playing with her in your fantasies (harlivy)
Have a short little unedited thing! Kind of part smut, part relationship study.
Pairing: Harley Quinn/Poison Ivy
Warnings: Oral sex (f!receiving), masturbation mention
WC: 1285
!Minors DNI!
Ivy has imagined going to bed with Harley more times than she can count on her fingers, toes, and the assistance of many of her plant’s winding vines and tendrils. She doesn’t know, exactly, when the friendship took on the color of something deeper, something different, but she felt it from the moment they first met - some kind of inclination that this woman was going to be in her life forever in some capacity and the immediate spark that signaled her interest in Harley wasn’t strictly platonic.
And, for a while, she had been certain that there was no way that Harley could return her feelings. Ivy tries not to rely on stereotypes but, occasionally, it’s all she has - and Harley’s habit of getting long acrylics (when she wasn’t sending her nail lady anonymous death threats for fucking up her elaborate design requests) and obsession with the Joker led Ivy to the assumption that Harley wasn’t playing for her team.
So, at first, Ivy had forced herself not to think of Harley that way. She’s liked straight girls before, suffered at the hands of friendships gone awry due to her feelings. So, with Harley, she’s determined not to. But Harley loves a dirty joke, loves a sexually-charged compliment, loves playfully flirting with practically everyone, and Ivy’s only human. She can only hear shit like “C’mon, Ives, let’s see if the carpet matches the drapes,” so many times before she internalizes it and it somehow works its way into her alone time.
So there’s the jokes. And then Harley starts casually snuggling up to her and, at first, she chalks it up to the fact that Harley is a naturally affectionate person. But cuddling on the couch turns into kisses on the cheek turns into cryptic texts from Harley followed by pictures of her in lingerie. And then, one day, Harley had shown up at her door with a bottle of wine and three of her acrylics cut short. And here they are.
In her many, many fantasies, Ivy discovers that she’s gotten some things right: for example, Harley does love to tease. She peppers Ivy with short, nippy little kisses that leave her wanting more, desperate for a longer, deeper touch, pulling Harley into her lap and holding her still so she can indulge her needs, Harley giggling against her mouth.
She knew how Harley’s lips would taste, sweet and smoky, the remnants of whatever candy or treat she’d last devoured layered over the hint of her most recent cigarette. She’d been correct in a prediction that Harley’s tits would be the best she’d ever seen - though perhaps this comes from her own personal biases rather than any objective, purely aesthetic position. She’s willing to concede that, but, hey, they’re perfect all the same.
In other ways, however, she’d been wrong. She’d expected Harley to be a little selfish, chasing her own pleasure, and that was something Ivy was not only okay with but excited for. She wanted to give Harley everything, and countless orgasms were certainly no skin off her back in that regard, and she had often fantasized about Harley riding her face until she was finished or holding Ivy’s head between her legs with two fistfuls of her hair, grinding against her face and screaming her release over and over again.
Harley is not a selfish lover, as it turns out, going to kneel between Ivy’s legs without a word exchanged, looking up at her with something in her eyes Ivy thinks she’d describe as reverence. She spends a long moment just looking, the heat of her stare causing Ivy’s cheeks to flush, and then Ivy comes to her next mistaken expectation.
She’d assumed Harley would be unshakably confident. Harley has taken many a lover, particularly in the months following the dissolution of her relationship with the Joker, in which she’d been rumored to pull any man off the street for a quick fuck rumored to ruin them for any women who follow. Ivy thinks this without judgment - she’s had plenty of her own conquests - fellow environmental radicalists, women looking to check off fucking a supervillain, (and smart enough to know that they’re less likely to be killed, tortured, or experimented upon by the likes of Ivy over some of the others in that category) and even the infamously sexy Selina Kyle following one drunken night at the Iceberg Lounge. The point is that Harley is experienced, and allegedly a rockstar in bed, so she expects Harley to approach their encounter with an easy confidence, has often imagined the way she would take charge.
So it is surprising when Harley looks up at her, eyes big, expression on her face as if she’s seen God, and says, uncharacteristically quiet. “I’m kind of nervous.”
Ivy is quick to assume the worst. “We don’t have to-”
“Ive,” Harley cuts her off, her voice taking on more of its usual assuredness. “I’ve never wanted to fuck someone this much, but I wanna impress you. You’re different.”
Ivy takes her word for it despite all of her insecurities screaming at her that it’s a cover-up. “Well, if you can make yourself come, you’ll probably do just fine with me.”
Harley laughs at that. “You wouldn’t believe how good I am at making myself come.”
Ivy’s stomach turns at that, the vivid imagery she conjures as a response hitting every button marked “arousal” in her brain. Ivy is the one who is known for something like erotic torture, but sometimes it seems as if Harley is the expert on the subject, at least when it comes to Ivy herself.
“Then don’t be nervous, Harls,” She says, smoothing a hand over Harley’s hair. “This is like a dream come true for me. I’m sure you’ll be great, and if you’re not…well, you have a very willing partner for practice here. We can do this all night.”
Harley nods, and Ivy can tell she’s succeeded, somewhat, in calming her nerves. Harley still hesitates for a moment, biting her lip, an expression of anxiety that makes her endearingly sexy.
“I can do you first,” Ivy offers, but Harley shakes her head.
“No!” She protests. “I mean…I want you to do me. Obviously. But when I’ve thought about us…”
Harley pauses, cocking her head and flashing Ivy with that searing look of hers, the one Ivy has seen her use in countless capers to seduce someone into compliance. It’s effective despite the repeated exposure Ivy has had, and she finds herself wishing she could bottle it to add to her poison.
“I always think about this part,” She says. “When I fantasize about you.”
Ivy makes a noise, low in her throat, something that’s part satisfaction and part curiosity. “You fantasize about me a lot, Harley?”
Harley’s cheeks flush, a delightful shade of pink that makes Ivy want to reverse their roles as soon as possible. She supposes this is the problem with devotion - two people totally and completely devoted to each other will be much more eager to please.
“Used to be only when I was drunk,” She says. “These days…I can’t remember the last time I came thinking of anyone else.”
“Jesus, Harley,” Ivy breathes. She feels as if her arousal is burning her from the inside out, feeling her pulse in places she never has before. “Just remember, it’s just me. You’re always my number one girl, alright? No matter what.”
“You’re so sweet, Ive,” Harley murmurs. “Bet that’s true in more ways than one.”
And when Harley’s lips finally connect with her swollen clit, Ivy thinks maybe she’s the one who has something to be nervous about.
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