alexiasleftoversalmon

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

LUXURIOUS. 

PAIRINGS: DOM!GRAYSON X SUB!FEM!READER

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) 

TAGS: gentle!grayson ;; sugar mommy!grayson ;; size kink ;; strap-on sex (r.receving) ;; voice kink ;; orgasm control ;; marking kink ;; fingering (r.receiving) ;; office sex ;; after care. 

navigation. 

1. grayson met you by accident at a council party. you weren’t even supposed to be there—just a low-level assistant running errands. but she noticed you. the way your eyes lit up at the chandeliers. the cheap heels you clearly borrowed. the glass of water you clutched instead of wine. she noticed everything.

2. she offered you her coat that night. not because you asked, but because she saw you rubbing your arms at the tram stop, refusing a ride because you didn’t want to trouble her. that was the moment she decided: you’d never need to feel cold again.

3. her money is quiet—but limitless. new phone? already delivered. rent? she bought your whole building. designer heels you only glanced at through a window? in your size, waiting at your door, with a handwritten note:

“wear these for me tonight, sweetheart. i’ll be home late. —g.”

4. grayson is so fucking soft with you. no one believes it. not the cops. not the council. she speaks with steel, commands zaunites and piltovans alike—but she kneels when she takes off your shoes. she kisses your wrist like you’re porcelain. she calls you “my girl” like it’s sacred.

5. she loves watching you eat. like, borderline obsessed. orders you food she knows you love, watches as you take that first bite, always with a smug-ass smile. sometimes she’ll say things like:

“i work too hard for you not to eat like a queen.”

…as she wipes the corner of your mouth with her thumb.

6. possessive sugar mommy af. you post a picture in a cute dress she didn’t buy? you’ll get a message in 3.2 seconds:

“where’d you get that?” you respond, teasing. “a friend gave it to me.” her next reply? “i’ll be over in 20. take it off.”

7. you’re her weakness. one pout, one sigh, one slightly sad text, and she’s leaving meetings early, gun still holstered at her hip, just to hold you in her arms and tuck your head beneath her chin.

8. she spoils you with intention. not just random stuff—she remembers what you say in passing. that childhood candy you mentioned once? she has it imported. you said your old blanket got lost in a move? she commissions an identical one. grayson is detail-oriented as hell.

9. she hates seeing you work too hard. if you have a job she thinks is beneath you, expect her to show up at your workplace one day, lean against the doorframe in her tailored coat, and go:

“pack up. you’re not working here anymore. i already paid your boss to let you go.”

(you pretend to be mad. you’re not.)

10. sugar mommy in the streets, beast in the sheets. you better believe this woman can throw you over her shoulder like it’s nothing and pin your wrists with one hand. she’ll buy you roses and then wreck you on 1,000-thread-count sheets. always rough and reverent.

11. she’s got a whole drawer of lingerie she bought for you. color-coded. lace. silk. she doesn’t make you wear them—she asks with that low voice of hers:

“put this on for me, baby.”

…and you always do.

12. she sometimes brings you to fancy events on her arm. the looks people give when grayson, in all her power and elegance, walks in with the prettiest little thing holding onto her bicep like a prized gem?? you love it. she loves it more.

13. grayson smells expensive. tobacco, clean leather, sandalwood, and warm wine. you cling to her coats when she’s gone. you steal her undershirts. she doesn’t mind. she tells you to take whatever you want—

“everything i have is yours, sweetheart.”

14. she sends you voice notes. deep, gravelly ones when she’s working late. “i miss you, little thing.” “don’t wait up.” “touch yourself if you need to—i’ll make it up to you when i’m back.” you play them on loop until she’s home again.

15. you’re the only softness she allows herself. she might be sheriff, might lead with fire and steel—but she melts the moment you crawl into her lap, kiss her throat, and whisper “i missed you.”

grayson would set the whole world on fire to keep you warm.

smut bonus.

1. grayson has a size kink.

she’s taller, broader, stronger—and obsessed with the way you look curled up beneath her.

“look at you… so tiny under me.”

she’ll stretch your legs wide with one hand and use her hips to pin you still, murmuring about how you were “made to be taken care of”—as she grinds slow, deep, and possessive into you.

2. she lives for strap-on sex.

leather harness. thigh holster. her favorite one is thick and curved just right, matching the press of her fingers when she edges you open for it.

“relax, baby. i’m not done spoiling you yet.”

she’ll tease you until you’re begging to be filled—and only then will she sink in, all slow and loving like she’s feeding you wine.

3. her voice when she talks you through orgasms? unholy.

gravelly, low, damn near feral when you’re about to come. she’ll growl against your neck, lips hot and teeth grazing:

“that’s it, baby—let go. give it to me. c’mon, that’s my good girl.”

you always come harder when she talks. she knows it.

4. grayson adores marking you.

hickeys. scratch marks. lipstick on your thighs. bruises shaped like her palms.

and when she takes you out in public the next day, she’ll gently fix your collar to just barely hide the bite on your throat—then smirk when you flinch every time her hand brushes your waist.

5. she loves using her fingers.

thick, experienced hands that always know what to do. grayson can finger you with such maddening control—slow, deep curls that keep you hovering on the edge forever.

“what’s the rush, sweetheart? i’ve got all night… and you belong to me.”

if you beg? she might let you come. might.

6. she’s the type to fuck you in her office.

desk pushed back. coat still on. you bent over the polished wood, panties pushed aside, her hand covering your mouth while she rocks into you from behind.

“quiet now, little thing. you don’t want the whole precinct hearing who this pretty cunt belongs to, do you?”

(spoiler: she wants them to hear.)

7. post-sex aftercare is everything.

grayson kisses every spot she marked. draws you a bath. feeds you fruit from her fingers while you sit on her lap, boneless and blissed out.

“you did so well for me, baby.”

she makes sure you know that even when she fucks you like she owns you—she treasures you like gold.

so obssesed with her 😋 please let this woman make her way into my life please.

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

marine biologist vika having some much deserved beach time👀

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

Sevika x reader who is struggling with intense paranoia and fear constantly after reader was hurt by someone who broke into her home

(They're at Sevika's because reader's too scared to be at her place alone and Sevika can't be with her all the time)

Always In Your Heart

Sevika x Paranoid!Reader

Warnings : Possible PTSD of reader, paranoid!reader, mention of death

Sevika never thought it would affect you so much. She knew the risks of living such a pretty girl like you home alone in a place like Zaun, but her devotion to the Undercity also was a priority in her life.

"Please don't go," you whispered to her every morning through groggy, blurred eyes as you longingly stared at Sevika who was getting ready for the day.

"Y'know well that I have to go."

You pouted making Sevika groan and sit at the edge of the bed. She wrapped her flesh arm around your figure.

"I don't wanna go, bunny, I wanna stay in here and rot in bed with you." Sevika stroked your hair out of your face, "I won't be gone for long, okay?"

"What if something happens?"

Sevika's jaw clenched. The memory was too vivid. Too bloody. Her eyes instinctively travelled to your abdomen where the stab wound was once. Now just a faint scar. She had the urge to reach out, cancel work, stay indoors with you and reassure you that she was never leaving.

"Baby, I know you're worried that'll happen again and I can't promise you anything but I've doubled the house security and you'll be safe as long as you don't unarm the security system yourself."

You twisted your fingers, silently pulling on them and fiddling under the blanket. You glance at the window— now barred window. You looked back at her eyebrows curling up.

"Please?"

"Baby..." Sevika leaned in and kissed your forehead. "You'll be okay."

Sevika left then. You stared after her at the doorway where she exited from before sighing and grabbing your phone up from the bedside table. You texted her—

"You still have time to come back ☹️"

"I'll bring back food."

"Okay mommy ☹️" you giggled as you pressed ‘send’.

The morning passed by fairly easily but then the uneasiness started and your paranoia started spiking again. Every little sound outside on the street jolted your entire body. It felt like you were being watched.

"Please come back." You texted her but she didn't see your text. Maybe she was busy with shipments...

A loud shattering sound came from the hall.

Your heart almost beat out of your body, you gasped. You grabbed the switchblade Sevika had gotten you although you didn't know anything about using it for your own defense. Was there someone in the house?

...

Another intruder?

Your stomach churned.

You could hear everything so prominently now as if you'd grown bunny ears. Soft feet padded upto the door, you peeked a little— the houseplant that would rest on the window sill of the hallway...

It was smashed to pieces on the floor. It had fallen down, that means someone likely got inside and mistakenly nudged the plant pot to fall and shatter.

Oh, Janna. You grabbed your phone, shakily calling Sevika.

Ringing... Ringing...

She didnt pick. Your heart was in your throat.

"Please, please, pick up," you locked yourself in the closet, trying to spam Sevika with as many texts and calls as possible.

Tears started flooding your eyes as your entire body trembled, you could hear the frantic heartbeat in your own ears. "Please..."

You whispered, tears rolling down your cheeks. You didn't want to die like this. Last time this happened it was almost the exact same scenario, you were sobbing because you were afraid of dying that way and now you were crying because of the vivid repetition of what happened before.

Not like this.

Any how but not this.

Hours ticked by, you'd been hidden away inside the closet in the cramped area barely able to breathe properly— it was suffocating but it was better than being stabbed to death.

A bit later, Sevika's text finally popped up;

"I'm omw home."

You heaved a sigh of relief. Just about ten minutes after, you heard the front door open and close. You mustered whatever courage you had, and called out, "Sevika?" As you stepped out of the closet.

"Yes, baby, it's me!" Sevika bolted into the room, looking around with cautious eyes. She took a once-over of her cramped apartment.

"Oh I was so scared," you collapsed to your knees, Sevika caught you mid-way.

Her arms were around you, chest pressed against your head, "Oh my baby..."

She held you close, stroking her fingers through your hair. "It was probably just a stray animal that knocked the plant down when coming inside," Sevika whispered.

"I'm sorry," you sniffled and buried your face in her shirt.

"It's alright, bunny, shhh," she kissed the side of your temple. "I'm right here."

Your hands tightened, curling deeper into her clothes as you held on as if she'd disappear into thin air if you let go.

"I'm sorry I'm like this."

Sevika cupped your face, staring at you with serious eyes, "Baby, you're not broken. There's nothing wrong with you. You're my baby."

She pulled you into her chest, you could hear how fast her heart was beating— she was scared she'd come that close to losing you again. Your eyes closed, your hold on her slackening a little as you relaxed.

You finally felt safe.

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

The Wolf's Bride: Teaser

Ambessa Medarda x Targaryen/Valyrian-coded Princess: Marriage fic

“What are the terms of our surrender, regarding our people and my family?”

“I’ll allow your father to rule, in name only, as my steward – overseen by my men, of course. Your people are mine, your town is mine. And so are you,” she looked you up and down, a smirk on her face.

Of course. The dangers of being a princess. Often nothing more than a body to be passed around, even if you were set to rule after your father.

“I see. To which of your men am I being gifted?” you asked, looking around the room. “And would this be a marriage, or am I merely to be their toy until they get bored of me?”

Ambessa tilted her head to the side. “My men?” She laughed. “Oh, no, child. You are mine.”

That shocked you.

“Why would you want me?”

“I enjoy the spoils of war.” She reached her hand out, cupping your chin, turning your head from side to side. “The prettier, the better. And you are very pretty, child.”

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

She WILL be back in 2027… TRUST. 🙂‍↕️

that is unless Pere is ousted… so until then… WE KEEP FIGHTING!!!!

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

How many chapters did I miss???🥴🥲

But fr are Patri and Pina not together anymore??!

They’re adorable too, I’m just confused lols

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

GOOD GIRL'S GRAVE. 

PAIRINGS: DOM!VI X SUB!FEM!READER

AUTHOR'S NOTE: it’s me again y’all 😌 i swear this one’s just a draft, i’m only beta-reading it (for real this time okay 😭)

WARNING(S): lowercase, explicit content (minors & men dni) 

TAGS: vampire!vi ;; horror erotica ;; bloodplay kink ;; biting kink ;; sloppy oral (r.receiving) ;; cursed breeding strap (!!!) ;; breeding kink ;; praise/degradation ;; choking (r.receiving) ;; overstimulation. 

navigation. 

[art credit: elliebaiana on X]

vi doesn’t knock.

she never does. not when her boots are soaked in grave-damp and her shirt still clings with someone else’s blood. she’s already inside, pressing the door shut with her back, pink eyes gleaming under the wet black fringe falling over her face. you can smell her before you see her—copper and smoke and the kind of cold that drips down your spine like a warning.

she’s starving.

her gaze cuts through you. doesn’t blink. doesn’t ask.

you’re already backing up, trembling fingers curling into the hem of your shirt like that’ll stop her. like it ever has.

vi doesn’t walk—she stalks. a slow, deliberate prowl, heavy boots echoing on the floor like thunder. her lip curls just slightly when you flinch. she likes it when you remember what she is. likes it even more when you forget and let her back in anyway.

“don’t,” you whisper, but your voice breaks, and vi’s smirk splits wider. she’s on you in a blink—slamming you back against the wall, one cold hand around your throat, the other sliding under your thigh to lift you like you weigh nothing. your breath stutters. her nose brushes your cheek.

her voice is a growl in your ear, low and shaky. “you knew i was hungry.”

then she bites.

not your neck. no—she sinks her fangs into your thigh, right where your skin is softest, warmest, closest to the thudding heart she aches to destroy. it’s not clean. it’s not neat. vi feeds like she owns you. growls against your skin like it’s personal. blood spills hot down your leg, and her tongue follows it, lapping, moaning. your head lolls back. you can’t breathe.

her fingers dig into your hips, grinding you down onto the crook of her thigh, dragging little whimpers out of you with every rock of her body. your hands are useless against her shoulders. her jaw flexes again—another bite, deeper this time—and your hips jerk.

vi doesn’t stop. she never does until she’s full.

until your voice breaks saying her name and your pulse stutters like you might pass out from how much you want it to hurt.

and even then, she licks the wound clean. slowly. tender, almost.

“good girl,” she mutters, lips wet. “still bleeds sweet.”

you’re still limp when she carries you.

blood-slick thigh over her shoulder, one hand gripping your ass, the other holding you steady by the small of your back. her mouth hasn’t left your skin. just moved. lower. dripping fang-wet kisses down your leg, trailing saliva over the mess she made.

vi drops you on the bed like you’re hers.

(you are.)

she spreads your legs with the kind of reverence that comes only after ruin—slow and sure and shaking with restraint. she’s panting now, leather jacket half-off, black nails digging into your thighs like she needs to anchor herself.

her mouth hovers over the pulse between your legs.

eyes glowing. lips parted. tongue already twitching.

“still leaking,” she rasps, like it’s a sin. like you’re teasing her on purpose. you’re not even sure which part of you she means anymore—blood, slick, tears—it’s all the same to her now. all hers. all hot and desperate and dripping.

and fuck, when she tastes you—

vi groans. full-bodied, guttural. her hands tighten as her tongue flattens against your cunt, lapping slow and deep like she’s dying and this is what keeps her alive. she’s sloppy with it, messy, chin slick, nose buried. her tongue drags, then flicks, then plunges, hungry like she’s trying to lick your soul out through your spine.

you’re crying again.

maybe from the overstimulation. maybe from the bite still throbbing. maybe from the way her growl vibrates straight into your core like it’s tuned to your frequency.

she pulls back just enough to say, low and reverent, “bleed for me again, baby. i’ll drink it all.”

and then she sucks. full mouth, open, tongue curling over your clit as her fingers press into the bite she left earlier, and you scream.

vi doesn't stop.

not until your thighs shake, your voice breaks, and your blood mixes with the sweetest sound she’s ever tasted—

the way you whimper her name like a prayer that begs for more.

you don’t know when you passed out.

maybe it was after she bit you again. same spot. maybe deeper. maybe because she licked the blood off your own fingers just to watch your face crumble. or maybe it was when she moaned into your cunt like she’d die if you stopped shaking.

doesn’t matter.

you wake up to the weight of her. heavy. cold. sprawled half over you, fangs out, breath hot against your throat. her shirt’s gone. chest slick with blood and spit and salt. you blink blearily, legs still spread. still wet. still sore. still hers.

vi’s eyes are already on you.

glowing red. no pretense. no human left. she hums low, almost apologetic—if apologies could crawl inside your body and fuck you from the inside out.

“you stopped breathing,” she murmurs, voice frayed. “thought i broke you.”

you did, you want to say.

but you nod instead.

she smiles like sin. licks the corner of her mouth. “let’s break you again.”

then she sinks her body between your thighs—no teasing this time. just bare hunger and bloodlust and the kind of tongue work that feels like punishment. she doesn’t let you move. one hand grips your waist, the other presses down on your sternum, like she needs to keep your heart caged while she tears you open from below.

you come so hard it feels like you die.

but vi keeps going.

keeps eating you like your soul is stuck somewhere behind your clit, and she needs to free it. moaning. grunting. letting blood drip from her nose as she pushes her tongue deeper. teeth grazing, tongue curling. you’re shaking, sobbing, drooling into the pillow—

and she loves it.

vi lifts her head. face painted red. lips slick. voice shot.

“you think i fed before i came here?”

she leans close.

“i starved myself, baby. just for you.”

then she opens her mouth.

and you watch her bite again. right above your heart.

you’re trembling.

blanket kicked halfway off the bed, body hot, blood humming under every bite she’s carved into you. it’s not fear anymore. it’s instinct. something primal. something wrong in the best possible way. you’re ruined—open, sore, soaked—and vi’s still hard.

yeah. hard.

she’s standing at the foot of the bed now, breathing uneven, the strap thick and gleaming between her thighs. black leather harness digging into her hips, blood still staining her abdomen. the thing’s veiny, pulsing faintly—enchanted, cursed, alive—and soaked in her spit. because she licked it first. right after pulling it on. tongue slow, gaze locked to your ruined, needy body like you were dessert and she was just warming up.

“you said i couldn’t get you pregnant,” she mocks, voice hoarse. “said i was just a monster with a strap.”

she crawls over your body, slow and terrifying, settling between your legs like she belongs there. her tip nudges your entrance and sinks in without resistance. you moan. she growls.

“i can make you believe,” she hisses, thrusting in deep.

you scream.

vi fucks like she’s digging a grave inside you. every stroke brutal, thick, deliberate. her pace is mean—deep grind, hard pull, a slap of hips that makes the bedframe crack against the wall. she doesn’t kiss. she bites your shoulder, your neck, your lips, drawing blood just to taste how much you need her. every thrust makes your body arch. every thrust makes your cunt drip.

her hand presses on your lower stomach. right where it bulges from how deep she is.

“feel that?” she pants. “that’s me. that’s all me.”

you sob her name.

vi grabs both your thighs, forces them higher, wider. she plunges deeper. you swear you can feel her in your fucking lungs. and then—then she leans down, breath cold against your ear.

“gonna pump you full. breed you like you’re mine. gonna make you believe.”

she thrusts once—twice—slams in and stays. grinds deep, slow.

the strap pulses.

you feel it.

warmth. like she really came. like something just claimed you from the inside out.

vi watches your face twist. then she pulls out just enough to see it drip.

thick. milky. cursed.

and she fucking laughs.

“one load down, baby,” she growls, shoving it back in. “i ain’t done.”

vi grabs your hips.

fangs bared. eyes glowing. her grip bruises—brutal, possessive—as she drags you down the mattress like a ragdoll, flips you over, and leaves you gasping into the pillow. your thighs shake when she spreads them. your cunt’s still leaking from the last round—wet, red, sticky with the heat of her cursed load.

“stay down,” she rasps.

like you could move.

you’re already sobbing, cheek pressed into the sheets, hands fisting weakly as she lines herself up again. the strap’s still soaked, still warm, still glowing faintly red with that infernal, breeding enchantment. and vi’s feral now. gone.

she thrusts back in—one stroke, all the way to the hilt.

you choke.

vi groans, rolling her hips slow, grinding so deep you swear you’re gonna black out. she cages your body with her own, chest pressed to your back, breath ragged against your ear as her hand creeps up to your throat and squeezes.

“say my name,” she snarls.

you try. you fail.

she fucks harder.

the bed shakes. her hips slap against your ass, every thrust sending slick sloshing sounds into the room like music from hell. you’re keening now, voice hoarse, twitching under her grip. she’s moaning too—like she feels it. like the strap’s draining you both. her fingers slip between your legs, rubbing your clit in tight, brutal circles.

you scream.

and then—then it happens again.

that pulse.

the strap throbs. once. twice. and bursts inside you with cursed heat. it’s too much. you feel it spill. flood you. run down your thighs. vi’s voice breaks with it, muttering filthy, fucked-out praises into your ear.

“look at you, baby… fuckin’ bred full… leaking for me like a good little feeder…”

your body’s twitching under her. but vi’s not done.

she leans in.

teeth scraping your neck. voice like gravel.

“one more round. i wanna see it drip out while i fuck it back in.”

and then she bites.

she doesn’t even pull out this time.

just grinds into you, slow and sticky, letting the mess between your legs slosh and spill down your thighs while your body trembles beneath her. her mouth stays on your neck—open, bloody, tongue lapping lazily at the bite she just reopened. your heartbeat stutters. your legs spasm. you’re sobbing, hiccuping, slurring her name into the pillow like a prayer you forgot how to say properly.

and still, vi fucks you like you asked for it.

her voice breaks against your skin. “my good girl, yeah? so fuckin’ sweet for me. look at you—bred, leaking, still taking it…”

she pulls your hips higher. arches your back deeper.

the new angle destroys you.

the strap’s still pulsing. still glowing faintly red. still alive with whatever ancient magic she carved into it with her teeth. it twitches inside you every time she slams forward, each thrust met with the wet squelch of her own cursed cum getting fucked deeper into your raw, ruined cunt.

“fuckin’ dripping, baby…” she pants, laughing breathlessly. “you hear that? that’s what a good girl’s grave sounds like.”

you cry out. your arms give out.

vi follows you down—presses her chest to your back, licks a stripe up your spine, grinds her hips in tight circles. she can’t stop. doesn’t want to. she’s panting like a beast, hair soaked, voice cracking with the edge of feral obsession. her hand slips under you again. finds your clit. presses.

“cum one more time,” she growls. “wanna feel you milk it. milk my fuckin’ strap, baby, go on…”

and when you do?

she loses it.

vi snarls, bites down again—hard—as the strap pulses a third time. more heat floods inside you. thicker. hotter. endless.

you scream. shake. collapse.

vi buries herself to the hilt, riding every tremble, breath hitching against your ear like she’s coming with you. she doesn’t move for a while after. just stays inside you. breeding you with her whole body. keeping the plug deep until it’s too full to spill.

“…fuck,” she whispers eventually, voice shredded. “you are my good girl.”

she kisses your neck. licks the blood clean. pulls the blanket over your back with shaking fingers.

then she whispers:

“next time… i want your wrists tied.”

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

SLEEPY HEAD.

PAIRINGS: CAITLYN X SLEEPY!FEM!READER X VI

AUTHOR'S NOTE: it's been a while since i last write fluff, so yeah here we go! reader is a chess girl in this post btw!

WARNING(S): lowercase.

navigation.

1. you’re a strategic genius with the soul of a nap-loving cat.

you’ll be in the middle of analyzing a high-stakes board game, murmuring, “if i move here, they’ll go there… checkmate in five,” and then—nothing. silence. caitlyn peeks in expecting a brilliant play and finds you fast asleep, head resting on the board, a black bishop pressed into your cheek.

2. vi absolutely lives for carrying you around.

it started as a joke. “sleepy again, huh?” she scooped you up bridal-style—and then just… never stopped. she refuses to let you walk home if you’re yawning even a little. “why walk when you’ve got a six-pack uber, babe?”

3. caitlyn is the quiet protector during your naps.

she adjusts pillows. places a warm cup of tea by your hand for when you wake. uses her jacket to shield your eyes from the sun. she reads quietly beside you, one hand protectively on your thigh, always alert for anything that might disturb her favorite sleepyhead.

4. you have a habit of sleep-mumbling chess moves.

at first, caitlyn thought you were dreaming of arguments. then she realized: you were calculating strategies in your sleep. vi thinks it’s hot. caitlyn thinks it’s worrying. you, when told? “oh. i guess i was… trying to beat myself.”

5. vi and caitlyn develop a habit of lowkey competing to be your human pillow.

one evening it’s vi’s biceps. the next it’s caitlyn’s lap. neither of them admits they’re keeping score… but they are. vi: “you fell asleep on me yesterday. just saying.” caitlyn, cool as ever: “yes, and you moved once. i remained still for four hours.”

6. you sleep in weird, curled-up positions like a little shrimp.

vi takes photos. caitlyn adjusts your limbs with surgical precision. both are obsessed. “they look like a cinnamon roll,” vi coos. “that snores,” caitlyn corrects gently. they both kiss your forehead at the same time.

7. despite your laziness, you always win at strategy.

vi: “they sleep through the whole mission brief and still outsmart the enemy.” caitlyn: “it’s infuriatingly hot.” you: yawns “i just… think better horizontal.”

8. caitlyn once built a custom travel chess set just for you.

it’s tiny, magnetic, and folds neatly into a pocket. you were so touched, you immediately fell asleep while thanking her. caitlyn just smiled, picked you up, and carried you to bed.

9. vi has a secret stash of photos of you napping in adorable places.

you curled up on a windowsill. you snoring with a book on your face. you spooning a giant stuffed kiramman mascot from caitlyn’s childhood. vi shares them with caitlyn when they’re both feeling soft—and horny, because sleepy you is apparently their shared weakness.

10. caitlyn talks to you when you’re asleep.

it started when she couldn’t sleep one night. she whispered things like, “i love the way your hair gets messy when you nap,” or “you terrify me with how brilliant you are.” you never respond—but once, you smiled in your sleep. caitlyn blushed for days.

11. you have a “sleepy voice” that kills both vi and caitlyn instantly.

it’s raspy, low, barely-there—like dragging velvet across skin. when you sleepily say, “five more minutes,” vi nearly drops her protein shake. caitlyn has to pretend she’s not flustered, even as she fans herself with a case file.

12. despite your sleepy nature, you always wake up when vi or caitlyn have nightmares.

even in your deepest nap, if vi’s breathing gets sharp or caitlyn tenses beside you, you stir and pull them close. no words. just soft, sleepy presence and your thumb rubbing slow circles on their spine.

13. you call caitlyn and vi “sun” and “storm” depending on nap placement.

if you’re dozing with caitlyn: “mmm… warm like sun…” with vi: “mm, stormy and safe…” the names stick. caitlyn melts every time. vi pretends not to love it but will correct people: “i’m her storm, get it right.”

14. sometimes you pretend to be asleep just to get cuddles.

vi catches on first, of course. “you’re fake-snoring again, huh?” she teases. you open one eye with zero shame: “and yet you’re still petting my hair, officer punchy.” vi grins. “guilty as charged.”

15. caitlyn and vi don’t mind that you’re always sleepy—because you’re always you when sleepy.

no masks. no pressure. just a soft, brilliant, drowsy girl who trusts them enough to fall asleep mid-sentence, knowing they’ll always be there to catch your head before it falls. they don’t just love you when you’re awake—they love you especially when you sleep.

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

look at Leah’s comments on Elle’s new post 🫠

Like be fucking for real........ i love lesbianism

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

Okay I got this off pinterest but SOMEONEEEE NEEDS TO MAKE THIS BUT WITH SEVIKA pls see the vision 🙏🙏

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

MINORS, AGELESS BLOGS AND MEN DNI

sevika: *exists*

me:

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

this picture has such good future meme potential. captain of all the ships 🚢🫡

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

This is so shit and our legend marta's name is being used to shield the useless man. 🤮🤮🤮

exactly. the financial situation has not changed. they could have reported on this anytime in the last few weeks 🙄

yes, barça femení is not a separate organisation nor does it have a separate financial structure from fc barcelona as a whole (unlike let's say lyon or london city lionesses or any nwsl club). therefore, the entire club needs to meet la liga's financial fair play rules. each league has its own rules, so la liga is different from that of the premier league.

sure, mapi could leave one day, and salma leaving is a big WTF, but yes, i think this is all PR spin up.

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

tikas is blocking anyone with a different opinion what is happeningggggg

now she's deleted her tweets, but the blocks are still there. 👀

no me creo que pere sea tan gilipollas pero aquí estamos 😵‍💫

it's so disgusting and people should call it out for what it is. anyone defending this interview or making excuses for it is complicit.

the thing is if pere is like this when this interview is being recorded and filmed, what is he like with his friends behind closed doors? what kind of shit talking is he participating in about his own team?

it's insane that the podcast literally started with that quote 🙄

it just raises a lot of questions about personal judgment imo

the evergreen question 🤐

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

Podemos decir que después de la "entrevista" a el entrenador del barça femenino en ese programa tiene ya los pies afuera del club? Puede hacer tanto ruido la entrevista como para que llegue a oídos de las personas competentes para que consideren terminar su contrato?

yo creo que sí. nunca había visto a tantos fans condenar a un entrenador en la sección femenina de este club. 🤷‍♀️

no es simplemente un error que pere cometió. es mucho más serio. subnormal.

i know the girls have just gone on holiday but many of them are so chronically online that they should have seen something on this.

i do want the girls to have their time off, so i hope the powers that be are having serious conversations. there are minors on this team.

yeah...it's a very concerning situation. something needs to be done.

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

WTF???

https://x.com/BarcaFem/status/1932411252539621540?t=sFjFcO7GP57ote4VMteGrw&s=19

and like clockwork. the club's PR machine starts dropping the most random transfer news to distract from other issues happening. 🙄

it has started...

that's what they will at least try to do

[alexiasleftoversalmon]

hells gonna be hot