Jeoffrey: The Hedonist (SI)

Joffrey moved through the halls of Winterfell with purpose, his mind running through the tangled web of loyalty he had to manipulate. He needed to cement control—shift allegiances, deepen bonds. The game was always moving, always spinning. Today, Tommen was on his mind.

He had ignored the boy for far too long. Tommen was easy to overlook, shy and quiet, always fading into the background. The old Joffrey had done some cruel shit to the kid, and it showed in how Tommen reacted to his presence. But Joffrey—Paul, really—knew that had to change. If he wanted to truly solidify his power, he couldn't leave family as weak points. Tommen was a blank canvas, someone who could be shaped.

He found Tommen near the kitchens, crouched down with a small kitten in his lap, stroking it nervously. When Tommen saw Joffrey approach, his eyes widened with fear, and he instinctively stepped back, clutching the kitten tight. Joffrey frowned. The reaction wasn’t surprising, but it still stung. The old Joffrey had done more damage than he realized.

“Where did you find the cat?” Joffrey asked, keeping his voice low and calm, trying not to spook him more.

Tommen hesitated, his fingers tightening around the kitten's fur. “Near the kitchens,” he said quietly, avoiding Joffrey’s gaze.

Joffrey nodded, crouching down to Tommen’s level. “And what’s its name?”

Tommen looked up at him, confused. “I… I didn’t name it,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joffrey frowned again, this time not out of frustration but out of concern. “Why not? Don’t you want to name it?”

Tommen shook his head, clearly too scared to answer, and Joffrey sighed. The kid was still so wound up, scared to say the wrong thing. And why wouldn’t he be? The old Joffrey had probably made his life hell.

“I’m sorry,” Joffrey said suddenly, the words feeling foreign in his mouth, but he forced himself to say them. “For… everything that happened before. I’ll be better. I’ll be your brother.”

Tommen blinked, clearly not sure what to make of the apology. But Joffrey could see a flicker of something in his eyes—hope, maybe? It was a small step, but a necessary one. He couldn’t just rule by fear and force, not with Tommen.

Joffrey stood up, leaving Tommen to his kitten. As he walked away, he thought to himself that it was the beginning of a better future. A small step towards something bigger. But there were others who needed more forceful correction.

Turning the corner, Joffrey spotted Catelyn Stark dismissing a maid, her voice sharp with authority. The sight of her made his blood simmer. That woman had filled Sansa’s head with doubts about him, poisoned her daughter’s mind with her constant distrust. Joffrey’s lips twisted into a grin. Catelyn Stark needed a lesson.

Without hesitation, he moved behind her, grabbed her by the arm, and shoved her into the nearby storeroom. The door slammed shut behind them, and before Catelyn could scream, Joffrey’s hand was over her mouth.

“Shh,” Joffrey whispered, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “We’re alone. No need for all that. We don’t have to act like we hate each other.”

Catelyn’s eyes were blazing with fury, her breath heavy as she glared at him over his hand. She tried to push him away, but Joffrey was stronger, keeping her pinned against the wall.

Her voice was a low growl when she spoke through gritted teeth. “What do you want, Your Grace?”

Joffrey laughed, pulling his hand away but keeping her body trapped between him and the stone wall. “No need to be so formal, Catelyn,” he purred, his tone mocking. “After all, we’re family now. You’re my mother-in-law.”

Catelyn’s jaw clenched, her lips tight with suppressed rage. She clearly wanted nothing more than to tear him apart, but she had no power here. And that’s what Joffrey relished—her helplessness.

He considered forcing her to her knees, making her take him into her mouth, but something held him back. He wanted more than just a moment of control. He wanted her loyalty, her submission beyond the physical. He wanted her completely broken.

“Stand up,” Joffrey ordered, stepping back just enough to let her move.

Catelyn hesitated, eyes darting to the door, but there was no escape. She stood slowly, her body tense with defiance.

Joffrey didn’t waste time. He grabbed her hand and placed it on his hardening cock, forcing her fingers to wrap around him through his trousers. She tried to pull away, but he held her wrist tight, his other hand moving up her thigh, lifting her skirt.

“Don’t fight it,” Joffrey whispered, his breath hot against her ear as his fingers found her folds. He started to rub, slow and deliberate, feeling her stiffen at his touch. “You’ll like this more than you think.”

Catelyn gasped, her body betraying her as he continued his slow, calculated strokes. She let go of his cock for a moment, trying to resist, but Joffrey wasn’t having it. He grabbed her hand and forced it back, making her stroke him in time with the rhythm of his fingers.

He could feel her starting to tremble, her breath hitching as his fingers dipped inside her, rubbing deeper. She shook her head, trying to hold on to her pride, but her body was giving in, her grip on his cock tightening as she began to stroke him on her own.

“Good girl,” Joffrey murmured, his voice dripping with satisfaction. He pulled down the front of her dress, exposing her breasts, sagging but still full, her nipples hardening in the cool air. He buried his face between them, licking and sucking as his fingers continued their work below.

Catelyn’s moans were soft, almost desperate, as she finally let go, her body shaking with the release she’d been trying to deny. Joffrey groaned as he came in her hand, his breath hot against her skin. He kissed her roughly, covering her mouth to muffle the sound of her moans as she came, her body quivering under his touch.

They pulled apart, both panting heavily. Joffrey wiped his release from her hand, licking his fingers clean before making her do the same. She hesitated, her eyes filled with disgust, but she obeyed, licking his seed from her fingers with trembling lips.

Joffrey smirked, running his thumb over her swollen lips. “We can have more of these… mother-in-law and son-in-law moments,” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “If you behave. If you’re loyal.”

Catelyn nodded, her expression hollow, her body still trembling as she adjusted her clothes. She left the storeroom with a limp and a flush in her cheeks, her pride thoroughly shattered.

Joffrey watched her go, a smirk playing on his lips as he straightened his clothes. The small revenge he took on Catelyn felt good—sweet, even. But it wasn’t enough. No, not yet.

As he walked back toward his chambers, he thought about what lay ahead. Taking Catelyn had been satisfying in its own way, a symbolic revenge for the way she treated Jon Snow all those years. But the real game was still far from over.

Later, Joffrey found himself back in his chambers, shirtless and working through his exercises. His muscles ached from the intensity of the sparring matches earlier, but the pain felt good—real. Sweat poured down his body, slicking his skin as he pushed himself harder, faster, through every motion.

He didn’t notice the small eyes watching him from the shadows.

Arya Stark, hidden in a cupboard, watched in silence as Joffrey moved through the motions. Her face was set in a hard line, her eyes narrowed as she studied his every movement. He had no idea she was there, no idea she was plotting.

Joffrey finally collapsed onto his bed, breathing hard, wiping sweat from his brow. But despite the fire roaring in the hearth and the warm water he’d soaked in earlier, a chill still clung to his skin. A strange, creeping cold that made him shiver despite the heat.

He frowned, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he was supposed to fight the Night King when he couldn’t even keep warm in the castle. The thought gnawed at him, making him uneasy. The chill was something he couldn’t shake.

His eyes drifted to the window, and there, perched on the sill, was a crow. Its dark eyes watched him, unblinking.

Joffrey moved slowly, pretending not to notice the bird. He reached for the goblet of wine beside his bed, took a slow sip, and then, without warning, he hurled the goblet through the open window. It struck the crow dead-on, killing it instantly.

He stood, walking over to the window, looking down at the broken body of the bird on the roof below. Its eyes weren’t blue. No sign of the Brynden River’s influence. Just a regular crow.

Still, he knew what it meant. He had been watching. He was warging into the animals, keeping tabs on him. Must be nice, Joffrey thought bitterly, to have a Wi-Fi connection across the North, slipping in and out of creatures like it’s nothing. But no matter. He’d deal with Rivers in time.

For now, the game continued.

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