#AssistantReader

[noobiestnoober]

Cringe and Command (Wesker's Assistant Chronicles)

You’re Albert Wesker's assistant. Unfortunately for him, you refuse to take his villain speeches seriously. Even worse? You keep calling them cringe. He tries to fire you. Repeatedly. But somehow, you're still on payroll. Honestly, he might need therapy more than world domination.

"The world shall kneel before my new order," Wesker intoned, voice dripping with menace as red warning lights blinked around the lab, painting his cheekbones in dramatic crimson shadows.

You rolled your eyes from your spinning chair in the corner. "That line sounds like a villain wrote it after binge-watching bad anime dubs. Cringe."

Wesker froze mid-speech like someone had unplugged him. "Excuse me?"

You sipped from your Umbrella-logo mug. "I'm just saying, if you want people to actually kneel, you might wanna update your material. Maybe something less ‘theatre kid turned fascist.’"

His jaw flexed. "You're fired."

"Cool. I'll pack after I finish fixing your disaster of a PowerPoint presentation. Seriously, slide three transitions simulate a car chase. Did you mean to make it look like a Michael Bay film?"

Wesker glared, his sunglasses somehow reflecting your judgmental stare even though you were indoors. You glared back, wholly unimpressed. The red lights continued to blink like a rave for evil plans, unnoticed by both of you.

Day 34

Wesker tried to fire you again after you brought cupcakes to a top-secret Umbrella executive meeting and insisted everyone sing happy birthday to Nemesis.

"You are the worst assistant I've ever had," he snapped, lips twitching like he was trying not to scream.

"Nemesis deserves joy, Albert," you replied calmly, placing a party hat on a bio-organic weapon—roughly eight feet tall with a permanent snarl—that blinked once in confused gratitude.

He rubbed his temple. "I created life to destroy the world, not to… wear sprinkle cupcakes as hats."

You looked him dead in the eye. "Sounds like a you problem."

Day 46

You changed the lab’s background music to Barbie Girl during a viral sample test. Wesker entered the room to find you and Mr. X doing a synchronized head bop.

"Do I even want to know?"

"Team morale, sir."

He tried to fire you. You printed the HR handbook in Comic Sans and highlighted the clause where he couldn’t actually terminate staff without written approval from Umbrella HQ.

Day 58

You changed his password to "ILoveCringe69" and left a sticky note that said, "World domination is temporary. Memes are forever."

Wesker stared at the screen like it had personally betrayed him. He fired you via email this time. You replied with a meme of a raccoon giving a thumbs-up, captioned: "Mood."

Day 73

He returned to his office to find a slideshow titled "Top 10 Times Wesker Tried to Monologue and I Laughed."

"Number 4 was during a hostage situation!" he shouted.

"Exactly. Peak comedy."

"Get out."

You reached for your bag. "Do I take the laser pointer or...?"

He screamed into his glove.

Day 100

He gave up.

"Why are you still here?"

"Because no one else knows how to rewire the coffee machine without setting the lab on fire. Plus, I'm the only one who can decipher your handwriting. Is that 'Destroy the Resistance' or 'Dessert Inventory'?"

He stared at you. You stared back. Somewhere in the distance, a B.O.W. dropped a beaker. No one moved.

"...Fine. But no more cupcakes."

"Deal."

(You still brought cupcakes. With little Umbrella logos on top. Nemesis ate six. Wesker stared at the crumbs and muttered, "At this point, resistance is futile.")

If you want to see more of Wesker's Assistant Chaos, take a look at Part 2

> HERE <

[mariasont]

hi!!!!

I'm soooo in love your work. bimbo!assistantreader wil always have a special place in my heart!!!

Now i have this of idea that i think can work for either aaron or spencer, but basically bau!reader who kind of always wears the same type of outfit in the field that's always really modest. Buttttt when they kind of like "know" it's just going to be a paperwork day she likes to were skirts... short skirts and Aaron/Spencer are just feral for them...

Can either be fluff of smut... I trust you indefinitely xxx

Short Skirt, Long Day - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi hiiiiiii!!! ugh thank u sm i kinda took this an interesting route so let me know what you think!!!! im also heavily thinking about writing a smutty pt 2 for this but id love to hear everyone’s opinions

masterlist

pairings: perv!aaronhotchner x bau!reader

warnings: 18+ MDNI, suggestive content, aaron being a straight PERV!!! (im into idk man), aaron imagining scenarios he didn’t shouldn’t at work, idk this is quite different from my usual postings but i kinda fuck with it

wc: 1.4k

Aaron Hotchner loved paperwork day.

Days like these meant the ringing of phones and panicked conversations were replaced by the only the sound of air conditioning (when it worked) and the occasional sneeze or cough. It’s the kind of morning he appreciated — time to breathe, to recalibrate without the air of an active case breathing down his neck.

But that's not why his pulse is thrumming more than heavily beneath his skin.

Hotch glances at the clock on his desk. It's early, too early for most of the team to be here yet, save for a couple agents whose faces barely register in his peripheral vision. His focus is elsewhere, fixed on a singular thought. Or, rather, on a singular person.

You.

Hotch leans back in his chair, exhaling slowly as a shameful type of heat rises to his face. It's a little pathetic, he thinks, how predictable he's become, it's not the work that makes these mornings bearable anymore. It's the anticipation.

The knowledge that, any minute now, the elevator doors will part, and you'll step out, wearing something that will completely dismantle his carefully constructed composure.

Hotch had noticed a pattern (of course he did, that was his instinct honed to a razor's edge). In the field, your outfits are a study in practicality: slacks, fitted jackets, muted tones, professional to a T. Nothing flashy, nothing that would draw undue attention. He’d even go as far to say you dressed more modestly than most.

But in the office, when the cases are shelved, and the team is left to wade through stacks of paperwork... it's different.

And it drives him insane.

The image takes root before he can stop it: the curve of your thighs, tantalizingly framed by a skirt that seemed designed to test his limits. The way the fabric molds to you when you move, clinging in places that his eyes are all too quick to follow.

Hotch exhales sharply, clearing his throat as if that could somehow clear his mind. It's unprofessional, he knows this, knows better than to let his thoughts stray so far from where they belong but yet…

The ding of the elevator pulls his attention like a magnet, and there you are. His grip on the pen tightens instinctively, the knuckles blanching as his gaze locks on you.

You're wearing that skirt today — black, fitted, and infuriatingly short, hugging your hips in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

He tells himself to look away, and for a second, he manages it — his eyes dropping back to his desk, his breath coming out slow and measured. But that reprieve is fleeting. His gaze flicks back before he can stop it, drawn helplessly to the curve of your waist as you laugh at something one of the other agents say.

You're too good. Too sweet. Too damn oblivious to realize what you're doing to him.

And he knows it's wrong, knows he's toeing a line he has no business approaching. But the way his body reacts to you, the pull you have on him, is beyond reason. It's instinctual, raw, and completely out of his control.

He calls out your name. "Could you come in here for a moment?"

You turn, blinking at him with wide, curious eyes. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to grab something for me," he replies, his voice level, though every syllable felt like a tightly coiled spring. He motions towards the cabinet near the corner of the room. "The Marcus file. Bottom shelf."

He was a terrible terrible man.

Without hesitation, you step toward the cabinet, crouching slightly as you begin to sift through the lower shelf. The moment your body lowers, his eyes start trailing down where the hem of your skirt lifts, just barely revealing the soft curve of where your thighs meet your ass. 

Then, as you bend further, shifting your weight slightly to reach deeper on the shelf, the fabric stretches taut, clinging to your ass in a way that sends a jolt straight through him.

Hotch's throat feels tight, his breathing shallow as he drinks in the sight before him. You're so close, just feet away, and the angle offers him an unobstructed view. The shape of you, the smooth expanse of skin that's always just out of reach in the field, is right there, so achingly close he feels like his chest might explode.

He knows if you dipped any further, your panties would be on display and he couldn’t help but wonder what color you had on.

You’ve always had a meticulous attention to detail, choices leaning towards deliberate but understated at the same time. In the field, you favored muted tones — greys, blacks, navies. But here in the relative safety of the office you allow a little more personality, more femininity.

His mind turns to your preferences, pink, maybe.

Hotch swallows hard, pulse roaring in his ears. The thought gnaws at him, insistent and unrelenting, he needs to know.

“Careful,” he says, feigning concern. “You might need to check further back on the shelf. Sometimes the files get pushed out of sight.”

You glance over your shoulder at him and he swears he could combust. “Further back?”

He nods, leaning back in his chair to appear casual, though his grip on the armrests were anything but. “Yes.”

You turn back to the cabinet, shifting your weight again as you crouch lower, leaning further to search the back of the shelf. The motion sends the bottom of your skirt riding higher, and for a brief, heart stopping moment, the lace of your panties is on full display.

It was a pink barely there strip of fabric.

His mind betrays him, conjuring images he knows he shouldn't entertain. He imagines his hands on you, running over the curve of his hips, gripping your thighs, sliding that damn skirt higher until there's nothing left to hide. The thought of you like this, pliant and completely unaware of the effect you're having on him, makes his pulse pound in his ears. He wonders what you would do if he were to push those panties to the side and slide a finger in you.

You shift again, leaning deeper into the cabinet as your voice drifts back to him, murmuring something about not seeing it. His jaw locks, teeth pressing together as he fights to maintain control. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, the leather creaking faintly beneath the strain. It's a futile effort, though. The pressure building in his chest, his body, is relentless.

The heat pools low in his abdomen, simmering and insistent, a sharp pulse of arousal tightening every muscle in his body. He's painfully hard now, the evidence uncomfortably against his slacks, but he doesn't dare move. His mind a blur of want, what he wants to do to you, what he knows he shouldn't do, and the precarious line he's treading just watching you like this.

The tension in his body seems unbearable, and for a fleeting second, he considers how easy it would be to walk over, to let his hand graze your hip, to tilt your chin up so you'd look at him and see the wreckage you've left in your wake. 

But he doesn't. He can't.

Instead, he forces himself to remain still, staying rooted, the self-restraint biting and bitter. 

"Are you sure it's under here? I still don't see it."

Hotch's lips twitch, the smallest shadow of a smirk threatening to break free on his face. He leans forward, feigning surprise as he picks up the file from the corner of his desk.

"Ah," he says, waving the file. "Looks like it's been right here the whole time."

You straighten abruptly, brushing your hands down your skirt and turning towards him with a soft laugh. "Hotch! So I was practically upside down in that cabinet for nothing!"

He shakes his head, giving a small chuckle to match yours. Not for nothing. The satisfaction still simmers low in his chest, a private indulgence he knows you'll never suspect, the movement was far from wasted.

"My mistake."

"Well, I guess we all have our moments. Let me know if there's anything else you need, okay?"

When the door finally closes behind you, he exhales shakily, the breath spilling out like a confession. Leaning back in his chair, he presses his fingers to his temples, his entire body tense with the effort of restraint. He feels unmoored, like a man balancing on the edge of a precipice, one misstep away from losing everything he’s worked so hard to keep under control.

But for now, he’ll settle for watching, for imagining, for wishing, knowing full well that nothing could ever come of it. And yet, as he glances at the door where you’d just been, a part of him wonders how much longer he can hold out.

It’s going to be an impossibly long day, but the most troubling part of all is how much he’s starting to enjoy the torment.

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join my taglist here!

[st7rnioioss]

https://www.tumblr.com/st7rnioioss/776225230608908288/any-requests-for-ceochris-and-assistantreaders

ALL OF THE ABOVE PLEASE. ITS MY FAVORITE AU EVER

AWW THANK YOUUUUU🤍 i’ll see what i can come up with:3

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Bruce eats assistantreader! Out (first time)

"Mr. Wayne I have your suit for this evening and-" You stop at the door, blinking and all you can do is stare. You KNOW Bruce is fit. You've seen him naked. Plenty of times.

But. That doesn't stop you from taking a shaking breath and feeling your knees go just a little weak as you watch him doing pull-ups. Sure. You've seen it. That didn't change just how fucking breathtaking it was watching him.

"It's just me," he said, smiling as he dropped down and came to kiss you hello. "I ended my meeting early."

"Oh I thought- I thought-" you swallow hard and feel your heart stutter when he kisses you.

"Are you alright?" Bruce asked softly. You look flushed and flustered- but underneath that he can still see you're not feeling 100%- hardly surprising. International travel with a migraine was probably hell. And having to wake up to coordinate everything he needed for the day on less sleep that you needed after all that the day before- it made him feel awful for teasing you.

"I'm fine," you answer, reaching over to hand him a towel to wipe his face, "But while you get cleaned up I might lay down for a while-"

"You should," he said, kissing you again before taking the towel. He could count on one hand the number of times you'd taken a nap while on a trip with him. So if you needed a rest, you needed to take it. "But before you go to sleep," he rumbled, "Do you want me to help you relax?"

"How?" you ask. You'd like him to hold you for a while. Maybe even rub your back.

"Was thinking I'd see how you felt about oral-"

"I don't really like it," you murmur, "I- thanks but It's not-"

"Not how to help you relax, huh?" he said, smiling a little.

"Not really."

"Some other time, then," he said. "When I get out of the shower do you want me to-"

"Come cuddle?" you finish, feeling hopeful.

"Just a cuddle?" he hummed, chucking you under the chin.

"For now," you murmur. "It feels nice sleeping with you."

[superioraxolotl]

... do I have a whole ass fic planned based solely on this sketch? Yes, yes i do...(and no this is not small!assistantreader. Despite her also being a small assistant this is a whole other beast)

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[st7rnioioss]

https://www.tumblr.com/st7rnioioss/775945352259993600/introducing-ceochris-x-assistantreader

this is so so so good and i love your ideas and how you present them, so aesthetic and pretty with the photos🤍how are you?

-🐰

arghhh thank youuu<33 i got really inspired from that tour announcement, i had to🙂‍↕️ i’m very good!! how are you?🤍

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