On some level, Catra had really expected that. She doesn't know when, or how, they would've had the opportunity to see this side of Adora - the side that's petty and abrasive, the side that used to be just for Catra. It used to come out when they'd push each-other in challenges, in training, in general whenever Adora wanted to goad her. The cockiness of her smirk used to spark something in Catra, the smug droop of her eyes used to make her blood pump faster. Now, they just make her sick.
It's another thing that used to be Theirs that Adora's gone and given away, and Catra's teeth grit through the jab of pain, her breathing loud in her ears. She doesn't think about it, when the fist of hers that's holding the dirt rises to pound on the open wound on Adora's shoulder, wedging between their bodies.
"I hate you," she hisses as her fingers loosen, grinding rock and clay and dirt into the gashes with her palm. She knows objectively that it's her spy, but the face that's roiling the acid in her stomach is Adora's, and Catra's ears are completely flattened against her head, her pupils shifting as they struggle to contract in fury despite being still dilated with arousal. Because to add insult to injury, she's still gripped tight around their leg. Her tail's still wanton around their waist. She's still craving Adora. "You can't even do," Catra's tight voice shakes with rage and fury, her fingers twisting in their hair and feeling strands give way under her pull, volume rising with every word: "one. thing. for me. What good are you?!"
She's trembling, frustration and fury and that stupid, horrible, unending heartache coiling every muscle of her body too tight, her hackles raised and lips drawn back. Why is it that just like the real Adora, they won't just give her what she needs from them? Why is it that even when she's paying them, when they're the one who offered, she has to claw and fight and struggle to earn any sort of relief? Nothing in Catra's life has ever come easily, but this? --Coming easily was the entire point of the arrangement. How dare they backtrack on her like this, how dare they take Adora's face and body and heart and replicate her so painfully, so perfectly, and then withhold from Catra the very thing they were supposed to be giving her?
"Do it right," her tone drops back down into ice, her claws dig back in to the gashes. Threatening her spy is a terrible, horrible idea; but Catra's far past the point of making good decisions, far past the point of being rational or reasonable. She's allowed them too much leeway; they've crossed the line over and over, pushing all of her buttons just the way Adora knows how to, and it's not like Catra can't make it without them. She doesn't need them to destroy Adora, or her pathetic Alliance. She was doing just fine before they came along. "Or you'll be lucky if I let you make it back to the Wastes."
no subject
It's another thing that used to be Theirs that Adora's gone and given away, and Catra's teeth grit through the jab of pain, her breathing loud in her ears. She doesn't think about it, when the fist of hers that's holding the dirt rises to pound on the open wound on Adora's shoulder, wedging between their bodies.
"I hate you," she hisses as her fingers loosen, grinding rock and clay and dirt into the gashes with her palm. She knows objectively that it's her spy, but the face that's roiling the acid in her stomach is Adora's, and Catra's ears are completely flattened against her head, her pupils shifting as they struggle to contract in fury despite being still dilated with arousal. Because to add insult to injury, she's still gripped tight around their leg. Her tail's still wanton around their waist. She's still craving Adora. "You can't even do," Catra's tight voice shakes with rage and fury, her fingers twisting in their hair and feeling strands give way under her pull, volume rising with every word: "one. thing. for me. What good are you?!"
She's trembling, frustration and fury and that stupid, horrible, unending heartache coiling every muscle of her body too tight, her hackles raised and lips drawn back. Why is it that just like the real Adora, they won't just give her what she needs from them? Why is it that even when she's paying them, when they're the one who offered, she has to claw and fight and struggle to earn any sort of relief? Nothing in Catra's life has ever come easily, but this? --Coming easily was the entire point of the arrangement. How dare they backtrack on her like this, how dare they take Adora's face and body and heart and replicate her so painfully, so perfectly, and then withhold from Catra the very thing they were supposed to be giving her?
"Do it right," her tone drops back down into ice, her claws dig back in to the gashes. Threatening her spy is a terrible, horrible idea; but Catra's far past the point of making good decisions, far past the point of being rational or reasonable. She's allowed them too much leeway; they've crossed the line over and over, pushing all of her buttons just the way Adora knows how to, and it's not like Catra can't make it without them. She doesn't need them to destroy Adora, or her pathetic Alliance. She was doing just fine before they came along. "Or you'll be lucky if I let you make it back to the Wastes."