It all started as an innocent joke—at least, that’s how you tried to convince yourself. Damon had just poured himself a glass of his favorite bourbon, settling into the couch with that signature smirk plastered across his face. You couldn’t help but notice the bottle sitting on the counter, a little too full for someone who supposedly drank as much as Damon did.

You had a flash of brilliance—or perhaps it was pure mischief. Switch it with iced tea. He’d never see it coming, and it would be hilarious.

So, while Damon was busy texting someone, you swapped out the bourbon with the iced tea. You had no idea what kind of pandemonium it would cause.

At first, everything went perfectly. Damon took a gulp, his usual cocky grin fading into a confused frown. "What the hell is this?" he muttered, setting the glass down with a mix of disbelief and mild disgust. You could barely keep a straight face as you tried to act innocent, eyes wide in faux concern.

"What’s wrong, Damon? It’s your favorite drink, right?" you teased.

"Favorite drink? This is the worst thing I’ve ever tasted!" He immediately spit the iced tea out and glared at you, but you could tell the wheels were already turning in his mind. He was plotting. You had made your first move in a prank war, but you had no idea how badly you were about to regret it.

Before you could even step away, Damon’s lips curled into a devilish grin. "You’re going to regret this," he warned, but you only laughed. It was harmless, right?

Wrong.

The next morning, you woke up to find your wardrobe ransacked. Your favorite sweater? Gone. Your boots that you’d been saving for months? Missing. Your phone? Nowhere to be found. You hunted high and low for the things that were rightfully yours, but Damon had already set his traps in motion.

"Ha! You think you can prank me and get away with it?" Damon smirked as you found him lounging in the living room, looking far too pleased with himself. "You’re not the only one who can have some fun, sweetheart."

You were furious, but something inside you clicked. This wasn’t just about missing items anymore. You were in this now, and you were not about to let Damon win without a fight.

And thus, the real war began.

You dyed Damon’s hair while he was napping. Sure, it wasn’t an ideal moment for a hair makeover, but you’d taken all the necessary precautions—he wouldn’t notice until it was too late. The next time he saw himself in the mirror, his hair was a bright shade of purple. You stifled a laugh as he stormed into the room, looking like a pissed-off Easter egg.

"Damn it, Y/n!" he shouted, running a hand through his now-purple locks. "You better sleep with one eye open, because you just crossed a line."

You leaned back in your chair, grinning like a mischievous child. "What? Purple’s a good color on you."

His glare could’ve melted stone, but before he could retaliate, you noticed Stefan walking into the room, raising an eyebrow. "What’s going on here?"

Before you could respond, Damon’s eyes gleamed with a new idea, and his expression softened. "I think it’s time to recruit someone into this prank war," he said, turning toward his brother. "Are you in, Stefan?"

Stefan sighed, clearly not wanting to be dragged into this, but you could tell he was secretly amused. "I have better things to do," he muttered.

"Oh, come on, Stefan. You can’t stay neutral forever," Damon grinned.

So, Stefan reluctantly joined the ranks of pranksters. But it didn’t end there—no, it was Kol who made it absolutely chaotic. The Mikaelson brother was always eager for a little chaos, and when he caught wind of the prank war, he jumped right in.

With Kol, things escalated quickly.

The first big move was during a house party at the Salvatore mansion. The whole house was buzzing with music, laughter, and the occasional threat of something worse. Kol, in his usual dramatic fashion, decided it was the perfect time to get everyone involved. While you were in the middle of a conversation with Bonnie, Kol sneaked up behind you and poured glitter into your hair. You didn’t realize it at first, until Stefan—always the observant one—whispered, "Uhh, you might want to check your hair."

It was covered in glitter. Everywhere. And you knew Kol was behind it.

It wasn’t just glitter, though. Oh no. Kol had begun a systematic disappearance of furniture. The next time you entered the living room, the coffee table, lamps, and chairs were nowhere to be found. "I swear to God, if my couch is missing next—"

Your couch was gone.

This was Kol’s work, without a doubt. You tried to track down where the furniture had gone, but it was Kol’s perfect hide-and-seek game. He didn’t just take your items; he hid them. You found your couch in the middle of the woods. Your lamps in the basement. And your favorite chair? It was on the roof of the Salvatore house.

You realized you were no longer in control of the prank war; it had gone completely off the rails.

Kol then pulled the ultimate stunt: he locked you inside a coffin. Sure, you had heard rumors of how Kol loved to be dramatic, but now you were trapped in one of the ancient burial coffins hidden in the Salvatore cellar. The small space was a bit too much—your mind racing as you banged on the lid, demanding to be freed. But it wasn’t until you heard Damon’s chuckles above you that you realized you were in a real predicament.

"Gotcha," Damon said, clearly enjoying the show. "Now, what’s it going to take for you to admit I’ve won?"

You didn’t know how long you’d been in the coffin—minutes? Hours?—but you weren’t going to give them the satisfaction of hearing you beg. With every ounce of your remaining patience, you pried the coffin open, finally seeing the light again. You emerged, disheveled, with your hair a mess and your cheeks flushed with frustration.

"That’s it," you declared, dusting yourself off. "Game on, boys."

By now, the prank war had moved from mildly annoying to blatantly dangerous. You plotted your final move. It involved the entirety of the Salvatore mansion, a vast amount of saran wrap, and a very large quantity of whipped cream. By the time Damon, Stefan, and Kol walked into the mansion that evening, they were met with an unpleasant surprise—every inch of the house was wrapped in plastic. The walls, the furniture, the stairs—everything.

As they stood in the foyer, staring in shock, you appeared at the top of the stairs, holding a massive tub of whipped cream. "This is the final move," you declared dramatically, as Kol looked at you in amusement and Stefan chuckled, realizing he was caught in the middle of this insanity.

Damon’s face was priceless as he stared at the chaos you’d orchestrated. "I think... you’ve officially won," he said with an exaggerated sigh, clearly impressed.

But as the three of them slowly began to accept defeat, you couldn’t help but laugh. The war might have been over—for now—but in Mystic Falls, nothing stayed calm for long. You had made your mark, and you knew you’d be hearing about this prank war for the rest of your life.