yall sent these in forever ago and i havent finished a single one because im awful at mushy gooey physical romance scenes so sORRY but im gonna publish what i have anyway so i can clear out my drafts before moving blogs
1. They’re still learning. Pamela still pushes her arms away more often than not, Harley still apologizes too much. But they’re getting better. Practice makes perfect, after all. And Harley doesn’t mind being the one to move first every time.
She knows that if she gives Ivy enough affection, eventually, she’ll get used to it. So that’s precisely what she does. She gives praise, she gives pet names, she gives hugs, she gives kisses, she gives little touches to the small of Ivy’s back or her thigh or the back of her hand.
Today, Ivy’s reading on the couch, and today, Harley leans right over the back of it and kisses her on the cheek. Her lips barely even brush green skin. Easy, simple, slow.
She doesn’t get three steps back on her way before Ivy’s hand is around her wrist and she gets pulled back down.
Harley’s crying, all dribbling make-up and trembling lips and wet, shivering voice choked out over a lump in her throat. She cries like a little kid. It’s embarrassing and painful to watch.
“I’m done,” she says again. “I’m done. You don’t-- you don’t love me, you don’t care, I’m DONE, I don’t need this from you--”
Ivy can’t move. Harley is turning, Harley is stepping, Harley is putting on her jacket and gathering what little possessions she has. Ivy is terrified.
I DO LOVE YOU. It’s buzzing in her head like static. I DO CARE. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. IT HURTS. I HATE IT. I LOVE YOU.
“Don’t,” is all that comes out.
“Don’t WHAT? Don’t stand up for myself? Don’t let you walk all over me? Don’t exist in a way that isn’t beneficial to you getting your rocks off?” Harley snatches a mug off the counter-top and hurls it at Pamela. “I HATE YOU!” She looks around for something else to throw, and a second later there’s a butter knife sailing by Ivy’s head. “YOU’RE SO GODDAMN SELFISH! I DON’T NEED THIS! I DON’T NEED YOU!!”
Harley scans around her frantically for other weapons, and when she doesn’t find any, her eyes snap to Ivy. She runs. She sprints. Her arms are out and she’s winding up to punch and she is so sick of everyone trying to control her--
“WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ON YOUR OWN, HUH?” Ivy shouts, ducking and trying to move out of reach. “WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? GO BACK TO ARKHAM? GO BACK TO THE CLOWN?”
“I DON’T KNOW!” Harley’s fist leaves a dent in the vine-covered wall, strings of green clinging to it when she pulls away. “I DON’T CARE!”
“LOOK ME IN THE EYE AND SAY THAT.”
Harley can’t punch anymore; she’s got branches and creeper vines piling onto her arms and holding her in place. She tries to kick Pamela, and her legs start to get overgrown, too. She tries to bite through them and one lashes her across the face. It leaves a bleeding line on her cheek.
“LOOK AT ME,” Ivy snarls. “LOOK AT ME, RIGHT HERE, AND TELL ME YOU DON’T CARE.”
Harley looks. She opens her mouth. She can’t say anything. Her lips move, like they’re trying to form words, but nothing comes out. She tries. She fails. She tries again. She fails. She shuts her mouth and fresh tears start to well up in her eyes.
Ivy moves closer, and the vines loosen and recede.
“I do love you,” she tells Harley. It almost sounds nervous. “I do.”
Harley, now curled up in a little ball and crying silently on the floor, nods in defeat. Ivy kneels and smooths blonde hair away from her face, before pressing a gentle kiss to Harley’s forehead.
“Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up.”
