#kiss roulette

[ebongawk]

kiss prompt 42 would be super cute!

remiss to admit I already wrote this one and Tumblr glitched and deleted it so I hope it actually posts this time 🥲

42. A clumsy kiss

It was late.

Eddie was still laughing to himself, despite how fucked up it was that everyone had ditched to avoid helping with cleanup duties. Like, alright, maybe he'd gotten on a power trip and decided to kill off Jeff and Grant's characters during their second-to-last Hellfire meeting of his high school career.

So what?

It was their own goddamn fault, negging him at lunch today. So maybe he'd ditched their morning chill session after Chrissy stopped by to say hi and he followed her like a sick puppy in desperate need of attention.

Could he truly be blamed? It was Chrissy Cunningham.

And he was friends with her.

(Actually he was fucking head-over-feet crazy about her, thinking so endlessly of her and their weird, unexpected friendship that he'd drawn a picture of Sune, the goddess of beauty and love, and accidentally made her look exactly like Chrissy, but. Semantics.)

They should've anticipated the consequences. Was no small matter, giving the dungeon master shit when he held the fate of their characters in his notoriously ruthless hands.

But their total shock and disdain when he'd killed them? Hilarious.

As he swept up the endless Doritos crumbs from the theater room's wood floor, he laughed again at the memory of Jeff shouting so loud the acoustics carried his voice through the entire space and back.

Grant went full Pavarotti when his elven archer fell to the depths of the Underdark.

Served them right.

Still, they were dicks for not staying to take care of their own messes. The younger kids he understood – curfew to adhere to and all that – but Jeff, Grant, and Gareth had straight up left with loose excuses that they all knew were bullshit. And if the drama room was left untended over the weekend, Eddie was the only one that would be in hot water with Mrs. Thames, since he was the one she entrusted with the key.

A soft knock yanked him out of his aggressive sweeping, looking up just as Chrissy peeked her way through the ajar door. He'd forgotten that she stuck around tonight for junior varsity tryouts for the coming year.

"Oh, you are still here," she breathed. "I saw your van in the lot on my way out, but I wasn't sure if you were here or if you were in Principal Higgins' office doing something, um, untoward." She looked around as she stepped through the threshold, the door clicking shut behind her. "Where are the guys?"

See, that was the thing. Chrissy wasn't just friends with him. The entirety of Hellfire was fucking batty over her. So why did he get all the shit?

"They ditched," Eddie snorted as he swept the crumbs into a dustpan, emptying it into the garbage can he'd stolen from the janitor's closet.

Chrissy quirked a brow at him. "What'd you do?"

"Egads, Cunningham!" he shouted, slapping a hand over his heart as he staggered toward her. "Must I be at every fault in your judgmental eyes?"

"Not every fault." She hummed, leaning against the table. Eddie scoffed, grabbing a notebook to start notating where the minis were before tossing them in a storage box. "But this one seems a little obvious."

Eddie finished his scribbling quietly, mulling this over. He didn't have to be entirely honest.

"Alright, so maybe I killed Jeff." Chrissy gasped. "And Grant."

"Eddie!" Chrissy chastised. "How could you?"

"It's fine!" he cried. "They were so angry about it that they fucking forgot that Sinclair found the Hand of Kelemvor buried in that chest in the Shadowfell. He can use it to bring them back!" Eddie snorted. "Serves them right, though. They'll have to scrounge up new character sheets before next week that'll be entirely useless."

Hoisting herself onto the table after he'd haphazardly wiped it down, Chrissy cast him a critical eye.

"Wouldn't Lucas have to, um, sacrifice something to use that?" she asked.

This was still kinda novel to him. He and Chrissy had been friends for a while now, and when they first started hanging out, she asked him about his DnD stuff. Well, actually, she asked him to explain it to her to verify that it wasn't a cult, as her ex-boyfriend so stupidly believed, and then after that she just... kept asking how the story was going. What they'd done that week. Not only that, she retained it. Filing away little pieces of information and gasping when she later realized how they tied into the greater plot of the story.

"Are you really even interested in this stuff?" he'd asked at one point. She was sitting on the floor of his bedroom, feet tucked under his thigh as they ignored the small stack of homework and he recounted the previous day's campaign. "Or are you just humoring me?"

"I like it so much, Eddie," she'd replied around a soft smile. The one he fucking prayed was reserved just for him. "It's like you're writing this whole fantastical story just for me."

"Just for you, huh?"

"Yeah," she sighed. "I'm the only one lucky enough to hear it."

"He will," Eddie verified Chrissy's inquiry. Leaning up against the table beside her and shrugging. "The deity he ascribes to is kind of temperamental. She'll probably ask for his life in exchange for theirs."

Chrissy gasped in horror.

"Eddie, that's awful!"

"It's necessary!" he cried in response, chuckling at her genuine astonishment. "Listen, we've all done it, okay? Before I became DM, I sacrificed myself twice for the greater good. Gareth has lost three characters, and Grant and Jeff have both lost one. The younglings have played it too safe up 'til now, in my opinion. It's about time they accept that which they cannot control: change."

Chrissy blinked, her lips parted as she looked at him.

"It comes for us all, Cunningham," he said, his voice softer. Gaze dropping around a forced chuckle. "No matter how much we wish it wouldn't sometimes."

And that–– that was entirely too fucking revealing.

It was something they hadn't quite discussed, really. What they were going to be when she was off working her way through her scholarships in Portland and Eddie was who-fucking-knew doing God-knows-what away from this shitty ass town.

Honestly, he kinda figured she'd forget about him. This little stint of friendship had maybe opened her up to not judging books by their covers, if she ever had (Eddie knew she hadn't), but once they were no longer convenient, he figured he'd just become a fond memory for her. A soft little smile as she flipped through her yearbook in the coming decades.

A past she was happy to move on from.

Whether that made him want to kick his own teeth in was completely inconsequential.

"Change isn't always bad," she said, her own voice having dropped to a whisper. "Is it?"

He let his eyes drift back to hers. Meeting the determined storms he could see swirling there.

But he didn't have a chance to answer.

Because she was surging toward him, eyes scrunched closed, and he knew, he knew what she was trying to do, but she completely overestimated her aim. Lips landing clumsily on the small stretch of skin between his upper lip and nose, and her own nose mashed painfully just under his eye, making him wrench himself backward with a grunt.

"Oh–– Oh my God––"

"Aw, fuck."

"Oh, God, Eddie, I'm so––" Hands covering her mouth, she looked horrified all over again for an entirely different reason. "I-I'm so sorry, oh my God, did I hurt you?"

"It's alright––"

"No, it isn't, oh my gosh! This is so mortifying, God––"

"Hey––"

"I'm so sorr––"

"Hey," he said, wrapping one hand around her wrists and easing them down. "Chrissy. It's alright." She still looked entirely humiliated, and Eddie couldn't help but laugh. "I mean, as long as you–– Did you–– Were you–– Uh. Were you trying to kiss me?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Chrissy let out a little trembling laugh herself.

"Trying being the operative word, I guess," she replied shakily. "I... I mean, nuggets, Eddie, I've wanted to kiss you for ages. And then, that whole thing with change and stuff, I thought, maybe this could be a good change. For us, you know? Because I just–– I like you so much, and––"

That was enough.

Cupping her cheek with his free hand, Eddie took the lead. Gently pulling her in, the little furrow between her brow not registering his intention until he was pressing a soft, chaste kiss to her lips. Cutting off whatever apology she was likely to spew next with a little gasp that he greedily swallowed down.

He pulled back the tiniest bit, and Chrissy was quick to close the distance again. Extracting her wrists from his grip so she could wrap her arms around his shoulders.

She tasted like the wild freedom of his feelings for her. This endless stretching of wilderness, trees and foliage entangled with meadows of wildflowers that grew without reservation. Sprawling landscapes that infiltrated his very being, until she'd suffused herself into every blade of grass and knob of dirt that had sprouted within him.

It was fucking insane, how well his hand fit in the curve of her waist. How easily his lips molded against hers. How good and right and natural it felt to have her fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his scalp.

"Good change," he acknowledged easily when they finally broke apart for air. The little giggle she let out washed across his lips, lingering on his tongue with the yellow sunshine happiness of his wooded being.

"Amazing change," she agreed before leaning in to kiss him again.

kiss roulette!

[glassrowboat]

🎲 I am always one for enabling

4. A kiss atop the head.

One Kiss, Blue Fish. Furina.

Word count: 900+

One kiss for her, one kiss for the little gold colored statuette. A habit now so ingrained into your routine as keys pressed into your palm on your way out the door that it was simply instinct to lean down for both of them. Even after the first layer of golden plating started to wear down and revealed a greenish hue beneath.

Oxidation. Something you have had the chance to grow familiar with as the old statues of dogs in the park tucked away between the building of the capital, all beared proof of their noses being scratched and petted. The sight of it alone had you shaking your head, a smile always fighting to turn your lips up ever so slightly.

This habit had all started from a single joke. One comment, that's all it took after Furina had brought home the mini version of her (err- or the Hydro Archon that she was) that now turned to being part of your daily life.

Your fingers had been gliding over the reward as you heard her debating over what to do with it after coming home. Her gloved fingers clutched onto it in a way that failed to hide how they shook just from the sight of the thing alone.

To place it proud and center on the mantle, she pondered. Maybe even bury it away in the guestroom that you only ever used once. Long forgotten after Furina had grown accustomed to sharing a bed with you. Or, simply, toss it out like it was trash?

To that, a startled and over dramatized gasp left you. Hand to your chest to truly sell that bit of how hurt you were at such an appalling suggestion. “You would dare toss the image of my lover in the garbage?”

So, after your ploy of pretending it mattered more to you that it truly did and a spat that was more playful than anything, you placed the mini Furina on the mantle. Tall and proud. Placing a kiss to its little head, you had turned back to her, a cheeky smile on your lips.

A habit set in stone from there on.

One a certain someone clearly wasn't a fan of as her cheeks were puffed out, and a pout graced her features just like that day.

“If you're just going to give out two kisses, you might as well give the second one to me too.” She insisted, head turned away from you as she held up her nose.

It spoke levels about how comfortable she was with you. Willing to give attitude and sass she would normally be afraid anyone else would look at and think of the Hydro Archon she once represented. But there was no need for that here. Not with you.

“That so?”

Taking a strand of hair, that same one that stuck up in the air no matter how much she tried to tame it in the mornings, you twirled it around your finger. The shades of blue and white were almost hypnotizing to watch even when her head bounced up and down to nod.

“Yes! It only makes sense you would give me, your lover, your affection instead of that thing.”

“Now, now, my little mermaid.” You teased as her gaze fell on the golden trophy, eyes surely puncturing the cheap plating covering it. “I can give you two kisses from here on out if you really want.”

Her small little giggle filled the air, seeming appeased with this outcome. For now.

“And I'll give the little replica two on the way out, too.”

She called your name, a high-pitched whine that accompanied her tugging ever so slightly on your sleeve. The way she always said that truly did capture your attention, more so than anyone else who's ever used it before as you bent down to her height.

Eye to eye as you asked “yes?”

“If that's what you're so intent on doing, then you'll have to give me three.”

“You drive a hard bargain.” Wrapping your arms around her waist, the frills of her outfit tickled your arms as she moved in a little closer. The shuffle of her heels heard on the hardwood floor as Furina moved into your hold. “But of course, three kisses.”

If it makes her happy, then it's more than worth it.

“Then take this from the top."

Furina grabbed your keys off the mantle, pulling them away from the statuette you placed them next to when she had first called for your attention. Rattling in her hand as she placed them in yours.

“All the way from the top? Next thing you know, there will be a clapperboard telling me when I can and can't start helping you bathe.”

“T-that’s not important right now.”

Before she could pull away, to hide her blushing cheeks behind a false attitude and layers of hair she hoped would block her face away, you pressed your lips to her hairline. The perfume Neuvillette gifted her after her departure from the Palais Mermonia, only welcoming your touch even more.

Drawing your in closer as you muttered “one kiss, two kiss, three kiss,” with every peck to her forehead. Only a small part of you is resisting the urge to continue teasing her and say ‘red fish, blue fish’ to finish your little poem.

Alas, that can wait another day.

Just like how tomorrow you plan to give three kisses to the statuette just to see Furina pitch another fit.

[cyraclove]

Kiss prompt #25 😊

I got THREE requests for this one !! tysm 🩵

25. A kiss that’s an accident

“Of course I remember,” Chrissy says with a bashful smile. “We were at camp.”

“God. You gave me this… this look afterwards,” Eddie says with a hoarse chuckle, shaking his head. “I wanted to throw myself into the lake.”

Chrissy scoffs a laugh.

“What’re you talking about?”

“You scrunched up your little nose. Like this,” Eddie says as he demonstrates. “Like you’d just kissed a toad or something.”

“I did not!”

“Uh, yeah. You sure did.”

“Well, it was weird! I’d never kissed a boy before,” Chrissy reminds him. “I guess I thought it’d be… I don’t know, different.”

“Hey, I get it. I’m sure I was a shit kisser at twelve,” Eddie grins, wide and wonderful.

And then, “I’ve gotten better at it, I swear.”

There’s a soft beat.

Chrissy hadn’t realized just how close she and Eddie had gotten, her hand resting right next to his on the carpet.

Her chest tightens, the air around them thrumming with an unspoken longing.

Chrissy lets go of a shaky exhale, her breath mingling with Eddie’s as the bridge of his nose meets hers.

She feels his ringed fingers ghost along her knuckles, the brush of his skin sending a shivery snap right through her.

“Chrissy,” Eddie breathes, “do you—“

“Yes,” Chrissy whispers, and his lips are on hers.

It’s sweet and earnest, like he is. Like the Eddie only she knows; her best friend. It’s not urgent or demanding, just gentle and soft.

His tongue, though. His tongue takes and teases and coaxes her lips apart, slipping past her teeth.

Chrissy moans into Eddie’s mouth as their tongues drag against each other, a familiar throb between her legs.

God, it’s been so long.

Even if sex with Jason wasn’t what she’d hoped it would be, it had been connection. The warmth of another body pressed against hers; an ease to that endless, empty ache inside of her.

Eddie’s hand slides to Chrissy’s waist and she arches into his touch. His thumb skims the side of her breast and Chrissy shudders, a needy little sound in her throat.

“Shit,” Eddie curses, “Shit, Chris, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—“

“No,” Chrissy breathes, grabbing his hand before he can take it away. “Please.”

KISS ROULETTE!

[abyssalmermaiden]

Ok consider, aryaille and thancred, combo of 40 and 43

40. An impulsive kiss + 43. A bloody kiss

YOU'RE SO RIGHT

I fear I need to draw it to fully do this concept justice the way it was in my head but-

slightly alternate timeline where Thancred experiences a sudden and severe feeling of "we might actually die here"

kiss roulette

[dutifullylazybread]

A kiss against a wall for Rolan x Tav please?

Absolutely! :D

Here ya go!

Tav tore down the tower’s staircase, Rolan coming up close behind her. Wood splintered as the door behind them was blown off of its hinges and the narrow stairwell was awash with blinding light.

Rolan lobbed three magic missiles at their pursuer, cursing loudly. Tav couldn’t see if he had been injured or if his attack had proved ineffective—she couldn’t turn to look or she’d lose her footing. They couldn’t fight this creature in close quarters.

And they couldn’t pause to throw up a wall of stone or to encase themselves in a protective orb—not without the space between them and their attacker drastically closing.

So they ran instead.

Tav tore down the corkscrewing staircase, her lungs straining, burning. A sharp discharge of magic, emitting a sound akin to fabric tearing, ripped through the air.

The stairs plateaued into a landing—the one just outside of the study. Tav reached out for the door handle—

And Rolan cried out in anguish.

She turned in time to see him barreling towards her.

“Tav!” The fever-pitch panic in Rolan’s voice cut through her focus.

His hands clamped down on her shoulders, and just as a jagged bolt of lightning careened towards her, Rolan shoved her up against the hard stone wall, the blast of magic scorching the empty space over his horns and searing the tips of Rolan’s hair.

The study’s door—where Tav stood moments before—was blackened to a char.

Rolan slumped against her. A line of smoke, thick with the acrid stink of burnt flesh, rose off of his shoulder.

And the stairway was blanched in white light as the creature descended.

The quasi-elemental was so bright that Tav had to resist the urge to shield her eyes.

Nothing had worked against it. Not fire, not ice—and Tav didn’t have time to test a spell that may prove impotent.

She needed a surefire way to destroy this elemental…

…and she had one.

Tav wrapped her left arm around Rolan’s center and drew him into her embrace. She brandished her staff with her right, its head burning a ghastly, pale green as she snagged at threads of the Weave with its decorative barbs.

The braiding scents of burnt hair and crackling electricity were replaced with the cloying stink of roses and spun sugar… muddled with graveyard soil and rot. It was as if she'd pried open the lid of a moldering casket, freeing the stench of trapped decay.

She tasted stale rainwater as she shaped the words to the spell, the Weave straining against her staff…

…and the quasi-elemental’s shape warped and buckled around the edges.

“What… what magic is this?” Rolan asked, drawing away to look at Tav.

Tav spoke the incantation, its phrasing like wisps of funeral incense and its words as abrupt as the flash of a dagger.

She wrenched her staff towards her, stripping the threads of Weave from its grander tapestry.

The quasi-elemental’s shape, already as inconstant as a jagged bolt of lightning, went rigid.

And then its form lengthened and swelled.

The creature strained and railed for but a moment before its very essence was shredded to pieces.

The elemental expired with an anguished shriek, and the stairway dimmed as its light blinked out.

Tav’s staff fell to the ground with her clatter. Her hands, numbed from shaping the Weave into rot, were chilled to the touch.

Rolan stared at her. “That spell…”

“I… found it in the Vaults,” Tav said. She shivered. “That was unpleasant to cast.”

He looked her over, pressing the back of his hand to her brow. “You’re freezing,” he murmured.

Her body, gripped in chills, shuddered. Her ribs may as well have been carved from a block of ice.

“You need to rest,” Rolan said. He reached for her, only for Tav to embrace him and lay her palm flat against the burn on his back.

“In a moment,” she said, emptying her mind and drawing upon her remaining stores of energy.

“Tav—“

The very warmth of her blood was sapped from her veins; it trailed up her arm, before unspooling into Rolan’s wound, knitting the flesh and soothing the burn under her fingertips. She was gripped by a sudden, deep-set fatigue.

A shudder ran through her body and her legs buckled.

Rolan caught her beneath the arms, bracing her between him and the wall.

“Why the hells would you do that?” he demanded. “We could have used a potion or called on a cleric. You didn’t have to—hells, your lips are turning blue.” As she stumbled forward, Rolan held her aloft.

“You’re so warm.” Her words were beginning to slur together. “Can we stay like this?”

With a sigh of exasperation, he pulled her close. Tav’s body easily moulded against his—her face rested in the crook of his neck, their chests were flush together, and his tail looped around her left ankle. She had always savored the heat that he put off, but now that she had none of her own, she loved it all the more.

“We’ll need to run you a bath,” he said aloud. “I’ll get a fire started and I’ll find some more blankets… Gods damn it all. How can you be this cold?”

“Are you upset with me?”

“Of course I am,” he snapped. “Did you expect that I’d be pleased with you reducing yourself to a state of near exhaustion? What would have happened if you had cast another spell similar to the other two?”

Tav didn’t care to entertain the idea.

“Don’t do that again,” Rolan said, the command reduced to a plea when he added a desperate, “please.”

“I…” She didn’t want to make that promise—not when she might need to break it in the future. “I can’t let you die.”

“And you think I’d be happy if you died instead?” He exhaled loudly. “We can talk about this later. I’m more concerned with warming you up right now.”

“You would pass up the opportunity to argue?”

“Hush, you.” He kissed her brow, his lips lingering there, his breath warm. “I’m… I’m relieved that you’re alive. More than you can possibly imagine.”

“I think I have an idea.” She kissed the column of his throat, felt the rumbles of his building moan against her mouth. She darted the tip of her tongue out to taste him, humming in quiet appreciation.

Rolan nudged her head back. The tips of his ears were a wine-dark red. “You are in no condition to be coming onto me,” he said firmly. “Though… you have a little more color to you now.”

She quirked an eyebrow. “Oh? Perhaps our… ministrations have helped then?”

He rolled his eyes. “You are infuriating.”

“And?”

“That’s all,” he said. “Just… infuriating.”

His mouth found hers. What started as a soft peck turned heady when she nipped his lower lip, lightly tugging at it, inviting him to continue… should he wish.

Rolan cupped her face in his hands, stroked his thumbs down her jawline, and pressed his body against hers as he kissed her. Tav tangled her fingers into his hair and teased her tongue against the seam of his lips. He swallowed his moan, melting fully into her and tasting her breathy sighs.

She lost herself in him, in the moment. The warmth of his body, mingling with the heat that he stirred in her chest and her core, was enough to draw more life into Tav. Her pulse quickened; her veins thawed.

And then, reluctantly, Rolan pulled away. “Well,” he said with a small cough. “You don’t quite look like death warmed over now.”

Tav cracked a smile. She couldn’t help but notice that Rolan’s lips were swollen from the press of her mouth.

“Let’s run you a bath,” he said. “Can you walk?” He offered her his arm.

She nodded, accepting his invitation and looping her arm about his.

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten how reckless you were,” he added. “We will talk more about this. Later.”

She smirked. “You? Forget? I wouldn’t dare to assume that.”

Rolan snorted. "See that you don't."

And they proceeded down the stairs together.

[materassassino]

a DinLuke kiss for either 30, 24 or 9 please 👀

This meanders like hell but they really were not cooperating with this.

Kiss roulette!

---

30 - A kiss to the palm of the hand

It is their third mission.

They work well together, once they get over their initial standoffishness. Din keeping his guard up, still wary of this man he trusted to once train his child, and Luke maintaining that impenetrable, aloof façade last only until the end of the first mission, when they are trapped and that distance might kill them. They make it out, and something shifts.

Luke smiles more, wider, more glittering things. Din talks more, allowing himself to be drawn into actual conversation. Small, concentric shifts that surprise the both of them.

Their second mission is seamless, goes off without a hitch: the Imps are too terrified by the presence of Luke Skywalker for anything but gibbering surrender, which Din is grateful for.

But then their third mission is the complete opposite.

The intel was faulty, there were numbers at the facility two men alone, even with one of them a nigh-omnipotent Jedi master, could never have dreamt of dealing with. They should be attacking this place with a squadron, a whole army, not two men and an astromech.

They have to cut their losses, run limping away to lick their wounds. Din’s going to kick Carson Teva’s ass for this one. As they run for their ship, Luke turns, throws his hands up. There are stormtroopers swarming towards them, an unstoppable white tidal wave of idiot true believers, and Luke digs into the Force to throw them back. He tries to wrench the blast doors closed, gets pretty far, there’s a sliver left between them…

And for once, a stormtrooper actually has good aim.

The blaster bolt goes right through Luke’s right hand, making him yell in pain. Din stares as he cradles it, teeth gritted, and he has to haul Luke away, back to their borrowed ship, depositing him with perhaps less gentleness than the moment would warrant into the co-pilot seat, but he’s desperate to get them off this kriffing moon.

He deftly dodges laser cannon fire, working the engines to screaming point to get them away as fast as possible. A retreat is, of course, dishonourable, but Din’s run from more overwhelming odds than he’d care to count at this point. He has a kid to take care of, so sue him. Once the rippling blue of hyperspace is around them, on course back to Nevarro, he whirls in his seat, hands reaching for Luke but not daring to touch, hovering weirdly.

Luke unfolds from himself with less of a pained moan and more of an inconvenienced sigh. Din watches him peel back his single glove with a grimace, to reveal a smouldering hole. Thank the manda Din’s helmet has filters, otherwise he’s certain the smell of charred flesh would be nauseating.

“That’s another one gone,” Luke grumbles, holding it up.

Din stares. “What do you mean ‘another one’?”

Luke turns his hand so the palm is facing Din. Din winces, but then he realises something. There’s no horrid sight of burnt flesh, but rather the snapped wires and broken servos of a prosthetic. Din stares some more, before sinking into his seat in relief.

Just a prosthetic. No horrendous, life-altering injury. Well… not a recent one, anyway.

Luke pokes at his own fingers, frowning. They don’t even twitch, the only movement left all in his wrist. Din sits up straight again, eyeing it. He wants to reach for it, study it, hold it gently. He blinks the thoughts away.

“How…?” He doesn’t know how to finish. Luke has never not answered a question from him, but he knows he’s being incredibly rude. “No, forget it…”

Luke looks up. “Oh. Uh… during the War.” His face is tight, pinched, something haunted in his eyes. It’s not a face Din has ever seen him wear. “I kriffed up, badly.”

“I’m sorry,” Din says, but Luke shakes his head.

“No, it’s fine.” He manages to hitch on a smile, something reassuring. “I’ll just need to go to Chandrila for a new one.”

That’s not what Din meant, but he doesn’t know how to correct Luke without making it worse.

“Can you not fix it?” he asks instead. Luke shakes his head.

“I’m a mechanic, but this is a little beyond me. It’s fried. Plus the synthskin needs replacing as well.”

Din nods. He knows Luke can probably fly his X-Wing perfectly well one-handed, but still… he can’t keep the worry from gnawing at him. He gazes at Luke, who has slumped into his seat now. He looks exhausted, truth be told, and Din feels the same, now the adrenaline is fading. He wants to sleep for about seven business days.

They travel on in silence, a rare thing for Luke, the both of them wrapped in their own thoughts for a long while. Din loses track of time as his eyelids grow heavy. They can afford to sleep until they get to Nevarro, he’s certain no one is giving chase, and he folds his hands over his sternum. They could have died, back there. Even with all Luke’s skill and power and his own experience, they came dangerously, terrifyingly close. Who would take care of Grogu? His gut twists sickeningly.

And he hates the way Luke stopped, putting his very unarmoured self between Din and a horde of stormtroopers, lightsaber disengaged. As if Luke was expendable. His gut twists again, some cold horror clawing itself up his throat, his heart thudding. What if? What if? His fist clenches on the armrest and he looks at Luke.

“Hey, Luke?” he says.

Luke hums, just enough of a reply that Din knows he’s still awake.

“Don’t… don’t try shit like that again,” he says. Luke opens his eyes, though they droop heavily, and he frowns.

“Like what?” he asks.

“I’m the one wearing the beskar,” Din says. “Let me take the hits.”

Luke blinks at him, then smiles, something sleepy and pleasant and something stutters in Din’s chest, something winged the colour of sunlight. He swallows.

“I can’t promise that,” he says, and that makes Din scowl.

“Are all Jedi this foolish?” he grumbles. Luke shrugs.

“I don’t know, I’m the only one.”

Another twist within Din, his heart aching. He isn’t fully in control of himself when he leans over, working almost on autopilot. He reaches out, his hand perhaps trembling ever-so-slightly, and takes Luke’s left.

“Then perhaps side-by-side would be a compromise?” he says. Luke looks down at his hand and Din’s, and back up again. Din sees his throat bob, swallowing just like Din did earlier.

“That could work,” he replies, his voice slightly hoarse in a way that makes Din’s heart stutter again, stop-start-stop-start, out of rhythm. He leans forward, tipping his helmet up, and kisses Luke’s palm. He hears Luke’s breath hitch, feels his hand quiver, his fingers twitch. Din rubs circles with his thumb where his lips just touched, feeling mystified by his own bravery.

“Good,” he replies, replacing his helmet. “We’re a team.”

[ladylucksrogue]

Hi! Could I ask for foxiyo with 24 - a sleepy kiss pls??? ❤️

Thank you so much for the ask! I was super excited about this one. Hope you like it!

Riyo was absorbed in her messages on her datapad, losing track of time until her eyes widened, realizing just how much time had passed since Fox had arrived at her apartment.

She hadn’t seen him in two days, an all-too-common occurrence given his long shifts, the endless emergencies on Coruscant, and her own hectic schedule. They often went days without seeing each other.

Normally, she would drop everything the moment he walked through the door, jumping into his arms and kissing him senseless. But she had an important debate the next day, and she was stuck in endless rewrites. So when the door opened, she barely glanced up, knowing it had to be him, no one else had her codes.

His familiar red and white armor and the dark visored helmet, which she’d initially found intimidating, were now a comforting sight. He looked exhausted as he removed the helmet, but he smiled, the smile only she ever saw.

She had  assured him she’d be right with him, and he said he was just going to change. That was an hour ago.

Riyo got to her feet, heart pounding as she made her way to the bedroom, the room she shared with Fox whenever they found time. The lamp was on, the light low and warm. It was a compromise: she liked to read in bed, but the overhead lighting often aggravated Fox’s headaches. The lamp was just low enough not to bother him.

His armor was neatly stacked. She moved into the room and spotted him. He was lying on the bed, on his stomach, head turned to the side on the pillow, dressed only in a pair of briefs. Her worry faded as she saw him breathing, heard his light snores. His exhaustion had gotten the better of him. He had probably intended to take a short rest but had instead fallen asleep.

Her heart warmed, seeing his peaceful face, and she didn’t have it in her to wake him.

She quietly made her way back to the living room, gathered her datapad, and went through her routine before joining him in bed.

She pulled the soft blanket over him and settled back on her pillows, intending to delve back into her speech on her datapad when he moved without opening his eyes, somehow knowing she was there. His hand reached out, finding her leg, his calloused fingers gentle as he stroked a thumb over her skin and let out a sigh.

She leaned in, her hand finding his cheek, pressing her forehead against his. His eyes flickered open, dark and hazy with sleep. Her lips met his, and she smiled as he responded to the kiss, his lips moving against hers almost lazily.

“You should sleep,” he muttered.

“I will,” she assured him. She would, after she was done.

“Come lay down,” he whispered.  He was hard to resist like this.

Despite all she had to do, Riyo set the datapad aside. She turned, curling against him, her back to his chest as his arm wrapped around her. It took them a minute to settle, and she melted into his warmth. She felt him nuzzle against her hair, plant a series of sleepy kisses on her neck, and she squeezed his hand.

He was right. Sleep was more important, especially like this.

[courtofparrots]

🎲

yesss serennedy one of them!!

HEHE OK

(Kiss drabble roulette list is here if anyone else is interested I WILL do more)

Okay you got #33. A kiss to a scar, birthmark, injury or other marking!

The afterglow is always Leon's favorite. Calm, deep-seated satisfaction in his veins, lying partially on top of Luis so that his head rests against a warm tan sternum, feeling slow breaths make their way through the body beneath him.

He raises his head, running fingers through wiry dark chest hair until they come to a familiar scar.

"Did this hurt very bad?" Leon asks, grazing the scar with his fingertips. A pair of eyes slit open to look at him, expression just slightly annoyed. Luis must have been about to doze off.

"Why?" He responds, voice thick with near-sleep and a little hoarse from their previous activities; Leon's favorite tone, "Are you jealous? You don't have enough harrowing scar stories of your own?"

Leon huffs a small laugh and shrugs, "I was unconscious when mine was removed, but I remember the way Ashley sounded.." he trails off. Luis's eyes soften, "it wasn't too bad," he murmurs, but it's obvious that he's lying.

Without thinking, Leon dips his head and replaces his fingertips with his lips, kissing the bottom tip of the scar feather-light, mouth growing firmer as he trails it up to the top. The tiniest shudder runs through Luis, and long fingers card through Leon's hair.

When Leon's tongue pokes out to greet the scar tissue, feeling the ridge of the old injury with care, a small noise escapes from Luis's throat, muscles going slightly more rigid, expecting.

"Sancho..." Luis whispers, and it's a pleasantly breathy sound that makes Leon shiver. He raises his head so he can meet Luis's eyes.

"I'm just really glad you're here," he says, as firmly as possible, dipping his head to plant one more kiss to the scar before the fingers in his hair are gripping and dragging him up to his love's lips.

[angel-baby479]

for the kiss roulette, consider elitello and 34 👀

Eli’s a biter but will only do it to people he really likes- do with that info what u will lmao

kiss roulette ask game

[talshiargirlfriend]

🎲4. A kiss to the top of the head

plz and thx 😁

Yay it’s kiss roulette time!

Despite his expressions of confidence in the face of T’Pol’s misgivings, Trip had also been a little apprehensive about this visit. So far, so good, even if he missed the distracting presence of Bert and Owen and of course Earth’s greatest human buffer, Miguel Salazar. Trip’s brother-in-law could keep any conversation going smoothly; he was charm incarnate. It was a skill Trip envied.

People often described Trip as charming, but he wasn’t too sure about that. As far as he could tell he was just genuinely interested in other people and in possession of a streak of mischief.

After an uneventful dinner, Charlie, Elaine, Trip and T’Pol moved to the living room with coffee. As each couple settled onto a sofa, a pair of black and white cats strolled in to investigate the situation.

“Who are these pretty babies? I wasn’t sure you would get another cat after…” Trip trailed off and put his hand down for the cats to sniff.

“Well,” Charlie said. “Our pets can’t stay with us as long as we’d like, but I’ve never regretted a moment of loving one of them.” He cleared his throat. Elaine blinked rapidly and looked away.

Trip could feel T’Pol’s eyes on him. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“That’s Princess Isabel and the Lady Lilith. Izzy and Lily,” Elaine filled in. Izzy retreated to curl up on the back of his parents’ sofa while Lily sniffed Trip’s hand before turning her nose up at him in a look of feline disdain.

“Don’t be offended. She doesn’t really like anyone but me. Bit like your dad here,” Elaine teased.

As if in defiance the dainty cat rubbed her face against T’Pol’s leg. To Trip’s surprise the animal was rewarded with a gentle scratch behind the ears before she trotted off to curl up on his mama’s lap.

Elaine stroked the cat fondly in greeting. “Well, you like the ladies of the family, Lil. That’s a start. I’m sure these Tucker boys will grow on you.”

“They have a tendency to do so,” T’Pol agreed softly. Trip smirked and bumped his knee against hers affectionately.

The Elizabeth-shaped holes were still there - they would always be there - but they felt a little less… jagged. The gaps somehow formed an integral part of the overall structure.

The evening continued in a similarly pleasant fashion, as the four of them conversed comfortably on topics varying from needlework to neutrinos while the cats snored softly in the background.

Eventually, Charlie let out a jaw-cracking yawn and slapped his hands against his thighs, “Well, that’s my cue to hit the hay.”

Elaine leaned over for a kiss, “Goodnight, sweetheart. I’ll be up in a few minutes.”

“Goodnight, Dad.”

“Goodnight, Charles.”

He stood to make his way out, pausing behind the sofa where his son and de facto daughter-in-law sat.

“Goodnight, kids.”

He leaned down and kissed Trip on the crown of his head as he had done countless times before. He then did the same to T’Pol before continuing out of the room. T’Pol’s eyes went wide in surprise before she swiftly recovered her composure.

Trip bit back a smile and made eye contact with his mom. In unison each gave the other a subtle head shake, clearly communicating “Don’t say anything, you’ll embarrass them” before breaking into matching grins.

His heart felt lighter than it had in years.

—

I considered an angsty little Similitude interlude, but I settled on fluff. As the reigning empress of TnT fluff, I hope this will meet with your approval! 😅 Thanks for the ask!

[tealmisthams]

Ao3 links to my Kiss Roulette Prompt 33 drabbles (I did one for both Rexsoka and Fivesoka).

Rexsoka Version:

Fivesoka Version:

[ebongawk]

KISS NUMBER 12 PLS AND THANK U

12. A kiss along the collar bone

rather than writing a story I thought I’d post a lil snippet of uhhh something 👀

kiss roulette!

[nerdypanda3126]

Smooch Roulette #2

54. A friendly kiss 37. Classroom 1. Luka x Marinette

Just something I tapped out for the Smooch Roulette for @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers. Hope you like it!

“Okay, see you later, then,” Luka said, then ducked in to kiss Marinette's cheek before he wrapped an arm around Juleka’s shoulders and they both left the classroom. 

Marinette waved as they left, happy that Luka had invited her to Kitty Section practice and happy that she'd see him again so soon, and happy that her cheek was still tingling pleasantly from his casual contact. 

“What was that about?” Alya asked, threading her arm through Marinette's as they left together. 

“Nothing,” Marinette said, although she couldn't help the blush that sprang to her cheeks. “He came to pick up Juleka and invited me to practice later.” 

“And then just happened to kiss you goodbye?” Alya prodded. There was a familiar matchmaking twinkle in her eyes and Marinette's blush got worse. 

“Luka’s just friendly like that,” she protested weakly. “He's… affectionate.” 

“So he kisses all his friends on the cheek like that?” 

Marinette glanced at Ivan and Mylène as they left, likely on their way to practice later, too. She couldn't remember if Luka had ever kissed Mylène like that, but then Ivan was more his friend than Mylène. And Luka and Ivan usually just fist bumped when they met or said goodbye. Rose was still hanging around, with her headphones in and scribbling in her journal, probably new lyrics for the band. Rose was special to Juleka, practically Luka’s sister already, and yet… she couldn't remember him kissing Rose like that, either. Maybe Juleka, but she was his sister and that was different. Which meant… 

“No… just me,” she finally answered Alya. She was frowning as something tugged at her heart uncomfortably. “Alya… you don't think…?” 

“That boy is head over heels for you?” Marinette wasn't even looking at her, but she knew Alya was smirking. “Yes, absolutely, I do.”

“But he's never said—” 

“Marinette, Marinette, Marinette,” Alya interrupted, shaking her head. “Of course he has. What did he say when he invited you to practice?” 

“...he'd love it if I could be there.” 

Alya’s grin was only growing. “And what did he say when you invited him to lunch the other day?” 

Marinette thought back, not just on that time, but every time. Every time Luka had said he'd love to see her, he'd love it if she was there, he loved her outfit, he loved her macarons, he loved her this, he loved her that, he loved... her.

“Alya, I need to—” 

“Yeah, you do. Run, girl.” Alya let go of her arm and Marinette didn't even notice her feet starting to pound against the pavement as she followed Luka and Juleka's footsteps toward the houseboat. 

When she saw him, her heart started pounding from excitement instead of exertion. He already heard her. He was turning to face her. He was smiling and already opening his arms for the hug he knew was coming. 

She barreled into him and he barely managed to keep his balance, but he was laughing and his arms closed around her tightly. 

She wanted to tell him, but she couldn't. Not yet. So instead, before she could think about it too much, she pressed a kiss to his shoulder before she buried her smile there, happy to see him again so soon and happy that he loved her and happy that now she knew. 

And happy that she loved him, too. 

[abyssalmermaiden]

how about a sleepy kiss for aryaille and thancred? 🥰

I think Thancred's losing this attempt to get an early start to the day

thank you! (˘ᴗ˘✿)

kiss roulette

[dutifullylazybread]

Can I ask for a 33,specifically a kiss on a scar? Doesn't matter whether it is Rolan's or Tav's

Absolutely! Thank you for bearing with me while I worked on this! 💖 I'm playing inbox catch-up right now, and this was so much fun to write!

CW: some light discussion of old scars

“Extend your arm more when you’re casting—don’t keep it so close to your body,” Tav said, “And push your palm out further.”

Cradling his scorched hand against his chest, Rolan turned a hard glare on her. Tav listed her head to the side, quirking an eyebrow, waiting for him to say something—anything.

Rolan’s mouth fell into a hard line and his shoulders drew up to his ears.

He was the first to look away with a snort.

“I gathered as much when my skin started to blister,” he snapped. He grazed his fingertips over the front of his robes—now blackened to an ashy gray from where his spell seared the fabric. His irritation gave way as his face creased with pain.

Tav rounded her workstation and crossed the study. “Let me take a look,” she said.

“It’s fine,” Rolan said quickly. He tried to flex his hand, to test its range of motion, only bite down on his lower lip, swallowing a curse as a spearing anguish threatened to overwhelm his senses.

“May I?” Tav asked gently.

Rolan exhaled through his nose, forcing the tension to drop from his frame as he extended his arm to her, his palm facing upwards.

The injury was already starting to blister. Rolan’s skin, usually a warm red, was burned wine dark. The tip of his tail flicked an irritable beat against his ankle. He refused to meet Tav’s gaze; his mouth was curled up in distaste—as if he’d bitten into something bitter. “Well?” he asked.

“It doesn’t look good,” Tav said, her focus more on his injury than on his question.

“An astute observation.”

“Sit down while I prepare a salve,” she said.

“And how long will that take?”

Tav opened a nearby cabinet and withdrew a squat, brown-glass jar. “About as long as it took for me to walk five paces to the right,” she said.

Rolan’s cheeks flushed a dusky red. He averted his gaze. His tail’s sharp cadence slowed and then totally stilled. “Ah…”

She fetched one of the freshly bottled healing potions from her workstation, plucked up a roll of fresh bandages from the wicker basket tucked under the table, and returned to his side.

“Drink this.” She passed him the rowan berry-red potion. “It’ll take care of the brunt of your injury.”

She sat down on the study’s reading couch and patted the cushion beside her.

Slowed by his chagrin, Rolan claimed the space that she beckoned him towards. He downed the healing potion in one large gulp. The blistering smoothed away and the mottled flesh was soothed—though a touch of inflammation still played at the edges of where the burn originally lay.

“This should help with any irritation,” Tav said as she applied a generous coat of balm to his hand. He sighed, relaxing into her touch. She bit down on her smile.

Tav opened the jar and dipped two fingers into the honey gold salve.

He watched her work, his eyes following her movements.

“What happened there?” he asked.

He gestured to the silvery pink scar running down the side of her thumb.

“This? I burnt myself on a furnace while glass blowing,” she said, pausing before adding, “It could have been much worse, all things considered.”

“And that one?” She followed his gaze to her forearm—where another scar, faded with age, started at the pulse point of her wrist, ran the length of her limb, before it abruptly paused above her elbow.

Her mouth quirked into a smile. “I burned myself by not extending my arm enough when I cast a spell.”

Rolan snorted.

“I’m serious,” Tav said. “Take better care when you’re practicing.”

He bristled, opening his mouth to retort.

“I won’t speak on the matter any further,” she said, cutting him off. “But, I’ll be here to patch you up—should you need me.”

She leaned in, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Permit me to worry? Just a little?” She murmured against his neck, her lips warmed by the taste of his skin. She laid her hand against his jaw, tilting his face towards hers.

He flushed a feverish red. “If you must,” he said, each word forced out into a disjointed sentence.

Clearing his throat, he cast his gaze about, unconsciously taking her hand in his and pressing a lingering kiss to the ridge of her scarred thumb. And, as he gathered himself, he held it there, unthinking but slowly calming.

“Honestly,” he said after a moment. “I should be the one worrying about you. You always manage to come home bruised and bloodied.”

He rose from the couch, rolling up his sleeves and readying himself for another bout of practice.

“Well.” Tav hummed. “I need to keep you on your toes, now don’t I?”

Rolan paused, shaking his head. “Gods, you are impossible,” he muttered.

And, before he turned back to his training, Rolan stooped down and kissed her—conveying the tenderness that his indignance would not permit him to give voice to in the moment.

[materassassino]

Kiss roulette! 23, SangCheng?

You get a direct follow-on to the first SangCheng prompt you sent me, lmao. Frantically googling mountains of Hebei.

Kiss roulette!

---

23 - A kiss influenced by alcohol/other substances

“Ah, that was wonderful!”

Jiang Cheng gives Nie Huaisang a doubtful look from the corner of his eye. Nie Huaisang, of course, doesn’t miss a trick, and smirks like a fox.

His face is flushed from the liquor that flowed copiously throughout the evening, Nie Huaisang encouraging the innkeeper to simply put it on the Yunmeng Jiang sect tab (a thing that hasn’t been used since… since… He closes his eyes and pointedly does not think about it). Bottles littered the table by the time the guqin player had finished, to eager applause.

“You don’t seem convinced, Jiang-zongzhi?”

Jiang Cheng sniffs. “Sounds all the same to me.”

Nie Huaisang lets out an indignant squawk. “How unbecoming of a young sect leader! Music is one of the Six Arts!”

“I don’t see you practicing archery!” Jiang Cheng bites back. He is glad of the cool night air on his cheeks, drifting over the lake.

“I could, if I wanted,” Nie Huaisang says tartly. He snaps his fan open with a well-practiced flick of his wrist, and Jiang Cheng suddenly notices how slim his wrists actually are. Pale, his veins stark but delicate, oddly feminine. He could encircle one with his hand, easily. He shakes his head to clear it.

Nie Huaisang had whined incessantly about how lonely he felt, being the only one drinking. “Isn’t it rude,” he’d said, “to leave a guest drinking alone?”. And so Jiang Cheng had drunk, the liquor crisp and fruity on his tongue. Probably too much, if the heat prickling under his skin is any indication.

Nie Huaisang suddenly chuckles, flapping his fan to cool his own warm face. “Together we almost make a whole gentleman!” he says, giggling as if it’s the funniest thing in the world.

Jiang Cheng can’t help but snort, shaking his head again. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says.

They continue to walk in silence along the wooden boardwalk, the only sounds the gentle lapping of the lake on the short beside them and their own steps. It is too early for the characteristic sounds of summer, the incessant croaking of frogs and chirping of crickets.

Suddenly, Nie Huaisang hums to himself, and takes off down one of the jetties. Jiang Cheng swallows. He does not usually indulge in Yunmeng’s beauty – too busy, too thick with memories – but he remembers this one. Vividly. He remembers his sister sitting on the edge beneath the gazebo, her skirts tucked beneath her as she plucked the lotus seeds from their pods. He remembers… he remembers Wei Wuxian taking a running leap off it, curling himself into a ball and hitting the water in an enormous splash. He remembers simply lying there, on his back among the lotuses, staring up at a clear blue sky.

The gazebo had burnt, in the Wen attack. He’d had it rebuilt, a desperate lump in his throat, his chest aching, but then he’d never set foot on it again.

He should probably view Nie Huaisang standing there, leaning against a pillar and slowly, calmly fanning himself as some sort of trespass, some violation of sacred ground he’s created in his mind. He is surprised when he doesn’t.

He holds his breath as he places his foot on that jetty for the first time in years. Nothing happens, and he releases it. The moon remains full and silver, the night remains quiet, and Nie Huaisang remains there, in front of him. Almost… waiting.

He puts one foot in front of the other, and it feels like both an age and no time at all until he is standing next to Nie Huaisang, arms folded (always shielded), staring out at the lake.

“It really is beautiful here,” Nie Huaisang says. “So very different to Qinghe.”

“I like Qinghe,” Jiang Cheng says quickly, surprising himself again. “I like the mountains.”

He can see Nie Huaisang’s smile in the moonlight, something soft and wistful. “I am always surprised that I miss it when I’m gone,” he says. “Every time I’m there I want to be away from the rugged peaks and stern people. But when I’m away, everything seems so ephemeral, so frivolous. Every time I think I am more suited to elsewhere, I remember my bones are Qinghe’s mountains.”

Jiang Cheng stares at him, at his profile, the odd softness of his cheeks and lips, nothing like his brother. And yet… there is steel there, self-forged. There had to have been.

As if sensing Jiang Cheng’s gaze, Nie Huaisang turns, eyes half-lidded. Jiang Cheng’s thoughts are addled (it must be the liquor, he tells himself, dizzy as he is), he’s never thought of a man as pretty before, but, truly, what else could Nie Huaisang be?

Nie Huaisang closes his fan, and the distance between them. He sets a hand on Jiang Cheng’s chest, and all Jiang Cheng can do is forget how to think, how to breathe, how to focus on anything except Nie Huaisang’s eyes.

“This is probably a very foolish idea,” Nie Huaisang says, close enough that Jiang Cheng can feel his breath on his lips, “and I shall blame it on the liquor come morning.”

 Nie Huaisang’s lips meet his, and they are as soft as they look, yet they are insistent, firm but not demanding, a pure statement of intent. If you wish it, you may have it, and if you do not, nothing more will come of it.

Before Jiang Cheng can gather the last shreds of his wits and do literally anything, Nie Huaisang is gone. He hums again, thoughtful, and turns to leave. There is no rush in his steps, he merely strolls, and it is clear that now all decisions like with Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng raises trembling fingers and presses them to his own lips, his heart thudding. He cannot move, his feet rooted as if he has become part of the wood. They could blame it on the liquor, of course. An easy way out.

He isn’t certain he wants to. He isn’t certain of much of anything, anymore.