New York City Ballet Production Of Midsummer Nights Dream

IM BAWLING

i heard a/b/o dynamics and i was summoned

alpha!Atsumu, who has dated plenty of pretty omegas. Who's spent heats with girlfriends, hook-ups, and etc. Who loves walking into the room and tasting his partner's arousal in the air already, heady and dizzying. Who loves hunching over his omega partners, dripping with sweat, and watching them whine and sob for his knot, legs opening shamelessly and hips bucking eagerly.

Who has never met an omega quite as sweet as you before. Who smells you before he sees you and nearly chokes on his own tongue, his dick half-hard by the time he manages to actually get a glimpse of you, as you're walking down the street with your work bag slung over your shoulder.

Who immediately asks you to coffee near the MSBY gym, proceeds to fall deliriously in love with you. Who finds himself helplessly endeared by your blushing, your laugher, your big Bambi eyes, and your soft little cry-baby heart. Who listens patiently when you tell him that you'd like to wait until your heat to have sex with him for the first time, his heart squeezing with such affection as you duck your head down and look up at him through your lashes and murmur "I think it'll just be so cute and romantic".

Who thinks he's got this in the bag, when you let him know the week you start to feel a little warmer than usual. Who starts preparing a special go-bag full of your favorite snacks, some of his sweaty tee-shirts, and plenty of gatorade for the both of you to guzzle down between romps. Who knows not to jerk off for a few days leading up to your heat, so he plenty of cum for you. Who imagines how it'll feel when you're crying and cumming beneath him, soft and desperate, begging for your big alpha on top. Who has to squeeze the base of his dick punishingly when he thinks about how wet and creamy your pussy will be, sucking him in all hungry and naughty. Who already has calculated how the next few days will go: you'll probably want to spend the first day necking and kissing, before getting to the main event.

Who realizes that he's COMPLETELY out of his depth when he arrives with some onigiris, his go-bag, and a kiss, only for him to be shoved and roughly man-handled into your best and thoroughly ravished. Who can only gasp and stammer in shock when you tear his pants down and immediately start choking yourself on his dick, like you're going to die if you don't. Who's stammering "d-don't you wanna take it slo—ughnnnnn" when you roll your underwear to the side and promptly sit right down on his dick, your hips rolling so naughty and sinister that Atsumu can literally feel his balls swell up. Who can only moan helplessly, convulsing like you'd milked his entire spirit out of his body, as his eyes roll up to the back of his head when you start cumming on him, growling and purring happily. Who whimpers at the phantom tingle in his dick when you squirm down and coo happily around his knot.

Who can only laugh breathlessly and cover his eyes when you come back to your senses, blush, and apologize profusely for how rough you were. "I know Alphas don't really like rough Omegas," you stammer out, looking very embarrassed, "I'm usually much better about these things—"

Atsumu just wraps his arm around you and kiss you, before laughing again, marveling at how such a sweet thing like you has such a wild animal all up inside of her.

"We've got the next few days for me to do all the driving," Atsumu just grins up at you. "I don't mind it if you wanna take the wheel for a bit."

In the end, he does have to tie you up just so he can hydrate and get something to eat, while you sob and wail and howl like an animal against the headboard, and he's not really sure if his dick will ever recover after that one round where he had your legs twisted up over your head and he started babbling frantically about pups while rutting up inside of you and you started squirting on him, but from the happy and sleepily satisfied smile you give him, Atsumu is sure that he'll figure something out.

i -

There's nothing hotter than when a man puts his weight on you. Fucking into you from behind but you're pinned to the bed and his chest is on your back. Fucking into you in missionary and his chest is on yours. There's something so intimate about it. Being pinned by his weight while he ruts into you... completely enclosed by him

God, I’m so weak for big dilf!Kirishima

Dilf!Kirishima who is so in love with his sweet lil cry baby girlfriend. Sweet lil girlfriend who bawls her eyes out at the sad parts of movies and animes and who always makes a soft little sad noise before hiding in Daddy’s lap and wetting his shirt with her tears. Who is absolutely livid whenever anyone dares to bash her big lover. Who absolutely hates it when she and Kirishima argue, and who will cry if Kirishima decides to sleep on the couch (he never does this, he’ll always sneak back in after making a fuss because he hates going to sleep with her and he can’t bear the thought of her in so much distress). Who cries her eyes out of Kirishima gets hurt while working, and will fight anyone who tired to make her leave his hospital room. She totally makes him cry when she earnestly promises to take care of him and protect him from anything bad, because she’s so small and gentle and caring and he’s scared about how everyone will see him as a creepy old man and how physically battered his body will be after years of throwing himself in front of civilians and fires. Who makes him feel like such a big man and also like he’s a horny teenager all over again when they’re in bed together. Dreams of having chubby and happy babies with her, with hearts as beautiful as their Mama’s.

sob. :((( crying ‘cause he sleeps on the couch is what got me :(((

men in suits are my weakness

trapping him inside when he promised to pull out. his hips stuttering, moaning "oh god, baby, baby fuck- let me out. m'gonna cum" but you just tighten your legs around his waist, push your pelvis up further to meet his, keep him locked inside so he can only grind and roll his hips in tiny circles, can't get any further. gripping the sheets on either side of you as his eyes roll back and his balls start to empty the first load; right into your warm pussy. "god you fuckin' little brat- fine. take my cum, fucking take it. gonna g've it to youuu- fuck- s-stop milking me, 'm gonna get hard again you bitch-"

the cakes turn out gorgeous: for the team, an airy almond chiffon cake with blackberry-lime curd and a dreamy raspberry swiss meringue buttercream and for the training staff, a nutty sesame olive oil with a blackberry-shiso jam, and salty swiss meringue buttercream. for the female-led and hired social media team, a lush devil's food cake with raspberry coulis and and an espresso buttercream, and finished with fresh flowers for a touch of style. the cakes are set up on display for everyone to ooh and ahh after, and for the last time, you check over the exact headcount of guests before the cakes are rolled back into the make shift assembly space to be portioned out and served.

the staff members protest when you insist on helping them serve the cake, saying that they couldn't ask you to do even more than everything you've already done, but you wave them away with a smile.

"i really love seeing people eat my cake," you beam a little harder than you really need to. "you can't imagine the joy i feel whenever i get to see it."

the second you step into the dining area where everyone is sitting after the banquet dinner, your eyes start scanning across the room for the guy. that one, beefy, surly looking guy.

and there he is, at the mixed staff table, sitting between an older bearded man and a man with wildly spiky hair. you paste a cheerful smile on your face, and roll your cart right over, setting down slices of cake for each person.

when you come around to him, his eyes are wary. good. the prick recognizes you.

"h-hello," you force a timid tremor in your voice and smile as nervously as you can. his brows furrows. "w-would you like a s-slice of sesame oil c-cake, or a different cake?"

"sesame," he says tersely, and you make a show of flinching and forcing a tight smile.

"of course, r-right away!"

"i know iwa-san's face can be a little scary," the spiky haired man sitting next to him pipes up with an easy going smile. "but there's no need to be intimidated by him. he's a nice guy."

you push out a high little laugh. "ah, yeah, i'm - i'm sure he can be. i ran into him in the hallway, and he, uh. he can really raise his voice."

the social media girls sitting at the end of the table look up from their conversation, while the bearded man frowns. the spiky haired man raises a brow.

"oh?"

"oh, but it was an extenuating circumstance, i would never blame him!" you exclaim. "he was handling two guys who weren't feeling well, so I'm sure he was just caught up in the heat of the moment."

"that's-!" iwa sputters indignantly. "you were-!"

"ah, wrangling those boys gets the better of us all at some point, iwazumi-kun," the bearded man claps his shoulder sympathetically. "you should take care to rest well, especially now that the year is over. have some cake."

"she-" he sputters, feeling utterly accused. you blink at him, innocent as a lamb, and set down his slice.

"i hope y-you like it, iwaizumi-san," you simper. his eyes narrow at you, gripping his fork and stabbing the cake with more force than necessary.

"is it good?" you ask, eyes gleaming with hope. the bearded man smiles at him encouragingly, and the spiky haired man sits back, watching with some measure of amusement.

"it is," he swallowed, forcing a smile that looks like someone is pointing a gun at his head. "it's very good."

"well, i'm glad," you smile. "i love it when people enjoy eating my cakes."

meet ugly with iwaizumi hajime athletic trainer where you’re catering the dessert table at the Olympic Training Center's End of Year Celebration. You’re covered up to your elbows in swiss meringue buttercream, iwaizumi is wrangling two drunk volleyball players about to vomit all over him, and there’s only one available bathroom left to use.

your eyes and his meet from either end of the hallway - he can clearly see you're covered in buttercream and you can clearly see two gigantic men being wrangled like puppies by the backs of their shirts, both slurring happily about how much they love volleyball and how much they love each other, bro.

in the center of the hallway, equidistant from either one of you, is the door to the only unoccupied sink on the first floor of the building.

of all the men in the world you would normally be willing to pick a fight with, a surly looking athletic trained with flexing biceps is not the first one you would choose to tangle with. but between your mixer dying on you, the two previous batches of buttercream that split on you, and the gigantic celebration cakes for the team, staff and the social media team still waiting to be frosted, you're willing to take your chances.

"hey!" he barks in shock, as soon as he realizes you're booking it to the door. Atsumu and Bokuto make alarmingly queasy sounds when he starts running in earnest to get to the door before you. "hey, stop! seriously?"

bokuto squawks, when Iwaizumi bodily swings his limp body across the threshold of the door, eyes narrowed at your buttercreamed hand just beginning to pull the door handle.

"pardon me," he says, low and deadly serious. "but i have two sick idiots about to blow chunks all over the walls."

"i have buttercream in my hair," you huff, eyes narrowed. "and three unfinished cakes waiting for me. i get you're in some sucky shit, but work trumps pukey people."

"urgh, iwa-san," atsumu mutters, strained, his forehead beading with sweat. "i think i'm gonna be sick."

"hold it in, you little bastard!" iwazumi barks, before turning back to you. "come on, can't you just wait 10 minutes?"

"i'm already running behind on my cooling and setting schedule," you snap back. "and i'll literally be done within in, like, two minutes!"

bokuto groans, hands coming up to hold his belly. "oh, man. i don't think i can wait 5."

iwaizumi gives you a sharp look. "you want shit and puke on the carpets?"

"you want to fuck with my job?"

"i don't give a damn if your cakes come out late!" he snarls. "frankly, it sounds like you have bad time management skills."

"and you sound like you can eat my ass!"

at that moment, atsumu lurches forward, hand slapping over his face as he shoves past the two of you and steps over bokuto. before the door even closes, you can already the retching sounds of him vomiting into a toilet.

"oh shit, i'm gonna shit myself," bokuto mutters, pushing up onto his hands and knees, drunkenly crawling on all fours as he pushes open the door.

"oi! bokuto, at least stand up!" iwaizumi shouts, only to get a vaguely panicked "no way, man, it's about to come out!"

Iwaizumi gives up, rubbing his forehead and counting slow breaths, almost as if he's completely dismissed the fact that you're even there.

spite is like acid on the back of your tongue.

fine. fine. you're not unwilling to recognize when you've been defeated. but this is not how you go out against this guy.

meet ugly with iwaizumi hajime athletic trainer where you’re catering the dessert table at the Olympic Training Center's End of Year Celebration. You’re covered up to your elbows in swiss meringue buttercream, iwaizumi is wrangling two drunk volleyball players about to vomit all over him, and there’s only one available bathroom left to use.

your eyes and his meet from either end of the hallway - he can clearly see you're covered in buttercream and you can clearly see two gigantic men being wrangled like puppies by the backs of their shirts, both slurring happily about how much they love volleyball and how much they love each other, bro.

in the center of the hallway, equidistant from either one of you, is the door to the only unoccupied sink on the first floor of the building.

of all the men in the world you would normally be willing to pick a fight with, a surly looking athletic trained with flexing biceps is not the first one you would choose to tangle with. but between your mixer dying on you, the two previous batches of buttercream that split on you, and the gigantic celebration cakes for the team, staff and the social media team still waiting to be frosted, you're willing to take your chances.

"hey!" he barks in shock, as soon as he realizes you're booking it to the door. Atsumu and Bokuto make alarmingly queasy sounds when he starts running in earnest to get to the door before you. "hey, stop! seriously?"

bokuto squawks, when Iwaizumi bodily swings his limp body across the threshold of the door, eyes narrowed at your buttercreamed hand just beginning to pull the door handle.

"pardon me," he says, low and deadly serious. "but i have two sick idiots about to blow chunks all over the walls."

"i have buttercream in my hair," you huff, eyes narrowed. "and three unfinished cakes waiting for me. i get you're in some sucky shit, but work trumps pukey people."

"urgh, iwa-san," atsumu mutters, strained, his forehead beading with sweat. "i think i'm gonna be sick."

"hold it in, you little bastard!" iwazumi barks, before turning back to you. "come on, can't you just wait 10 minutes?"

"i'm already running behind on my cooling and setting schedule," you snap back. "and i'll literally be done within in, like, two minutes!"

bokuto groans, hands coming up to hold his belly. "oh, man. i don't think i can wait two."

iwaizumi gives you a sharp look. "you want shit and puke on the carpets?"

"you want to fuck with my job?"

"i don't give a damn if your cakes come out late!" he snarls. "frankly, it sounds like you have bad time management skills."

"and you sound like you can eat my ass!"

at that moment, atsumu lurches forward, hand slapping over his face as he shoves past the two of you and steps over bokuto. before the door even closes, you can already the retching sounds of him vomiting into a toilet.

"oh shit, i'm gonna shit myself," bokuto mutters, pushing up onto his hands and knees, drunkenly crawling on all fours as he pushes open the door.

"oi! bokuto, at least stand up!" iwaizumi shouts, only to get a vaguely panicked "no way, man, it's about to come out!"

Iwaizumi gives up, rubbing his forehead and counting slow breaths, almost as if he's completely dismissed the fact that you're even there.

spite is like acid on the back of your tongue.

fine. fine. you're not unwilling to recognize when you've been defeated. but this is not how you go out against this guy.

Women have many belongings. It used to vex Nanami. But it doesn’t anymore.

The first thing to migrate to his home, was your face lotion. He has a face lotion, a perfectly serviceable one, but you insisted on bringing your own. Your routine was important to you, you had told him, and Nanami understood. Routines, rules, structure – these are all things he has always respected, found meaning in. And so, in his bathroom, his drugstore razor, toothbrush, and facewash sat together, lined up like toy soldiers, right next to a luxurious indigo jar of face cream.

The rest of your routine follows shortly: the lilac bottle of mist that smells like aloe, the golden serum that smells like summertime, and the periwinkle tube of your green tea face wash. Your bergamot and sandalwood soap linger on his pillow, and when he can’t smell you on his sheets anymore, longing sits heavy and sticky in his throat.

Your clothes are next. Amidst his practical navy, gray, and blacks, appear pops of warm lilac, royal blue, and torched orange. He doesn’t mind it in the least – it would be entirely unreasonable for him to demand that you stop bringing such colorful clothes in his home, especially when he never really wants you to leave.

When the two of you finally just bite the bullet and put your name on the lease, Nanami imagines that his life will certainly become more colorful. But he doesn’t have the first idea of how many more things will be in his house.

All his life, Nanami has lived quietly, abstemiously. He is a jujutsu sorcerer – while his non-sorcerer peers were learning trigonometry, he was learning how to kill curses and how to die as a soldier dies: with resolve and bravery, to the bitterest end. His life has been fat trimmed from steak, practical solid color towels, plastic storage bins with plenty of clearing near the edge, never packed to capacity. A man who walks on the very edge of life and death doesn’t require more than the necessities. The very few things he indulges in are sensible: good whiskey, grade A rice, custom leather shoes (no broguing) built to take a beating.

You bring in your life to his, and it is completely different. You’re striped linens, fresh flowers, scented candles on every corner. Baby blue drinking glasses shaped like beer cans, artisanal ceramicware made by friends locally. Your life is marked by comfort, simple pleasure, and (dare he say it) the sweetest, most innocent frivolity. He supposes it’s really what he loves most about you, honestly. He’s always tended drawn closer to brighter, bolder personalities: earnest and warm, like Haibara and Itadori, not bombastic and irreverent, like Gojo or Tsukumo. You belong in the same shades of sunlight as Haibara and Itadori, but…tender. Like the dream-like throw of warm, rose tipped dawn that thaws the chill of his lonely apartment.

Now, in the mornings, he doesn’t wake to the desolate silence of a man alone. He wakes to the sound of your fluffy slippers in the kitchen, the smell of dark roast coffee, the sight of your toiletries sitting side by side in the bathroom, cozy and couple-like.

Somewhere between your checker print tea kettle, and the warmth of your body on the sheets, Nanami falls so in love with you that he looks back on his life and wonders how he ever lived, starved of the sun that is you, for so long.

Supportive!Iwa pt 3 because I just came from a great pole class ✌️

Iwa who tags along to one of your classes and is a little flustered when he walks in and everyone is dressed quite comfortably in underwear and booty shorts. He’s nervous about making any of the other women feel uncomfortable, but they all smile at him and wave (you told all your pole girls about him and they’re determined to make sure he has a wonderful class). Curiously follows along as you undress to just some boy shorts and a tank top, wash your hands with dawn soap, and apply your grip to your hands, inner arms, thighs, knees, shins, and feet. Who is fascinated by the pole-assisted stretches, the light core conditioning, and how attentive the teachers are to accommodate for any injuries. Who watches every move demonstrated closely, asking for a break down of the movements. Who has most of the muscles to do the moves, but whose skin isn’t tough enough and he nearly taps out over just the warm up fan kicks. Who can barely stop himself from swearing the first time he tries climbing the pole, and fails, only to watches in awe as you calmly ascend and simply sit, legs tucked neatly. Who finds himself totally gassed only 30 minutes in, his arms and fingers shaking. Who’s a little embarrassed, but pleased when he successfully completes an ugly fireman’s spin and all the girls in the class erupt into loud cheering. Who finds himself talking to the nearby girls, who give him tips about his grip, balance, and momentum. Who watches you twirl around gorgeously with some of the other girls, laughing and encouraging each other. Who leaves class feeling thoroughly worked, but immensely proud of you and all the skill you’ve accumulated. Who goes back home with you, makes you a delicious meal, and reminds himself to make a batch of the old protein muffins he made in college for himself, so you have a nutritious little post-class snack.

Omg the fact that you do pole classes is amazing and so very sexy because your core muscles must be insanely developed??? And I'm v jealous 😭😭 Iwa at a pole class though is so CUTE and adorable like he's sweating and swearing and very red-faced, but he tries so hard!!!!

And the bit about him making food foor after wahhhh please he would?! You know he started bringing them to the class too for you to share with all your friends and! He just!! He's the best!!!