Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Artemis doesn’t come here for peace. She comes because the Greco-Roman wing feels like a promise no one can steal.

It’s mid-afternoon on a Tuesday, light cutting through the skylights in pale shafts that dust the marble floors. Even the air is quiet here, the hush of breath and shuffling feet echoing off ancient stone. She’s cross-legged in front of a fragment of a horse’s flank, the veins carved into marble like they’re ready to leap, and her cheap sketchbook is balanced on one knee, the other boot flat, steady. Trying to get some grecian inspiration for a tattoo she plans to draw up for a client.

Ink smudges under her thumb as she drags the line down, capturing the curve of muscle, the tense readiness in cold stone. She tucks a loose curl behind her ear, flicking the end of her pen for a sharper line. Her hoodie sleeves are shoved to her elbows, revealing the edges of dark tattoos—curved lines that slip down her forearm like hunting hounds chasing prey.

She doesn’t look up until she hears her.

A voice, soft but clear, the kind that doesn’t need to raise to hold a room. It carries like wind through cedar, the warmth of a hearth in winter. Artemis’s pen freezes mid-stroke.

“…and you’ll notice, here, the worn edges at the hilt,” the woman says, her accent not quite American, not quite anything Artemis can place, “suggesting not just ceremony, but repeated, practical use.”

The voice wraps around Artemis’s chest and pulls. She looks.

The woman is tall—absurdly, devastatingly tall. She stands before a small group of tourists, hands folded, the light touching her dark, almost blue-black curls. A rust-colored turtleneck clings to the slope of her shoulders, tucked into a long brown skirt that swishes as she turns, pointing to a lesser-known Amazon artifact behind the glass. Her profile is sharp, but not cold—strong jaw, straight nose, full mouth that moves softly as she speaks, like she’s translating something important from a language only she knows.

Like she’s loved and lost history, not just studied it.

Artemis’s pen drops onto the paper again before she can stop herself. The line curves—her instinct taking over. The woman’s hand is lifted in mid-gesture, wrist bent, fingers spread like a blessing, the cuff of her sweater bunched softly at her forearm. Artemis’s pen catches the angle of her jaw, the graceful lines of her neck, the way the curls tumble forward when she leans to smile at a child near the front.

The Bronze Goddess, Artemis thinks. The real deal. An actual Amazon.

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling. She hasn’t felt this kind of spark in her chest in a long time. Not since… well. She doesn’t think about since.

The group moves, a slow tide, following the goddess down the marble hall. Artemis tucks the sketch into her bag, hands trembling as she caps her pen. She should leave. She should go home, back to the small clutter of her studio, where the scent of ink and leather hides the cracks in the walls. Back to her little shop where she repairs old books and binds new ones and tries not to think about why she needs to draw things that will never move.

She stands, slinging her bag over her shoulder, boots scuffing against the floor as she heads toward the exit. She makes it almost to the doors before she feels a light tap on her shoulder.

Artemis’s heart vaults into her throat as she turns.

The Bronze Goddess is standing there, looking impossibly taller up close, the rust turtleneck hugging a frame that seems carved from something older and stronger than marble. Her eyes are blue, but not the cold kind—stormy, darkened at the edges, soft around the center. She’s smiling, just barely, lips curved like a secret she’s choosing to share.

“You dropped this.”

Her voice is softer here, but Artemis can still hear the power under it, the command that doesn’t need to shout. The woman holds out a folded slip of paper. Artemis stares, confused, before she realizes it’s her sketch, edges crumpled from where she tore it from the pad too fast.

“I—shit, sorry,” Artemis mutters, grabbing it, clutching it to her chest like it’s a fragile thing. Her ears burn. She can’t remember the last time she blushed, but it’s happening now, heat creeping up her neck. She looks up, ready to apologize again, but the woman is already walking back toward her tour group, curls bouncing, skirt swishing.

Artemis swallows, the museum suddenly louder around her, people moving, laughing, footsteps echoing. She fumbles with the paper, shoving it back into her bag, heart hammering in her ears. She doesn’t look back.

The bell above the door of Ink & Bone jingles as Artemis shoulders her way into the shop, the scent of leather, old paper, tattoo ink and coffee and coffee wrapping around her like a blanket. The front windows are smudged with fingerprints and rain streaks, the hand-painted sign faded but still proud.

The shop is small, cluttered with leaning towers of books, some waiting for repair, some waiting for homes. Her tools are scattered on the counter—a bone folder, linen thread, a stack of soft leather scraps, ink bottles in varying stages of emptiness. Her drafting table in the back is littered with old projects, the overhead lamp casting a warm, yellow glow. Next to it is a small room, cleaner, with more precision, here she has patients come over, talking with them about trauma, problems while putting something to make them stronger on their skin. She mainly specialized in medusa’s lately.

She drops her bag onto the stool and leans against the table, pulling out the sketch. Her hands are still shaking, smudging the ink as she unfolds it.

In the bottom corner, there’s something new.

In careful, looping handwriting:

Cute drawing.
If you’re looking for the real deal, call me.
(202) 555-0197

Artemis stares at the number, the words dancing before her eyes.

“The real deal.” Her voice is a hoarse whisper, a laugh breaking out of her chest before she can stop it.

She slumps into the stool, covering her mouth with her hand, laughter bubbling up. It’s been so long since someone caught her off guard. Since someone saw her. Since someone saw what she was trying to capture—and left a note.

She can’t decide if she wants to call immediately or burn the paper and pretend she never saw it.

She spends the next hour pacing.

The shop is quiet. A soft rain taps at the windows, the smell of damp streets mixing with the sharp scent of ink. She tries to work, sewing the spine of an old poetry collection back together, but her eyes keep drifting to the folded paper on the counter.

She thinks about the Bronze Goddess’s voice, warm and strong, explaining history like it matters, like it’s alive. She thinks about the way those blue eyes looked at her—not past her, not through her, but at her.

She thinks about the note.

Artemis’s hands are ink-stained, her hoodie sleeves dark with smudges. She catches her reflection in the window—fiery hair tied up in a high ponytail, the edges of tattoos curling down her neck, her jaw set in that hard way it gets when she’s afraid to hope for something.

She reaches for her phone, biting her lip so hard it almost bleeds.

The phone rings twice before it picks up.

“Hello?” The voice is soft, questioning.

Artemis’s breath catches. She can hear the smile even if she can’t see it.

“Uh—hi. I found your note.”

A pause. Then: “I’m glad you called.”

Artemis sits down heavily on her work stool, her free hand clutching the edge of the counter. “I—uh. Yeah. Me too.”

“I’m Diana.”

Diana. Diana.

Artemis swallows. “Artemis.”

Another pause, then a small laugh, warm and low. “Artemis. That’s… fitting.”

Artemis snorts, the sound surprising her. “Yeah, well. Didn’t pick it for the irony.”

“I liked your drawing,” Diana says softly, and Artemis can hear the sincerity. “You captured something real.”

“Yeah, well. You were standing there, looking like you were about to walk out of the marble.”

A soft laugh. “I was just explaining an artifact.”

“You talk like it matters.” Artemis’s voice is quiet, raw.

“It does.”

Silence hums between them, not heavy, but charged, like the moment before rain.

“Do you—” Diana starts, then stops. “Would you like to meet for coffee? Or tea, if you prefer. I’d like to see more of your sketches, if you’re comfortable.”

Artemis closes her eyes, head tipping back, the tension in her shoulders cracking like old ice. She should say no. She should say she’s too busy. She should say she doesn’t do this—doesn’t let strangers with bright blue eyes and warm voices crack open the walls she’s built.

“Yeah,” Artemis hears herself say. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

They set a time for Friday, late afternoon, after Diana finishes at the museum. A small café across the street, one Artemis knows because she’s sketched in its window on rainy days, the scent of cinnamon and burnt espresso filling the air while she captures strangers on napkins.

When Artemis hangs up, she sits there, phone still in her hand, staring at the rain outside. Her heart is still hammering, her stomach fluttering in a way that’s almost uncomfortable, almost too much.

She looks at the sketch again, the ink lines blurred where her thumb smudged them, the note in the corner still clear.

If you’re looking for the real deal, call me.

Artemis traces the words with her fingertip, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at her mouth. Maybe, for once, she is looking.

That night, she closes the shops late, the streetlights glowing soft and orange against the wet pavement. She walks home, hood pulled up, the city humming around her like a low lullaby. She doesn’t put in her headphones like she usually does. She lets herself listen—to the rain, to the cars, to her boots on the sidewalk.

To the sound of her own hope, quiet but insistent.

She climbs the stairs to her apartment above the shop, kicks off her boots, shrugs off her hoodie. Her apartment smells like ink and leather and a hint of lavender from the candle she forgets to blow out sometimes.

She sits at her drafting table, the lamp warm against her skin, and opens a fresh page in her sketchbook. This time, she doesn’t draw statues. This time, she draws her.

The Bronze Goddess, but softer. A smile just at the corner of her mouth, curls falling over her shoulder, hands mid-gesture. She sketches the softness of the sweater, the strength in the posture, the warmth in the eyes. She draws Diana.

And for the first time in a long time, Artemis feels like maybe she’s not just trying to catch something that will never move.

Maybe, just maybe, she’s found someone who might move toward her.

Chapter Text

Artemis doesn’t usually feel nervous.

She’s ink-stained, tattooed, broad-shouldered, and used to people giving her a wide berth when she walks down the street. Her hair alone tends to announce her before she opens her mouth, fiery and bright, half wild even in a high ponytail.

But she feels it now, jittering under her skin as she pushes open the café door, the bell above tinkling like it knows her secrets.

Diana is already there.

She’s sitting by the window, a book open beside her, a tea steaming in a white cup, a small plate with a pastry she’s taken one careful bite from. She’s dressed simply, but Artemis can’t help the way her throat tightens as she takes it in: dark slacks that show long legs crossed at the ankle, a red silk blouse that glows against her skin, a dark blazer that looks both soft and structured, her curls pulled back loosely, a few strands brushing her cheek.

She looks up and smiles, and Artemis feels like she’s been punched in the chest.

“Hi,” Diana says, her voice warm, reaching across the table even before Artemis sits.

Artemis clears her throat, shrugs the strap of her bag higher. “Hey.”

She’s wearing an old white men’s dress shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow, the collar open enough to see the edge of ink at her collarbone. Her frayed jeans are ripped at one knee, and her boots are scuffed, a streak of dried ink on the toe from a spill she forgot to clean.

Diana’s eyes track her as she moves, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. Artemis drops into the seat across from her, pretending she doesn’t notice.

“I got here early,” Diana says, gesturing to her tea, “but I thought I’d wait before ordering your drink. Didn’t want to presume.”

Artemis huffs a laugh, shaking her head. “Black coffee. You could have presumed.”

Diana’s smile widens, warm and a little amused. “Duly noted.”

They order quickly, Artemis drumming her fingers against the table while Diana thanks the server softly, her voice like a breeze through warm leaves.

The coffee arrives, black and hot, exactly how Artemis likes it. Diana’s tea smells faintly of citrus, the pastry flaky, dusted with powdered sugar.

“So.” Artemis wraps her hands around the coffee cup, letting the heat bleed into her palms. “You work at the museum.”

Diana nods, tearing a corner of her pastry delicately. “I do. I curate and study Greco-Roman artifacts, mostly. I’ve been there for about five years now.”

Artemis quirks an eyebrow. “You talk about history like it’s alive.”

“Because it is,” Diana says, looking at her steadily, her blue eyes bright. “Every piece we hold, every fragment, is something that belonged to someone. Someone who laughed, or fought, or wept. Someone who loved.” She hesitates, then smiles faintly. “I suppose I’ve always felt like it’s a duty. To remember.”

Artemis takes a sip of coffee to hide the way her throat tightens. She’s not used to people speaking like that, with that soft certainty, like faith that doesn’t need to be loud.

“You’re Greek, aren’t you?” Artemis asks, leaning back. “You sound like it. Not your accent, but the way you talk.”

Diana’s smile softens, a little sad around the edges. “Yes. I was born there. My parents came here when I was very young, but I spent every summer back home, with family. I suppose it never leaves you.” She picks at the pastry again, glancing up. “You have Greek ancestors, don’t you?”

Artemis blinks. “How did you—”

“The name,” Diana says gently, her eyes crinkling. “And the hair.”

Artemis laughs, a rough sound that makes the people at the next table glance over. “Yeah. They moved east generations ago. Ended up in Jersey, of all places.”

Diana grins, bright and genuine, and Artemis feels something warm curl in her chest.

They talk about art next, and Artemis finds herself admitting, quietly, “I have a shop. Bind & Bone. I restore old books, do custom bindings, that kind of thing.”

Diana’s eyes light up, leaning forward, elbows on the table. “That’s beautiful work.”

“It’s… it’s more than that,” Artemis says, rolling the coffee cup between her palms. “I work with women sometimes. Ones who need to put something down, or leave something behind. We use ink to make shields, you know?” She lifts her arm, showing the edge of a tattoo peeking under the rolled sleeve. “Sometimes it’s on paper, sometimes on skin. It’s about taking the story back.”

Diana’s gaze softens, and Artemis feels seen in a way she’s not sure she likes, but can’t bring herself to pull away from.

“That’s important,” Diana says quietly.

Artemis shrugs, looking away. “Just feels like the least I can do.”

There’s a lull, soft and comfortable, as Diana sips her tea and Artemis nurses the last of her coffee.

“Do you always sketch strangers in museums?” Diana asks, teasing, but her eyes are warm.

Artemis snorts. “Only the ones who look like they’re about to walk out of marble.” Diana laughs, tipping her head back, and Artemis can’t look away.

They leave the café when the sun is warm on the pavement, the late afternoon light slanting gold across the street. They walk toward the park without deciding to, shoulders bumping once, twice, before Artemis finally shoves her hands into her pockets to keep from brushing against Diana’s arm again.

The park is busy but not loud, the breeze gentle, carrying the scent of grass and warm pavement. Artemis rolls up her sleeves further as they walk, revealing the tattoos that climb her forearms—lines of text, geometric shapes, curling vines that twist around her wrist.

Diana’s gaze lingers, and Artemis catches it.

“You can ask,” Artemis says, a half-smile pulling at her mouth.

Diana looks up, cheeks a little flushed. “They’re beautiful. Did you design them yourself?”

“Most of them,” Artemis says, flexing her wrist. “Some are from clients. Survivors. I keep a piece of their designs with me. It’s a promise, you know? They put their story in ink, and I carry it with them.”

Diana reaches out, hesitates, then touches Artemis’s forearm lightly, tracing one of the lines with her fingertip. “You do beautiful work.”

Artemis’s breath stutters, her pulse loud in her ears. She swallows, forcing a smirk. “Yeah, well. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Diana looks up, eyes bright, her lips curved into a soft, knowing smile.

They sit on a bench near a fountain, water splashing softly behind them.

“Can I ask you something?” Diana says, twisting her fingers in her lap.

“Shoot.”

“Do you date often?”

Artemis barks a short laugh. “Wow, going right for it, huh?”

Diana shrugs, but her eyes are serious. “I just… I want to be honest.”

Artemis looks at the water, then back at Diana. “Last person I dated was a guy. Jason something. We were together a while, but he cheated on me with this woman—dark skin, red hair, legs for days.” She shrugs, jaw tightening. “Kory something. I guess I can’t blame him, but, you know. I don’t really do halfway loyalty.”

Diana nods slowly, absorbing it. “Thank you for telling me.”

“What about you?” Artemis asks, softer now.

Diana’s eyes darken, her hands folding tightly in her lap. “I was married. Once.”

Artemis blinks. “Oh.”

“He was a good man,” Diana says, her voice low, careful. “His name was Steve. We had a daughter together, Elizabeth. She’s nine now.”

Artemis’s breath catches. “You have a daughter.”

Diana nods, smiling faintly. “Steve passed away four years ago. It was… sudden.”

Artemis doesn’t know what to say, so she doesn’t. She just watches Diana breathe, the way her shoulders lift and fall, the way her fingers smooth over the fabric of her slacks.

“I haven’t dated much since,” Diana says, looking up, her eyes bright but steady. “Elizabeth is everything to me. But… it’s lonely sometimes.”

Artemis swallows, feeling the ground shift beneath her feet. “Yeah. I get that.”

They sit there for a moment, the water splashing, the sun warm on their skin.

“You know,” Diana says suddenly, glancing sideways, “I love your hair.”

Artemis blinks. “What?”

Diana’s smile is warm, teasing. “Your hair. The color is beautiful.”

Artemis feels her cheeks heat, and she huffs, rolling her eyes. “You’re—Jesus. You’re everything.”

Diana laughs, bright and clear, and Artemis grins, unable to help it. They stand as the sun begins to dip, the sky blushing into soft pinks and golds.

“Can I walk you home?” Artemis asks, surprising herself.

Diana hesitates, then nods. “If you’d like.”

They walk back through the city streets, not speaking much, but it isn’t awkward. Their shoulders brush occasionally, and Artemis doesn’t pull away.

When they reach Diana’s building, they stop at the bottom of the steps. Diana looks up at her, eyes warm, soft curls framing her face in the fading light.

“I had a wonderful time,” Diana says quietly.

“Yeah,” Artemis says, stuffing her hands into her pockets. “Me too.”

They stand there, the moment stretching, neither of them ready to move.

Diana leans up, brushing a soft kiss against Artemis’s cheek. Her lips are warm, and Artemis can feel the shape of her smile.

“Goodnight, Artemis.”

“Night, Diana.”

Diana walks up the steps, pausing to look back once, her smile soft, before she disappears inside.

Artemis stands there for a long time, the warmth of Diana’s kiss lingering on her cheek, the sky darkening above her, the city lights flickering on one by one. She presses a hand to her cheek, a small, disbelieving smile tugging at her lips. Maybe, for once, she’s found something real.

Chapter Text

Artemis doesn’t usually let herself get soft about a woman’s voice.

But there’s something about the way Diana says her name—like she’s savoring the syllables, rolling them on her tongue before letting them go—that makes Artemis’s chest ache in a way that feels dangerous.

She’s early, again. She can’t help it, pacing the Greco-Roman wing of the museum, sketchbook tucked under her arm, pretending she’s studying the lines of a weathered marble torso while waiting for Diana’s break.

She’s in the some other men’s white dress shirt, though it’s less creased this time, the sleeves rolled high, her jeans still frayed, boots still scuffed. Her hair is in a messy knot at the base of her neck, strands escaping around her face.

She feels the moment before she sees Diana—heat crawling up the back of her neck, the low hush of visitors shifting as Diana’s soft voice filters across the stone floor.

And then she’s there; Dark Green-colored blazer, a cream blouse tucked into tailored dark slacks, hair in loose curls around her shoulders, her eyes bright when they find Artemis across the hall. The way she smiles could light every shadow Artemis has ever carried.

“You’re early,” Diana says, stepping close enough that Artemis catches the faint scent of jasmine and clean linen.

“Habit,” Artemis mutters, ducking her head. “Hate being late.”

Diana’s lips twitch. “I’m glad.”

The taller woman leads Artemis to a quiet bench in the courtyard, the afternoon sun warm against the stone walls. Diana sets down the small basket she’s brought, and Artemis blinks at it.

“You packed lunch?”

Diana shrugs, a little sheepish. “I thought we might as well enjoy the weather.”

Artemis huffs, sinking down beside her, pulling her knees up and resting her sketchbook across them. “What, museum staff get personal chefs now?”

Diana rolls her eyes, pulling out two neatly wrapped sandwiches, a container of sliced fruit, and two bottles of sparkling water. “I made these myself, thank you.”

Artemis peeks into her sandwich, raising an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Fresh mozzarella, tomato, basil, olive oil,” Diana recites, amused.

“Bougie,” Artemis mutters, but she bites in anyway, and it’s so much better than the cold bagels she usually eats in her shop that she makes an embarrassing sound halfway through chewing.

Diana laughs, clear and bright, and Artemis glares, swallowing hard. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re winning,” Artemis grumbles, taking another bite.

Diana grins, taking a delicate bite of her own sandwich, her eyes glinting in the sun. “I’m not keeping score.”

They eat quietly for a few minutes, the breeze ruffling Diana’s curls, tugging loose strands across her cheek. Artemis’s hand itches to tuck them back, but she forces it down, tearing into her sandwich instead.

“What about you?” Diana asks suddenly. “What’s your guilty pleasure?”

Artemis blinks. “What?”

Diana smirks. “Under the shower. You must have a song you can’t resist.”

Artemis flushes, tearing at the crust of her sandwich. “That’s classified.”

“Oh, come on.” Diana nudges her knee gently. “I told you I still dance to ABBA in my kitchen when Elizabeth isn’t looking.”

Artemis snorts. “ABBA? Seriously?”

Diana lifts her chin, regal. “They are timeless.”

Artemis huffs, cheeks still warm. “Fine. Fine. I… may or may not blast Kelly Clarkson under the shower sometimes. Old stuff. Don’t judge me.”

Diana’s laugh is so bright it makes Artemis smile despite herself. “Oh, I’m absolutely judging you.”

⸻

They finish their sandwiches, sharing the fruit, the small courtyard falling into an easy hush around them.

“Must be a lot,” Diana says softly, brushing a crumb off her slacks. “Running your shop, doing your tattoo therapy work.”

Artemis shrugs, looking down at her ink-stained fingers. “It’s not bad. They go together, in a way. People come in for book restoration, or they want a custom binding, and sometimes it turns into a conversation about starting over.” She glances up, finding Diana’s eyes. “Ink is ink. Paper or skin. It’s about giving people something they can hold when the world tries to take everything else.”

Diana’s gaze softens, her thumb brushing against Artemis’s knuckles where their hands rest close on the bench. “You must be very stressed.”

Artemis arches an eyebrow. “You offering to give me a massage or something?”

Diana chokes on her water, coughing, her face flushing as she tries to regain composure. “That’s not—”

Artemis grins, wicked, leaning back. “Oh, that’s what you meant.”

Diana clears her throat, but she’s smiling, her eyes warm. “Maybe I’ll leave that on the table for later.”

Artemis’s heart stutters, the innuendo hanging between them, heavy and electric. The women fall quiet again, the easy hush of two people who don’t need to fill every moment with words. Artemis sketches Diana’s hand absently, the curve of her fingers resting on her knee, the delicate strength in the line of her wrist.

“You know,” Diana says softly, breaking the quiet, “I’m older than you thought.”

Artemis looks up, one eyebrow raised. “Oh?”

Diana hesitates, then meets her gaze. “I’m thirty-five.”

Artemis’s pencil pauses, the scratch of graphite stopping as she processes it. “Huh.”

“That’s it?” Diana says, a small smile at the corner of her mouth. “Just ‘huh’?”

Artemis shrugs, forcing her pencil to keep moving. “I mean, I’m almost twenty-five, so it’s not like you’re ancient or something.”

Diana laughs, shaking her head, curls bouncing. “I wasn’t sure if it would matter.”

Artemis glances up, her eyes steady. “It doesn’t.”

And she means it. Because looking at Diana, with the way she laughs, the way she talks about art like it’s breathing, the way she looks at Artemis like she’s worth seeing—none of that feels measured in years.

Diana pulls out her phone, swiping to a photo, holding it out with a small, soft smile.

It’s Diana and a little girl, maybe nine, with thick dark curls and bright eyes, grinning as she holds up a seashell on a sunlit beach. Diana’s arms are around her, both of them beaming.

“That’s Elizabeth,” Diana says softly. “My daughter.”

Artemis swallows, taking in the photo, the warmth in Diana’s smile, the pure, uncomplicated joy on the kid’s face. “She’s beautiful.”

“She’s everything,” Diana says, her thumb brushing over the screen. “Smart, funny, stubborn as anything.”

Artemis glances up, careful. “You said her dad passed away.”

Diana nods, eyes distant for a moment, but not cold. “Steve. We met in the army. NATO mission, overseas. He… he died in service, four years ago.”

Artemis’s breath catches, the weight of it sinking in. “I’m sorry.”

Diana smiles, small but real. “Thank you. We tried for Elizabeth after we left service. I… I left because I wanted to be present. For her, for us.” She glances up, her eyes bright. “She knows who her dad was. And she knows she’s loved.”

Artemis doesn’t know what to say, so she just nods, letting the silence settle around them, not heavy, but full.

When they stand to leave, the sun is lower, casting long shadows across the courtyard.

Diana tucks her phone away, glancing up at Artemis. “Thank you for lunch.”

Artemis smirks. “You made it.”

“But you made it good,” Diana says, teasing, her eyes glinting.

They walk back through the museum, the echo of their steps in the wide marble halls. Artemis’s hand brushes Diana’s once, twice, until she gives up and lets her knuckles graze softly against Diana’s, their steps falling into sync.

At the doors, Diana turns, her curls catching in the breeze.

“Would you like to do this again?” she asks, a small hopeful smile in her voice.

Artemis grins. “You planning something already?”

Diana laughs, bright, her eyes dancing. “Maybe.”

Artemis tilts her head, her grin softening. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

Diana steps forward, her hand brushing lightly against Artemis’s arm, her voice dropping. “I’ll let you know when.”

Artemis’s heart hammers, the world falling quiet around them, the museum doors, the hum of the city, the buzz of the afternoon all distant under the warmth in Diana’s eyes.

“Looking forward to it,” Artemis says softly.

Diana smiles, her fingers brushing against Artemis’s before she steps back, the promise hanging in the space between them.

They part ways at the doors, Artemis watching her go, the warmth of Diana’s touch lingering like a promise against her skin. And for the first time in a long time, Artemis feels something like hope, bright and alive, unfurling inside her like a flame.

Chapter Text

Artemis has never spent this much time deciding what to wear for a date.

It’s ridiculous. She’s standing in her cramped bedroom above the shop, hands on her hips, frowning at her reflection. Her tattoos spill down her arms like dark rivers, freshly moisturized, and she’s wearing actual black trousers, not ripped jeans, paired with a fitted dark green button-up that makes her hair look even brighter.

No frayed edges, no coffee stains, no stolen men’s dress shirts. She looks like… well, like someone trying.

And it’s terrifying.

Diana texts her: Just come to the staff entrance. Don’t worry about a ticket.

Artemis texts back: What if I get tackled by museum guards?

Diana: I’ll protect you.

Artemis smirks at her phone, tucking it into her pocket before stepping out into the warm summer evening.

When Diana opens the staff door, Artemis nearly laughs out loud.

Gone is the tailored blazer and rust-colored turtleneck. Diana is in a loose white blouse tucked into dark jeans, her curls half-tied back, sandals instead of heels. Her eyes are bright, amused as she takes in Artemis’s outfit.

“You dressed up,” Diana says, grinning.

Artemis crosses her arms, glaring lightly. “And you dressed down. What, is this some kind of sabotage?”

Diana tilts her head, tapping a finger against her lips in mock thought. “Maybe I just wanted to see what you look like when you actually try.”

Artemis sputters. “Excuse me, I always try.”

“Oh, really? Your favorite men’s shirt with the coffee stain says otherwise.”

Artemis narrows her eyes. “You’re just mad you can’t pull off frayed jeans like I can.”

Diana steps back, gesturing Artemis in with a playful sweep of her arm. “Come on, baby.”

Artemis stops dead, eyes wide. “Did you just call me baby?”

Diana’s eyes twinkle. “You are, though. Practically a high schooler.”

Artemis’s jaw drops, scandalized. “I’m almost twenty-five!”

“And I’m almost ready for the elderly home,” Diana retorts, deadpan, but she’s fighting a smile.

Artemis snorts, stepping inside. “Need me to wheel you in, Princess?”

Diana freezes, blinking, a flush creeping up her cheeks.

“Oh, I—” Artemis starts, flustered. “That just—slipped.”

Diana’s eyes soften, her lips curving. “Keep it.”

Artemis tilts her head. “Yeah?”

Diana nods, a small, honest smile. “I like it.”

The museum after hours is quiet in a way that makes every footstep sound sacred.

They walk together through the darkened halls, past Greek pottery cases and marble busts washed in the soft glow of security lights. Diana hums softly, her fingers grazing the edge of a display as they pass.

“So, there will be a fourth date,” Artemis says, stuffing her hands in her pockets, “even before I show you how good I am at not touching the priceless artifacts?”

Diana glances back, her smile a sharp, playful thing. “So you are planning on a fourth date.”

Artemis grins. “Maybe I want to know what the dress code will be.”

Diana stops, turning fully to face her. “So there will be a fourth date, even before I show you what we’re doing for our third?”

Artemis’s grin softens, her voice dropping. “Yeah. I hope so.”

Diana’s gaze warms, her eyes lingering on Artemis’s face before she turns away, her curls catching the light. “Good.”

Diana leads her into a small gallery room, the glass doors closing behind them with a soft click. The lights here are low but focused on the statues and artifacts, illuminating them like tiny worlds.

“I thought you might like a private sketch night,” Diana says, pulling a small folding chair from the corner and setting it up for Artemis. “We use this space for art students sometimes.”

Artemis’s chest tightens. She drops her sketchbook onto the seat, fingers brushing over the cover. “You set this up for me?”

Diana shrugs, but her smile is gentle. “You sketch everyone else. Thought you deserved a quiet place to do it.”

Diana begins walking between the pieces, explaining each artifact—where it was found, the story behind the carved marble, the use of a battered bronze mirror, the myth behind a terracotta figure with its arms broken off.

Artemis sketches, but not the artifacts.

She sketches Diana.

The slope of her shoulders as she gestures to a cracked amphora, the loose strands of her curls falling over her cheek, the bright curve of her smile when she describes a myth she loves.

“…and the artist signed it under the base,” Diana is saying, “which was rare for the time. It was an act of—”

She glances over, catching Artemis’s gaze, and falters. “You’re not drawing the statues.”

Artemis shrugs, a smirk tugging at her lips. “They’re not as interesting.”

Diana flushes, crossing her arms. “I’m not exactly ancient art.”

“No,” Artemis agrees softly, pencil moving again, “you’re better.”

Diana swallows, her eyes flicking away, but Artemis catches the small, shy smile on her lips.

They fall into a quiet rhythm: Diana explaining an artifact, Artemis sketching, Diana teasing Artemis about her serious sketch face, Artemis snapping back about Diana’s “teacher voice.”

“So, Professor,” Artemis drawls as she shades in the dark curls spilling over Diana’s shoulder, “what’s your favorite artifact in this whole place?”

Diana pretends to think. “Probably you, sitting here, acting like you’re paying attention.”

Artemis’s pencil stills, the breath catching in her throat before she huffs out a soft laugh. “Smooth.”

Diana grins, leaning against a glass case, her eyes bright. “I try.”

They’re interrupted by the chirp of Diana’s phone.

“Sorry,” Diana mutters, checking the screen, and Artemis watches as her face softens, her entire posture shifting.

“Hi, korítsi mou,” Diana says, stepping to the side as she answers, slipping into a warm, soft voice Artemis has never heard before.

Artemis’s heart clenches.

“Mm, yes, I know it’s bedtime. Did you brush your teeth? Good girl. Tomorrow? No, I’ll be home late, but Miss Cassie will make you pancakes in the morning. Yes, I’ll call you before school, I promise.”

Artemis tries not to eavesdrop, sketching the curve of Diana’s hand around her phone, the softened lines of her smile.

“S’agapó,” Diana says softly, “goodnight, baby.”

She hangs up, tucking the phone into her back pocket, and looks up, blinking as she catches Artemis’s gaze.

“Elizabeth,” Diana says, a little breathless, as if she needs to explain. “She just… likes to call before bed.”

Artemis’s chest aches, and she tries to swallow the warmth rising up her throat. “You’re a good mom.”

Diana looks down, a shy, private smile tugging at her lips. “I try.”

They don’t speak for a moment, the air thick with unspoken things, the soft hum of the lights above them buzzing quietly.

Then Artemis stands, closing her sketchbook, taking a cautious step closer.

“So…” she says, voice low, “this fourth date…”

Diana’s eyes flick up, a glint of teasing warmth under the softness. “What about it?”

Artemis tilts her head, smirking. “Do I get to pick the dress code, Princess?”

Diana’s breath hitches, her lashes fluttering, but she doesn’t look away. “Maybe.”

Artemis steps closer, so close she can see the specks of gold in Diana’s eyes, the freckles across the bridge of her nose.

Diana tilts her chin up, eyes glinting. “You’re really going to keep calling me that, aren’t you?”

Artemis’s smirk softens, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Yeah.”

And before she can think, before she can talk herself out of it, she leans in.

It’s soft, at first. Just the barest brush of Artemis’s lips against Diana’s, like a question, like a promise.

Diana answers, her hand lifting to Artemis’s cheek, pulling her in, deepening the kiss, slow and careful, but hungry underneath.

Artemis’s hands find Diana’s waist, gripping lightly, grounding herself in the warmth of her, in the soft gasp that leaves Diana’s lips as their mouths move together.

When they pull back, breathless, Diana’s eyes are bright, her lips curved into a smile that makes Artemis’s heart ache.

“Definitely a fourth date,” Diana whispers, her forehead resting against Artemis’s.

Artemis grins, her thumb brushing over Diana’s cheek. “Yeah.”

They stay like that for a moment, the quiet of the museum around them, the artifacts ancient and watchful, the moment stretching out soft and warm.

Artemis doesn’t know what happens next.

But for the first time in a long time, she’s excited to find out.

Chapter Text

Artemis is trying not to stare. Failing, really, but in her defence, how is she supposed to act normal when Diana shows up in a sundress?

A soft, pale blue cotton that flutters around strong thighs, cinched at the waist with a brown belt, paired with a straw hat Diana claims is “practical” but makes her look like she’s stepped out of a summer painting. And glasses. Big, round tortoiseshell frames slide down her nose as she squints at the bright morning light. She pushes them up with an absent flick of her finger, sighing softly.

“My contacts dried out,” Diana mutters, as if she needs to explain why she’s standing here looking like a problem.

Artemis’s mouth is dry, her fingers itching to grab, to push that hat off, to see what’s under the float of cotton and bronze skin and the soft, smooth stretch of collarbone above the dress’s neckline.

“Artemis?” Diana’s voice slices into her thoughts.

Artemis blinks, realising she’s staring. Again.

“What?” she says, trying for innocence.

Diana’s eyes narrow behind her glasses. “Stop staring.”

Artemis crosses her arms, smirking. “You wore that and thought I wouldn’t stare?”

Diana’s lips twitch. “I wore it because it’s hot.”

“Yeah,” Artemis mutters under her breath, “you are.”

Diana’s brows lift. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Artemis shoves her hands in the pockets of her ripped black shorts, tugging at the loose tank top she’s wearing, her tattoos on full display under the bright morning sun, her boots heavy against the cracked pavement.

They’re a pair—Diana, light and breezy in her sundress, Artemis, dark ink and scuffed boots, boots that echo as they walk side by side into the sea of stalls, colours and voices and smells swirling around them. They wander between tables stacked with old records and chipped mugs, boxes of yellowed books and trays of mismatched jewellery. The air smells like cinnamon doughnuts and hot asphalt.

Diana stops to flip through a crate of second-hand children’s books, humming under her breath.

Artemis can’t stop glancing over, watching the way Diana tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the curve of her shoulder under the strap of the dress, the small lines around her eyes when she smiles at something she finds.

Diana looks up, catching Artemis’s gaze.

“Artemis,” she says, slow, deliberate, “eyes up here.”

Artemis’s lips curve into a wolfish grin. “You love that I can’t stop looking.”

Diana’s eyes narrow, but her cheeks flush. “Focus.”

Artemis leans in, dropping her voice. “You gonna use your teacher voice on me again, Princess?”

Diana’s eyes spark dangerously, and she clears her throat, dropping into a calm, authoritative tone. “Miss Artemis, if you can’t behave, we will leave this flea market right now.”

The words send a bolt of heat straight through Artemis’s spine. She bites her lip, her smirk faltering, heat rising in her chest.

Diana’s lips twitch, victorious.

Artemis mutters under her breath, “You’re not playing fair.”

Diana lifts a shoulder, turning back to the books. “You started it.”

They find a stall selling handmade jewellery, little beaded necklaces strung on wax cord.

Diana picks up a small necklace with a blue glass bead, rolling it between her fingers.

“Elizabeth would love this,” she says softly.

Artemis’s chest tightens. “She likes blue?”

“It’s her favourite colour,” Diana says, her voice warm, her eyes soft as she looks down at the necklace. “And she loves anything small enough to lose in a week.”

Artemis laughs, pulling out a couple of crumpled bills from her pocket. “Let me.”

“Artemis, you don’t have to—”

Artemis brushes Diana’s hand aside, pressing the money into the vendor’s palm. “I want to.”

Diana’s eyes catch hers, something soft and deep passing between them, something Artemis feels down in her bones.

“Thank you,” Diana says quietly, slipping the necklace into her bag.

Artemis shrugs, trying to play it off, but the way Diana’s fingers brush against hers as she moves, the way Diana’s eyes linger, it sends warmth blooming in Artemis’s chest that she can’t shake.

They get doughnuts and cold drinks, finding a shady spot near the edge of the market to sit on the grass, the scent of hot sugar in the air.

Artemis tears into her doughnut, powdered sugar dusting her black shorts. Diana nibbles delicately, licking sugar off her thumb, her glasses slipping down again.

Artemis’s eyes catch on the movement, her breath catching.

Diana glances up, smirking. “You’re staring again.”

“Can’t help it,” Artemis mutters, not even trying to hide it now.

Diana’s smirk softens into something gentler. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” Artemis says, “but you like impossible.”

Diana’s laugh is quiet, warm, carried off by the breeze.

They wander back toward the parking lot, Artemis’s boots scuffing the pavement, Diana’s sandals quiet beside her.

Diana shifts her bag on her shoulder. “So.”

Artemis looks over. “So?”

“You mentioned showing me your shop.”

Artemis’s heart skips, heat rushing to her face. “Yeah. You wanna?”

Diana’s smile is small, but certain. “Yeah.”

They walk the few blocks in comfortable silence, the afternoon light softening as they reach the faded green door of Artemis’s shop.

Artemis pushes it open, the little bell above the door jingling, the familiar scent of ink, paper, and faint lavender wrapping around them as they step inside.

Diana pauses, looking around at the rows of old books, the small counter stacked with sketchbooks and ink bottles, the soft yellow light spilling from the mismatched lamps.

“It’s beautiful,” Diana says softly.

Artemis shrugs, shoving her hands in her pockets, trying to hide the warmth in her chest. “It’s mine.”

Diana turns, smiling. “Show me.”

Artemis leads her behind the counter, past a beaded curtain, into a small back room lined with shelves of leather scraps, spools of thread, and jars of dye.

“This is where I do the bookbinding,” Artemis says, running a hand over a half-finished leather journal on the worktable. “Special commissions, repairs. I’ve got a few women I work with, teaching them to do it, too. Helps them find… control, I guess.”

Diana’s eyes are warm; watching her. “You’re amazing.”

Artemis coughs, scratching the back of her neck. “Yeah, well. Come on.”

She pushes open another door, leading Diana into a smaller room, almost empty except for a single tattoo chair under a warm lamp, a small table of sterile tools, and a diffuser humming quietly in the corner. The air is calm, still, like a therapist’s office. Safe.

“This is where I tattoo,” Artemis says softly. “Most of the women who come in are here to take something back. To cover scars, to reclaim their bodies. It’s not just ink, it’s a shield.”

Diana steps forward, running a hand over the back of the chair, her eyes soft. “You give them armour.”

Artemis’s throat tightens. “Yeah.”

Diana looks up, her eyes catching Artemis’s, something deep and unspoken passing between them.

“Sit,” Artemis says suddenly.

Diana blinks. “What?”

Artemis nods at the chair. “Sit down.”

Diana hesitates, then slowly lowers herself into the chair, her sundress flowing around her, her hands folding in her lap, looking up at Artemis through those round glasses. Artemis steps closer, her boots quiet on the floor, stopping just in front of Diana, her heart thudding in her chest. Diana looks up, eyes wide, breath caught, the soft flush of her cheeks making Artemis’s stomach twist.

“Artemis,” Diana says softly, “what are you—”

Artemis swings a leg over, straddling Diana’s lap, her knees pressing into the sides of the chair, her hands bracing on either side of Diana’s head. Diana’s breath catches, her hands flying to Artemis’s thighs, gripping lightly, her eyes wide behind her glasses.

“You’ve been driving me insane all day,” Artemis says, her voice low, rough, her face inches from Diana’s. “In that dress. With those glasses. Using your teacher voice on me.”

Diana swallows, her lips parting, her grip tightening. “Artemis—”

Artemis leans in, close enough that she can feel Diana’s breath against her lips.

“Princess,” Artemis whispers.

And then she kisses her. Diana’s gasp is soft, swallowed by Artemis’s mouth as their lips meet, slow and deep, the world narrowing to the soft, warm slide of lips and the sharp inhale of breath.

Diana’s hands slide up Artemis’s thighs, gripping her hips, pulling her closer, the chair creaking softly under their shifting weight. Artemis’s hands slide into Diana’s hair, knocking the hat off, tugging gently as she deepens the kiss, tasting sugar and warmth, feeling the strength in Diana’s arms as they hold her steady.

Diana kisses back with quiet hunger, her lips parting, her breath warm against Artemis’s skin, her glasses fogging before slipping down, and Artemis laughs softly against her mouth, pulling back just enough to push them up again.

Diana’s eyes flutter open, dazed, her lips swollen, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Keep the glasses on,” Artemis whispers, before diving back in, kissing her again, harder this time, her hands gripping Diana’s shoulders, feeling the strength and softness under her palms.

Diana’s hands slip under Artemis’s tank top, warm against the skin of her back, and Artemis shivers, pressing closer, her hips rolling forward just enough to draw a soft gasp from Diana’s lips. They break apart, breathing heavily, foreheads resting together, the room spinning softly around them. Diana’s eyes open, bright and dark all at once, her lips curving into a small, breathless smile.

“So there will be a fifth date,” Diana whispers.

Artemis grins, her thumb brushing over Diana’s jaw, her hair falling around them like a curtain.

“Yeah,” Artemis says softly. “There will.”

Chapter Text

Artemis tries to remember how to breathe when Diana opens the door. It’s not the soft, pale sweater Diana’s wearing, though that doesn’t help—the way it falls off one shoulder, exposing the smooth line of her collarbone. It’s not even the warm smile that tugs at Diana’s lips, or the faint scent of clean soap and cinnamon drifting from the apartment.

It’s the tiny girl clinging to Diana’s leg. Big, dark eyes, a mop of brown curls, a cautious, assessing stare that makes Artemis straighten without thinking.

“Hi,” Artemis says, her voice coming out softer than she intended.

Elizabeth, clutching a stuffed rabbit, says nothing, her eyes darting up at Diana.

Diana brushes a hand through Elizabeth’s hair. “Lizzy, this is Artemis.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrow, suspicious in a way only four-year-olds can manage. Then, in a small voice, she asks, “Is she the one you like?”

Diana’s cheeks flush a pretty pink. “Elizabeth.”

Artemis coughs, trying not to laugh. “Busted.”

Elizabeth eyes her, then looks at Diana again. “Is she staying for dinner?”

“If she doesn’t burn it first,” Diana says, glancing at Artemis with a teasing smile.

Artemis puffs out her chest, slinging her grocery bag onto the kitchen counter. “Hey, I’m a fantastic cook.”

Diana lifts an eyebrow. “Last chance to back out, baby.”

Elizabeth gasps. “You called her baby.”

Artemis’s face splits into a grin, her chest tightening in a way she’s not ready to unpack.

“Yeah,” Artemis says, eyes locked on Diana, “she did.”

The chaos begins almost immediately. Diana tries to help, but Artemis insists she can handle chopping vegetables—until she nearly slices her finger, prompting Diana to ease in behind her, warm arms wrapping around Artemis’s waist as Diana carefully guides her hand, showing her how to hold the knife.

Artemis can barely focus, the scent of Diana’s shampoo, the soft brush of her sweater against Artemis’s bare arms, the gentle pressure of Diana’s hands on hers.

Elizabeth perches on a stool, clutching her rabbit, her tiny voice piping up, “You’re standing too close.”

Diana smirks against Artemis’s ear. “Am I?”

Artemis swallows. “You’re a menace.”

“Mm.” Diana pulls back, leaving Artemis cold in her absence.

Artemis, determined, turns up the heat on the sauce. Within minutes, it promptly burns.

Smoke curls up, the sharp scent of charred garlic filling the kitchen. Elizabeth squeals, clapping her hands over her nose. “Ew!”

Diana sighs, opening the window. “Baby, I told you.”

Artemis points a spoon at her. “Don’t you dare say I told you so.”

Diana’s lips twitch. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Elizabeth giggles, and Artemis shoots her a betrayed look. “Traitor.”

Elizabeth’s giggles turn into hiccups, her tiny face scrunching up with mirth. Artemis can’t help it. She starts laughing, too, even as the sauce bubbles angrily in the pan.

They salvage dinner together, Diana taking over the sauce while Artemis sets the table. It’s a small kitchen table with mismatched chairs, a vase of fresh flowers in the center, and Elizabeth’s crayons scattered around the edges.

They eat pasta, simple and comforting, with bread and soft cheese. Artemis listens to Elizabeth chatter about preschool, about her rabbit, about how she’s going to be an astronaut and maybe a pirate.

Diana watches Elizabeth with soft, warm eyes, laughing quietly, leaning in to brush crumbs off Elizabeth’s cheek. Artemis feels something in her chest, something fierce and quiet, something that scares her a little.

After dinner, it’s bath time, which Artemis insists on helping with—until she realizes Elizabeth is a menace with water.

Elizabeth shrieks with laughter as she splashes water everywhere, soaking Artemis’s tank top, dripping down to the floor.

Diana, kneeling beside the tub, covers her face with one hand, trying to hide her laughter.

“Help,” Artemis begs, water dripping off her hair.

“I warned you,” Diana says, eyes dancing.

“You didn’t warn me she’s Aquaman.”

Elizabeth screams, “I’m not Aquaman, I’m a pirate!” and throws another wave of water at Artemis.

Artemis sputters, her arms up, laughing so hard her stomach hurts.

They finally get Elizabeth into pajamas, her hair wrapped in a tiny towel, her rabbit clutched in her arms.

Diana tucks her into bed, sitting on the edge, brushing damp curls off Elizabeth’s forehead.

Artemis lingers in the doorway, arms crossed, watching them.

Elizabeth’s eyes flutter, her tiny voice sleepy. “Is Artemis staying?”

Diana glances back, her eyes soft. “Not tonight, agapi mou.”

Elizabeth’s eyes close. “I like her.”

Artemis’s throat tightens.

Diana kisses Elizabeth’s forehead. “Me too.”

They leave the door cracked, the hallway dim as they step back into the living room.

It’s quiet, the soft hum of the city outside the window, the faint scent of lavender from Elizabeth’s room.

Diana leans against the counter, her arms crossed, her eyes on Artemis.

“She likes you,” Diana says softly.

Artemis’s lips curve. “She’s cool. Kinda terrifying. But cool.”

Diana’s laugh is quiet, tired. She rubs a hand over her face, her sweater slipping off her shoulder again.

Artemis steps closer, reaching out to fix it, her fingers brushing warm skin.

Diana’s breath catches.

“Diana,” Artemis says, voice low, “can I kiss you?”

Diana’s eyes search hers, something soft and afraid and wanting.

“Yes,” she whispers.

The kiss is slow, warm, Diana’s hands sliding up Artemis’s arms, fingers curling around her neck.

Artemis cups Diana’s face, tilting her head, deepening the kiss, tasting soft lips, feeling Diana melt against her, the tension of the day unraveling in the quiet of the apartment.

Diana sighs into her mouth, her hands sliding down to Artemis’s waist, pulling her closer.

Artemis’s fingers slide into Diana’s hair, tugging gently, drawing a soft, surprised moan from Diana’s lips.

The sound makes Artemis’s stomach tighten, heat pooling low, her hands wandering down to Diana’s hips, squeezing, pulling her flush against her.

Diana gasps, breaking the kiss, her forehead resting against Artemis’s.

“Artemis,” Diana whispers, her breath shaky, “we should talk.”

Artemis’s heart stutters. “Talk?”

Diana closes her eyes, her hands still gripping Artemis’s hips. “These dates have been… the first good ones. Since Steve. Since he died. And I—”

Artemis’s hand slides up to cup Diana’s cheek. “I know.”

“Elizabeth is the most important part of my life,” Diana whispers. “I can’t—”

“I get it,” Artemis says softly, her thumb brushing over Diana’s cheekbone. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be there for both of you.”

Diana’s eyes open, shining with something Artemis can’t name.

“I was hoping you’d say that,” Diana breathes.

Artemis kisses her again, deeper, her hands sliding down to squeeze Diana’s ass, drawing a soft, surprised moan that makes Artemis’s head spin.

Diana’s hands slide under Artemis’s tank top, fingers skimming warm skin, pulling her closer, pressing them together.

They stumble to the couch, falling into the cushions, lips locked, hands roaming, gasping between kisses.

Artemis’s hand slips under Diana’s sweater, brushing against soft skin, feeling the heat of Diana’s body, the subtle arch of her back as Artemis’s thumb flicks over the hardening peak of Diana’s nipple.

Diana moans softly, her head falling back, her lips parted, her cheeks flushed.

Artemis leans in, pressing soft kisses down Diana’s neck, her hand playing with Diana’s nipple, rolling it gently between her fingers, drawing another soft gasp.

Diana’s hands clutch at Artemis’s back, her hips shifting, pressing up against Artemis’s thigh.

“Artemis,” Diana whispers, breathless, “wait—”

Artemis freezes, pulling back, searching Diana’s eyes. “Are you okay?”

Diana’s chest rises and falls, her lips swollen, her eyes dark. “Yeah. Just—maybe not tonight.”

Artemis nods, brushing hair from Diana’s face, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

“Yeah,” Artemis whispers, her heart pounding, “not tonight.”

They sit on the couch, holding each other, the soft hum of the city outside, the quiet rise and fall of Elizabeth’s breathing down the hall.

Diana’s head rests on Artemis’s shoulder, her hand laced with Artemis’s, their bodies warm against each other.

“I’m glad you came over,” Diana says softly.

Artemis presses a kiss to the top of her head. “Me too.”

They sit there until the clock on the wall ticks past midnight.

Artemis slips out the door, the night air cool on her skin, the city lights soft around her.

She walks home, her boots echoing on the sidewalk, a smile on her face, her chest warm, her mind buzzing.

She’s ready.

For the next step.

Chapter Text

Artemis doesn’t even knock anymore. She’s balancing a bag of glitter pens, colored paper, and snacks when she nudges open the apartment door, stepping inside to the smell of cinnamon and the soft hum of Elizabeth’s music from her room.

“Pirate, I’m here!” Artemis calls, dropping the bag onto the kitchen counter.

Elizabeth comes barreling down the hallway, socks sliding on the wood floors, hair wild around her face. She flings herself at Artemis, who catches her easily, swinging her up and over her hip.

“Are we gonna make my poster?” Elizabeth demands.

“You bet we are,” Artemis says, tickling her until Elizabeth squeals with laughter, her small hands batting Artemis away.

Diana leans against the doorway, watching them with warm, tired eyes, her hair pulled back in a loose braid, dressed in a soft black t-shirt and jeans that hug her hips.

“Hi,” Diana says, smiling.

Artemis’s breath catches. “Hi.”

Diana’s eyes sweep over Artemis’s ripped jeans, the soft blue henley that clings to her arms, the scuff of her boots. Her smile softens.

“Thank you for helping,” Diana says.

Artemis shrugs, adjusting Elizabeth on her hip. “You kidding? Crafts are my jam.”

Elizabeth giggles, “You’re silly.”

“Don’t tell your mom,” Artemis stage-whispers.

Elizabeth grins, leaning closer. “She already knows.”

They spread out on the living room floor, Elizabeth explaining her ocean animals poster with all the solemnity of a queen, Artemis helping her glue cut-out whales and glittery fish onto bright blue paper.

Diana sits cross-legged, sipping tea, watching them, occasionally reaching out to smooth Elizabeth’s hair or adjust a crooked sticker. At one point, Artemis glances up and catches Diana looking at her, eyes soft, mouth curved in a quiet smile that makes Artemis’s chest tighten.

Elizabeth hums softly as she concentrates, sticking a final seahorse onto the corner of the poster. Artemis leans back, arms stretched behind her, grinning. “We nailed it.”

Elizabeth claps her hands, beaming. Diana stands, stepping over to place a soft kiss on Elizabeth’s curls. “Bedtime, pirate.”

Elizabeth pouts, hugging Artemis fiercely. “Stay.”

Artemis glances up at Diana, who gives her a small, hopeful nod.

Artemis wraps Elizabeth in a tight hug. “I’ll stay until you’re asleep, deal?”

Elizabeth sighs dramatically but nods.

Bedtime is a soft chaos. Elizabeth insists on a story, so Artemis sits on the floor while Diana tucks Elizabeth in, reading from a well-loved book about a stubborn caterpillar who dreams of flying.

Elizabeth’s eyes flutter closed halfway through, her small hand clutching Diana’s fingers. Diana kisses her forehead, lingering for a moment before slipping her hand free.

Artemis brushes a finger down Elizabeth’s cheek, whispering, “Night, pirate.”

Elizabeth murmurs in her sleep, rolling over, clutching her rabbit. They leave the door cracked, the soft glow of a nightlight spilling into the hallway. The apartment feels different once Elizabeth is asleep. Quieter. Closer.

Diana moves around the kitchen, putting away the last of the dishes. Artemis leans against the counter, watching her, the warm light pooling around Diana’s shoulders, catching in the loose strands of hair framing her face.

“So…” Artemis says, her voice low.

Diana glances up, a small, nervous smile on her lips. “So.”

There’s a beat of silence, the hum of the fridge the only sound between them.

Diana wipes her hands on a towel, stepping closer, her eyes flicking down to Artemis’s lips before meeting her gaze again.

“Do you want to stay?” Diana asks softly.

Artemis’s heart stutters. “Yeah,” she says, just as softly.

They end up on the couch, at first. Diana’s legs tucked under her, Artemis leaning in, brushing a hand through Diana’s hair before kissing her, soft and slow.

The taller woman sighs into the kiss, her hands finding Artemis’s shoulders, pulling her closer until Artemis is half on top of her, their mouths moving together in quiet, heated rhythm. Artemis’s hand slides under Diana’s t-shirt, fingertips grazing warm skin, feeling the soft tremble that runs through Diana’s body.

Diana breaks the kiss, her breath shaky, eyes dark.

“Artemis,” she whispers, “we don’t have to—”

Artemis cups her face, brushing her thumb over Diana’s cheekbone. “Do you want to stop?”

Diana’s lips part, her eyes closing for a moment before opening again. “No.”

Artemis kisses her again, deeper this time, her hand sliding higher, brushing against the curve of Diana’s breast, feeling the hardening peak under her palm. Diana gasps, her back arching, pressing into Artemis’s hand.

“Bedroom,” Diana whispers, breathless. Diana’s bedroom is warm, the soft scent of lavender and clean linen wrapping around them as they move inside. They pause, standing in the glow of the bedside lamp, looking at each other. Diana reaches for Artemis’s hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I haven’t—” Diana starts, her voice catching. “Since Steve.”

Artemis steps closer, lifting Diana’s hand to her lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “We’ll go slow. You tell me if you want to stop.”

Diana’s eyes shine, tears gathering, but she smiles, nodding. “Okay.”

Artemis kisses her again, gently, taking her time, letting Diana’s body relax into hers.

She tugs Diana’s t-shirt up, pausing, waiting for Diana’s nod before pulling it off, revealing soft, tan skin, the swell of her breasts, the faint lines of stretch marks along her hips.

Artemis’s breath catches. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Diana flushes, her arms wrapping around Artemis’s neck, pulling her in for another kiss.

Artemis’s hands slide down, gripping Diana’s hips, lifting her gently onto the bed, crawling over her, kissing her softly, deeply, their bodies pressing together. Diana’s hands slide under Artemis’s henley, tugging it up, her fingers brushing over the tattoos on Artemis’s ribs.

“Take it off,” Diana whispers.

Artemis does, tossing it aside, leaning back to let Diana look.

Diana’s hands trace the ink, the muscles under Artemis’s skin, her fingers lingering on the lines of her collarbones, the curve of her waist.

“You’re so young,” Diana whispers, a soft, teasing smile on her lips.

Artemis leans down, kissing her again. “And you’re ancient, princess.”

Diana laughs softly, the sound muffled by Artemis’s lips. They take their time. Artemis’s hands are gentle, sliding down to unbutton Diana’s jeans, pausing when Diana’s breath catches, giving her time before easing them down, kissing every inch of newly exposed skin.

Diana’s hands tangle in Artemis’s hair, tugging her closer, her hips shifting, thighs parting as Artemis slides between them. Their kisses grow deeper, messier, soft moans filling the room as Artemis’s hand slides down, cupping Diana between her thighs, feeling the heat and softness there.

Diana gasps, her head falling back, eyes closing. “Artemis—”

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Artemis whispers against her neck.

Diana’s fingers tighten in her hair. “Don’t you dare.”

Artemis smiles against her skin, kissing down her throat, her hand slipping under the waistband of Diana’s panties, sliding down, finding her warm and wet, her breath catching at how soft Diana is under her fingers.

Diana moans, hips arching, her hands clutching at Artemis’s shoulders as Artemis’s fingers slide through her folds, circling gently, teasing her open.

“Please,” Diana gasps, her voice trembling.

Artemis kisses her, swallowing her moans as she slides a finger inside, slow, careful, feeling Diana’s body tighten around her. Diana’s hands clutch at Artemis’s back, her hips rocking, breathless whimpers falling from her lips. Artemis adds another finger, moving slow, letting Diana adjust, watching her face, the way her lips part, her eyes fluttering closed, her body trembling with each slow thrust.

“Artemis,” Diana breathes, “oh, God—”

Artemis kisses her, her thumb finding that soft, sensitive spot, circling gently as her fingers move inside Diana, feeling the way her body tightens, how her breath catches with every stroke.

Diana’s moans grow louder, her hips moving with Artemis’s hand, her body arching, pressing closer, chasing the pleasure building inside her.

“Come for me, princess,” Artemis whispers against her ear.

Diana’s body tenses, her back arching, a soft cry breaking from her lips as she comes, trembling under Artemis, her hands clutching at her, pulling her closer. Artemis kisses her through it, gentle, grounding, holding Diana as she rides out the waves, soft whimpers and gasps filling the quiet room.

When it passes, Diana collapses back onto the pillows, her chest rising and falling, sweat-damp curls sticking to her forehead, eyes shining as she looks up at Artemis.

Artemis leans down, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You okay?”

Diana smiles, pulling her close, pressing their foreheads together. “Yeah. I’m more than okay.”

They lie there, tangled together, the sheets twisted around their bodies, their breaths slowing, the soft glow of the lamp casting warm shadows across the room. Diana’s fingers trace patterns over Artemis’s back, her eyes soft, vulnerable.

“I missed this,” Diana whispers. “Being with someone. Feeling safe.”

Artemis kisses her forehead, her heart full. “I’m here. For you. For Lizzy. Always.”

Diana closes her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, but she smiles, pulling Artemis closer. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

They fall asleep like that, wrapped around each other, the soft hum of the city outside, the quiet, warm promise of something real, something steady, holding them through the night.

In the morning, Artemis wakes to the smell of coffee and the sound of Elizabeth giggling in the kitchen. She finds Diana there, wearing one of Artemis’s shirts, holding a mug in one hand, Elizabeth perched on the counter, babbling about breakfast. Diana looks up, her eyes crinkling as she smiles.

“Morning,” she says softly.

Artemis steps forward, pressing a soft kiss to Diana’s lips, her hand resting on her hip.

“Morning, princess,” Artemis murmurs.

Elizabeth giggles, hiding her face behind her rabbit. Diana rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and Artemis knows she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.

Chapter Text

Artemis can’t stop looking at her.

It’s a problem.

Diana’s wearing a sundress again, pale yellow with tiny blue flowers, the fabric swaying around her thighs as she moves, the neckline dipping just enough to show a hint of freckled collarbones and the soft curve of her breasts. Her hair is tied back in a low ponytail, a few strands framing her face, but it’s the glasses that are killing Artemis.

Thin, gold-rimmed, perched on the bridge of Diana’s nose, catching the morning light as she bends over to check Elizabeth’s backpack one last time before they leave for the fair.

Artemis leans against the kitchen counter, arms crossed over her chest, biting her lip, eyes fixed on the line of Diana’s neck as she moves.

Diana looks up, catches her staring, and raises an eyebrow.

“Eyes up here,” she says, voice firm, that soft teacher voice she uses when Elizabeth forgets to rinse her paintbrushes.

Artemis feels heat pool low in her stomach. She clears her throat, smirking. “Sorry, Princess, I’m just appreciating the view.”

Diana’s lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Behave.”

Artemis winks, pushing off the counter to grab the bag of snacks. “No promises.”

The school fair is chaos.

Kids running, screaming, faces painted like tigers and unicorns, parents balancing coffee cups and half-eaten cookies, teachers directing children with the careful patience of people on the brink of losing their minds.

Elizabeth is thrilled, tugging Artemis’s hand, dragging her from booth to booth, proudly showing off her classroom’s ocean animal diorama, the glitter catching the light under the gym’s fluorescent bulbs.

Diana walks beside them, laughing softly as Elizabeth explains each animal in excruciating detail, occasionally stepping closer to Artemis, their shoulders brushing.

“Did you help with this?” Diana asks quietly, nodding at the bright blue cardboard.

Artemis grins, leaning down to whisper, “She’s got a mean glue stick arm. Nearly took my finger off.”

Diana laughs, a warm, easy sound that makes Artemis’s chest tighten.

They help Elizabeth at the face-painting booth, Artemis expertly sketching a tiny dolphin on Elizabeth’s cheek while Diana holds her still, brushing curls away from Elizabeth’s face with gentle fingers.

Elizabeth beams at her reflection in a small mirror, turning to hug Artemis around the waist.

“It’s perfect!”

“You’re perfect, pirate,” Artemis says, ruffling her hair.

Diana’s eyes soften, watching them, her hand brushing down Artemis’s back in a small, grateful touch that sends a shiver up Artemis’s spine.

They wander through the fair, sharing cotton candy and iced coffee, Elizabeth skipping ahead to join her friends at the ring toss.

Artemis keeps sneaking glances at Diana, the glasses slipping down her nose, the way she pushes them back up with a single finger, the sunlight catching on her hair, the curve of her hips in that dress.

Diana catches her looking, again, and gives her a sharp look over the top of her glasses.

“Artemis.”

The way she says her name, low and firm, makes Artemis’s breath catch.

“Yes, ma’am,” Artemis murmurs, smirking.

Diana’s eyes narrow, but her lips curve in a small, dangerous smile. “Don’t test me.”

Artemis leans closer, voice dropping. “What if I want to?”

Diana’s eyes darken, and for a moment, the air crackles between them, heat rising, soft and dangerous.

“Later,” Diana whispers, her voice low, promising.

They buy Elizabeth a small stuffed sea turtle from one of the craft tables, letting her pick out a beaded bracelet as well, Diana pulling out her wallet, Artemis gently sliding it back into her bag.

“My treat,” Artemis says, brushing a kiss to Diana’s temple.

Diana rolls her eyes, but she’s blushing, pushing her glasses up again. “Fine.”

Elizabeth runs off to play with friends under the watchful eyes of teachers, and for a rare moment, Artemis and Diana are alone, leaning against the playground fence, the late afternoon sun warm on their skin.

Artemis’s fingers brush against Diana’s, hooking their pinkies together.

“You’re really good with her,” Diana says softly, her eyes on Elizabeth.

Artemis shrugs, looking at the little girl laughing as she runs across the field, her curls bouncing. “She’s a good kid.”

“She likes you,” Diana says, her voice tight, like she’s fighting back emotion.

Artemis glances at her, finding Diana’s eyes on her, soft and searching. “Yeah?”

Diana nods, her fingers tightening around Artemis’s. “I like you too.”

Artemis’s chest tightens, warmth blooming in her heart. “I like you, Princess.”

Diana smiles, but it’s a sad, soft smile. “It scares me,” she admits quietly. “How much I like you. How easy it feels. After Steve, I didn’t think…”

Artemis steps closer, lifting her hand to brush a strand of hair behind Diana’s ear, her thumb brushing along her jaw. “I’m not him,” she says softly. “But I’m here. For you. For her.”

Diana’s eyes shine, tears gathering, but she leans into Artemis’s touch, closing her eyes for a moment. “I know.”

They help clean up at the end of the fair, Artemis carrying boxes to the car while Diana buckles a sleepy Elizabeth into her booster seat, the child clutching her sea turtle, her eyes drooping.

“Can Artemis come over for dinner?” Elizabeth mumbles.

Diana glances at Artemis, who grins, tossing the last box into the trunk. “Only if you promise not to fall asleep in your spaghetti.”

Elizabeth giggles, already half-asleep. Back at the apartment, they eat takeout on the couch, Elizabeth curled up between them, drifting in and out of sleep.

Artemis feels Diana’s thigh pressed against hers, the warmth of her body, the way her fingers brush against Artemis’s hand, soft and careful.

After Elizabeth is asleep, tucked into her bed with her sea turtle and rabbit, they clean up together in the kitchen.

Diana is still wearing her glasses, her hair falling loose from the ponytail, and Artemis can’t stop looking at her.

“You’re staring again,” Diana says, turning to face her.

Artemis steps closer, caging Diana against the counter, leaning in until their noses nearly touch.

“Can’t help it,” Artemis says, her voice low, her eyes dropping to Diana’s lips. “You look so damn good in those glasses.”

Diana flushes, pushing her glasses up, trying to look stern. “Artemis—”

Artemis kisses her.

Soft, slow, but hungry, her hands sliding around Diana’s waist, pulling her close.

Diana melts into the kiss, her hands finding Artemis’s shoulders, her body pressing against her, a soft moan slipping between them.

When they break apart, Diana’s breath is shaky, her eyes dark behind her glasses.

“Bedroom?” Artemis whispers.

Diana hesitates, biting her lip, looking toward Elizabeth’s room.

Artemis leans in, pressing a soft kiss to her jaw. “We don’t have to. Not tonight.”

Diana closes her eyes, resting her forehead against Artemis’s. “I want to. I just…”

Artemis cups her face, forcing her to meet her eyes. “I’m not going anywhere, Diana. We have time.”

Diana smiles, tears shining in her eyes. “Okay.”

They once again re end up on the couch, tangled together, kissing slow and deep, hands roaming over clothes, soft moans muffled against each other’s mouths.

Artemis’s hands slide under Diana’s dress, fingers brushing along her thighs, feeling the warmth of her skin, the softness, the strength.

Diana’s hands tug at Artemis’s henley, pulling it up, their mouths breaking just long enough to strip it off.
They kiss again, soft, slow, but hungry, Artemis’s hands sliding around Diana’s waist, pulling her close.

Diana melts into the kiss, her hands finding Artemis’s shoulders, her body pressing against her, a soft moan slipping between them.

When they part, barely breathing, Diana’s eyes are dark behind her glasses, her lips swollen, flushed.

“You really can’t stop staring, can you?” she whispers, brushing her thumb across Artemis’s jaw, her voice edged with amused authority.

Artemis smirks, her hands squeezing at Diana’s hips. “It’s not my fault you look hot in your glasses, Princess.”

Diana’s eyebrow arches, her glasses slipping slightly down her nose. “Princess now, is it? Or do you prefer Professor?”

Artemis’s breath catches, heat prickling under her skin, her eyes flickering down to Diana’s lips, then back up.

“Do you like women who are in control?” Diana asks softly, her fingers tracing down the line of Artemis’s throat. “Women who are powerful? Confident?”

Artemis’s lips part, a small, helpless sound catching in her throat.

Diana’s lips curl in a smirk, her teacher voice firm but low, teasing. “I think you do.”

Artemis’s hands tighten on Diana’s hips, pulling her flush against her, her voice rough with want. “And if I do?”

Diana leans in, pressing a kiss just under Artemis’s jaw, slow, deliberate, her breath warm on her skin. “Then you’ll be good for me.”

Artemis shudders, her hands sliding up to frame Diana’s face, their foreheads pressing together.

“I’ll be so good for you,” Artemis whispers, and the way Diana’s eyes darken is enough to make her knees go weak.

Diana steps back, her hand catching Artemis’s, tugging her gently but firmly down the hallway, the air charged between them.

“Come on,” Diana says, her glasses glinting, her smile soft but dangerous. “We have a few lessons to review.”

And with a quiet click, the bedroom door closes behind them.

Chapter Text

The door clicks shut, the sound sinking into the warm hush of the bedroom. Rain taps at the window, steady and rhythmic, the gray light softening the edges of the world outside, while the air between them is anything but soft. Diana’s glasses are still on, sliding slightly down her nose as she looks Artemis over, slowly, like she’s studying an artifact she knows she’ll want to keep forever.

Artemis leans against the door, arms crossed, cocky grin on her lips. “So, Professor,” she drawls, “what lesson are we reviewing?”

Diana’s eyes narrow behind her glasses, and she takes a step forward, and another, until she’s so close Artemis can feel the warmth of her body without even touching.

“You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Diana’s voice is low, precise, that teacher voice she’s used on tour groups and unruly guests, but now it’s sharper, meant for Artemis alone.

Artemis shrugs, smirking, shifting her hips as if to say what are you going to do about it? “I mean, you seem to like it.”

Diana tilts her head, eyes darkening. “Oh, I do. But you need to learn some manners.”

Artemis licks her lips, a flush creeping over her neck. “And you’re going to teach me, Princess?”

Diana’s hand shoots out, cupping Artemis’s jaw, thumb brushing over her lower lip, forcing her eyes to meet hers. Artemis’s breath catches, her eyes wide, her smirk faltering.

“You like pushing,” Diana says softly, dangerously calm. “You like testing me.”

Artemis’s lips curve again, even as her pulse pounds. “Maybe I just want to see what happens.”

Diana leans in, her lips brushing against Artemis’s ear as she whispers, “You’re about to find out.”

A shiver runs through Artemis, her knees weakening, and Diana steps back just enough to look her in the eyes, her hand sliding from Artemis’s jaw to her throat, holding her there—not choking, just enough pressure to make Artemis feel it, to make her breath catch again.

“Take off your shirt,” Diana orders, her voice leaving no room for argument.

Artemis hesitates, grinning, testing, “And if I don’t?”

Diana’s thumb presses lightly into the hollow of Artemis’s throat, her eyes unblinking. “Then you’ll be in more trouble.”

Artemis’s breath shudders out, her hands reaching for the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head with a defiant flick of her hair, tossing it aside.

“Good girl,” Diana purrs, her hand sliding down Artemis’s bare shoulder, fingers tracing the ink there, the black lines that speak of stories and shields and survival.

Diana’s glasses glint as she lowers her gaze, taking Artemis in, her lips curving into a satisfied smile. “You really are beautiful.”

Artemis flushes, biting back a smile, her chin lifting in challenge. “You’re not so bad yourself, Professor.”

Diana’s eyes snap back to hers, and Artemis sees the moment she decides to really teach her a lesson.

“On the bed,” Diana commands.

Artemis raises an eyebrow, tilting her head, but the flush in her cheeks gives her away. “Bossy.”

Diana’s lips curl, her hand slipping around Artemis’s waist, pulling her close, pressing their bodies together. “You love it.”

Artemis’s breath hitches, her hands coming up to grip Diana’s biceps, the firm, warm muscle under her palms sending heat spiraling low in her stomach. “Yeah,” she whispers, unable to lie.

Diana’s glasses slip further down her nose, and Artemis has the sudden, ridiculous urge to push them back up. But Diana leans in and kisses her, hard, claiming, her teeth catching Artemis’s lower lip as she pulls away just enough to speak.

“Bed. Now.”

Artemis scrambles back, her bratty smirk faltering under the weight of Diana’s stare, but she still tries for defiance, crawling onto the bed slowly, deliberately, her eyes locked with Diana’s, challenging her to do something about it.

Diana watches, her tongue running over her lower lip, her eyes dark and hungry. “Do you want me to take these off?” she asks, tapping the frame of her glasses.

Artemis shakes her head, breathless. “No. Leave them on.”

Diana’s smile is slow, wicked, and she steps forward, unbuttoning her blouse with calm precision, letting it slide from her shoulders to the floor, revealing the soft, powerful lines of her body.

Artemis’s mouth goes dry, her eyes drinking in every inch of warm skin, the curves, the muscle, the soft fullness of Diana’s breasts barely contained by her bra.

Diana climbs onto the bed, straddling Artemis’s thighs, pushing her down against the pillows. She leans in, their noses brushing, glasses slipping between them.

“You’re mine right now,” Diana whispers, her voice low and commanding, her hair falling like a dark curtain around their faces.

Artemis’s hands come up to Diana’s hips, holding her there, trembling with want, her bratty smirk returning for just a moment. “Make me.”

Diana’s laughter is soft, dark, as she lowers herself, kissing Artemis deeply, her hands sliding up to pin Artemis’s wrists above her head, holding her there, owning her with nothing but the press of her body and the surety in her touch. Artemis moans softly into the kiss, her hips shifting, her body arching up into Diana’s, heat rolling off her in waves. Diana pulls back just enough to meet Artemis’s eyes, her glasses fogged slightly, her pupils blown wide. “Is this what you wanted, baby?”

Artemis’s breath is ragged, her body straining for more. “Yes,” she gasps, her bratty edge crumbling under the weight of Diana’s control. Diana smirks, kissing her again, softer this time, her hands still holding Artemis’s wrists, pinning her in place as she whispers against her lips, “Good. Now, be a good girl for me.”

And Artemis does. The rain continues outside, a soft hush against the world, as inside, the world narrows to the press of lips, the warmth of skin, and the sweet surrender of a bratty girl finally letting herself fall into the hands of a woman who knows exactly how to hold her.

“You’re mine right now,” Diana whispers, her voice low and commanding. As she moans, Diana’s eyes glint behind her fogged glasses as she shifts, sliding up Artemis’s body, her thighs bracketing Artemis’s head. She pauses, her breath shaky, giving Artemis one last chance to pull away.

Artemis’s eyes flicker up, dark with hunger, her lips parting in a grin. “What are you waiting for, Princess?”

Diana’s mouth curves in a dangerous smirk. “You’re insufferable,” she murmurs, even as she lowers herself, her thighs tightening around Artemis’s shoulders, settling herself down with a slow, deliberate roll of her hips. The first touch of Artemis’s tongue makes Diana’s head fall back, a soft, broken moan escaping her lips, her hand reaching down to grab a fistful of Artemis’s wild red hair, holding her in place. Artemis’s hands slide up Diana’s thighs, squeezing, pulling her closer, deeper, her eyes closing as she loses herself in the taste and heat and the quiet, desperate sounds falling from Diana’s lips.

“Just like that, baby,” Diana breathes, rocking her hips with controlled, powerful grace, her glasses slipping further down her nose as she rides Artemis’s mouth. “Don’t you dare stop.”

Artemis doesn’t. Diana’s thighs tremble as she moves, her breath catching, a flush high on her cheeks. She looks down, the sight of Artemis’s flushed, eager face enough to push her closer, her grip in Artemis’s hair tightening.

“Good girl,” she whispers, “such a good girl for me.”

And Artemis is, until she isn’t. When Diana finally pulls away, breathless and trembling, Artemis smirks up at her, her lips wet, her voice rough as she teases, “Was that all you got, Professor?”

Diana’s eyes go sharp, her hand catching Artemis’s chin, tilting her head up. “You really don’t learn, do you?”

Artemis grins, unrepentant. “Guess I need another lesson.”

Diana’s lips curl, a dark promise. “Turn over.”

Artemis hesitates, her smirk faltering, but the glint in her eyes remains as she slowly rolls onto her stomach, resting on her elbows, ass lifted in silent challenge.

Diana’s hand slides over the curve of Artemis’s hip, warm, gentle—then smack.

Artemis jolts, a soft gasp slipping out, her fingers gripping the sheets. Smack.

“Count,” Diana orders, her voice firm, low, her glasses glinting as she watches Artemis’s body shiver under her hand.

Artemis bites her lip, then says, “One.”

Smack.

“Two.”

Smack.

“Three.”

It goes on, Artemis’s breaths turning to soft whimpers, her body arching into each strike, the line between punishment and pleasure blurring with every sharp, loving slap.

When Diana finally stops, she leans down, her lips brushing Artemis’s ear. “Are you sorry, baby?”

Artemis turns her head, her eyes glassy, lips swollen, and whispers, “Yes, Princess.”

Diana hums, kissing the back of Artemis’s neck, her hands sliding down to cup the soft, red warmth of Artemis’s ass. “Good girl.”

She moves to the dresser, retrieving the sleek, black harness and the strap she had tucked away, her movements calm, deliberate. Artemis watches, her breath caught in her throat, her body trembling with anticipation.

Diana returns, sliding the strap into place with practiced ease, her eyes dark with hunger, but her hands gentle as she helps Artemis turn, pulling her up into a soft, slow kiss.

“You’re beautiful,” Diana whispers, kissing Artemis’s jaw, her neck, down to her collarbone. “And you’re mine.”

Artemis’s eyes flutter shut, her hands gripping Diana’s shoulders. “Yours.”

Diana positions herself, one hand steadying Artemis’s hip, the other stroking her hair back, eyes searching hers for any hesitation.

And then she pushes in, slow, deliberate, the stretch making Artemis’s mouth fall open in a silent cry, her fingers digging into Diana’s arms.

“That’s it, baby,” Diana whispers, pressing in deeper, filling her, claiming her. “You can take it.”

Artemis gasps, her back arching, her body trembling as Diana begins to move, slow at first, finding their rhythm, the quiet slap of skin on skin drowned out by the soft, needy sounds Artemis makes with every thrust.

“You’re so good for me,” Diana murmurs, her glasses slipping down as she leans in to kiss Artemis, her hands gripping her hips, controlling the pace, the depth, the heat between them building with every thrust.

Artemis moans, her voice rough, desperate. “Faster, please—”

Diana’s eyes spark, and she obliges, her hips snapping harder, deeper, the controlled power of her movements making Artemis cry out, her nails dragging down Diana’s back.

“That’s it,” Diana growls softly, “take it, baby.”

Artemis shudders, her breath catching as her body clenches around the strap, her vision going white as the first orgasm crashes over her, her cry muffled against Diana’s shoulder. Diana doesn’t stop. She slows, changes angle, finds that spot again, and Artemis breaks a second time, her body shaking, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. Diana still doesn’t stop.

“Such a good slut for me,” Diana whispers, loving and sharp all at once, her thumb brushing Artemis’s cheek, pressing into her mouth as Artemis moans around it.

It’s the word, the tone, the way Diana says it—slut—with love and possession, that finally sends Artemis over the edge a third time, her body seizing, a broken sob tearing from her throat as she falls apart completely. Diana holds her through it, slowing, easing her down, kissing the tears from Artemis’s cheeks, her glasses finally slipping off and landing on the bed between them. When it’s over, Artemis collapses into Diana’s arms, trembling, spent, her face pressed into the warm curve of Diana’s neck. Diana strokes her hair, kissing the top of her head, whispering softly, “Good girl. I’ve got you.”

And Artemis, bratty, wild Artemis, melts in her arms, whispering, “Yours.”

“Mine,” Diana agrees, holding her close as the rain continues to fall softly outside, the world quiet, safe, and warm around them.

Chapter Text

The rain comes down soft against the windows, the kind of rain that drifts and hushes the city until everything feels like it’s moving a little slower. Artemis wakes first, which is strange, because she never does. But the sheets are warm, the bed smells like clean soap and Diana’s perfume, and there’s an arm around her waist, a hand curled against her stomach, warm breath at the nape of her neck.

She shifts, rolling over carefully, and Diana’s eyes blink open behind smudged glasses she never took off, hair a dark wave over her face, lips curved in a sleepy smile.

“Morning,” Diana murmurs, voice soft and warm, still raspy with sleep.

Artemis smirks, reaching out to tug the glasses off gently, folding them and setting them on the nightstand. “Dork,” she teases, brushing her thumb along Diana’s cheekbone.

“Brat,” Diana counters, leaning in to press a kiss to Artemis’s shoulder, her fingers tracing idle shapes on the inked skin of Artemis’s bicep, pausing over the old scars, the healed burns, the stories Artemis keeps hidden in ink and muscle.

The memory of last night hovers between them: the slow build, the way Artemis had lost herself in the softness of Diana’s mouth, the firmness of her grip, the way Diana had taken control and Artemis had let herself be taken apart, piece by trembling piece, until there was nothing left but the two of them, breathless and whispering each other’s names in the dark.

Artemis swallows, shifting closer, sliding a hand under Diana’s shirt, tracing the lines of muscle, the soft warmth of her waist. “I like waking up like this,” she admits, voice quieter than she means it to be.

Diana smiles, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Me too.”

They get up reluctantly, padding barefoot across the hardwood, Artemis in nothing but her boxers, Diana in one of Artemis’s old t-shirts that hangs too loose on her shoulders, collar slipping down to reveal the curve of her collarbone. Artemis can’t stop staring, can’t stop the heat that flushes through her chest at the sight.

“Eyes up here,” Diana teases, using her teacher voice, and Artemis groans, scrubbing a hand over her face.

“Don’t do that, you know what it does to me,” Artemis mutters, eyes darkening.

Diana smirks, leaning in to kiss her, slow and deliberate, pulling back just enough to whisper, “Then behave.”

They brush their teeth together, Artemis pressing soft, distracting kisses to Diana’s neck until Diana swats her with the back of her hand, laughing quietly. They move to the shower, the water steaming around them, Diana’s hands gentle as she works shampoo through Artemis’s hair, rinsing it carefully, pressing a soft kiss to the curve of Artemis’s ear.

Artemis closes her eyes, letting herself lean back against Diana’s chest, feeling the warmth of her, the strength, the safety. She wonders, just for a moment, what it would be like if this was every day. If she could wake up to this softness, this warmth, the quiet hush of rain and the world moving slowly around them while they have this small corner of peace.

She doesn’t let herself think too hard about it. Not yet.

They step out, water dripping onto the floor, steam swirling around them, Diana’s hair curling around her shoulders, glasses fogging up when she puts them back on. Artemis is wrapping a towel around her waist when the knock comes.

A small, uncertain knock on the bedroom door.

“Mommy?” Elizabeth’s small voice, muffled but clear. “Are you done in there?”

Artemis freezes, towel slipping a little lower on her hips. Diana closes her eyes, letting out a slow breath before she opens the door a crack, peeking out.

“Hi, honey,” Diana says softly.

Elizabeth stands there in dinosaur pajamas, holding her stuffed rabbit, blinking up at her mother, then past her mother’s legs to where Artemis is half-wrapped in a towel, hair dripping down her back.

“Is your friend staying for breakfast?” Elizabeth asks, tilting her head to the side.

Artemis clears her throat, offering an awkward wave. “Uh. Morning, kiddo.”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrow, suspicious and assessing, so much like Diana it makes Artemis’s heart stutter.

“Are you gonna be my new daddy?” Elizabeth asks, straightforward in the way only small children can be.

“Elizabeth—” Diana starts, cheeks flushing, but Elizabeth lifts her small hand.

“It’s okay, Mommy. I just wanna know if she makes you happy.”

The room goes quiet, the only sound the soft drip of water from Artemis’s hair onto the floor.

Diana kneels in front of Elizabeth, brushing a dark curl from her daughter’s forehead, meeting her eyes. “She does, baby.”

Elizabeth considers this for a moment, then nods, clutching her rabbit tighter. “That’s enough for now, Mommy.”

She turns, padding off down the hall toward the kitchen, leaving Diana and Artemis blinking after her.

“Well,” Artemis says softly, rubbing the back of her neck, towel slipping further down her hips. “That was... direct.”

Diana huffs a laugh, pressing a hand over her mouth, tears pricking her eyes as she looks at Artemis, something soft and almost fragile in her gaze. “She gets that from me.”

Artemis smiles, stepping forward, pressing a soft kiss to Diana’s lips. “Yeah, I know.”

They dress and move to the kitchen, where Elizabeth is setting up her small plastic bowl, insisting that Artemis sit next to her. Diana makes coffee, moving around the small kitchen in that quiet, graceful way that always leaves Artemis watching her, heart aching in the best way.

Elizabeth chats as she eats, telling Artemis about the dream she had about a giant sea turtle, about the book they’re reading in school, about the art project she wants to do. Artemis listens, nodding along, catching the way Diana watches them, a small, warm smile on her lips.

When Elizabeth runs off to find her markers, Diana leans against the counter, coffee cup warm in her hands.

“You’re good with her,” Diana says softly.

Artemis shrugs, taking a sip of her coffee to hide the way her chest tightens. “She’s cool. She’s got your sass.”

Diana laughs, tipping her head back, eyes closing for a moment. “God help me.”

They share a soft smile, and Artemis steps closer, resting a hand on Diana’s hip, thumb brushing over the fabric of her jeans. “About... this,” Artemis says carefully, eyes searching Diana’s face. “I know there’s a lot here. The age difference. Elizabeth. Your life. My life.”

Diana nods, swallowing, her fingers brushing against Artemis’s wrist. “It’s messy.”

“Yeah,” Artemis agrees. “But I want it. All of it.”

Diana’s eyes shine, her lips parting as she exhales shakily. “You’re sure?”

Artemis nods, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Diana’s lips, lingering there for a moment before whispering against them, “I love you.”

Diana’s breath catches, her eyes fluttering shut, and when she opens them, there’s a softness there, a warmth that makes Artemis’s chest feel like it might break apart. “I love you too.”

They kiss again, slow and deep, the world outside muffled by rain, the faint sound of Elizabeth singing to herself in the living room as she colors. When they pull back, Artemis rests her forehead against Diana’s, their breaths mingling.

“You know she’s going to keep asking,” Artemis says with a small, nervous laugh.

Diana smiles, brushing her thumb over Artemis’s cheek. “I know.”

“And we’ll have to figure out... how this works. With everything.”

“We will,” Diana says softly. “Together.”

Artemis closes her eyes, letting out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. “Good. Because I’m not going anywhere.”

Diana kisses her again, soft and certain, and for a moment, everything feels exactly as it should. The rain, the warmth of the small kitchen, the quiet hum of a home that doesn’t feel foreign anymore, the promise of something new and real unfolding between them.

Elizabeth runs in, holding up a drawing of a turtle with far too many legs. “Look!” she says proudly.

“It’s perfect,” Artemis says, scooping her up, Elizabeth squealing with laughter.

Diana watches them, her heart full, a smile on her lips as she sips her coffee. She catches Artemis’s eyes over Elizabeth’s shoulder, and Artemis winks, her grin wide and easy. Home, it starts to feel like, and luckily that is exactly what she was looking for.