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xhoess · 7 months ago

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Crossing Lines

Hugh jackman x fem bod reader

Masterlist wc: 7,3k

Summary , a 25-year-old journalist, develops an romantic connection with Hugh Jackman, a charismatic actor in his mid-50s, while writing his biography. Despite the age gap and professional boundaries, the attraction between you deepens, leading to a passionate affair.

Warnings: top!reader, bottom!Hugh, age gap (legal)

As you stride through the bustling city streets, your heart thrums with excitement, each step echoing the monumental opportunity ahead. Today is the day your editor finally gives you the assignment you’ve been dreaming of since you first sat down in a journalism class — writing the biography of Hugh Jackman. For a 25-year-old up-and-coming journalist, it feels surreal to have the chance to capture the essence of a man whose career you’ve followed closely, whose roles have shaped your understanding of storytelling and performance.

After weeks of anticipation, your meeting with Hugh is set for a cozy café nestled within the city's artsy district. You arrive early, your stomach fluttering with nerves as you order a coffee, trying to calm the whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind. What could possibly attract such a famous star to a fresh-faced journalist like you? Yet, as you scan the café, contemplating that question, you spot him through the glass windows.

Hugh enters, casual yet charismatic in a fitted navy sweater and jeans. The minute he steps inside, the atmosphere seems to shift; even among the clusters of people, he somehow stands out. His smile, infectious and warm, instantly illuminates the room. As he walks toward you, your nerves evaporate under the heat of his genuine enthusiasm.

“Hey there! You must be the journalist I've been hearing about,” Hugh says, extending his hand with a friendly grin that showcases the dimples you’ve seen a thousand times on-screen.

Your handshake is firm but nervous, and you can’t help but chuckle at how at ease he makes you feel. “Yes, that’s me! I’m so thrilled to meet you. Thank you for taking the time.”

“Trust me, the pleasure’s all mine,” he replies, gesturing for you to take a seat at a small, sun-drenched table. You can’t help but notice how his charisma seems to put everyone around him at ease.

As you settle into conversation, the initial questions and answers tumble out easily. You revel in his anecdotes about the early days of his career, stories that whisk you away to a different time. He speaks candidly about his passion for acting, the challenges he faced during auditions when he was just starting out, and the fiercely competitive environment of the industry.

“What was your biggest failure?” you ask, genuinely curious, hoping to seek the deeper truths behind the Hollywood glimmer.

Hugh’s expression momentarily changes; he leans back slightly, his gaze shifting as if contemplating the weight of your question. “You know, the pressure to succeed can sometimes make you forget why you fell in love with the craft in the first place,” he admits, his tone turning reflective. “I remember losing a significant role to someone else, and it stung. But that's part of the journey, isn’t it? You grow from those moments. You realize that failure isn’t the opposite of success; it’s part of it.”

You nod, fascinated. The more he opens up, the more the boundaries of interviewer and celebrity blur, replaced by a genuine connection.

As the conversation flows, the age difference feels like a minor detail; your minds and interests align in ways that make the moment feel timeless. An hour passes, but it hardly feels like a standard interview. Instead, it feels as if you’ve stumbled into a rich tapestry of shared experiences and emotions.

“Tell me about yourself,” Hugh prompts, the genuine curiosity in his voice encouraging you to peel back layers of your own story. You share anecdotes—tracing your journey through journalism, your dreams and fears, and your admiration for genuine connection.

To your surprise, you find yourself sharing more than you had anticipated. Buoyed by his kindness, you talk about your childhood dreams, your competitive spirit, and the moments of doubt you’ve faced in your career.

“I found you incredibly brave,” Hugh says, leaning in slightly, a sincere warmth radiating from him. “Pursuing what you love despite the risks—that’s true courage.”

His gaze holds yours, and for a moment, the busy café fades away, leaving just the two of you wrapped in the shared energy. The atmosphere is charged. Maybe you’re projecting, but there’s something electric in the way his eyes linger on you, stirring a deep curiosity within.

Thus begins a journey that neither of you can predict. The casual café, once a mere backdrop, transforms into the starting point of something that ignites possibilities neither of you dared to fathom.

When the time comes to leave, Hugh stands and stretches, a motion that draws your attention to his commanding presence. “I look forward to our next meeting,” he says, a hint of promise laced in his tone. “I have so many stories left to share.”

As you walk out together, the lightness of the moment is heavy with implication. The sun casts a golden glow over the city, mirroring the warmth in your chest as the door closes behind you, sealing away the outside world. You both step into something new—an unspoken agreement lingers in the air, hinting at the shared curiosity that hangs between the two of you and the many stories yet to come.

You leave the café buzzing, awash in the thrill of possibility and the raw honesty of your conversation. The future feels bright, tinged with excitement and a flicker of something else—a connection, undeniable and fierce, that you can no longer ignore.

The weeks rolled by quickly and the rhythm of your days began to mold around your time with Hugh. Each interview revealed layers of the man you admired, peeling back the façade of the celebrated actor to uncover a genuine warmth that pulsed beneath. Those first moments of nervousness had faded, replaced by a sense of familiarity that felt both exhilarating and daunting.

You found yourself in a vibrant world—one that sparkled with excitement and challenges. Your first informal outing with Hugh was a trip to the set of his upcoming film. As you stood a safe distance from the lively chaos of crew members and actors, you watched Hugh shift effortlessly into his character. He embodied the role with such authenticity that it left you breathless. The way he interacted with the cast had an ease to it, commanding yet approachable. You couldn’t help but admire his professionalism, noting how he balanced being a star with being humble.

“Do you see what I mean?” Hugh called out, breaking character long enough to glance your way. He was engaging with the crew, tossing jokes back and forth—a lightness that was infectious. “There’s something amazing about creating something with other people.”

You nodded, but inside, your thoughts drifted to how effortlessly he made connections. Each word felt like a secret just between the two of you, drawing you in further.

As the days slipped into weeks, your coffee breaks became a treasured ritual. Sitting across from him, you found yourself laughing at tales from his childhood in Australia, almost forgetting the weight of his fame. He spoke earnestly about film roles that changed him, how the weight of expectation sometimes felt unbearable. On alternate days, you’d share your own small victories—a published article, a radio mention—gladly listened to by someone who understood the thrill of breaking news. The rapport deepened with every exchange, and by the time the afternoon sun filtered through the café windows, you found yourselves sharing thoughts on love, loss, and the uncharted territory of adulthood.

You could feel the attraction shimmering beneath your conversations—a vast ocean of proximity that threatened to pull you both in deeper. Each brush of your knees beneath the table, every lingering gaze, was a silent acknowledgment of the connection that stood between you. While you’d both made tacit agreements to keep things professional, the chemistry was undeniable. You saw it in the way his eyes sparked when yours met, how the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly when he noticed you studying him, lost in thought.

One rainy afternoon, after a particularly insightful interview, he invited you to see him rehearse for an upcoming theater production. Standing in the dim light of the rehearsal room, you felt the electricity in the air—the tension that came from passion thriving in a close space. Hugh’s presence was magnetic, and you couldn’t tear your eyes away as he breathed life into each line. The commitment he displayed, the raw emotion that embedded in his performance, left you in awe.

At the end of the rehearsal, he found you in the back, watching with rapt attention. “What did you think?” he asked, wiping the sweat from his brow, his voice low and intimate.

“It was incredible,” you replied honestly, caught in his gaze. “You made it real.”

“Thank you. That means a lot coming from you,” he replied, shrugging off the compliment. As he smiled, it was as if the whole world faded away, and the burgeoning feelings expanded into the space between you.

Afterward, you strolled through the bustling streets, the sky a bruised purple, filled with the anticipation of a coming storm. You shared thoughts about theater, passion, and life, and each word flowed easier than the last. Yet with each moment, the attraction loomed larger, an unspoken current that wrapped around you both, pulling you towards a precipice.

Hugh, sensing the shift in the air, brought the conversation to a softer, more personal tone. “I sometimes worry about being forgotten, about fading into the background,” he confessed, his voice almost a whisper. It startled you, this glimpse into his vulnerability.

You wanted to reach out, place a reassuring hand on his arm, share the burden of his fears, but something held you back. Instead, you shared your own doubts about your career, the uncertainty that often nipped at your heels. He listened intently, nodding and tilting his head, making you feel seen in a way you had never experienced before.

The boundaries you had both set began to blur, each emotional revelation feeling as intimate as a secret whispered in the dead of night. When your hands brushed against each other, igniting that familiar spark, you flinched slightly, heart racing.

As daylight faded and the streets glowed with the warmth of streetlights, you found yourselves standing outside a cozy little café you’d both passed.

“Do you want to grab a coffee?” Hugh asked, his voice light, but the tension still electric.

“Sure,” you replied, laughter spilling from your lips as you stepped inside, perhaps too easily forgetting all the boundaries you had meant to maintain.

The air between you felt charged. You settled into a corner booth, but the conversation had taken on a life of its own—lightly teasing yet profound. With each laugh, every shared glimmer of understanding, the invisible strings binding you pulled taut, almost fraying at the edges under the weight of unspoken desire.

But as the evening wore on and the laughter faded, an unnameable tension settled between you. Perhaps it was the age difference, perhaps a fear of complicating your career. But deep down, you both knew: something was brewing beneath the surface, begging to be acknowledged even as you danced around it.

As you left the café, the lingering touches and gazes could no longer be ignored. It felt daunting, the knowledge that you both could either step into uncharted territory or retreat to what had been your safe haven: a friendship grounded in admiration and professional respect. But one question loomed larger than the rest: were you willing to risk it all for a chance at something deliciously uncertain?

With each passing day, it became harder to imagine life without him, as unspoken words hung in the air like stars waiting to break through the dawn. Would you allow yourselves to feel it, to embrace the pull? That was the question that sparked a myriad of possibilities, eager to unravel at the slightest touch.

The day that Hugh invited you to dinner felt almost surreal. You had shared countless hours together, laughing and discussing his life, and now he was asking you to step outside the parameters of your professional relationship. The combination of excitement and apprehension danced in your stomach like butterflies eager to break free.

The restaurant was tucked away from the bustling streets, an upscale venue where elegance and intimacy intertwined flawlessly. Candles flickered on the tables, casting soft shadows that mingled with the warm glow of the overhead lights. As you walked in together, Hugh’s hand found the small of your back, an innocent gesture that sent shivers down your spine. The ambiance hinted at romance, and you could feel the anticipation in the air.

Over the course of the evening, you talked about everything from films to dreams. Hugh’s laughter was comforting, wrapping around you like a warm blanket. He spoke with such passion about his current project, the excitement in his eyes igniting something deep within you. The wine flowed, the atmosphere was electric, and with every shared anecdote, the line between professional and personal faded further away.

At times, his gaze lingered a little longer on you than necessary, and you reveled in the warmth of his attention. It felt thrilling, almost forbidden, but the connection was undeniable. As the courses came and went, the flirtation between you grew more pronounced, transforming the conversation from simple pleasantries into something that sent your heart racing.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to step away from everything?” Hugh asked, swirling his wine glass, his thoughtful expression betraying the weight of his words. “To just escape, be someone else for a while?”

You leaned forward, captivated, sensing the vulnerability beneath his confident demeanor. “I think we all crave authenticity,” you replied. “Sometimes the roles we play in life feel like they overshadow who we really are.”

Hugh nodded, his eyes piercing through you as if he were reading the lines of a story yet to be written. “Authenticity can be hard to find when you’re in the public eye. It’s a strange feeling, needing to connect but knowing there are walls built around you.”

“It must be lonely,” you said softly, the truth of his words resonating with your own experiences throughout your career.

He smiled, yet his expression weighed heavy with sincerity. “That’s why genuine connections are so important. They remind us that we’re not alone, that there’s still someone who sees us for who we are beneath all the layers.”

The evening wore on, and as Hugh filled your glass again, he leaned in closer. “You’re different,” he said, his voice low and measured. “I can talk to you in a way I haven’t felt in a long, long time.”

Your heart raced at his admission. You weren't just a journalist; you were the one person who understood the actor behind the fame, the man behind the roles. The air thickened with tension, and the magnetism pulling you both closer was impossible to resist.

After dinner, he suggested taking a walk along the nearby beach. The idea sent a rush of thrill through you, and you couldn’t say no. As you strolled beside each other, moonlight glistened off the waves, reflecting the quiet intensity of the moment. The rhythmic sound of the surf served as a perfect backdrop, calming yet charged with unspoken desire.

You found yourself brushing against him more often, your fingers grazing against each other almost purposefully. The spark each touch ignited was undeniable, and when you finally stopped to take in the view—the moon reflecting off the water—you turned to face him, your heartbeat quickening.

He looked at you, his brown eyes dark with emotion, and everything seemed to still. There was no going back. The tension hung thick between you, and without thinking, you closed the distance and leaned in. He met you halfway, and his lips captured yours in a kiss that started softly as a whisper. You melted into him, and the moment deepened, transforming into an awakening that sent shockwaves through your entire being.

Before you knew you were entering his apartment.

Hugh’s hands slipped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you surrendered to the passion that had been building since the first interview. He looked at you, his brown eyes dark with emotion, and everything seemed to still. There was no going back. The tension hung thick between you, and without thinking, you closed the distance and leaned in. He met you halfway, and his lips captured yours in a kiss that started softly as a whisper. You melted into him, and the moment deepened, transforming into an awakening that sent shockwaves through your entire being.

You pulled away, breathless, and looked into his eyes. "I want you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, his eyes gleaming with desire. "I want you too," he replied, and he leaned in to kiss you again. This time, the kiss was hungry, desperate, as if he couldn't get enough of you

Your hands roamed over his body, feeling the muscles tense beneath your fingertips. You reached down and grabbed his ass, pulling him closer to you. He groaned and pressed himself against you, his hard cock rubbing against your thigh.

"Let's take this to the bedroom," you said, your voice husky with desire.

He nodded, and you led him to your bedroom. You pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips. You ground your pussy against his cock, feeling the heat building between you.

"Fuck, you feel good," he said, his hands grasping your hips.

"I haven't even started yet," you replied, and you leaned down to kiss him again. Your tongues danced together as your hands explored each other's bodies.

You broke the kiss and sat up, pulling your shirt over your head. He watched you, his eyes dark with desire. You unclasped your bra and let it fall away, revealing your breasts. He reached up and cupped them in his hands, his thumbs brushing over your nipples.

"You're so beautiful," he said, and he leaned up to take one of your nipples in his mouth. He sucked and bit gently, and you moaned with pleasure.

You reached down and undid his pants, freeing his cock. It was hard and thick, and you wrapped your hand around it, stroking it gently.

"I want to taste you," you said, and you leaned down to take him in your mouth. You swirled your tongue around the head of his cock, savoring the salty taste of him. He groaned and threaded his fingers through your hair, guiding you as you sucked him deeper into your mouth.

After a few minutes, you pulled away and climbed back on top of him. You positioned yourself over his cock and slowly lowered yourself down onto it. You moaned as he filled you up, stretching you in the most delicious way.

You started to ride him, your hips grinding against his. He reached up and cupped your breasts, his fingers teasing your nipples.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he said, his voice strained.

"You too," you replied, and you leaned down to kiss him again.

You broke the kiss and sat up, your hips still moving in a steady rhythm. You reached down and started to play with your clit, rubbing small circles over it.

"Oh god, I'm close," you said, your voice breathless.

"Me too," he replied, and he grabbed your hips, thrusting up into you harder.

You both came at the same time, your orgasms washing over you like waves. You collapsed onto him, your bodies slick with sweat.

"That was amazing," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah, it was," he replied, and he kissed you softly.

You lay there for a few minutes, your bodies entwined, before finally getting up and getting dressed. You walked back to the living room, hand in hand, feeling closer than you ever had before.

Time lost all meaning as you surrendered to the connection that had grown over weeks spent in Hugh’s presence. You discovered not just the contours of each other’s bodies, but the depths of emotions that had long been buried beneath layers of ambition and expectation. You shared moments that transcended mere physical intimacy—it was raw, it was genuine, and it was deeply, achingly beautiful.

You wake up to the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains, the remnants of last night’s passion still shimmering at the edges of your memory. As you stir, the warmth of Hugh’s body beside you is both comforting and anxiety-inducing. You slowly prop yourself up on one elbow, trying to take in the serene expression on his face. His hair, tousled and messy, makes him look utterly disarming. The memory of his lips on yours, the way his hands explored every inch of your skin, sends a jolt of warmth through you. But as the thrill of the night starts to fade, reality crashes over you like a tidal wave.

What have you done?

It’s a question you’ve been silently wrestling with since you slipped into his life. The weight of the previous night hangs heavily in the air, and as you glance over at Hugh, you find yourself questioning everything. The thrill of your connection now contrasts sharply with the doubts swirling around in your mind. You’re not just a young reporter; you’re a 25-year-old woman who just crossed a monumental line with a man who’s not only twice your age but also a global superstar. What would your colleagues think? How would it affect your career?

Hugh stirs and opens his eyes, the momentary bliss of sleep fading as he meets your gaze. For a moment, there’s a flicker of that undeniable connection—the warmth of intimacy still lingering between you. But just as quickly, you see a shift in his expression, mirroring your own internal conflict.

“Morning,” he says, his voice a gravelly whisper, as if he is still finding his way back from one world to another.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel. You sit up, tugging the sheets around you, as if shielding your emotions. The room feels smaller, like the walls are closing in, and all of a sudden, it’s hard to breathe.

Hugh runs a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognize from the many times you’ve seen him in public. It’s a familiar but intimate act, one that draws you in all over again. “Last night was… unexpected,” he admits, his words heavy with unspoken questions.

“Yeah,” you manage, unable to mask the tremor in your voice. “I didn’t think… well, I didn’t plan for it to happen.”

He nods, his expression serious as he shifts to sit up next to you. “Neither did I. But it did. And now we need to talk about it.”

“Do we?” You bite your lip, avoiding his gaze as a whirlwind of emotions crashes over you—fear, regret, thrill, and an undeniable desire that you can’t seem to escape. “What do we say? We can’t just pretend it didn’t happen.”

“No, we can’t.” He breathes out slowly, as if trying to steady himself. “But we also can’t ignore the implications. This isn’t just fun and games. You know that, right?”

Your heart sinks. You know he’s right; he’s always been right. “Yeah,” you whisper, a lump forming in your throat. “But… what if it wasn’t just a mistake? What if we… tried to make sense of this?”

Hugh looks at you, those warm brown eyes piercing through your doubts, challenging your fears. “What do you want?” he asks, his tone softening. “Do you want to walk away?”

The question hangs between you like a fragile thread, spinning out into the vast uncertainty of your feelings. You take a deep breath, heart pounding in your chest. The thought of leaving him sends a wave of pain coursing through you, yet the reality of your professional life looms larger than ever.

“I don’t know,” you admit finally, blinking back the tears threatening to spill. “It’s just… complicated. You’re Hugh Jackman. You’re a legend. And I’m just me. What happens when it all goes wrong?”

His expression softens, and he reaches for your hand, his touch grounding in the turmoil. “Every relationship has its risks. But isn’t that what makes it worth it? The chance to be with someone who makes you feel alive?”

You meet his gaze, only to find the depth of understanding wrapped in warmth and honesty. It’s a lifeline, and despite the fear flooding through you, something flickers within—an ember of hope that maybe this moment can turn into something lasting.

“Do you really think it’s worth it?” you push, still uncertain. “We’d be in the public eye. People will talk...”

“Let them talk,” he counters, the fierceness in his voice igniting something inside you. “I’ve spent my life worrying about what others think. If I’ve learned anything, it’s that living for the public can lead to a hollow existence. I don’t want to hide from what feels real.”

His words resonate within you, striking a chord you didn’t even know existed. The fear doesn’t disappear, but the possibility—the allure of a genuine connection—sets your heart racing. Once again, you are reminded of how he sees you not just as a journalist but as a woman, a person worthy of love and connection.

“I don’t want to walk away,” you admit, your voice trembling slightly. “I just don’t want to hurt you or jeopardize our lives.”

Hugh smiles softly, and for a moment, the tension lifts. “I won’t let you hurt me. But we have to be honest with ourselves. If we continue down this path, we have to be ready for the world to witness it.”

You swallow hard, the gravity of the situation settling over you like a heavy fog. “What if we take it slowly? Keep it under wraps until we figure things out?”

He considers your suggestion, the smile retreating slightly as he weighs the possibilities. “It might be the best approach. We can still pursue this connection, just… with some discretion.”

With a shared understanding, the path before you seems clearer, the feelings that have grown too immense to ignore now taking a tangible shape. As you lean into him, emotions swirling like a tempest within, you realize that you’re ready to risk it all for the chance to create a beautiful story with him. One that bends the rules but ultimately feels right.

The sun slowly dipped on the horizon, casting a warm golden hue through the large window of the café where you and Hugh had agreed to meet. This was meant to be just another interview session, yet you both knew the underlying current of tension had transformed each subsequent meeting into something decidedly more intimate—something that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

As you nestled into the cozy chair across from him, you couldn’t ignore the quiet thump of your heart echoing in your chest. The faint sounds of clinking cutlery and chatter melted into the background as you locked eyes with him; those deep, soulful orbs seemed to recognize the tumult of emotions swirling within you. Today was different.

Hugh’s casual approach veiled a seriousness beneath the surface. He was dressed simply in a navy shirt and jeans, his trademark charm effortlessly on display, but there was something in the set of his jaw that told you he was preparing to confront what had been left unaddressed since that fateful night.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he began, his voice low and steady. “About us. About that night.”

You felt a shiver run through you, a jolt of recollection. The memory of his lips on yours, the way everything around you faded away as you became encapsulated in the moment, sent adrenaline coursing through your veins. But with that thrill came a nagging sense of dread, the reality of what it meant for both of you hanging heavily over your heads.

“I don’t want to pretend like that didn’t happen,” he continued, his expression earnest. “And despite the complications, I don’t want to walk away from… whatever this is.”

“What if it complicates everything?” you countered, feeling a knot of anxiety tighten in your stomach. “You’re Hugh Jackman, and I’m just—”

“—just a brilliant journalist who’s been shining a light on the world for years,” he interjected, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re someone who sees me for who I am, not just who I portray on-screen. You’ve become so much more than just a subject of my biography.”

His words wrapped around you like a comforting blanket, yet the underlying reality was indisputable. The age difference? The spotlight? The inevitability of hurt if things went sideways? Each point weighed heavily on your mind.

But there was a magnetic pull, a connection that felt undeniably unique. What the two of you had blossomed from shared experiences, laughter, and moments both profound and mundane was a rarity, one that would be foolish to dismiss without a fight.

“What are you saying?” you asked, your voice softer now, tinged with hope and uncertainty.

“I’m saying I don’t think I can walk away, and I’d rather risk the fallout than miss out on something real,” he confessed, the sincerity in his eyes making your heart flutter. “I want to see where this goes, if you do.”

Taking a deep breath, you weighed the implications: professional fallout, judgment from the public eye, the complexities of an age difference that loomed large in circumstances such as these. The questions danced on the tip of your tongue, begging to be vocalized. What would your editor say? What would your friends think? Would it jeopardize your burgeoning career? And then, lingering silently in the back of your mind—was it worth it?

But how could you ignore the way his laughter made your voice lift? The way your shoulders relaxed in his presence? Your gaze strayed down to his fingertips, grasped around the wine glass, elegant and assured, mirroring the strength you found within him.

“I don’t want to get hurt,” you said after a long silence, your voice thick with emotion. “I’m scared—what if we crash and burn?”

Hugh leaned back, his expression contemplative yet patient. “I get it; I've been through enough ups and downs in my life to understand the fear. But what if we soar? What if it’s exhilarating and meaningful?” His eyes sparkled with a glint of mischief. “They said I’d never be able to dance like I did in Moulin Rouge, and now look at me!”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension breaking for a moment with his endearing humor. “You made it work, though. Would we even stand a chance?”

“I believe we would,” he said firmly, leaning closer once again. “But it takes that leap of faith. Look, let’s take it slow. Let’s keep growing our connection, exploring this—whatever it means—together. You don't have to give up your career or dreams for this, but I want you to know I’m here, and I’m willing to fight for you.”

As hope ignited in your chest, you felt a warmth radiate through you—a desire to plunge into the unknown with someone you had come to admire so deeply. You could feel the unyielding strength in his words; if he was willing to navigate the storm, perhaps you could, too.

And so, with a tremorous breath, the fear began to melt away, revealing a burgeoning excitement for what lay ahead. “Okay,” you finally said, your heart racing. “Let’s figure this out—together. But I want to take baby steps.”

Hugh’s smile could have illuminated the entire café as he nodded, visibly relieved. “That’s all I ask. And who knows? Maybe we’ll find something beautiful in the chaos.”

In that moment, surrounded by the soft hum of the café, you felt a sense of release—a weight lifted. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you had made a choice: to embrace the emotions that blossomed between you and Hugh Jackman, and to allow the journey to unfold in its own time.

As you both toasted to your new beginning, a delicious thrill coursed through you, igniting a spark of hope for what might blossom in the days to come.

OKAY THIS MAY BE MY FAV FIC I WRITE EVER OMG... part two maybe?? If yall think yes I want a part to COMMENT THAT OK???

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hopelesslygaysstuff · 1 month ago

Text

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐵𝑜𝑜𝑘 𝐶𝑙𝑢𝑏

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: Your neighbor and friend, Wanda Maximoff, invites you to her book club. The book they're reading is, well, erotic. It sparks something in you, and you find yourself growing closer with your neighbor, in a surprising way.

content warnings: smut, improper use of a book, spanking, fingering, cunnilingus

word count: 6.2k+

masterlist

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! happy reading ♡

The rose petals are soft beneath your fingertips, your mind adrift as you tend to the vibrant bushes near your door. The faint scent of lawn clippings hangs in the air, dulled slightly by the thick heat lazily wrapping around you, an occasional breeze brushing by to dry the back of your damp neck. You glance at the lemonade sitting on your front steps, your mouth watering slightly at the thought of drinking the refreshing beverage.

You clip a slightly dead branch of your rose bush, discarding it in the small, steadily growing pile nearby. There hasn’t been a rain shower in a few weeks, so you’ve been diligent about watering your bushes, but even you can’t beat the arid heat that settles on your town. It’s all anyone can talk about; the endless heat at the height of summer causing kids and adults alike to flock to the brand-new water park in the heart of town.

Ice clinks as you finally cave, reaching over to sip the lemonade through a straw. The taste explodes in your mouth, and you let out a soft sound of relief as the sugar perks you back up. Your fingers slip slightly on the condensation steadily sweating from the cold glass, and you begin to seriously consider retreating back inside to sit in front of your fan.

“Hey, neighbor,” a friendly voice calls out, and you recognize the honeyed tone immediately.

Your head jerks up, your cheeks flushing as you recall the dirt smeared on your knees, and you’re acutely aware of the loose strands of hair sticking to your forehead. You raise your free hand awkwardly, praying you’re not waving too enthusiastically at your neighbor.

Wanda had been your neighbor ever since you’d moved in a few months ago, and she’d immediately taken you under her care. It was endearing, really, to have someone care about you while you adjusted to a new city.

“Hi, Wanda,” you called out, your voice cracking slightly. You could see the older woman smile, her red hair cascading over her back as she walked around her bushes and towards you. You hide your nervousness, sucking on your straw like it is a lifeline, your pulse quickening as she draws nearer.

Oh god, you probably smell so bad. You’ve been out in the sun for hours, sweating under the sweltering sun, your deodorant having lost its potency ten minutes into your battle with the rose bushes. You’re acutely aware of the sweat dripping down your temple, your eyebags showing since you’d decided not to use concealer this morning, not wanting to have it melt right off your face in the heat.

“What on earth are you doing out in the heat on a day like this?” Wanda asks, smiling at you and shielding her face from the sun as she looks down at your still-kneeling form. The faint scent of vanilla drifts over to you, and you wet your lips slightly, your straw making a loud sound as you realize you’ve finished the last of your lemonade. You sense that she doesn’t want a response, her words more of a statement than an actual question, a subtle chide at your ability to make rational decisions in the summer heat.

Helplessly, you gesture towards your rose bushes, your eyes quickly spotting the petals that are slowly wilting, standing out against the vibrant colors.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wanda says, tilting her head as she examines your rose bushes, “I think they look beautiful. Now, why don’t you invite me inside for a cup of that delicious-looking lemonade, hm?”

Flustered, you stand quickly, gripping your glass and muttering a quick, “Of course,” before holding the door open and ushering the woman inside.

Wanda walks straight into your kitchen, sighing slightly at the cool breeze from your AC unit working overtime. Her green eyes find yours, crinkling at the edges as she smiles at you. Smiling back slightly, you rush to the fridge, pulling out the pitcher of lemonade you’d made and pouring a generous amount into one of your fancy glasses.

“What is a sweet girl like you doing outside working in this heat?” Wanda asks, taking the cup from you. You can’t stop looking at the way her red-tinted lips wrap around the straw as she sips. “Shouldn’t that boy of yours be helping you?”

“Who?”

“The boy with the long hair and the flannel,” Wanda says, her tone slightly off. You recall the other weekend when you’d invited your coworker to the neighborhood barbecue. Wanda had been more touchy with you that night for some reason, her eyes looking at your coworker with light suspicion; you didn’t really mind, assuming she was looking out for you. You can tell that she’s poking around with her words, a hidden question behind them, and you’re all too happy to set the record straight for her.

“Oh, Jared? No, he’s just a friend,” you say, hoping that your tone is casual. It sounds far too high-pitched, but Wanda relaxes slightly at your words, smiling brightly at you as her fingernails clink on the side of her glass.

“Ah,” she mutters, raising her eyebrows slightly, “A friend.”

The silence stretches for an awkward beat before you feel the urge to explain yourself. To get rid of the crushing feeling between your ribcage as Wanda studies you, her head tilted slightly. “No, truly, he is just a friend. We met at work and now we kind of hang out outside of work. I don’t know, it’s just… friends hanging out and stuff. I don’t like boys- or, I mean, him like that.” The words spew from you like a messy word vomit, the letters and syllables all jumbled together as you try to string together a coherent sentence.

Chuckling, Wanda reaches out, her fingers gently touching your cheek. Her fingertips are cold against your skin, and you realize that you’re flushed. You pop your straw back into your mouth, your teeth gnawing slightly on the plastic as you distract yourself.

“I know what boys want from a pretty girl like you,” Wanda says. It feels like an intimate sort of statement, but her tone is far too bright, an air of casualness forcing its way into the sentence as you awkwardly laugh at her words.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,” you say, unsure of why you’re reassuring her. “I’m not interested in Jared, like that.”

“Hmm, good,” Wanda nods as she speaks, an air of finality in her words. You assume the conversation is over, your eyes trailing over her blouse, respectfully avoiding looking near her chest, as the fabric dipped quite low. You supposed it made sense, given the heat, but the last thing you wanted to do was make your neighbor uncomfortable.

Wanda didn’t mind. After all, she’d chosen this blouse with the low v-cut on purpose, watching you through the window while making finger sandwiches for Billy and Tommy. You’d been working so hard, your arm muscles showing as you pulled weeds and clipped your rose bush, that she couldn’t help but venture over to your lawn. After all, the boys enjoyed their cartoons on a lazy Saturday afternoon, and your muscles had looked quite striking as you worked in that sinfully thin tanktop of yours.

“Say,” Wanda exclaims suddenly, your eyes snapping up from where they’d been lingering around the exposed skin of her stomach. “You like reading, don’t you?”

Your eyes light up, and Wanda’s teeth gleam as she smiles brightly at you. She remembers you talking her ear off about a book you’d read, her mind wandering to the animated way your hands had moved while speaking. She’d nodded at all the right places, asking you questions occasionally, her attention focused on the way your face shifted into genuine enthusiasm as you spoke.

“I run this book club,” Wanda says, shrugging as though it was no big deal, her eyes flitting up to yours to gauge your reaction. “We meet on Friday at my house, when the boys leave for the weekend at their father’s place, if you’d be interested.”

It’s been a while since you’ve had a consistent friend group or even just a group of people to hang out with. Wanda knows this; you’ve talked about it a few times, when you’ve had a few too many glasses of wine, your face flushed and your eyes dark and wide as you lean into her friendly touch.

“I would love to come!” You bite your lip as you hide a wide smile, containing your obvious excitement at the idea. “What book are you reading?”

“Ah, well,” Wanda ducks her head, peeking up at you through her lashes. It’s the perfect picture of innocence. “I’m not sure if you’d be interested in this specific book.”

“Please tell me,” you beg, setting your lemonade aside as you lean closer to her. You’ve been searching for some new books, even asking Wanda for recommendations. It’s almost cruel, the way she hesitates before answering, her eyes focused solely on your reaction.

Wanda finally tells you, watching as you immediately pull out your phone to search for the name of the book. Her eyes are sharp, gauging your reaction as you quickly skim the description. She can’t tell if you’re blushing more than usual, the book is a lesbian romance, but you don’t seem to mind as you look up and smile at her.

“Can I borrow your book for the meeting on Friday?”

And that’s that. Wanda agrees, of course, her mind racing as she watches you smile and talk about how much you’ve been looking forward to reading books with other people, your words jumbling together in your excitement. You’re leaning closer to her as you speak, your eyes sparkling and lips moving a mile a minute. Wanda takes another sip of the sugary lemonade, glancing at your lips as she wonders if you taste just as sweet.

God, she can’t wait until Friday.

—

You’re nervous, your hands fiddling with the loose threads of your shirt as you walk up the pristine walkway to Wanda’s front door. God, you’ve knocked plenty of times before, but this time it feels… nervewracking.

Truly, you aren’t used to meeting new people. Most of the time, others approach you, starting conversations and inviting you into their lives. It had never been the other way around, and the mere thought of putting yourself out there made your palms sweat and your feet develop an urge to run.

Before you can give yourself a pep talk, your fingers trembling as you reach for the doorbell, the door unlocks, startling you. The first thing Wanda sees when she swings the door open is your wide eyes, her eyes softening when she takes in your tense form. She can tell you’re a few wrong words away from bolting back to your house with a poorly mumbled excuse.

“Oh, sweetheart, I didn't mean to startle you,” she says, and suddenly her hands are all over you, distracting you from the nervousness building steadily within you. Wanda’s hands pull you inside, gently squeezing your arms before wrapping slightly around your waist, her touch insistent as heat spreads through your body wherever her fingers make contact. She can feel you relaxing slightly, your expression opening up as she talks your ear off, telling you that their book club is quite small, but you’ll help grow their numbers as she ushers you into the living room.

“Is that a rabbit?” The words are out of your mouth before you can stop them, your face going slightly red as your eyes widen. There’s a white rabbit munching on some cucumbers, its nose twitching and ears swiveling towards you as you shuffle in your socks on the carpet. Your eyes catch the long fingers gently stroking its fur, moving up to land on the face of a striking brunette.

“This is Señor Scratchy,” the woman says, her blue eyes glinting slightly as she looks you up and down. “You must be Wanda’s new pe-”

“Agatha,” Wanda interrupts, smiling tightly for a moment before she glances at you. “Be nice to our newest member.”

Smirking, Agatha just wiggles her fingers at you, her eyes crinkling at the corners. You wonder what she was going to say that caused Wanda to speak so abruptly, but she turns her head before you can ask. Following her eyeline, you smile awkwardly at the woman who enters through the doorway, her hands full as she balances four mugs on a tray.

“Oh good, coffee,” Wanda says, ushering you onto the couch and slipping her copy of this week's book into your hands.

A steaming mug is placed before you, Wanda pouring a bit of milk and dropping three sugar cubes into your coffee, just the way you like it. You would blush at the attentiveness, but you’re too focused on the way the woman with the tray settles down next to Agatha, her hands caressing her shoulders for a moment. Agatha’s blue eyes are locked on you as she pulls the other woman’s legs onto her lap.

“Nice to meet you, fresh meat,” the woman says, her smile sharp. She does not offer her name.

Agatha cackles slightly, patting the woman’s legs as she takes in your wide-eyed look. “Rio, my love, you’ve scared Wanda’s… friend.”

They’re testing you, that much is obvious. Wanda’s hand is hovering near her mug, her eyes cutting towards the women on the couch opposite from you. Agatha is peering at you from under her lashes, her hands still massaging Rio’s legs, the rabbit having jumped to the floor the moment the other woman entered the room. You can hear him munching in the silence.

Rio, well, she stares at you openly, her eyes a bit too wide.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat as you take a sip of your coffee to give your hands something to do. “It’s very nice to meet you, Agatha and Rio.” You nod at each of them as you say their name. Hopefully, they don’t hear your voice wavering. “This seems like a fun group for a book club.”

“Oooh, I like her,” Rio murmurs, smiling widely at you. It sends goosebumps crawling down the back of your neck, but you bravely smile back, feeling your lips tremble.

Wanda claps her hands once, letting out a breath of air as she brings attention back to the topic at hand. “We’ve started the book, but we’re only a few chapters in so far. Agatha, why don’t you catch her up?”

Suffice to say, Agatha is excellent at summarizing. You understand the first few chapters well enough, and you blush when she mentions the hot older lesbian the main character is pining over, winking at Rio. You begin to wonder about the nature of their relationship, but decide that it’s none of your business.

“I’m looking forward to the next few chapters,” Rio says offhandedly. “I’ve heard they get steamy, just the way I like my books.”

“Naughty girl,” Agatha murmurs, then most of your previous questions are cleared up as Rio grabs the back of her neck and kisses the woman solidly.

You can feel Wanda looking at you from the corner of your eye, and you hope she doesn’t take your awkward fidgeting the wrong way. After all, it’s not like you could easily explain the warm feeling spreading through your body at the sight of them kissing, your nose hyper-aware of Wanda’s warm vanilla perfume wafting over to you.

“So, do they do this often?” You ask, smiling slightly and injecting sarcasm into your tone as you bravely turn to face Wanda. She looks slightly relieved, an easy smile curling her lips at the corners as you both hear a scoff from the other couch.

“Got a problem with it, sweetheart?” Agatha drawls, her blue eyes piercing. Rio is wrapped around her, reminding you of a large snake coiling around their prey, and you shake your head.

“Of course not, I’m just questioning if you actually talk about the book during these meetings, or if you just make out. That can’t be productive, and I truly do like talking about books…”

Wanda laughs beside you, one of her hands landing on your knee as she does so. You don’t mind, needing the extra support as your bravery fades slightly once you’ve said your piece. Agatha is chuckling and when you risk looking at Rio’s face, she’s smirking slightly at you.

“I bet you’d like that,” Rio mutters, falling silent when Agatha shoots her a stern look.

“Don’t start, besides, she’s right. This is a book club, after all,” Agatha nods at you, picking up her book. “So, should we dive deeper into the chapters then? I’d like to discuss the hints they’re dropping about the more kinky aspects that are to come.”

Oh god, you don’t think your blush will go away for the rest of the club meeting. Wanda’s hand remains on your knee, and you don’t mind when it slowly moves up your thigh. Is it the coffee making you jittery, or something else? You don’t know, but your heart is racing and your face feels practically aflame with every word that Agatha and Rio speak.

It’s the best book club you’ve ever attended.

—

“So,” Wanda says, trailing off. Her fingers run along the edges of the book, and you watch them for a moment before meeting her eyes.

Agatha and Rio have already left with their hands hot around each other's waists, a sight you’ve grown accustomed to seeing. It’s been a few weeks, your cheeks still reddening every time someone makes a joke about the smut in the book, but you’ve grown used to the comments and the way Wanda’s hand feels on your thigh.

At first, you were worried about the implications of her actions. But, Agatha and Rio never commented on it or even looked twice at you and Wanda, their eyes were only made for each other. You’d grown comfortable with the touch, even leaning up against your neighbor at times when the discussion became passionate. Occasionally, your hand would brush against hers, your chin hovering near her shoulder as you read the passages.

Each touch felt charged, and you were glad you could explain the blush away by gesturing to the book.

“Yeah,” you say, your head ducking slightly as the silence stretches on. “So.”

“Today was interesting,” Wanda smiles, her cheeks slightly pink as her fingers spread the pages of her book. She’s referencing the smut, of course. Agatha had taken great delight in teasing you, asking you which scene was your favorite, or if you’d related strongly with one of the kinks introduced.

Forcing a chuckle, you nod. In all honesty, you’d rather not let Wanda know that you’d pictured yourself as the main character while reading the book before the meeting. Your fingers had rubbed furiously at your throbbing clit under the sheets as you read the characters making out, your thighs tightening when the older woman in the book whispered degrading things in the main character’s ear.

“I-” You begin, ducking your head and smiling. “I didn’t mind reading it but… actually discussing it?”

“What?” Wanda asks, her voice teasing. There’s a forced sort of lightness to her tone, her eyes sharp as she looks at you. “I thought it was adorable… how flustered you get.”

A chuckle escapes you, awkwardness flooding you as you think about the kinky acts the group had discussed. Rio had been bored, claiming she wanted more out of a self-proclaimed kinky book, but Agatha had shushed her as Wanda launched into an analysis of each character’s psyche.

You loved it when Wanda talked. She always had the best insights, her words well crafted. She was smart, everything she said was well thought out, and you often found yourself nodding along.

“I’m glad you think so,” you say, the words feeling thick around your tongue. Your heart is beating quickly, and you take a deep breath as you look back down at your fingers, nervously twisting together.

“Would you like to read the next chapter together?” Wanda asks, her tone light. One of her hands reaches out, resting gently on your knee. “I’m looking forward to this one.”

“Isn’t this chapter the one Rio said was really… you know,” you whisper, your knee tensing under Wanda’s touch.

“What?”

“The really dirty chapter,” you mumble, your cheeks aflame as you peer up at Wanda through your lashes. She’s smiling gently at you, her fingers still splayed out on the pages.

There’s something in her eyes that you can’t quite decipher. The hand on your knee tightens for a moment, before sliding up further as Wanda leans in. You barely hear her words, focused on how soft her hair looks and awkwardly trying not to glance at her lips as her vanilla perfume wafts under your nose. God, she smells so nice and her touch is so firm and warm and-

“I want to see your reactions when we read it,” Wanda murmurs, her lips grazing your cheek as she leans closer to whisper in your ear. “That blush of yours is just too adorable to resist.”

You force your lungs to breathe, your knuckles white from how hard you’re gripping the couch cushion. Wanda pulls back, smiling sweetly at you and patting the spot next to her. “Come, darling. Let’s read the next chapter together.”

Mindlessly, you nod as you move to sit next to her. You try to leave some space, your mind racing while also being somewhat blank at the same time. Wanda simply moves closer until her thigh is pressed against yours, her hand firmly on your thigh as she begins to read out loud in that perfect, low voice of hers.

It takes everything in you not to squirm, your bottom lip sore from how hard you’re biting it. Wanda doesn’t seem to notice, her voice calm as she reads the scene. Her hand is slowly inching up your thigh, and you feel your heart rate increasing at the thought of her feeling the heat that is surely emanating from the apex of your thighs.

“The cane whistles through the air, hitting me solidly. My body jerks forward, pain erupting on my bruised ass, but Eliza’s hand grips my hair, her voice hissing that I should be still. I listen, my brain screaming at me to comply while my body is brought closer to an orgasm, the pain turning into pleasure with each strike of the cane.”

You rest your chin on Wanda’s shoulder, your attention split between her hand squeezing your thigh and the scene she’s reading. Ignoring the wetness between your thighs, you pray that you don’t leak through your pants.

“I begin to crave the pain,” Wanda’s voice is steady as she reads, with only a slight breathiness to her tone. “I needed to submit, to let Eliza control every aspect of my pain, and with it, my pleasure.”

“I’ve always wondered how that feels,” you interrupt, your mind still thinking about the cane. You wondered if it really could cause pleasure.

Wanda pauses, her fingers squeezing your thigh for a moment before she turns toward you, lowering the book slightly. “How… what feels?”

“Oh,” you blush, clearing your throat. “The impact play. I just assume that a cane would hurt. I’ve never- well. You know.”

There’s a lingering silence, a sort of tension in the air as Wanda considers your words. She seems to be choosing her next words carefully, her fingers gripping your thigh as she sets the book down.

“Would you like to try?”

Fuck.

Wanda’s eyes are on you, and you can feel them as you stare at the book for a few moments. Working up your courage, you glance up, blinking at how dilated her pupils are, her green irises barely noticeable.

“We- I… where would we get a cane?” You ask, the words feeling a bit thick in your mouth.

Chuckling, Wanda closes the book fully and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Oh, my sweet girl, we don’t need a cane for impact play, anything will do.”

“Oh, right,” you say, feeling stupid. Your brain is full of fuzz, your thoughts muffled slightly. The only thing you can think about is the scene from the book, Wanda’s hand on your thigh moving up further and further until it’s gliding over your hips and pressing on your upper back.

You gasp slightly as Wanda bends you over her lap, her hand gentle but firm between your shoulder blades. You willingly follow her lead, your chest heaving slightly as you try to calm your racing heartbeat, resisting the urge to squirm when you feel how wet you are, the change in position thrilling.

“Is this alright?” Wanda asks, her voice warm. Her hand is gently rubbing your back, the other playing with the hair on top of your head, petting you somewhat. You don’t mind.

“Yes, I just…” you bite your lip. Wanda’s hand pauses, and you quickly speak, your chest tight and full of nerves. “You’re a really good friend and my neighbor and I don’t want to mess anything up or-”

Wanda‘s hand moves from the top of your head to cover your mouth, and you hear a shushing sound. Her other hand is slowly moving down your back, warmth spreading through your backside as she moves to caress your ass, your back arching into the touch. “Don’t worry about that sweetheart, don’t you want this?”

You stutter, nodding against her hand as your words are muffled.

“Good, because I want this too,” Wanda murmurs, and you feel a smile forming on your lips as your heart soars. She wants this too? You’ve felt so much guilt over the past few weeks, blushing when you catch her gaze and then going home to read the book and pretend you’re not imagining Wanda as the dominatrix while you read.

“Say it,” Wanda commands, her voice different. Her hand finally moves away from your lips, returning to your upper back, keeping you in place. She sounds strict, and you squirm at the words.

“I want this,” you whisper.

“Louder.”

“Fuck,” you mutter, grinding your hips into her thighs before you freeze, your eyes wide.

Wanda chuckles lowly. “You must really want this if you’re chasing your pleasure while bent over my lap. Say it, darling. I need to hear the words before I continue.”

You can’t speak, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you listen to her. It’s already too much, your heart is overjoyed and relieved at the same time. Your thighs are slightly slick, your arousal leaking through your underwear and smearing over your sensitive skin. You pray that Wanda can't smell it.

“I want this.” A part of you hopes that your voice is strong, your conviction shining through your evident arousal. Instead, the words are shaky, your voice trembling with need.

“Good girl.”

Before you can react to the praise, a moan slipping past your lips, the air behind you changes. The book hits your ass, the solid hardcover sending an ache of pain directly to your throbbing pussy.

Your body jolts forward, your thoughts quieting in an instant. Wanda brings the book down again and again, hitting the backs of your thighs gently before increasing her force as she watches your ass jiggle from the impact. You’re a squirming, whining mess on her lap, your upper body restrained by her hand between your shoulder blades, the couch leaving indents in your cheek as you arch your back further into her touch.

It’s everything Wanda had imagined. She wants more. She wants you to beg her, to present yourself to her, to… to take everything she gives you without complaint. Your submission, your pleasure, your pain. She wants it all.

“Look at me,” Wanda says, her voice low as she tugs on your hair.

Gasping, you feel pain radiating into your skull, her fingers unrelenting as she wrenches your head back. You let out a small whimper as you meet her gaze, and she loosens her hold slightly, her fingers scratching your head in an almost apology.

“What do you want?” Wanda asks, her voice soft. She drops the book behind you, the hardcover landing with a thud. Your ass is on fire, and she begins to knead her hand into it, squeezing as you whine.

“Um,” you pant out, arching your back and pressing your ass further into her hand. You feel shame coursing through you in tandem with your burning arousal. The humiliation only sends your mind further into the vanilla-tinged fuzziness you’ve slowly been sinking into. “I want you to… fuck. Um, I want you-”

“Speak up.”

Wanda’s voice is hard, and her hand comes down on your ass harshly. Your body jolts forward at the unexpected impact, and you suppress a moan. You weren’t used to this, the image of Wanda as your nice, friendly neighbor clashing with this new, dominant persona of hers. It’s not that you didn’t like it, but your pussy was uncomfortably wet, and the ache between your thighs could only be soothed by one thing. Wanda.

“I need you, Wanda, please make me feel good,” you say, the words spewing from you as you grind your hips down against her thighs. It sounds more like a whine, your voice high-pitched as you plead, but it satisfies Wanda.

“Well,” Wanda is smiling as she releases your head, your chin hitting the couch as you suck in deep breaths. “Since you asked so politely…”

Her hands both move to your waistband, one curling under your stomach to undo the button and pull your zipper down while the other drags the fabric down your legs. She doesn’t bother to pull them fully off you, bunching them halfway down your calves.

Your skin burns where she touches you, your arousal thick in the air as her fingers roughly cup you. “Oh sweetheart, you needed this, didn’t you?”

Nodding, you bury your face in your arms, bucking back against her hand in search of some sort of relief. You’ve never felt this sort of burning need before, every fiber of your being focused on the way she feels against you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you,” Wanda murmurs, your brain processing the words as she peels the damp fabric of your panties down your thighs.

Holy fuck, you can feel the cool air against your throbbing center. Wanda’s fingers massage the area around your glistening sex, teasing you even while her chest heaves. She sucks in a few deep breaths, her fingers inching closer to your throbbing clit.

“You sound so pretty,” Wanda murmurs, seemingly lost in a sort of trance as she watches her fingers collect your arousal. You’re whining beneath her, your hips squirming and bucking into her touch, and she feels her head spin with the rush of power she feels. This is everything she wanted from the moment she saw you, and now, she’s finally taking what’s hers.

When her fingers finally slide into you, it feels like absolute heaven. They curl perfectly, hitting your most sensitive spot as you moan into the couch cushion. Your clit throbs needily as Wanda slowly pumps her fingers deeper, your arousal coating her fingers.

“I have an idea,” Wanda says, her words slightly jarring.

“Mmmphhh,” you manage, forcing your brain to focus on her words while her fingers curl deep inside you. It’s humiliating to feel your pleasure rising as she fucks you, her fingers working you up while she speaks in a casual, conversational tone.

“We’re going to read every chapter together from now on,” Wanda begins, smiling as she watches your body. Your hips are bucking against her, your back arched. “And I’m going to demonstrate everything that happens, just so you’re able to truly understand the text.”

Wanda bends down, her lips against your ear as she speaks. “That means, darling, if Eliza fucks our main character until she passes out, I’ll be fucking you until you pass out. Understand?”

You wish you could explain the sound that tore from your lips at her words. It was something between a moan and an animalistic growl, but either way, Wanda moaned in response as she moved her fingers faster.

It was rough, her fingers pulling all the way out before slamming back into you. This side of Wanda is nothing you’ve ever seen before, and it makes you wetter than you’ve ever been. The image of your perfect neighbor and her warm smiles clashes with the harsh, unforgiving pace Wanda sets as she fucks you.

“Please,” you gasp out finally finding your voice as your fingers scrabble for purchase on the couch. You need leverage, your body limp and pliable over Wanda’s lap as she manipulates your pleasure to her satisfaction.

“Not yet,” Wanda mutters, her other hand grasping the back of your neck tightly. Before you can properly understand what’s happening, her fingers pull out roughly as she tightens her hold on the back of your neck, pulling you backward.

Your head hits the arm of the couch, Wanda’s frame looking over you before she adjusts your body, nudging your legs open with her shoulders and settling between your legs. It’s overwhelming, your hands finding purchase on her head and tangling with her hair as she sucks hickeys around your hips.

One of Wanda’s hands creeps up your stomach, sliding under your shirt and bra to grasp your breast tightly, her fingers brushing over your hard nipple.

That is the moment that you lose all sense of dignity.

“Fuck me, Wanda,” you plead, gripping her hair tightly as she moans. Her lips are near your belly button, her green eyes dark as she looks up at your wanton expression. Her fingers cruelly twist your nipple, your hips jerking up against her at the action.

“A masochist, hm?” Wanda says, her voice teasing as you nod frantically. “Perfect. You’re absolutely perfect, darling.”

Slowly, those sinfully full lips kiss down your stomach, ghosting over your clit before Wanda drags her tongue through your folds. She moans at the taste of your arousal, her chin instantly soaked.

Your hips buck up frantically, your heartbeat erratic as you chase your pleasure. You need her tongue, her fingers, anything.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.” Wanda murmurs, and you believe her. After all, she’s been taking care of you this entire time, with her homemade meals and soft smiles. You remember all of the times she invited you over to play with the twins, and her smile when you arrived at the first book club meeting. Wanda had always taken care of you, and this was no expectation.

Wanda isn’t gentle, her fingers gripping your hips tightly as she pins you down. You’re too far gone to control your body, your hips bucking and thrashing under her grip as she eats you out with fervor, Your poor little clit throbs under her tongue, whines and moans streaming from your lips when she finally wraps her lips around it and sucks.

“Oh, Wanda,” you plead, pressing her head further against you before her hand shoots out to grab your wrists, pinning them against your stomach. “Please, I need you. I’ve wanted this for so long, just… please make me cum. Oh, I’ll do anything. Just make me yours.”

Well, Wanda can’t say no to that request.

“That’s right, honey,” she coos, licking your clit as you jolt beneath her. “You’re mine. You have been ever since I first laid eyes on you. Say it... Say it and I’ll let you cum all over my tongue. Don’t you want that?”

Fuck yes, you want that.

“I’m yours.”

The orgasm that washes over you is more intense than anything you’ve ever experienced. Every sensation is heightened, Wanda’s perfume permeating your senses as her soft hair tickles your inner thighs, her fingers bruising your hips as her tongue and lips stimulate your most sensitive parts.

She’s relentless, coaxing your pleasure out with every swipe of her tongue, her moans sending vibrations through your oversensitive core. Her hand squeezes your breast, your nipple trapped helplessly between her fingers as you jerk and thrash beneath her.

A second, smaller orgasm slowly crests, pleasure washing over you as you begin to feel your muscles ache. Your hands weakly push against Wanda’s head, her tongue sliding through your folds one last time before she looks up at you, your clit throbbing with pleasure from your orgasms.

“Wow, I-” you begin, breathless as you relax into the couch cushions, your body feeling weightless.

Chuckling, Wanda sits up, wiping her chin and lips with the back of her hand. She pulls you up with her, your body molding against hers as you lean into her side, your head resting against her shoulder.

The scent of your arousal is thick in the air, your heavy breathing filling the silence as you recover. Wanda lets out a satisfied hum, her hand once again making its way to your bare thigh, her fingers squeezing. This time, the action is comforting and possessive.

“Perfect,” Wanda murmurs, and you nod your head.

“Yes,” you say, smiling at her. “You are.”

Wanda picks up the book from earlier, smoothing out the slightly crumpled page, her face flushed and green eyes bright as she rakes her gaze across your spent body. Her pupils dilate again, your clit throbbing at the look in her eyes.

“We’re not done with the chapter yet, darling.”

---

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