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Chapter Text

The House of Mystery felt colder than usual that evening, though Zatanna suspected it had less to do with the drafty corridors and more to do with her own nerves. She perched on the edge of a velvet armchair, legs crossed, the tails of her coat draping elegantly over the sides. Top hat perched at a jaunty angle, fishnet-clad legs sliding over high boots, bodysuit perfectly tailored beneath her coat—she looked, as always, like someone who could vanish into thin air, yet somehow she felt utterly exposed.

Five months. That was how long it had been since Constantine. Five months since the storm of words, the biting sarcasm, the reckless charm that had alternately delighted and destroyed her heart. And yet, somehow, she’d survived. But tonight, survival felt inadequate. Tonight, she was one of the weaker members of the Justice League Dark, fumbling with her own confidence while Fate and the others radiated competence, power, and inevitability. She shifted her hands, flexing her fingers, hoping no one noticed the slight tremor in them.

The chatter of the League filled the grand, dimly lit hall—Raven perched silently on a banister, her cloak swirling, eyes a pool of shadow; Etrigan’s booming voice bellowed as he recounted a tale that was somehow terrifying and hilarious at once; Swamp Thing’s presence exuded quiet, solemn reassurance; Deadman floated between walls with his usual mischievous grin. Even Man-Bat was settling into some semblance of civility, wings folded, ears twitching nervously. Zatanna’s gaze flicked from face to face, absorbing the scene. She’d spent years in this realm of magic and monsters, but somehow the mundane nerves—the self-doubt that lingered like a ghost—were harder to master than any spell.

Then Diana arrived.

The door opened, and the air seemed to shift, subtle yet undeniable. Zatanna’s breath caught in her throat. The Amazon stood tall, a goddess in mortal space, yet somehow grounded, serene, radiant in a way that drew all eyes toward her. Diana’s armor gleamed faintly in the flickering candlelight, her presence commanding yet calm, like a hurricane tamed into a single elegant gesture. She smiled, small but genuine, scanning the room, and Zatanna’s stomach twisted, a curious mix of awe and panic.

“Oh.” Zatanna whispered under her breath.

Her own voice sounded foreign to her ears, small and breathless, and she coughed, hoping no one had noticed. Of course, everyone noticed. Deadman floated closer, head tilting with amusement, but even he had the decency not to comment aloud. Constantine would have quipped something biting here—Zatanna imagined his smirk—and the ghost of that memory tugged at her heart with a sour pang. But Diana’s eyes—warm, intelligent, discerning—settled briefly on her, and Zatanna felt simultaneously seen and undone.

“Welcome,” Fate intoned, voice like the turning of ancient pages. “You’ve arrived at a precarious moment.”

Diana nodded. “Thank you. I—” She paused, glancing at the gathered League, then finally spoke, her voice steady and confident, “I need your help. There’s a threat—Cerci—one that requires more than brute force. Magic, strategy, and understanding beyond what I can accomplish alone.”

Zatanna’s heart raced. Magic? Strategy? Understanding beyond what I can accomplish alone? She felt herself shrinking, a mortal in the presence of gods and legends, acutely aware of the difference in power, the difference in destiny. And yet… and yet there was something in the way Diana carried herself, the ease with which she spoke, that made Zatanna’s chest tighten with something raw and unnameable.

Deadman drifted closer, curiosity sparkling in his ghostly eyes. “You’ll find the team… complicated. But capable.”

Diana’s gaze swept the room, landing on each member in turn. Zatanna noticed the way the Amazon’s eyes softened ever so slightly when they reached her, a subtle acknowledgment that did not go unnoticed. Her ears burned, and she clutched the edges of her coat, feeling both exhilarated and terrified.

“Zatanna,” John Constantine muttered from a shadowed corner, voice low, sardonic. “Try not to make her leave with her head spinning. Not all of us are charming gods or… whatever she is.” He grinned at Zatanna, sharp and teasing, and she rolled her eyes, cheeks flushing as he sauntered away.

Zatanna tried to focus, tried to draw upon the confidence she usually carried into battle, into performance. She straightened her back, adjusted her hat, and reminded herself that she was a magician, a woman capable of bending reality to her will, yet Diana’s gaze made her feel more fragile than any curse she had ever cast.

Diana continued, explaining the threat, her strategy, the way she envisioned the League working together. Zatanna’s mind flickered between every word and every subtle motion—the way Diana’s lips moved, the tilt of her head, the quiet strength in her posture. She felt herself fumbling, tongue tangling slightly when Fate nodded toward her, signaling that her input was expected.

“I… um,” Zatanna began, voice a notch higher than usual. “I mean—I can help. Magic. Illusions. Combat spells. You know… the usual.”

A faint smile brushed Diana’s lips. “I’ve read about your abilities. I’m sure you’ll be invaluable.”

“Sure… invaluable,” Zatanna muttered under her breath, twirling a lock of hair nervously. She couldn’t stop her eyes from tracing Diana’s form, from imagining what it would feel like to stand beside her in battle, to touch her in some impossibly intimate way without daring to imagine too much. Her heart thudded in a way that reminded her of every time Constantine had drawn her close, yet this was different. This was raw, steady, consuming.

Raven finally spoke, voice soft and dark, “The threat is unique. Be prepared for mental intrusion, manipulation… and fear beyond the usual.”

Etrigan’s laughter shook the room, a growl that reverberated off stone walls. “Fear? Ha! A puny mortal? Zatanna, I hope you’re ready to face something more than your usual card tricks!”

Zatanna’s fingers itched with energy. “I’ll manage,” she said, though her mind betrayed her. I hope I’ll manage.

Man-Bat hovered near a ceiling beam, ears flicking nervously. Black Orchid, ever silent, offered a small nod in her direction. Swamp Thing’s deep, resonant voice rumbled: “Trust in your strength. Trust in each other.”

It was overwhelming, each personality a force in itself, and Zatanna felt dwarfed by the combined presence of the League. And yet Diana—Diana moved through it with grace, not overpowering, simply existing in a way that drew them all together rather than dividing.

At some point, she realized that her own insecurities, her fear of being too mortal, too fragile, too… human, had nothing to do with the competence of the League. It had everything to do with Diana.

Why is she looking at me like that? Zatanna thought, heart hammering, imagining impossibly intimate possibilities that made her blush even as her logical mind warned her to contain herself. I’m mortal. I’m messy. I’m… me. And she’s… she’s perfect.

The meeting ended with assignments and tentative plans, with Zatanna half-dreaming, half-dreading, half-praying she wouldn’t make a fool of herself. The others began to disperse, conversations already fragmenting into side whispers and side-eye glances.

Diana approached her, stride smooth and confident, yet somehow inviting. “Zatanna,” she said, voice low enough for only her to hear, “I’ve read your work. I’m glad you’re here.”

Zatanna’s throat went dry. “I—I’m glad to be here,” she stammered, bowing slightly, trying not to trip over the hem of her coat tails.

Diana’s eyes softened. “Don’t be nervous. You’ll do wonderfully.”

And just like that, Zatanna felt both lighter and heavier all at once—lighter because Diana had seen her, lighter because Diana had acknowledged her, heavier because… she wanted more than acknowledgment. She wanted everything Diana represented, and that thought scared her almost as much as it thrilled her.

As she watched Diana stride back toward the other members, Zatanna allowed herself a small, shivering smile. Five months had been long enough to heal from one heartbreak, perhaps, but never long enough to prepare for another—one that promised fire, passion, and the kind of danger that came not from magic or monsters, but from a heart willing to love someone so very extraordinary.

She was mortal. She was human. And she was, for the first time in a long while, completely and utterly undone.

Plans were being laid, strategies argued. Fate’s booming cadence set the tone, Raven added warnings in her measured, soft-edged monotone, Etrigan rhymed his threats with macabre delight. The room filled with voices and power, each member of the League Dark weaving themselves into a web of strategy.

Zatanna tried to focus on the words. Tried. But Diana stood across the table, and every time Zatanna’s eyes wandered — which was often — she found the Amazon’s gaze waiting for her. Not unkind, not piercing, just steady. Like Diana saw her in a way others rarely did. It sent shivers down her spine and left her fumbling whenever anyone called on her.

“Zatanna,” Dr. Fate’s voice cut through. “Your knowledge of Cerci’s casting patterns will be crucial. She favors misdirection, doesn’t she?”

Zee nodded quickly. “Yes—yes, illusions layered over hexwork. If she’s given time, she’ll bury you in false realities before you know what’s real.”

Her voice came out steadier than she felt. She smoothed down the tails of her coat, hiding the twitch in her fingers. She could feel Diana’s gaze like a warm spotlight, almost encouraging.

Raven’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying her. Zatanna flushed, realizing too late that her own nerves were visible to her empathic teammate.

Then Diana spoke. Calm. Warm. Confident. “A clever enemy,” she said, voice carrying easily. “But not insurmountable. Not with allies such as these.”

Her eyes swept across the table. Swamp Thing inclined his mossy head, Phantom Stranger raised his brow beneath the brim of his hat, and Etrigan scoffed loudly in rhyme about “fragile mortal flesh.” But when Diana’s gaze settled on Zatanna again, her voice softened.

“You, especially. Illusion must be answered with clarity. It takes a sharp mind, a beautiful sister of magic, to cut through such deception.”

Beautiful sister.

Zatanna nearly choked on her own breath. The words rolled through her like molten silver, both intimate and formal, and her face burned. She didn’t mean it like that, Zee scolded herself. Amazonian terms of endearment. Sister. Just sister.

Still—Diana had called her beautiful. And there was no mistaking the sincerity in her tone.

Zatanna ducked her head, hiding behind the brim of her hat, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. “Th-thank you,” she stammered. “I’ll—I’ll do my best.”

Diana’s smile deepened, a quiet curve that made Zee’s heart race.

The rest of the meeting blurred around her. Detective Chimp argued logistics with Deadman, Fate spoke of containment circles, Raven cautioned restraint. Zatanna responded where needed, but half her mind was consumed by Diana’s presence. The Amazon moved with quiet purpose, listening as intently as she spoke, bridging tensions between members with patience that bordered on regal.

At one point, Zatanna found herself staring at Diana’s hands—strong, steady, scarred in ways that told a thousand stories. She imagined those hands on her waist, on her cheek, steadying her when her world spun—

She bit her lip, pulling herself back from the brink. Gods, get a grip, Zatanna.

When the meeting ended, the others dispersed into smaller knots of conversation. Raven melted into shadow. Etrigan stomped toward the fireplace, muttering verse. Constantine lingered just long enough to shoot her a knowing grin before vanishing into smoke.

And Diana crossed the room. Each step was measured, graceful, inevitable. Zatanna felt herself freeze as though the House itself had conspired to hold her in place. Diana stopped in front of her, tall and radiant, the faint scent of leather and steel mingling with something softer, floral, like wild blossoms carried on the wind.

“You carry yourself humbly,” Diana said. Her tone wasn’t accusatory—gentle, if anything—but it made Zatanna’s heart stutter.

“I—humbly?” Zee echoed, voice cracking. “I mean—I try not to—look, I know I’m not as powerful as some of the others, but—”

Diana raised a hand, silencing her without force. Just… calm. “I did not mean it as a flaw.” Her eyes were impossibly kind. “It takes strength to walk among gods and monsters, and still speak without arrogance. You are not weak, Zatanna. You are… luminous.”

Luminous.

Zatanna’s knees went weak. She laughed, high and breathless, pushing hair from her face in a nervous gesture. “You—you really have a way with words, don’t you?”

Diana tilted her head, as though surprised. “It is only the truth. Why should truth make you blush?”

“Oh, trust me,” Zatanna muttered, voice low enough she hoped Diana wouldn’t quite catch, “you’d be blushing too if someone like you said it to you.”

But Diana’s smile widened—yes, she’d heard. And yes, she was amused.

Before Zatanna could combust entirely, Man-Bat screeched from the rafters about patrols, snapping the moment in two. Diana excused herself, striding back toward Fate and the others, but not before giving Zee’s arm the lightest squeeze. A fleeting touch, almost nothing. And yet Zatanna felt it long after Diana was gone.

 

The House seemed less cold now, less alien. Zatanna stood very still, heart hammering, her inner voice caught somewhere between What are you doing? and Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.

For the first time since Constantine, since the ache of heartbreak had wrapped itself around her ribs, she felt something alive inside her again. Something dangerous, something exhilarating, something that could undo her if she let it.

She already knew she would let it.

The air on the island stank of brine and blood before the first blade had even been drawn.

Salt spray lashed the cliffs in a constant rhythm, waves crashing like a war drum that set Zatanna’s pulse on edge. Her boots sank slightly in the sandy earth as the Justice League Dark assembled, shadows cast long in the torchlight of their arrival circle. She flexed her fingers, whispered the syllables of a defensive spell under her breath, and hoped her nerves didn’t show.

Because across the clearing, Diana stood as though born for this place—bronze skin glowing against her armor, dark hair pinned back, her blue eyes fixed on the temple ruins where Circe waited. She was radiant. Terrifyingly radiant.

And Zatanna, for all her clever tricks and backward words, felt like a magician playing at war while standing beside a goddess.

“Circe has raised the island from the sea,” Diana said, voice calm, even reverent, though edged with steel. “It was once sacred to the Amazons. Now she’s turned it into a fortress of corruption. She must be stopped before her army of shades spreads to the mainland.”

Her gaze swept over them, resting just a heartbeat longer on Zatanna than necessary. Enough for Zee’s cheeks to heat despite the cool night air.

“My sisters,” Diana said, addressing them all though her eyes never quite left Zatanna, “my brothers. You honor me with your presence here. Let us face this together.”

Zatanna’s throat tightened. Sister. Diana had called her that before, back in the House of Mystery, but here—in the torchlight, on a battlefield—it felt heavier. More intimate. She told herself not to blush, but of course she did.

Constantine, cigarette already dangling from his lips, snorted. “Lovely speech, Love. Let’s just hope our heads aren’t used for candleholders by the end of it.”

“Optimism suits you poorly, John,” Fate replied, his golden helm turning toward the dark temple.

Raven said nothing, her aura already thrumming with shadow. Swamp Thing lumbered forward, moss-slick skin glistening in the moonlight. Man-Bat flapped his ragged wings, screeching, nervous energy thick in the air. Detective Chimp checked the revolver at his side and muttered something about needing more whiskey.

And Zatanna—Zatanna adjusted her top hat, as though the brim might hide the fact that her hands trembled.

 

They didn’t have to wait long.

From the ruined temple, the enemy poured forth: Circe’s abominations, men stitched from shadow and sand, howling beasts with eyes like molten gold. At their head, Circe herself descended the broken steps, her gown a swirl of emerald fire, hair crowned in snakes that hissed and writhed. Her smile was cruel enough to chill the marrow.

“Well, well,” Circe purred. “The little Justice League… darker than usual, but still so fragile. Did you bring me offerings, Diana? Or just toys for the slaughter?”

Diana strode forward, sword flashing in the moonlight. “Your desecration ends here, Circe.”

The words struck sparks against the air. And then the battle began.

 

It was chaos.
Swamp Thing surged roots from the sand, dragging shadow-creatures into the earth. Deadman hurled himself into monstrous forms, forcing them to tear at their own allies. Raven unleashed shadow tendrils that shrieked as they burned through corrupted flesh.

But Circe’s magic was old and cruel. She spoke in a language that made Zatanna’s ears bleed, and suddenly the sand itself rose like claws, shredding at cloaks and skin. Man-Bat dove at the beasts, his wings scattering them in a frenzy—until one of the monsters, twice his size, snapped him from the air and tore him down onto the rocks.

Zatanna screamed, the sound ripped raw from her throat. Man-Bat’s screeches cut off too suddenly, bones splintering against the cliffside. Blood sprayed across the sand.

There was no time to grieve.

“Stay with me!” Diana shouted, cutting a swath through the shadows, shield raised high. Her voice was steady even as bodies fell around her. She was a storm, every swing of her blade clean and true, every step purposeful.

Zatanna’s pulse thundered. She shouted a spell, words backward and sharp: “Sreaps fo thgil!” —and brilliant spears of light drove back the horde, buying them a breath.

Diana glanced back at her, eyes alight. “Beautifully done, sister!”

The praise burned hotter than fire. Even in this carnage, Diana saw her.

 

Constantine wasn’t so lucky. He’d gotten too close, trying to bind Circe with a sigil scrawled in his own blood. The spell faltered, and one of her beasts raked its claws across his chest, sending him crashing into the sand with a strangled curse. Blood bubbled from his lips.

“John!” Zatanna bolted forward, only to be blocked by another wave of Circe’s creatures. Her words caught in her throat, panic flooding her chest. She can’t lose him, not like this, not again.

But then Diana was there, shield slamming into the creature, sword severing its head in one smooth arc. She knelt by Constantine, her movements both efficient and impossibly gentle.

“Stay with us, magician,” Diana said, voice low but commanding. “You will not fall tonight.”

Zatanna dropped to her knees beside them, fumbling through healing words. Backward syllables tripped off her tongue: “Laeh siht dnuow!” The bleeding slowed, though Constantine still groaned in agony.

“Not my first skewering,” he muttered weakly. “Won’t be my last.”

Diana caught Zatanna’s gaze. There was no mockery there, no doubt. Only fierce determination, and—gods help her—admiration. Zee’s heart clenched.

The tide turned brutal.

Etrigan unleashed hellfire, but Circe answered with storms that shattered the earth. Fate tried to hold the magical backlash, his golden armor denting under the strain. A colossal beast, stitched from stone and sinew, slammed him against the cliffside with bone-crunching force. The Helm of Fate flickered.

Zatanna’s breath hitched. Without thinking, she raised her hands, shouted words that burned her throat raw: “ Nruter ot hsa!” The beast convulsed, bones shattering from within, and collapsed in a spray of gore.

The spell nearly drained her. She staggered, knees weak, vision tunneling.

And then—Circe’s magic flared, a bolt of green fire hurtling toward her, too fast to counter.

Zatanna froze.

But Diana was faster.

She threw herself between the spell and Zatanna, bracing her shield. The impact exploded like thunder, sparks showering them both. Zatanna tumbled back, breath knocked from her lungs, ears ringing.

When the smoke cleared, Diana was still standing, shield blackened, arm bleeding from the force of the blow. Her chest rose and fell with fierce breath, but her eyes—her eyes found Zatanna’s immediately.

“You are brave,” Diana said, voice fierce, unshaken. “But never stand alone when I am beside you.”

Zatanna’s heart stuttered. She would have taken that blow for me. The thought was dizzying, terrifying, intoxicating.

“Th-thank you,” she managed, though her lips barely formed the words.

Diana’s smile, even bloodied, was devastating. “You fight with heart, Zatanna. Never doubt it.”

 

The battle raged for what felt like hours but could only have been minutes. Swamp Thing smoldered, Raven bled shadows, Constantine was half-unconscious. The JLD was breaking.

And then Zatanna saw her chance.

Circe raised her arms, chanting, calling another tide of beasts from the sea. The words split the sky, thunder cracking above. If she succeeded, they’d be overwhelmed.

Zatanna’s blood roared in her ears. Her magic thrummed, wild and unsteady, but she forced her mouth to shape the backwards syllables: “Thgil ot kcolb reh, snaihc ot dnib reh!”

Light erupted, weaving chains from the air itself, golden links binding Circe’s arms mid-chant. The spell shrieked like metal grinding, fighting her grip, but it held.

Diana moved like lightning. She surged forward, sword flashing, shield raised, striking Circe hard enough to knock her across the temple steps. The goddess of sorcery screeched, snakes snapping, her spell broken.

The tide shuddered. The beasts began to falter, collapsing into ash.

For a moment—just a moment—silence fell.

The team staggered, bloodied, breathing hard. Man-Bat lay broken against the cliff. Constantine clung to life. Fate’s armor smoked.

And in the center of it all, Diana turned to Zatanna, her chest rising and falling with the rhythm of battle. Sweat beaded her brow, but her eyes were soft, almost reverent.

“You saved me,” she said simply.

Zatanna swallowed, throat dry, her own magic sparking faintly at her fingertips. “I—I just did what needed doing.”

Diana stepped closer, close enough that the scent of steel and saltwater wrapped around her. Her voice dropped, warm as a hearth fire.

“No. You were brilliant. And I am grateful, beautiful sister.”

The words struck Zatanna deeper than any blade could have. Her knees nearly buckled, heat flaring across her face.

In the ruin of a battlefield, blood and fire all around, she felt something she had not felt in months—not since Constantine, not since the weight of failure and grief had settled on her shoulders.

She felt seen.

The island should have sunk back beneath the sea. That was the way of Circe’s magic—summoned, cursed, undone. And yet, as the last of the battle-smoke drifted away and the creatures crumbled into nothing, the earth stilled. The cliffs gleamed pale under the moon, olive trees swayed in a breeze that smelled of thyme and salt, and the broken temple seemed less a desecration than a ruin reclaimed.

The island remained. A piece of beauty torn back from the abyss.

The League Dark scattered across the shore in silence, their wounds heavy, their souls heavier. Constantine lay half-propped against a boulder, puffing shakily at a cigarette though his hands wouldn’t quite stop trembling. Swamp Thing was already sinking roots into the ground, murmuring to the reborn soil. Fate stood, helm tipped as if in quiet grief, golden light seeping from cracks in his armor. Detective Chimp poured a nip of whiskey into the sea with gruff reverence, while Raven knelt, shadows coiling at her shoulders, her head bowed for the dead.

Man-Bat’s body had been burned. It was the only mercy they could give him. The smoke had risen like a broken hymn.

Zatanna wandered down the shore, boots dangling from one hand, until the sand gave way to rocks slick with sea-spray. She found a fallen trunk, weathered smooth, half-submerged in the tide. Sitting there, she dipped her legs into the water. The sea lapped cool against her fishnet-clad calves, washing away blood that had dried into stubborn lacework.

Her mind drifted where she didn’t want it to: to the way Man-Bat’s scream had cut off, to the helpless rage in her chest, to Constantine’s bloody coughs, to her own hands trembling when Diana had looked at her with something like reverence.

You are brave. Never stand alone when I am beside you.

The words echoed like a spell she hadn’t cast.
Zatanna shut her eyes, let her head fall back. The stars wheeled above, ancient and indifferent. She whispered to them as if they could answer. Was it enough?

The sand shifted behind her, heavy footsteps too deliberate to be Constantine’s, too graceful to be Swamp Thing’s. Zatanna turned her head just as Diana eased down onto the log beside her, the wood creaking under divine weight.

For a moment, neither spoke. The surf filled the silence. Diana’s armor was scuffed, shield blackened, a gash bandaged clumsily across her bicep. Yet her presence radiated calm, as though the battle had only tempered her glow.

“You fought magnificently,” Diana said at last, her voice low, like a confidante’s. “Without you, Circe would have torn the world open. We owe this peace to your courage.”

Zatanna laughed softly, though it cracked around the edges. “I don’t feel magnificent. I feel… wrung out. Like someone yanked all the strings inside me and forgot to put them back.”

Diana’s lips quirked, not quite a smile, not quite solemn. “That is the nature of battle. Glory feels like ash when it costs us family.”

Zatanna glanced at her fishnets glinting wet under the moonlight, a distraction. “Speaking of ash, these things are a nightmare. Don’t know what I was thinking wearing them into a fight with a goddess.”

That earned the smallest laugh from Diana, warm enough to thaw the night. “I confess, I have wondered. They seem… restrictive. Surely impractical in battle. Chafing, even.”

Zatanna raised a brow, tilting her head. “So you’ve been thinking about my wardrobe, huh?”

The Amazon’s poise faltered, just slightly. A flush touched her bronze cheeks. “I only meant—”

“Relax, Princess.” Zee leaned back, stretching her legs in the surf. “Next time I’ll do without them, if the mighty Amazon deems it acceptable.”

And for the first time since she’d met her, Diana blushed. Truly blushed, color rising beneath her skin like dawn. She reached out without hesitation and laid her hand gently on Zatanna’s thigh, fingers warm against the damp fishnet.

“That isn’t necessary,” Diana murmured, eyes lowered for the briefest beat. Then, meeting Zee’s gaze with quiet fire: “I… rather like the look.”

Zatanna’s breath caught. The tide lapped higher, cool against her legs, but the heat of Diana’s hand was all she could feel. For once in her life, words deserted her. She simply let her head tip sideways until it came to rest on Diana’s shoulder.

They sat like that, the goddess and the magician, two women bloodied but unbroken, looking out at the horizon where the sea met the stars.

After a time, Zatanna whispered, “He deserved more.”

“Man-Bat?” Diana’s voice gentled.

Zee nodded against her shoulder. “I never really knew him. Not the way I should have. He was always… a little apart. Like he didn’t quite belong, even with us. But he fought. Gods, he fought. And then he died before I ever told him I saw him. That he mattered.”

Diana’s arm shifted, drawing Zee just slightly closer. “He died as warriors dream to die—defending comrades, striking until his last breath. That is no small honor. And you, sister… you carry him now, in your memory. That is more than most are given.”

Zatanna blinked hard against the sting in her eyes. “You make it sound so noble. I just wish it didn’t hurt so damn much.”

“It will always hurt.” Diana’s tone was steady, not unkind. “But hurt is proof of love. And love is what the darkness cannot take from us.”

Zatanna closed her eyes. The surf washed against her knees, steady and cool, and Diana’s shoulder was firm beneath her cheek, her hand still resting lightly on Zee’s thigh as if it belonged there. For the first time in months—since the ache of Constantine’s betrayal, since the endless shadow of being the weakest link among titans—Zatanna felt something fragile and precious stirring in her chest.

Not hope, not yet. But the beginning of it.

She whispered, barely audible over the sea: “Thank you.”

Diana’s answer was not words, but the gentle pressure of her hand, the steadiness of her presence.

And so the night passed, not in victory, not in grief, but in something new—something that began between fishnets and saltwater, and might yet grow into fire.

 

Her room in the House of Mystery was never truly quiet. Even when the League Dark retreated to their rooms, the halls breathed—doors sighing as if with memories, floors groaning like ships caught in storm. The candles guttered with drafts no window allowed, and once in a while the faint sound of whispering drifted through the walls, not in menace, but in a reminder: you were not alone. Not here.

Zatanna sat cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by half-filled bags. The deep blue of her magician’s coat was folded neatly across a chair. Her top hat rested on the dresser, still dusted with sand from the island. Boots abandoned in a corner.

She wasn’t running away—she told herself that—but the House of Mystery had begun to feel too much like a mausoleum. She longed for her own place in Metropolis, where she could brew coffee without wondering if the mug would start screaming, or where she could walk barefoot across the floor without sensing the ghosts of the thousand magicians who had bled here before her.

Tonight she wore loose gray sweats that hung soft on her hips, an old black tee, and—because old habits died hard—fishnets underneath, their diamond pattern visible through frays in the jeans she’d tugged on. The holes at her knees and thighs bared glimpses of lace, a quiet rebellion against mundanity.

She stuffed another shirt into her bag, then froze when a knock rapped against her door. Firm, deliberate, not Constantine’s lazy tap or Bobo’s impatient scratch.

“Come in,” she called, voice catching slightly.

The door swung open. Diana filled the frame, golden skin catching the candlelight, her armor polished now, hair braided back in a crown that spoke of ceremony rather than battle. She looked less war-weary than resplendent, as though even the House bent toward her with reverence.

“Zatanna,” Diana said softly, as if the name itself was important.

Zee’s throat tightened. She scrambled up, smoothing her hair, tugging at her shirt as though it might become something more formal if she just willed it. “Princess. Uh—hi. Sorry, the place is a mess, I was just—”

“Packing,” Diana finished for her, stepping inside. She closed the door with a quiet click. “Leaving.”

Zatanna forced a shrug, gesturing vaguely at her bags. “Just… a change of scenery. You know how it is.”

Diana’s gaze lingered, not on the luggage, but on Zee herself—on the holes in her jeans, the fishnet glimmer at her knees, the bare softness of her arms. Her eyes warmed, and Zatanna had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from babbling.

“Where I come from,” Diana began, voice low and deliberate, “when an Amazon seeks the company of another, she does not leave it to chance. She brings an offering, a token to show she does not come as warrior or stranger, but as something else. Something… hopeful.”

Zee blinked. Her mouth had gone dry. “A token?”

Diana nodded once. From behind her back, she drew out a bundle wrapped in white linen. She held it out with both hands, reverent, as though it were no weapon but a vow.

Zatanna hesitated, then reached for it. The fabric was smooth, faintly scented with thyme and cedar. She unwrapped it carefully until the object lay bare in her hands: a small bronze figure, shaped like a dove mid-flight. Its wings arched upward, delicate yet unbreakable.

“It is an Amazon courting gift,” Diana explained. Her gaze never wavered, though a faint blush dusted her cheeks. “The dove is peace, but also devotion. In our tradition, to offer one is to say: I seek your company not as comrade, but as beloved, if you will have me.”

Zatanna stared down at the figure, her chest tight. A laugh almost bubbled up, reflexive and defensive, but it caught in her throat when she saw how serious Diana’s eyes were. Not humor. Not play. A ritual older than empires, spoken with solemnity.

“You’re—” Zee’s voice broke. She cleared her throat. “You’re asking me out?”

Something like amusement flickered at Diana’s lips, though it was tempered by gravity. “Yes. That is the word, I believe. Though ours lacks the poetry of mine.”

Zatanna set the bronze dove down on her bed, fingers lingering on its wing. “Why me?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. She hated how small they sounded, how raw. “You could have anyone, Diana. You’re—”

“Beautiful?” Diana offered gently. “Strong? Legendary?”

Zee huffed a laugh. “All of the above.”

“And yet,” Diana said, stepping closer, her hand brushing a stray lock of hair from Zatanna’s cheek, “you are the one who stood beside me when even the gods quaked. You are the one whose voice cast back Circe’s curse when mine could not. And you are the one who has haunted my thoughts since the moment you stumbled over your words in that hall.”

Zatanna flushed deep, heat crawling up her neck. “That wasn’t— I wasn’t stumbling, I was just—”

“Beautiful,” Diana interrupted, softly but firmly. “Like a spell half-cast.”

For a moment, silence hummed between them, filled with candlelight and heartbeat.

Zatanna forced herself to breathe. She smirked, though it was shaky. “Well, for the record, I don’t usually answer the door in sweats and holey jeans when a goddess comes calling. Bit of a downgrade from my top hat and tails.”

Diana’s eyes softened, her gaze dipping briefly to the fishnets revealed through the rips. “I find this look… disarming.” She smiled, the kind of smile that undid armor. “Perhaps even more enchanting.”

Zee’s pulse kicked hard. She tried for flippant but failed. “Careful, Princess. You keep talking like that and I might just say yes.”

“Then say it,” Diana murmured, so close now that the scent of cedar and salt clung to her. “Say yes.”

The room tilted. Zatanna’s heart hammered. For the first time in months, she didn’t feel like the weakest link, or the girl left behind by John, or the magician stumbling in titans’ shadows. She felt seen—no, chosen.

Her voice was barely a whisper. “Yes.”

Diana’s smile lit like sunrise. She bowed her head slightly, as though sealing a vow. Then, with the same grace she wielded in battle, she lifted Zee’s hand and pressed her lips against her knuckles.

Zatanna’s breath hitched. Her knees almost gave.

“This Weekend,” Diana said softly, still holding her hand. “There is a café by the river in Metropolis. Nothing of gods or magic. Just coffee, and perhaps—what is the word? Pastries.”

Zee laughed, unsteady, giddy. “You mean… a date.”

“Yes,” Diana said. “A date.”

The bronze dove glimmered on the bed between them, silent witness to the beginning of something neither spell nor sword could undo.

 

Days later, Zatanna felt less ready than before. Metropolis was different when you weren’t chasing demons down alleys or holding back collapsing buildings with a hastily muttered spell. The café by the river glowed warm through its tall windows, the kind of place where laughter drifted easily, where ordinary couples leaned across tables to touch hands, where the air smelled like roasted coffee beans and sugared pastries.

Zatanna arrived early—of course she did. She had spent an hour debating her outfit, pulling half her closet apart before settling on slim black trousers and a fitted blazer. Underneath, instead of a blouse, she wore a white bralette, daring and sharp against the dark fabric. She’d told herself it was casual-chic, magician-off-duty. Mostly, it felt like armor.

And then Diana entered.

The room seemed to shift. Conversations softened, heads turned. Diana didn’t wear armor or steel tonight. Instead, a loose red dress—draped like a modern echo of a toga—clung to her shoulders and fell fluid over muscle and curve. Her hair was unbound, dark waves framing a face as serene as it was radiant. The dress’s neckline dipped just enough to make Zee’s knees threaten mutiny.

Zatanna had never felt more mortal in her life.

“Beautiful sister,” Diana greeted warmly as she reached the table, her voice carrying with it the timbre of temple bells.

Zee nearly knocked over her water glass standing up. “Hey—hi. You look—uh—wow. Really wow.”

Diana’s smile was sunlight. She pulled out the chair opposite her with a graceful gesture. “And you look striking. Always you.”

They sat, and for a moment Zee thought her heart might betray her, beating so hard it was a wonder Diana didn’t comment. Coffee was ordered—black for Diana, cappuccino with too much sugar for Zee—and a small plate of pastries shared between them.

Conversation, at first, was light. The sort of small talk Zee usually dreaded, except with Diana it wasn’t small at all. Every word felt intentional, every question asked with genuine interest. Diana spoke of her first impressions of the city—“So much steel, and yet so fragile”—and Zatanna countered with stories of her stage shows, the strange joy of pulling laughter out of strangers who didn’t know magic was real.

Somewhere between crumbs and coffee refills, Diana leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief. “One day, I will take you to Themyscira. During the Feast of Eiresione.”

Zatanna arched a brow, intrigued. “Feast, huh? Sounds… festive.”

Diana’s lips quirked. “Festive is one word. Some might say depraved. There is wine enough to drown a small village, music that shakes the marble itself, and sisters who forget they were ever warriors. They wrestle in sand, they feast naked beneath the stars, they love as freely as the sea itself.”

Zee choked on her cappuccino. “You’re kidding.”

Diana tilted her head, utterly serious. “Would I?” Then, softer, “But worry not. No sister of mine will touch you unless you wish it. I will be at your side. Always.”

Heat surged up Zatanna’s throat. She fiddled with her spoon, half hiding behind her hair. “You know, most women ease into the whole orgiastic Amazon feast talk somewhere after the third date.”

Diana chuckled, rich and low. “And most women are not me.”

They laughed, falling into a rhythm that felt like they’d been speaking for years rather than hours. Every time Zatanna teased, Diana parried with wit of her own. Every story Zee shared, Diana answered with one that somehow made her feel less small, less inadequate. Somewhere in the laughter, in the warm glow of the café lights, Zatanna forgot she had ever been Constantine’s shadow, or the weakest link in a team of titans.

By the time they stepped out into the night air, the city was hushed, river reflecting neon and starlight alike. Diana walked her home, the quiet between them soft, not awkward. Zatanna’s neighborhood was far from elegant—graffiti-streaked brick, flickering streetlamps, shadows that whispered.

Diana frowned, scanning the alleys as though expecting an ambush. “Next time,” she said firmly, “I will fly you home. I cannot, in good conscience, leave you to such streets.”

Zee rolled her eyes, trying not to grin. “What, and rob me of my street cred? Please. This is prime magician habitat.”

Diana arched a brow. “Then allow me at least the dignity of escorting you to your door.”

They stopped in front of her building, cracked steps leading up to an old wooden door. For a moment, silence stretched again—not uncomfortable, but weighted, charged.

“Zatanna,” Diana said at last, voice low, formal as prayer. “May I kiss you?”

The question stole Zee’s breath. She nodded, blushing so hot she was certain her face would combust.

Diana stepped close, one hand brushing gently against her jaw, tilting her face upward. The kiss was soft, deliberate, as though Diana feared breaking her if she pressed too hard. Warmth bloomed through Zatanna, grounding her more surely than any spell.

When they parted, Diana’s smile was gentle, her forehead resting briefly against Zee’s. “I hope for a second date.”

Zatanna managed a shaky laugh. “Of course there’ll be a next date. You’d have to be cursed to think otherwise.”

“Then until then,” Diana murmured, stepping back with a last touch to her hand. And then, with impossible grace, she lifted into the air, disappearing into the night sky.

Zatanna stood frozen for a moment, heart pounding, before slipping inside her door. And then, alone in the quiet of her apartment hallway, she did a little dance—half spin, half stumble, laughter bubbling out of her.

And of course, because she was Zatanna, she tripped over her own bag and fell flat onto the floor, grinning like a fool. The bronze dove still sat on her dresser, gleaming softly in the dark.

Chapter Text

Zatanna couldn’t remember what the fight had even been about anymore. Something ridiculous, trivial, an ember that caught too easily when both of them were tired and pressed for time. She remembered the flash of Diana’s voice—measured but clipped—and her own, too sharp, too defensive. She remembered saying, Fine, let’s just go to dinner then, since you clearly don’t care what I think, and Diana’s jaw tightening in the way that always made guilt crawl down Zatanna’s throat.

And now here they were, walking side by side into a gleaming Metropolis restaurant, their hands almost brushing but not quite touching, as if the fight still lingered like static between them.

The maître d’ led them to a booth near the wide windows, where Lois Lane and Clark Kent were already seated. The perfect couple. That’s what people whispered about them, what even Zatanna herself had heard in the unguarded chatter of heroes at watchtower meetings. Lois and Clark—steady, dependable, aspirational. They made it look effortless.

Zatanna pasted on a smile that felt brittle as porcelain.

“Zee! Diana!” Lois waved them over warmly, eyes bright in that way that spoke of a thousand deadlines chased and won. Clark stood, all Kansas politeness, giving Diana a nod and Zatanna a slightly bashful grin. He towered even over Diana, but somehow managed to make himself seem unthreatening, shoulders rounded in a way that said I am safe, I am steady.

Zatanna slid into the booth across from Lois, Diana beside her, their thighs touching. The brush of Diana’s warmth should have been grounding. Instead it sent a jitter of nerves spiraling through Zatanna’s chest.

“Hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” Diana said, her voice smooth as polished marble.

“Not at all,” Clark said. “Lois insisted on being early.”

“Early is on time,” Lois quipped, and Clark chuckled in that soft, indulgent way.

Zatanna laughed too, maybe a little too loudly, and immediately regretted it.

 

The menus were heavy in her hands, embossed with gold lettering. She scanned the options without really reading, more aware of the way Lois reached over and casually tucked a strand of hair behind Clark’s ear, like she’d done it a thousand times before, because she had. So natural. So unthinking.

And Zatanna thought about the way she and Diana had snapped at each other an hour ago over whether to teleport to dinner or fly. Teleporting is easier, Zatanna had said. Flying is simpler, Diana had countered, and more reliable. Somehow, they’d made a skirmish out of it.

Now, watching Lois lean into Clark’s side as if no argument had ever existed between them, Zatanna felt small. Young. Mortal. She glanced at Diana from the corner of her eye. Her girlfriend—her girlfriend, God, that word still made her heart leap and stumble—sat impossibly regal even in the modest setting of a Metropolis restaurant booth. Her posture perfect, her profile chiseled like some Renaissance carving. Zatanna had spent her life on stages, dazzling crowds with illusions, but Diana could silence a room simply by existing.

How did Zatanna measure up, sitting here in her tailored black dress that suddenly felt too loud, too glittering against Diana’s simple navy wrap? A magician with too many sequins beside a goddess draped in starlight.

“So,” Lois said brightly, “how long have you two been seeing each other now?”

Zatanna nearly choked on her water.

Diana answered smoothly, unfazed. “A few months.”

Lois’s smile widened, as though she’d already suspected. “That’s wonderful. You two look… happy.”

Happy. Zatanna’s laugh came out strangled. Diana’s hand brushed against hers under the table, tentative. Zatanna wanted to take it, to lace their fingers together in a silent declaration, but instead she tugged her hand back into her lap, pretending to smooth her napkin.

She hated herself for it instantly.

Clark and Lois exchanged a look, subtle but there, the kind of look that carried volumes of unspoken history. He smiled at her with something soft in his eyes, and Lois returned it without missing a beat, like they were tuned to the same frequency.

Zatanna wanted to look away, but couldn’t.

Dinner was ordered. Conversation rolled along—work, the League, the perpetual Metropolis chaos. Diana spoke with the poise of an ambassador, measured words that landed like polished gems on the tablecloth. Zatanna tried to keep pace, throwing in jokes here and there, but each one felt off-balance, a little too eager.

When Lois asked her about a recent show in Gotham, Zatanna lit up, gesturing animatedly as she described the crowd, the tricks, the electricity of the stage. For a moment she felt like herself again—until she saw Diana’s faintly indulgent smile, the kind one gives a child for recounting a school play.

It stung. She drained her wine glass too quickly.

The food arrived. Steaming plates set down with silver cloches lifted, the scents mingling warm and rich. Clark and Lois began eating in perfect tandem, passing salt and pepper wordlessly, nudging each other’s glasses into reach. It was almost comical how seamless they were.

Zatanna tried to cut into her steak and fumbled with the knife, the blade screeching across the plate. She winced. Diana, of course, sliced her meal with effortless grace.

“You’re quiet tonight,” Diana murmured beside her, just low enough for Zatanna alone.

“I’m fine,” Zatanna said, too quickly.

Diana’s brow furrowed faintly, but she let it go. That almost hurt more—that she hadn’t pressed, hadn’t demanded to know what was wrong. As though Zatanna’s inner storm wasn’t worth disturbing dinner over.

Lois was telling a story about chasing down an arms dealer in Metropolis’ Lower East Side. Clark interrupted once to add a detail about the perp’s escape route, and Lois teased him lightly about spoiling the punchline. He flushed, grinning, and she squeezed his hand across the table.

Zatanna felt it like a punch to the gut. They make it look so easy.

Her thoughts spiraled. What do Diana and I have? A few months, a lot of passion, yes—but fights, too. Misunderstandings. She’s a goddess, I’m just… me. What happens when the novelty wears off? When she realizes she could have someone steady, someone who doesn’t stumble over her own insecurities at dinner with friends?

She took another sip of wine. Then another.

Diana was speaking now, recounting a mission in Themyscira. Lois and Clark leaned in, genuinely fascinated. Zatanna tried to listen, but her eyes kept straying to Lois’s hand resting lightly on Clark’s wrist, her thumb tracing absent circles. Such a small, intimate gesture. Something Zatanna couldn’t imagine herself doing in public without second-guessing it to death.

Her chest ached with envy. When Diana finished her story, Lois laughed and said, “See, Clark? You think Metropolis ain't that dangerous.” Clark groaned theatrically, and everyone laughed. Even Zatanna. But her laugh tasted bitter in her mouth.

The night stretched on. Dessert menus arrived, coffee was poured. Conversation mellowed. Zatanna’s mind, however, was anything but calm. Every time she glanced at Diana, she saw not the woman she adored but the space between them. The things unsaid. The fight earlier, the silence in its wake.

She thought of the way Diana had once kissed her in the middle of an argument, silencing words with fire, dragging her into the storm instead of away from it. Passionate, yes. Messy, yes. But not… perfect. Not like Lois and Clark, who seemed to orbit each other with unwavering gravity.

Zatanna wanted to crawl out of her own skin. She excused herself to the restroom halfway through dessert, splashing cool water on her face, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Mascara perfect, lipstick un-smudged, hair still glossy. She looked fine. She looked good. But she didn’t look like Lois Lane, who could sit beside Superman and make it seem like the most natural thing in the world.

She whispered to her reflection, “What are you even doing here?”

The mirror had no answer.

When she returned, Diana’s eyes flicked to her with subtle concern. Zatanna forced a smile. Lois was saying something about weekend plans, Clark nodding along. Zatanna barely heard it. She sat, folding her hands tightly in her lap, counting down the minutes until the check arrived. Finally, the evening wound down. Goodbyes were exchanged. Lois hugged her warmly, Clark shook her hand with earnest politeness. They looked radiant, content, together.

Diana guided Zatanna out with a hand at the small of her back. The gesture was protective, tender, but all Zatanna could think was, They probably never fight on the way to dinners. They probably don’t make scenes in bathrooms. They probably don’t wonder if they’re good enough.

The night air was cool against her flushed cheeks. Diana glanced down at her. “You were quiet tonight.”

Zatanna opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I just… I don’t know if I’m cut out for this.”

Diana’s expression flickered, confusion laced with something wounded. “For what?”

Zatanna didn’t answer. Couldn’t. They walked in silence, the sound of the city rising around them, loud enough to fill all the spaces they couldn’t.

The silence on the cab ride home was unbearable. Zatanna kept her eyes fixed on the blur of Metropolis through the window, pretending she didn’t feel Diana’s steady presence beside her, warm and unreachable all at once. Her fingers curled into fists in her lap. She could still see Lois’s easy smile, Clark’s hand resting casually at the small of her back. Perfect. Effortless. Everything she and Diana weren’t.

By the time they reached her apartment, Zatanna felt brittle, like glass balanced on the edge of a table. She unlocked the door with a sharp flick of her wrist. “Do you want tea, or—”

She didn’t finish. Because Diana’s hands were already on her waist, strong and insistent, pulling her inside before the door even shut. Zatanna gasped, half from surprise, half from the dizzying force of it, and Diana’s mouth was at her throat, hot and desperate. “Diana—”

“You’re infuriating,” Diana murmured against her skin, voice low, breath heavy. “And all I want.”

Zatanna’s back hit the wall, velvet dress riding up as Diana pressed against her. She barely had time to gasp before Diana’s hands slid lower, gripping her thighs with the ease of someone lifting a feather. In one smooth motion she was off the ground, legs wrapping around Diana’s hips, her breath breaking in a startled moan.

“Gods, Zee,” Diana growled, and then with one tug her fishnets split, fabric tearing open under unyielding fingers.

The sound was obscene in the quiet apartment. Zatanna shivered, heat flooding her even as her throat tightened.

“You can’t just—” she started, but her protest dissolved into a gasp when Diana’s mouth found hers, urgent, claiming. Her velvet dress bunched around her waist, forgotten.

It should have been everything she wanted—Diana wanting her, Diana’s strength, Diana’s fire. But the thought slipped in like poison: She deserves someone who doesn’t feel like a stage prop beside her. Someone perfect, steady, not messy, not mortal.

And suddenly, even in the midst of Diana’s hands, Diana’s mouth, Zatanna heard her own voice spill out, sharp and trembling.

“Maybe this isn’t good for us.”

Diana froze. Just for a second. Long enough that Zatanna felt the loss of heat, the weight of her words settling heavy between them.

“What?” Diana pulled back, eyes wide, breath ragged.

Zatanna slid down from her grip, bare feet hitting the floor, her torn fishnets sagging around her thighs. The sight should have been ridiculous. Instead it felt raw, vulnerable, humiliating. She wrapped her arms around herself.

“I mean—look at us,” she said, her voice cracking. “We fight before dinner. We fight during dinner, even if no one else can hear it. And then we come back here and—” She gestured at herself, at Diana, both of them half-undressed, disheveled. “Is this really us? Lust and arguments? Is that what this is?”

Diana’s brows knitted, hurt flashing across her features. “You think this is just lust?”

“I don’t know what to think!” Zatanna’s voice rose, sharp as broken glass. “You’re you, Diana—goddess, warrior, ambassador. And I’m just—” She laughed bitterly. “Some mortal girl who plays with cards and smoke and tries to keep up. Do you know how pathetic I felt tonight? Sitting across from Lois Lane, watching her fit beside Clark like she was made to? And me, trying not to spill wine down my dress.”

Her throat burned. She looked away before the tears could gather.

Diana stepped closer, but Zatanna flinched back, holding up a hand. “Don’t. Please. Because if you touch me again, I’ll forget all of this, and we’ll just… do this cycle again. Fight, make up, break apart, crash back together. It’s messy. And I don’t think I can survive it. Not with you. Not when I…” Her voice faltered, softer now, trembling. “Not when I already feel like I’m falling.”

The words lingered, heavy, unspoken meanings thick between them.

Diana was silent for a long moment. The strength in her frame seemed to soften, shoulders dipping, eyes luminous in the dim light. She reached out—not to pull Zatanna back into her arms, but to cup her cheek gently.

“You are not ‘just’ anything, Zatanna,” she said softly. “But perhaps… perhaps we do need time.”

Zatanna’s lip trembled. She wanted to lean into the touch, to dissolve into it, but instead she held herself still, rigid with fear.

Diana leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, tender, reverent. The kind of kiss that said I see you. I want you. Even if you don’t believe it yet.

Then Diana stepped back. Her expression was composed again, but her eyes betrayed her sadness. She moved to the window, unlatched it with a quiet clink, and turned once more.

“I do not give up easily,” Diana said, her voice low, steady. “But perhaps, for now, space will give us clarity.”

And with that, she was gone, disappearing into the night air with a sweep of wind. Zatanna stood in her apartment, dress askew, fishnets torn, the taste of Diana still lingering on her lips. Her chest ached with the weight of it—passion, doubt, longing, fear.

She pressed her palms to her eyes and whispered, “God, what am I doing?”

The room was silent. Too silent. And she had never felt more alone.

 

The bottle was already half-empty when Zatanna leaned back on her couch and groaned, “I think I ruined everything.”

Dinah Lance tipped her glass toward her, smirking. “Sweetheart, you didn’t ruin everything. You just had a fight with your very shiny, very intimidating girlfriend. Welcome to dating.”

Zatanna scowled into her gin. “She’s not just intimidating, she’s—” She threw her free hand in the air, nearly sloshing the drink. “She’s Diana. She’s statuesque and noble and regal, and when she frowns at me, it feels like I’ve disappointed the entire Greek pantheon.”

Dinah snorted, nearly choking on her sip. “Yeah, well, when Ollie frowns at me, it just looks like his goatee’s mad. Way less pressure.”

Zatanna laughed in spite of herself. It felt good—loose, messy, human.

They’d settled in for what Dinah called a “debrief over booze,” which was just her excuse to pour two tall glasses and demand the whole story. Zatanna had spilled everything: the fight before dinner, the awkward silence at the table, Lois and Clark looking like carved wedding toppers in comparison, the argument back at her apartment. Diana leaving through the window.

“And so now,” Zatanna finished miserably, “she probably thinks I don’t even want this. Which is insane, because I do, I just—”

“You panicked,” Dinah supplied. “Classic Zee.”

“Classic Zee?”

Dinah grinned. “You set a stage on fire once just because you thought the audience wasn’t impressed enough. You panic, you overcompensate. Same thing with love. Especially with a goddess on your arm.”

Zatanna groaned into her hands. Dinah swirled her drink, thoughtful. “Listen. You know how long Ollie and I have been at this?”

“Too long?” Zatanna muttered through her fingers.

“Ha. Very funny.” Dinah nudged her knee. “On and off, nearly a decade, mainly on last few years. Do you have any idea how messy we are? That man drives me up the wall. He’s stubborn, he’s cocky, he forgets anniversaries—hell, one time he literally left me on a rooftop because he thought he heard someone whisper arrow.”

Zatanna raised her head, blinking. “…he what?”

Dinah broke into laughter. “I know! Idiot. But here’s the thing. For every moment he’s insufferable, there’s a moment he’s the reason I breathe easier. He’s passionate. He’s loyal. He’s infuriating and he’s mine. We fight like cats and dogs, but I wouldn’t trade it.”

Zatanna tilted her head, listening despite herself. Dinah’s tone had shifted—still teasing, but layered with something real.

“That’s what you don’t see at the dinner table with Lois and Clark,” Dinah continued. “You see the polish, the after years. Not the messy in-between. You think Lois never wanted to smack Clark with a typewriter? Please. They’re just pros at hiding it. Doesn’t mean they’re perfect. It means they survived the mess.”

Zatanna sat with that. It stirred something warm and cautious inside her chest.

Dinah’s grin returned, sly. “Now, enough of me being your psychiatrist. Let’s get to the real goods.”

Zatanna narrowed her eyes. “…what goods?”

Dinah leaned forward, chin propped on her hand, eyes gleaming. “How’s the mighty Wonder Woman in bed?”

Zatanna choked so hard on her gin she had to grab a napkin. “Dinah!”

“What?” Dinah feigned innocence. “You think I don’t wonder? The woman struts around like a Victoria’s Secret model wielding a sword. Muscular thighs, towering above us. Don’t tell me you don’t spend half your nights walking funny. Does she use a strap?”

“Dinah!” Zatanna’s cheeks burned scarlet.

“Oh come on.” Dinah waggled her brows. “Is she a tender lover? A feral goddess? Both? Spill it. She must be very good, an island of women, you must go on a break there. I bet they'll all devour you.”

Zatanna pressed her glass to her forehead. “Why are we friends.”

“Because I’m the only one shameless enough to ask the questions everyone else is thinking.”

There was no escaping. Zatanna knew it. She sighed, cheeks hot, and muttered, “She’s… both.”

Dinah blinked. “Both?”

Zatanna swallowed. “She’s the most gentle lover I’ve ever had. And also the most… dominant. She knows exactly what she wants, and exactly how to make sure I’m not just along for the ride. She’s… she’s everything.”

Silence fell for a beat. Dinah whistled low. “Damn. No wonder you’re blushing like a schoolgirl. Gentle and dominant? That’s like… cheat codes unlocked.”

Zatanna buried her face in her hands.

“And tell me,” Dinah added mischievously, “does she have a thing for fishnets? Because, you know, solidarity. If Ollie and I ever implode, I need to know if Diana’s open to a lateral move.”

Zatanna peeked through her fingers, horrified. “You did not just say that.”

Dinah’s grin was wicked. “I did. And you know she probably does. Woman practically ripped them off you with her bare hands, didn’t she?”

Zatanna’s blush deepened. Which was an answer in itself.

Dinah whooped with laughter, clinking her glass against Zatanna’s. “Knew it. Fishnets: undefeated.”

 

The laughter died down eventually, replaced by a comfortable hum between them. Zatanna sipped slowly, her earlier nerves softened by alcohol and Dinah’s relentless irreverence.

“You really think we can make it?” she asked quietly. “Me and her? Even with all the mess?”

Dinah leaned back, eyes fond despite the smirk tugging her lips. “Zee, messy is what makes it worth it. Passion, fights, sex, forgiveness, love—it’s all part of the same ride. You and Diana? You’ve got fire. And if you’ve got fire and love, you’ve already got more than most people ever find.”

Zatanna’s chest loosened, just a little. She managed a smile. Dinah raised her glass. “To messy love.”

Zatanna clinked hers against it. “To messy love.”

And for the first time since Diana walked out that window, Zatanna felt hope spark again, small but real, flickering bright against the dark.

 

Zatanna didn’t expect Diana to knock. She thought if her girlfriend—ex-girlfriend? almost-ex?—ever came back, it would be through the window again, all dramatic cape and moonlight. But there it was. A knock. Firm, steady, polite. Zatanna hesitated before opening the door. Her heart thundered as she pulled it wide.

Diana stood there, impossibly composed in a simple blouse and slacks, but her eyes betrayed the storm beneath. “May I come in?”

Zatanna nodded mutely, stepping aside.

 

They sat on the couch, inches apart. The silence stretched until Diana finally broke it.

“I spoke with Donna,” she said softly. “I thought… her perspective might help me understand.”

Zatanna blinked. “Donna?”

“My sister,” Diana explained. Her voice warmed as she said the name. “She and Koriand’r have been together for years now. And they are… hardly perfect.”

Zatanna raised a brow.

Diana almost smiled. “They fight. Loudly. Donna complains about Kori’s impulsiveness, about her constant need for adventure. Kori complains about Donna’s stubborn streak. And yet—” She paused, eyes faraway. “And yet, when they stand together, the love they share is so fierce it humbles me. Donna said something that struck me: that love is not the absence of struggle. Love is choosing each other despite the struggle. Again and again.”

The words sank deep into Zatanna’s chest. Diana turned to her, eyes steady. “And so, Zatanna Zatara, I want you to know: I am no quitter. I do not give up on those I love. And I love you.”

Zatanna’s breath caught. The words seemed to echo in the room, vibrating through her bones. She stared, wide-eyed, her mouth dry. “You… you love me?”

Diana’s hand reached for hers, trembling only slightly. “Yes. I love you. And I want to fight for you—for us. Even when it is messy. Especially then.”

Tears burned Zatanna’s eyes, hot and unbidden. She laughed, shaky, covering her mouth with her free hand. “God, you pick now to drop that?”

Diana’s smile curved, tender. “When else?”

Zatanna threw her arms around her, burying her face against Diana’s shoulder. “I love you too. I’ve been terrified to say it, but—God, I do. I love you.”

They clung to each other for a long while. When they finally eased back, Diana cupped her cheek. “Tell me your fears. No masks, no evasions.”

Zatanna bit her lip. But she had asked for this. She forced the words out. “I’m mortal. You’re not. You’re… eternal, Diana. And me? I’ll age, I’ll wrinkle, I’ll fade. And even before that—what if you wake up one day and realize I’m not enough? Not steady enough, not good enough? What then?”

Her voice cracked. “I don’t think I could survive you walking away.”

Diana’s expression softened, but her eyes gleamed with something fierce. “And do you think I do not fear? I am strong, Zee. Too strong. Every time I hold you, there is a part of me afraid I will hurt you. That I will break something fragile and precious without meaning to. Do you know how terrifying it is to want someone so much, and to fear that your love is a weapon against them?”

Zatanna’s heart twisted. She reached up, tracing Diana’s jaw with trembling fingers. “You’re not a weapon. You’re my miracle.”

Diana leaned into the touch, eyes shining. And then Zatanna, through the tears, blurted, “Besides, if you crushed my head between your thighs while riding my face, I’d die happy.”

Diana froze. Then blinked. Then, to Zatanna’s shock, laughed—full-bodied, unguarded, like thunder rolling across the sky.

Zatanna, red-faced, groaned into her hands. “Why did I say that out loud?”

“Because it is true,” Diana teased, still laughing, her cheeks flushed.

“You’re impossible,” Zatanna muttered, but she was grinning now too, her embarrassment wrapped in relief.

 

The laughter faded into something quieter, something hungrier. Diana leaned forward, brushing her lips over Zatanna’s, slow at first, then deeper. Zatanna melted, her arms sliding around Diana’s neck, pulling her close.

The kiss turned feverish quickly, the kind of kiss that carried every unsaid word, every fear turned into fire. Zatanna tugged at Diana’s blouse, impatient, and Diana answered by sweeping her up with ease, carrying her toward the bedroom.

Clothes scattered like confessions. Skin met skin. For once, there was no holding back, no silence, no fear left unspoken. Just passion, messy and overwhelming, threaded through with the sharp ache of love.

Zatanna’s last coherent thought, as Diana’s lips trailed down her body and her laughter tangled with moans, was that Dinah had been right: messy was what made it worth it.

And she wouldn’t trade it for perfect. Not for anything.

Chapter Text

Zatanna had never imagined her life would look like this.

Not in the quiet after the storm, not after that night when she’d shoved Diana away, telling herself it was safer, easier, inevitable — that a mortal could never keep hold of a goddess. She had expected their love to burn itself out like one of her stage pyrotechnics: brilliant, blinding, and gone. She hadn’t thought they’d ever find the rhythm of something gentler, something that lasted.

And yet here she was, standing barefoot in the kitchen of a sprawling brownstone in Washington, D.C., her hair in a messy knot, an old tee shirt hanging off one shoulder, while pasta simmered on the stove.

Their brownstone was only a few streets from the Themysciran Embassy — close enough that Diana could fulfill her ambassadorial duties, but tucked on a quiet block that felt almost ordinary. They had a balcony that overlooked a line of oaks, a study full of Diana’s scrolls and artifacts, and Zatanna’s magic texts stacked in corners like neglected towers. There was a scratch on the banister from when John Constantine had drunkenly stumbled into it during a rare visit, and a single long claw-mark down the living room couch from their cat, Athena, who was currently curled on the windowsill, her golden eyes watching everything with imperious disinterest.

It was domestic. It was ridiculous. It was, somehow, theirs.

“Smells wonderful,” Diana’s voice floated in from the doorway.

Zatanna glanced over her shoulder. There she was, filling the frame as though the house itself had been built too small for her. Diana wore loose grey sweats and a tank top, her dark hair pulled into a low braid. She looked nothing like the Amazonian princess who had once arrived at the House of Mystery in gleaming armor, declaring in that steady, resonant voice why she needed their help. And yet, Zatanna thought, her heart skipping — she was still that woman, still radiant, still overwhelming.

“You’re supposed to be sitting down,” Zatanna said, flicking her wrist. A wooden spoon stirred the sauce on its own. “Not prowling.”

“I like prowling.” Diana stepped closer, barefoot, eyes glinting. “Especially when I can watch my beautiful sorceress work.”

Zatanna snorted, heat curling in her stomach despite herself. “Careful. Keep flattering me and I’ll over-salt the sauce.”

“Then I’ll eat it gladly, and ask for more.”

It was so easy now, their bickering softened into play. A year ago, their arguments had been sharp, dangerous — a minefield of insecurities. Zatanna pushing Diana away before she could be left. Diana, terrified of being too much, trying to control her strength, her needs. They’d nearly broken on that fault line. Sometimes, in the quiet, Zatanna still felt the ghost of it — that night when Diana had kissed her forehead and walked away through the window, wings of resolve carrying her into the dark.

But Diana had come back. And more than that, she had stayed.

Zatanna turned back to the stove, trying to hide her face in the steam. It didn’t help; Diana crossed the kitchen and slipped her arms around her from behind, strong and certain, pressing a kiss into the curve of her shoulder.

“You’re distracting me,” Zatanna murmured, though she leaned back into the embrace.

“That is my intention.” Diana’s voice was warm, edged with amusement. “I fought hydras with less stubbornness than you have about stirring a pot.”

Zatanna laughed, low and helpless. “You’re impossible.”

Athena, the cat, stretched luxuriously on the sill, flicking her tail as if to agree.

They swayed a little in the kitchen, the pasta forgotten for a moment, the domestic hum of their life settling around them like a spell. Zatanna thought of her old apartment in Metropolis, small and drafty, of the loneliness that had hung over her after Constantine. She thought of the House of Mystery, where she had often felt the weakest link among titans and monsters. And then she thought of this: Diana’s heartbeat at her back, the scent of basil and garlic in the air, a home that actually felt like home.

The realization slipped into her chest so quietly it almost undid her: I could live like this forever.

But forever meant something very different to her than it did to Diana. For Zatanna, forever was maybe fifty more years, if she was lucky. For Diana, forever was literal. Eternal. Immovable. And it terrified her.

She gripped the spoon a little too tightly. “You know,” she said softly, “if I’d known dating an Amazon princess meant pasta night every week, I might’ve signed up sooner.”

Diana chuckled, the sound rich against her skin. “Then I should be grateful you were patient enough to find me at last.”

Zatanna blinked rapidly at the sting behind her eyes. Patient. That wasn’t what she felt. She felt like she was racing against time, like every ordinary evening was a bead on a string she wanted desperately to keep from snapping. But she swallowed it back, leaned into Diana’s chest, and let herself pretend, for tonight, that forever was theirs.

 

The sunlight crept through the tall windows of their bedroom, spilling gold across the rumpled sheets where Zatanna and Diana lay entangled, limbs and hearts intertwined. Athena, their black cat, had claimed a warm patch of carpet at the foot of the bed, one paw draped over the other, eyes half-closed in judgmental serenity.

Zatanna’s head rested against Diana’s broad chest, her hair spilling across Diana’s shoulder like ink on parchment. She felt the steady beat of Diana’s heart under her cheek, the way her arms wrapped around her with a possessive gentleness that could crush as easily as it could cradle. Naked, they were a study in contrasts — the mortal and the immortal, the supple sorceress and the goddess with the power to bend the world. And yet, somehow, there was no imbalance here, no danger except the one she always carried in the fragile calculus of her own fears.

“Mmm… stay,” Diana whined, her voice low and husky, muffled by the curve of Zatanna’s hair. She shifted, tugging Zatanna closer, the weight of her body warm and unyielding. “Please… don’t get up yet. Not yet. I… I need you here.”

Zatanna pressed a kiss into the skin at the hollow of Diana’s throat, letting her lips linger. She felt the goddess shiver against her, felt the tension in her shoulders, the desire that wasn’t just for sex but for closeness, for time stolen from a world that rarely offered them peace.

“You’re adorable,” Zatanna murmured, letting a hand trace lazy circles across Diana’s chest. Her fingers lingered at the curve of her ribs, teasing the skin just enough to make Diana groan and cling harder. “Do you know that? Whining like a child just to make me stay in bed. Honestly, you’re insufferable, but in the best possible way.”

“I… I’m serious,” Diana said, voice thick with want and something like fear, though she didn’t name it. “I want to hold you. All morning. All day, if I could. I… hate being apart.”

Zatanna smiled softly, burying her face against Diana again. She could hear her own heartbeat, irregular and alive, and she imagined it mirrored in Diana’s chest. “I know,” she whispered. “And I want to, too. I just… sometimes, I think about forever, and it terrifies me. You’re immortal, Diana. I’m not. I keep thinking about… everything. All the years I’ll live and you’ll keep going, and…”

Diana tightened her arms around her, silencing the words with a tender pressure. “Shh,” she said. Her lips brushed Zatanna’s hair. “Don’t think like that. I love you. I don’t care about your years, or mine, or the difference between us. I care about the time we have. Right now, here, with you. That’s what matters.”

Zatanna lifted her head slightly to meet Diana’s eyes, soft and infinite, but tinged with impatience — an imperfection in perfection that made her chest ache. “But… what if you’d rather spend forever with another Amazon? With your sisters, your people? With someone who… doesn’t…” Her words faltered, and she shook her head. “I’m mortal. I’m…”

“You’re everything I want,” Diana interrupted, almost fiercely. Her hands cupped Zatanna’s face, thumbs brushing over her cheeks. “I don’t care if you’re mortal. I don’t care about any of that. I don’t want any other Amazon. I want you. Every day I have, I want it with you.”

Zatanna’s breath caught. She had built up a fortress of fears over months of loving Diana — fears of being left behind, fears of inadequacy, fears of eternity itself. And here, lying naked and trembling against the strength of a goddess, she felt the walls crack, melt.

“But… forever is a long time, Diana,” she admitted, voice trembling. “And what if you get tired of me? What if the centuries make me… nothing compared to what you are?”

Diana laughed softly, a low, musical sound that vibrated against Zatanna’s chest. “I’ve spent millennia learning that nothing lasts forever,” she said. “We’re heroes, Zee. We fight. We bleed. We die. Anything could happen tomorrow. And yet… here you are. I’m not thinking about centuries. I’m thinking about this morning. About the warmth of your body against mine. About the sound of your voice and the taste of your skin and the feel of your fingers.”

Zatanna let a shiver run through her as Diana pressed a kiss to her temple. The weight of the goddess’ body pinned her softly but firmly against the mattress. “I just… I don’t know if I’m enough,” she admitted in a whisper. “For you, for… everything. I’m fragile. I’m mortal. I…”

“You’re perfect,” Diana said, interrupting again, but gently, this time. “Perfect for me. Fragile doesn’t mean weak. You’re stronger than you think. You carry so much of yourself and still give yourself to me every day. I see it. I see you. And I love every piece of you.”

The words settled over Zatanna, warm and tangible, like a spell stronger than any she had cast. She buried her face against Diana’s neck again, closing her eyes, letting herself feel the truth in them. She could live forever with Diana, she realized. She could bear the weight of difference, of time, because Diana had chosen her, over and over, despite herself, despite the universe.

Diana shifted slightly, tugging Zatanna fully onto her chest, their naked bodies pressing together, skin against skin. “You belong here,” she murmured, voice husky. “With me. Always.”

Zatanna let out a shuddering laugh, half from relief, half from the ridiculous, intimate perfection of the moment. “You’re making it very hard for me to leave the bed today,” she said, voice soft, teasing.

“That’s the idea,” Diana said, smiling against her hair. She pressed a kiss to the crown of Zatanna’s head and let her fingers wander over her back, over the curve of her hips, the dip of her waist. “Stay with me. Just a little longer. Let the world wait. Let the heroes wait. Let Athena… whatever she’s doing, wait.”

Zatanna reached down, brushing her fingers along the black cat’s fur where it stretched lazily at the foot of the bed. Athena purred, unbothered, as if she understood the sacredness of this domestic chaos — the mortal and immortal together, tangled in sheets, tangled in life, tangled in each other.

They talked in soft murmurs, sharing thoughts that had nowhere to go but here, between the warmth of their bodies. Zatanna admitted, with trembling honesty, the lingering fears that haunted her: that Diana might outlast her, that she might tire, that the gap between mortal and god might become unbridgeable. And Diana responded with nothing but assurance, nothing but devotion. Every syllable, every touch, every kiss said: I choose you. Always.

Hours passed. Sunlight shifted across the room, warming their skin, and they remained, naked and entwined, bodies pressed together in a delicate, infinite rhythm. Diana occasionally whined for more attention, more closeness, more soft, unhurried intimacy, and Zatanna called her adorable each time. They laughed, they whispered, they clung to one another as if the world outside, the danger outside, and the infinity of Diana’s life outside could not touch this room.

Eventually, Zatanna let herself fully relax, her fears subsumed in the warmth and strength of Diana’s arms. She thought, not for the first time, that forever might not be so frightening if it could be spent like this: naked, unguarded, safe, loved.

And Diana held her closer, kissed the crown of her head, and whispered, “Forever doesn’t scare me. And it doesn’t scare me that it scares you. I’ll stay. Here. With you. Always.”

Zatanna smiled, a slow, genuine curve of lips that warmed the heart in ways words could not. “I… I love you,” she said, the words heavy with relief and longing.

“And I love you,” Diana replied, voice low and steady, a promise and a vow. “More than all the stars in all the skies. More than the centuries. More than the world.”

Athena twitched a paw at their feet as if approving, and somewhere in the quiet, the day waited for them, but for now, they stayed in the bed, naked, intertwined, mortal and goddess, heartbeat to heartbeat, fear to devotion, love to love, infinite in their fragile, sacred present.

Zatanna let out a long sigh, letting herself sink into Diana completely, letting the warmth, the strength, the certainty wash over her. This is forever, she thought. And for the first time, it didn’t frighten her.

They stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s arms, as the world began to turn beyond the windows, as Athena purred, as light spilled gold across the bed. And they did not move, because for once, nothing else mattered.

 

When Diana told her she had a surprise, Zatanna had not expected to end up in Greece. Not the tourist-trampled postcard of Greece, not the postcard beaches with bars and neon lights, but a place older, more private, steeped in myth and memory. They had flown together — Diana carrying her across the sky with the ease of a goddess and the stubborn joy of a woman proud to share her home.

The island was small, tucked away from all human eyes. It shimmered with a beauty that felt almost unreal. Years ago, Diana had fought here — a brutal battle with Circe that had left the land wounded, poisoned, and barren. Now, under Diana’s hand and the slow healing of nature, it was alive again: flowers tumbling across the hillsides, olive trees heavy with green, and beaches that glowed under moonlight. Zatanna stood at the edge of the surf, hand laced with Diana’s, and whispered, “It’s like stepping into one of your myths.”

Diana only smiled, her eyes soft and shining. “This island once held pain. I wanted you to see it healed. I wanted to show you that beauty can grow from scars.”

Zatanna’s heart clenched at that. She kissed her, briefly, before Diana guided her inland, through olive groves and along a worn path that led to a cave carved into the cliffs. Torches lined the entrance, flames flickering against stone. And waiting for them — impossibly, unmistakably — were Hippolyta and Philippus.

Zatanna froze. Her breath stilled in her chest. Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, stood tall and radiant, her golden hair braided back, her bearing commanding but softened by the warmth in her eyes. At her side, Philippus was power incarnate — all muscle and poise, with the kind of body that looked sculpted by gods who had been in a particularly indulgent mood. Zatanna’s cheeks burned before she could help it.

“Mother,” Diana said, with a bow of her head. “And you, Mother Philippus.” Her voice was reverent, but threaded with something vulnerable, childlike.

Hippolyta’s eyes flicked to Zatanna and softened further. “So this is the woman who has captured my daughter’s heart.”

Zatanna swallowed hard. “Yes, Your Majesty. I—uh—hello.” She winced at how mortal she sounded, awkward and small under their gazes.

Philippus tilted her head, a smile playing at her lips. “She blushes like a girl caught in the bathhouse.”

Zatanna wanted to die on the spot. Diana squeezed her hand, suppressing laughter.

Hippolyta stepped forward, regal but gentle. “There is no need for nerves, Zatanna Zatara. You are welcome here. Tonight, you will join Diana in the Trial of Truth — an Amazonian ritual of honesty and devotion. We will be your guides.”

Philippus added, her voice smooth as carved marble, “And by tradition, you must enter as you did life — with no armor, no illusions, no cloth between you and the world. Strip. Both of you.”

Zatanna blinked. “I’m sorry—what?”

Diana was already unlacing her gown, utterly unbothered, her body bathed in torchlight like living sculpture. Zatanna’s mouth went dry. Hippolyta and Philippus disrobed as well, their forms statuesque, powerful, unashamed. Zatanna’s brain, already overwhelmed, stuttered somewhere between awe and inappropriate ogling.

“You—” she stammered, eyes darting helplessly between the three Amazons. “You all look like… gods.”

Diana smirked, pulling Zatanna’s last piece of clothing away with teasing fingers. “We are Amazons, beloved. All Amazons look like gods.”

Zatanna muttered, “Some more godlike than others,” and immediately regretted it when Philippus chuckled knowingly.

Together, they entered the cave. The air was cool, damp, glowing with something unearthly. Pools of luminescent water shone beneath the rock, casting rippling light across the walls. Hippolyta and Philippus moved with ceremonial grace, but Zatanna’s focus was entirely on Diana — Diana’s hand in hers, Diana’s steady presence, Diana’s calm reassurance.

They waded into the water. Zatanna settled in Diana’s lap, legs wrapped around her, skin pressed close, the water lapping at their shoulders. Naked, trembling, and yet somehow safe, she leaned into Diana’s embrace.

Hippolyta’s voice echoed in the cave. “The Trial of Truth is simple. Each of you will speak three things: a truth you have never told, a fear you have carried, and a vow of devotion. Speak honestly, or the water itself will turn against you.”

Zatanna swallowed. The water shimmered, luminous and patient. She felt Diana’s steady breath at her neck. “Do you want me to go first?” she whispered.

Diana nodded.

Zatanna closed her eyes. “A truth I’ve never told anyone,” she began, her voice small. “I… always thought I was unlovable. That no matter what I did, I’d be too much or not enough. A performer’s daughter, a magician’s trick. I’ve… lived with that shadow my whole life.”

Diana’s arms tightened around her, but she let Zatanna continue.

“My fear…” Zatanna hesitated, then shook her head. “Not my mortality — you already know that one. No. My real fear is that I’ll let my insecurities destroy us. That I’ll push you away when I want nothing more than to cling to you.” She took a breath, steadying herself. “And my vow — I vow to work on that. To keep fighting my demons. And… I vow to give you what you want most. I vow to make us a family. To give you a daughter.”

Diana stilled beneath her. Then, softly: “How… how did you know?”

Zatanna smiled through her nerves, turning in Diana’s arms to face her fully. “Because I see you. I see how you look at children in the park. How your voice softens when you tell stories to the little ones at the embassy. I see the way your eyes linger… and I remember what you said once. That you wished our daughter would inherit my eyes. How could I not know?”

Diana’s breath caught. For a moment, the cave seemed to pulse with the intensity of the silence, the glowing water reflecting the rawness in their faces.

“My truth,” Diana said finally, voice low. “I have always feared that one day, the years would make me cold. That immortality would strip me of warmth, and I would grow alone, unfeeling, unworthy of love.”

Zatanna’s hands cupped her face immediately, fiercely. “Never,” she whispered. “Not you. Never you.”

“My fear,” Diana continued, her voice trembling now, “is that I will lose you. That one day I will wake, and you will be gone, and the world will continue without your light. That eternity will stretch empty before me.”

Zatanna kissed her, soft and desperate. “I’m here. I’m here now.”

“And my vow,” Diana said, breaking only to rest her forehead against Zatanna’s, “is to cherish you for every day we are given. To honor you, to protect you, to never let pride or fear steal from us the love we’ve built. I vow… to never choose eternity over you.”

The water shimmered around them, glowing brighter, warm as if approving.

Hippolyta’s voice rang out: “The Trial of Truth is complete. You have spoken with honesty, with fear, with love. May your bond be blessed by the gods and by your mothers.”

Philippus’s eyes softened as she regarded them. “You are family now. Ours as well as each other’s.”

Zatanna leaned into Diana, trembling, overwhelmed, but also… at peace. The honesty between them, raw and unflinching, had carved something stronger than any spell, stronger than any fear.

As they rose from the glowing water, dripping and bare, Diana’s hand in hers, Zatanna thought: This is it. This is forever.

 

The cave had left her dizzy — not in a bad way, but in the way of standing too close to a bonfire, heart seared and lungs raw. The glow of the Trial still clung to her skin, the vow echoing inside her like a bell. By the time Hippolyta and Philippus guided them back toward the great hall carved into the island cliffs, Zatanna’s legs felt more like air than bone.

Dinner was waiting. A long stone table, its surface worn smooth by centuries of use, was set with roasted lamb, olives gleaming in oil, figs spilling from carved bowls, and a wine that caught the torchlight in deep ruby glints. It smelled like earth and warmth, like something holy and human all at once.

They were not dressed for courtly feasts. After the ritual, garments had been provided: simple Amazonian wraps of white and pale blue, knotted at the shoulder, leaving arms and legs bare. Zatanna felt underdressed, more exposed than she ever had walking a stage in sequins and fishnets. Diana, on the other hand, looked utterly at home, her long arm never leaving Zatanna’s waist.

Zee leaned close, whispering, “Your arm’s glued to me.”

Diana’s lips brushed her ear, amused. “Where else would it be?”

She flushed, trying to hide it by pouring wine. Across the table, Hippolyta watched with a small, knowing smile, and Philippus’ eyes glittered with quiet humor.

The Queen of the Amazons did not waste time with politics or ceremony. Instead, she reached for the figs, placed one delicately on Zatanna’s plate, and said, “Your hair, child. Why do you straighten it so much? It wishes to curl, I can see it fighting to free itself.”

Zatanna nearly choked on her sip of wine. “My—my hair?”

“Yes,” Hippolyta said serenely, lifting her own braid as if to make her point. “These curls are beautiful things. You should let them be. And these—” she brushed a fingertip near Zatanna’s forehead “—your bangs, yes? Diana tells me that is the word? They hide your face. Why hide?”

Zatanna blinked, utterly disarmed. “I… never had my hair critiqued by a queen before.”

Philippus smirked. “Oh, she does it to everyone. You should have heard the lecture I received about keeping mine cropped short.”

Hippolyta ignored the jab with grace only centuries of practice could muster. “I am simply saying, you have a face the world deserves to see. Do not mask it with fashion’s fuss.”

Diana squeezed Zatanna’s side gently, her laughter barely contained. “See, beautiful? I told you she would like you.”

Zatanna hissed, “You set me up for a hair intervention?”

But she couldn’t stop her smile. It was impossible not to feel the warmth in the room, the way Hippolyta’s critique came not as a queen’s judgment but as a mother’s fussy affection. And perhaps more unsettling, the way Diana sat beside her — and when Zatanna looked from Diana to Hippolyta, the resemblance was undeniable. The same strong jaw, the same proud posture, the same way their presence filled the room like sunlight.

Zatanna leaned into Diana’s arm, whispering, “God, you really are your mother’s daughter.”

Diana kissed her temple softly. “Is that praise or complaint?”

“A little of both,” she admitted, smiling into her wineglass.

Conversation rolled forward, surprisingly easy. Philippus teased Diana about her stubbornness in training as a child, recounting a story of how she once tried to lift a boulder twice her size and sulked for a week when she couldn’t. Hippolyta corrected details with regal precision, while Diana groaned and buried her face in Zatanna’s shoulder.

At some point, Hippolyta reached again across the table, not as queen but as mother, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Zatanna’s ear. Her touch was unexpectedly tender. “You belong here,” she said softly. “Do you feel it?”

Zatanna’s throat tightened. She did. Against every piece of logic she’d carried into this, she felt it. The table, the food, the laughter, Diana’s arm never letting her go — it all felt like home.

She cleared her throat. “I’m starting to.”

Diana pressed a kiss to her hair, her voice low. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

And Zatanna thought, not for the first time that night, I’m never letting go. Not the vow of glowing waters, not the ritual stripped bare — but here, with family, with food, with warmth, with love’s arm never moving away.

 

The sea was quiet that night, calmer than Zatanna had ever seen it. The waves lapped against the sand like the measured breath of some ancient god, silvered under the spill of moonlight. After dinner, Diana had taken her hand without a word, leading her down from the torchlit cliffs to the shore. The sand was cool under their bare feet, their Amazonian wraps fluttering in the night breeze.

For a while they walked in silence, shoulders brushing, Zatanna leaning into the comfort of Diana’s presence. Behind them, the glow of firelight faded until it was only the two of them, framed by stars and water.

Diana finally broke the quiet. “They like you.”

Zatanna turned her head, a little startled. “Your mothers?”

“Yes.” A faint smile tugged at Diana’s lips. “I could see it in the way they spoke to you. Philippus does not laugh easily. And my mother… well, her fussing about your hair is how she shows affection. If she had not approved, she would have been all polite courtesy.”

Zatanna let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, kicking at the tide foam. “So the hair lecture was… good?”

“The best.” Diana’s hand brushed hers, fingers interlacing. “I am glad. Their blessing means much to me, but—” she squeezed Zatanna’s hand gently “—I would have chosen you regardless.”

Zatanna’s chest tightened. She tried to laugh it off, but her voice came soft, almost fragile. “I just… I wish my dad could’ve seen you. I think… I think he would’ve liked you.”

Diana stopped walking, tugging her gently to face her. Her eyes, blue as the midnight tide, softened. “I would have liked to meet him. He gave the world you. That alone earns him my gratitude.”

Zatanna swallowed, the lump in her throat harder than expected. “He always wanted me to be happy. To have someone who really… saw me. I think he would’ve been proud of this.”

“I know he would have.” Diana’s thumb brushed her knuckles, warm and grounding. “And wherever he is, he sees it still.”

They stood like that for a while, waves pooling at their ankles. Then Diana tilted her head, expression thoughtful. “Do you truly wish for children?”

The question hung in the salt air, not sharp but heavy. Zatanna blinked, then let out a small laugh. “Wow. You don’t waste time, do you?”

Diana arched a brow, smiling faintly. “It is not a question to waste time on.”

Zee looked out over the moonlit horizon, her heart racing. “Yeah. I do. I mean… I’d love that. To have a tiny Amazon running around. An Amazon and a magician—gods, that kid could destroy the world if they wanted.” She smirked, then sighed, softer. “But I think they’d make it brighter instead.”

Diana’s expression gentled, the lines of her face lit in silver. “You imagine it, then?”

“More than I should.” Zatanna looked back at her, unable to help the shy smile. “You’d be an amazing mother, Diana. You already are, in the way you are with every child you meet. I’ve seen you in the park. You kneel, you listen, like their words are as sacred as any prayer. You’ve got this way of… wanting the world safe for them. And I want to see that. I want to be part of that.”

Diana’s eyes glistened. She drew Zatanna closer, resting her forehead against hers. “I want that with you. Not with anyone else. With you.”

For a moment, words fled. There was only the rhythm of the tide, the warmth of their breath mingling, the fierce truth pulsing between them.

Zatanna let her hands rest against Diana’s chest, over the steady beat of her heart. “Forever still terrifies me,” she whispered. “But if forever means this—this walk, this dream, this chance—then maybe I can be brave enough to want it.”

Diana kissed her then, slow and tender, the kind of kiss that seemed to write vows on the skin. When they parted, Diana’s smile carried both promise and play. “Then we should begin practicing,” she teased.

Zatanna laughed, the sound ringing over the waves, her fear easing just enough to let in joy. “Gods, you’re impossible.”

“And yours,” Diana answered simply, pulling her into another kiss as the sea whispered eternal secrets at their feet.

The waves were still whispering when Diana drew Zatanna further up the sand, away from the tide’s reach. They stopped beneath a rocky outcropping where the moonlight pooled like silver wine, the stars scattered above as though they, too, had gathered for witness.

Zatanna was about to make another joke about their hypothetical child—how an Amazon-magician toddler would probably hex the family cat into speaking fluent Greek—when she realized Diana’s hand was trembling. Not with weakness, but with something taut and unspoken.

“Diana?”

The Amazon’s gaze was fixed on her, luminous in the night. Her voice, when it came, was low but steady. “There is a ritual… older than the temples, older than the wars. Rarely practiced, because our ways do not bind love. We live freely, we part freely, we return freely. But there exists one vow greater than that freedom. A vow of partnership, of choosing.”

Zatanna’s heart began to pound, heat rising in her chest. “You’re saying…”

“I am saying,” Diana interrupted gently, “that though Amazons do not wed as your people do, we may bind ourselves in soul. It is not a chain, not ownership—it is a promise, witnessed by the earth and the sky, that one has chosen another above all others. Not for eternity, for eternity belongs to the gods. But for life.”

Her hands came up, cupping Zatanna’s cheeks, thumbs brushing away the sudden sting of tears before they could fall. Diana’s eyes burned bright, more earnest than Zee had ever seen them.

“Zatanna Zatara,” she said, voice thick with reverence. “Magician of wonder, daughter of love and loss, woman who has fought beside me and held me in her arms when I faltered. I would ask you—before the sea, before the stars, before the memory of my mothers—that you be my partner in life. My chosen. My heart.”

The words crashed over Zatanna like the tide, sweeping her legs out from under her. For a moment she could only stare, lips trembling, vision blurring. Her chest felt too small to contain everything—her joy, her terror, her aching relief.

“Diana,” she breathed, her voice breaking. “Gods, you can’t just—say things like that—” She laughed through the tears, shaking her head, then threw her arms around the Amazon, burying her face in her shoulder. “Yes. Yes, of course, yes. There’s no universe where I’d say no to you.”

Diana exhaled, a sound that was almost a laugh, almost a sob. Her arms wrapped around Zatanna with crushing strength, lifting her clean off the sand before spinning her once in sheer, unrestrained joy. When she set her down, she pressed their foreheads together, smiling through her own tears.

“Then it is done,” Diana whispered. “The stars bear witness. The sea bears witness. You are mine, and I am yours. Not bound, but chosen.”

Zatanna touched her face, still laughing and crying all at once. “Chosen. God, Diana, you make me sound like I actually believe in happy endings.”

“Then let us make one,” Diana said simply, kissing her, sealing the vow in salt and starlight.

And there, on that quiet shore, with Athena the cat surely waiting impatiently somewhere back at their borrowed chambers, Zatanna let herself believe it. That this—this impossible love, this warrior and magician, this vow made in the language of the ancients—could last.

Forever, or however long they were given.

 

The walk back from the shoreline was quieter than the walk down had been. The tide whispered behind them, the moon silvered their shadows ahead, and Diana’s hand never once let go of Zatanna’s. Zee kept glancing sideways, half in disbelief at the radiant, tear-streaked warrior who had just asked her to be her partner in life. The word yes still echoed in her chest like a heartbeat.

When they reached the temple-chambers where Hippolyta and Philippus waited, the firelight spilling from within felt more like a hearth than a throne room. Both women rose as they entered. Hippolyta—regal in her age, tall and proud, her hair streaked with white—regarded them first with curiosity, then with a softened expression that was almost maternal pride. Philippus stood beside her, arms folded, eyes sharp but warm.

“You return changed,” Hippolyta said, her voice deep with knowing.

Diana inclined her head. “We do.”

Zatanna, still half breathless, half terrified, managed a small bow. “Good evening, Your Maj—Hippolyta.”

Philippus’s lips quirked, the closest she came to a grin. “Better.”

Diana squeezed Zatanna’s hand once before stepping forward. “We seek recognition. Not in the eyes of Olympus, nor of Man’s World, but in the eyes of Themyscira. A vow was spoken beneath the stars. It must be sealed.”

At that, Hippolyta’s gaze turned to Zatanna. Not a queen’s gaze, but a mother’s. “Then come forward, daughter.”

The word nearly buckled Zee’s knees. She swallowed hard and obeyed.

Between them on a low table lay two objects, carefully set atop a folded crimson cloth. One, Zatanna recognized instantly: a woven choker, black and glimmering, its diamond pattern unmistakably reminiscent of her own fishnets. The second made her breath catch. It was a band of golden leather, aged but gleaming, with subtle tracery worn into its surface—history itself woven into its fibers.

Diana lifted it with reverence, her voice hushed. “This is from my mother’s girdle, once stolen by Hercules, reclaimed by the Amazons, and gifted to me. It is older than our exile. It carries the strength of my people.” She turned to Zatanna, eyes burning with quiet devotion. “I would place it upon you, if you will wear it. To show that you carry not only my love, but my trust, and the trust of Themyscira.”

Zatanna’s throat closed. She nodded, hardly able to speak, and lowered her head. Diana’s fingers brushed her skin as she settled the golden choker around her throat, the leather molding as if it belonged there, as if it had always been waiting for her. Zatanna exhaled a shaky breath, feeling the weight of history, of choice.

Then Diana reached for the black diamond-patterned choker. “And this… is mine?”

Zee smiled through tears, a laugh breaking free. “Yeah. I had it made. It’s not exactly a mythic relic, but… it’s me. The fishnet look, y’know? People make jokes, but it’s part of who I am. I wanted you to have something that was mine, just mine.”

Diana bent her head. “Then I will wear it with pride.”

With trembling fingers, Zatanna tied it gently around Diana’s throat, the dark pattern stark against her bronze skin. When she leaned back, she couldn’t help but grin. “Looks good on you, Princess.”

Diana’s lips curved. “Better than armor.”

The two of them stood facing each other, mirrored by their mothers’ steady gaze. There was no script, no long speeches. Just silence, filled with something older than words. Finally Hippolyta spoke.

“In choosing this, you defy our custom,” she said, though her voice carried no censure. “Here, love is free. But you have bound yourselves willingly, not in chains but in devotion. And so we witness, and we bless it.”

Philippus stepped forward, placing a hand briefly on Diana’s shoulder, then Zatanna’s. “You are warriors both. May you fight together longer than fate would ever allow you to fight apart.”

The simple touch made Zee shiver. It was blessing enough.

Diana turned back to her mothers, her arm finding Zatanna’s waist, holding her close. “When the time is right, we will also wed in the ways of Man’s World. Our friends, our family—those bonds matter, too. But here, tonight, this vow is ours.”

Hippolyta’s face softened, pride shining through her dignity. “Then Themyscira will answer in kind. When one of our daughters makes such a vow, the island itself rejoices. There will be a feast, a festival of love, unlike any you have known. And not merely because Diana has chosen, but because Themyscira welcomes a new daughter.”

The words hit Zatanna harder than any blessing, harder than any spell. A new daughter. Her vision blurred. She tried to laugh, to deflect, but her voice cracked. “You’re—you’re really serious, aren’t you?”

Hippolyta smiled, stepping closer, lifting a hand to brush a strand of Zatanna’s hair from her damp cheek. “Entirely serious. You think us so cold that we would let her give her heart without giving ours in return?”

Zee let out a wet laugh, leaning instinctively into the gentle touch. “Guess not.”

Diana’s arm tightened around her waist, grounding her, her lips brushing the crown of Zatanna’s head. “You are ours now, little magician. And I am yours.”

The words were quiet, but Zatanna felt them settle deeper than any vow. For a moment she allowed herself to close her eyes, to rest in the impossible safety of it—the love of a goddess, the blessing of queens, the acceptance of a world she never thought she could belong to.

The chamber stayed hushed, but it was not emptiness. It was full—full of light, of fire, of the promise of a feast yet to come.

Chapter Text

The mirror was merciless.

Zatanna sat before it in her suite at the Embassy Hotel, the kind of gleaming high-rise Metropolis insisted on sprouting every other year, and tugged nervously at the bodice of her gown. The silk clung too closely, or not closely enough. Her curls—raven-dark, tamed and glossed into perfect waves—already felt like they were rebelling under the stylist’s spray. The sunlight pouring in through the window made the white fabric glow, and all Zatanna could think was: I am a magician, I can bend the fabric of reality, and I can’t even keep my hair from frizzing before the ceremony.

“You look like a goddess,” Barbara Gordon said from her chair, voice warm, eyes soft. Her hands rested protectively on the gentle swell of her belly, just beginning to show. The loose lavender dress she wore shimmered when the light touched it, and Zatanna caught herself thinking, not for the first time, that Barbara looked radiant—pregnancy softening her edges into something that glowed.

“Correction,” Raven deadpanned from the couch. She had her legs crossed, a book on her lap that she hadn’t actually turned a page in for twenty minutes. “She looks like a mortal woman trying not to hyperventilate.”

Dinah cackled from where she was sprawled across the bed, black leather jacket tossed aside to reveal her deep emerald bridesmaid dress. She had kicked her heels off already, fishnet legs crossed at the ankle, and she raised her glass of champagne in salute. “Mortals hyperventilate, Amazons brood, and magicians monologue. I say we’re right on track.”

Zatanna groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Why did I invite you three again?”

“Because you love us,” Barbara answered easily, wheeling herself closer. She reached out and touched Zatanna’s arm, gentle. “And because you’d combust if you tried to do this alone.”

“True,” Raven murmured.

Dinah leaned forward, grin sharp. “And because nobody else was willing to tell you if your eyeliner was crooked. Spoiler alert—it’s not. You’re perfect.”

Zee peeked between her fingers, cheeks warming. “Perfect, huh?”

“Well, almost perfect,” Dinah teased, flicking a hand toward the mirror. “The real showstopper is that choker.”

Zatanna’s hand flew automatically to her throat. The golden band Diana had given her gleamed in the light, supple and ancient, sitting against her skin like it had always belonged there.

Barbara’s eyes softened further. “It’s beautiful. The way it fits you, the way it… means something. Honestly, Zee, when I saw it I thought: that’s not just jewelry. That’s history. That’s Diana telling the world you’re hers.”

Zee’s throat tightened. “Don’t say things like that, Babs. I’ll cry, and then the makeup artist will kill me.”

“I can fix smudged eyeliner,” Raven said. “I can’t fix cold feet.”

“I don’t have cold feet,” Zatanna snapped, a little too fast. She looked down at her hands, twisting them in her lap. “I just… I keep thinking about who I am, you know? A stage magician with daddy issues. And then there’s Diana. Literal goddess. She could have anyone. She chose me, and I can’t stop waiting for someone to tap me on the shoulder and say it’s a mistake.”

Dinah rolled off the bed in one fluid motion and came to stand behind her chair, gripping her shoulders with strong hands. “Hey. None of that. You’re hot, you’re brilliant, you’re a little bit crazy, but you’ve got the kind of heart people would kill for. Diana doesn’t make mistakes.”

Raven smirked. “Except dating Superman that one time.”

Dinah barked out a laugh. “Okay, fair, but this is different.” She leaned down close to Zatanna’s ear. “Also, speaking of mistakes, if you don’t get over this insecurity spiral soon, I’m going to start describing Diana’s arms in great detail just to see Barbara blush.”

Barbara’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Dinah!”

“Oh come on, Babs, you’ve seen them! Those biceps? I swear if she flexes during the vows the priest might faint. And don’t get me started on her—”

“Please stop,” Barbara groaned, hiding her face behind her hand but clearly smiling.

Raven turned a page with deliberate slowness. “You really are twelve years old.”

“Correction,” Dinah said with mock solemnity, “I’m thirty-five and proud of it. But hey, Babs, if Ollie ever screws up beyond repair, maybe Diana’s got a thing for women in fishnets. Could be genetic.”

Zatanna let out a choked laugh, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Admit it,” Dinah said, waggling her eyebrows, “she does have a thing for them, doesn’t she?”

The room fell silent for a beat, everyone watching Zee’s cheeks flame scarlet. She looked down at her lap, then muttered, “She… might.”

Barbara’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my god.”

Dinah whooped. “Knew it! Called it! Raven, you owe me twenty bucks.”

“I never bet on that,” Raven said flatly. But her lips twitched, betraying the smallest of smiles.

Zatanna groaned, covering her face again. “You’re all the worst.”

“And you love us,” Barbara reminded gently, her hand finding Zatanna’s again. She squeezed it, steady and sure. “Zee, listen. She loves you. We all see it. And today, everyone else will see it too.”

The words lodged deep in Zatanna’s chest, steadying her just enough to breathe. She looked at her reflection again, really looked, and for the first time that morning she saw not just nerves but a woman who had been chosen. By Diana. By love. By fate, maybe.

Her fingers brushed the choker again. The gold caught the light like fire.

“Okay,” she whispered, more to herself than anyone. “Okay. I can do this.”

“You can more than do this,” Dinah said, resting her chin on Zatanna’s shoulder and smirking at her reflection. “You’re about to marry Wonder Woman. And if you ever doubt yourself again, just remember—you’ve already gotten further than Bruce ever did.”

Barbara burst out laughing, Raven even chuckled under her breath, and Zatanna, for the first time that day, felt the weight in her chest ease into something lighter.

She was still terrified. But maybe that was okay.

 

Diana of Themyscira had faced gods, monsters, and wars. Yet nothing had ever made her hands shake like the lacing of her own wedding gown.

It was not armor, though it carried the same weight. Silk instead of steel, white instead of bronze. It clung to her frame, leaving her shoulders bare, the fabric flowing down like a river caught in sunlight. Across her brow, a thin circlet of gold sat snug, carved with runes from Themyscira’s oldest temples. She had worn crowns before. This felt different.

“You look like a bride carved by Pheidias himself,” Philippus said, her voice deep and smooth, one corner of her mouth curving upward. She stood tall, arms crossed, every inch the general even here in this intimate room. Yet her eyes softened whenever they rested on Diana. “Your Zatanna will faint when she sees you.”

“Mother,” Diana murmured, heat rising in her cheeks. “You exaggerate.”

“I do not,” Hippolyta said, her hand brushing over Diana’s cheek as though she were still a child. Her hair fell in long, shining waves, crowned with a circlet far older, heavier, than her daughter’s. “Philippus is right. You carry both grace and power. But most of all, you carry love. That will make you more radiant than any armor ever could.”

Diana’s throat tightened. “Then why do I feel as though I could be sick at any moment?”

From the corner, Donna Troy laughed, perched cross-legged on a stool in her sapphire bridesmaid dress. “Because you’re human, Diana. Well—half. Give yourself that much.”

Cassie Sandsmark, leaning against the dresser in a shorter golden gown, smirked. “Honestly? I’m just glad to know Wonder Woman can get the jitters like the rest of us. Makes me feel better about my own love life disasters.”

“You do not understand,” Diana said, voice low, almost reverent. “Zatanna is… she is everything. Her magic, her wit, her stubborn heart. When she looks at me, I feel both invincible and vulnerable. That is terrifying.”

“Terrifyingly hot,” Donna teased, earning a snort from Cassie.

Jessica Cruz, quiet until now, stepped closer. She wore emerald, a nod to her Lantern mantle, though the dress was simple and unadorned. She smiled, gentle but wry. “Diana, you faced down Darkseid. You fought Ares. You stood unflinching against parademons. If you can do that, you can stand at an altar and say ‘I do.’ Trust me—I’ve had panic attacks ordering coffee. You’ll be fine.”

Diana blinked, then laughed, soft and genuine. “You have a gift for perspective, Jessica.”

“Yeah, well. Anxiety teaches you a few things.” Jessica shrugged, then added, more seriously, “She loves you. That’s the only part that matters.”

Donna hopped down from her stool and came to adjust the back of Diana’s gown. “Seriously, you should hear the way Zee talks about you when you’re not around. Girl is gone. You’ve got her wrapped around those big Amazonian shoulders of yours.”

Cassie chimed in, “Or maybe around your abs. Hard to tell.”

Diana groaned, covering her face with her hand. “Must you always be irreverent?”

“Yes,” both Donna and Cassie answered in unison.

Hippolyta chuckled, and Philippus’ eyes gleamed with amusement. “They are your sisters. It is their sacred duty to remind you that you are not untouchable.”

“And to embarrass you at every opportunity,” Donna added with a grin.

Diana sighed, though warmth bloomed in her chest. She looked at her mothers, standing side by side—the Queen regal, the General steady—and then at the younger women who were her sisters in arms and in heart. Family. She had been raised in a world where love was free, unbound by contracts or permanence. Yet here she was, trembling at the thought of binding herself to one woman for the rest of her days.

“Do you think I am… ready for this?” she asked quietly, so quietly it almost felt like a confession.

Philippus stepped forward, laying a firm hand on Diana’s shoulder. “Child, you were born ready. You have led armies and protected worlds, but today you do something braver still. You let yourself be known fully. You let yourself be loved.”

Hippolyta leaned in, pressing a kiss to Diana’s brow. “You are my daughter. And today, you give me another.” Her eyes glistened. “I could not be prouder.”

Emotion swelled thick in Diana’s chest, threatening to undo her. She steadied herself, breathing deep, remembering Zatanna’s laugh, her sharp words softened by love, her hands that trembled when they held ancient magic yet steadied when they held Diana’s own.

“I will not falter,” she whispered, more to herself than to anyone else. “I will not.”

“Good,” Donna said brightly, clapping her hands together. “Because if you do, Dinah will never let Zee hear the end of it, and none of us want to deal with that fallout.”

Cassie grinned. “Seriously, we need to get this show on the road. Your bride’s waiting. And if you don’t hurry, Dinah might actually try to elope with her.”

Jessica snorted softly, shaking her head. “Don’t give her ideas.”

For the first time all morning, Diana laughed fully, the nerves settling into something steadier, fiercer. She looked at herself in the mirror—the gown, the circlet, the trembling hands—and saw not a warrior or a princess, but a woman in love. And she thought, Yes. This I can face.

 

The music began softly—strings, delicate and warm, weaving through the air. The kind of music that carried with it both reverence and joy. The room was full, yet hushed, a gathered host of friends and comrades who had stood beside them through battles, heartbreak, and rebuilding. The Justice League, the Dark League, their found families—all gathered to bear witness.

Behind the curtain, Zatanna paced, her heels clicking a nervous staccato on the floor. She smoothed the white silk of her gown for the tenth time in as many minutes. The gown was simple but elegant: a fitted bodice, the skirt flowing down like a spell unspooling. Her top hat was absent tonight, though Dinah had joked about sneaking it onto the altar just to see Diana’s face.

“Breathe, Zee.” Dinah’s voice, warm and teasing, pulled her back. “In… out. Don’t pass out before I get you down the aisle. That’d be embarrassing.”

“I’m fine,” Zatanna lied, twisting the diamond-patterned choker at her throat—the Amazonian vow still sitting heavy and precious against her skin. “Totally fine.”

Dinah, in her deep green dress that matched her eyes, arched a brow. “Sure you are. Which is why your hands are shaking like a Vegas dealer with a caffeine addiction.” She reached out, steadying Zatanna’s fingers. “Look. You already married her once, in the Amazon way. This is just the encore. Easy.”

Zatanna let out a shaky laugh. “Easy. Right.”

Dinah leaned closer, voice dropping. “You’ve faced demons, sorcerers, literal hellfire. You’ve survived Constantine. You can survive marrying the hottest woman alive in front of your entire extended superhero family.”

Zee cracked a smile despite herself. “You make it sound so simple.”

“That’s my job. Maid of honor, hype woman, professional sarcasm provider.” Dinah squeezed her hand, her own eyes shining. “But seriously? You’ve got this. And if Diana so much as thinks about faltering, I’ll scream it down the aisle: ‘You’re marrying a goddess, Zee! Strut like it!’”

Zatanna laughed—genuine this time—and the tight knot in her chest loosened. The music swelled, signaling their cue. Dinah looped her arm through Zatanna’s.

“Ready?”

“No,” Zee said, smiling faintly. “But let’s go anyway.”

The doors opened, and the room turned.

For all her stage training, for all the times she had commanded crowds with a single flick of her wrist, Zatanna felt suddenly small under the weight of every gaze. But then her eyes found Diana at the other end of the aisle, and the world narrowed until there was nothing else.

Diana stood tall, radiant, her gown draped like marble carved into flesh, her circlet catching the light. But it wasn’t the gown or the regal bearing that undid Zatanna—it was the way Diana looked at her. Like she was the only thing in existence worth seeing.

And Diana was not alone. On either side of her, guiding her forward, were her mothers. Hippolyta, proud and serene, her hand steady on Diana’s arm. Philippus, stern-faced but smiling softly at the corners, a warrior escorting her daughter not into battle but into joy.

Behind them, Donna Troy stood as maid of honor, her sapphire gown making her dark hair gleam. At her side—though not part of the procession, merely unable to keep her hands off—was Koriand’r, beaming like she carried a star in her chest, squeezing Donna’s fingers.

Zatanna’s breath caught. It was too much, too beautiful.

Dinah nudged her subtly. “Don’t cry yet, babe. Save it for the vows.”

They met at the altar, the space between them collapsing until Diana’s hands were in hers, warm and grounding.

“You are breathtaking,” Diana whispered, so softly only Zee could hear.

“You’re not supposed to make me cry yet,” Zatanna hissed back, tears already threatening.

Hippolyta and Philippus stood just behind Diana, silent pillars of approval, while Dinah held Zee’s bouquet like it was a weapon, already wiping her eyes discreetly.

The officiant—J’onn J’onzz, chosen for his calm neutrality—raised his voice. “Today, we gather not as warriors or colleagues, but as family and friends. To witness two souls who have already bound themselves in ancient tradition, now choosing to bind themselves again here, among us.”

Zatanna felt Diana’s fingers squeeze hers, firm and reassuring.

“You have spoken vows before the gods,” J’onn continued, “but today you will speak them before your kin. Speak truth, speak love, and let it be known.”

Diana went first. She did not need notes; her voice carried steady, like a river.

“Zatanna Zatara,” she said, her gaze unwavering, “you have taught me what it means to be human. You have shown me joy in small things, laughter in hardship, and hope when I had none. I vow to honor your heart, your fire, your flaws. I vow to love you not as a goddess loves a mortal, but as one soul loves another—without end.”

The tears came then, unstoppable. Dinah sniffled loudly, and even Philippus’ eyes softened.

Zatanna’s throat was dry. She had rehearsed her vows a hundred times, but now every word fled. All she could do was speak the truth.

“Diana,” she whispered, voice trembling but clear. “You are strength, yes, but also softness. You are passion, and patience, and this ridiculous chivalry that makes me fall harder every day. You make me believe I am enough—when I never did before. So I vow to try. To keep choosing us, even when I am afraid. I vow to love you as fiercely as my magic burns. And I vow to always keep fishnets in my drawer, because I know you like them.”

That broke the solemnity; the room rippled with laughter. Diana blushed, smiling wide, her thumb brushing over Zee’s knuckles.

“Then, by word and witness,” J’onn said, solemn again, “I declare your vows sealed. You may seal them further, as is your custom.”

Diana lifted her hands to cup Zatanna’s face, tilting her chin up. The kiss was slow at first, reverent. Then deeper, hungrier, as the room erupted in applause and cheers.

Zatanna felt the world spin, her choker pressing against her throat, her body pressed into Diana’s strength. For a moment, there was no one else—just the promise of forever sealed in their mouths.

When they finally parted, breathless, Diana whispered against her lips, “My wife.”

Zatanna shivered. “Say that again.”

“My wife,” Diana repeated, fierce and tender, and kissed her once more.

 

The ceremony dissolved into applause and laughter, guests surging toward the banquet hall strung with lanterns and garlands. Tables groaned under the weight of food and wine. But before anyone could dig in, the lights dimmed, and the music shifted—something slow, sweeping, impossibly romantic.

Zatanna barely had time to catch her breath before Diana’s hand was extended toward her, palm open, fingers inviting.

“My wife,” Diana said again, reverence trembling through the two words. “May I have this first dance?”

Zee’s lips quirked. “You’d better. I didn’t risk smudging my mascara just for you to sit there looking pretty.”

Diana chuckled, and then she was pulling her close, one hand at Zatanna’s waist, the other entwined with hers. They moved to the center of the floor, and the crowd circled, giving them space.

The music swelled.

Diana led with an easy grace, like every step was a natural extension of her body. Zatanna, used to controlling rooms with magic and showmanship, found herself gladly surrendering control. She leaned into Diana’s strength, her cheek brushing the Amazon’s bare shoulder.

“You are trembling,” Diana murmured, lips near her ear.

“I’m not trembling,” Zee muttered, though her legs disagreed.

Diana’s grin was audible. “Then I must be imagining the way you cling to me.”

Zatanna laughed softly, the sound catching in her throat. “I’m clinging because you’re absurdly tall. If I don’t hold on, I’ll trip and die, and then you’ll be the widow of a magician who went out in the least glamorous way possible.”

“I would still love you,” Diana said without hesitation, eyes shining. “Even if you fell flat on your face.”

The words hit like a spell cast directly into her chest. Zatanna pressed her forehead against Diana’s collarbone, hiding the sudden wetness in her eyes.

Around them, the world blurred—the applause, the laughter, the lights. For those minutes, there was only the two of them, swaying together, every step a vow unspoken.

The song ended, but Diana did not release her. She only loosened her hold enough to brush her lips against Zee’s temple before guiding her off the floor. Applause broke again, warm and genuine.

And then, of all people, Constantine was there—leaning casually against a column, rumpled suit somehow even more disheveled than usual, tie already half undone. His smirk was wry, but his eyes carried something softer.

“Mind if I cut in, love?” he asked, voice rough with smoke and something unspoken.

Zee hesitated, then glanced at Diana. Her wife’s smile was small, steady, and full of permission.

“Go,” Diana said gently. “It is only right.”

So Zee slipped her hand into John’s, and he pulled her onto the floor as another slow tune began.

The contrast was jarring—Diana’s hands had been strong, steady, reverent. John’s were looser, familiar in a way that carried years of mistakes and history.

“You look good, Zee,” he muttered, eyes flicking over her gown. “Bloody vision, you are.”

“Don’t,” she whispered, her throat tight.

He swallowed, nodded once. They moved stiffly at first, more swaying than dancing. For a while, neither spoke.

Finally, John exhaled, smoke-rough and raw. “Heard you nearly split up last year. Thought maybe I’d see you back in the trenches with me.”

Zee’s chest tightened. “We worked through it. We’re stronger now.”

His smile was crooked, pained. “Yeah. I can see that.” He spun her clumsily, then caught her again. “Never thought anyone could anchor you, Zee. But she does. And… I’m glad. Even if it stings.”

Her eyes burned. She leaned in, pressed her forehead to his for one brief, unsteady heartbeat. “Thank you, John.”

And then the song ended, and he stepped back, clapping her hand once before retreating to the bar, a ghost slipping back into his shadows.

Zee turned—and Diana was there, arms waiting, eyes soft. She folded back into her wife’s embrace like she’d never left.

When the toasts began, Donna went first.

She stood nervously at the microphone, sapphire dress gleaming, Kori’s hand warm at the small of her back. She cleared her throat, glanced at Diana, then at Zatanna, and smiled—a little watery, but bright.

“I used to think Diana was invincible,” she began. “Not just because she’s Wonder Woman, though that’s part of it. But because she never seemed to falter. She was strong, confident, unstoppable. My big sister, my role model.”

Donna’s voice caught, and she laughed softly at herself. “But then she met Zatanna. And suddenly, I saw something new. I saw her nervous. I saw her stumble over her words. I saw her… human.” She looked at Zee now, eyes warm. “And I realized that’s what love does. It doesn’t make you weaker—it makes you real. And you, Zatanna, you make her more real than I’ve ever seen. You make her happy. You make her better. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted for her.”

She lifted her glass, her smile trembling. “To my sister, and my new sister. May your love always be the kind that grounds you, even when the world feels impossible.”

The room erupted in applause, a few sniffles, more than a few tears. Diana’s hand found Zatanna’s under the table, squeezing tight.

Then Dinah strutted up to the microphone, drink in hand, smirk firmly in place.

“Well,” she drawled, “following Donna’s Hallmark card of a speech is a tough gig, but I’ll give it a shot.”

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

“Look, I’ve known Zee a long time. Long enough to say this: she’s a mess.” Dinah grinned as Zee groaned, burying her face in her hands. “She’s dramatic, she’s impulsive, she thinks backwards words can solve any problem—which, okay, sometimes they can—but half the time they blow up in her face. Literally.”

More laughter.

“But then Diana showed up. And you’d think—‘Oh, Wonder Woman, goddess, perfect, polished, probably doesn’t even sweat.’ And somehow she looked at this hot mess in fishnets and went, ‘Yes. That’s my person.’” Dinah spread her hands theatrically. “And that, my friends, is true love.”

The laughter doubled, but Dinah wasn’t done.

“I mean, I get it. Zee’s hot. The fishnets? Legendary. Hell, I’ve got my own pair—solidarity, sister.” She winked, making Barbara choke on her drink. “But honestly? What gets me isn’t that Diana fell for Zee. It’s that she stayed. Through all the chaos, the bickering, the insecurity. She chose her. Again and again. And Zee? You chose her right back. That’s what makes it real.”

Dinah’s smirk softened into something almost tender. “So here’s my toast: may your fights always end in makeup sex, may your magic never fry the Wi-Fi again, and may you both remember that perfection is overrated—but passion isn’t.”

The room howled with laughter, clinking glasses together. Zee’s face burned crimson, Diana’s ears turned pink, and Dinah took a dramatic bow before stumbling back to her seat, smug as ever.

As the night unfolded—music, food, laughter—Zatanna leaned against Diana’s shoulder, her choker cool against her throat, her heart impossibly full.

This is forever, she thought, not as a fear but as a vow.

And Diana, sensing her thoughts as though they were her own, kissed her temple softly and whispered, “Yes. Forever.”

 

The reception was well underway now. The dance floor was crowded, the buffet table was half-raided, and someone (probably Guy Gardner) had spiked the punch with something stronger than champagne. Music and laughter echoed through the hall, but all of it seemed to converge on one corner where a makeshift stage had been cleared.

“Ladies, gentlemen, assorted immortals and magical beings!” Hal Jordan’s voice rang out, amplified by a microphone he had absolutely stolen from the DJ booth. He was grinning ear to ear, already a little tipsy. “Step right up for tonight’s big event: the Shoe Game!”

There was a roar of approval, clinking glasses, and a smattering of whoops from the younger crowd.

Zatanna blinked from where she was curled against Diana’s arm. “Oh no,” she muttered.

“Oh yes,” Barry Allen said, zipping into view and plucking the heel right off Zatanna’s foot with a mischievous flourish. “House rules: bride versus bride, and you’re both about to embarrass yourselves in front of everyone.”

Diana arched a brow, her sandal already in Hal’s hands. “This is a game of some kind?”

“Classic wedding game,” Oliver Queen explained, sauntering up with his drink in hand. “You sit back-to-back, each of you holding one of your shoes and one of your partner’s. The peanut gallery”—he gestured at the gathered guests, who were already jeering and laughing—“asks a bunch of questions. Like, ‘Who snores louder?’ And you hold up the shoe of whoever you think it is. If you both hold up the same shoe, you get a point. If not, no point.”

“And if we do well?” Diana asked, skeptical but humoring them.

“You win honeymoon money!” Dick Grayson chimed, carrying a mason jar already stuffed with bills. “Every right answer earns cash toward whatever tropical paradise you two are flying off to. Think of us as your generous, slightly nosy benefactors.”

The crowd cheered. Dinah shouted, “Do it!” from her table, raising her glass.

Diana sighed, though her lips quirked upward. “Very well.”

“Excellent,” Hal crowed. “Ladies, please take your positions!”

Chairs were set in the middle of the floor, back-to-back. Diana lowered herself gracefully into hers, the picture of Amazonian dignity even in a silly wedding game. Zatanna plopped into hers with a dramatic sigh, heels clicking against the floor, already rolling her eyes for the audience.

Barry handed Diana one of Zatanna’s heels and one of her sandals. “There you go, Princess.”

“Thank you,” Diana said, examining the heel like it was a foreign weapon.

“Do not break it,” Zatanna muttered.

Barry snorted and then placed Diana’s sandal in Zatanna’s other hand.

“All right, lovebirds,” Hal said, pacing like a gameshow host. “You know the rules. Audience, are we ready?”

The crowd erupted.

“All right! First question.” Hal winked at Oliver, who gave a theatrical bow before reading from a stack of index cards.

“Who made the first move?”

Without hesitation, both women lifted Diana’s sandal high into the air.

The crowd cheered. Dinah wolf-whistled.

“Correct!” Oliver announced. “Point one for the newlyweds. And for the record, Diana, was it smooth?”

“Flawless,” Diana said calmly, her lips curved in the faintest smile.

Zatanna groaned. “She cornered me in my own apartment and kissed me like a knight laying claim to their quest. What chance did I have?”

The audience roared with laughter.

Barry leaned in with the next question. “All right. Who’s the worst cook?”

Both Zee and Diana immediately held up Zee’s heel.

Zee scowled playfully, twisting in her chair to glare at Diana. “Traitor.”

Diana’s laughter was low and musical. “You yourself admitted that pasta should not be on fire.”

“It was flambé!” Zee shot back.

“In a saucepan,” Diana countered.

The crowd howled.

Hal grinned wickedly. “Okay, okay. Next one: Who’s the messiest sleeper?”

Zee hesitated, then held up Diana’s sandal. “You roll around like a storm at sea.”

But Diana confidently lifted Zee’s heel. The crowd erupted in boos and cheers at the mismatch. No point.

“Objection!” Zee twisted in her chair. “She takes all the covers!”

“You sprawl,” Diana said simply, lips twitching. “I wake with your hair in my mouth and your limbs across my chest.”

“Sounds like heaven,” Dinah heckled, earning another round of laughter.

Oliver smirked. “All right, here’s a good one. Who snores louder?”

There was a pause. And then—unanimously—they both lifted Diana’s sandal.

The crowd roared with delight. Diana’s ears actually turned pink.

“I do not snore,” Diana said primly.

“Oh sweetheart,” Zee said sweetly, “you rumble like a lion in hibernation.”

Even Hippolyta chuckled from her table, earning a scandalized look from Diana.

Barry leaned in again, eyes glinting. “Who’s the most dominant?”

The crowd ooooohed.

Zee smirked, immediately holding up Diana’s sandal. Diana, after the briefest pause, lifted her own sandal as well.

The audience lost it—catcalls, laughter, applause.

Dinah stood and hollered, “Lasso of truth says she’s not lying!”

Zee hid her face in her free hand, shoulders shaking with laughter. Diana only arched a regal brow, though the tips of her ears burned crimson.

Hal was practically cackling now. “Who’s the worst driver?”

Without hesitation, they both raised both shoes—Zee’s heel in one hand, Diana’s sandal in the other—so high the audience doubled over laughing.

“No points!” Oliver called, tears in his eyes.

“I admit nothing,” Diana said, though the room was still laughing.

“She drives like she’s chasing a war chariot,” Zee muttered.

“And you drive like the car is possessed,” Diana retorted.

“I mean, it usually is!”

Barry fanned the cards dramatically. “Okay, serious one. Who’s more clingy?”

The crowd hushed slightly, curious. Zatanna bit her lip, considering. Slowly, she raised Diana’s sandal. And then, after a heartbeat, Diana lifted her own sandal as well.

The room erupted—not in laughter this time, but in a collective awwwww.

Diana’s cheeks pinked, but her chin stayed high. “I see no shame in wishing to hold my wife close.”

Zatanna’s throat went tight. She squeezed the sandal in her hand, blinking fast to hide the sudden burn of tears.

“Point for the lovebirds!” Oliver announced, softer this time, though his smile was wide.

 

The questions went on.

“Who takes longer to get ready?” Both held up Zatanna’s heel—unanimous.

“Who apologizes first after a fight?” Diana’s sandal—unanimous.

“Who’s more likely to flirt their way out of a speeding ticket?” Zatanna’s heel—unanimous, and followed by Barry shouting, “Like there’s a cop alive who wouldn’t melt for that voice!”

“Who’s the bigger spender?” Zatanna’s heel again—though Zee muttered something about stage props being a necessary expense.

And then—“Who’s more romantic?” This one gave them pause. Zatanna lifted Diana’s sandal. Diana lifted Zee’s heel. Another mismatch. The crowd booed in mock outrage, but the two women turned toward each other instinctively, caught in the realization that each thought the other was more romantic.

The audience noticed, the collective awww rising again like a tide.

At the end of it, the jar was full, stuffed with cash and even a few enchanted trinkets someone had tossed in for luck. The score hadn’t been perfect—they missed plenty—but they’d laughed until their sides hurt, and the joy of it was the point.

Zee leaned back in her chair, grinning, her heel still clutched in one hand. “So what’s the tally?”

Barry peeked into the jar. “Let’s just say… you two just scored yourselves a five-star honeymoon. Don’t spend it all on champagne.”

Dinah shouted, “Spend it all on fishnets!” and nearly fell off her chair laughing.

Diana stood, reaching to pull Zatanna up with her. “Thank you, my friends,” she said, voice carrying above the laughter. “For this, and for everything. We will treasure it always.”

Zatanna, flushed and happy and entirely in love, leaned into her wife’s side, thinking that even if they hadn’t earned a single point, they’d already won everything that mattered.

 

The hotel suite was quiet at last. The laughter of their friends, the music, the clinking of glasses—all of it had faded into memory as the door clicked shut behind them.

For a heartbeat, they just stood there, backs pressed to the door, still in their finery, still buzzing from the chaos of the day. Zatanna’s chest rose and fell as she caught Diana’s gaze, and for the first time since the vows she felt the world narrow down to the two of them again.

Diana smiled, slow and devastating, the kind of smile that always made Zee’s knees weak. “Wife,” she said softly, as though tasting the word for the first time.

The word slammed through Zatanna like magic. She bit her lip, heat already rising in her cheeks. “Say that again.”

“Wife,” Diana repeated, stepping closer, until their breaths mingled. She bent, pressing her forehead to Zatanna’s. “Mine.”

Zee’s laugh was shaky, nervous, threaded with want. “Gods, you have no idea what that does to me.”

“Oh, I do.” Diana’s hands came to Zatanna’s waist, strong and sure, tugging her close. “I’ve waited all night to have you to myself.”

They kissed there, against the door, and all the pent-up hunger came pouring out. Zatanna clutched at Diana’s toga-like gown, tugging at the loose knot, half-growling against her mouth. Diana let her, patient and amused, until the fabric slid from her shoulders like water.

Zatanna broke the kiss just long enough to stare—at the goddess made flesh standing before her, skin bronzed, muscles cut and curved, a living statue of power and beauty. She swallowed hard, voice breaking. “You’re… unfair.”

Diana’s smile deepened. “And you are overdressed.”

Somehow they stumbled to the bed, shedding clothes like petals along the way. Zatanna’s blazer hit the floor, her bralette discarded with trembling fingers. Diana’s sandals, symbols of the game they’d played hours ago, lay abandoned beside the nightstand. By the time they collapsed onto the sheets, both were bare, tangled in each other, laughing breathlessly between kisses that turned hotter, deeper, more desperate.

The world melted into sensation—fingers in hair, lips on skin, whispered names breaking in half with need. Zatanna gasped when Diana’s mouth found the hollow of her collarbone, biting just hard enough to leave a mark.

“Diana,” she breathed, arching into her.

“Say it again,” Diana murmured, her voice rough with desire.

“Diana—” It came out broken, pleading, reverent.

Diana pulled back, eyes blazing. “No. Wife.”

Zatanna froze, heart hammering, and then the word tumbled out of her on a moan. “Wife.”

They moved together with a rhythm that felt older than vows, older than language. Zatanna’s nails dragged down Diana’s back, leaving red trails. Diana kissed her fiercely, as if sealing promises with every press of her lips. The sheets twisted around them, damp with heat, the air heavy with the scent of wine, roses, and want.

Time blurred. Minutes, hours—it didn’t matter. There was only the slow burn of passion giving way to urgency, urgency softening again into tenderness. Diana held her as if she were precious, unbreakable and fragile all at once. Zatanna whispered spells against her skin without meaning to, magic sparking faintly in the air around them.

When it was done, when the fire had burned them clean, they collapsed together in the wreck of the bed, slick with sweat, trembling and sated. Diana tucked Zatanna into her arms, pressing a kiss to her temple.

“I love you,” Diana whispered.

Zatanna buried her face against her chest, heart pounding, voice raw. “Forever isn’t long enough.”

“Forever is what we’ll take,” Diana promised, brushing back a damp lock of Zee’s hair. “And every night, I’ll remind you. Wife.”

Zee’s eyes fluttered closed, a smile tugging at her lips. “Gods help me, I’ll never get tired of that.”

And with the steady beat of Diana’s heart in her ear, and Athena purring at their feet, Zatanna drifted into sleep knowing that whatever the world brought them—magic, battles, doubts, immortality itself—this was home.