Mount Justice – 11:57 PM Location: The Cafeteria, which had apparently made a deal with a disco ball and a fever dream Mood: One dare away from international incidents and unplanned makeouts
Let me preface this by saying: I didn't ask for a deity of glitter and chaos to hijack my birthday party. I wanted pizza, my girlfriends, maybe a few semi-flirty karaoke duets, and definitely no contractual mischief. But clearly, the multiverse heard me and went, "LOL. Cute."
M'gann perked up mid-cookie like someone had dropped the latest K-pop album in her head.
"He's here," she squealed, bouncing like a golden retriever who'd just found a psychic squirrel.
I blinked. "Who's he?"
"The deity of revelry and minor contractual mischief!" she beamed. "He said his name is Todd. But, like, with seven D's. And an umlaut."
Before I could even begin unpacking that, the air rippled like someone had punched the fabric of reality with a glitter bomb. A swirling vortex opened beside the DJ table (which, I swear on Merlin's manbun, wasn't there ten minutes ago). Out floated a man who looked like he moonlighted as a backup dancer for Beyoncé and headlined a Vegas act called Sequins and Sacrilege.
"HELLO, BEAUTIFUL BIRTHDAY MORTAL," the stranger boomed, voice auto-tuned to the ninth level of fabulous. "I BROUGHT THE MIDNIGHT SHOW."
"That better not involve interpretive dance or blood sacrifices," I muttered.
"ONLY ONE OF THOSE!" he chirped.
That's how Todd—glitter deity, possible tax write-off for chaos, and owner of the shiniest loafers I've ever seen—turned our sweet little birthday shindig into a full-blown Dionysian fever dream.
With a snap of his manicured fingers, the cafeteria morphed into something between a magical rave and an episode of Euphoria. Neon lights. Floating disco spheres. A floor that squished slightly, like marshmallow but also vaguely judgmental.
And then the scroll appeared.
MAGICAL TRUTH OR DARE: BIRTHDAY EDITION
RULES: — Magic enforces honesty. — Dares are binding. — Kissing = dare completion. — Clothing stays unless enthusiastically consented (Fred, this means you). — Winner gets Todd's Golden Favor (redeemable for one divine miracle or infinite fries, your choice).
Tia—blonde bombshell, genetically engineered chaos engine, currently dressed like a Hot Topic Valkyrie—licked her lips. "Who's in?"
"Don't," Hermione whispered, clinging to my hoodie like the voice of reason she is.
"I want the fries," I whispered back.
We sat in a circle that could've powered Gotham. Me, Kara (my blonde Kryptonian heartbreaker), Jean (flaming redhead goddess with a tongue sharper than Excalibur), Zee, Tia, Kori, Hermione (dragged in like a cat facing bath time), Raven (grumbling in ancient tongues), M'gann (actual sunshine), Artemis (arms crossed and already suspicious), Dick (smirking like he lives for mess), Wally (who looked like he regretted being born), and Todd, floating like the lovechild of a genie and a reality show host.
Todd spun the wand.
It landed on Zatanna.
"Truth or dare?" he asked, twinkling like a disco deity.
"Dare," she purred. Like she wanted the world to burn.
Todd grinned like a sugar-high goblin. "Twerk. On. Kara."
Kara blinked. "Wait, what—"
Zee didn't wait. She straddled Kara's lap, clapped once, and proceeded to unleash the kind of magically-enhanced booty quake that cracked a ceiling tile.
Somewhere in the back, Wally whimpered, "I regret everything and nothing."
"Same," Raven intoned solemnly.
Next spin. The wand pointed at me.
Hermione groaned. "He's going to say it."
"I choose dare," I grinned.
Todd shimmered. "Kiss the person on your left and right—simultaneously."
To my left? Kara. To my right? Jean.
They shared a look. Smirks bloomed.
Kara: "Guess we're making his wish come true."
Jean: "Only if he earns it."
Spoiler alert: I earned it. Somewhere mid-kiss, Fred launched confetti, M'gann squealed so loudly a plant exploded, and Kaldur looked like he was recalculating his entire worldview.
Todd held up scorecards. "10. 10. 11. Oh wait, that's just my phone number."
Next spin: Hermione.
"Truth," she squeaked.
Todd leaned in. "Have you ever fantasized about Harry in any timeline?"
Hermione turned redder than Gryffindor House on fire. "Yes. He had glasses. And robes. And—and that's it. Just robes."
Cue the room losing its collective mind.
"The Gryffindor fantasy!" Ginny screamed from across the room.
"Called it in fourth year!" Fred yelled.
"Moving on!" Hermione yelled.
Next spin: Tia. Obviously picked dare. Obviously.
"Give Harry a lap dance," Todd said. "Using Raven as the pole."
"I am not—" Raven began, deadpan.
Tia stood. Walked over. Smirked. And performed a routine that rewrote my brain chemistry. Raven just stood there, arms crossed, looking unimpressed until Tia winked mid-grind. Then her eyebrow twitched. Respect.
I might have forgotten the alphabet.
Todd clapped like a giddy hurricane. "Best. Party. EVER."
Someone summoned karaoke. Fred turned the punch bowl into a jacuzzi. Ginny challenged Deedee to a twerk-off (Deedee won with a move that probably broke physics). Kori fed me cookies shaped like phoenixes while sitting in my lap like we were in a very affectionate anime. Kara played with my hair. Jean bit my earlobe for no reason other than she could.
Todd threw glitter in the air. "AND SO ENDS THE BIRTHDAY OF MAGIC, MAYHEM, AND MULTIDIMENSIONAL THIRST!"
Cue magical fireworks.
Cue another cupcake trying to seduce me.
Cue me leaning back, tangled in beautiful chaos, girls who loved me (and who I loved fiercely back), surrounded by friends, confetti, and the faint sound of Wally sobbing from joy or emotional overload.
For once—finally—I wasn't surviving the madness.
I was the madness.
And I was home.
—
Mount Justice — just past midnight
Up in the shimmering night air, like two cosmic fireworks on a mission from the universe's weirdest party planners, Big Barda and Bekka sliced through the sky. Their goal? Find the elusive Godling who was apparently juggling cosmic balance like a circus act gone rogue. What they didn't know: said Godling was currently turning Mount Justice's cafeteria into a full-blown glitter-fueled carnival of chaos and very questionable decisions.
Barda, all six feet of battle-hardened goddess with armor polished to a mirror shine and her War Club slung casually over her shoulder, side-eyed Bekka. "So, stealth mission, huh? No knocking over anything, no causing cosmic chaos?"
Bekka's grin was all mischief and please-try-to-stop-me. "Yeah, stealth's kind of our thing. Or it would be if we weren't about to waltz into what looks like a magical rave on steroids."
They touched down just outside the cafeteria, cloaks fluttering dramatically — which was a bit unfortunate, considering Barda's frame and Bekka's magnetic energy screamed Here Come The Party Crashers louder than a pop star at Coachella.
"Ready?" Bekka whispered, tightening the strap on her vibroblade.
"Ready," Barda said, fists clenched. But stealth? Yeah, they had about as much stealth as a T-Rex trying to sneak through a library.
Sure enough, a confetti cannon nearby erupted with all the subtlety of a glitter bomb dropped by a hyperactive unicorn, drenching them both in sparkly goo and sticky punch. Bekka swore under her breath, while Barda flailed and tried not to turn her battle armor into a disco ball.
Inside, the party was a hurricane of magical mayhem. Neon lights bounced off walls and the floor squished with suspicious marshmallow vibes, as a bizarre game of Magical Truth or Dare tore through the crowd like a tornado of half-flirty, half-desperate declarations.
Kara — looking impossibly radiant with an infectious laugh that could brighten the darkest Kryptonian moon — was locked in a grin-filled battle with Jean, whose smolder practically promised the place might spontaneously combust.
Nearby, Deedee lounged like Death's own super chill ambassador, played with effortless deadpan humor. Raven, all moody excellence, muttered ancient curses under her breath, obviously not impressed. And then there was Megan, channeling a perfect blend of bubbly and sassy, practically buzzing with excitement like she'd just discovered a new flavor of ice cream.
And then… bam. Jean's eyes zeroed in on Barda and Bekka with the kind of recognition that could melt glaciers.
"Is that… Big Barda?" Jean hissed, voice a mix of awe and "please don't wreck my party."
Deedee's grin widened, sharp and playful. "Legendary warrior queen, crashing birthdays like a boss. Definitely not here for the cupcakes."
Barda and Bekka barely made it three steps before the party's energy shifted. Like an entire fandom noticing a surprise cameo, a circle formed around them faster than Harry could make a sarcastic comment.
Kara narrowed her eyes protectively, her gaze laser-focused. "Who the hell are you, and why are you ruining out birthday vibe?"
Raven's shadow-dark eyes cut through the crowd, suspicion radiating. "Visitors. Probably trouble."
M'gann—already halfway through a cookie and sparkling with Ariel Winter sass—folded her arms, grinning. "Well, this just got interesting."
Bekka stepped forward, flashing that mischievous Danielle Rose Russell smile. "Relax, we're here on a mission. No party pooping intended."
Barda held up her hands, trying for diplomacy but landing somewhere between "I come in peace" and "I might accidentally break your ceiling." "We're just here to find the Godling. No harm meant."
Harry—yes, the birthday boy himself, looking impossibly cool and casually devastating like a Greek God reincarnated with emerald eyes that could probably start fires—leaned back against the wall, watching the spectacle with amused detachment.
"Mission or not," Harry drawled, voice smooth as silk but laced with enough edge to slice through steel, "You two just crashed the most sacred event on Mount Justice. You do know I'm the chaos here, right? Not the other way around."
Kori, glowing with sun-kissed warmth and a smile that could power a thousand galaxies, sauntered up, sliding an arm around Harry's waist. "Do not worry, beloved Harry, we will handle these intergalactic party crashers."
Jean flicked a fiery glance at Barda. "If you're here for him, welcome to the deep end."
Deedee gave a lazy wave, voice dripping with amused lethargy. "Grab some cookies, or grab a fight. Your choice."
Hermione, looking every bit herself with that knowing, slightly exasperated look, sidled over to Ron, who was busy trying to keep a straight face while dodging Fred and George's latest prank.
"You guys have the worst timing," Hermione whispered, but her smile betrayed her enjoyment.
Fred smirked. "Birthday parties are better with surprise guests."
George added, "Especially ones who can probably punch through walls."
Harry's gaze flicked between Bekka and Barda. "You've got balls showing up here like this. Guess I like that."
Bekka winked. "We heard the party was legendary. Figured we'd check it out."
"Legendary's one word for it," Kara said, leaning in so her breath tickled Harry's ear. "Another is 'absolutely chaotic, and entirely yours.'"
The room pulsed with electric tension—part suspicion, part unspoken promises, and a whole lot of romantic chemistry crackling between Harry and his girlfriends: Kara, Kori, Deedee, Megan, Hermione, Tia, Mareena, Raven, Zatanna, and Jean.
Harry smirked, flashing those emerald eyes like twin emerald daggers. "Alright, Barda, Bekka—welcome to the family chaos. Try not to break anything too important."
Barda grinned. "No promises."
And just like that, the party picked up, spinning faster, burning brighter, with a whole new layer of cosmic madness added to the mix.
—
Mount Justice — 12:13 AM — The Cafeteria's Less-Than-Subtle Afterparty
Okay, so picture this: the cafeteria floor's basically a sticky, glitter-coated marshmallow nightmare that somehow survived a cosmic glitter bomb, and I'm leaning against the wall like some emerald-eyed hurricane in a too-tight T-shirt. Neon lights are swirling around me like they're auditioning for a disco-themed disaster movie, and somewhere in the chaos, Big Barda and Bekka just bulldozed through like the universe's most intimidating girl scouts, all armor and attitude with zero chill.
Jean, with her red hair practically setting the air on fire (literally—girl's got flames flickering off her fingertips like she's got a subscription to "Pyromania Monthly"), sidles up beside me. She tilts her head and gives me that "Are you even paying attention?" look.
"You do realize this is probably the least subtle meeting of all time, right?" she says, voice like a warning siren wrapped in sarcasm.
Before I can answer, Deedee—Death incarnate but dressed like she just raided a goth princess cosplay convention—grins, flashing that trademark, way-too-sinister smile. She bumps my shoulder playfully. "Subtlety's for losers when you're dealing with cosmic balance and betrothals. Besides, the glitter's permanent now. Welcome to the madhouse."
I snort, raking a hand through my hair, which is definitely not cooperating with the "Godling with a harem" vibe I'm apparently stuck in. "Yeah, well, I'm not just here for the party favors. I'm the chaos. Not some random bystander caught in a cosmic soap opera. Yesterday, I was just me—today, I'm apparently universe-famous, with a fan club that could star in its own reality show."
Cue heavy armor-clinking footsteps, because of course Big Barda's looming nearby, looking like a thunderstorm you want on your side but wouldn't dare piss off. "We didn't expect to find you... like this," she says, voice low but not harsh, more like a giant with a soft spot for tiny chaos tornadoes.
Bekka twirls her vibroblade with an air of bored amusement, glancing at Jean, Deedee, and me like she's watching the latest episode of some insane cosmic soap. "Neither of us knew the Godling was a man. And definitely not that he'd be tangled up with… this." Her eyes flick toward the raucous party behind us, then back to my circle of badass girlfriends.
Jean's flames snap higher, flames dancing with dramatic flair. "You're looking at the Flame of the Beginning and Death herself, people. Harry isn't just any Godling—he's the betrothed of Death, and with me as his consort? There's primordial fire running through this guy."
Deedee leans in, voice dripping with sly mischief. "Which makes him not just powerful, but downright dangerous—and ridiculously loved. Trust me, you don't want to cross him, or you'll find yourself on the wrong side of a cosmic burn."
I fold my arms and shoot Bekka a grin sharp enough to cut through her armor. "Love's a hell of a drug. Keeps you breathing, keeps you sane… or flips your brain into a permanent loop of madness. Depends on the day—and who's holding your heart."
Speaking of hearts, I can't help but glance over at Kara (yes, that Kara, the Kryptonian heartbreaker with a smile that could literally melt steel). She's tossing me that look—the one that says, "I'll punch you if you don't dance with me later, but I'll totally rescue you from space debris first."
Then there's Kori, glowing like a literal star, radiating that fierce warmth and "Try me, bub" attitude that only Avantika Vandanapu's fiery spirit could channel so perfectly.
Megan's next to her, all wide-eyed and sly in a way only she could pull off—equal parts "Don't mess with me" and "I'm totally pretending I'm not into you." Deedee, meanwhile, is smirking like she just heard the best dark joke ever and can't wait to see me squirm.
"Babe," I say, smirking, "I'm not just the chaos. I am the chaos." I shoot a look at Tia, who's lounging nearby with her mischievous sparkle, and Mareena, who's cool and unreadable like my very own mysterious storm cloud. Raven's there too—brooding perfection—and Zatanna looks ready to pull a rabbit out of her hat or a spell out of her cleavage at a moment's notice.
Jean flicks her flame up higher, warmth licking against my skin like a promise. "Then you better keep burning, Harry. Because once you go out, the whole cosmic gig's toast."
Deedee's voice drops an octave, dark and sultry, "And I'm not about to let you burn alone. Besides, who else is going to keep this party… interesting?"
I glance around my crew—each one a force of nature, every glance loaded with enough electric tension to power a city—and smile, feeling the kind of love and heat that wraps tighter than the strongest armor.
"So here's the deal," I say, voice low, "This party? It's my chaos, my rules. No Darkseid or Highfather's spies are crashing this fiesta. And if anyone wants a piece of me or my girls…" I grin wickedly, voice dripping with savage confidence, "They're gonna have to get through all of us. And trust me—that ain't happening."
Barda steps closer, armor still clinking like a slow-building storm, but her eyes soften just a fraction. "We'll watch. Guide if we must. But this chaos? It's yours."
I smirk, emerald eyes flashing, "Then let's make sure this party never ends."
Behind us, the glittering, raucous celebration rolls on—the soundtrack to my chaotic, ridiculous, and wildly unpredictable life.
And honestly? I wouldn't have it any other way.
—
Mount Justice — 12:26 AM — The Cafeteria's Glitter-Covered Core
You ever walk into a party and feel like the universe just decided to dump all its pent-up glitter, hormones, and chaos into one building? Yeah. That was the vibe.
Basslines thudded through the floor like an angry heart having a dance-off with a war drum. The air shimmered with the kind of magic that smelled like ozone, cinnamon, and questionable decisions. And me? I strolled into the center of it all like I was headlining a rock concert thrown by Dionysus and DJ Khaled.
Deedee brushed past me first, smelling like moonlight and mischief. She leaned in, breath teasing my ear. "You look like trouble tonight, Potter."
I smirked. "You say that like you didn't dress me."
"Fair," she purred. "But I only undress what I like."
Jean passed on my other side, flicking fire off her fingers like she was absentmindedly peeling a sun. "Careful, Death," she said sweetly. "You'll scorch him before I get to roast him properly."
"I can handle heat," I said, flashing her a grin that made her flames dance a little higher. "But I like it when you both fight over who gets to ruin me first."
"You ruin yourself just fine," Raven murmured from behind me, arms folded, her soul-self hovering overhead like a snarky bat. Dark, mysterious, and looking like she had my soul in her back pocket.
"Only emotionally," I replied. "Physically? I delegate."
Zatanna swooped in with the kind of strut that made gravity look optional. She whispered a spell, and glitter exploded above our heads in the shape of a very anatomically detailed heart. "You were saying, Harry?"
"I was saying," I said, stepping onto the makeshift stage Fred and George conjured out of two levitating pizza boxes and one confused couch, "That tonight's about love, war, and questionable fashion choices."
Cue my harem. Yeah, I said it.
Kara hovered above the dance floor in crop-top armor and those feral eyes that promised violence and affection in equal measure. "Dance with me later or I break your spine."
"Can I pick which one first?" I called back. She winked. My spine quivered in advance.
Kori twirled beside her, hair blazing, laughing like someone gave a meteor tequila. She beamed at me with that firecracker charm. "Glorious Harry! You must grind your pelvis against me with great enthusiasm!"
Someone choked on their drink. Probably Ron. I waved. "I shall grind most heroically."
Megan floated down, her white dress flowing like marshmallow dreams and sass dialed to eleven. "Just don't leave me out," she said with mock offense. "I painted my nails for you, and they change color based on mood."
"What do they say now?"
She held them up. Deep crimson.
"Bloodlust or intense arousal. Pick one."
Tia, lounging nearby like Sydney Sweeney had a lazy twin who also bench-pressed planets, rolled her eyes. "Boys."
"Galatea," I said in mock offense, "I am a cosmic entity of decorum and subtlety."
"You called your abs 'Hogwarts House Points' earlier."
"They are. Ten points to whoever licks them."
Mareena snorted. She had the emotional range of a thunderstorm. "You're insufferable."
"But hot."
"Unfortunately."
Ron, mid-glitter cannon misfire, staggered over, sparkling like a disco unicorn. "Mate, I think I just lost a bet with the universe."
Hermione gave him a withering glare from across the room, simultaneously correcting Ginny's spellwork, lecturing Daphne on singularity ethics, and probably rewriting the Magna Carta in her head. Multitasking queen.
"Harry," Dick called, flipping mid-moonwalk with Asher Angel levels of overachieving cool, "Connor says he can out-bro me."
Connor, just folded his arms and smirked.
"Connor, you could out-bro a Greek god," I said. "But Dick has the better playlist."
"Justice," Wally speed-slid by, stealing chips from four tables at once, "is served."
"On toast," Artemis said dryly, sipping punch. She looked like she was about to beat someone at archery and chess simultaneously.
"To madness!" I roared, raising my glass.
"To misfits!" Zatanna chimed.
"To your abs!" Deedee added.
"To licking them!" Kara shouted.
I blushed. (I didn't. But I pretended.)
Flames danced. Shadows spun. Kaldur floated by like a glowing merman. Victor beatboxed. Lee Jordan rapped. The twins summoned fireworks that spelled out "H.P. = Harem Power."
And as I stood there, surrounded by fire, death, stars, magic, and hormones weaponized to intergalactic levels, I laughed. Loud, wild, unburdened.
This was my life.
Cosmic godling. Chaos conductor. Heartbreaker with a fan club that could destroy dimensions and bake cookies.
And the night?
Just getting started.
—
Absolutely, Vikrant — here comes the continuation, diving straight into morning-after chaos: the kind where cosmic hangovers mix with post-orgy regret (or, in Harry's case, smugness), tangled limbs, and that one moment where your internal monologue tries to piece together whether you were possessed by Dionysus, or just finally let your godling hormones off the leash.
Mount Justice — 10:13 AM — The Aftermath (a.k.a. The Hangover: Apocalypse Edition)
The first thing I registered was pain. Not the cool, cinematic kind where you wake up bruised after a battle and look hot doing it. No, this was the hangover-from-the-heavens kind of pain. The sort that starts behind your eyeballs, coils through your skull like a pissed-off basilisk, and screams in five languages: You did this to yourself, idiot.
The second thing I registered?
Boobs. So. Many. Boobs.
There were limbs everywhere. Soft ones. Muscular ones. One suspiciously draped over my thigh like it paid rent to be there. There was also glitter—ungodly amounts of glitter. On the sheets, in my hair, stuck to places no glitter should ever reach without a warrant.
Also: someone had written "Property of Supergirl (and Co.)" on my chest in what looked like flaming lipstick.
I cracked open one eye.
Zatanna was draped across my left side like a spellbinding blanket, hair a mess of curls and wand marks, her leg tossed over mine like she'd claimed me in a game of magical Monopoly. Her lips curled in a smug smile even in sleep.
Kori and Kara were curled up on my right, Kara snoring lightly (adorable), while Kori had the serene satisfaction of someone who'd definitely conquered at least one continent last night—possibly me.
Megan was tangled between us, half-phased through Kara's thigh, murmuring something in Martian that I was 98% sure translated to "Harry's butt is a sacred artifact."
Deedee—because of course Deedee—was on top of me like a goth blanket with cleavage. She was humming a lullaby that sounded like it came with a death certificate and smelled like cinnamon, nightshade, and Very Bad Decisions.
"Rise and regret, necro-daddy," she whispered into my collarbone.
"Too early," I groaned.
"You're lucky I didn't steal your soul in the middle of round five," she said. "Though I might have borrowed your dignity. Temporarily."
"Not sure I had much left to steal," I muttered, only to groan again as a very heavy thigh pressed against my shin.
Bekka. Lying across the foot of the bed like a murderously satisfied Valkyrie, covered in sweat and the smug glow of a New God who just conquered a chaos demigod like she was cashing in a prophecy.
Next to her, Big Barda—yes, the actual Big Barda, war goddess and personification of "Bench press me into heaven"—was lounging against the headboard, completely bare, sipping something red from a goblet that might've been forged in the pits of Apokolips. She met my dazed expression with a smirk and said:
"You passed out halfway through round seven, golden boy. I'm not even mad. Impressed, really."
"I'm not dead?" I croaked.
"Not yet," she said. "But you moaned 'Mother Box me harder', so emotionally? Maybe."
Beside them, Mareena lay tangled in the bedsheets like a smug sea queen. Raven, perched like a deadly raven-haired gargoyle in my lap, still had her soul-self hovering protectively over the pile of tangled girlfriends like it was guarding an orgy nest. She glanced at me, deadpan:
"I blame Jean."
"Excuse me," Jean chirped, radiant and still glowing faintly, sprawled across the foot of the bed like a sun goddess after a very enthusiastic solar flare. "The whiskey was infused with phoenix tears and ambrosia. You're welcome for the best night of your semi-mortal life."
"I saw the future," Raven said flatly. "It screamed."
"Was it screaming in pain or pleasure?" I asked weakly.
"Both."
Tia—oh sweet mother of abs—was resting across my chest like a smug feline, fingers drawing idle circles just above my navel. She gave me that seductress-meets-gym-dominator smirk and whispered, "Pretty sure I broke the bed."
"You broke two," Jean muttered. "And a chandelier."
"There was a chandelier?" I asked.
"There was." Megan giggled, her fingers glowing faintly. "And then it exploded. Very romantically. And then you asked Zatanna if she could clone herself."
I turned to Zatanna. "Did you?"
She just winked.
"Guys," I said hoarsely, "was I...good?"
Kara snorted. "Babe, I've been to New Genesis and Olympus. Last night? Was cosmic."
"You called your abs 'Gryffin-thicc' mid-thrust," Deedee whispered.
"I stand by that."
"You also told Barda she was 'Mommy Mount Doom' and asked if she could body slam you through reality."
"She did," Barda said, sounding smug. "You said 'thank you' and passed out."
I sank back into the pillows, one arm draped across Tia, one under Zatanna, Deedee still nuzzling into my neck, and Kara lightly drooling on my bicep. My hair was a mess. My body ached in ways that defied physics. I had lipstick on my inner thigh that spelled Haremcore. My soul had stretch marks.
And my heart?
Weirdly full.
"So," I mumbled. "Breakfast?"
Megan raised a hand, eyes twinkling. "I brought waffles."
Deedee kissed my jaw. "I brought sin."
Zatanna raised a brow. "I brought protection spells. You're welcome."
Kara lifted her head just enough to grin. "And I brought round two."
I groaned. "Kill me now."
Jean kissed me full on the mouth. "Already did. You begged for it."
And honestly?
No regrets.
—
"So…" I started, careful not to move too much because (A) Deedee had her leg over me like a weighted death blanket, and (B) Kara had a possessive hand on my abs like they were the steering wheel to the multiverse. "Are we gonna talk about the two literal goddesses in our bed?"
I glanced toward the foot of the bed where Bekka had one arm tucked behind her head and the other casually stroking a dagger like it was a cat. Barda just raised her goblet in silent toast. So casual. So terrifying.
No one responded immediately. There was the soft hum of soul magic from Raven, the rustle of Megan stretching in a way that was definitely intentional, and the click of Zatanna refreshing a ward with a flick of her finger while smirking like she knew something I didn't (spoiler: she always did).
Finally, Tia yawned, stretched—s t r e t c h e d, lord have mercy—and said, "They voted themselves in."
I blinked. "Wait. There's a vote?"
"Of course there's a vote," Raven said dryly. "You think we let your adorable chaos energy dictate who gets to invade our bed and throw your back out?"
Jean raised a finger. "To be fair, I threw his back out. Barda just shattered the nightstand."
Barda sipped from her goblet, unbothered. "It was in my way."
"Waitwaitwait—" I held up both hands. "Are you telling me there's some sort of shadow cabal that decides who gets added to the—uh—collective?"
"It's not a cabal," Kara said sweetly. "It's more like… a guild. With bylaws. And spreadsheets. Megan color-codes them."
"I do!" Megan chirped from where she was braiding Kori's hair with psychic precision. "You're the primary binding unit, Harry. They all branch from you. Like a big, sexy org chart!"
Bekka laughed. Like, a full-bodied, warrior princess laugh that made my toes curl. "I like them," she said. "They have structure."
I rubbed my temples. "You mean to tell me that I woke up next to a pair of New Gods because you guys had a… what, a harem HR meeting?"
Zatanna grinned. "We prefer the term Intimate Expansion Negotiation."
"Oh for Merlin's tits," I muttered.
Kori beamed. "Glorious Harry! It was most delightful. We invited Bekka and Barda to our love-circle after witnessing their superior pelvic aggression."
"Can confirm," Barda said, with the deadly calm of someone who's both been to war and also made me beg last night. "Though I was under the impression this was a one-time celebration."
"Oh, it was," Deedee purred. "Unless we say otherwise. Right, ladies?"
There was a chorus of agreement. Terrifying. Sensual. Matriarchal.
"So…" I said slowly, trying to find some sliver of control in this glitter-drenched goddess-glow orgy zone I called my life. "I don't get a vote?"
Jean leaned over and kissed me again, her lips warm like sunfire and ego. "You get one vote. It just counts less."
"Than what?"
"Than Kara's abs," Megan supplied.
"Than Zatanna's tongue game," Deedee added.
"Than me in a crop top with a laser sword," Bekka said with a shrug.
"I surrender," I mumbled. "Whatever. Just let me know if I need to build bunk beds or emotionally prepare for another divine pelvic assassination."
Kara's eyes glowed red. "You always need to prepare."
Tia cracked her knuckles. "And stretch."
Raven's soul-self loomed slightly larger, pulsing once like a demonic approval stamp.
Barda stretched, stood, and revealed every terrifyingly perfect muscle like she was modeling for an apocalypse fitness catalog. "Then it's settled. We're in."
I looked around at the literal pantheon of naked danger lounging in my bed, glowing with post-coital power and making diplomatic harem decisions like horny United Nations delegates.
And me?
I was the mascot. The boy toy. The magical chaos-battery getting passed around like a warm-up wand at a Hogwarts bachelorette party.
But I'd be damned if I didn't go down grinning.
"Okay," I said. "But I'm instituting one rule."
The girls all turned to me.
"No more glitter in my—"
Too late.
POP.
Deedee had conjured a cloud of it above me that spelled: H.P. = Harem President.
"Property of Chaos Incorporated," Zatanna added helpfully, tapping it into place with her wand.
"Ten points to Gryffin-thicc," Kara whispered.
And with that, the glitter fell.
Again.
Gods help me.
---
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