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The museum was centered in a small city. The staff watched Diana from a distance, staring in wonder, as the curator led her to the proper exhibit.

Diana glanced at all of the cased regalia and pottery pieces. It was a small collection but Diana could see the importance, the care, put into preserving the objects.

“These artifacts are all an important part of our ancient history,” the curator explained. She led Diana to the empty spot on the shelf. “The stolen idol is a representation of one of our oldest goddesses.”

Diana suspected as much.

The curator opened the book that was in her hands, flipping to a photograph. Diana leaned in, studying it carefully, memorizing the curves and details.

“Are you sure you wish to retrieve it?” the curator said, speaking carefully. “After all your help in the storm, I don't want to inconvenience you.”

“Culture and history is important,” Diana said. Her gentle smile fell. “Besides, I'm afraid that I'm responsible. I brought trouble by coming here.”

The curator looked stunned, finally blinking in confusion.

Diana could see it in her eyes—to her, Wonder Woman could bring no harm.

“I'm not sure if I understand.”

Diana went quiet, her head turning back to the display. Her gaze focused on the ragged notches that dragged across the wood.


Diana swung her sword, paving her way through tangles of vines and brush. Branches cracked underneath her stampeding footsteps. Beyond the rustling sounds of plants that swung at her, Diana could just barely hear the soft thudding of swift feet.

Sound wasn’t enough. The true trail lied in the soft dirt, footprints marking the path. Diana kept fast, racing across the jungle, leaping over fallen logs streams, following the direction of broken brush and claw marks on trees.

She had fallen too far behind. She skidded to a stop, the trail ending. Her lungs begged for air but she forced herself to stay still, keeping silent. Slowly, she turned, surveying the clearing around her. Through sweat-drenched bangs, she kept her gaze hawk sharp, looking through the growth around her for a sign of Cheetah.

She considered taking toward the sky to see if she could get a better look—but decided against it. It wasn’t Cheetah’s style. If she was hiding, she’d be keeping low to the ground. Waiting.

She would show herself, sooner or later.

A soft thud.

Diana whipped around, her sword drawn, the lasso swinging near her hip. Something tumbled across the ground, landing in a beam of light that peeked through the treetops. The object was reddish-brown with sparkling gold details.

The idol, Diana realized.

Then, a rip of sound. Leaves rustled in the air. Diana turned away from the stolen artifact—the distraction—in time to see the spray of dirt being kicked up. In her peripherals, she saw Cheetah hurtling toward her, the glint of claws coming toward her, and Diana could see it coming but she was not fast enough to stop her.

Diana held her sword up to deflect the claws, the metal singing at the contact—but Diana’s posture was weak, her grip even weaker, and the sword was knocked out of her hands as they were thrown to the ground.

Claws scrambled for Diana’s throat next. Diana caught Cheetah by both wrists, her jaw clenching as she pushed back, their strengths pitted against one another.

Cheetah ducked in, teeth snapping, and Diana drew back, the crown of her head digging into dirt and fallen leaves. Cheetah snarled, upper lip curling to reveal elongated canines, the strong bridge of her nose wrinkling, brow furrowing, eyes glowing hot and gold like tempered steel.

Diana could feel the ache in her arms, the roll of sweat on her temple, as she tried to push Cheetah off of her. Finally, she managed to put her knee up, out from under Cheetah’s weight, and used it to maneuver their bodies.

Diana rolled them, flipping their positions. Cheetah bucked underneath her. Her snarling was louder now, her thrashing wilder. Diana breathed, a heave of air passing her lips. The tendons in her neck and forearms were strained as she gathered the strength to keep Cheetah pinned. She was stronger, yes, but Cheetah wasn’t one to be restrained. She kicked and turned and it was quickly a battle of stamina—to keep her down until her body gave out and she had no choice but to submit.

“Stop this, Barbara-Ann,” Diana said, risking a breath of air to try to make peace. Their arms wrestled, palms pressed tight against each other, heat and sweat gathering where they met. Diana’s heart was thundering in her chest, adrenaline keeping her in the fight. She shouldn’t have been speaking—but that small voice of reason was still there, urging Diana to keep her vows. To make peace. To always love first.

“Just return the idol, that’s all I ask—”

Cheetah’s pointed ears seemed to flatten back. Her glare was intense as ever but even her body was weakening, giving out. Their fighting was slowing, their breaths quickening. Diana could feel the ache in her arms and lungs, the flush on her face.

But then Cheetah’s eyes flickered in the direction of the idol. The action did not go unnoticed—Diana pushed Cheetah’s hands into the dirt, keeping her locked in place.


Fast, Cheetah yanked her hand back, sliding through Diana’s sweaty palm. Cheetah swiped with her claws, the sharp tips cutting across Diana’s clavicle. Diana yelled. The cuts left behind were stinging hot, blood dripping from the wound down her chest, to the ground. Diana was staggered and that was the only opening Cheetah needed. She kicked her off with enough force to knock Diana breathless.

Hand clenched over her bleeding wound, Diana looked and saw Cheetah scrambling for the idol.

“No more running!” Diana said, rising to her feet. She threw the Perfect. The lasso wound its way around Cheetah’s middle. Diana pulled hard, tightening the bond, tripping Cheetah into the dirt. There was a grunt as she hit the ground.

Arms pinned to her side, Cheetah rose to one knee before Diana yanked again, reining her in. Cheetah was pulled to her feet, stumbling backwards despite how hard she tried to charge forward.

Diana pulled the Perfect tighter, the yank forcing her in close. Face to face, Diana watched as Cheetah’s eyes flickered, her pupils pulsing. A low, rumbling growl filled the space between them. Diana’s gaze remained strong and steadfast—but in her peripherals, she noticed the spotted hairs standing on end.

Diana tried to quell her own anger rising in her chest. Make peace.

They stilled for a moment, both of them trying to catch their breaths.

“I don’t want to fight you, Barbara-Ann,” Diana finally said, her voice a whisper.

Cheetah’s chin tilted up, in this way that was almost proud. Defiant. She eyed Diana down, her golden eyes burning. She said nothing for a moment, looking at Diana like she was someone to be studied.

“And why is that, Diana? Because you think I’m your friend?”

Cheetah’s words were mocking. Diana said nothing, her expression hard as ever. Cheetah didn’t stop, she kept going, her gaze boring in Diana’s. Diana tried to stare past her. Tried to ignore the way the Perfect strummed in her hand, resonating with the truth of each word that attacked her.

“We’re not friends.”

It hurt. Not many things hurt Diana—but Barbara-Ann hurt. Even so, Diana shook it off. She set aside her own feelings. Tried to focus on the task at hand.

“That doesn’t mean we have to be enemies.”

Diana,” Cheetah suddenly whispered, her lips forming around her name, her voice almost hypnotic. Diana tried to shut it out. Tried to protect herself from the inevitable mockery. “Diana, Diana, Diana.”

Whatever words Cheetah had for her, they would be the truth. Knowing this, Diana felt a dreadful ache in her chest.

“Diana is the Roman name of the moon goddess—the huntress,” Cheetah said, her words slow, as if pondering. Diana knew. Of course she knew. For Barbara-Ann, the goddesses were something to be studied from afar. For Diana, the goddesses were something spiritual, something within her. Cheetah’s voice lowered, grumbles and hisses powering her words, “And you are a huntress, aren’t you, Princess?”

Diana felt indignant at that, her heart picking up speed.

“I want to help you, not hurt you.” Diana barely recognized the forcefulness in her own voice. It lacked her usual regal grace. It was the voice of a woman making herself bigger to be heard.

“How many times have you let me slip through your pretty fingers?” Cheetah’s face was leaning in, so close that Diana could feel her breath fan on her skin. Could see the hint of her white fangs as she spoke, each word sharply annunciated. Cheetah stared Diana down as she shook her head. “We’ve fought so many battles, Princess. We haven’t been friends for a very long time. I know you don’t want to fight me, Diana, because the purpose of the game isn’t about winning. The fun of the hunt isn’t in making the kill.”

Diana said nothing, her breath held.

Cheetah’s upper lip curled.

“The fun is in the chase.”

Diana grabbed the Perfect by the binds that strapped Cheetah’s arms to her side. She pulled hard, the lasso tightening painfully. Cheetah moaned behind closed lips, her brow furrowing. Their faces close, Diana looked Cheetah in the eye. Try as she might, she didn't see that blue-green hue. She couldn't even see something human

 Diana wasn’t sure what to do next. She was torn between punching her and pleading with her.

Diana’s heart was beating furiously inside her chest, thundering. Her knuckles white. She was furious.

“You cause trouble. You hurt people. You think this is enjoyable? A game?” Diana’s voice was a harsh whisper.

“Then take me in, Diana. Make it end.”

Diana glared Cheetah down. Her expression retained its usual strength but her resolve was shaken.

How long had this gone on?

What did she even know about Barbara-Ann? About Cheetah?

Her friend had been missing for years.

But Diana still spared her all the forgiveness, all the patience, time and time again. She gave all that she could give, no different than a loved one.

Diana clenched her jaw. Cheetah, just getting under her skin, as she always did. Diana would return the idol and take Cheetah back to the States where she could get help. Where she could be contained.

Cheetah drew in closer. Diana stilled, her heart skipping, as a tongue glided over her lips.

“Take me in,” Cheetah whispered at the corner of Diana’s mouth.

Her voice wasn’t sultry as much as it was provoking.

“Let’s not run anymore.”

Diana finally flinched as Cheetah nipped at her jawline, not hard enough to be threatening, but too sharp to be playful.

Diana yanked her in and Cheetah went silent, staring as the fronts of their bodies pressed against each other. Diana stared Cheetah down, who had to tilt her head back to look.

One hand around the lasso, Diana cupped her other hand between Cheetah’s legs.

Cheetah’s body was furnace hot. Diana was surprised by how hot—she had never felt someone so warm. Her fingers travelled, feeling the fur there, before slipping between her folds, grazing over her clit.

Cheetah was already wet. A sound rumbled inside her chest, her body stirring against Diana’s touch. Diana could feel Cheetah’s chest vibrating against her own.

Diana pulled on the lasso, watching as the ropes tightened around Cheetah’s form. Cheetah made a hushed sound but said nothing, gazing into Diana’s eyes with darkened, desirous eyes. Almost as if egging her on. Daring her. But, she stayed still.

Diana’s gaze travelled down Cheetah’s body, from the ends of her hair to her white chest to the span of her hips. She brought her fingers up, pressing harder against Cheetah’s clit, increasing the pressure. Cheetah gave a low, satisfied sound, its husky timbre making Diana’s breath hitch. Just watching, listening, to Cheetah was more alluring than it should have been. It was intoxicating.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Diana knew that. Even with the lasso, Cheetah could always find her way to manipulate Diana. She was too dangerous. She needed to be brought in. She would lie and she would steal and she would hurt. And yet, Diana didn’t stop moving her fingers. Cheetah rolled her hips, rocking into Diana’s hand. Encouraging her.

Diana tensed. If they were going to do this, Diana couldn’t relinquish her control.

“Stop,” she told Cheetah, without looking her in the eye.

“Let me taste you,” Cheetah said in return, her face hovering closer, her breath hot against Diana’s skin.

A trick. The lasso is there but. It's a trick. It has to be. It’s always been.

“No,” Diana said, voice stern.

Diana rubbed her, her fingers wet, sliding between Cheetah’s folds. Rubbing over her clit, teasing her opening. Cheetah seemed to grow louder, challenging Diana for more, moans and purrs filling the space between them, rocking herself harder, faster, against Diana’s hand.

Diana felt herself growing hot just watching her. Could feel her body stirring in response, arousal hot between her legs. Her breaths were uneven, her eyelashes shadowed over her eyes as she stared down, entranced, at the place where her hand met Cheetah’s body.

“Come on, Princess.”

Diana’s eyes flickered up. There was mischief in Cheetah’s eyes, but something that felt more Barbara-Ann than Cheetah. That teasing had become something almost… lighthearted. Diana found herself staring.

“I won’t bite.”

Cheetah was cut off by her own sharp gasp, her expression melting as Diana massaged her clit, the pressure and friction increasing. Diana could feel Cheetah trembling against her hand, her body swaying as she tried to maintain her footing. Diana didn’t relent, she moved her fingers faster, until Cheetah was squirming in her bonds, her head lowering, eyes squeezed shut, hair in her face.

Cheetah was hot, so hot. The smell of sex flooded Diana’s senses, the sounds of her moving fingers filled the air. Cheetah’s voice was breathy and heady, her thighs squeezing together as she moaned in need, the fur brushing against Diana’s palm.

Diana’s brow furrowed. It was getting difficult to focus. She was aroused, heat pooling into her lower stomach, nipples hard underneath layers of leather.

She removed her hand and Cheetah’s tail flicked in reaction. Diana could feel Cheetah watching her as she reached under the leather folds of her belt, grabbing at the waist of her shorts. Something in Cheetah’s gaze beckoned her to go on.

Diana placed her hand on Cheetah’s shoulder, pushing her down to her knees. Cheetah’s did not fight, did not resist, her tail sweeping across the dirt. Diana pushed on Cheetah’s forehead, craning her head back, as her other hand slipped her briefs down to her knees.

Diana moved forward, her fingers threading through Cheetah’s hair, angling her head. She buried Cheetah’s face in her cunt, instantly moaning as Cheetah’s tongue pushed up. Diana flinched, her eyes almost closing—Cheetah’s tongue was rough and wet. The flat of her tongue moved up and up, stroking over Diana’s clit.

Diana pulled her in closer, increasing the pressure. Cheetah moaned, lips vibrating against her. Diana looked down, her hair curtaining around her face. Cheetah looked back at her, eyes filled with lust. But there was something darker in that gaze, something almost triumphant and mocking.

Diana just realized her grip on the lasso had loosened.

She managed to reach down and grab Cheetah’s wrist when it raced toward her, but not before Cheetah had gotten her hands wrapped around the back of her thighs. Diana gritted her teeth, sharp claws planting into her skin, locking her in place. The pain sent sparks through Diana’s body.

Cheetah increased her ministrations, distracting Diana from the pain. Diana gasped lightly as Cheetah sucked. She ground her hips against Cheetah’s face, taking her lips and tongue harder. Cheetah’s tongue moved against her, warm and wet and rough, sending sparks of pleasure through Diana’s body, the flush of her body growing hotter and hotter.

Diana doubled over, hands tangling in Cheetah’s hair. She pulled Cheetah tighter to her body, trying to get more of her lips, more of her tongue. Her breaths quickened. Her body felt trapped underneath her armor, the jungle heat clinging to her sweaty skin.

Cheetah grabbed her, dragging her to the ground. Their bodies tangled on the floor, Diana’s head was spinning, torn between desire and caution. She wanted to throw Cheetah off of her just as much as she wanted to pull her in closer. Cheetah’s hot, soft body was pressed against hers, her breath so close that Diana could hear every inhale, every exhale. Their bodies slid against one another for a moment and Diana’s head rolled in the dirt, eyelashes fluttering. Every inch of her body was heavy with desire.

Cheetah’s fingers hooked and clawed, forcing Diana’s breastplate aside, pulling it past the curve of her breasts. Diana pushed her away—but Cheetah climbed on top of her, weight pinning her down. The Perfect had slipped down Cheetah’s body, pooling around her hips like gold ribbon. Cheetah straddled Diana’s thigh, her body grinding down, her heat pressed closely against Diana’s naked flesh. Cheetah purred as she rolled her hips, her voice low and hungry, eyes dilated.

She slunk down, licking the cuts she had left on Diana’s skin from their earlier tangle, her body pressing harder against Diana’s thigh. Moving and moving. Diana pushed her thigh up between Cheetah’s leg  and a low sound, near a growl, escaped past her lips.

Diana arched her back off the ground as Cheetah latched her mouth around her nipple, tongue teasing her. Diana was hot and aroused, their senses filled with the scent of sweat and sex. She could hear the desire in her own voice, husky and wanting.

Cheetah was increasing the movements of her hips, her voice now almost breathless and wanton, hands clenched tight around red leather. Her mouth wet and panting against Diana’s breast.

Diana wrapped her hand around the Perfect, tightening her hold around Cheetah’s hips. She pulled her off. Cheetah’s arms, still free, reached for Diana but Diana knocked them out of the way, crawling over Cheetah’s body, her knees landing on the dirt on either side of Cheetah’s head, her body positioned at Cheetah’s lips.

Cheetah tasted her, tongue moving against Diana’s clit. Diana rocked forward to meet her mouth. Her body was on fire, pleasure racing across her skin, her face screwed up in pleasure. Cheetah let her ride her face, her tongue unrelenting. She raked her nails over Diana’s thighs for purchase, nose buried against her. Diana ignored the marks on her legs, grinding down on Cheetah’s face, chasing after the white hot pleasure that was consuming her.

Her lips were parted, her head tilted back, her voice crescendoing, her toes curling in her boots. She moved her hips, getting Cheetah’s tongue, increasing the friction. Heat rushed through her body.

She closed her eyes. She could hear the slide of Cheetah’s mouth against her, wet. Faster now. Her hips rotated on their own, faster and harder and faster and she could feel it—

She grabbed Cheetah by the hair, pulling her to her cunt as her body seized up. Diana’s chest heaved once and in a rush, pleasure pushed through her body. Cheetah didn’t let up, tongue moving as Diana trembled, lengthening Diana’s orgasm as she gasped and moaned above her.

Shortly after her orgasm had subsided, Cheetah had her on the ground. Though hazy and exhausted, Diana reached between Cheetah’s legs, fingers curled against her cunt. Cheetah grabbed hold of Diana’s wrist, guiding her.

Cheetah gasped as Diana’s finger moved, rubbing against her. They were laid side by side and Diana watched, fixated, as Cheetah’s face contorted in pleasure. She seemed lost in her own world, her eyes falling shut, her face surprisingly vulnerable. Diana said nothing, moving her hand until finally, Barbara-Ann yelled in sweet release.


Diana returned with the idol tucked under her arm. When she landed on the path to the museum, the person sweeping near the door dropped their broom in surprise.

Diana was soon ushered in, the curator meeting her halfway.

“Thank heavens,” she said, holding the artifact with great care. She gave a long sigh. “You're a blessing, Wonder Woman. Did you catch the thief?”

“No,” Diana confessed.

“Well, the important thing is that you retrieved the idol,” the curator responded, glancing over the surface for damages. She looked at Diana—and stopped. Diana quickly steeled her expression, just realizing that her mind had been drifting. The curator offered a careful, but comforting, smile. “Don't worry. I'm sure you'll cross paths again. There's always next time.”

“Next time,” Diana promised quietly.

The curator hurried to the other room. Diana’s gaze lingered on the idol as it moved, silently watching her trophy disappear from her sight.