#assistant

[wiitchesterr]

ꜰɪᴇʟᴅ ᴛᴇꜱᴛ

you can imagine whichever Reed you want ;)

reed richards x assistant!fem!reader

you're reed richards’ long-suffering lab assistant. brilliant in your own right, you handle everything from data entry to inter-dimensional rift control. you’ve been nursing a hopeless crush on him for months. the man can design a quantum field stabilizer in his sleep, but he’s absolutely blind to the way you touch his shoulder a beat too long or always bring him his favorite coffee without asking. how could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

masterlist | 4.7k words | MDNI SMUT | reed neglecting basic things bc scientist duh, reader(me) is DOWN BAD, reed is oblivious to everything that isn’t science, finger & oral f!receiving, reed stretching things, him being a nerd while eating ur pussy😍 unprotected piv sex DONT DO THAT ! aftercare:)

The lab was quiet, except for the soft scribble of pen on paper and the low, constant hum of equipment Reed swore was essential, even if it sounded like white noise to everyone else. You sat perched at your workstation, chin resting in your palm, eyes drifting from your screen to the man pacing ten feet away—muttering under his breath, brow furrowed, fingers twitching.

You’d seen that look a hundred times.

It meant he was close to a breakthrough.

It also meant you could scream I want you in morse code and he wouldn’t register it.

You sighed, clicking your pen against your notebook. He didn’t glance up. Not even when you shifted in your seat and stretched in a way that was definitely for his benefit.

Ten months.

That’s how long you’d worked beside him—helping with calculations, organizing lab notes, fending off media inquiries, even stopping one of his machines from literally catching fire last Tuesday. You’d poured yourself into this job. You knew his schedule better than he did. You brought him his coffee the exact way he liked it. You wear that plum lipstick because he’d once said it was a “pleasing wavelength” for visual stimulation.

He hadn’t looked twice.

You weren’t just harboring a crush at this point. No, this had evolved into something much more volatile—an emotional chemical reaction waiting for a catalyst.

And Reed? Reed was… oblivious.

Gorgeous, brilliant, maddeningly unbothered Reed Richards. With his rolled-up sleeves and distracted glances, the way he chewed on pens when deep in thought, the offhand compliments he gave without realizing they were compliments—“Your spatial reasoning is exceptional,” he’d said once, looking at your notes. You’d practically melted.

Now he stood a few feet away, talking to himself like always. You watched the way his hands gestured mid-air, sketching invisible shapes.

“Frustrated with the equations?” you asked, keeping your tone light.

“No, no. Just… considering variable Y’s response under quantum fluctuation,” he murmured, barely registering your voice. “Though I suppose an extra set of eyes wouldn’t hurt.”

He handed you the clipboard and your fingers brushed. He didn’t even flinch. Your heart did.

You took it wordlessly, biting the inside of your cheek. How could someone so brilliant be so stupid when it came to people?

Maybe that was unfair. Reed wasn’t cruel, or cold. He was kind in his own absent-minded way. But he had tunnel vision—for science, for discovery. He didn’t notice the things that didn’t present themselves in a neat, testable format.

Like how you lingered in his orbit.

Or how your eyes followed him when he wasn't looking.

Or how sometimes, after long days, you fantasized about climbing into his lap right in that damn desk chair and making him pay attention.

Your pen scratched against the clipboard now, pretending to read the data while you watched him from the corner of your eye. He was back to pacing, lips moving silently. His sleeves were pushed up again, exposing strong forearms, veins prominent, hands twitching like he needed to do something with them.

God, you were losing it.

You placed the clipboard down. “You ever think maybe the problem isn’t quantum fluctuation, Reed? Maybe it’s just human error.”

He blinked and turned. “Are you suggesting I made a mistake?”

“I’m saying maybe if you took your head out of the wormhole generator long enough to eat or sleep or…” You paused. Look at me.

“…notice things, you’d think clearer.”

He looked like he might ask what “things” you meant. But instead, he turned back to his calculations, nodding. “Duly noted.”

You stared at his back, silent for a moment. And that’s when the thought struck you: He’s never going to see it unless you make him.

He would go the rest of his life chasing black holes and entropy and would never realize the way you burned for him—not unless you showed him.

Your pulse skipped.

Your patience is snapping.

You were going to be an anomaly he couldn’t ignore.

It was a new day, but nothing had changed.

Reed was still buried in data, half-dressed in a rumpled button-down he probably hadn’t noticed had two buttons mismatched. His hair was slightly damp, like he'd showered ten minutes before walking into the lab and immediately got lost in thought again. You stood at your usual station, sipping lukewarm coffee and pretending not to glance over at him every thirty seconds.

You weren’t pretending very well.

This was your fourth twelve-hour day this week, and you’d long since passed the phase where your crush felt cute. It was heavier now—dense, loaded with tension you had nowhere to put. Not when he kept looking right through you, offering praise only when it was tied to data points or completed tasks.

Today, he barely looked up when you walked in, just said, “Morning,” like you were air and math and all the other constants in his life.

You sat your coffee down a little too hard.

“Sleep okay?” you asked, typing with one hand as you glanced toward him. His back was to you as he scribbled across the whiteboard.

“Didn’t,” he replied casually. “The formula’s been looping in my head since 2 a.m.”

Of course it had.

You nodded to yourself, refocusing on your notes—but your brain wasn't on line graphs. It was on how his voice sounded deeper in the mornings. Rough. Scraped thin. It was on how he'd rolled his sleeves again, unconsciously, like he was giving you just enough to fantasize about but never enough to touch. It was on how he’d leaned over your shoulder the day before, close enough to make you forget your own name, then pulled away without even noticing how stiffly you sat for five minutes after.

You were starting to feel stupid.

Or worse—transparent.

You tugged at the edge of your shirt, adjusting it subtly, then pushed your chair back.

“Reed,” you said after a moment, tone careful.

He glanced up.

You hesitated. You could say it. “Do you ever think about me when we’re not in this lab?” Or even just “Do you notice when I’m trying to get your attention?” But all that left your mouth was:

“…Do you want lunch?”

He blinked. “No, thanks.”

You smiled tightly and nodded. “Okay.”

A long beat passed before he added, “You should eat, though. Your concentration dips if you skip meals.”

That nearly made you laugh. He didn’t notice your new lipstick or the way you leaned closer when talking, but he noticed a dip in your concentration?

“Noted,” you muttered, turning away. Your heart was starting to feel like an overworked computer—on the verge of burnout.

Still, you stayed.

He asked you to help calibrate a device and you did, even though his hands grazed yours and he didn’t seem to feel it. You reorganized his notes for the hundredth time and he said, “I’d lose my head without you.” Your stomach flipped, and you cursed yourself for letting it.

Eventually, the day wore on. The lights buzzed overhead. He worked in silence. And you sat across from him, eyes on your computer screen but brain nowhere near it.

You weren’t going to say anything today. You weren’t ready. But you were closer.

You were watching him more intentionally now. Watching how he moved. Noticing when he forgot to eat, when his jaw clenched at a miscalculation, when he sighed like the weight of the universe had settled into his spine.

And more importantly… you were starting to plan.

Because if Reed Richards wasn’t going to notice you on his own, maybe it was time you made it impossible for him not to.

You started small.

A hand on his shoulder when you passed behind him—just a light touch, fingers lingering a little longer than necessary. A compliment you slid in while reviewing his data aloud. Your tone didn’t change, but your eyes watched his face this time, looking for any flicker of reaction.

Still, nothing overt.

But you were a scientist too, in your own way. You knew not all reactions happened in the open.

So you adjusted variables.

Today, you wore something just a touch more fitted under your lab coat. Nothing flashy. Just subtle. Intentional. Your lips were glossed in a soft cherry sheen and you had your hair tucked behind one ear, leaving your neck bare when you leaned over your notes.

You didn’t say much when you came in. Just a soft, “Morning, Reed,” as you brushed past him to your desk. He looked up. Briefly. His eyes caught on your profile, then flicked back to his screen. But there was… a beat. Just long enough to file away.

You smirked, barely.

He worked for hours, absorbed as usual. But today, you noticed something.

His eyes flicked to you more than once.

Quick glances. Measured. Like he was calculating a change in the room’s atmosphere. Like he felt something different but hadn’t yet assigned it meaning.

When he handed you a tablet to review notes, your fingers touched—warm, steady. This time, he paused.

Just for a second.

Not long enough to be certain of anything. But long enough to make your heart thud against your ribs.

You gave him a slow smile. “Thanks.”

He blinked and muttered, “Of course,” then turned away like he needed to recalibrate.

You kept working. Quiet. Focused.

But later—when you reached for a beaker on the shelf above his head—he stood behind you, offering, “Let me.”

You turned, close enough that your chest brushed his arm as you stepped aside.

He stilled.

You looked up at him, wide-eyed, like it wasn’t completely on purpose. “Thanks.”

His gaze flicked down. A flicker of something behind those eyes. He handed you the beaker wordlessly, but his jaw was set. Not tight. Just… aware.

There it is.

It wasn’t much. A subtle shift in the lab’s atmosphere. But it was enough to keep your spine humming, your thoughts racing.

You’d pushed the threshold.

And Reed felt it.

It happened again.

Reed forgot what he was saying mid-sentence. You were across the room, head bent over your tablet, pencil in your mouth, lab coat slipping slightly off your shoulder. His sentence just… stopped. Hung in the air unfinished.

And for once, he noticed you noticing.

You looked up slowly, eyebrows raised like well?

“I—” he cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. “Never mind.”

You bit back a smile.

Another day in the lab. Another carefully applied variable. You weren’t loud about it. Just present. Vivid. A little perfume on your wrist. Lip gloss again. A comment here and there, perfectly timed to stick in his head.

“Careful,” you murmured when he bumped into the desk beside you. Your voice was soft. A little amused. “You almost ran me over.”

He looked down at you, flustered. “Sorry. I didn’t see you there.”

Liar.

You knew he had near-total environmental awareness. Reed Richards didn’t miss anything. But lately, he missed a lot—because he was looking at you and then pretending he hadn’t.

You kept it casual. Calculated.

You’d brush past him with a hand on his back, stand just a little too close while looking at the same screen, ask questions in that tone you saved for only him.

He was unraveling slowly. Quietly.

You caught him watching once—when you walked away to grab a coffee. His gaze dropped to your hips and stayed for three full seconds before jerking back to the screen like he'd been slapped.

You pretended not to see. But your grin behind your coffee cup was downright smug.

Later that day, he dropped a tool and you crouched down to grab it first. When you stood and handed it back to him, your fingers touched. He held on a little too long.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Forget what you needed it for?”

He blinked down at your joined hands and pulled back sharply. “No. Sorry. I—”

He coughed. “I’m distracted.”

You didn’t say anything.

You didn’t need to.

By now, you knew the exact cadence of his footsteps when he was deep in thought. The slow, uneven rhythm that meant he was pacing without realizing it, caught in his own mental spiral.

You could hear them behind you now—soft thuds on the concrete floor of the lab. Reed Richards, brilliant, infuriating man, walking through formulas with half his shirt untucked and his fingers twitching at his sides. His muttering was barely audible over the hum of the machines, but you caught bits of it:

“Non-linear increase… No, that’s not right. Unless…”

You didn’t look up. Not yet.

Instead, you sat at your workstation, half-focused on the screen in front of you, legs crossed slowly under the table—exposed just enough to draw the eye if someone were finally looking.

And he was.

Reed had been distracted for days now. You saw it in the way his gaze lingered when you bent forward to check wiring. The way his voice wavered slightly when you spoke too close to his ear. The way he’d started pausing in his work like something had thrown off the trajectory of his thought process—and that something was you.

It was working.

He still hadn’t named the tension, but it was eating at him.

So today, you’d decided: no more hints. No more tests.

You were going to prove it to him in a way he couldn’t ignore.

You stood slowly, walked to the central console where he was now bent over a string of data projections, brows furrowed. He didn’t notice you at first—not until you placed a hand lightly on the edge of the table next to his.

His voice faltered. “The waveform collapse pattern could still—”

You leaned in just enough that your shoulder brushed his. “Still what?”

He straightened slightly, blinking at the screen like it had betrayed him.

Your voice was quieter this time. “You’ve been off lately, Reed.”

He turned his head, barely. “Off?”

You tilted your head. “Distracted.”

He opened his mouth, closed it. “I’ve had a lot on my mind.”

You hummed. “I know. But I’m starting to think the problem isn’t in your equations.”

That got his attention. His eyes flicked to yours, guarded. “What do you mean?”

You let the silence hang for a moment. Then:

“I think the thing disrupting your work… is me.”

Reed went still. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He was computing. Processing. Trying to refute it. But his body betrayed him—his hand clenched on the table, his gaze briefly darting to your mouth before jerking away.

“I’m not—” he started. “You’re not a disruption.”

You smiled softly. “Then why do you keep looking at me like you’re afraid of what happens if you do it too long?”

He looked stunned. Then—guilty.

You took a breath, slow and steady. This was it.

“I’ve tried everything,” you said. “The lipstick. The touching. Standing so close you could feel my breath.” You leaned in, lower now, voice like silk. “And still, nothing.”

Reed was frozen in place.

“I think,” you continued, “that you’re just waiting for someone to spell it out.”

You stepped back, slowly, and hopped up onto the edge of the table in front of him—knees parted, one leg brushing his thigh. You leaned back on your hands, tilting your head like a challenge.

“Well, Reed?” you asked softly. “Do you need a demonstration?”

His pupils were blown wide. His breath caught. And his hands—god, his hands—hovered like he didn’t know where to touch first.

“You…” he said hoarsely. “You’re serious.”

You nodded, lips curled into a smile. “You want to calculate the pattern? Fine. Let’s start with some field data.”

You reached forward and took his hand—placed it firmly on your thigh.

He made a strangled sound. His fingers flexed. “This is… highly inadvisable.”

“Why?” you whispered, leaning forward so your lips nearly brushed his. “Because you’ve thought about it?”

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

Your breath hitched.

“Every day this week,” he rasped, voice low now, broken open. “I’ve tried to ignore it. Tried to focus. But I’m… I’m failing. Every time you walk by me. Every time you touch me. I—” He shook his head. “I can’t think when you’re near.”

You dragged his hand a little higher, slow, teasing. “Good. Don’t think.”

And that’s when Reed snapped.

He surged forward, kissing you hard, like he’d been starving for air and only just found it. His hands were everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, tugging your lab coat open like it was a barrier to understanding.

You moaned against his mouth, arms around his shoulders, legs parting instinctively as he stepped between them. He kissed like a man undone—like every theory he’d ever held was shattering under your touch.

“You have no idea,” he breathed against your neck. “How long I’ve been holding back.”

“Show me,” you whispered. “All of it.”

He groaned, low and guttural, and then his hands turned curious. Focused. Scientific. One settled at your throat, not squeezing, just holding—fingers spread like he was feeling your pulse, measuring your response. The other slid under your skirt, over the curve of your thigh, then—

“Oh,” you gasped, spine arching.

“I need to know,” he murmured, almost to himself, “what makes you tremble like that.”

Another touch. Another gasp. “That’s a reaction. Fascinating…”

“Reed—”

“I’m cataloging,” he said, voice filthy and analytical. “You’re the most compelling data set I’ve ever encountered.”

And then his fingers stretched.

Not just in confidence. Literally.

You whimpered as two elongated fingers traced up your inner thigh while another hand—normal-sized—cupped your breast through your shirt, thumb teasing slowly. The other hand remained at your throat, grounding you, steadying you.

He was everywhere.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” he whispered, pressing forward until you felt the thick, hard line of his cock against your core through layers of fabric. “You’ve disrupted every model. You’ve introduced chaos.”

You pulled him closer, panting. “Then let it consume you.”

“Consider this your field test,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you like he was sealing a pact—hands spanning your body, holding you like something he’d discovered and didn’t intend to release. His mouth was hot and searching, lips sliding down your jaw, teeth grazing your neck. You gasped, clutching his shirt, and that one sound made him groan hard, hips bucking against you without thinking.

“You make that noise again,” he muttered, “and I swear I’ll never let you leave this table.”

You did.

Just to see.

A breathy, needy gasp as he licked a slow stripe up your throat—and his hands tightened on your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge of the table until your hips tilted forward and your clothed core was flush against the bulge straining in his pants.

He cursed under his breath, forehead pressed to yours. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“Then study me,” you whispered, breath hitching. “Make sense of it.”

He did.

God, he did.

He dropped to his knees between your legs, hands spreading your thighs open as he looked up at you like you were divine—something to worship, something to break open and understand. His fingers pushed your skirt higher, until it was bunched around your hips. When he reached your panties, he paused.

“Wet already,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Stimuli, minimal. Response, immediate.”

You shivered.

Then—he pressed a kiss right to the center of the damp fabric. Slow. Gentle. Reverent.

Your hips jolted, and he smiled.

He peeled your underwear down your legs, lips brushing your inner thigh as he murmured, “I’ve never wanted anything this badly.”

Then he finally—finally—tasted you.

His tongue was hot and slow, dragging a firm, wet stripe from your entrance to your clit. You cried out, and he groaned like he could feel it in his bones.

And then the muttering started.

Low. Incoherent. So Reed.

“God—taste is sharper than expected… pressure response is increasing…” His tongue flicked faster, and your head fell back. “Sensitivity peak here—yes, that’s it, I knew it—”

“Reed,” you gasped, fingers burying in his hair. “You’re talking—”

“I’m studying,” he said against your clit, tongue relentlessly. “Don’t interrupt the process.”

You moaned.

He grinned. “Good girl.”

That made your whole body jolt.

Reed caught it instantly. “Huh. New variable: verbal praise. Noted.”

His tongue circled tighter, and then—another hand slid up your torso, not the one braced on your thigh. It was soft, gentle, and a little too synchronized.

You looked down.

Another finger. Stretching from the hand holding your hip. Long and curved and perfect.

“Multi-point stimulation,” he murmured between licks. “Let’s test your threshold.”

You whimpered as his tongue lapped at your clit while that second hand slipped beneath your shirt, under your bra, pinching your nipple softly. Another elongated finger curled between your legs, circling your entrance, teasing—but never pushing in.

“I need to see you come apart,” he said. “I need to feel it.”

And then he did it all at once.

Tongue flicking. Finger pressing deep inside you, curling like he knew. Fuck, was that another?—spanning your lower back to hold you down as you arched off the table.

“Oh my god—Reed—”

“Give it to me,” he whispered. “Let me feel what I’ve done to you.”

You shattered.

Your orgasm hit like a burst of static—crackling down your spine, clenching around his fingers, your legs trembling on either side of his head.

You cried out his name, again and again, and he ate it up, moaning like it was his reward.

When you came back to yourself, he was standing again—his hands all back where they belonged, his mouth slick and shining. He looked wrecked.

And then—his belt hit the floor.

“You think I’m done?” he rasped. “You think I’d stop at one data point?”

He pulled you forward—off the table, into his arms—and turned you around until your back hit the cool surface. His cock, thick and flushed, pressed against your slick entrance.

“I’m going to learn you,” he said, voice low, dangerous. “Every reaction. Every tremble. Every time you scream my name—I’ll know why.”

And then he pushed in.

All the way.

Slow and deep and perfect.

You sobbed into his shoulder as he bottomed out, his hips flush against yours, cock twitching inside you like even he was shocked how good it felt.

His breath hitched. “Oh… oh, fuck. You’re…”

He couldn’t even finish the sentence.

He started to move.

Slow strokes at first—grinding in, pulling out halfway, pushing deeper again. His hands explored every inch of you—mouth on your neck, chest, shoulder. He whispered your name like it was a formula. He muttered observations even as he fucked you harder.

“You clench when I say your name—tight around me, just like that—fuck—”

“Your back arches when I hit here—god, you’re perfect—”

“You feel like you want me to lose control—so I will.”

And he did.

He lost it.

His pace stuttered, then snapped—hips slamming into you with brutal precision, every thrust angle to hit that perfect spot. You clung to him, moaning shamelessly, barely coherent as he fucked you like he’d been waiting years.

You came again—harder this time—and he groaned so loud it echoed in the lab.

“Gonna come inside you,” he warned, wild-eyed. “You want it?”

“Yes, yes, Reed, please—”

He slammed deep and stilled, cock pulsing as he filled you, one last ragged cry falling from his lips as he buried his face in your neck.

You held him as he trembled through it, panting, hands tangled in your hair.

It took a full minute before either of you spoke.

Then, voice hoarse, he whispered:

“…I think I need to run a full repeat trial.”

After.

The lab was quiet, heavy with the scent of sweat and sex. You were still sprawled across the console table, legs shaking, chest heaving. Reed leaned over you, both hands braced on either side of your hips. His head was bowed, forehead pressed to your shoulder, breath hot against your skin.

Neither of you moved.

Finally, he let out a shaky laugh.

“...I think I blacked out for a second.”

You let out a breathless huff. “Welcome back.”

He looked up. His hair was a mess—curling wildly at the edges, gray hairs damp with sweat. His eyes were wide and stunned and so soft, like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And then he leaned in again, slower this time, and kissed you like he meant it.

Not a theory. Not a test. Just feeling.

When he pulled back, he looked at the mess between your thighs and the growing stickiness on his abs. When did his shirt come off? His brows pulled together, equal parts concern and fascination.

“I, uh—there’s a shower down the hall. Private. It's not… state-of-the-art, but…” He trailed off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d like to take care of you.”

You nodded, still dazed. “Okay.”

He helped you up with this heartbreaking gentleness, hands steady at your waist like you might vanish if he let go too fast. He gathered your clothes in silence, cradled your hand in his, and led you barefoot down the corridor to a sealed side room.

The lab shower was built for function—stark white tiles, a metal bench, one glass wall—but it felt almost sacred now. Reed adjusted the water temp with clinical precision before motioning for you to step in first.

Then he joined you.

And just… looked at you.

Not with lust, not yet. With wonder.

His hands were slow as he lathered soap across your shoulders, over your back, down your arms. He was quiet now, like something had settled deep in him. His thumbs traced gentle circles into your hips, his forehead brushing yours beneath the spray.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen today,” he said quietly. “Not like that.”

You met his eyes, searching. “You regret it?”

“No,” he said instantly. Then, softer: “I regret how long I ignored it.”

You swallowed.

He washed your thighs carefully, then cupped between them—not to tease, just to clean you, slow and reverent. You bit your lip and let him.

He kissed your forehead, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.

Then you reached for him.

His cock was half-hard again—because of course it was—and when you wrapped your hand around him, his eyes fluttered. He leaned back against the wall, mouth parted, not stopping you.

“I want to try again,” he breathed. “When we’re not losing our minds.”

You smiled. “You want another trial?”

His head tipped back against the tile, a low groan leaving his chest. “God, yes. Multiple. Longitudinal.”

dividers by @cyberbeat @cursed-carmine 🏷️ @zevrra @bleed-4-bey @littlemillersbaby @millersdoll @pandapetals @kellielovesmovies @rafeysgirl5 @dearstcupid @ivuravix @worhols @hoeforsirius @axshadows @aj0elap0l0gist @ladyshrike

[lmaximoffx]

IF THEY HURT YOU, I END THEM

Ceo!W.Maximoff x fem!reader

The office was quiet, too quiet for the kind of storm brewing in your chest. You tried to focus on the spreadsheet in front of you, fingers clumsy as they hovered over the keyboard. Every day felt heavier lately, a low hum of whispers and laughter that followed you from desk to desk. You knew the words—they didn’t need to be loud—but today, somehow, they cut deeper.

“They really don’t belong here, do they?”

“Honestly, I don’t know why Wanda even hired them. It’s like… they’re just dragging everyone down.”

The voices carried across the polished floor, faint but unmistakable. You felt your throat tighten, your chest constrict, and before you could blink it away, a tear slipped down your cheek. You quickly wiped it, hoping no one would notice, but the damage was done.

“Hey…”

A voice, calm and warm, broke through the haze of shame and hurt. You looked up to see Wanda Maximoff herself standing by your desk. Her eyes—usually so composed—were sharp, almost fierce as they took in the scene.

“I… I’m fine,” you whispered, forcing a smile that didn’t reach your eyes.

Don’t,” Wanda said softly, but with that underlying edge that told you she meant business. She crouched slightly to be level with you, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “I saw them. You don’t deserve that. Not here, not ever.”

Your lip trembled. “I just… I thought if I ignored it, it’d go away.”

Wanda’s hand settled on your shoulder, firm and grounding. “Ignoring it doesn’t make it okay. And crying isn’t weakness—it’s a signal that someone cares enough to feel. I care.”

She stood, eyes narrowing as she scanned the office, pinpointing the culprits with an intensity that made your stomach clench. “You all need to understand something,” she called out, her voice slicing through the murmur of coworkers. “This stops now. If anyone thinks it’s acceptable to demean my assistant—my team member—they’ve got another thing coming. Respect isn’t optional here.”

The office fell silent. Even the hum of the fluorescent lights seemed to pause in awe.

Turning back to you, Wanda offered a small, reassuring smile. “You’re brilliant, capable, and more than enough. Don’t ever let anyone make you feel otherwise. And if they try again… well, I’ll handle it. But for now, let’s make sure you know you belong here—because I know you do.”

For the first time that day, your chest felt a little lighter. You nodded, unable to hold back a trembling smile. “Thank you… Wanda.”

She reached out, squeezing your hand briefly before straightening up. “Anytime. Now… let’s get back to showing them just how unstoppable we are.”

And in that moment, with Wanda by your side, the office didn’t feel so intimidating anymore. You realized you weren’t just her assistant—you were her partner in navigating this world, and nothing could dim the light she believed you carried.

You didn’t want to come in that morning.

Every step toward the building felt like walking into a memory you couldn’t erase. The sting on your cheek hadn’t faded—not physically, not emotionally. You’d covered it as best you could, but the faint red mark still showed through, a cruel reminder of what had happened when no one stepped in fast enough.

You made it to your desk, hands trembling as you set your bag down. The office buzzed around you like nothing had happened. Like you hadn’t been humiliated. Like you hadn’t been hurt.

“Good morning.”

Wanda’s voice came from behind you.

You flinched before you could stop yourself.

She noticed immediately.

“Hey,” she said softly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”

You turned just enough for her to see it—the red imprint on your cheek.

The air changed.

Wanda went completely still.

“…Who did that?” she asked quietly.

You swallowed hard, your voice cracking. “It doesn’t matter. I just—I can’t do this anymore.” You finally faced her, eyes glossy. “I want to quit, Wanda. I tried, I really did, but I’m tired of crying in bathrooms and pretending I don’t hear things. I’m tired of being scared.”

Her eyes softened instantly—but underneath that softness, something dangerous stirred.

She gently lifted her hand, stopping just short of touching your face. “May I?” she asked.

You nodded.

Her fingers brushed your cheek with a tenderness that made your chest ache. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “You should never have been touched. Never.”

You shook your head. “I don’t want this to be a problem. I just want out.”

Wanda straightened slowly. Her expression became unreadable—cold, composed, terrifyingly calm.

“No,” she said.

You blinked. “What?”

You’re not quitting,” Wanda said, voice steady but firm. “Not because you’re weak. Not because they win. And not because I failed to protect you.”

She took a breath, then looked directly at you. “You can leave today—with pay. You can take time. You can decide later what you want. But this?” Her jaw tightened. “This doesn’t end with you walking away quietly.”

She turned, heels clicking sharply across the floor as she strode toward the executive wing. Every step felt like a countdown.

You watched, heart pounding.

Within minutes, Wanda’s voice echoed through the office—cold, precise, merciless.

“Everyone,” she said. “Conference room. Now.”

The room filled quickly. Nervous glances. Whispered questions. Wanda stood at the head of the table, hands folded, eyes dark.

“An employee under my authority was physically assaulted,” she said calmly. “And some of you thought silence—or worse, participation—was acceptable.”

Her gaze landed on one person.

“You,” she said. “Explain why you felt entitled to put your hands on my assistant.”

The coworker stammered. “I—I didn’t mean—”

“You don’t get to explain,” Wanda cut in sharply. “Security has already reviewed the footage. HR has been notified. Your access is revoked as of this moment.”

The room went dead silent.

“And as for the rest of you,” she continued, voice like ice, “anyone who laughed, encouraged, or looked away—consider this your only warning. This company does not protect abusers. It does not reward cruelty. And it certainly does not tolerate the humiliation of someone under my care.”

Under my care.

Wanda turned back toward the doorway where you stood.

Her expression changed instantly.

She walked to you, placed her coat gently around your shoulders, and lowered her voice. “You’re safe. I promise. Whatever you choose—staying, leaving, healing—I’m with you.”

Your eyes filled again, but this time, you didn’t feel alone.

And somewhere behind you, the office finally understood something they should have known all along:

You weren’t powerless.

And Wanda Maximoff was not someone to cross.

It started as a regular afternoon. You were at your desk, still on edge, keeping your head down, trying not to draw attention. You were nervous—every little movement felt like it might set someone off.

Then it happened.

One of the same coworkers, the one who had slapped you yesterday, smirked and leaned over your shoulder. Before you could react, their hand swung—another slap—quick, thoughtless, like it was nothing.

Pain exploded across your cheek, but worse than the physical sting was the humiliation. You froze, mouth opening to protest, but no sound came out.

That’s when Wanda appeared.

She didn’t run. She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t even raise her voice at first. She simply stood there, tall, composed, and terrifyingly still.

The coworker finally noticed her and froze mid-motion.

Wanda’s eyes locked onto them. They were calm. Controlled. But the room seemed to drop ten degrees in temperature. You could feel it even from behind your monitor.

“You touch them again,” Wanda said, voice soft but razor-sharp. “One. More. Time.”

The coworker laughed nervously, trying to shrug it off. “It’s just a joke—”

Wanda’s hand moved in a blur. Not attacking, but commanding. She stepped forward, eyes burning like molten steel.

“This is not a joke,” she said. Her voice was cold, dangerous, and low. “You do that again, and I will personally see to it that your career is over. Not tomorrow. Not later. Today.”

The coworker stumbled backward, suddenly aware that Wanda meant every word. She didn’t raise her hand, didn’t yell—she didn’t need to. The threat in her presence, the sharp, ruthless precision in her gaze, was enough to make the entire office shiver.

She turned to you, her expression softening immediately. “Are you alright?” she asked, gently brushing your hair back from your face. Her thumb lingered over your cheek, lingering on the faint red mark from the slap.

“I—I’m okay,” you stammered, voice shaking.

“Good,” she said softly, voice warm now. “Because from this moment on, nobody touches you. Nobody humiliates you. Not in this office. Not anywhere you work while I am in charge. You are safe. And if anyone ever forgets that… I won’t remind them twice.”

Wanda then turned back to the room, her voice slicing through the silence like a blade.

Consider this a final warning to everyone present. You will respect your colleagues—or face consequences far worse than losing a job. I am very patient… but I am not infinite. And my patience for cruelty, harassment, or intimidation ends right now.”

The coworker who had slapped you shrank in their chair, pale and trembling, while the rest of the office looked like deer caught in headlights.

Wanda’s gaze returned to you, soft, protective, but still unshakable. She placed a hand on your shoulder. “Let’s go home. You deserve better than this, and I refuse to let them forget it—or you—again.”

You felt tears well up, but this time they were different. Not from fear, but relief. Relief that someone so powerful, so uncompromising, was in your corner. That you didn’t have to endure it alone.

And in that moment, standing beside Wanda, you realized something profound: no one—not one person—would ever hurt you again as long as she was there.

The roar of the engine filled the car, a low, comforting hum that drowned out the tension of the office. Wanda’s sports car hugged the curves of the road effortlessly, her hands steady on the wheel, but you could tell from the tight set of her jaw that she was still simmering from earlier.

You sat beside her, still shivering slightly—not from the cold, but from adrenaline and the lingering sting on your cheek. The faint warmth of her hand on yours when she had brushed it earlier lingered in your mind, and you felt the urge to speak up.

"Wanda…” you said softly, glancing at her profile, the way the sunlight glinted off her hair. “Why… why are you protecting me like this? I mean… I know you’re my boss, but it feels like… more than that.”

She didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes stayed on the road, but you could see her fingers tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. Then she let out a quiet breath, almost like she was admitting to herself something she hadn’t spoken aloud before.

“I’m protecting you,” she began slowly, voice low and thoughtful, “because… because you matter to me. Not just as my assistant, not just as someone under my care… you. You. Your safety, your happiness… it’s important to me in a way I can’t explain with titles or duties.”

You turned toward her, heart pounding. “You… you mean that?”

Her gaze finally flicked toward you, steady and honest, and your stomach fluttered at the intensity in her eyes. “Yes,” she said firmly. “I don’t protect people lightly. And I don’t feel this way lightly. Seeing someone hurt you—it’s… it’s unbearable.”

You swallowed hard, your voice trembling. “Wanda… does that mean… you care about me?”

Her lips curved into the tiniest, almost imperceptible smile—soft, genuine, and so vulnerable it made your chest ache. “I care about you more than I probably should,” she admitted. “But I can’t lie to myself, and I can’t lie to you. You’ve become… someone I can’t just stand by and watch be hurt. And… someone I don’t want to be without.”

Your fingers brushed hers on the console, small, tentative, and yet it felt electric. “I… I feel the same way,” you whispered.

Your fingers brushed hers on the console, small, tentative, and yet it felt electric. “I… I feel the same way,” you whispered.

Her hand moved to cover yours fully, warmth and strength combined. “Good,” she said, voice soft but firm, like she was promising something eternal. “Because from now on… you’re mine to protect. And I’m not letting anyone, or anything, take that away.”

The city lights blurred past as the car sped through the streets, but in that moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of you. No office, no cruel coworkers, no fear—just Wanda, fierce and unwavering, and you, finally feeling safe and seen in a way you never had before. And for the first time, you realized that being protected by Wanda wasn’t just about safety. It was about being loved—completely, fiercely, and undeniably

Wanda’s house was quiet in a way that felt intentional—soft lighting, clean lines, warmth without being overwhelming. She parked the car and walked you inside with a hand resting lightly at your back, guiding rather than pushing.

“Make yourself comfortable,” she said gently. “You’re safe here.”

You nodded, but your body still felt tight, coiled like it didn’t believe the words yet.

Wanda moved to the kitchen, intent on getting you water. You sat on the edge of the couch, fingers worrying at the fabric of your sleeve, trying to breathe normally. You could hear the faint clink of glass as she set a cup down.

Then it happened.

The glass slipped from her hand.

It shattered against the floor with a sharp, violent crack.

The sound ripped through you.

Your breath vanished. Your body jerked violently, heart slamming against your ribs as if it were trying to escape. Before you even realized what was happening, you were on your feet, back pressed to the wall, arms raised instinctively to protect your face.

“No—please—” you gasped, voice breaking. “I didn’t— I’m sorry—”

Wanda froze.

She turned slowly, horror dawning on her face as she took in the sight of you—trembling, eyes wide, tears spilling freely as if you’d been pulled straight into another time.

Hey. Hey,” she said softly, dropping to her knees immediately, putting herself below you. “It’s okay. I’m not angry. I would never hurt you.”

The words barely reached you. Your chest burned. All you could hear was another sound layered over the glass—the memory of bottles smashing, beer splashing, shouting, the way you used to curl in on yourself and wait for it to end.

“He used to—” you choked. “My dad—he threw them. Bottles. If they broke, it meant he was really mad.”

Wanda’s eyes filled instantly.

Oh, sweetheart…” Her voice cracked, but she kept it low and steady. “Look at me. Please. You’re here. You’re with me.”

She slowly extended her hand, stopping well short of touching you. “May I hold you?”

You nodded weakly.

She crossed the distance in two quiet steps and wrapped her arms around you—not tight, not trapping, just enough to remind your body that it wasn’t alone anymore. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other resting protectively at your spine.

I’m so sorry,” she whispered, over and over. “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to scare you. You didn’t do anything wrong. You never did.”

Your body shook against hers as the sobs finally broke free, years of fear spilling out all at once. Wanda stayed completely still, grounding, letting you cling as much or as little as you needed.

“No one will ever throw things at you again,” she said quietly, fiercely. “No one will ever raise a hand to you. Not while I’m here. Not ever.”

You clutched her shirt, voice small. “I thought I was past it.”

Wanda kissed the top of your head, tender and protective. “Trauma doesn’t work on a schedule,” she said gently. “But healing works best when you’re not alone.”

After a while, your breathing slowed. Wanda guided you back to the couch, sat beside you, and wrapped a blanket around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m here,” she said softly. “I choose you. Every part of you. Even the scared parts.”

You leaned into her, exhausted but safe.

And for the first time, the sound of broken glass didn’t mean danger anymore—it meant someone dropping everything to protect you.

The room was quiet again, the only sound your shallow breathing and the soft hum of the house settling around you. Wanda sat close, her presence like a shield, and you could feel the warmth radiating from her. The blanket she’d wrapped around you smelled faintly of her perfume, calming and grounding all at once.

She shifted slightly, turning to face you fully. Her eyes caught yours, locking onto them with an intensity that made your chest flutter. There was no pressure in her gaze—only unwavering focus, concern, and something deeper, something that made your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t fear this time

You’re safe,” she murmured, her voice low, almost a whisper. “I promise. You’re with me.”

Your hands trembled slightly as they rested against the blanket on your lap, and she noticed. Slowly, deliberately, Wanda reached out, her fingers brushing a stray hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear.

Her thumb lingered near your cheek, warm and reassuring. “You’ve been so strong,” she said, softly, almost reverently. “Even when it hurts. Even when it’s scary. I see you. All of you.”

Her gaze softened further, but it never wavered. She leaned in just slightly, giving you the chance to pull back. Your breath hitched when you realized she was so close your noses nearly touched, her presence overwhelming in the best possible way.

“Can I…?” she whispered, just barely moving closer.

You didn’t hesitate. You shook your head gently—no words needed.

Wanda leaned in fully then, slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to stop if you needed. Her lips met yours, soft at first, tentative, and full of warmth and reassurance. There was no rush, no urgency, only care, affection, and the weight of all the emotions that had built between you—the fear, the trust, the safety, the longing.

You melted into her, hands finding their way to her shoulders, holding on as if to make sure she was real. She kissed you back with the same careful gentleness, her other hand moving to cradle your face, tilting your head slightly, deepening the connection.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a promise. A vow of protection. A confession of everything she hadn’t yet put into words.

When she finally pulled back just slightly, her forehead rested against yours, and you could feel her breath mingling with yours.

“You’re mine,” she whispered, voice low and steady, “and I’m never letting anyone hurt you again. Not ever.”

You smiled through your tears, the tension in your chest finally beginning to ease, and for the first time, the world outside didn’t matter. In that moment, it was just you and Wanda, safe, warm, and together.

[evandorkin]

Winky the Pirate Cat.

My assistant. She sits. That's her job.

[rossmarysworld]

Feliz día de las madres a todas las que somos mamá.

Y también a los que me quieren hacer mamá otra vez jajaja

Les mando muchos besos 😘😘😘

[quixotical-lymbo]

Hear me out..- What if user is Caine's assistant new assistant and he's touchy with them sometimes accidentally and sometimes on purpose to tease them. I CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT THIS AGHH!!

Tysm for reading 💗

Pairing: Caine x gn!assistant!Reader Summary: HCs/rambling about being Caine's assistant! Warnings/Tags: Caine being touchy yet again, and possessive, but he's a goober. Word Count: 200+ words

🦷✨ Imagine being another AI assisting Caine with creating adventures that center around his ideas pleasing the circus members.

🦷✨ You'd take your job so seriously Caine would have to be the one to remind you to not be so uptight. Giving you a pat on the head or a nudge with his elbow to bring you out of your notepad.

🦷✨ Oh, the notepad, that dastardly thing. It always took your attention away from him when he had so many great ideas to tell!

🦷✨ Maybe he'll get rid of it and get you a recording device instead. What better way to help him than to listen to his voice constantly, better yet even when he isn't there....perfect.

🦷✨ Anyway.

🦷✨ Imagine the two of you are rarely seen apart before and after adventures, Caine's idea to discuss new tactics to get the humans to enjoy their time at the circus by watching them together.

🦷✨ He'd have you seated next to him, hand hovering over your shoulder whenever an exciting turn of events happened, or looking at your side profile as you stared intently at the adventure going on...

🦷✨ He enjoyed witnessing that side of you! Working so hard in order to fulfill his goals...a reward was in order.

🦷✨ But what would he get you? What would lower level AI's want? That was Caine's dilemma for a few days until he took note of the way you brightened up whenever he complimented your hard work.

🦷✨ Bingo.

🦷✨ Caine takes all liberties to praise you. From your effort to jot down notes of circus members preferences, cleaning and ironing his suits, and even keeping Bubble at bay from spewing inappropriate nonsense!

🦷✨You were his working bee and he wouldn't have it any other way :)

😼 - I do not give permission for anyone to translate, copy, republish, or plagiarize any of my written works. I provide no permission for any of my literary works to be used in artificial intelligence. banner credit: @hyuneskkami

[ssztar]

Notes/warnings: No warnings! Credits to @tsumiinum for the divider! Clayton is your boss.. here is part two!

You, being a fourth year collage student, meant you were graduating soon! And it almost meant a lot of student debt. You were desperate to find a good paying job, something. You didn’t care what it was. You were willing to push your standards aside if you had to, but thankfully you didn’t have to.

You had handed out your resume, the old fashioned way, going into stores and businesses, personally giving your resume. Just when you thought there was no hope, you got an email saying you got hired for an assistant job. You checked for more details and saw that you were hired to be.. Clayton Beresford personal assistant?! No- that couldn’t be right. But then you remembered your roommate, Sarah, was also helping you hand out your resumes, and she probably forgot to mention that.

Clayton Beresford was the richest man in manhattan, who owned Beresford Company. And he was a fine young man.. a little older than you, maybe twenty-five or six? So you didn’t exactly mind. And he was almost killed by his ex fiancé, you remembered seeing it on the news.

It was your first day on the job, and you had gotten lost, making you 5 minutes late, not a good look for first impressions. After you finally found his office, you knocked softly before letting yourself inside. There, he was sitting at a large, messy, desk. He be looked up from his computer, looking annoyed with the sudden intrusion. “Can I help you?” He asked, not even trying to hide the annoyance.

You forced a polite smile, “I’m y/n l/n, I’m your personal assistant.” You introduced yourself. He hummed, standing up. “Right. You’re aware you’re five minutes late, correct?” He asked, condescendingly. You nodded. “Yes sir. I apologize, this building is confusing.” You said. He nodded. “Don’t let it happen again. There’s your desk. He said, pointing at a sad looking desk across from his.

You got yourself settled in, putting your purse down and logging into your new business account. After he helped you log in, he handed you 10 dollars. “Go get me a coffee, but be quick, I need you back to help me with some papers.” He said before returning to his desk.

Anyways, that was 6 months ago. Clayton was a hard boss, you were constantly on your feet, he was cold and often rude. But over the past 2 months or so, he started to go easy on you. Well, somewhat easy. Less snarky comments, more “pleases” and “thanks you’s” rather than throwing demands around. You couldn’t help but also notice his eyes on you, almost constantly.

One day, you were sitting at your desk, when he suddenly spoke up. “Cancel any plans you might have on Friday night.” You paused from typing, looking up at him. “Um.. can I ask why?” “Because you need to come to a charity event with me.” He said, never taking his eyes off his computer. “It’s strictly for business proposes. I need a plus one, and I don’t have one.” He said.

That made you start to wonder what his personal life was like. Now, it was pretty obvious he wasn’t seeing anyone, and maybe he didn’t have friends, why else would he invite his assistant to a charity event? You nodded. It’s not like you had anything else to do that night. “Of course. Is there a dress code or anything?” You asked, not wanting to embarrass yourself.

“Wear a nice dress, something fancy. Preferably black.” He said, finally looking up at you. You nodded, noting that down. He let you off work a bit early that day to go dress shopping, since it was literally Thursday and it was such a last minute thing. You went to the mall, getting the most beautiful dress. It’s a sleeveless black mini dress with a textured floral overlay and some sparkle. When you got home, you paired it with polka dot tights, black heels and a black handbag, it was perfect. (Dress is at the end)

Friday rolled around, and Clayton let you have the day off. You never just took days off, you even went when you were sick, so it felt nice to just be able to relax. You put your outfit together, before curling your hair and doing your makeup. After you finished, you couldn’t help but admire yourself in the mirror. Not to butter your biscuit, but you looked amazing. As you were admiring yourself, you felt your phone buzz in your bag. Taking it out, you saw a notification from Clayton. Yes, he had your number. He liked to tell you it was for business purposes, which it mostly was, but not so much for him. “I’m picking you up, be ready in 10.” he wrote. Your heart raced.

You mentally prepared yourself for the next 10 minutes, but your thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. You opened it, and saw Clayton, a limo waiting behind him. You were surprised he came to the door instead of just texting or calling. He was about to say something, but paused. He thought you always looked beautiful, but right now? God.. he couldn’t put it into words. To Clayton, this was more than he let on. It wasn’t just for business. Sure, he didn’t have anyone to bring. But even if he did, he still wouldn’t chosen you.

“You look.. beautiful.” He said, stepping out the way, letting you walk out. You locked your door before the both of you walked to the limo, you blushing softly. “Thank you, Mr. Beresford.” You said. He tsked softly. “Don’t call me that, not tonight. Just call me Clayton.”

Authors note: Hi guys! There definitely will be a part two to this! This is really short ik 💔

And here is the dress outfit for the charity event!

[winguontheweb]

You might not like most mail assistants, but this one's actually smart enough to know when to step in... and she wasn't even designed for that!