Just recently been reading all your fics, and I just wanted to say that they’re all absolutely amazing! You write this pairing so well and perfectly capture each of their characters! I definitely loved the prompt one you have on here with dancing; it was incredibly sweet and just simply perfect for them. You’re an excellent writer!!! Thanks for writing stuff for this rare pair too! It means a lot!!
This was such a lovely message to find when I logged in today and honestly I should be thanking YOU for taking the time to read my writing and sending this to me! :D <3 I’m so happy that you enjoyed what I’ve shared so far and I’m also super happy to meet a fellow shipper. :) Shipping rarepairs is such a struggle where content is involved so it’s truly an honour to help provide some new stuff for this ship. Also it warms my heart to know you think I’m writing them in character because I am a little bit rusty lately so it meant a lot to me to hear that! This ask has really made my week lol thank you again. <3
“Amélie, this is hopeless. You know that I cannot dance ballet as you do.” Letting out a defeated sigh of frustration, Satya’s right palm rose to wipe the sweat off her forehead, dispelling the evidence of her exertion.
Her dance partner simply watched with a subtle, amused smile quirking at the corners of her lips; Amélie would have let out a chuckle had Satya not thrown her an intense, embarrassed glare that could surely melt steel. Clearing her throat gently, Amélie bowed her head in silent apology.
“You are doing fine, Satya.” The former ballet dancer reassured softly, rising from where she had been resting against the wall.
Her dear friend was worrying far too much - actually, Amélie was rather impressed by her progress. She knew Satya was a capable dancer in other genres and something about the way she held herself with such grace and poise had told Amélie she would not fall short where ballet was concerned either. Her assumption thus far had been correct.
“More than fine.” Amélie clarified with a sincere look behind her glowing, yellow irises. It seemed to have the desired effect as Satya rose her eyebrows in return to the statement, her prosthetic arm rubbing the back of her neck where the muscles were tight.
“Well, I am not so certain but that is kind of you to say regardless.” The Indian woman murmured, still feeling a little embarrassed having Amélie watching her. Amélie’s beauty had no match from Satya’s perspective, how could she hope to achieve anywhere near the kind of dance that the Talon assassin had mastered with her impressive, natural gift?
“Whether it is kind or not,” Amélie gave a nonchalant shrug and a ‘huh’ before continuing. “It is simply the truth. You are too hard on yourself and it hinders your performance. You are very tense.” Satya opened her mouth to argue but Amélie rose her hand, pointing her index finger upwards to stop whatever it was the Vishkar agent was about to say.“Ah, do not tell me you disagree with my observation?” A small smirk formed on the dark-haired woman’s lips. Satya huffed stubbornly, rolling her eyes; Amélie did enjoy pushing her buttons, not maliciously, of course, it was just how their unique…friendship worked.
“I suppose you are not wrong.” Satya admitted through grit teeth, earning a low chuckle from Amélie who slowly approached her dance partner, dropping her raised hand to place it carefully against Satya’s shoulder. Now that they were closer in proximity, Satya found she could not meet Amélie’s gaze, instead looking down at the floor, ignoring how her heart rate had suddenly skyrocketed.
“Mm, I think I know what is holding you back.” The French woman murmured, her accented voice as smooth as silk. Satya’s golden eyes finally settled on Amélie’s - she immediately regretted it…and immediately lost herself in the taller woman’s bright orbs.
“Is that so?” Satya managed to respond, her voice steady, masking her internal nervousness, a curious look appearing across her features. Amélie paused for a while, seemingly searching for something behind Satya’s eyes in turn; neither could look away as Satya felt Amélie’s long, thin fingers subtly curl against her shoulder.
“This is holding you back.” As she said ‘this’, Amélie’s free hand came up to tap the side of Satya’s temple, accompanied by a knowing smile. Satya’s curious expression morphed into one of surprise; she blinked a few times.“You are referring to my mind?” The architech asked, frowning as if she was trying to piece together whatever information it was that she was failing to locate. Amélie nodded, releasing Satya’s shoulder, taking a step backwards.
“Oui, you are dancing with your mind.” Amélie turned away, rolling her shoulder blades to loosen them before she intended to join Satya in their dance. Her partner had gone very quiet, her brilliant mind no longer dancing but trying to figure out what she was doing wrong.
“This was the hardest lesson for me to learn when I was a young girl.” Amélie said quietly, her back still to Satya. The architech’s golden gaze lingered on the faded spider tattoo before her, revealed by the cut of Amélie’s leotard.
It wasn’t often Widowmaker spoke of her life before Talon…whether it was because she was forbidden to do so or it pained her to do so, most times Satya chose not to ask, not to press her for information. Her own history was just as sensitive…and she knew Amélie well enough to know if the sniper wished to tell her something of her past life, she would, when the time felt right. After all, they had come a long way since their first encounter.
They were no longer on an ‘agent’ name basis, they were meeting privately to dance with one another under the guise that it would ‘alleviate stress’ and assist them on future missions. In truth, they had become close friends, an unlikely conclusion but a surprisingly welcomed one for both of them.
“I was always so focused on technique, my posture, the timing of each movement, executing them with precision.” Amélie continued with a nostalgic, small sigh. “I was the best in the class. I knew it, my classmates knew it…my teacher knew it and yet, arguably I was completely lacking the most important aspect needed for every dance to be perfect, no matter the choreography.”
As she continued to explain, Amélie once again turned back to face Satya, catching her inquisitive gaze. It made Amélie feel strangely proud that Satya was listening so intently to her story. Satya was always patient with her, never pushing for more thanAmélie was willing to give.
“The heart.” Amélie finished with a soft smile, placing her hand against where her heart was faintly beating beneath her blueish skin. “A dance must convey the deepest feelings within one’s heart…be it joy, sorrow…hatred, love - passion, emotion tells our story where words cannot.”
Realisation slowly dawned on Satya as the missing piece was put into its place - now she understood why she was struggling so much.
“I see.” Satya murmured quietly, her expression falling, eyebrows upturning in pain. “I…do not know if I can-” She started to say, doubt consuming her.
“Watch me.” Amélie interrupted.
Satya was caught off guard, meeting her friend’s eyes with a look of surprise.
“What?” Her uncertainty was endearing to Amélie, who gave her a warm smile.
“Watch me, chérie.” She repeated softly, extending her hand for Satya to take. “I will dance with you…and show you the way.”
There was something poetic behind Amélie’s offer, that the woman who had her emotions forced out of her was willing to bring them to light within Satya. She reached to take Amélie’s offered hand with a sincere, grateful smile.
Only while they were alone together, away from Talon and Vishkar’s prying claws, did Satya and Amélie truly allow themselves to feel again. Only while they danced with one another - a perfect dance, a dance from the heart.
prompt from @5idestuff: “Satya and Amelie taking turns on each other’s make-up. The latter gets distracted while Satya gets caught up in the artistry of it all.“
“Amélie, if you do not stop moving, we are going to have a problem,” Satya scolded, pulling back with the liquid eyeliner applicator for a moment.
“Mmm, je suis désolé, chérie. I became distracted.” She smiled in an almost goading manner, though not unkindly. Satya knew better. Really, she was just trying to cover up the fact that she had been following the movement of Satya’s hands with her eyes, instead of looking up like she had been instructed to.
Satya re-adjusted her position on the bed, shifting up onto her knees so she could better cup Amélie’s face with one hand. She needed to get this angle exactly right, and while Amélie wa gorgeous, she was definitely prone to indulging her wandering eye, and therefore unconsciously moving around.
No matter. It had never deterred her from using her girlfriend as a test subject-slash-model before, and it certainly wouldn’t now.
“Hold still. I need to match the other eye. Look towards the ceiling.”
“And if I would rather look at you instead?” She countered smoothly.
Satya ignored Amélie’s flirting and replied with, “Then you will lose that eye to the applicator, and then I will have to structure an entirely new look around your missing eye less than two hours before the photoshoot.”
Amelie moved into her family’s ancestral home a month ago, rightfully fearing what it would do to her already weakening conditioning. When it seems like there is nothing to fill the dead silence and empty spaces of the castle, Amelie turns to the one woman who knows her best, the only one out there who can understand what she is going through.
It’s been so long since I wrote some Overwatch f/f! And also symmaker! Lowkey the reason why I didn’t for so long was bc I didn’t have any good angst, and as we all know that’s just about the only thing I can write. Thanks to the whole team for making Château Guillard a thing and this fic a reality.
Please reblog if you read, and leave a comment or kudo if you like it! It tells me that you like what I’m writing and want to see more! Hope you enjoy!
widow/satya, ~800 words, written for a prompt on the kink meme but not really sexy.
The eyes are uncomfortable.
Widowmaker does not look away from her as she lifts her able hands to pull the tie from her hair. The stare is level, even, unblinking, the same one she gives through the scope of Widow’s Kiss. A look, literally, that can kill.
But her rifle is not in her hands, nor is the arachnid visor perched on her brow. They are not on the battlefield; they are not enemies.
Satya avoids the golden eyes, not because she is afraid of Widowmaker, but just because they are uncomfortable. And for the moment, anyway, it is much more important to focus on the dark hair slowly being released from its ponytail. It is a show for her benefit. Would it not be rude to look away?
A final tug and the hair spills free. It is like a river of ink around her face and down her shoulders to her lower back. The light plays through it, casting blue-grey highlights. Satya’s fingers twitch reflexively at her sides, and it is an effort not to bring her hands up immediately. Asking permission is very important to Widowmaker. She likes to retain control.
After a moment, she smiles.
“Ah, minette, you wear your heart on your sleeve.”
Satya flushes. She has been told that many times since joining Overwatch. They call it honesty; they call it straightforwardness; they call it innocence. It feels only like naïveté.
“Would you like to touch it?”
Widowmaker is cruel. Her smile says she already knows the answer. She has known the answer for weeks. Months, perhaps, months of teasing, of the ponytail brushing Satya’s skin with a flick of the sniper’s head.
Satya nods.
Widow lies back. Her hair fans out along the comforter of the small dorm cot. It looks even darker against the contrast of the pale sheets. Her skin nearly matches the lavender. She wears only a tank top and dark pants, but the simply garments are elegant on her.
“Then touch.”
Satya joins her. She hesitates a moment longer and then gives in.
It is as soft as she has imagined. She moves her fingers through it slowly, reverently, starting at the scalp and working down. Widowmaker’s hair is very thin, and there are no snarls. She must have combed her hair before Satya arrived. The thought sends a small thrill of pleasure through the architech–she is worth preparing for.
Widowmaker’s eyes drift closed until they are only yellow slits. Satya scratches her scalp, combs through the hair again and again, winds it around her fingers. A loose strand sticks in the joints of one of her prosthetic’s fingers. With a look of disgust she pulls the wastebin closer to the bed to discard any other rogue hairs.
Widowmaker does not hide her smile.
“You would make a horrible sniper, minette.”
“Then it is good I am not one,” Satya says shortly. She tugs a little in retribution, not enough to hurt, but Widowmaker’s smile stubbornly remains.
“It feels good.” She opens her eyes. Their catlike gaze fixes on the architech. “May I return the favor?”
It takes Satya a moment to catch on. She wore her hair in a bun today, reminiscent of her Vishkar days. She much prefers it down and loose and free, but today the every brush of her hair on her face and shoulders was irritating.
She nods again. She slides onto the sheets until they are resting beside each other, skin to skin. Widowmaker’s hands gently wander up Satya’s neck to pull the pins from her bun. Her fingertips ignite sparks under Satya’s skin; it feels so good.
The pins Widowmaker removes are hard-light. She smiles at the sight.
“So efficient,” she murmurs, before pulling Satya’s hair gently free. Their manes tangle together on the pillows, warm black and cool black. Satya continues playing with the sniper’s hair, soft around her fingers. She watches it as if entranced. Widowmaker scratches gently along Satya’s scalp. She watches her face. It is well worth watching.
“Are you cold?” she asks abruptly. “My skin—”
“No. It’s nice. I—I like it.” Satya says. She smiles a bit sheepishly. “There is no sweat.”
She likes it. She likes Widowmaker’s weaponized, inhuman form. And though the sniper is cool, is always cool, she feels somewhat warmer at that.
Satya’s lips, when she brings them to hers, are also very warm. It is chaste, but that matters not. There is more care in Satya’s caresses in her hair than in the press of their mouths.
“Widowmaker…” Satya breathes when they pull apart.
The sniper shakes her head.
“Not Widowmaker.”
Satya is taken aback. A different forbidden name sits on her tongue like a leaden stone, and she doesn’t know whether she should say it.
“Amélie?” she ventures.
The woman closes her eyes and inclines her head just a bit, just enough.
i was in a skirmish and someone playing as symmetra did the ribbon emote and then someone playing as widowmaker saw and said “ouh la la” widowmetra is canon y’all
widowmetra dynamics are probably like widow would just come in like “satya you would not believe what i saw today” because she uses her sniper to scope out that gossip
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