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pixie-dust-and-pain · 2 years

Text

The Technicalities Of Kissing Girls

Sumary: Adora and Catra sitting on a tree F-A-L-L-I-N-G

a/n:

based off a comment on red chrysanthemum (ao3 series. should i post it here???? milf adora???) like yes. this is quality content. i love you. this is for you. (rainbowlake on ao3 is my bb)

ALSO I FIND THIS SO FUCMING FUNNY NOT ADORA THINKING KISSING GIRLS HAS DIFFERENT WAYS LIKE PLS BITCH ONLY THING YOUVE EVER KISSED IS CATRA'S ASS STFU

also i accidentally wrote the forbidden forest instead of the whispering woods so now this is hp (ew jk rolling

ANOTHER THING: when my bf kissed me for the first time she said "you're a horrible kisser" then kissed me again and said "dw we can practice" and this was like a year ago and i still dream abt that. I'm dfkjfbkjghkgf

Adora can't remember the last time she's spoken this much. Her jaw hurts from the effort, and her cheeks ache, having smiled far too much for far too long. It doesn't bother her, really, given that it's because of Catra.

She's so irrationally happy it's almost funny. Actually, it is funny, because Catra laughed when Adora snorted, so it must be. This is nothing new, the tree branch beneath her hands, hard wood digging into her thighs, the cold wind blowing at her face as she shoves leaves away, but it all feels precious. She feels drunk. Drunk not on alcohol (though she's sure Catra is), but rather on happiness.

Laughter bubbling up inside of her, too much to contain, her grin never faltering as she leans onto Catra. It's too much. The happiness, it's overflowing, too much to contain within her body. It doesn't matter, she doesn't care. They're young and stupid, this is what they're supposed to be doing. Getting drunk and looking at the sky, sitting on a random tree in the Whispering Woods, trying to form shapes and constellations.

"Mara," Catra had murmured when Adora had told her how the stars were shaped like a woman, and Adora had immediately wanted to kiss her. That's been happening a lot lately, her being overcome with the urge to kiss Catra. Almost everything Catra does makes Adora want to kiss her.

She stares at Catra, now, and wonders for the umpteenth time that night how she's able to breathe when Catra looks like that. Her hair blows slightly with the wind, the short strands somehow falling perfectly into place, unlike her own, which get in her mouth and on her eyes every so often.

The sun has set a long time ago, but the little torch they hold illuminates them both well enough. Adora almost wishes it didn't. Almost.

Catra's hair is like chocolate, dark strands twisting and merging with the others, her hair different shades due to the light, soft and fluffy, and Adora has to fight the urge to reach out and touch them. Her skin glows under the torchlight, the harsh yellow of it soft on her features, tanned warm skin looking so beautiful she wants to cry. Catra, everything about her is just so right and so perfect it makes her want to cry. The light only exaggerates her lashes, their shadows clearly visible on her cheek as she blinks slowly, tired. Blue and yellow eyes shine, one like liquid gold, gleaming in the dark, and the other as though someone has taken the sky and placed it in her eyes. Her eyes contain the whole world. Adora turns pink, suddenly shy. She feels like a child with a crush.

She continues admiring Catra, staring shamelessly. She's confessed now, hasn't she, despite the whole ordeal being so painful? She has a right to stare.

She stares at the slope of Catra's neck, the dark material covering it, hugging her skin. She stares at the bare skin of Catra's arms, the two marks on her bicep and the slight muscles. She's more lean than muscular. She looks small, too, arms wrapped around her knees, hugging them to her chest.

Small. Catra isn't small-the word just doesn't fit her.

Vertically challenged, Adora muses.

She stares a little more than necessary at Catra's cleavage. It isn't her fault; she's practised years of restraint. Just a peak shouldn't hurt (she can practically hear Glimmer mocking her, even in her head, for how pathetically whipped she is). The suit cinches at the waist, and Adora stares at that for a long time too. She wants to hug Catra from behind, she wants to wrap an arm around that waist, maybe just hold it. She needs to stop.

But it's been years since she's been happy with Catra. Sometimes, when she was in the rebellion, she dreaded it. She hated Bow and she hated Glimmer and she hated herself for hating them, but maybe if they were a little cruel, a little evil, a little bit like anything they Horde had told her that they were, maybe she wouldn't have left Catra. Maybe she and Catra could've been happy. It's futile, she knows it is, and incredibly selfish, too, but maybe they both would've been spared a lot of pain had they both just stayed put.

She glances at Catra again, who's staring back at her. Catra grins at her, and Adora beams back, her smile dopey and huge. Catra's smile makes her happy, everything about Catra makes her happy. Funny, that is, before all Catra managed to do was make her sad. Sad, upset, and guilty. Guilty for leaving her behind, knowing that Catra's pride and hurt would never let her turn her back on the Horde, guilty for hurting her, knowing there was no other way.

She's filled with a strange feeling. It's more than happiness, more than anything, she watches the way Catra's nimble fingers tear at the peel of the fruit in front of her, the little sparkle of wonder in her eyes as she bites into it. Catra has recently discovered what fruit is, and she is obsessed. Wait until she finds out about cake.

She smiles when Catra's tongue peeks out, a quick flash of pink, to lick the juice from her lips and she purrs, her whole body vibrating. All the pain she's been through is worth it, she thinks, if it's for Catra.

She wants to be with her so badly it hurts. She wants to hug her and kiss her and hold her hand and talk with her for hours, and she wants to make up for lost time and shower her with love all the time to make up for the times she couldn't. She just wants to touch her. She wants to trace her fingers up and down her spine, lift her up and spin her in circles, she wants to be wrapped up in her as she rests, she wants to hold her so badly it aches her. She wonders if that's a little pathetic of her.

She remembers the kiss they shared at the Heart of Etheria, it was a gentle press of lips, more than a peck but not a full-on make-out session either. She wants to recreate it again, she wants to press herself flush against Catra, wants to feel her soft lips under her own, wants to run a hand through her hair and wrap another around her waist. She wants to kiss her so bad it hurts.

She's too scared to do it, though.

She reaches for her hand instead. Catra's palm meets her halfway, their hands awkwardly trying to slot themselves into place, hungry for the intimacy. They don't fit right in perfectly on the first try, rather, Catra's nail scratches the side of her palm, and it takes them a minute to adjust themselves. It's worth it, though, at the end, when Catra slightly squeezes Adora's hand, and Adora swears her heart skips a beat.

Catra turns to look at her, and smiles slowly, hesitantly. Adora smirks back.

"Aw, you totally have a crush on me," she says, teasing, because she doesn't know how to be sappy and sweet and romantic with Catra, because that isn't them, and because she likes the way Catra's ears turn red and her tail spikes up, "How embarrassing, "

Catra bristles, "We're literally dating!" she exclaims, glaring at Adora in mock annoyance.

Adora sighs, the stupid smirk still on her face, "Still,"

She looks at Catra, still grinning, and she can hear the blood rushing in her ears and her heart pounding in her chest, threatening to claw out of her ribcage and come out. She's sure Catra can hear it, too. Dammit.

She's afraid she'll do something she regrets, she's afraid she'll kiss Catra. She chooses to focus on the soft way Catra's ears are shaped, mentally repeating the same mantra: do not kiss her. She thinks she'll do it anyway, and the thought scares her. And then Catra kisses her.

Or, rather, Catra leans in for a kiss, and Adora's brain malfunctions. She doesn't know how to kiss a girl. How does it even work? Is a girl's mouth different than a boy's (although she's never kissed a boy, either, but she's sure it's a lot simpler than kissing Catra)? She panics, and then does what anybody else in her place would do, she slams her face into Catra's. Catra gasps before they're both set off-balance, hurtling to the floor and off the tree branch they sat on at full speed.

Catra yelps, grabbing onto Adora's hand as her other one grips the branch. They're dangling off the branch with only Catra's hand holding them up.

Adora gapes up at the branch, then squints, "Is that a mouse?"

Catra squeaks, terrified, letting go of the branch in a panic, and they both come crashing down. Fuck.

Adora groans in pain, and barely registers Catra on top of her until she feels her move.

"Ow," Catra huffs, then looks down at her, smirking, thankfully not upset and rather amused. "Hey Adora,"

Adora clears her throat, "Hi,"

"Why so aggresive?" she asks, head tilted to the side as she stares at her intently.

Adora's grateful that she isn't standing up, because she's sure that her knees would buckle if she was, "Um, I-"

"You know," Catra drawls, "If you don't want to kiss me, you could just say so instead of slamming my teeth in with your head, we all take time to-"

"No!" Adora grabs at Catra's hands, wincing slightly at the pain that shoots up her side at the sudden movement, "No, no, no. I don't-it's not like that! I do want to kiss you, I want to so bad but I don't know how to kiss a girl, you know? And I don't want to disappoint you and..." she trails off when Catra chuckles pressing a chaste kiss at her temple.

Adora gulps, the nervousness crawling back as she tries to control her breathing. At this rate, she's going to end up hyperventilating and huffing and puffing into their fucking kiss.

"My love, you're a horrible kisser," Catra mutters quietly, tracing the outline of Adora's face, finger gently brushing against her skin. Adora, pathetically, tries to inch up, to kiss her again to prove otherwise.

"Am not, I'll show you-" Catra cuts her off, pressing herself down on Adora, lips firmly planted on hers as she runs a hand through Adora's hair, fingers slipping through the golden locks. Catra's lips are soft above hers, and she registers how Catra tastes vaguely sweet, like the fruit she was eating, but more than that she tastes so much like Catra it's overwhelming. She pulls back after a long time, and Adora stares up at her, grinning goofily.

"I love you,"

Catra grins at that, pink dusting her cheeks, "I love you too. And I stand by my earlier statement, you're a horrible kisser," She smiles wider at Adora's little huff, and leans down again, lips ghosting over hers, "Don't worry, we can practice,"

I KISSED MY GF THREE TIMES IN FRONT OF OUR WHOLE CLASS TODAY THE COUNTRY WE LIVE IN CAN LEGALLY MURDER YOU FOR BEING GAY I FEEL VERY ANDJSLKNSLD MAYBE LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL AND AMAZING YK

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pixie-dust-and-pain · 2 years

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And I Can Go Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home

Words: 1012

Summary: Adora blames herself for everything Shadow Weaver does to Catra.

a/n: my parents are fighting and this is a cope fic i will respond to comments when i can my parents have been mildly hinted to be catra and shadow weaver lolz I'm adora i wanna kms lmao i hate this house i cant breathe please help me

lolz in my taylor swift phase since forever.

Warnings: Child abuse, also self-blame, shadow weaver

She sits with her knees pressed close to her chest, breath shallow and uneven. Blonde hair falling forward, shielding the world from her view, hands clammy as they lock around her, hugging herself, rocking back and forth slightly. She hears Catra scream and flinches.

Catra's voice is hoarse, and she can't see her, but she knows where she is, behind the door, a hallway down. Shadow Weaver has her door ajar, making sure Adora can hear the other girl clearly. She should help her, she's her friend, and this is her duty, but fear locks her in place.

Stupid trembling little girl, useless, stone cold hands and stone cold heart. She doesn't deserve Catra. What use is being the best of the best when you can't even protect your best friend? What use is trying and bragging and practising when you know you'll be frozen in fear when it matters?

She takes a deep breath, or, rather, tries to. Inhale. Exhale. It comes out shaky, as she stands up, slightly trembling.

She fixes her shirt, pulls back her hair, tying and retying, braiding and tying it up in a bun, doing anything to pass time, hoping she's outlasted Shadow Weaver's torture. So she can take the cowardly way out. So she can claim that she was 'just coming to help' when Shadow Weaver had spitefully thrown Catra out the room, broken.

It goes dead silent, and Adora lets herself hope, for a minute, holding her breath so she can try and hear Catra or Shadow Weaver at least say something. Then she hears the scream, agonizing and broken, finishing off with a sob, and she closes her eyes, willing her legs, which seem stuck to the ground, to move forward.

She won't hurt you, she never does. She tells herself as she takes one dreadful step at a time, approaching Shadow Weaver's room slowly. She hovers outside, the door menacing, although it looks the same as any other in the Horde. She won't hurt you, she consoles herself, steeling her nerves and clenching her fists. But she could.

She throws open the door, no backing out now, and steps in. Catra lays sprawled on the floor, bruised and bloody, biting her lip to hold in her whimpers, face red, handprint visible. She feels her heart nearly lurch out of her chest, pounding against her ribcage so loudly she swears Shadow Weaver can hear it from across the room.

"Shadow Weaver-please," her voice comes out, croaky and high, as Shadow Weaver raises her fist once more, glowing red and fucking ruthless.

"Oh, Adora," The way she says her name sickens her, sugared honey dripping off it. Adora. Her golden child, the very best, better than the wretch on the floor will ever be. She can practically feel the disgust ooze off Catra as she glowers at them both. She knows Catra hates her like this, unwilling to help her if it means getting on Shadow Weaver's bad side. She hates herself, too.

"If only you'd take better care of her, teach her something and I wouldn't have to go this far," She says, stepping over the child as though she's nothing, coming over to stand in front of Adora, and cupping her jaw with one hand.

"But-but you're hurting her!" She can feel the tears rise, and she bites the already bruised inside of her lip to hold them back.

"All I do is for your goodness, child, why would I want anything but that? Hurting the girl is of no use to me,"

It makes sense. After all, why would Shadow Weaver punish Catra for no reason? For pure fucking pleasure? She's no sadist (or maybe she is, but still, her first duty is to the Horde). She wouldn't have to do so if they didn't mess up, simple as that. But Catra will mess up, she isn't the sort to just shut up and stay put, no matter how much Adora tries.

If only you'd teach her something. This is her fault, she realizes. If she could only protect her, take the blame, or even maybe try hiding what Catra had done, it would be so much better. What Catra gets tortured for, Adora will be let go for the same with a slap on the wrist and some half-hearted chides. If she stepped up and helped and actually did something, they wouldn't be in this mess.

She nods, eyes downcast, and Shadow Weaver pats her head affectionately, motherly. She doesn't hate Shadow Weaver, even now, and she hates herself for it.

"Take her away," She says, nodding to Catra as she walks off.

Adora helps her up, and leads her to their shared bed, and as she takes over the assigned maternal role, whispering kind words and reassuring sentences to her, she realizes that this is all her fault. The scars stretching across her friend's back, on her knees, her arms, the side of her face, the bump at her temple and the bruise on her cheek, they're all because of her . She wants to apologize, but she knows Catra will just throw her a bitter glare, anyway. Instead, she sticks to whispering 'you'll be okay' and 'just a little more' on repeat.

When she wipes Catra's tears, cleans her blood with a wet rag, and attempts to heal her swollen limbs and presses her aching muscles, she leans into Adora's touch. Because as much as she hates her at this moment, she still needs comfort, she still needs warmth, and Adora's the only one around who can give her that. She still needs that reassurance because they're children and they're broken. She needs Adora because Adora means home, no matter how much she hates it.

Adora knows this. Only, she wishes she could be in a better home than the one they have right now. She wishes she could be brave enough to help her, strong enough to step in, clever enough to say something that would make Shadow Weaver stop. She wishes she was enough to protect her.

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