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loving you is a losing game

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It’s the last time they’re going to do this.


And in the heat of the moment, with Adora gripping Catra’s hips so tightly they might bruise while she nips at her jaw, tracing all over Catra’s face with her lips—her mouth, her cheeks, her chin, her jawline, and down her neck—Catra can make herself believe that.

And really, she can’t think much about it anymore after that when Adora leans back up and whispers in a sensual way Catra didn’t even know she was capable of.

“Tell me what you’ve been fantasizing about.”

Oh, wow.

Catra grits her teeth to hold back the sound that bubbles up in her throat and wrenches her head back to face Adora, about to deny it because she definitely has not been thinking constantly about Adora—

“Don’t even pretend you don’t think about me when I’m not around.”

Catra wishes she could find her confidence annoying. She wishes she could ignore the way that Adora’s been just a little too possessive since Scorpia walked in, the way Adora tugs on her with more force than necessary, the way she’s very openly left multiple marks all over Catra’s neck already that she’s going to have a terrible time trying to hide (she might just have to find an excuse to leave the parka on for a few days).

But really, she just finds Adora maddeningly sexy like this.

(But that doesn’t mean Catra can’t have her fun too.)

Catra thinks of the dream she had the night after Adora showed up in the Fright Zone, the one where Adora was all but crying Catra’s name while she fucked her from behind, fingers driving into her. How after, Adora had collapsed onto her stomach and laid there with her face in Catra’s pillow, catching her breath, while Catra traced her fingers over the scars she’d left in Bright Moon.

And if this is the last time, Catra’s going to let herself have what she wants.  

“Pants off. Get on the bed. On your hands and knees.”

Adora’s mouth drops open a little, and she takes a step back from Catra, who can see the way Adora gulps.

And then Adora’s eyes darken, and she tugs on Catra’s wrist as she walks by and over to the bed.

“I’ll do it, but don’t think for a second that it’s because you’re the one in charge.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

And then Adora’s on her bed—like something out of her stupid dreams—on her stomach and propped up on her elbows, her knees spread wide and tossing Catra a look over her shoulder that says something along the lines of come and get me, Force Captain

Which is totally not Catra projecting anything from her dreams.

At all.

Adora sighs when Catra kneels behind her, the pads of her fingers rubbing circles on her hips, down the outsides of her thighs, back up to squeeze at her ass and how is it fucking possible for someone to look this good?

Catra’s breath hitches when she looks further up Adora’s back, seeing twin sets of three claw marks there, now less angry red than they still were when Catra saw her last. They’re fading now, an almost translucent pink in the dim light of Catra’s room.

(And if this is the last time, Catra’s going to let herself have what she wants.)

She can’t help herself when she carefully keeps her claws retracted and skims her fingers up Adora’s back, tracing over the scars and wondering if she rubs at them hard enough, they’ll go away. Like they’re written on Adora’s body in pencil or still-drying ink and not etched into her skin. A permanent mark.

A permanent reminder of Catra.

She can’t help but shudder when she thinks of it—the way Adora must wake up every morning and catch a glimpse of those scars in the mirror at some point.

She wonders if she’s always going to think of Catra when she does.

And Catra hates herself for loving that idea, the idea of finding ways to mark Adora forever.

Catra keeps tracing along the marks, feeling Adora tense and shiver underneath her.

“I am sorry about these, by the w—"

“It’s a war, Catra. Shit happens.”

Adora says it in the hardened tone that Catra hears from her only in battle and knows she should probably back off.

But she also somehow still hasn’t pushed Adora so far away that she doesn’t come back.

Which is all that’s on Catra’s mind when she leans down to press her lips against the raised marks on Adora’s back.

Adora inhales sharply and arches her back away from Catra’s lips.


“Sorry, I just—"

Just what?

I just feel like we’re spinning out of time with each other, and I don’t know how we get it back.

I just want to tell you I’ve wanted you for years, and I don’t know how to tell you that I’m kind of getting used to us doing this.

I just wish you would have never found that sword.

I just wish I mattered more to you than She-Ra.

Catra can’t—won’t—say any of that.

So instead she changes course, her fingers re-familiarizing themselves with the planes of Adora’s abs, her breasts, and all the soft little moans that Adora gives her in response when something feels particularly good.

And they don’t bring up the scars again.

“You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Adora grits out, and Catra can’t tell if its more in annoyance that there’s still a tension about the marks on Adora’s back or the way Catra is drawing slow patterns down Adora’s stomach, dipping just below her hips but never reaching to where Adora wants her.

Catra’s hand starts teasing along her inner thighs and has to bite back her own sounds when she feels how wet Adora is, how she knows in her head that Adora showed up here tonight because she wants this just as badly—

“Is this okay?” Catra asks in a gravelly voice, teasing a finger inside Adora.

Adora responds by pushing her hips back toward Catra.


Catra sees the way Adora bites down on part of the pillow as she starts thrusting her fingers into her, hears the cries muffled by the fabric, feels Adora’s walls tensing around her—


Adora just keeps repeating it over and over, a combination of Catra and oh my god and fuck, and by the time Adora comes with Catra’s three fingers driving her into the mattress roughly, her throaty cries muffled in the pillow, Catra is absolutely high on the sounds Adora’s making.

And she barely has time to come down when she gently pulls out of her, and then Adora is reaching back blindly to grab Catra by the wrist and flip them so quickly it takes the breath out of Catra’s lungs, and how did she even do that—

But somehow, in the time it takes for Catra to form a sentence, Adora’s straddling Catra’s hips (grinding slick spots into Catra’s stomach while she does) and pinning her wrists above her head.

“Are we fighting or fucking?”

Adora smirks and replies dryly, “All things considered, a little bit of both?”

“We’ll call this neutral ground then?”

Adora chuckles and leans down to kiss Catra gently, and then follow that with a nip to her bottom lip.  

“Beds are neutral ground. Got it,” she mumbles against Catra’s lips.

“Ah, ah—"

Adora pulls away and sits back on Catra’s hips.

Catra continues, “Any surface upon which—"

“Thought this was the last time,” Adora adds quickly.

We both know it probably won’t be, Catra wants to say.

What she says instead is, “And maybe after this I want to see how well you can keep quiet if I want you pressed against the wall.”

Adora exhales heavily, in time with the way she rakes her eyes down Catra’s body and lets go of her wrists, fingers sliding down her arms and running up and down her sides in a way that is lulling Catra into a temporary peace, like Adora’s hands are the siren song that are going to inevitably lead her right to destruction.

She doesn’t even care.

She just wants Adora.

“And what do you want right now?”




“Anything,” Catra says breathily, her back arching into Adora’s hands that drag all over Catra’s body, and she wonders if its actually Adora who's the one marking her. 

“Anything, huh?” Adora replies with a smug smile.

Adora starts kissing down her neck.

“Can I show you what I’ve been thinking about?” she whispers into her shoulder.


Adora leaves bruises on her collarbones like Catra left claws in her back. She takes her time mapping out all of the most sensitive places on Catra’s body with her lips, fingernails gently scratching into the short fur of her stomach.

If Adora can never look at her scars without thinking of Catra, then Catra’s not sure she’ll ever be able to look at the places Adora leaves marks with her lips without thinking of her.

Even after those temporary marks are long gone.

Adora keeps kissing down her body, fingers grazing over her hips and down further still, and—




Adora’s been fantasizing about going down on her.


“Adora, are you sure?”

Adora just winks up at her in response, and Catra wonders if the whole nine lives thing applies to her.

It’s infuriating how quickly Adora seems to catch on to everything, from the way she learned to fight growing up in the Horde to the way she can read Catra so well, to the way she’s even leaned into the whole “legendary warrior princess” deal. It’s infuriating, but its for Catra’s benefit that it translates to sex too, because the way Adora’s mouth is working against her is absolutely ruining her.

Catra comes so hard she doesn’t even realize her voice is hoarse until she hears thundering footsteps barrelling down the hallway and the sound of someone saying, “I’m coming, Catra!”

Not like I just was.

And then Adora’s eyes go wide when she looks up from her spot between Catra’s legs.

“Run,” is all Catra has time to say before she’s pushing a very naked Adora out of her bed and then shuffling the blanket to cover herself up.  

Scorpia barges in five seconds later, and Adora disappears somewhere behind the cargo boxes in the corner.

“Catra, are you okay?”

Catra wills her voice to come out somewhat normal-sounding, and an appropriate amount of agitated rather than the murderous rage she feels, coupled with how turned on she still is.

She’s not sure it works.

“Scorpia! Yes. I’m fine.”

Scorpia’s head is on a swivel around the room, and she’s in fighting stance as she says, “I heard screaming.”

Catra blushes, the phantom feeling of Adora’s tongue inside her making her squirm.

“Just… a dumb nightmare. I’m fine, really.”

“Are you sure?” Scorpia asks with the most genuine look of concern on her face.

“Yes. I really just want to go back to bed,” Catra grits out, eyes darting back between Scorpia and the still open door, waiting for her friend to walk back through it so she can please get back to what she was doing.

Scorpia—thankfully—believes her and mutters something else about making sure she gets enough sleep, and “stay warm, wildcat,” before she’s finally gone again. And it’s only then that Catra realizes her heart is racing a mile a minute when she hears Adora laughing in the corner.

“Who’s the loud one, again?”

Catra turns to see Adora leaning against the wall, no longer naked but—

Oh, she’s going to be the death of Catra.

She’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed and only wearing her stupid red jacket.

And she looks ridiculously hot.

Catra’s off the bed and nearly pounces on her.

“Leave that on,” she growls, before tugging her in and kissing her.

Adora’s giggling against her lips, and Catra pretends that the groan she lets out is more that she’s annoyed with Adora’s laughter and less because there’s something about Adora in her jacket—and only her jacket—that's really doing it for her.

Catra makes good on her promise to fuck Adora against the wall, even if it means she ends up with a sore shoulder for days from how hard Adora bites down on it.

And it isn’t until much later in the night that Adora finally untangles herself from Catra after she’s given her another orgasm (she’s lost count at this point) and starts to gather her clothes.

It shouldn’t hurt.

It shouldn’t.

This is the last time.

And Adora barely stayed last time. There’s no reason for her to stay now and—

Catra’s still dazed enough from the way Adora’s mouth felt sucking on her clit again that the words tumble out.

“You don’t want to stay?”

Adora, with her back turned toward Catra, freezes.

She turns.

“Do you want me to?”

“Didn’t know if you wanted to be on neutral ground for a little longer.”

Adora shrugs and starts shrugging on her shirt.

“It’s a short walk back.”

“It’s cold out though. And this bed is really warm.”

It’s a weak line. She knows it. But Catra can’t help but try and get her to stay as she lays on her side, propping herself up on her elbow and watching Adora.

She can’t help but try and ask for one more sweet shred of false hope.  

“Catra,” Adora replies, too serious and too harsh compared to all the ways Catra’s heard Adora say her name tonight.

“We almost got caught. Twice.”

Catra just nods and lies on her back, staring at the ceiling, while Adora keeps dressing.

“I think its best that I go.”

And since it’s the last time, Catra figures she might as well ruin it completely.

It’s what she does best, anyway.

“Fine, leave. You always do.”

“That’s not fair,” Adora shoots back.

Adora’s fully clothed again and walking toward the bed when Catra peers over at her.

“Look, I didn’t mean for this to make things more complicated—"

“There’s nothing complicated about it, Adora! It’s just sex.”

Of course it’s not.

(But it’s Catra’s favorite lie to tell.)

Catra wishes she would have missed the way Adora’s face falls, the way her eyebrows twitch up in surprise, just for a moment.

Because now she gets one more little drop of false hope that Adora’s just as hurt.


Adora turns away and starts walking toward the door.

“Right. Just sex.”

Catra sits up in bed and stares down at her hands, down at her claws, the ones that have done so much damage.

“There’s another exit out this way so you don’t have to sneak past Scorpia and Entrapta,” is all she says, pointing a claw toward the direction opposite the one Adora walks.

“Thanks,” Adora mutters, and Catra doesn’t look up, but it almost sounds like she’s holding back tears.

(It’s just more false hope.)

So Adora leaves.

And it shouldn’t come as a surprise.

Adora always leaves.