Heeyyy!! :) would you mind writing something for Power Loader from MHA?
I've got two things in mind:
1. The teachers are playing mario cart. Power loader Vs Kan. Power loader is laying on the ground before the Tv when Midnight decides to sit on him and tickle him to distract him. Telling him he's gonna get wrecked if he loses. (Which he does) And one of the others joins her wrecking him.
2. He was working on something alone in the workshop when the thing got loose and fell on him, trapping him under it. The construction had some vibrating parts that landed on his ribs and stomach driving him crazy. Now he had to pray and hope someone finds him soon.
Pick whatever intrigues you more.
Thanks!😁
Mario Kart Mayhem +
Late Night Repairs
———————————
A/N: Sorry that this took so long buttttt both of your ideas were too good I had to do both 😭😭 I hope you like it!!
Lee!Power Loader
Lers! Midnight & Present Mic
———————————————
Mario Kart Mayhem
“Alright,” Present Mic announced dramatically, “same rules as always. No throwing controllers, no unplugging the console, and absolutely no blaming lag.”
“I still say the game cheats,” Power Loader grumbled, adjusting his grip on the controller.
“The game doesn’t cheat,” Aizawa deadpanned from the couch. “You’re just bad.”
“I am not bad.”
Midnight smiled sweetly. “We’ll see.”
The race countdown began.
Three… Two… One… GO!
The second the race started, Midnight suddenly plopped down on the floor beside Power Loader.
“Midnight, what are you doing?” he asked suspiciously.
“Providing emotional support.”
Before he could question it further, she poked him lightly in the side.
Power Loader jumped.
“Midnight.”
Another poke.
“Midnight.”
A third.
“Midnight, I swear—”
She grinned wickedly. “You looked stressed.”
Then she attacked.
Power Loader immediately burst into laughter as Midnight began rapidly tickling his sides.
“No—wait—Midnight! The race just started!”
“Exactly,” she said cheerfully. “Perfect timing.”
“My kart—”
On screen, his character promptly drove straight into a wall.
Present Mic cackled. “He’s already crashing! This is amazing!”
“Present, don’t encourage her!” Power Loader wheezed, trying desperately to steer while squirming away.
“Encourage her?” Present Mic said. “I’m joining.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Present Mic dropped onto the floor next to them and started lightly poking at Power Loader’s other side.
Power Loader completely lost it.
“You two are the worst!” he laughed, curling up as much as he could while still clutching the controller. “Stop—I’m trying to race!”
“No mercy!” Midnight declared.
“You made us think you were dead!” Present Mic added dramatically.
“I was trapped under a machine!”
“And now you’re trapped under consequences,” Midnight replied.
Aizawa glanced over briefly from the couch.
“Are you two done terrorizing him?”
“No,” both answered at the same time.
Power Loader groaned between laughs. “Aizawa, help me.”
“No.”
“Cementoss?”
Cementoss merely shrugged. “This seems like a personal matter.”
“Traitors. All of you are traitors.”
The finish line approached on-screen. Somehow, despite the chaos, Power Loader managed to move from twelfth place to tenth.
Then Midnight scribbled her fingers lightly against his ribs.
Power Loader yelped, accidentally driving straight off Rainbow Road.
Present Mic fell backward laughing.
“And there goes tenth place!”
The race ended with Power Loader finishing dead last.
Midnight immediately jumped to her feet and threw her arms into the air.
“Victory!”
Power Loader flopped dramatically onto the floor.
“I survived being crushed by industrial equipment only to be defeated by tickling.”
Present Mic wiped tears from his eyes. “Honestly? That’s way funnier.”
Power Loader pointed accusingly at Midnight.
“Next week, you’re banned from sitting next to me.”
Midnight only smiled.
“We’ll see.”
Everyone burst into laughter, and for the rest of the night, Power Loader kept one suspicious eye on Midnight whenever she got too close.
———————————————
Late-Night Repairs
The U.A. support workshop was eerily quiet at nearly midnight.
Normally, the room was filled with students testing inventions, explosions from Hatsume’s latest creations, or Power Loader lecturing someone about proper safety procedures. Tonight, however, it was silent except for the occasional hum of machinery.
Power Loader didn’t mind working late. In fact, he preferred it. No interruptions, no accidental explosions, and no Hatsume running up to him yelling about her newest “baby.”
“Peace and quiet,” he muttered as he adjusted his welding mask. “Finally.”
He had been working on repairing a large construction-training machine used by the Support Course. One of the stabilization systems had malfunctioned during class earlier that day, and Power Loader wanted it fixed before students returned in the morning.
Most of the repairs had gone smoothly.
Unfortunately, most wasn’t all.
Power Loader climbed beneath part of the machine to tighten a loose support brace. He had almost finished when he heard a faint metallic creak overhead.
His eyes narrowed.
“…That’s not supposed to sound like that.”
A second later, the entire structure shifted.
Power Loader barely had enough time to look up.
“Oh, no—”
CRASH!
Something heavy slammed down onto him, knocking the air from his lungs. Metal beams crashed around him as part of the machine collapsed, trapping him beneath the framework.
For several seconds, all he could do was lie there in stunned silence.
“…Ow.”
He tried to sit up and immediately regretted it.
The fallen machinery pinned his lower body and one arm to the ground. Worse, several detached vibration modules—parts designed to simulate construction equipment—had landed directly across his ribs and stomach.
And they were still running.
BZZZZZZ.
Power Loader froze.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
The vibrations rattled against his ribs nonstop.
BZZZZZZ.
He attempted to shove them away with his free hand, but they were wedged between pieces of debris and refused to move.
“BZZZZZZ.”
Power Loader groaned loudly.
“Of all the places to land…”
The vibrations weren’t painful exactly, but they were incredibly distracting. Every few seconds, another burst would shake against his stomach and ribs, making it nearly impossible to focus.
He gritted his teeth and tried pushing the heavier beam off himself.
Nothing.
He tried again.
Still nothing.
The beam didn’t budge an inch.
Power Loader let his head fall back against the floor.
“Fantastic.”
He looked around for his phone.
No luck.
It had apparently been launched somewhere across the workshop during the collapse.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
Minutes passed.
The workshop remained silent.
BZZZZZZ.
Power Loader squeezed his eyes shut.
“Whoever designed these vibration settings clearly hated people.”
Another particularly strong pulse rattled through the devices.
He jerked involuntarily.
“Okay. Nope. This is officially terrible.”
He considered calling for help, but the workshop was heavily insulated to protect nearby classrooms from noise. At this hour, there was no guarantee anyone would hear him.
Still, he had to try.
“HELP!” he shouted.
Only silence answered him.
Power Loader sighed.
At this point, all he could really do was wait.
And hope.
He wasn’t seriously injured—at least, he didn’t think so—but being trapped under several hundred pounds of machinery was far from ideal.
“Please let someone decide to pull an all-nighter tonight,” he muttered.
Time seemed to crawl by.
Just as Power Loader was beginning to think he might spend the entire night trapped beneath the machine, the workshop doors suddenly opened.
“Power Loader?” a voice called.
Power Loader had never been so happy to hear someone in his life.
“In here!” he shouted immediately.
Footsteps hurried closer.
Aizawa rounded the corner, followed by Midnight and Present Mic, all three freezing at the sight before them.
There was a brief pause.
Present Mic blinked.
“…How?”
Power Loader stared up at the ceiling.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Midnight knelt beside him, concern obvious on her face. “Are you hurt?”
“My pride is beyond repair.”
“And physically?”
“I’ll survive.”
Aizawa sighed, already moving to lift part of the debris.
“Why do I feel like this happens at least once a semester?”
“Because Hatsume exists,” Power Loader answered immediately.
No one argued with that.
Within minutes, the teachers managed to free him. As he slowly stood, sore and exhausted, Present Mic clapped him on the shoulder.
“You know, most people just go home after work.”
Power Loader groaned.
“Trust me. From now on, so am I.”
The others laughed as they escorted him toward Recovery Girl’s office, leaving the wrecked workshop behind for tomorrow’s problem.
tw: AGE GAP, smut, dirty talk (please scroll if you don’t like these things)
a/n: smash
masterlist
It’s your last year in high school, you’re already an adult - you’re eighteen years old - but also a teenager with a more mature mind than the people your age. And you have a crush on your fucking English teacher. His salt-pepper hair and beard with his muscled body but also he has a tiny stomach. The way his veins hands play with the marker when he doesn’t write on the board or when he bites his lip while searching for the right word. It’s your favourite lecture.
He always gives a story, a novel or an essay for every week and he gives a topic or a word to make you write anything that comes to your mind. Last week’s word was ‘Forbidden’ and you immediately started writing a teacher-student novel. It came out about fifty-two pages. You gave it to him two days ago during the last lecture you had and today? You have English again.
The lesson finishes and you make your way out of the classroom but he calls out.
“Miss Y/L/N?”
“Yes, Mr. Pascal?” you turn around and look at him.
“Lock the door, please,” he asks you seriously and you do as he asked. “Come here,” he gestures and you stop next to him, dropping your bag on the floor.
“I want to talk about your novel, Miss,” he looks up at you.
“What’s the problem with that?” you raise your eyebrow.
“Nothing just, ‘His dark blue jeans stretch on his perfectly shaped thighs, the white shirt almost rips when he lifts his arm to write on the board, and I just want to bite in those biceps. Mr. P looks like a man who likes to fuck rough and I want to be under him. Or on top of him, I don't care. His salt-pepper hair looks so soft, and the way his brown eyes meet mine when he talks about some age-gap romance, it turns me on. I want to be fucked on his desk. And he does it after the lesson’ about this,” he looks up at you. “Mr. P? Age-gap romances and I think this ‘Mr. P’ is an English teacher. Or am I reading too much into it?” he runs his hand through his hair.
“You’re not,” you shrug nonchalantly.
“It’s inappropriate, Miss Y/L/N,” he shakes his head and sighs.
“The look in your eyes when you see me in skirts, that’s inappropriate. This is just a novel,” you call him out.
“It is?” he runs a hand up on your thigh. “Did you put this short skirt on, because you want to tease your teacher, Miss?” he grips your inner thigh and you gasp.
“I did, sir,” you nod and he stands up, letting your thigh go.
“You’re filthy,” he pushes your head down on his desk. “But you get what you want. You get what your young pussy needs,” he leans to your ear, pressing his crotch to your ass. “A real man’s dick, princess,” he whispers.
Pedro rolls your skirt over your ass and spanks it.
“No underwear? I knew you were a slut. The look in your eyes, the way you’re pressing you’re thighs together during every damn lesson, thinking I didn’t notice,” he scoffs. “I did.”
You hear he pulls his belt out of his jeans and without hesitation, he spanks your butt with a damn belt. Five times on each cheek. You can’t help but moan from the pleasure and pain. He knows exactly what he’s doing and damn you like it.
“Tell me what you want, sweetheart,” he traces circles on your hips.
“I want you to teach me how you like to fuck. I want to be sore and I don’t want to walk properly,” you moan out.
“Good girl,” he groans and takes off his trousers.
With a fast, ruthless thrust, he slams his dick into your pussy, stretching you open as he fucks you hard and relentlessly, his pace brutal from the start. The force knocks the breath from your lungs, your body jerking against him, but he doesn’t slow down—he only grips you tighter. His fingers twist into your hair, yanking your head back until your scalp burns, but all you can do is cry out his name, your voice breaking with every punishing thrust.
You can only hope the building is empty because there’s no way in hell you’re being quiet. His other hand slides down, rough fingers wrapping around your throat, forcing you upright against his solid chest. Your head spins as he tightens his grip just enough to steal your air, to remind you who’s in control. His breath is hot against your ear, the low growl of his voice sending shivers through your overstimulated body.
“Take it,” he orders, his teeth grazing your jaw before he drags his mouth down to your throat. His lips crash against your skin, kissing, biting, sucking hard enough to leave marks—proof of how thoroughly he’s claiming you. Your body trembles, helpless against the onslaught, but fuck, you don’t want him to stop. Every rough, punishing thrust sends shockwaves through you, pushing you closer to the edge, your mind unravelling in the pure, raw intensity of him.
“Cum for me, my dirty little secret,” he bites your earlump.
Your eyes roll back in your head and you cum with trembling body, moaning his name while your pussy squeezes his dick and that was the last push for him too. He bites your shoulder as he cums in you.
“You’re mine, understood?” he pants caressing your waist.
“Understood,” you mutter, trying to catch your breath.
tw: age gap (you're in your twenties and he's in his forties), smut - spanking, dirty talk, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (fem receiving)
a/n: motivation is back i guess, he’s my new muse<33
song: take me down by hazel
masterlist
Your relationship with Phil is, well, quite odd to say at least. You and Phil became friends when you joined WWE and he just approached and welcomed you warmly. It was strange at first because when you watched WWE and him on TV, he was a damn asshole - but still he was your favourite. Then within a few months, you started hang out as friends, then on a night when you were drunk, - he was drinking Pepsi - leaned in and captured his lips in a soft kiss. When you leaned back he was staring at you with widened eyes and totally shocked by your actions. The next day you met at work and he asked you out but you laughed and said the previous night’s kiss was a mistake and you were drunk. He pressed his lips together and just nodded and from then you’ve been in a frenemy status. Not friends anymore, not enemies but something is off and this hatred is still between you. He’s angry because you rejected him after you kissed him, you’re furious because he’s avoiding you like it’s his full-time job.
Before your biggest match tonight against Rhea Ripley - for the Women’s World Championship title -, he approaches you with a serious expression.
“Good luck tonight, Angel,” his face softens with a smile.
“Thank you,” you look into his gorgeous green eyes which are full of support.
You turn around as your entrance song ‘Rein Raus’ by Rammstein starts playing after Rhea gets in the ring and you start walking in confidently.
You’re mouthing the lyrics, it’s one of your favourite songs so it was obvious this gonna be your entrance song, it’s powerful with dirty meaning. Perfect.
The match is still going after twenty minutes when you finally drop your bomb; ‘Flames’. Your finisher move. With a fierce rush, you execute a powerful double underhook DDT, spinning her in midair before slamming her headfirst to the mat. The impact is so intense, that the crowd collectively gasps, holding their breath. You don’t stop there. You quickly climb on the top rope and spring off into a Phoenix Splash, landing perfectly on Ripley. You pin her down, the referee starts counting and then the bell rings. You stand up in disbelief, she couldn’t kick out your pin. A smile spreads across your face as you close your eyes and in a moment the title is in your hands. You climb on the top rope holding the belt in the air and the crowd chants your name like it’s a pray.
After you change into comfy clothes in the locker room, ready to leave, he leans on the doorframe.
“Congratulations, Y/N,” he smirks and nods proudly.
“My body is screaming in pain, Mami is reckless,” you laugh “But thanks, it means a lot actually.”
“You’re the Women’s World Champion, Angel. You should be proud,” his eyes soften and you feel your stomach flip.
Angel. The nickname he gave you when he first saw you in all-white gear with extreme white makeup. Punk complimented you before, then after the match, he said you look like an angel and a goddess at the same time. But your angelic eyes made him stuck with Angel.
“I’m proud to be honest. I earned my title and I fought for it a lot,” you smile at him.
“You sure did,” he laughs softly “Have a good night, Y/N.”
“You too, Phil.”
When he turns around a piece of paper falls out of his back pocket but he doesn’t notice. Punk disappears behind the corner as he makes his way out. You pick up the paper and fold it out, revealing words. Lots of words. It’s a damn letter. You look around and when you make sure you’re alone you sit down on the bench and start reading it.
‘Dear Angel,
I’ve written a hundred letters to you, and I never had the guts to give you a single one. This one’s no different. I don’t even know why I’m writing it now, but here I am. I don’t think I’ll ever give it to you, but I guess sometimes you have to get things off your chest, even if they never see the light of day.
I’ve been standing here, watching you win tonight, and I don’t think I’ve ever been more proud of you. You’ve worked so damn hard for this, Angel. I’ve always known you had it in you, but watching you finally take that belt? That’s something else.
It’s funny, though. I’ve been thinking about that night two years ago more than I’d like to admit. We hung out, you got drunk, and yeah, you kissed me. You were stumbling, and I was just there—doing my best to keep it together while you had your fun. I didn’t drink, I don’t do any of that, but I couldn’t help but feel… something. And the next day, I asked you out. I’m sure you remember it. You rejected me. Said it was a mistake, that you were drunk and it didn’t mean anything.
I wasn’t pissed off. Hell, I was probably more disappointed in myself for even thinking there could be something there. Maybe you didn’t want someone like me. Maybe I’m just too damn old, grumpy, and set in my ways for someone like you. I mean, maybe that’s why you rejected me, right? I’ve got this edge about me, and the age gap—hell, it’s probably just another thing to add to the list of reasons why I’m not what you’re looking for.
But here’s the thing, Angel. I’ve been lying to myself ever since. I’ve been acting like I don’t care, like it doesn’t matter, but it does. I don’t know why I’m telling you all of this now—maybe it’s because tonight, watching you with that championship, I can’t pretend anymore. I’m proud of you. I respect you. I don’t care if you never feel the same way, but I can’t keep pretending I’m not still a little hung up on you.
I’m not asking for anything, Angel. Don’t worry, I’m not about to lay all of this at your feet. I’m not going to make things complicated. I’m straight edge, I’ve always kept my distance, and I’ll keep doing that. But I needed to write this, for myself. To stop pretending I don’t feel this way.
You’re a champion. You always have been. I guess I’ve just been too scared to admit how much you mean to me.
Anyway, this letter probably won’t ever see the light of day. You won’t ever know it exists, and that’s okay. Maybe it’s for the best. But just know, somewhere out there, I’m still cheering you on.
Punk’
Your tears are flowing down your cheeks, regretting these two years you avoided your feelings for him. God, you’ve been in love with him since you first talked to him and he made you become his friend. You still can’t forget that kiss, his soft lips on yours, kissing you back. The surprise in his eyes being slowly replaced by desire but he took you home and tucked you in bed.
You stand up still crying, the letter in your coat’s inner pocket and you start running like you do it for your life. Actually, you are. Because it’s your life and you want him to be in your damn life as a lover. As a partner.
When you reach his house, soaking wet because of the rain, you lie on the bell. He opens the door only in grey sweatpants clearly confused.
“What are you doing here, Angel? Did you run? Jesus, you’re soaked,” he sighs and pulls you in.
“What is this?” you take out the letter from your pocket and push it on his chest.
The air stuck in Punk’s lungs and slides his hand on the letter, staring into your soul.
“Did you read it?” he asks with fear.
“That’s why I'm here, dumbass,” you laugh bittersweet as you take off your coat and kick your boots off.
“How did you—”
“—It fell out of your pocket. And you disappeared before I could take it after you,” you wipe away a tear “Do you really feel this way?”
“I do,” he mutters under his breath.
“Oh my god,” you laugh and grab the back of his neck, crashing your lips to his.
He kisses you back but in a second he gently pushes you away.
“Angel, what was this?” he lets the letter fall on the ground and cups your cheeks in his hands.
“I don’t know why I rejected you two years ago. I was afraid that I’d be a young toy for you. I was afraid I’d fall for you damn hard. But I did anyway,” you swallow nervously.
“So you say we’ve been feeling the same thing for two years now? And neither of us did anything?” he laughs bitterly.
“Looks like,” you shut your eyes.
“Look at me, Y/N,” he lifts your chin and you open your eyes.
He leans in and kisses you deeply with hunger and frustration. The situation quickly turns heated and your hands slide on his naked chest, he grabs your thighs and lifts you up effortlessly. You wrap your legs around his waist and he carries you into his bedroom and throws you on the bed.
“You thought I only wanted you as a toy back then?” he grabs your ankles and yanks you to the edge of the bed “I’m going to play with you. You’re my dirty little slut, my nasty toy from now on. And I’m going to make sure you will never forget this night, and me,” he whispers in your ear and shivers go down your spine “Got it?”
“Mhm,” you hum. The heat which radiates from his body makes you weak. His words make you feel you’re going to cum right now.
“Good girl,” he smirks and takes off your jeans with your thong and throws it away “You’re so damn wet for me, Angel,” he mutters on your inner thigh and presses sloppy kisses on it. In a second he buries his head in your pussy, and a loud moan escapes your lips. His tongue - oh my holy fuck - fucks you. Licking and eating you out like you’re his last dinner, sucking on your clit while looking into your eyes.
“Phil,” you moan his name “I’m gonna cum,” you grip his hair and press his face more into your pussy.
“Not yet, Angel,” he leans back grinning with your juices on his chin.
You groan impatiently. He grabs you and puts you on middle of the bed, then takes off your t-shirt.
“No bra? You filthy slut,” he sucks on your nipples, while you arch your back for him.
He kisses your body everywhere he can, and then he takes off his sweatpants, kneeling on the bed naked.
“How is that gonna fit in me?” you look at his penis then into his eyes.
“Oh, Angel. I’ll make it fit,” he smirks and he climbs on top of you, positioning himself between your legs.
Without hesitation, he pushes his dick inside you, with one, long thrust. You cry out his name loudly, making sure his neighbours going to know who’s living in this house.
“Jesus Angel, you’re so damn tight,” he sucks in a sharp breath.
He starts thrusting first slowly and when you start moaning in pleasure, he picks up a rough pace. Your hips meet with loud sounds which makes you feel more desired. His hunger is apparent in his groans and whimpers. Before you could cum, he slides out of you and he turns you on your stomach and pulls your ass up.
“Count to ten. This is your punishment for making me wait this long for your delicious pussy and your perfect heart,” and he slaps your ass light.
“One,” you hum. The second slap is way stronger than the first.
“Two,” you moan softly. The third? Ruthless. Finally, you reach ten, and your ass cheeks are burning, and your pleasure is dripping down on your inner thigh.
He positions himself behind you and slams into your pussy and starts fucking you like a damn animal. He turns you on your back and grabs your throat tightly while rocking his hips to yours.
“My little, kinky slut. I feel your pussy squeeze around my dick as I apply pressure on your perfect throat. Like your new necklace, Angel?” he pants as he throws his head back. He looks like a fucking god.
“Yeah,” you force out the answer. You can’t think just feel. You feel everything. He grabs your hips and you already feel the marks of his hands are going to be there tomorrow.
He doesn't slow down, if it’s possible he just fastens his pace.
“Cum for me, Angel,” he groans.
And this pushes you over the edge. You scream his name, tightening around him and his dick twitches, cumming inside you.
He leans down and kisses your jawline then your lips with affection and care. And with love.
“I love you, Y/N,” he whispers on your lips, staring into your soul.
“I love you too, Phil,” you smile at him softly.
He slowly pulls out of you and goes for a warm, wet towel and takes care of you. Wiping away your and his mixed cum which is dripping out of you, then he gives you one of his boxers and t-shirt, but he sees how exhausted are you and dresses you up. He puts on sweatpants too then climbs next to you, pulling you close to his body.
“Please be here when I wake up,” he whispers, begging with his eyes.
“I would never leave,” you shake your head and snuggle to his chest “I love you,” you close your eyes and immediately drift off to sleep.
“My Angel,” he presses a kiss on your temple and slowly falls asleep too.
