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. Theyâre still learning. Pamela still pushes her arms away more often than not, Harley still apologizes too much. But theyâre getting better. Practice makes perfect, after all. And Harley doesnât mind being the one to move first every time.
She knows that if she gives Ivy enough affection, eventually, sheâll get used to it. So thatâs 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 Ivyâs back or her thigh or the back of her hand.
Today, Ivyâs 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 doesnât get three steps back on her way before Ivyâs hand is around her wrist and she gets pulled back down.
Harleyâs 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. Itâs embarrassing and painful to watch.
âIâm done,â she says again. âIâm done. You donât-- you donât love me, you donât care, Iâm DONE, I donât need this from you--â
Ivy canât 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. Itâs buzzing in her head like static. I DO CARE. I LOVE YOU. I LOVE YOU. IT HURTS. I HATE IT. I LOVE YOU.
âDonât,â is all that comes out.
âDonât WHAT? Donât stand up for myself? Donât let you walk all over me? Donât exist in a way that isnât beneficial to you getting your rocks off?â Harley snatches a mug off the counter-top and hurls it at Pamela. âI HATE YOU!â She looks around for something else to throw, and a second later thereâs a butter knife sailing by Ivyâs head. âYOUâRE SO GODDAMN SELFISH! I DONâT NEED THIS! I DONâT NEED YOU!!â
Harley scans around her frantically for other weapons, and when she doesnât find any, her eyes snap to Ivy. She runs. She sprints. Her arms are out and sheâs winding up to punch and she is so sick of everyone trying to control her--
âWHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO ON YOUR OWN, HUH?â Ivy shouts, ducking and trying to move out of reach. âWHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? GO BACK TO ARKHAM? GO BACK TO THE CLOWN?â
âI DONâT KNOW!â Harleyâs fist leaves a dent in the vine-covered wall, strings of green clinging to it when she pulls away. âI DONâT CARE!â
âLOOK ME IN THE EYE AND SAY THAT.â
Harley canât punch anymore; sheâs 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.
âLOOK AT ME,â Ivy snarls. âLOOK AT ME, RIGHT HERE, AND TELL ME YOU DONâT CARE.â
Harley looks. She opens her mouth. She canât say anything. Her lips move, like theyâre 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.
âI do love you,â she tells Harley. It almost sounds nervous. âI do.â
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 Harleyâs forehead.
âCome on. Letâs get you cleaned up.â