Perfect Cell Fanart Novels & Stories

"I was waiting for you." Lena's heart never skipped a beat. "Good." Mercer set his glass down. "You made a mess, you know. Kane was convenient." Lena shook her head. "Not now." He grinned. "No. But neither are you." The door at her back creaked and clicked. Closed. Locked. Lena’s fingers twitched toward her knife. “Is that supposed to scare me?” Mercer leaned forward. “No, darling. This is.” A photo slid across the table.

"Supplies are getting low. Better get over here and get yours before it's all gone." He didn't need to know she brought three pints of his favorite flavor. Dynasty crawled onto the bed and made a beeline for the ice cream. Victor fed her a bite and took another for himself as she settled into the pillows beside him. He let his gaze take a leisurely trip from her toenails, which were painted powder blue, up smooth legs and a flat belly to breasts unencumbered under the tank that molded to her body. Her tits had plump, sweet nipples. Victor is shifting to hide his immediate reaction to her nearness.

No fake smiles plaguing my mind. It was just me. Just the stars – distant and disinterested – and the steady hum of power coiling beneath everything tonight. I traced the edge of the ring on my finger. It’s iciness biting into my skin. The eagle. Carl Andersons Mark A symbol of belonging – or branding. I hadn’t decided it yet. It didn’t matter how beautiful this setting was. The dress. The makeup. The fake smiles and diamonds and the high-pitched laughter were all part of the ruse. They were all just distractions, and none of it changed the truth.

she continued, voice barely above the rain, “the only thing I was afraid of was never getting the chance to choose you again.” His chest tightened. “Lisa…!!” She reached for him then, fingers curling into the front of his shirt, not pulling him close….just anchoring herself. “I don’t want perfect,” she said. “I want honest. I want this—whatever this is—messy and real.” Grey rested his forehead against hers, breath mingling, rain blurring the space between them. “You have me,” he said. “No filters. No omissions. Even the parts I hate.”

The Winter Paris Competition is over and I can finally relax. With Tanya Pennington named the winner, I can finish out the remainder of my Model Perfect contract and be away from the spotlight. All eyes are on Tanya Pennington and her girlfriend, Lucia Perez. Tanya is the first lesbian to become a model girl winner for Model Perfect. All social media platforms are buzzing with the news. As for me, I am glad it's all turning out the way it needs to.

The paper was different from the rest though and I thumbed through the rest of the book; I realized there were a few other drawings tucked between the pages like this, randomly scattered throughout the chapters. A woman was seated on a throne, splayed out with nothing but a thin veil covering her face and a star-studded crown on her head. Her hair was long and draped strategically over her chest, covering most of her breasts and ending in beautiful curls at her bare stomach. One hand was draped over the armrest, holding a glass of wine that was tipped and spilling all over the marble steps while her other was between her legs. The detail in the drawing was just incredible and I unconsciously

After catching my supposedly frigid wife, Emmy Winslow, aroused by our household robot butler, I swallowed my disgust and sent the machine to a destruction facility. I never expected that decision to cost her life. On the way to chase after the robot, Emmy was involved in a horrific car accident and died at the scene. From that day on, I became notorious in our social circle as the jealous husband who drove his wife to her death. Five years passed. Night after night, I tortured myself by wondering if she would still be alive had I not been so petty over a machine. Until today, while discussing business at a private club, I passed a half-open VIP suite and heard one of Emmy's closest frie

So, I decided to focus on the lady with the most captivating mask. "I choose the cat girl," I declared, pointing to the woman wearing a sleek black cat mask, perfectly complemented by her matching cat costume. Not only did I appreciate the effort she put into her costume, but I also found her body type incredibly appealing. Her slim waist, curvaceous hips, and barely covered, perky breasts caught my attention. The crowd erupted in cheers once again as the other girls, disappointed but understanding, retreated from the stage. The volume of the music soared and the party continued.

"They started appearing six months ago. Same cities Lin visited. Same patients she 'cured.'" "Cured of what?" "Identity." He sat across from me. Close enough to smell the ointment on his face. "She didn't fix them. She emptied them. Made space for her own patterns. Her own preferences." "Then filled them with herself." "Versions of herself." He corrected. "Copies aren't perfect. They degrade. First generation is closest. Then drift. By third, fourth—they're something else. Something hungrier." I thought of the video. The blonde girl. Smiling thanks.

I cried until my tears ran dry and accepted the system’s offer to bind me to the Perfect Partner System. In the past, when we argued, Spencer said I was too jealous, immature, and not independent enough. I was not respectable and definitely not the sort of “Mrs. Greene” he wanted. After I was bound to the system, I prioritized him every time and ensured he was always satisfied. So, on the TV screen, I smiled calmly, raised my hand, and hushed them. Then, I accepted one of the microphones and smiled at the cameras. “Spencer and Ms. Xander are only business partners.