𝓐. 𝑳𝒂𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒊𝒙

〚 𝐋𝐞𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐤𝐞. 〛 【𝘖𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩 • 𝘙𝘰𝘭𝘦𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘺 • 𝘋𝘦𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘱𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 】

Pharah’s birthday? Another round of ammunition clicks into place.

@CallSignPharah 𝑵𝒐𝒏. You are going to take the armour off and meet me on the throne.

@PoisedAssassin Who are you to banish anyone? And is that how you’re going to treat me on my birthday?

You’re banished from the Crimson Court. @CallSignPharah.

@GlitchPlease69 Ugh. Yes?

@PoisedAssassin Hey.

Ew.

My past comes in many forms and half of them are hitscans.

@CallSignPharah — thumped uncontrollably, threatening to push past her chest. She quietly slipped from the bed, careful to not disturb the other, and walked back to the — now ruined — bathroom to take an ice cold shower. It was starting.

@CallSignPharah — empty stage to the sound of an applause. Twirling as the applause thundered… and thundered… and thundered, louder and louder until the sound of an ear-piercing bullet shot the lone dancer dead. Amélie’s eyes flew open. That notoriously slow heart rate was manic. It —

@CallSignPharah — unspoken challenge. With meticulous precision, Amélie’s fingers entwined with the set brushing against the old sweater. They guided Fareeha’s hand away. In fact, guided them lower… to a delicate spot on the inner thigh. Close. Just a finger’s length out of reach.

@CallSignPharah — second hand snaked around the back of Fareeha’s neck, closing down the proximity between their lips until the only room left was in a dangerous kiss.

@CallSignPharah — took a step back, bumping into the overcrowded vanity. The products fell from the sink, scattering around their feet and making room for the two to find purchase. The wicked seductress kept her soft hand atop the calloused and rough hand, steering it higher together. The —

@CallSignPharah This wasn’t an invitation. This was the making of another war. The heated and explosive sought that left one solider victorious and the other (appropriately) bruised, defeated and wallowing in their sins. Those sharp, predatory eyes held Fareeha’s gaze, acknowledging the —

@CallSignPharah You only look good because you’re standing next to me.

@CallSignPharah “So do you.” The Spider challenged in a salacious, little whisper that was spoken from the devil’s tongue.

@PoisedAssassin But she didn’t. Instead of burning it, she wore it. The fabric hung just enough, softened with wear, carrying the quiet imprint of Fareeha’s scent. “It does look better on you.” She admits her fingers brushing over the material, slow, almost absent-minded.

@CallSignPharah — the vanity. Almost. “Just as this looks better on me.” It was Fareeha’s favourite sweater — oversized and covered with some sort of foolish slogan. Honestly, Amélie would’ve burned this first before even touching it.

@CallSignPharah It was always like this between them. The sort of tension that slowed time, that sucked the air out of the room until they both suffocated. It was a dangerous dance but it was 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 dance. Amélie leant slightly back as Fareeha advanced, her body almost pressed flush to —

@CallSignPharah After the silence and unanswered questions lingered between the two enemies for a moment longer, the Huntress at last turned around to face the Falcon. “𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒍𝒆̀𝒎𝒆?”

@PoisedAssassin The faint scent of cosmetics hung in the air as Amélie did the finally touches. Fareeha lingered, watching the slow precision of Amelie’s final stroke. Delicate, deliberate. There are only a few times where she has seen the assassin moving this soft.