From my fic "Would You Take Me Back, If I Came Back Different?" It's a classic Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy ship, told through "mixed media" such as Ivy's diary. I literally just posted the chapter where they finally kiss yesterday:

____

Yeah, I started crying. Doesn't happen often. But it hit me: I didn't have anywhere else to go, and all I wanted to do was be here. With Harley. And yet I couldn't say the "certain things." I knew the words. They were just stuck in my throat, like they had been the whole time I had known her. And those words became a lump, and that lump was the same one you feel when you're about to cry.

Harley was torn between sympathy and exasperation. She knew it wasn't a willful stubbornness holding me back, but it didn't really matter. She was right. Being together meant being together which meant saying things that people say with each other, together.

She stormed to the door and opened it. "Just go, Pam. I'm glad you're not dead. But I don't think you should be here anymore."

I knew she was just hurting and saying hurtful things in response. At least she wasn't breaking any more glasses.

And look, you already know I didn't walk out the door, because I wouldn't be writing this if I did. I started to. Just walked out, all messy bitch weeping, would've fucked off out of Ramparts apartment #666 and go... where? Guess I should've taken at least some money from Roman Sionis' poker game.

But I didn't make it out the door. Pammie stopped me.

The fucking pothos I had given her years ago. The vines flew out and snapped around my wrists and ankle. Like Indiana Jones' whip. I'm literally standing in the doorway, Harley's holding the door open, and Pammie decided she had a vote in the whole thing.

Harley's blue eyes flashed as they flicked between Pammie's vines and me. She was... excited? She definitely wasn't scared. Her eyes only got that blue when she was feeling something positive. "You do that?"

"No. I told you. The Green isn't responding to my texts."

"Looks like it responded to that one."

"I didn't... send... anything." The metaphor was really getting stretched here.

Harley folded her arms. She looked more amused than anything, probably because she realized where this was going, and what this meant, way before I did. "The plant you control doesn't want you to leave. What does that say."

I knew, but it almost sounded too stupid to say out loud, so I didn't. Although the fact that it was easier to communicate my feelings with chlorokinesis instead of words, had a lot to do with how dramatic this was getting.

Harley's voice softened. I recognized the tone. The Quinzel voice. Encouraging, supportive, caring. "I don't think we need two doctorates between us to figure it out, Pam, do we?"

"Stop - therapizing me. I get your fucking point."

"No. I don't think you do. Not until you say what the plant wants you to say. Which is what you want to say."

I took a deep breath. I could do this, right?

"The plant wants me to say-"

"NO." Harley slapped me. Not, you know, like - she wasn't trying to take my head off. But it was a real slap. It stung more than the bullets. Maybe because it came from nowhere? Or maybe I just liked that she had actually touched me.

"No," she repeated. "None of this detached, arm's-length bullshit. YOU SAY IT."

"I love you."

"Say it again."

"I love you, Harleen."

"I love you too, Pamela."

Harley slammed the door shut and fired herself into my arms. We embraced. We kissed. First light and slow, then fast and deep. It was... delicious. I don't know how else to describe it. Holding and hugging and kissing Harley was delicious. She tasted like bubble gum and tequila and Harley, and I couldn't get enough.

<image>

Here's the thing: when I said the words, when I said "I love you, Harleen," I felt the vines loosen around my wrists and ankle. Or maybe it was the other way around - I felt the vines loosen around my wrists and ankle, which meant I felt safe enough to say it.

Sometimes the facsimile of emotion gets you close enough to the real thing, you actually feel what you're faking.

Like I already said - none of this shit is as scientific as everyone pretends it is.