” 

Fatin takes her hand, tangles their fingers, leads them towards the front of the room. Leah follows in her wake, watches as Fatin parts the crowd like it’s nothing, like it’s effortless, like she’s Moses and the Red Sea is undone at her touch. They’re in a room full of celebrities, every person made of money and influence, and Fatin still commands respect; it’s enthralling, a spell cast over those with magic of their own. 

That’s just how Fatin is, Leah’s come to realize: she smiles and a world of doors fly open, ready and waiting. She drifts through every place she’s ever been and makes it hers, and at the end of the day, Leah is the only one she wants to return to. The realization burns warm in Leah’s chest, strong and bright and a little like falling in love. 

Their seats are three rows back from the front, two chairs draped in gold and velvet at the aisle’s edge. Fatin slides inwards to sit in the second seat without a word, leaving the one directly on the aisle for Leah; it’s a tiny gesture, and implicit at that, but it speaks volumes. In a world where Leah often feels cramped and crowded, folded in on herself to find refuge, Fatin clears space, opens windows. There’s a significance to that, one that transcends words and turns sweet like strawberry wine in Leah’s mouth whenever she thinks about it. 

They sit and wait for the lights to dim, the show to start. Fatin’s hand rests casually on Leah’s thigh, her thumb stroking against the fabric of Leah’s pants, and it’s nothing more than an absentminded habit but Leah still feels it everywhere. She has to remind herself that they’re in a very public setting, has to force herself not to lean into the touch and push Fatin’s hand higher. 

“Easy, baby,” Fatin murmurs, the corner of her mouth curling upwards in a wicked smirk for the barest hint of a second - she knows exactly what Leah’s thinking, and Leah knows she knows it. Leah blushes slightly, snared in the trap of her own admission; Fatin’s grip on her thigh tightens for just a moment, fingers digging into her skin, and the brief hint of pain is enough to spike heat between Leah’s legs. 

“Fuck you,” Leah replies under her breath, barely audible. Fatin catches it perfectly, smirks again. 

“You will later,” she promises, the undertone sultry and veiled in promise. “For now, behave. We’re in public.”

It’s meant as a warning, but it lands like a challenge: another spark of tension, another flash of heat burning through Leah like a comet tearing fire across the sky. They’re in public, and that should be enough to turn her off; it doesn’t, and maybe that’s a sign of something new, something that’s waited until now to stir itself. 

She leans in so that her lips are practically brushing Fatin’s ear, and she’s rewarded with a brief shiver so quick that anyone watching from the outside would’ve missed it. 

“I know we’re in public,” Leah says, low. “Maybe I like it like that.” 

Fatin freezes, stock still, a deer caught in the headlights of desire. Her mouth opens, closes, opens again; she’s on the verge of saying something when the lights finally go down and the presenter steps onstage. 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” the presenter says, sweeping her arms in a grand gesture. “Welcome to the ninety-fifth Oscars awards ceremony.”

The crowd bursts into applause, the lights flash once and then dim again, the stage turns as bright as gold in California sunlight, and in the middle of it all, the only thing Leah’s aware of is Fatin’s hand on her thigh; the only thing she can feel is Fatin’s touch burning against her, hot and anticipatory. 

“Enjoy the show, baby,” Fatin says, mouth brushing hot against her ear, and Leah doesn’t know how she’s going to get through this night without taking Fatin apart right here in the center of the spotlight. 




The Oscars last for what seems like years, long enough to bend Leah’s desire into something smaller, something content to wait. She slips Fatin’s hand off her thigh and into her own hand, weaves their fingers together, bends down to press a quick kiss to the back of Fatin’s knuckles. Fatin looks at her as she does, a quick-dart glance that blooms with tenderness, and smiles without words. 

The night lengthens, and the show goes on, and Leah and Fatin sit and watch and touch like they’re the only two people in this room. The awards pass in a blur of names and speeches and statues handed to faces that Leah vaguely recognizes: from screens, from social media, from magazines. There’s something undeniably incredible about this, sharing oxygen with people who’ve seemed a stratosphere apart from her, but Leah doesn’t let it go to her head. There’s only one movie star in this world who can light up Leah’s world from the inside out, and she’s sitting right next to her. 

“You’re missing the show,” Fatin says softly, tapping two fingers against Leah’s knee as yet another beautifully famous woman crosses the stage to accept her award. “Eyes on the prize, baby.” 

“Trust me,” Leah answers, fond, her eyes locked on the gorgeous lines of Fatin’s side profile. “They are.” 




Two hours later and it all becomes worth it - the host calls out the nominations for Best Actress, and Fatin’s name is the last and best among them. Leah sits up straight, her gaze a laser pointed towards the stage, every bone in her body alive with hope. 

“And the Oscar goes to…” 

Fatin’s grip on Leah’s hand tightens, and Leah’s eyes break away from the stage to look over at her. Fatin’s slouched back in her chair, the picture of nonchalance, but by now Leah can read every turn of her body; she knows the way Fatin breathes, knows the curve of her spine and the movements of her hands, and she sees the tension tucked into the lines of Fatin’s limbs. 

“No matter what,” Leah says softly, knowing Fatin will understand the rest as a reflex, and she sees Fatin’s shoulders relax slightly as she exhales.

“…Fatin Jadmani for her performance in Dawn of Eve!”

The crowd erupts in applause; Leah jumps to her feet, sticks two fingers in her mouth, let out a whistle that could be heard halfway to Dot’s childhood home in Texas without caring who’s listening. Fatin rises next to her, and Leah turns and wraps her into a hug strong enough to crush bone, burying her face in the curve of Fatin’s neck. 

“Holy shit,” Fatin’s saying, one hand cradling the back of Leah’s head. “Holy shit, I fucking won.”

“You fucking won,” Leah agrees, pulling back to place a quick kiss at the corner of Fatin’s mouth. “Now go make your speech. I’ll be right here watching.” 

Fatin winks. “Well, you know how much I love it when you watch.”

“Shut up and go,” Leah says, a flush of heat painting her face. 

Fatin blows her a kiss and makes her way up to the stage; Leah sinks back into her seat, wondering if the people around her can see the love that’s pouring off her in waves right now. She feels so much it should be shining forth as light, as colors, the entire world drenched in the pinks and blues and golds of her love for Fatin. 

Fatin crosses the stage, and the host hands her a little golden statue - and maybe it’s impossible, but Leah swears the gold shines brighter as it touches Fatin’s hands. 

“Wow, alright, hi,” Fatin says. “This is such an honor. I’ll keep it brief, but I’d just like to thank a few people. To my friends: you’re the backbone of my existence. Thank you for making me feel loved, and thank you for proving that family has nothing to do with blood. To my brothers: thank you for being there when others weren’t. Maybe now that I’m winning this award you’ll finally think your big sister is cool. To my mother - maybe my life isn’t going exactly how you planned, but it’s still the one you gave me, and I won’t ever forget that.” 

Emotion wells up in Leah’s throat, strong and sudden. It’s as if, just for a moment, Fatin’s heart is beating in her own chest; Leah knows exactly what this means to her, what it takes for her to carve these words from the convoluted, wide-spread branches of her family tree. 

“And lastly, to my girlfriend,” Fatin says. She smiles, and it’s like staring down the barrel of the sun. “You are the best person in my life, and I love you more than anything in this world. You’re the best part of every movie. Every one of my end credits has your name written on it. I love you so much, and that’s all I really have to say - you know the rest.” 

“I do,” Leah answers under her breath; “I do,” and it holds more weight than she intended: the weight of a future, a white dress, a golden tent under blinding summer sunshine. On instinct, she glances down at her left hand. 

“So that’s all for now,” Fatin continues. “Thank you, everyone, and maybe I’ll see you again next year.” 

She throws the crowd a wink and exits the stage, making her way back to her seat. Leah sits and waits for her, warmth-drunk and wonderstruck and so full of love she can barely breathe. 




“How’d I do?” Fatin asks when she sits down again. “You’re the one who’s good with words, not me, you know that - but I did my best.” 

“Are you serious,” Leah says, her gaze sweeping over Fatin the way her hand caresses her bare shoulder in bed. Fatin’s so beautiful in this moment, this light: adrenaline-flushed and beaming, cheekbones dusted with sweat and gold, one hand still clutching her Oscar statue. “Baby, you were so good. You were amazing.” 

“I’m good for you, huh,” Fatin says, looking up at Leah with hooded eyes - and it’s simple in its seduction, meant to get a rise and nothing else, but something in Leah comes undone at the sight. Fatin’s beautiful, and Leah’s in love; they’re on top of the world right now, every tide turning at their command, and Leah wants to show her just how much that means. 

“So fucking good,” Leah whispers, letting her voice drop until she sees Fatin shiver at the tone. “Do you trust me?”

Fatin nods unhesitatingly. 

“Then follow me, right now.” 

“What,” Fatin starts to say, but Leah slides out of her seat without an answer, and Fatin follows her anyway. All those stars in one room and Leah’s still true north for Fatin; she’s never been a believer, but this she wants to believe in for as long as she can. 




The bathroom is deserted, occupied only by low light thrown out by white column-style lamps resting in copper sconces. Leah pulls Fatin into the handicapped stall, locks the door behind them. 

“Leah, what are you doing,” Fatin says, her eyes wide and dark, and it goes to Leah’s head in a dizzy rush; she loves doing this, loves flipping this script and rewriting it from the bottom up. She runs her hand over Fatin’s shoulder, slips her purse from its place above her arm, and slings over the hook on the back of the door. 

“Can I?” Leah asks, holding out her hand. Fatin places the Oscar statue in her palms, and Leah tucks it carefully away into the purse. 

“You really wanna do this here, huh,” Fatin says, low and teasing, her tongue sliding along her bottom lip. Leah’s eyes track the movement, heat curling in her stomach. 

“Yeah, I do,” Leah says, her hands dropping to Fatin’s hips, pulling her closer. “That a problem?” 

“Not at all, baby,” Fatin says, and closes the distance. 

The kiss starts soft and quickly turns dirty; Fatin licks into Leah’s mouth, bites at her bottom lip, pushes her thigh between her legs and slides one hand beneath the edge of her pants. It’s all so good and so familiar that Leah nearly gives in to it, but then she remembers: this night isn’t about her. 

“Wait,” Leah says, but it comes out as more of a moan against Fatin’s mouth. Fatin smirks, bites at her lip again - her hand slides further into Leah’s pants, fingers sliding against the cloth of her boyshorts. 

Leah drags her mouth away from Fatin’s, grabs her wrist, holds it tight. “Wait.” 

“What is it, baby?” Fatin asks, her eyes softening. “Something wrong?” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” Leah says. She steps forward into Fatin’s space, slow and deliberate, pressing her back against the wall. “But I’m not important right now. Tonight is all about you.”

Fatin’s breath hitches, and Leah smiles in satisfaction. She leans in and kisses Fatin, hot and open mouthed, her tongue sweeping through Fatin’s mouth as she slips one hand beneath the skirt of Fatin’s dress and strokes at the soft inside of her thigh. Fatin lets out a whine deep in her throat, hips jumping forward to chase the touch; her hand covers Leah’s, tries to push her fingers higher. Leah instantly pulls her hand away and grabs both of Fatin’s wrists, pinning them against the wall. 

“None of that, baby,” she warns, putting her mouth to Fatin’s neck and sucking hard until a purple mark blooms beneath her teeth. Fatin whines again, her whole body shuddering. “You don’t get to touch until I say so.” Then, with a smirk: “Just sit back, relax, and enjoy the show.”

“Fuck you,” Fatin says, breathless, sliding into a broken moan as Leah sucks another mark into her neck. Leah raises her head, grins with all her teeth showing. 

“Oh, I will,” she says, slotting one thigh between Fatin’s legs and slowly pressing, watching the way Fatin moves against it like she can’t help herself. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”

“Fuck,” Fatin says, pushing herself harder against Leah. “I need - fuck. I need you to touch me.” 

“Whatever you want,” Leah says, scraping her teeth over Fatin’s pulse point. “This is your night, baby.” 

“Damn right it is,” Fatin says, and she’s aiming for cocky but it falls short; there’s nothing but desire in her voice, desire and a hint of desperation that drives Leah crazy. “Just - fuck. Please.”

“How do you want me?” Leah murmurs, her mouth at the shell of Fatin’s ear now. “My mouth? My fingers? Taking you from behind? Just say the word.” 

Fatin’s body shudders again, and her muscles tense beneath Leah’s touch. “I don’t care, just touch me before I lose my mind.”

“So demanding,” Leah says, and punctuates it with one last kiss to Fatin’s neck. She sucks hard, drags her teeth along the skin; Fatin moans deep in her throat. “If I get on my knees for you, are you going to be good and keep your hands where they are?”

“Jesus,” Fatin breathes out, “yes, okay, yes, I’ll be good.”

“That’s my girl,” Leah murmurs, and sinks to the floor. She pushes Fatin’s dress up, taps a hand against her thigh. “Hold this for me, okay baby? One hand.” 

Fatin takes it without protest. Now that the dress is out of the way, Leah can see exactly what underwear she’s wearing: sheer black lace, barely anything left to the imagination and already soaked through with desire. 

“God, you’re wet,” Leah says, running a finger over the center of the lace. “And you call me easy.” 

Fatin’s hips arch forward at the touch. “Shut up. It’s - ah - not my fault you’re so hot.” 

“I love these,” Leah says, slipping her fingers beneath the band of Fatin’s underwear, “but they’re coming off now. I want to taste you.” She pulls, hard; the fabric rips in her fingers, coming off in two pieces. 

“You bitch,” Fatin says, but there’s no bite to it. “That was my favorite pair, you didn’t have to rip them.” 

“Watch your mouth,” Leah says, nipping at Fatin’s inner thigh. Fatin jerks forward, swearing. “I’ll buy you new ones.” 

“Fuck,” Fatin says, hands curling into fists at her sides. Her arms are straining, and Leah knows she’s just barely holding back from grabbing at her hair. “Okay.” 

Leah bites Fatin’s thigh again, sucks a dark bruise into the skin there. Fatin’s wet enough that it’s beginning to drip down her legs, and she’s so turned on that Leah can see her thighs trembling. It sends a pulse of heat between Leah’s own legs, an undeniable spike of arousal. 

“Leg up, baby,” Leah says, tapping Fatin’s left thigh. “Put it on my shoulder.”

Fatin obeys, sliding down until she’s almost completely resting against Leah. She’s so wet it’s nearly obscene, glistening even in the dim light of the bathroom, and she’s shaking slightly, hips moving against the air, seeking friction. 

“Don’t worry,” Leah says, pressing a kiss to Fatin’s wetness. Fatin swears, hips bucking forwards. “I’m gonna take care of you. All you have to do is ask nicely.”

“Please,” Fatin says, and it’s almost desperate. “Please. I need you so bad, you’re so fucking good for me - so good at making me come - ” 

The words are white heat burning through Leah’s stomach; she closes her legs tighter on instinct, squeezes her thighs together. She’s wet now too, soaking through her boyshorts. “Fatin, god. Say that again.” 

“Please,” Fatin repeats. “You’re so good, Leah, so fucking good, please just - ” 

“Okay, baby,” Leah murmurs, “okay, I’ve got you,” and leans forward to lick a broad stroke up Fatin’s slit. Fatin’s hips jerk at the contact, push forward; Leah licks her through it, again and again, tongue pressing inside of her briefly, teasingly, then licking again until there’s wetness dripping from her mouth. Fatin tastes familiar - salt and sweetness and hers, all hers, and Leah could live and die right here in the cathedral of Fatin’s body; she’s not a religious person, but this language built for two from the bones of hands and heat and love is a god well worth worshipping. 

“Fuck,” Fatin says brokenly, “fuck, fuck, can I - please - ”

“Go ahead, baby,” Leah says, lifting her head just long enough to speak. “Move your hands.”

“God, yes,” Fatin says, a rush of relief, and a second later her fingers are twining in Leah’s hair, pulling hard in a way that sends lightning striking between Leah’s legs. Leah licks Fatin open again, movements speeding up now; Fatin matches her pace, hips moving until she’s riding Leah’s face, her tongue. Leah lets it happen, lets Fatin take what she needs; it’s hot and wet and filthy and desperate, the way Fatin’s legs shake and her back arches off the wall. 

“Fuck, baby,” Fatin whines. “I’m so close, baby, you’re so good.” Her body shakes, plates shifting, an earthquake imminent - Leah reads the signs, pulls Fatin’s clit into her mouth, sucks hard. 

“Fuck,” Fatin gasps out, “Leah,” and then she’s coming in Leah’s mouth, wetness spilling over Leah’s tongue, the ocean rising at high tide - Fatin’s thighs close around Leah’s head, hands tangled in her hair, her body a line of tension drawn taut until it snaps. 

Leah keeps going, licks her through it until she’s gasping and trembling, then sits back and eases Fatin’s leg off her shoulder. Fatin collapses boneless against the wall, her breaths quick and shallow, looking absolutely wrecked; Leah licks the wetness from her bottom lip and catches her own breath, smiling in satisfaction. 

“Fucking hell,” Fatin finally says. “Jesus - fuck, come up here.” She pulls Leah to her feet and kisses her, a tiny moan breaking from her throat that Leah knows comes from tasting herself on Leah’s tongue. “That was insane.”

“Past tense?” Leah says, dragging her thumb along Fatin’s lower lip; Fatin pulls it into her mouth, grazes her teeth against the tip. “I’m not done with you yet, baby. Can you go again?”

“Shit,” Fatin breathes out. “I think I’m gonna have to, Leah, what the fuck.” 

Leah pulls her thumb away, replaces it with two fingers; she slips them into Fatin’s mouth, pushes towards the back of her throat. “Good answer. Now suck.”

Fatin sucks Leah’s fingers deeper, looks up through the dark curls of her lashes as she does so - Leah feels another pulse between her legs, knows her boyshorts are absolutely soaked and her suit pants probably are as well. 

“Good girl,” Leah says, pulling her fingers from Fatin’s mouth and moving her hand between Fatin’s legs, and it’s so worth it to see the flash of in Fatin’s eyes, annoyance mixed with reluctant desire. 

“Don’t,” Fatin grits out. “I’m not the one with the praise kink. You’re just projecting now.”

“Oh, really?” Leah says. Her palm finds Fatin’s clit, wet heat slicked along her heart and life lines; she shifts position, slides two fingers inside Fatin without resistance. “You’re telling me this doesn’t get you off at all? That you don’t like when I pin you down and fuck you and tell you how good you are, the same way you always tell me?”

Fatin doesn’t say anything, but she clenches tighter around Leah’s fingers - Leah smirks, knows she’s won the battle. 

“Fine, okay,” Fatin groans, relenting, hips canting upwards into Leah’s touch. “You win, I like it, now will you please just fuck me?” 

“Anything for you, baby,” Leah says, a smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. She curls her fingers inside Fatin, sets a rapid pace; Fatin moans, lets her head tip back against the wall, her eyes flutter shut. The movement bares the column of her neck, the line long and smooth and elegant, and Leah can’t help herself: she reaches forward and wraps a hand around Fatin’s throat, gentle but intent. 

Fatin’s eyes fly open again. “Are you - ” 

“You’ve begged me to choke you before,” Leah says, leaning in to nip at the side of Fatin’s throat that’s not covered by her hand. “Or was that all talk?”

“No,” Fatin blurts out. “No, fuck, please choke me.”

Leah smiles, tightens her grip; her fingers bear down harder, bruises painting themselves dark purple against the brown canvas of Fatin’s skin. Her other hand works between Fatin’s leg’s, fingers pushing deeper inside her even as Fatin lifts one leg and wraps it around her waist, opens herself up like a door to a room that Leah never tires of visiting. 

“Is that good?” Leah asks, mouth ghosting over Fatin’s ear, sucking at her earlobe as she loosens her grip on Fatin’s throat again. “You want more?” 

“Harder,” Fatin begs, grinding up against Leah’s hand. “Fuck me harder.” 

Leah picks up the pace, curls her fingers harder inside Fatin, presses down; Fatin gasps, fucks into it, and a gush of wetness spills out against Leah’s hand. Fatin moans, loud and unrestrained, and Leah kisses her quick to swallow the sound. 

“You have to be quiet, baby,” Leah warns her, murmuring soft against the corner of Fatin’s mouth. “Anyone could hear us right now.” 

Fatin clenches hard around Leah’s fingers, lets out a gasp. “Fuck, I - ” 

“Or maybe you like that, don’t you,” Leah says, the realization sweeping through her in a blaze of heat. “You like knowing that we’re in public. Knowing that anyone could walk in and see what I’m doing to you right now.” She nips at Fatin’s ear, her jawline. “You want the world to know how dirty you are when I’m taking you apart.”

“Fuck, yes,” Fatin groans, her hands sliding to the small of Leah’s back, under her shirt, nails digging in. “Everyone seeing me but you being the only one that gets to touch me - god, the thought of that gets me so fucking hot.” 

“I love this,” Leah confesses quietly, the words spilling out like holy water. “I love knowing you’re mine.” 

“I am,” Fatin answers, “I’m all yours , fuck, only yours,” and the truth of it rings free like the strike of a bell between them. Everyone else can look at Fatin, but only Leah gets to see the way that Fatin looks back: adoring, reverent, like she carries oceans in the palm of her hand. 

“Are you close?” Leah asks, curling her fingers again and hitting a spot deep inside that has Fatin shaking beneath her touch. It’s a rhetorical question - she’s taken Fatin apart a hundred times by now, can map every moan in her throat and movement of her body, knows exactly where the edge is and how far Fatin can go before she’s pushed right over it, and she knows from the way that Fatin’s tight around her fingers that she’s about to come. Still, she asks anyway just because she can, and Fatin answers because she’s never left Leah stranded before and she won’t start now. 

“Yes, fuck,” Fatin curses, hands gripping at Leah’s hips hard enough to bruise. “I’m so close, please let me - ” 

“Come for me, baby,” Leah says, finishing the sentence for her, and Fatin’s eyes roll back in her head as the orgasm tears through her, thighs closing tight around Leah’s hand and nails dragging hard down Leah’s back. There’ll be marks there in the morning, Leah knows, and the thought is a hot stone in her stomach. 

Leah strokes Fatin through the aftershocks, deliberate and rhythmic until Fatin pushes weakly at her hand, and then waits patiently until Fatin can form words again. 

“Jesus motherfucking Christ,” Fatin says after nearly a full minute. “If winning an Oscar means you fucking me like that, I’m nominating myself for the next awards ceremony as soon as we leave this bathroom.”

Leah laughs, carefully tucks a loose strand of hair behind Fatin’s ear. “You can’t nominate yourself.” 

“Pfft. You don’t know that.” 

Leah arches an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Alright, maybe you can’t,” Fatin admits, “but god, I’d find a way to do it just for this.” 

“You don’t have to win an Oscar for me to fuck you,” Leah says, pressing a kiss to Fatin’s forehead. “I’ll do it all over again as soon as we wake up in the morning.” 

“You might have to wait a day,” Fatin says, stretching her legs out and wincing. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to walk properly tomorrow.”

“Well,” Leah says fondly, “you better be, because I’m not going to carry you around.” 

Fatin only rolls her eyes and pulls Leah closer, arms wrapped around her waist until their foreheads are touching. Leah raises her gaze high enough to see Fatin’s smile: it’s devastatingly tender, love pouring forth from her eyes like light from a streetlamp on the last road home. 

“I love you,” Leah says, on instinct, the words coming out like breath. She’s been saying it more and more lately - the sentiment clean and true in her mouth, the underlying fear stripped away and cast aside - and it’s like she’s relearned the world by language, by touch. Like Fatin’s brought the flood and pulled Leah alone to salvation, then rebuilt everything with her bare hands. 

“Oh, yeah, you’re in love with me,” Fatin says now, eyes gleaming golden brown with amusement. “That is so embarrassing for you.” 

Leah sighs. “Will you ever stop being such a pain in my ass?” 

“Never,” Fatin answers happily. “And you know why? It’s because I love you too.”

Leah shakes her head slowly, overcome by it all. She’s twenty three years old and crammed into a bathroom stall at the Oscars with a beautiful girl, so deeply in love that she can feel it in every corner of her body, and for the first time in what feels like a very long time, she’s completely at peace. 

“We should probably go back out,” Leah says, pressing another kiss to Fatin’s forehead. “We’ll miss the ending.”

Fatin smiles, adjusts Leah’s suit for her, and kisses her softly on the forehead, just once, before taking her purse from the hook where it hangs. They open the door and step out into the bathroom, into the future - and when Fatin takes Leah’s hand and laces their fingers together like a habit, every sea in the world goes calm. 





You guys totally did it in the bathroom at the oscars didn’t you  



shut up we’re not talking about this

also yes how did you know



Because I know you

And because I was watching with Nora and Rachel last night and when the camera panned to you and Fatin at the very end you both had post-sex glow

Also about a hundred hickeys




oh well

maybe no one else noticed






so…who else saw that clip of fatin and her girlfriend at the end of the oscars… 

1:05 AM   -   July 21, 2023   -   Twitter for Android








no fucking way oh my god look at fatin’s neck





god what is it with gay women and bathrooms 





good morning baby

we’re famous




you were already famous



well now you are too

for being the first woman to rail her girlfriend in the bathroom during the oscars and get fully caught with sex hair on national tv



oh god

does EVERYONE know



pretty much it’s all over the tabloids

insane publicity 

jeannette said she’s not sure whether she wants to kiss or kill me



well she better not kiss you

i’m the only one who’s allowed to do that



yes you are

so are you coming over



way ahead of you

i’m already here

come downstairs



you’re perfect

let me just get dressed one sec



where do you want to go today



anywhere as long as it’s with you



that’s how it is, huh?



that’s exactly how it is



i love you



i love you too

be down in ten

actually make it five i can sneak into the service elevator and use the emergency speed button



i don't think that's legal



yes it is

i’m pretty sure anyway

and who cares about the law when you’re in love



oh so you’re in love with me for real



truly madly deeply



yeah well

i could say the exact same for you

it goes both ways, you know



i know baby 

i know