a security guard approached them

Just then, a security guard approached them, his eyes fixed on Alexia's exposed body. "Excuse me, miss," he said, tapping Alexia on the shoulder. "I think you should put some clothes on."

Roxy smirked and stepped forward. "She's fine like this," she said, her voice dripping with contempt. "This is just a little cosplay fun, isn't it?"

The security guard looked at Roxy skeptically, but didn't argue further. He turned back to Alexia, his face reddening as he looked at her exposed body. "Um, miss, I was just wondering... are those real?"

Alexia’s breath hitched as the guard’s eyes lingered on her breasts. She **** a shaky laugh, lifting her gloved hands in mock innocence. "Oh, these? Just… silicone inserts! Part of the costume, you know?" She gave an exaggerated bounce, making her full, natural breasts jiggle—tan lines stark against her flushed skin.

Roxy’s stepped forward, her stiletto clicking sharply against the floor. "Oh, don’t be ridiculous," she purred, sliding between Alexia and the guard with a dismissive flick of her wrist. "This is performance art—part of our very exclusive cosplay panel. The illusion is the whole point." She traced a painted nail down Alexia’s collarbone, stopping just above her nipple. "See? Perfectly fake."

Alexia’s breath shuddered as Roxy pinched the sensitive skin, her thighs trembling under the scrutiny.

The guard’s eyes widened as Roxy’s fingers twisted—just enough to make Alexia whimper. "F-fake," Alexia choked out, her gloved hands twitching at her sides. The lie burned worse than the pinch.

The guard’s thick fingers hovered uncertainly before he finally shrugged, wiping his palms on his uniform pants. "Fake, huh? Well... alright then." His Adam’s apple bobbed as he took one last lingering look at Alexia’s glistening cleavage before shuffling away, muttering about "weird convention shit."

The guard cleared his throat, his gaze flickering between Alexia’s flushed face and her heaving chest. "Uh, well—fake or not, you still need to have your ID card visible," he stammered, tugging at his collar. "Convention rules. It’s gotta be around your neck."

Roxy’s smirk deepened as she reached into the tight pocket of her spiked corset, her gloved fingers fishing out Alexia’s laminated convention badge. The plastic strap dangled mockingly between them. "Oh, right—this," she cooed, letting the card swing just out of Alexia’s reach. "Can’t have my little Peach getting in trouble, can we?"

Alexia’s breath hitched as Roxy stepped closer, the scent of her leather-clad dominance thick in the air. The strap brushed her collarbone before Roxy looped it around her neck with deliberate slowness, her nails grazing the sensitive skin beneath the wig’s heavy curls.

The laminated ID swayed between Alexia’s bare breasts, her real name and face glaringly obvious against her otherwise humiliatingly fictionalized appearance.

Roxy’s fingers lingered on the plastic strap, her thumb deliberately pressing the laminated ID flat against Alexia’s sternum—right where the crowd could see it. "There," she murmured, her breath hot against Alexia’s ear. "Now everyone knows exactly who you really are."

Alexia’s stomach twisted as the guard’s eyes flicked down, reading her real name aloud with a slow, amused drawl. "Ohhh, Alexia—not Princess Peach after all, huh?" His chuckle was rough as he reached out, tapping the badge so it swayed against her bare skin. "Guess that explains the, uh... attention to detail."

The guard gave a stiff nod, his boots scuffing against the floor as he backed away. "Right. Well... carry on, then." His throat worked around another uneasy swallow before he turned on his heel, the walkie-talkie on his belt crackling static as he disappeared into the shifting crowd.