“You still wince when you breathe too deep.”

Lizzie’s voice is soft against your shoulder. The curve of her arm winds around your ribs, steady, protective — like she’s still guarding you from the battlefield, though the last shot rang out weeks ago. You smile through the ache in your side, chuckling faintly.

“It’s your fault. You were the one who told me to hold the line.”

She shifts against you, a gentle snort muffled into your chest. “And you didn’t even flinch when you did. Just stood there, bleeding, yelling at tanks like they’d listen.” Her fingers trace the bandages beneath your shirt — reverent, warm, trembling just a little. “You Earth men are either impossibly brave or completely stupid.”

You tilt your head toward her, grinning. “A little of both. But mostly, I was trying to impress you.”

Lizzie’s smile flickers — just enough to soften the hard lines the war etched into her brow. The golden light of the rising sun spills across her skin, turning the tips of her hair to fire. She looks like her mother then — radiant, composed, unshakable. But when she looks at you… all the weight vanishes.

She sees you like you’re home.

“I should’ve left you there,” she says, not meaning a word of it. “When you crashed on Themyscira. I should’ve let the guards turn you into dust and bones like they wanted.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is this your way of saying ‘I love you’?”

She rolls her eyes, but her fingers never leave your chest. “I broke half a dozen Amazon laws to save your life. Do you want it in writing?”

You remember that day. The fire in the sky. The crash. The pain. Then — her. Sneaking into your cell, patching your wounds in secret, bringing water laced with healing herbs. You remember the steel in her voice when she whispered, “If anyone finds you, we’ll both be dead.”

And still, she stayed.

“Why did you save me?” you ask, voice low, uncertain. “You barely knew me.”

Lizzie’s gaze hardens — not cruel, but fierce. Protective.

“Because I couldn’t ignore you. You fell from the sky, and you were broken, and scared, and brave. I couldn’t walk away.”

You swallow, words failing you again — as they often do around her.

She reaches up, brushing your jaw with her knuckles. “You remind me of my father. The way my mother talked about him — Steve Trevor. A man from Earth who taught her that love was a kind of war worth fighting.”

You blink at her, stunned by the weight of it. “You think I’m like him?”

Lizzie leans forward, her forehead resting lightly against yours. “You’re not like him. You’re mine.”

A breeze curls through the trees. The sun climbs higher, chasing shadows away. Somewhere behind you, the world is starting again — soldiers returning home, cities rebuilding, peace hesitantly stretching across nations.

And still, she stays close.

She came to your world for war. But stayed for you.

“You know they’ll never truly accept us,” you murmur. “An Amazon and a man from Earth…”

Her lips quirk. “Then we’ll make them.”

You laugh, and she kisses you — firm, honest, and without hesitation. A warrior’s kiss. A promise. A vow that some love stories don’t need prophecy or gods — just two people willing to bleed for one another.

You were her secret once.

Now, you’re her future.