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wannabe-fic-reader · 6 months ago

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Oh. My. Fucking. God!

This was lowkey everything I was waiting for! They have quite a few things to tall about for sure and hopefully that goes well cause if this is only the beginning of them?! I cannot wait to see the rest!

Also, just wanna take a second to once again praise your writing. Holy fuck it’s brilliant and captivating and beautiful and just… I love it! I get so completely engrossed in your stories whenever I read them! Being able to lose myself in a story is why I started reading in the first place and the way your stories allow me to do that is so dope! Never stop(but do take breaks when needed as your mental health and wellbeing matter far more than some stories)!

I CANNOT WAIT FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER! KEEP FEEDING MEEEE!

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (12/?)

Part Summary: You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6.500+ | Warnings: Smut | Author's note: I honestly don't know what else to write in the summary without giving too much away, so without further ado… P.S. No cliffhangers this time ;)

A week after Thanksgiving, as the icy Maine wind whips across the tarmac at Rockland Airport, you find yourself holding a container of lobster cakes—your mother's way of sending a piece of home back with you. Despite her protests about you cutting your visit short, she spent last night in the kitchen, crafting your favorite dish, the smell of butter and ocean filling the house. “Eat these when you miss home,” she had said, pressing the container into your hands with a sad smile. The decision to leave early was anything but easy.

You initially planned to stay five more days in Camden, but Leigh's radio silence prompted you to book a direct flight to Los Angeles. It was eating you up inside; you had to go back. The familiar dark screen of your phone kept you on edge; you hadn't expected Leigh to strictly follow through on her promise not to contact you. She had a way of doing the unexpected. Or maybe you've been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you underestimated how deeply she wanted you that night. And perhaps you've overestimated your own anger, believing it would even slightly lessen your feelings for her.

Sitting in the window seat with the whole row to yourself, you stare at your phone as the flight attendant's voice crackles over the intercom, signaling it's time to switch to airplane mode. Impulsively, you tap out a text to her.

Belated Happy Thanksgiving, Leigh. If you’re free tomorrow evening, maybe we could talk? Perhaps over dinner?

It’s straightforward, maybe too much so, but it’s sent before you can overthink it.

The flight attendant's voice fills the cabin once more, reminding everyone to switch their devices as the plane is about to take off. You comply, toggling the setting and sealing off any immediate replies. The engines roar to life, and as the plane ascends, you try to push away the knot of apprehension tightening in your stomach.

As you wait to fall asleep, you think about Leigh—whether she’s seen your message and what she might be feeling. You wonder about the time apart, recalling the old saying that distance makes the heart grow fonder.

Or does it make it forget instead?

You touch down in L.A. just as the date ticks over to December 1st, the clock a little past midnight. The moment the plane reaches the gate, you grab your phone and switch off airplane mode. There's a message from your mom, checking in to see if you've landed safely, and you text her back to let her know you did. Suzie has also texted, saying Foreman called in sick and asking if you can cover at the clinic later. You shoot back a quick reply, saying you just landed, you'll catch some sleep, and might be in late in the morning.

But there’s nothing from Leigh. No text, no missed call, nothing to indicate she received your message or is interested in meeting.

You sigh and, without thinking, tap her name on the screen. The call goes through, and the phone rings as you make your way through the late-night crowd at LAX. It continues ringing, unanswered, until it finally clicks over to voicemail. You mutter a soft curse under your breath. Of course, she's not going to pick up—it's 12:30 in the morning. You consider sending a quick apology text but then reconsider, figuring you've already pushed enough boundaries by calling her this late.

Instead, you slide your phone back into your pocket and head toward baggage claim. You weave through the half-awake travelers and the sterile glow of the airport lights, finally spotting your suitcase trundling along the carousel. You heft it off and make your way through the automatic doors. You glance one more time at your phone, half hoping for a notification, but it's blank. With a sigh, you head for the exit, feeling the exhaustion settle in.

You check your inbox first thing in the morning, but there's still nothing from Leigh. You don't have time to overanalyze this again because you're already running late for work.

The whole day is swamped, with emergencies piling up alongside a packed schedule of immunizations and follow-ups. Suzie mistakenly booked an entire week's worth of scheduled vaccines for today, a Saturday. She explains that the clients requested to move their appointments to the weekend, adding, “We're closed on Sundays, so I thought today would work.”

You try to hide your frustration, not wanting to lay the blame on her. Your nerves are already frayed, and every hour that passes without a word from Leigh has you feeling more on edge. As you tend to your patients and give instructions to the staff, you feel the pressure building, a headache beginning to throb behind your eyes. The never-ending stream of clients leaves you with no time to catch your breath. Between each appointment, you plaster on a polite smile, but inside, you're counting down the minutes until you can check out of, well, everything.

As the clock hits seven, you can't take another minute. The clinic has been a madhouse since the doors opened. You barely glance at Suzie as you callously tell her, “Close early. I'm tired.” Without waiting for her response, you trudge straight to your office and slump into your chair, eyes closed against the harsh fluorescent lights. Resting your head back, you exhale slowly, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. The fatigue wraps itself around you like a fog, and for a moment, everything falls away.

A few minutes later, you hear a gentle knock. It's Suzie, standing in the doorway with a paper in her hand. Without opening your eyes, you mutter, “What is it?” Your irritation seeps through, but you’re too drained to rein it in.

Suzie hesitates before stepping into your office, her expression unreadable. She extends the paper towards you. “It's my resignation letter,” she says quietly.

Your eyes snap open, and the paper feels heavier than it should as you take it from her hands. You’ve been nothing short of awful to her all day, snapping at every turn.

“Is this about today?” you ask.

She gives you a small, weary smile and points to the date on the letter. “I wrote this last week, right after you left for Maine.”

You glance down at the letter and see that it’s dated exactly a week ago. “Why didn’t you give it to me sooner?”

“I didn’t want to ruin your vacation,” she says softly. “I know how much you needed that break. And honestly, you’ve got enough on your plate right now without me adding to it.”

You can feel the burn of frustration and shame behind your eyes. “You’ve been a rock here, Suzie. I don’t want you to go. Please reconsider.”

She shakes her head gently. “I’ve thought this through. It’s time. I care about this place, and about you, but I need to move on.”

You let out a long breath. “I see. Still, I'm sorry today was so rough,” you say, looking up at her wistfully. You try working your puppy eyes, and for a moment it seems effective as her expression softens into a frown.

But then she says, “It’s not the clinic or the work I do here. I got an offer for a research position; it's something I've always wanted to try.”

That makes you smile. If that’s the case, then you’re truly happy for her.

“I understand. I wish you hadn't felt the need to keep this to yourself, especially with everything else happening today,” you say, still clutching the paper tightly in your hand, crumpling it slightly.

Suzie shrugs. “I didn't want to add to your stress. Don’t worry, I’ll count the 30 days' notice from today, not the date on my resignation, so you have time to find someone to replace me.”

From that, you know her mind’s already made up. As you read her letter again, your eyes start to sting. You glance back up at her, your vision blurring. “Suzie, thank you,” you mumble thickly.

“Hey, it's okay,” she says gently. “I'm not leaving town. We can still grab lunch whenever. I know how glued to your desk you get, so I'll drag you out for a bite now and then.” You let out a shaky chuckle, wiping your eyes with the back of your hand.

“It's just—I’m going to miss you, and I don’t know how I'll replace you,” you say with a sniffle.

“Missing me is a given,” she says, leaning against the doorframe with a smirk. “Actually, I might know someone interested in my job.”

Your ears perk up at that. Good help is hard to find these days, especially with more demands from applicants and a tight job market. “Who?” you ask, curious.

Suzie turns around as if she's going to leave without answering, but then she glances over her shoulder, her smirk widening. “Sara.”

A little while later, you catch Suzie just as she's finishing up in the lobby.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll lock up. You’ve done enough today,” you say, sending her home. She gives you a grateful smile, slings her bag over her shoulder, and wishes you a good night before heading out.

Finally alone, you take a moment to decompress. Clasping your hands behind your back, you stretch, trying to release the day's tension. A dull ache climbs up your spine, reminding you how tight your muscles are. Unable to hold the position for more than a few seconds, you relax, the discomfort too much to bear. It's hard to tell whether it's from the long-haul flight yesterday, your age creeping up on you, poor posture, or all of the above.

On a whim, you book a late-night yoga session at the Beautiful Beast, hoping to relieve the tightness in your back. It’s been a while since your last visit.

Afterward, you head to the small bathroom in your office to get ready. It's basic, not meant for much more than washing hands and changing scrubs, but it’s all you've got. Stripping off your day's clothes, you step into the shower, letting the hot water beat down on your back. The steam fills the tiny space, and the heat melts a bit of the stiffness away. After a quick rinse, you towel off and slip into your yoga gear. The stretchy fabric feels liberating after being in stiff work clothes all day. You roll up your yoga mat, tucked behind the office door, and switch off the bathroom light.

As you're about to head out of the clinic, you check your phone, hoping to see something from Leigh. There's nothing—she hasn’t even read your last message. The stonewalling feels all too familiar, and you're tired of it.

You slide into your car, letting out a weary sigh. As you start the engine, thoughts of Suzie's suggestion to hire Sara sneak back into your mind. You can't help but chortle at the idea—it’s so unexpected, almost comical, considering how you know Sara and her standing friends-with-benefits proposition. It feels far-fetched, and knowing Suzie, she was likely just teasing.

The drive to the fitness studio is as mechanical as it gets. You're hardly aware of the turns you take until you park in front of the building. You step out, mind still elsewhere, and open your car door—right into someone walking by.

“Ow!”

“Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—” you start to say, cutting yourself off when you see who it is.

Leigh, of all people, is rubbing her elbow, wincing. Her hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing a plain white shirt under a jacket, paired with simple black tights.

“See me? Lovely excuse,” she quips, her eyes fixed on her arm rather than you. Her expression is primed to unleash more frustration when she finally turns to meet the source of the blunder.

“I—” Leigh stops, visibly surprised to see you. Quickly, her face smooths into something more neutral. “Y/N. You…you really should watch it.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “Are you alright?”

She rubs her elbow once more, then nods slowly. “Just startled me a bit, but I’m fine.”

Once you both regain your bearings, you unconsciously begin rocking back and forth on the balls of your feet, hesitating despite the things you’ve rehearsed in your head all week. Your text message inviting her to meet tonight lingers at the forefront of your mind. But before you can bring it up, Leigh catches you by surprise.

“So, you’re heading in for a class?” she asks casually, as if the last time you saw each other didn’t end with a kiss and a confrontation that put the aforementioned kiss on hold.

“Uh, yeah, yeah, I am,” you reply. Then you remember Leigh doesn't work here anymore, but with her mother owning the place, it's no surprise to see her around occasionally.

Still, you ask, “How about you?”

“You mind if we walk while we talk?” Leigh suggests.

You nod, a little thrown off but managing to say, “Sure, just let me grab my stuff.”

She waits a few seconds as you gather your belongings, and then you both start walking toward the building. Leigh sets a brisk pace, always a step ahead, and you find yourself almost hurrying to keep up with her.

“I just got back to working here again,” she says after a beat.

Surprised, you ask, “Oh, how did that happen?”

“Long story,” she replies with a slight shrug, her eyes focused ahead.

Unsatisfied with her vague answer, your eyes drift to her lips. Memories of that last kiss flood back—their soft, velvety feel and that distinct taste that’s all hers, like fresh water after a long, grueling hike. It's a taste that's unmistakably Leigh, nothing else like it. As you walk together, you struggle to stay present. This isn’t at all how you pictured your reunion with her would go. Not by a long shot.

“Leigh,” you call out, stopping abruptly. Your voice comes out higher than intended, quivering a bit. You clear your throat and try again, “D-Did you get my text yesterday?”

Leigh glances back over her shoulder, her expression unreadable. “No.”

The bluntness leaves you momentarily stunned. You wait for her to follow up, to ask about the text, but she doesn’t. As you both step into the Beautiful Beast studio, you start to ask if you can talk later, but Leigh gets there first.

“We can pick this up later, Y/N. We should really get to class,” she says, heading into the room full of waiting students without waiting for your answer.

You're left more stumped than ever. Last time, she was almost on her knees, begging for forgiveness. Now, she's acting like nothing happened. How did everything change so much in just a week? With a head full of questions and doubts, you roll out your yoga mat and try to focus on the practice ahead. You can't help but wonder if the kiss you shared with Leigh really happened or if it was just a mirage of your desires.

You struggle through some of the poses, wobbling and nearly toppling over more than once. Leigh, however, doesn't chide or correct you as she used to; she mostly leaves you alone, focusing instead on helping others who are struggling more than you. It makes you feel strangely isolated, even though you know she's just fulfilling her role as an instructor and there are plenty of beginners in tonight’s session.

As the hour winds down, Leigh's soft “Namaste” signals the end of the class. She bows gracefully to the students, and you don't waste a moment, rising immediately to make your way to her as she rolls up her mat.

“Leigh.”

“Hey,” she responds breathlessly, not looking up. Other students pass by, thanking her, and she responds with smiles and cheerful “see you next times.” You stand there, feeling awkward as you wait for a turn.

When the last person leaves, Leigh finally looks up at you. “What's up?” she asks.

You find yourself stuttering, still fixated on the text message. Feeling a bit pathetic about how much it’s affecting you, but you shake it off, remembering why you cut your visit to Camden short. It was because of this—because of her.

“Leigh, can we talk? About... you know, how we left things that night?”

Her face remains jarringly impartial as she wipes down her mat. “Talk? Here? Right now?”

You quickly shake your head. “No, I don't mean right this second,” you clarify, watching her closely to gauge her reaction. Are you the only one feeling like you're on a tightrope?

“You haven't had dinner yet, right?” You try to sound nonchalant too, but it's a struggle.

She looks around the emptying studio as if she needs a moment to consider. After a few beats, she nods. “Sure, why not? I’ll just change and meet you out front.”

You can't help but smile, mainly out of relief that she said yes. “Great, see you in a minute,” you say, realizing you need to change into drier clothes too.

Fifteen minutes later, Leigh steps out, looking refreshed as if she didn't just burn through a few hundred calories leading a rigorous yoga session. She's wearing a cozy gray sweater and cargo pants, a much more laid-back look compared to your jeans and cardigan.

As she draws near, she tilts her head slightly and says, “I actually brought a car. Have you thought of where we're going to get dinner?”

You scramble to think of a suitable place. In-N-Out pops into your head—quick, easy, but completely wrong for the kind of talk you need to have. You can't imagine hashing out your feelings under the harsh lights of a fast food place, over burgers and fries.

“Um,” you stammer, looking around like inspiration might hit you in the face.

“How about we head to your apartment?” Leigh suggests out of nowhere. “It's closer, and we could grab some drive-thru on the way.”

You blink at her suggestion, surprised she'd even consider it after everything that went down last time at your place.

“There's only one parking spot,” you say blankly. “And the street has no parking after 10 p.m.”

Leigh seems unfazed, offering a quick solution. “Then we’ll just take your car. I can leave mine here.”

Your nerves flare at the thought of having her back in your apartment. Your tongue feels heavy, and you can't think of a single reason to tell her why it’s a bad idea.

“Okay,” you say slowly. “Let's do that.”

You head to your car together, fumbling with the keys as you unlock it. Leigh slips into the passenger seat, and you take a deep breath before starting the engine. You pull into a drive-thru of In-N-Out and Leigh scrolls through her phone, picking out what to order.

You know Leigh well enough to recognize that she never acts without intention. She must have agonized about this too—about that kiss, about you. And she's making it difficult for you to guess just what conclusions she had come to in the time you were apart.

The takeout is spread across your dining table, a small feast that Leigh ordered for the two of you. Boxes of fries, nuggets, and burgers crowd the surface, enough to feed a group. You barely nibble on a fry while Leigh is already finishing her cheeseburger, wiping her fingers with a napkin and eyeing the remaining food.

“You weren’t hungry, huh?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess not,” you reply, wiping away the residual salt from your fingers.

Leigh takes a sip of her drink, washing down the last bite before looking at you with purpose. “Mind if I go first?” she asks.

You narrow your eyes. So, she's eager to dive right in. “Sure, go ahead,” you say. You observe Leigh closely for the first time in what feels like ages. Concealer cakes beneath her eyes, settling into the natural wrinkles there. She’s still undeniably beautiful, but there's a tiredness to her now that’s hard to miss. Her cheeks, usually lifted by her prominent cheekbones, seem hollowed out more than usual.

“I guess I want to start by saying that I'm…” Leigh trails off, her eyes darting around as if the right words might be hidden among the packets of ketchup and silverware. “...a horrible person.”

You open your mouth to protest, but she cuts you off smoothly.

“No, listen. You were right. I ignore you out of nowhere. I take advantage of your kindness. And it’s not just you—I’ve been doing this with everyone around me for a while now. I haven't cared about what others think or feel because I was focused on being true to myself, always playing the ‘dead husband’ card. I’ve taken everyone's patience and understanding for granted, and I’m really, really sorry.”

You sit back, stunned. The whole evening, you'd braced for a different kind of conversation. You expected Leigh to say the kiss was a mistake—just a result of nerves or a lapse in judgment driven by jealousy. You had been so sure she'd shut you down, just like all the other times.

“You're sorry?” The words slip out unbidden, tinged with surprise and skepticism.

“Yeah,” she says, looking you square in the eye. “I know it's hard to believe, but I really am sorry for how I've treated you.”

It’s going well—too well. Your mind struggles to accept it, but your heart?

“I thought you were going to say that night was a mistake. That the kiss meant nothing,” you whisper so faintly, almost as if you don't want her to hear.

“It kept me up for nights,” Leigh replies just as softly, “and that doesn’t usually happen to me over a simple kiss.”

Your heart soars.

She doesn’t regret it. She’s sorry. This is all going too well.

“It was on my mind the whole time, even when I was all the way across the country,” you whisper wantonly.

The corners of Leigh’s lips twitch upward, and you can't tell if it's a good sign. Her saying she’s just as affected blinds you to any other cues that might suggest otherwise.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” Leigh says darkly, leaning back into her chair with a weary slump. “Because I’m done living in half-truths and half-realities. I can’t handle any more surprises.”

You feel a flash of confusion, trying to stitch together what Leigh might say next. She knows about your cheesy alter-ego on her advice column, the details of your past with Matt. But half-truths? What does she mean by that?

Leigh meets your gaze, and there’s something about her stare that tells you she’s coming apart, yet she's clenching every muscle to keep herself intact. You want to reach across the table, to offer a touch that might steady her, but her hands are hidden, clenched in her lap beneath the table. Her shoulders hunch, making her seem smaller, as if she's trying to fold into herself.

“Leigh, just tell me,” you urge, though not impatiently.

She exhales slowly, the breath you hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “I broke up with Danny,” she finally says, and for a brief, absurd moment, relief washes over you.

That's…it?

Your smile starts to form, naive in its inception, but it’s quickly stifled as Leigh’s voice drops lower, and her next words cut through the nascent joy.

“And then he said something I didn't think could drive the dagger Matt left in my heart any deeper,” she says slowly, like she’s having a hard time dragging every syllable.

Leigh takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling deliberately. “He told me he was pretty involved when you and Matt got together. That you first knew him as Nick, and he helped Matt reach out to you.”

Your heart sinks. You had almost forgotten that night with Danny when you discovered his real identity and how he fit into everything. He'd begged you to keep quiet, and in his desperation, you agreed—not because he pleaded, but because you believed Leigh was happy with him. It wasn’t your secret to reveal, not then.

You've known this all along and never said a word. Your throat tightens as panic sets in, your heart racing with the implications of having kept this from Leigh. Guilt pricks at you, cold and sharp.

“I…” Your voice falters, and you swallow hard, thinking, This is it, this is how I lose her.

“I didn’t think it was my place to say anything,” you say. “I thought you were happy with him. I didn’t want to be the one to—”

“Y/N,” Leigh interjects softly. Her tone stops you cold—it's not angry, just… defeated. Which, somehow, feels worse. She looks down, twisting a napkin between her fingers. “I’m telling you this because I’m finding out that secrets can be just as hard to handle as loss.”

You nod absentmindedly, still processing, and move to clear the table in a daze. Wrapping up the leftover food, you tuck it into the fridge. The mundane task doesn't ease the tightness in your chest, but it gives your hands something to do.

“You’re not upset I didn’t tell you?” you ask, like you can’t believe you’ll come out of this conversation unscathed.

Leigh takes her time to answer. With your focus on tidying up, you miss the way her hands ball into fists. When she finally speaks, her voice has a steely edge for the first time this evening.

“At first, I was livid, of course. But Danny bore the brunt of it. He claimed he wanted me, but he was never on my side. If he were, he would’ve never helped Matt cheat on me.”

You finish tucking the last container into the fridge and lean back against the counter, your eyes on Leigh. She's staring out the window. How is it that she’s telling you these things, yet it still feels like she’s not revealing anything at all?

“I should’ve told you sooner,” you say softly. “I’m sorry.”

Leigh gets up and walks toward you. She stops so close that your breath catches. You remember the last time she was this near, how the world blurred, and how hard it was to think clearly. You can see the way her jaw tightens as she takes a breath.

“It wasn’t your secret to tell,” she says.

“But—” you start to say, though the thought fizzles out as she steps even closer.

“You're okay in that regard,” she murmurs, her voice low.

In that regard?

You want to ask what she means, but Leigh shuffles nearer still, her eyes searching your face. She's so close now that you can see the faint reflection of the kitchen light in her eyes, specs of yellow in darkened green. It’s nothing short of dazzling.

“Do you forgive me for last time?” she asks quietly.

A lump forms in your throat, and all you can think about is how desperately you don't want to mess this up. You had forgiven her long before stepping onto a plane back to Maine. It happened as soon as you let her walk away that night, but you just couldn't accept how easy it was.

You nod, unable to trust your ability to speak.

Leigh's eyes soften as she watches you. Her fingertips brush against your jaw, her touch feather-light.

“Is it okay if I kiss you, then?” she asks, both careful and seductive.

Your resounding yes comes in the form of you closing the gap, your lips meeting hers like an arrow striking its target. Leigh’s arms wrap around your shoulders instinctively, her fingers brushing the back of your neck, and you pull her in even tighter, deepening the kiss. Her breath mingles with yours as she sighs softly against your mouth, and it’s only then that when you feel all of her that Los Angeles starts to feel like a second home.

There are still questions, an unending list that always surfaces around Leigh, but they evaporate one by one when her tongue flicks out, seeking entrance. You surrender, lips parting, allowing her to taste you. The kiss grows with a messy urgency in seconds. Her hands roam down your back, gripping tightly as she presses in, as if trying to melt into you. You draw her nearer, your chests flush together as the kiss becomes wet and breathless.

Your apartment is silent except for your soft pants and the slick sounds of your lips meeting. Doubts about your ability to please a woman creep in after such a long hiatus. But before these thoughts can take hold, Leigh takes charge. She grabs your hips and gently guides you backward toward the bedroom, cutting off any chance for you to slow things down.

She breaks the kiss just long enough to slip your cardigan off your shoulders and whisper, her breath warm against your lips, “Should we take this somewhere more comfortable?”

It seems almost unfair for her to pose that question while simultaneously moving to your neck, drawing a soft groan from you. Her teeth gently graze a sensitive spot just below your clavicle, applying pressure that promises to leave a mark, then soothing it with her tongue.

Leigh smirks when she feels you struggle for breath, much less for words. Your knees buckle slightly, but she holds you up with a firm grip, guiding you back until you bump against the edge of the bed.

You know you're on the verge of something that might change everything, but right now, you're entirely Leigh's. There's no space to consider the implications, to remember that she was Matt's grieving widow just months ago. Right now, she's just the girl who holds your attention completely, the one who couldn't get rid of you even if she tried.

Leigh tumbles with you onto the bed, her thighs straddling your hips. With practiced ease, she removes her shirt and bra all at once, leaving her bare above you. The sight strips you of any last coherent thought. She isn’t the image of perfection peddled in glossy and well-curated social feeds; her body is beautifully real. Her tits look heavy and asymmetrical, round as grapefruit; her nipples pinkish-brown, pebbled and inviting. There’s a soft fold in her belly, and an overwhelming desire washes over you to kiss it. You think you might die just from looking at her.

You look up at Leigh and tell her, reverently, “You’re so devastatingly beautiful.”

Leigh's cheeks flush as she tries to hide her smile behind her hair. “You don't have to tell me that,” she whispers. “You already got me into your bed.”

You chuckle, nerves still humming under the surface. “You were just as beautiful when devouring a cheeseburger.” Both of you laugh, the sound light and easy, allowing some of the thick sexual energy to dissipate slightly.

You find yourself relaxing just enough to admit, “I'm not sure how to touch you right, but I want to make you feel good.”

“Just do whatever feels good for you,” she suggests, her expression softening further.

You scrunch your face a little at her, letting out a small chuckle. “That’s the thing—I haven't been getting much action myself.”

Leigh’s smile spreads wider into something mischievous and you swallow dryly at the sight. She shifts off your lap and settles at your side, propping herself up on one arm to look down at you. “Let me help you with that,” she murmurs, her voice low.

You're no longer smiling, feeling your face flush as you ask, “What do you have in mind?”

Instead of answering, Leigh’s fingers trace down to the button of your pants, deftly unfastening it. She gently scratches the skin beneath with her fingernail before sliding the zipper down. You watch as she bites her lip at the sight of the wet patch on your underwear before glancing back up at you. Her pupils are wide, the deep green of her irises barely visible in the surrounding darkness.

“Take them off,” she instructs softly.

You swallow heavily and do as she says, trying not to cover yourself despite feeling incredibly vulnerable. You haven't been naked in front of anyone in so long, and you're embarrassed by how exposed and wet you are right now.

Leigh watches you closely, and you can see the desire burning in her gaze. With her free hand, she reaches for you, her touch gentle, coaxing your thighs open as she trails her fingers up your inner thigh. You draw a sharp breath and close your eyes, expecting her fingers to graze your wetness next.

But Leigh surprises you—and herself—by guiding your right hand just below your navel, her fingers warm and sure on your wrist. Her times with Danny were about dominating and taking, but with you, she wants to give, to watch, to soak up every moan, every breathy reaction, every shiver. She wants to see you take pleasure for yourself, deriving her own pleasure from it.

“Start there,” she murmurs, her breath hot against your ear. “Tease yourself.”

Your hand hovers there, and she gives a slight nod of encouragement. As her touch slips away, you begin to explore the softness of your own skin, tracing light circles below your belly button. You utter a soft, “Fuck,” when your fingertips graze your slick, discovering just how turned on you really are. The filthy noises it creates make you whimper.

Leigh watches you hungrily. “You should be doing this more often,” she murmurs, eyes tracing the movement of your fingers now glistening with your own arousal. “You're so fucking hot. It's such a shame.”

The sound of her voice makes you arch your back further, hips bucking as you start a wide circular motion against your clit. Exerting every ounce of control not to come right away, you focus on the sensation of Leigh's eyes on you and the stimulation from your own fingers. You want to hold out, to let her watch you teeter on the edge. Your teeth dig into your lower lip, trying to curb the wave of pleasure building inside you.

Leigh's voice is a soothing command, whispering, “That's it, be patient. Don't rush it.”

“Fuck, Leigh, I’m—” Your words die in your throat as she lifts your shirt slowly, exposing your nipple to the cool air for a brief moment before her mouth engulfs it. The sensation of her sucking, then laving your nipple with her tongue, circling it, mimicking the motion you're doing on your clit, sends a jolt through you. Little flicks of her tongue to the tip of your nipple drive you crazy, and you gasp, your body responding eagerly to her touch.

Your rhythm stutters as she discards her pants and panties in one swift motion, leaving her gloriously bare. The sight of her naked body ignites a strong wave of desire to touch her instead, but Leigh pins you with a warning glare, silently telling you not to stop.

She straddles one of your legs, and you gasp when you feel her warm, wet pussy against your knee as she starts rocking against it. You position your leg to give her better leverage, and she starts sliding against you, her tits bouncing with each motion. Leigh's sucking on your nipple becomes sloppier, more frantic, until she can no longer concentrate and releases it with a wet pop.

“Oh, fuck, Y/N—”

Leigh’s face contorts in pleasure as her drenched folds meet your thigh over and over, sweat dripping down between her breasts from the strain of holding herself up above you. The sight of her fucking herself against your leg is nothing short of mesmerizing. You increase the movements of your fingers, rubbing harshly at your clit as you watch Leigh, her breath coming in short gasps. Her eyes flutter closed, and a soft moan escapes her lips. The sound drives you wild, and you curve your spine, lifting your hips to meet your own hand.

Sex with anyone else has never felt this good before, and she hasn’t even properly touched you yet. It’s intoxicating, the way she takes her pleasure and gives it to you all at once. You’re lost in the haze of it all: the smell of Leigh’s arousal, her sweat-soaked skin, the sight of her tits bouncing and her face flushed with desire.

With your free hand, you grab the back of Leigh's head, guiding her down towards you. “C-Come here,” you manage to say, your voice breaking with need.

Leigh obeys, her mouth meeting yours in a frenzied kiss. You swallow each other's moans, the taste of her lips sending a fresh wave of desire coursing through you. It's this simple, sweet connection of lips that utterly dissolves all your defenses.

A keening moan escapes you as Leigh slides a finger inside you, pushing deep to the third knuckle, causing your head to tip back and break the kiss as the tightness in your belly becomes too much. “Leigh, can I—” Your voice is a mere whisper, your body trembling with the effort to hold back.

Leigh's eyes meet yours, and she nods vigorously, her breath coming in short gasps. “Yes, come. Come with me.”

It's too much—the sight, the sounds, the feel of her—it’s all too much. With a final, shuddering whine, you let go, your orgasm crashing over you. Your body convulses, muscles clenching and releasing as you ride out the intense pleasure. Moments later, Leigh follows, her body shaking as she comes, her moans mingling with yours. Leigh’s face is a picture of bliss, her eyes half-closed, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. You try to memorize it before she collapses on top of you, a sweaty mess of tangled limbs and satisfied sighs.

Blindly, you stare up at the ceiling, trying to catch your breath, feeling Leigh's hot puffs of air tickle your neck as she catches hers. Slowly, you circle your arms around her waist, keeping her on top of you, acutely aware of every point where your skin meets hers, the warmth spreading between you.

You bury your nose in her hair and breathe in deeply. This act feels more intimate than anything you had done moments ago. The simple closeness, the quiet afterglow, the way you can actually feel her heart beating steadily against your chest.

Minutes pass in comfortable silence, your thumb tracing lazy patterns on her back. Her breathing gradually evens out, each exhale growing softer and deeper. Realizing she's fallen asleep, a contented smile spreads across your face. You press a gentle kiss to her temple, letting your lips linger there for a moment. Carefully, you reach for the covers and draw them over both of you. You hold her close until your own eyelids grow heavy, and you drift off to sleep as well.

#elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #leigh shaw x reader #leigh shaw x female reader #leigh shaw #sorry for your loss au #leigh shaw x you #reblog #one of my fave series

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