The collection room was nearly empty—just a few books sitting lonely on the shelves.
The moment Diana followed Jack inside, she spotted the photographs. Lilah and Laurie, each holding identification placards with detailed information: names, codenames, numbers.
Her expression darkened. "You want me to take photos like that? Absolutely not."
"Would it kill you to show some respect? Especially toward women?"
"Trust me—hanging here is the greatest respect I can offer." Jack chuckled as he walked to the shooting spot, filled out a placard, and held it out to her.
Name: Diana
Codename: Wonder Woman
Number: 3
Origin Era: 1917
Location: Paradise Island
Diana looked at the placard, then back at Jack, and shook her head.
"I'm not posing for your wall. I won't be another trophy in your collection."
Jack stepped closer, tilting his head. "I have plenty of ways to force you. I chose not to. I helped you deal with Firstborn. I agreed to restore everyone on Paradise Island. And you agreed to this."
He spread his hands. "You say I don't respect women? In this particular matter, I'd say I've shown you quite a bit of respect."
He took her hand, adjusted the placard in her grip, and stepped back to raise the camera.
Diana wanted to pull away. Her feet refused to cooperate.
She thought of the promise she'd made. She thought of her mother and her sisters, still waiting on Paradise Island. She thought of what it would cost to break her word.
She cooperated in silence.
The photos in uniform. And the ones without.
Each piece of armor came off deliberately—bracers first, then the golden eagle cuirass, the tiara last. She stood before the camera in nothing but her own skin, the placard held at her hip, chin raised in defiance even as heat crept up her throat. The shutter clicked. Again. Again. Jack circled her slowly, capturing angles she didn't want to imagine.
This is nothing. A body is just flesh. He cannot touch what matters.
But her hands trembled when she lowered the placard.
Jack set the camera aside and crossed to where she stood, bare and exposed.
"Move," Diana said, voice low. "I need to dress."
"You know something?" He caught her chin, tilting her face up to meet his eyes. "I almost thought I was starting to like you."
Diana's breath caught.
"Then I realized—you're not my flower. I just happened to pass by while you were blooming."
"What are you—" Her voice faltered. Something unfamiliar twisted in her chest.
Jack smiled without answering. He leaned in slowly.
She could have stopped him. His movements were unhurried, deliberate—she had every opportunity to turn away. But her body felt frozen, her resistance dissolving under something she couldn't name. All she could do was watch him approach, gentle as someone admiring a flower in full bloom.
Gentle.
The word struck her as impossible. He'd never been gentle before. When he'd forced himself on her, she'd fought back—futile as it was. She'd resisted because resistance was all she had.
But this was different.
His lips brushed hers—barely a touch, testing. His hand slid from her chin to cup the back of her neck, fingers threading into the dark mass of her hair. When she didn't pull away, his mouth returned with more pressure, coaxing her lips apart. She tasted whiskey and something faintly metallic on his tongue.
Stop this. Push him away. You are a warrior.
Her hands lifted to his chest. To push. That was the intention.
They curled into the fabric of his shirt instead.
"Mmn—" A soft sound escaped her, swallowed by his mouth. His other hand traced down her spine, fingertips dragging over each vertebra, counting them like beads. She shivered despite the warmth of the room.
Her back met the wall. She hadn't realized she'd been retreating until the cold wall pressed against her bare shoulder blades. Jack followed, body pressing against hers, and the heat of him through his clothes made her hyperaware of her own nakedness.
"You could say stop," he murmured against her jaw, kissing along the line of it. "I might even listen."
Say it. Say stop.
The word lodged in her throat.
His hand found her breast—not grabbing, not rough. Just there, palm warm against the weight of it, thumb tracing lazy circles around her nipple until it peaked against his touch. Diana's head fell back against the wall, baring her throat in an instinct she couldn't control.
This is surrender. You know what this is.
His mouth found the pulse jumping beneath her jaw. Teeth grazed her skin, then the hot press of his tongue soothing over the sting. She smelled herself now—something musky and sweet blooming beneath the sterile dust of the room.
"Jack—" His name came out broken.
"Shh." He kissed the corner of her mouth. "Just bloom for me."
His hand drifted lower, over the plane of her stomach, muscles twitching involuntarily at his touch. Her thighs pressed together—an instinct, a defense—but his knee nudged between them with gentle persistence, and she found herself widening her stance without deciding to.
His fingers slipped through the dark curls between her legs. Found the slick heat already gathering there.
Traitor. Traitor body.
"Look at that." His voice was a low rumble against her ear. "All this, and you're already wet for me."
Diana's face burned. She turned away, but he caught her chin again, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"Don't hide from it." Two fingers slid along her folds, parting them, coating themselves in her arousal. "You wanted to feel this. You just needed permission."
"I don't—nngh—" Her protest dissolved into a sharp inhale as his fingertip circled her clit—light, teasing, never quite giving her enough pressure.
"You don't what?" He pressed harder, and her hips jerked forward without her consent. "Don't want this? Your body says otherwise."
He's right. Gods help me, he's right.
She was slick and swollen under his touch, every nerve ending alight. When he finally sank two fingers inside her, Diana bit down on her lip hard enough to taste copper. Her inner walls clenched around him, greedy, pulling him deeper.
"Ahh—hahh—" She couldn't stop the sounds now. Couldn't pretend this was happening to someone else.
Jack's thumb found her clit while his fingers worked inside her, curling against a spot that made her vision white out at the edges. The wet sound of him fucking her with his hand filled the quiet room—obscene, undeniable.
"That's it," he breathed against her neck. "That's a good girl."
Good girl. Like a pet. Like a possession.
The degradation should have angered her. Instead, it coiled hot and tight in her belly, building toward something inevitable.
"Jack—I can't—" Her hips moved of their own accord now, riding his hand with desperate little thrusts. "Please—"
"Please what?"
"Please—" She didn't know. Stop? Don't stop? "Please—"
He kissed her again, swallowing her plea, and his fingers drove deeper, faster. The tension wound tighter and tighter until Diana shattered against his hand with a broken cry, her whole body seizing as pleasure crashed through her in waves. She felt herself gush around his fingers, slicking his palm, dripping down her inner thighs.
He didn't stop. Didn't let her come down.
"Again," he said, and his thumb pressed harder.
"I can't—it's too much—"
"You can."
She came again before she finished protesting, a second orgasm rolling through her on the heels of the first, weaker but no less overwhelming. Her knees buckled. Only his body pinning her to the wall kept her upright.
Diana heard the clink of his belt through the haze. The rasp of a zipper. She should stop this—should at least try—but her limbs felt like water, her resistance drowned somewhere in the aftershocks still rippling through her.
He lifted her easily, hands gripping the backs of her thighs, spreading her legs around his hips. The blunt head of his cock pressed against her entrance—thick, hot, insistent.
"Last chance," he said, eyes meeting hers. "Tell me no."
She said nothing.
He pushed inside her in one long, slow stroke.
"Ohhh—" Diana's head fell back, mouth open around a moan she couldn't contain. He was big—she remembered that from before—but this angle, this position, it felt like he was splitting her open. Her inner walls stretched around him, resisting, then yielding, then clenching tight as if trying to keep him there.
This is different. Before, I could tell myself I was forced.
Jack's forehead dropped against her shoulder. His breath came ragged.
"Fuck," he muttered. "You're so tight."
He started to move—slow at first, almost languid, pulling out until just the thick head remained before sinking back in. Each thrust pressed her harder against the wall, stone scraping her shoulder blades, but the discomfort barely registered against the sensation of him filling her completely.
Her legs wrapped around his waist without conscious thought. Her arms circled his neck. She held onto him like an anchor while he fucked her with that same deliberate gentleness, each stroke hitting deep enough to make her gasp.
"Look at me," he said.
She didn't want to. Meeting his eyes meant admitting what she was doing.
"Diana. Look at me."
She looked.
His gaze was steady, dark with want but somehow still soft. He wasn't taking—he was giving, and that was so much worse. She could have forgiven herself for being overpowered. But this... this was her own desire staring back at her.
"There she is." He smiled, and his pace quickened. "There's my flower."
His. His flower.
The thought should have repelled her. Instead, it sent a fresh wave of heat through her core.
"Harder," she heard herself say. "Please—harder—"
Jack obliged.
The slap of flesh against flesh echoed off the walls. Diana's moans climbed higher, breathier, punched out of her with each brutal thrust. She could smell them now—sweat and sex and something uniquely his, sandalwood overwhelmed by musk. Her arousal coated his cock, dripping between them, making everything slick and obscene.
"Jack—Jack—I'm going to—" She couldn't finish the sentence.
"I know." His hand found her clit again, rubbing tight circles. "Come for me. Let me feel it."
She broke apart with a scream she couldn't silence, her whole body clenching around him as the orgasm tore through her. Her walls spasmed, milking his cock, and she felt him falter—his rhythm stuttering—
"Diana—" His voice was rough, wrecked. "I'm—"
He buried himself to the hilt and came with a groan, spilling deep inside her. She felt the hot rush of it, pulse after pulse filling her, and some distant part of her mind catalogued the sensation as wrong wrong wrong while her body clutched at him greedily.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
Their breath mingled in the narrow space between them. His cock softened inside her, still twitching with aftershocks. The wet trickle of their combined release started to slide down her inner thigh.
What have I done?
Jack pulled out slowly, and Diana shuddered at the sudden emptiness. He lowered her legs to the floor, steadying her when she wobbled.
Their eyes met.
Diana said nothing. She gathered her armor piece by piece, dressed in silence, ignoring the ache between her thighs and the evidence of him still leaking into her undergarments. She walked out without looking back.
She didn't know what to say. Before, she could tell herself she'd been forced. But just now...
I wanted it. Gods forgive me, I wanted it.
---
Fifteen minutes later, Jack—fully dressed—hung Diana's photograph in front of Lilah's on the wall. He paused to admire the arrangement, then headed outside.
---
---
He sat on the Aerie's boarding ramp, watching the dim evening sky. Firestorm was flying lazy circles in the distance. Nearby, the woman in the oversized shirt held Zeke against her hip while Diana stood beside her, both watching the flames streak overhead. Queen Hera lingered apart from the group, attempting conversation with Laurie—fishing for information, probably—but Laurie knew almost nothing about Jack to begin with, and she'd gone completely silent now. Hera was getting nowhere.
"Peaceful moments like this aren't bad once in a while." Jack chuckled to himself, eyes on Firestorm's glow against the darkening clouds.
A beam of light split the sky.
It descended fast, streaking directly toward them.
"What is that?" The woman with the baby pointed, alarmed.
Diana dropped into a fighting stance. Firestorm banked hard and flew back toward them.
"This—" Hera's eyes went wide. "This is my divine power!"
"Your divine power?" Diana turned sharply. "Apollo stripped it from you. How would it—"
She stopped mid-sentence, understanding flooding her face.
"Something happened to Apollo. Firstborn."
The only way Hera's power would return was if Apollo could no longer hold it.
Hera spread her arms wide, face lit with desperate joy. She'd had enough of feeling fragile, mortal, breakable.
"I am the Queen of Heaven! I am Queen Hera!"
She closed her eyes, waiting for the power to enter her.
Seconds passed. Nothing happened.
Minutes. Still nothing.
Hera opened her eyes—and found Jack standing directly in front of her, the glowing sphere of her divine power cupped casually in his palm.
"Give that back."
She lunged for it. Jack sidestepped without effort, and she sprawled to the ground.
Hera scrambled upright, dignity forgotten. "That's mine! What do you think you're doing?"
Jack ignored her. He studied the orb, turning it slowly in his hands.
Divine power could take different forms. Diana's manifested as golden energy. Ares's had been lightning. Firstborn's—harder to classify. Concentrated hatred, maybe, given physical shape.
But this was something else. Similar to the Source, yet distinct.
Jack walked over to Laurie and tossed the sphere at her.
Laurie flinched, but the divine power passed straight through her body and drifted away.
"Doesn't work."
Jack retrieved it, considered for a moment, then moved toward Diana.
Hera threw herself at him again. His free hand shot out and caught her by the throat, stopping her cold.
Holding Hera at arm's length, he pushed the divine power into Diana with his other hand.
"That's mine—" Hera choked out, legs kicking uselessly. "Mine—"
The light sank into Diana's chest. She closed her eyes instinctively.
Jack watched with genuine curiosity, eyes bright. "Well? Are you the Queen of Heaven now?"
After a long moment, Diana shook her head.
"No. I don't hold that divine office."
"What if we kill her?" Jack lifted Hera higher, feet dangling. "Based on how these things usually work—if you kill the current holder, you inherit the position. You'd get her Source."