You froze when they cornered you in the greenhouse. The scent of roses and ivy was overwhelming, and the faint trickle of water from a fountain somewhere nearby didn’t help your racing heart. Harley Quinn was twirling a mallet lazily on her shoulder, eyes sparkling with manic mischief. Poison Ivy stood behind her, calm and poised, green aura radiating from her like an unspoken warning.

“Finally,” Harley chirped, bouncing on her toes. “Our little project is right here, puddin’!”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘little’ exactly,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady.

Harley tilted her head, giving you an exaggerated pout. “Oh, sugar, it’s perfect. You’re perfect. And, you know, it’s about time someone gave us some mini Harley-and-Ivy love, don’tcha think?”

Ivy stepped closer, her fingers brushing the leaves of a nearby vine that twined around her arm. “We’ve discussed this thoroughly. You’re… genetically suitable. It’s very scientific, actually.”

You swallowed hard. “You… you want me to… what exactly?”

Harley clapped her hands together, mallet bouncing off her shoulder. “Father! Yeah! You’re gonna be the father of our babies. Imagine it! Little Harleys running around, little Ivies growing up in perfect harmony with plants!”

Ivy smirked faintly. “We’ve already made the necessary calculations. Timing, genetics, compatibility. Everything points to you being… the ideal candidate.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Ideal candidate?! I didn’t sign up for this!”

“Details, details,” Harley waved a hand dismissively. “You’re already in, puddin’. Resistance is cute but kinda pointless.” She leaned close, grinning, nose almost touching yours. “We just need a little… persuasion. And you’re good at that, right?”

Ivy’s hands glided across your shoulders, her touch strangely soothing despite the tension in the room. “It’s not coercion,” she said softly, voice smooth and calculated. “It’s… facilitation. We’re merely guiding the process.”

You tried to step back, but the vines under Ivy’s feet shifted subtly, anchoring her in place. Harley hopped closer, mallet tapping rhythmically on the floor. “Come on, sugar! Think about it. Little us, little chaos, all perfect!”

Your mind raced. “Little… chaos? You mean trouble. Babies aren’t toys!”

Harley gave an exaggerated shrug. “A little trouble makes life fun. And you’ll love us, don’t deny it!”

Ivy leaned in, voice gentle yet firm. “Think of the legacy. The future. We are… selective in our methods. This isn’t about whims. It’s about continuation, evolution.”

Harley nudged you playfully. “And the fun, puddin’, don’t forget the fun! You always wanted adventure, didn’t ya? Babies with us? Adventure times a million!”

You blinked, speechless, caught between disbelief, fear, and an undeniable curiosity. Their combined charisma was like a gravitational pull—you wanted to resist, but part of you considered the chaos of the idea.

Harley wiggled her eyebrows, pointing at you. “So, what do ya say, sugar? Daddy material or nah?”

Ivy’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second. “The sooner we start, the sooner the process can… stabilize.”

You exhaled slowly, realizing arguing wouldn’t get you anywhere. “You’re insane,” you muttered, though your tone lacked conviction.

“Insane? Maybe. But brilliant!” Harley laughed, spinning her mallet. “And you’re ours now, puddin’. There’s no going back.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. Somehow, you’d become the unwilling—or maybe reluctantly curious—father of Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy’s children. And somehow, it felt terrifyingly, irresistibly right.