thewitchandtheassassin

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Tube (Lena Luthor x Reader)

Summary: ...reader is an idiot. That's all

Warnings: Language?

Words: 408

A/N: It's a drabble night. Love y'all.

-X-

Sprawled out on Kara’s couch as you waited for your girlfriend to arrive, you sipped from the bottle of alien beer, studying Kara thoughtfully.

“What do you think held her up?” you mused. “L-Corp disaster? A new assassination attempt? A phone call from her mother?”

“Ooh, what if she found a kitten or something? That’d be a nice change of pace.” Kara’s smile was hopeful, but you both knew it was as likely as Maxwell Lord suddenly becoming an alien—

The door swung open with a shove, bouncing off the wall and you both jumped to your feet, prepared for a fight only to see a fuming Lena storming into the apartment.

“Do you know what drives me fucking insane? When people get off the Tube and just stand there on their phones! Honestly, is it so hard to get out of the way?” Lena ranted, tossing her purse onto Kara’s kitchen island as she scoured Kara’s fridge for something strong that Alex probably left behind at the last game night.

You blinked slowly, staring at your girlfriend in confusion before a soft chuckle escaped. “The Tube, babe? I take it your uh… boarding school days are coming out, huh?” you teased.

She froze, bent over peering in the fridge, before slowly rising and glaring at you with that look—that look—that left your knees feeling like jelly and your heart racing, one brow arched like she was daring you to keep talking.

“Right now is not the time for this. Do you know how long I had to wait for some man to move out of my way? I had to say ‘excuse me’ six times before he got out of my way. So excuse me for calling it the “tube” instead of calling it the bloody awful rail system National City is so proud of.”

Her fury was apparent and really, you should’ve been comforting her and trying to soothe her anger, but as your mouth opened, you blurted—

“Rao, you’re so hot when your accent comes out…”

…there was a very audible “thwack” as Kara’s hand slammed into her forehead and you watched Lena’s brow arch a little higher, not amused by your lack of filter right this moment.

“That was the wrong thing to say, wasn’t it?” you mumbled to Kara from the corner of your mouth, eyes wide as you smiled weakly at your less than impressed girlfriend.

“Uh huh.”

“…thought so.”

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Such a big fan of The Psychology of Love and Serial Killers. Do you have any plans to update it? No rush, though!

I just became absolutely transfixed in those two chapters, and my mind keeps running with possibilities of how it will develop. You’re truly so talented!

Yeah, I’ve started working on chapter three but I’m one of those people who, if I get too focused, I get such bad writer’s block—

Hence my smut night lol

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Victor Doesn't Know (Wanda Maximoff x Reader)

Summary: a smut fic inspired by Scotty Doesn't Know

Words: 1236

Warnings: Smut, cheating, Vision 'cuz fuck that guy.

A/N: Victor is Vision because this is a human AU. Written kinda in my head as a college AU but there's literally no real mention of it. But also--fuck you, Vision, we could've had WandaNat and instead we got you.

-X-

You hadn’t spared it a single thought the moment Wanda had texted you to come over. There was no hesitation. No wondering if you should be doing this. Because when Wanda Maximoff texts you a photo of her standing in front of her floor length mirror in red lingerie, you fucking get your ass into gear and head to her room—

And if you ever turned down that type of invitation, you hoped someone would immediately put you down because you were either an imposter or losing your mind.

It’d only taken five minutes for you to stop in front of her door, knocking impatiently. It’d been days since you’d been together last because Victor was being exceptionally clingy—as if he knew something was changing and just hadn’t figured out what that meant yet.

She opened the door in seconds, the corners of her mouth tugging up into a secretive smile that was only ever for you these days. Half guilt, half greed but all hunger. Her hand tangled up in your shirt as she dragged you inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

Your eyes drank her in ravenously, tracing along the exposed skin like it was your birthright. Deep red with a bow between her tits, the skimpy fabric did little to leave anything up to the imagination, her nipples taut and pointed through the cups and the garters clinging to her thigh-high socks.

“Fuck, baby, you look delicious,” you groaned, gripping her hips possessively.

She’d told Victor this was for him.

But you knew better—and she knew you knew.

The afternoon sunlight slipped through the cracks in the curtains, painting her in the most ethereal golden light, her tousled hair and berry-colored lips only making it all the more sinful.

Her mouth was inches from yours when her phone began to buzz violently on her desk and she rolled her eyes, snatching it up. “Not a word,” she breathed, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before answering the call.

“Hey, baby,” she cooed into the phone, voice saccharine sweet even as her hand found the waistband of your sweats, tugging at them with a needy, pleading expression.

As your pants hit the floor, you spun Wanda around, pressing her back to your chest as your hand slipped into her thong. Her breath hitched violently as your fingers explored her soaked core, mouth hot and pointed along her throat as your strap-on ground against her ass. He didn’t notice—too boring and vanilla to ever assume his girlfriend was fucking the lesbian two floors above her—but you heard it and god, did it do things to you.

“Mmhmm, yeah, I’m just in my room,” she said calmly into the phone even as she tipped her head to the side, granting you more access to her throat as your fingers slipped through her need. “Just got out of the shower. Why?”

Her free hand fell to your thigh, gripping tightly as your fingers dipped into her aching pussy, stroking teasingly.

“No, I haven’t eaten yet,” she murmured, her voice so composed that it was almost infuriating. “You ordering something?”

Pressing your fingers deeper into her, you curled your fingers just right, knowing exactly how to break that pretty composure of hers and her hips bucked. Her mouth fell open, a silent but sharp inhale tensing her body in your arms. Her hand left your thigh, wrapping around your wrist as you stroked through slick arousal.

Victor’s voice was a tinny echo from the speaker as he mentioned some boring movie he wanted to watch and you rolled your eyes so hard you were worried you’d see your own brain.

“Sure, that sounds—” Wanda’s breath hitched as she rocked into your hand, “—perfect.”

She pulled the phone away from her ear long enough to press the mute button, her mouth hot and desperate against your jaw. “You’re going to make me moan and he’s going to fucking hear it,” she whispered.

“How terrible,” you smirked in response, walking her the few inches to the bed before lifting her onto the mattress.

Pressing her face into the pillows while her ass wiggled in the air, you yanked down her thong enough to settle behind her. She’d already unmuted the mic, but it didn’t matter. Her voice was already wavering just so as she arched her back willingly—so pathetic and needy—as your hands gripped her waist, dragging her back into you as the tip of your strap-on pressed into her slowly—achingly slow.

Victor was oblivious, talking about fucking shawarma of all things.

Her head pressed into the pillows, teeth sunk into the case as you bottomed out with a sharp roll of your hips. Her knuckles were white where she gripped the phone, not answering Victor as she tried not to scream. Her breathing was labored and heavy, barely muffled by the pillows.

“Wanda? Are you okay?” his voice echoed through the speaker and she scrambled to grab the phone.

“I—yeah, I j-just dropped s-something. S-sorry.”

Smirking, you drove into her rougher, relishing in the squeak that escaped even as she covered her mouth with her hand.

Victor sighed on the other end and every part of you wanted to reach through the phone and beat him senseless. He always sounded so exasperated with her and it was maddening. “You’ve been so clumsy recently.”

She shuddered beneath you, lashes fluttering and thighs trembling as you pounded into her like it was your only purpose. One hand dipped between her legs as you circled her clit roughly, the other hand tangling in her hair as your hips slammed into hers repeatedly.

She yelped, barely masked by the sheets and her own palm, but it didn’t matter. You could see the jolt that worked through her spine, the involuntary arch like her body only belonged to you.

Your fingers were merciless on her clit, the rough rhythm matching the punishing thrusts of your hips. Each one dragging another silent—barely—scream from her throat. Her cunt clenched around you like she was trying to trap you there as her thighs trembled. You tugged on her hair, pulling her head up from the sheets, watching as she bit her lip so hard that you worried she might bleed.

“Wanda?” Victor’s voice sounded again, louder this time, “What’s going on?”

She swallowed hard, voice cracking, “I-I think—I might be getting a fever,” she gasped breathlessly, “I-I think I’m gonna t-take a shower real quick.”

You never let up, even as he paused on the other end of the line.

“…didn’t you say you’d just taken a shower when I first called?” he asked cautiously, but her fingers shakily pressed into the End Call button, silencing his question.

She shoved the phone off the bed, back arching as a scream tore through her throat that mostly sounded like your name the moment the line went dead. Her entire body trembled and shook as her orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave of ecstasy, helpless as pleasure was dragged from her viciously.

Wanda collapsed forward, thighs sticky and convulsing as she panted, lips parted in disbelief at what she’d just let you do to her with him on the other end.

You smirked, kissing along her pale spine—

Both of you completely unaware that her fingers?

They’d never actually hit End Call.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Under Her Command (Lena Luthor x Reader)

Summary: There's a desk. That's all you need to know. It's smut night.

Warnings: SMUT

Words: 852

A/N: It's smut night. Enjoy.

-X-

Pushing open the door to Lena’s office, you didn’t pay a single thought to the security sprawled throughout the building, because at this point, there wasn’t a damn person in the building who’d stop you from seeing your girlfriend. Everyone knew you as Lena’s partner by now; in fact, the one guard you’d looked at absently had nodded so hard you thought his neck was going to snap—

But hey, what could you say? You did look damn good in the leather jacket Lena had bought you so…

The air was cool, controlled. The scent of the bergamot and lavender filled the room thanks to the weirdly colored candle Kara had found months ago in some thrift shop she thought would go perfectly in Lena’s office and your girlfriend hadn’t had the heart to tell Kara it was fucking hideous.

Lena was sitting behind her desk, fingers dancing along the screen of her table, the tapping of her nails almost hypnotic. Her deep green blouse was buttoned high with her hair tucked back in a sharp twist, every bit the lethal CEO you’d come to know and love.

She glanced up at you, a faint smile cracking through her usual armor.

“Oh, I wasn’t expecting you until tonight, darling.”

Smirking, you didn’t reply for a moment as you sauntered over to the desk, gaze raking over her form slowly. Like you were memorizing every inch of her as you stood beside the expensive wood, bending down just enough to catch her mouth in a whisper of a kiss.

“I have a meeting in ten minutes,” she mumbled against your lips and your smirk only deepened.

“Then I guess I better get comfy.”

Nudging her chair back, you slipped under her desk before tugging her back into place, her legs slipping over your shoulders as the luxurious fabric of her skirt brushed along your cheek like the hand of a familiar lover. She shifted just so, heels digging into your spine slightly but it didn’t faze you.

Perks of being Kryptonian, you supposed.

As the door opened, your breath skated across the side of Lena’s knee as your mouth slowly—achingly—worked its way up her thigh, over pale, toned flesh…

“Ms. Luthor, we appreciate you making time for this, especially the quarterly numbers coming in so strong.” The man’s voice was confident but oily, enough to earn an eye roll from you that Lena couldn’t see from this angle.

Discreetly tugging the thin scrap Lena considered “panties” aside, your tongue trailed between her already glistening, swollen folds as she replied, “Of course. I always make time for what matters.”

She didn’t flinch as your tongue explored her drenched core, but you could feel the way her thighs tightened around your shoulders, her soft exhale masked by the shuffling of paperwork on her desk.

“Would you say L-Corp’s strategic value continues to outperform expectations?” another voice asked curiously, but you weren’t paying any attention to the conversation happening around you as your tongue took another long, slow swipe over her clit.

Lena cleared her throat, her heel pressing harder into your back as your tongue circled the aching flesh expertly. “Yes,” she finally answered, a beat too late, “We’re exceeding forecasts across tech and biotech divisions, particularly in neural interface development.”

Your tongue flicked across her clit and her hips jerked minutely against your mouth, but she didn’t react—

And Rao, it was so fucking hot.

Flattening your tongue, you dragged it slowly through her pussy before dipping into her drooling entrance, licking into her like it was the only source of nourishment you’d ever need again. Just to be buried between Lena Luthor’s thighs.

Her meeting continued but you’d tuned it out by now, mouth slipping up to her clit as you sucked on it hungrily, like a Kryptonian starved, hands gripping her legs possessively as you kept her spread open for your mouth. She tasted fucking divine and there was no place you’d rather be than right here.

Her breath was starting to hitch, words coming out a little slower. Almost like she was being thoughtful but you both knew better. She was teetering on the edge of falling apart in your mouth and well…

Who were you to deny your girlfriend anything?

Timing it perfectly with the sound of an investor shuffling through his folder of paperwork, you sealed your lips around her clit on final time, tongue pressing firm and flat against it as you sucked—

And she came with an almost violent stillness. Words you’d never thought you’d muse, but the stiff, perfect posture of her back—the clasped hands, her even breathing—betrayed nothing as you drove her over the edge. But the tense, jumping muscles of her thighs and the way her heels pushed sharply against her spine as arousal poured across your mouth and onto your chin?

That was a dead giveaway and Rao, you fucking lived for these moments.

Smirking against her quivering core, her thighs kept your face pressed into her and while you could’ve escaped…

Why would you ever want to?

Really.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

It's a smut blurb night.

Y'all should send me prompts and I might give you a story between 300 and 500 words.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

ofc we’d read a fic based off scotty doesn’t know, you always deliver

-🦦

I love seeing you appear in my messages lol

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Soooo… if I wrote a story vaguely based off of the song Scotty Doesn’t Know that’s a smut… would we read it? 🫢

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Stakeout (Natasha Romanoff x Reader)

Summary: When a stakeout gets too boring, tensions arise.

Words: 2136

Warnings: SMUT, language, clothed grinding, use of the phrase 'cauldron of sexual tension'.

A/N: I did a thing. You're welcome. Set pre-Ultron I guess? Undefined. Reader is an implied super soldier.

-X-

Head lolling away from your binoculars, you absently stared at Natasha’s profile as she studied the building across from you with a terrifying intensity. Even in the dim light filtering through the dirty windowpane of this half-condemned safehouse, the sharp green of her eyes looked unnaturally vivid—or maybe you were just a sucker for her eyes. That was also a possibility.

They narrowed slightly, reflecting the faint glint of a passing car’s headlights outside—her posture rigid and focused. You’d seen that look a hundred times before in the field and on missions. It usually meant somebody was about to die—but never the wrong person. She was eerily precise in that way…

And fuck, it was so hot.

Her body moved just enough to track the wandering denizens of the city. Legs drawn beneath her like a coiled spring, her shoulder brushing yours every so often when she adjusted her grip on the long-lens scope. Her scent—sharp black coffee, leather, and a hint of cinnamon gum—was starting to live in your sinuses.

Three days. No sleep. No real food. Nowhere to go. Just you and Natasha in a crumbling third-floor room across from an empty brownstone with boarded-up windows and the rumors of something sleazy stirring inside it. Gamma-laced drugs—unstable, mutative, potent. Enough to cook a neighborhood if the wrong hands got hold of it… or, y’know, at the very least turn a bunch of addicts into raging Hulk monsters.

Something the team was hoping to avoid at all costs.

You were supposed to be watching for drop-offs. But instead, you’d been focusing heavily on the woman beside you. The slope of her nose, the curve of her mouth…

She shifted again, the line of her jaw tight even as she glanced at you from the corner of her eye. Her hair was pulled up, messy and haphazardly tossed up into a messy bun, a few crimson strands clinging to her cheek in defiance of whatever attempted discipline she’d tried to wrestle them into earlier during the day.

“You’re staring again,” she murmured, her voice low, husky with boredom and something a little too hot simmering just beneath.

The sound sent a hot twist curling in your stomach before you could kill the thought. You hadn’t even noticed your breath had caught in your throat.

“See something you like, soldier?” Her lips quirked up into a slight smirk.

Footsteps echoed on the street below, loud against the wet asphalt. A pair of dealers, maybe. Possibly a contact but unlikely at this point.

Yet neither of you moved toward the window. Instead, her thigh pressed against yours, firm and steady, like she hadn’t noticed.

Or maybe she had. Because if there was one thing you could say with certainty it was that Natasha was always aware.

Always.

You felt her breath near your cheek, warmer now. Her fingers adjusted the binoculars, though the scope wasn’t trained on anything, more idle movement than actual adjustment as she stared into your eyes.

“You know you’re supposed to be focusing, right, soldier girl?” Natasha teased, her voice like a snake traveling up your spine and embedding itself in the base of your skull.

“I’m very focused,” you breathed, “just not on the dealer.”

The corner of her mouth curled, sharp and slow.

“Thought so,” she whispered, almost smug, but there was a crack in it—just enough to let something else slip through. Hours, days, weeks of unspoken want and thinly veiled flirting bubbling to the top of your cauldron of sexual tension that was only burning hotter with every passing second.

She shifted, each twitch slow and deliberate. Her fingers dragged over the fabric of your tactical pants, lazy and testing. Heat bled through the contact like her touch was wired straight into your bloodstream.

And then she straddled your lap.

Her fingers braced against your shoulders, palms flat, her weight sinking down on your thighs. It was far too intimate for something you’d only ever dreamed of in your loneliest nights, when your hand was buried between your thighs, palm pressed over your mouth so no one would hear you moaning her name like a benediction; a prayer carved into the space between your teeth.

She was still fully dressed—and so were you—but in that moment, it didn’t fucking matter.

Her gaze dropped to your mouth and she wet her bottom lip. Her hand ghosted up to your jaw, thumb brushing against your lip, dragging it down slowly as she exhaled softly. Like the moment was finally settling her bones the way it was in yours. Her thumb lingered, held there like it wanted to memorize the shape of your mouth as she trailed over the soft flesh.

“This is a bad idea,” she muttered, more to herself than you. But her hips rolled, just a fraction. Testing her own control—or yours, or both…

“We really—” she started, but the words tangled and died as her body pressed flush against yours, the drag of her pants catching on the ridge of your thigh, pressing just right on her clit through the material.

And she moaned.

Low, almost too low to catch if not for the silence of the room, as she rocked again, almost involuntarily against the muscles of your thigh.

Her hands tightened on your shoulders, nails biting through the thin fabric of your shirt as she panted, mouth a mere few inches from yours.

“Fuck it,” she muttered—

Before she rocked against you again, slower this time.

Deliberate.

Hands reaching up, you knocked her hair loose from its bun as your fingers tangled in her hair, dragging her mouth to yours hungrily, thigh tensing as she rode your leg like it was granting her the oxygen in her lungs.

Her gasp hit your lips as you claimed her, the sound more instinct than permission, like she’d been waiting for you to cross that line for far too long. Her mouth met yours with ferocity, open and needy, lips parting with surrender. Tongue hot and searching, greedy as yours tangled with hers in a kiss that was more battle than seduction.

You could feel her fingers twist in your shirt like she needed the anchor or she’d come apart at the seams. Her hips rolled again, harder now, grinding down against you with a reckless rhythm that made her whole body tremble against yours. Her breath caught on a whimper—your name half-formed, swallowed by your kiss.

You couldn’t remember when, too caught up in the heat of her, it had begun to rain, the water smearing across the windowpane, pounding down in sheets on the glass behind her like war drums. If you’d been thinking properly, you would’ve suggested going to the roof to watch the brownstone. To keep an eye out for the inevitable drug deal gone bad.

But in here, time was meaningless. It didn’t matter that you were supposed to be searching for a dealer. That you were technically compromising the mission by letting months’ worth of tension snap into something neither of you would come back from. Because here? There was only the slick heat between you, the friction of tactical-on-tactical pants and the pressure of her core dragging over the swell of your thigh in desperate, erratic stutters.

Her hands shot up, fingers threading into your hair like something had finally snapped, like a string yanked too tight. She pulled—not gentle, not sweet—dragging your head back just enough to devour your mouth deeper. The scrape of her teeth on your bottom lip was feral. Sharp and bordering on painful but gods, you didn’t care.

“You feel what you do to me?” she whispered, voice rasping as her forehead pressed to yours. Her hips never stopped moving. Every breath came with a tremble now. “Fucking God…”

Her hands roamed, curling under the hem of your shirt, nails raking your sides like she needed to carve the shape of you into her palms.

A noise escaped your throat, not quite a moan—almost a growl—as your hands dropped to her ass and gripped tight, guiding her movements like you were a woman starved and she was the first taste of food you’d had in months.

A breathless gasp tore from Natasha’s lips the second your hands found her ass, your hold hard enough to draw a choked moan as you ground her down, forcing her to ride the firm line of your thigh. Her nails dug into your shoulders—so fucking painful but it only served to light your nerves ablaze—and she let her head fall back for just a heartbeat.

Her throat, pale and glistening with sweat, was exposed in the dim light, pulsing with every staggered breath. You heard it again—that same raw sound she made when she stopped pretending this wasn’t exactly what she’d been wanting for months.

“Jesus…” she hissed, her voice cracking. Her thighs clenched around your hips, muscles quivering as she rolled harder now. Erratic and desperate and racing towards an end she almost didn’t want to find yet.

“Fuck, Tasha…” you groaned against her jaw, nipping and biting at the soft skin.

Her hands fumbled down to the hem of your shirt, shoving it up with trembling urgency, her palms pressing against the bare skin beneath as she grinded down with renewed need. Every drag of her body over yours sparked something hot and raging in her belly. The seam of her tactical pants—rough, unforgiving—rubbed just right against her clit with every thrust.

“Say it again,” she panted, mouth at your ear, voice ruined and hoarse. “Say my name again like that.” And then her lips were on your neck, biting, sucking, claiming; hips moving with wild, unfiltered need.

Somewhere on the street below, a car door slammed. Footsteps. Muffled shouts in a language you didn’t speak. But she didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. Didn’t care.

You felt her body start to shudder as her breath caught hard against your throat.

“I’m—fuck, don’t stop—don’t you fucking dare—” she whined. She ground down again, and again, chasing the edge with a fury that was pure need.

She was close and you could feel it.

Unraveling in your lap, falling apart with every grind of her soaked pants against yours, every ragged gasp in your ear.

“Fuck, you look so good like this, baby… I’ve dreamed about this for months, hearing that pretty voice break as you ride me like this,” you murmured in her ear, nipping at her earlobe.

Natasha let out a broken cry, her whole body jerking at your words like you’d reached inside her and flipped something vital. Her hips stuttered for a breath, overwhelmed, her fingernails biting into your sides. But then she surged forward, mouth crashing into yours, all teeth and tongue and desperation.

“You—fuck—you bitch,” she gasped, half-laughing, half-sobbing, lost somewhere between desperation and rapture as you kissed and licked across her somewhat exposed collarbones and neck, still guiding every motion with your hands firm on her ass. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

She ground herself on your thigh with reckless abandon, the fabric soaked between her legs, every rock of her hips a shuddering confession. Her thighs trembled with the effort, sweat slicking her skin beneath her clothes. Her body pulsed with frantic need, and her face—her beautiful face—twisted in something between agony and ecstasy as you guided her through it.

“That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good… keep going.” You barely recognized your own voice anymore, too enraptured by her.

“That’s it…” she echoed faintly, dazed, voice raspy and guttural. “Fuck, that’s it… I-I’m gonna—”

You could feel her thighs clenching tighter, hips stalling on each thrust now, losing rhythm as she got closer—so close—chasing that edge with every drag of her clit over the ridge of your leg. Her breath hitched again, teeth biting into her own lip to keep from screaming.

And then—

Her whole body arched, spasmed—hips bucking wildly against you as the orgasm ripped through her. She bit into your shoulder, hard enough to bruise, as a primal, soul-shattering moan clawed its way out of her throat, muffled but unmistakable even with her teeth sunk deep into your skin.

You held the back of her head gently, helping her slow the rock of her hips as she chased every last white-hot flash of ecstasy before collapsing against you, hips jumping with every minor aftershock as she panted and whimpered against your neck.

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the dealer. Not SHIELD. Not the Avengers… because Natasha Romanoff had come using your leg…

And you really fucking hoped this wouldn’t be the last time.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Am I writing a smutty Natasha grinding fic? Yes...

Yes I am.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Alex Danvers Masterlist

One-Shots

Lilac

Series

The Moonlight Chronicles: (Part One)

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Sharon Carter Masterlist

One-shots

Monster

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Kate Bishop Masterlist

One-Shots

Hidden Sparks

Kabob

[thewitchandtheassassin]

hi the definition of happiness is when the second part of the psychology of love and serial killers (tpofask i guess?) was released. THANK YOUUU

-🦦

I'm so glad you love this as much as I do. This is gonna be one of my favorite things I've ever written.

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Rio Vidal Masterlist

One-Shots

Harbinger **

Everything **

Series

Rio Vidal and Agatha Harkness:

Life, Death, and the Space in Between: (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five/Final)

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Agatha Harkness Masterlist

One-Shots

Enigmatic

Honest

Bewitched

Series

Rio Vidal and Agatha Harkness:

Life, Death, and the Space in Between: (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five/Final)

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Darcy Lewis Masterlist

One-Shot

Dancing Barefoot

[thewitchandtheassassin]

Jean Grey Masterlist

One-Shot

Meteors

Young Love and Old Money

First Last Kiss