Could you do kiss roulette number 33 with Alessia
soft and sweet - alessia russo x reader
kiss roulette 33: a kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury, or other marking
———
sometimes, when alessia was in a particularly soft mood, she liked to take her time, trying to kiss every mark, every freckle, every scar on your body.
she‘d work her way up, starting at your calves. she would press a kiss to the few freckles you had there, then move to your knees, kissing the scars there. the first time she did it she brushed a finger over them, tracing their outlines.
“what are these from?” she asked, looking up at you.
“that one is from falling off my bike and scraping my knee, and the other one is from a bad tackle when i was playing on the school playground as a kid.” you explained.
she paused at the one from when you fell off a bike, which was pinker, fresher than the other. “when’s it from?”
“last year,” you admitted, blushing when she rolled her eyes fondly and kissed the scar gently.
she kept going up your thighs and your stomach, taking the time to trace the entirety of a large scar on your hip, making you shiver.
“what about this one?”
“oh, i fell out of a tree when i was 8. i was hanging from a branch by my legs and arms upside down and fell onto a rock.”
“ouch,” she murmured, and kissed it multiple times, working her way up until she’d kissed all of it.
your cheeks pinkened as she pressed more kisses to your torso, on little moles and freckles you had, especially when she got to the ones on your chest. she took her time, making sure to kiss each and every one, and you squirmed as she kissed the freckle on the edge of your nipple.
when she kissed the freckle on the curve where your neck met your shoulder, you hummed in pleasure. she made her way down each shoulder, stopping at each scar to kiss it gently.
“what’s this one from?” she asked after kissing a thicker scar on your forearm.
“i broke my arm when i was 10, they ended up doing surgery on it.”
“ouch,” she said, and kissed it again.
you started explaining the ones on the palm of your hand before she even asked, knowing, when she looked up at you, your palm in her hand, what she wanted to know.
“that one near the bottom is from when i tried skateboarding when i was like, 16. the board stopped moving but i didn’t, i scraped my hand when i fell. the one further up is from a surgery i had on my hand. i was very accident-prone as a child.”
“just as a child?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.
“i think you’ll find you’re the one with a reputation for being clumsy, not me,” you teased.
she chuckled and kissed the scars on your hand.
she did the same on your other arm, making sure to kiss any freckles there as well, and when she got to your hand you flipped it, so you were cradling her cheek.
“hey,” you said, making her look up at you. “don’t get me wrong, this is very sweet, but why are you doing this? i mean, i’m not complaining, i’m just curious.”
“because every part of you deserves to feel loved,” alessia said. “every scar, every freckle, all of you.”
you could have melted into a puddle there and then.
“i love you, lessi,” you told her, unable to put how you were feeling into any other words.
she kissed you on the lips, just once, softly. “i love you, y/n.”
