Bad End of the World

I've Got You Under My Skin

*CONTENT WARNING*

- noncon (but it's a dream)
- Skip the three paragraphs after "Hey, Catra." to avoid the worst of it (start reading from the break)

--

Catra

Catra stormed down the corridor, feeling a mixture of emotions she just wasn't ready to deal with right now. She barged into her room and sat on her bed, then started to cut the cast from her leg one layer at a time, using her razor sharp claws.

She was furious with herself for relenting. For actually letting Adora do this, for letting her get so close and transform into She Ra, of all things.

"Maybe I've lost my fucking mind," she muttered, tearing through the last two layers, where the cast split open and fell apart. Catra examined her leg, surprised to find it as good as new. Other than the fur being matted with sweat and antiseptic gel, she'd never know it had been injured at all.

She took a few deep breaths. Did that really just happen? Catra thought, replaying the scene in her mind. The whole time that She Ra had been crouched down in front of her, deep in concentration, Catra had been torn between lashing out with her claws, or getting the hell out of there. But she'd held back, somehow, and Adora had made good on her promise, leaving straight afterwards.

Catra tried to ignore the quiet voice telling her she'd wanted Adora to stay, to fight back, and to try harder. Because Catra didn't need Adora. She never had. Then she remembered that Adora had actually swore. Adora, of all people, and she couldn't help but smile.

Fuck. I miss her...

Catra ground her teeth together at the uninvited thought. She squeezed her eyes closed and tried to will away that awful, familiar feeling that was threatening to surface. She'd had to suffer it for years, before Adora had left. She didn't want it anymore. That fucking yearning, that need, that awful, relentless pining. It made her feel weak.

I should have killed her, she thought, looking down at her trembling hands. It wasn't just She Ra that was a threat. Adora was, too, because of how easily she snuck under Catra's skin, and invaded her thoughts.

Just like she was doing right now, when Catra remembered how exhausted she had looked after healing her leg. How she'd fallen backwards and dropped the sword, appearing as though she might pass out. How it had taken every ounce of Catra's willpower to stay on that bed and not reach out to see if she was okay. Because why should Catra care if she were okay or not? She didn't owe Adora a single damn thing.

"Ugh, get out of my head!" Catra said, resting her elbows on her knees, and holding her head in her hands. She was tormented by that flicker of despair she'd seen in Adora's eyes, just before she'd left, not to mention how despondent she'd appeared when Catra tried to kill her. But Catra didn't care. She couldn't care. And she definitely hadn't wanted to reach out her hand and nestle her fingers into that loose, messy blonde hair, then tell Adora she hadn't meant it.

Catra sighed, and her heart weighed heavily in her chest.

She'd always had a soft spot for Adora's hair, especially on those rare occasions that she wore it down. She wondered if that was part of Adora's master plan, to play to her weaknesses. And maybe it had worked, because right now she was thinking back to when she used to lazily twirl Adora's hair around while she slept, and how those soft strands felt when she massaged them between her fingers.

Catra missed sharing dumb jokes with Adora, missed making her laugh and watching her smile reach her eyes. She missed sitting outside late at night and talking about nothing with her, missed how soothing it was to fall asleep while listening to her light snores. She missed laying next to her, their hands almost touching, and wondering if she'd ever have the courage to tell Adora how she felt.