I Am Once Again Asking How Much Money This State-funded School Gets, There Is NO Reason For Classes Of

fictional kiss things that end me

being unable to open their eyes for a few moments afterward

one small kiss, pulling away for an instant, then devouring each other

pressing their foreheads together while kissing

speaking normally, then after the kiss their voice is hoarse

guys furrowing their brow when kissing passionately

staring at the other’s lips, trying not to kiss them, before giving in

running their thumb over the other’s lips

when they lean forward a fraction as if to kiss the other person, then realize they shouldn’t and pull back to stop themselves

ripping the other away - “no we shouldn’t” - but when they kiss them again they moan and hold them close

one sliding their hand into the other’s hair slowly

their entire body freezing for a second when their love kisses them

accidentally being forced inches apart from each other, staring at each other’s lips, and just before they kiss someone pulls them back apart

when one stops the kiss to whisper “I’m sorry, are you sure you-” and they answer by kissing them more

a hoarse whisper “kiss me”

then licks their lips and says “please”

reblog this to remind the person you reblogged it from that theyre loved

please donate to sami’s family if you can. the cruelty of israel allowing palestinians to have false hope with the “ceasefire” only to tear the rug out from under them can’t be understated—and that’s in addition to the murder, rape, torture, and more committed by israel day in and day out. sami’s family has already been through far too much. consider using “little treat” money on a suffering family.

kuroo never understood the big deal about kissing. sure, he enjoyed the few kisses he’s shared throughout his life but it wasn’t something he ever craved. the way his friends would go on and on about how kissing their significant other was intoxicating and they could never get enough just didn’t sit right with him. was there something wrong with him? why didn’t he feel the same way as his peers did?

that all changed the day he first kissed you. suddenly, he understood what his friends were talking about. anytime kuroo saw you, he wanted his lips pressed against yours, stealing your breath away from you in hopes of becoming your new source of energy. he needed to hear the cute sounds that escaped your pretty mouth, the sweet taste of whatever chapstick you had put on that morning. he wanted to be consumed by you, kiss you until he didn’t have a breath left in his body and then kiss you a little more. he was a man obsessed and your lips were the only source for his sanity. he couldn’t help himself, it felt like coming home.

thinking about best friend!sero who buys a vibrating tongue ring as a ‘joke’. He gets it in the mail when you’re at his house, and you’re both laughing about it because surely something so small couldn’t really feel that good. and then he’s asking to try it on you and you’re struggling to hide the hitch in your breath and the squeezing of your thighs. laughing it off until— oh. he’s not joking. and then suddenly your thighs are clamping down over his head and your fingers are yanking at the roots of his hair. his hips are rutting into the couch and he’s moaning into your heat and—

There’s no way reo’s mom doesn’t hate you the first few years (at least) that youre with him. She doesn’t think your good enough to be with her son but Reo doesn’t give a fuck about her opinions. Keeps bringing you to family dinners and makes a show of kissing you passionately in front of her bc he loves you and he’s sick of her treating you like you don’t exist

i’m like black plus blue glitter if that makes sense.

“make sure ya get the back of my neck.”

“sure.”

“get the sides, too.”

“okay.”

“and make sure ya don’t miss a single spot!”

this time, you don’t have as much patience. you grip a handful of osamu’s wet hair, ignoring the exaggerated exclamations of pain as you do.

“i. said. oh.. kay!!” each word is accompanied with a jerk of his head. osamu’s reaching for your forearms now, smacking them as if he’s tapping out of a boxing match.

he glares at you, pout on. you grin back. you win.

and as if to make it a point, you begin to massage his scalp with a gentle scrape of your fingernails. swirling his hair, making sure you get into the follicles, and forcing a subtle pressure onto the base of his skull, you press a kiss right at the edge of his brow as a gift for finally behaving.

osamu hums at that. he closes his eyes to relax and as the moments pass, he slowly liquifies beneath you. the bend of his back curves into your belly as he breathes deep, unperturbed by the scent of ammonia.

“feels nice.”

“is that right, old man?”

osamu’s back to glaring. a giggled kiss back to his brow does nothing to abate it.

“too soon?”

he answers by pinching your thigh. you smack a gloved hand across his shoulder and he only snickers loudly, leaning all his weight onto you that you almost topple over. just as quickly as it left, silence settles into the bathroom once again.

“too old,” osamu eventually says. his confession is quiet, one that opens a space for thought, a little reprieve to reminisce. the fluorescent bulbs in your bathroom suddenly dull into a warm glow.

he says old as if it were a bad thing. like cracks on a sidewalk or black cats. old as if it were something to avoid.

it’s how this all started anyways. after a long day at onigiri miya, osamu’s feet found their way back home to you. he smells of sweat and sweet vinegar and hard work and yours. routine makes his way to you, slide his hands across your ribs and pecks you twice along the lips. then he goes to the bathroom, turns the shower on, and sheds his clothes beginning with his cap.

osamu was fiddling with his belt buckle with one hand and shuffling his hair with the other when he found it.

a gray hair. gray. and not the artificial kind.

one hour, one impromptu trip to the konbini, and one plucked gray hair burned spitefully at the stove, you're back in the bathroom again.

he wants to dye his hair gray. the artificial kind. the color he had back in high school, to a younger version of the one in front of you. and as much as you liked inarizaki osamu, any version of osamu actually, you especially like this one here.

"i think you're pretty sexy in gray." you mention without looking at him. osamu's trying to find meaning, the true meaning to the words you say. he watches your reflection as you busy yourself by discarding your used gloves.

old means growth. his hair will fade just like the original onigiri miya shirt that stretches across his wide chest but your love for him never will. time loves him just as much as you, kisses lines at the corners of his eyes, strokes rough edges along his palms, and you are gifted with a front seat to it.

"ya think tsumu's got gray hairs?" he finally asks.

"i'll do you one better," you smile wryly and lower yourself to whisper in his ear. "i think his hair is thinning."

what is your eye color. what is your favorite color. what is the color that appears most frequently in your wardrobe. what color is your favorite blanket. what color is your water bottle.

what it’s like kissing nagi, reo and barou !

kissing nagi always starts off a little lazy, slowly pressing his lips against yours. he always takes his time with it — exploring your mouth, learning your reactions, relishing in the small noises you let out. he kisses like time means nothing to him, not when he’s got you in his arms. each languid movement from his lips feels like ocean waves lapping against your skin. the kind that tries to lull you into deeper waters. he mumbles your name against your lips and like a sirens call, you follow it. leaving you securely wrapped up in his arms as he continues to dive into you for as long as he wants.

reo on the other hand, kisses you like the world is on fire. and yet that doesn’t stop him from taking all the air out of your lungs. consistently leaving you both breathless, the passion driving the two of you in a downward spiral. one that has you chasing his lips everytime he pulls away to catch his breath, wasting no time in putting his mouth back on yours. because the choice between breathing and kissing you was never difficult, and he’d choose you over everything and anything in this burning world.

but then there’s kissing barou. who never does anything without purpose. he’ll leave with you swollen lips every time — nipping at them to draw you closer to him. each of his movements are filled with so much confidence, so much precision. for extra support, he’s not afraid to grab onto you and pull you close — grounding you so the center of your world is him, just as he intends. the deep rumbles emitting from his chest feels like an earthquake threatening to swallow you whole and yet all you can do is hold on just a little tighter.