#avis devoto

Chapters: 7/7 Fandom: Julia (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Avis DeVoto/Original Female Character(s), Avis DeVoto/Judith Jones (1924-2017), Avis DeVoto/Blanche Knopf, Avis DeVoto & Alice Naman, Julia Child & Avis DeVoto Characters: Avis DeVoto, Original Female Character(s), Judith Jones (1924-2017), Blanche Knopf, Alice Naman, Julia Child, Paul Child Additional Tags: Multiple Partners, Casual Sex, Rough Sex, Gentle Sex, Pining, Roleplay, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Begging, Power Exchange, mediocre sex, Cooking, Desk Sex, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, Dirty Talk Summary:

Avis DeVoto's life revolved around women. With just seven days in a week, she arranged her calendar around a set routine. Each day had its own purpose. Each woman fulfilled a different need. So many lovers, so little time.

Avis DeVoto

Fic Preview:

It’s surprisingly easy to lie to Evan. A missed flight is a plausible enough thing, after all; he knows how exhausted she’s been these past few months. Running herself ragged while Julia has been off gallivanting around France and barely writing a recipe a week, if that, and Sartre has been moping around Paris feeling half-dead inside with nothing to show for it, and Blanche has been walling herself into her darkened office and driving away the only person who cares enough to turn on the lights for her.

Judith calls down to the front desk to book herself another night and pointedly does not ask about any telegrams that might have arrived for her.

A day…that’s all she needs. A day to herself to find the inspiration and relief and rekindling that JP and Julia and Simca and everyone else had absolutely failed to give her.

A luxuriously long, hot shower leaves her feeling significantly more human, and by the time the midday sun is warming her shoulders in front of Paul, she feels like she can breathe again.

The hot chocolate and pasty are decadent enough on their own, but time is the real indulgence. She meant it when she told the waiter she wouldn’t be leaving for a good long while. Sure, she’s working even now, but the air around her feels lighter than it ever could deep in the halls of Knopf where everything is dark carpets and gleaming mahogany. The sun is brighter here than it seemed to be back in New York and Boston, too. Hell, even the food seems remarkable—if only for its arrival with no fuss, no quibbling over seasoning and American customers and French authenticity, no endless bickering from two women far too old and behind on their deadline for Judith to tolerate it with good humor.

As midday stretches into early afternoon, Judith allows herself a second hot chocolate. Who knows the next time she’ll be in Paris, after all.

It isn’t long after it’s been delivered that she spots a familiar face weaving through the throngs of people that have gathered on the patio.

Avis sits down two tables over before glancing up and spotting Judith. She cocks her head to the side, brows drawing together even as a smile pulls at the corners of her mouth. “I thought you’d gone back to New York,” she says, ambling her way over to Judith’s table and gesturing at the empty seat across from her.

Judith motions for her to take it. “I decided to miss my flight.”