Pro Heroes Meeting Their Feisty, Mcbling Gf

pro heroes meeting their feisty, mcbling gf

♱ bakugou, kirishima, midoriya, dabi

♱ pt.2 here pt.3 here

note: it’s me, i’m the feisty mcbling gf 😞

Katsuki has been on shift for what feels like hours. In reality… well it has been hours. He’s been patrolling a smaller, more mundane part of Tokyo, where all he’s done is help little old ladies with their groceries and scold kids for trying to steal candy.

He was dying to get home.

So, when he heard a scream five minutes from patrol ending, the groan he let out was loud, unprofessional and frankly, really douche-y of him. But still, he flew towards the alley it echoed from.

He turned the corner, expecting a damsel in distress…

Only to see you.

Beating a man with a Juicy Couture suede bag, wobbling on platform sandals.

While this man lets out the girliest, highest-pitched screams Katsuki has ever heard in his life.

“That’s.” Hit. “What.” Hit. “You.” Hit. “Get!” Big hit!

Katsuki blinks out of his trance and takes a booming step toward you. “What the fuck’s goin on?”

You gasp and look up, and Katsuki swears his heart is echoing out of his chest.

Your s/c skin is everywhere, from your jean shorts to the cleavage practically spilling out your leopard print zip-up, and as you straighten up, he catches a glimpse of a belly ring that makes him gulp.

Your hair frames your face with a pair of sunglasses at the top of your head, showing off a fantastic scowl. Glittery eyes are met with furrowed brows, decorated with piercings-galore on your face, and two big hoops either side of your head.

“This prick!” You punctuate it with a nudge of your painted-pink toe, “Tried to rob me! I kneed him in his tiny balls.”

Katsuki raises a brow. You take a minute to glare at the guy, still whimpering, before you strut towards him with narrowed eyes.

You hate to admit it, but Dynamight was hotter in real life. Soot is smeared on his cheek and the scowl on his face sends his ruby-red lasers shooting through you.

“What? You have a staring problem?” You ask with a hand on your hip. Every ounce of confidence you’re letting off is soooo clearly fake right now, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

He shakes his head and looks around you to the poor guy on the floor. He’s not going anywhere, still curled up in a feral position and cradling his nads.

Katsuki sweats.

“Alright, sweetheart-”

You try to pretend it doesn’t make your heart skip a beat.

“Sweetheart?” He freezes and looks down at your cocked brow. “At least take me out for a drink first, Mr. Dynamight, c’mon.”

He clears his throat awkwardly, “Shit- sorry, I didn’t- look, you’re okay, right? No injuries?”

You’re inspecting your nails at this point, trying to avoid looking at the muscles in his hero costume. “Huh? Nah, but he should probably get checked out. Am I good to go?”

You sound eager to leave, but you make no move to when he nods.

Instead, you stand, scrutinising him with crossed arms. Katsuki hates to admit it, but even standing a whole foot taller than you, you’re making the blond blush.

“Okay, what? You need somethin’?” He gruffly says.

You glance back at the idiot still on the floor, and he flinches at your gaze.

“You don’t need my number for a report or somethin’?”

The words leave your mouth sooner than you can stop them, but you keep your face cool as your turn around. God, you need a smoke after this.

Katsuki’s hearts skips a beat, but his lip quirks up and he huffs out a chuckle. He reaches into one his pockets, and passes you his phone.

He’s still blushing, but God that man is grinning as well.

:::

Eijiro is mid-lat pulldown when he hears you through the full blast of his headphones. Being the manly pro he is, he takes an earbud out to hear the commotion.

“When I say fuck off, I mean fuck off! What part of that isn’t get through your thick skull?”

Eijiro watched as you scream in a steroid-fueled gym-bro’s face. You’re jabbing a pink nail in his chest, neon pink shorts matching to a sports bra and a small hoodie on your top half.

He gets off the machine, and a loud clang echoes through the gym - you don’t even notice.

“What, too much muscle blocking your brain from working?”

The guy is getting ready to respond, an ugly, violent grimace on his face. As Eijiro steps behind you and crosses his arms, the guy thinks twice.

He nods at you, and turns away, practically running.

You huff and tuck a loose piece of hair behind your hair.

“What was that?”

You jump at the voice and spin around with a shout. A chest- Jesus Christ, he’s tall. You’re face-to-chest with a man covered in muscle, a sharp-toothed smile and spiky, red hair to match it.

“Oh!”

…

…

He raises a brow and smiles at you.

A blush is fighting it’s way onto your face, but you’re too cool for that. Way too cool. So you clear your throat and stop staring at his adorable face for a minute.

“He wasn’t taking no for an answer,” You huff and cross your arms.

Eijiro frowns, “Shit, that sucks. Do you come here often?”

…

It’s your turn to raise a brow.

His face turns as red as his hair when he realises how stupid that sounded. It’s weirdly endearing watching such a large man blush and panic in front of you.

“N-no, like, I can get him banned if you’re a regular. I know the owners, so-”

“Where do I know you from?” You cut him off, doing mental gymnastics.

Eijiro freezes as he watches you. Your thick lashes touch your brows as you go wide-eyed, staring at him intently. So intently, he’s terrified to move a muscle.

You click your fingers and point a sparkly nail at his chest, “Red Riot! I knew I recognised you from somewhere.”

He grins and shrugs. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I mean,” You trail off for a minute, using all your self-restraint to not blush or stutter in front of this fine-ass man, “if you ever wanted to come to rescue again, I could just give you my number?”

Eijiro has never grabbed his phone faster in his life.

:::

Izuku has been caught in the midst of little fans. Children are detaching themselves from parents, flying away from friend groups to crowd around for his autograph. He’s reminded again why he always wears a cap and glasses when he goes to the mall.

He just needed to pick up a pair of boxers, for Gods sake.

A little boy comes hurtling at him, but such is the norm. What he doesn’t see is the girl sprinting after him- sprinting in platform heels that is.

Jeans cling to you tighter than your zebra print top, and the tiny handbag on your shoulder keeps slipping down. Every step you take is a loud jingle with the massive array of jewellery you have on, and star-shaped clips in your hair keep slipping out.

“Deku! You’re the coole-”

“Isamu! Get back here!” You screech. Your sister was going to kill you if she knew the one time you took your nephew out for a little trip to the mall, you lost him.

Watching him talk to a stranger was almost the cherry on top.

You come to a skidding stop, somehow not hurtling over on your open-toed death machines, and grab the 5 year old by the armpits. Isamu let’s out an excited shriek and smiles at you.

Then he points to the guy.

That guy being the number one hero in Japan.

You nearly drop your nephew.

“Oh my God-”

“I’m so sorry-”

You both speak at the same time, then shut up, and just stare at each other like two idiots. He’s not in his costume - duh, idiot, he’s at the mall?- but he looks just as good as he does with his face plastered all over Tokyo.

Strong arms are straining the seams of his black shirt, and his dark hair is brushing the nape of his neck- it looks so soft-

“I’m really sorry, I should have come out with my hat on, sunglasses-”

“Please do not apologise for looking that good,” You mutter and roll your eyes. Then you freeze. Then you both look at each other, while you nibble your lip and smear your lipgloss everywhere.

“Deku! Can I have your auto map!” Isamu screeches from your arms, wiggling like a worm. It’s getting hard to hold him, so you plop him down and hold his hand instead.

“Autograph, buddy, not auto map,” You whisper in his ear.

Izuku’s heart skips a beat. You are gorgeous, silly and amazing with kids- I mean, what else could he really ask for?

He nods and crouched to Isamu’s height.

“Who am I making it out to, then?”

Isamu screams his government name so loud you want to cover your ears, but you just smile awkwardly at Izuku crouching under you.

He looks at you with his big, doe eyes and a soft smile. “What about you?”

“Oh, no, I don’t want an autograph-”

“Your name?”

Oh shit. You mutter it and watch with a smile as the pro scrawls on a notebook he miraculously pulled out from his arse. His round, perky-

“There you go, Isamu. It was great meeting you,” He pats your nephew’s head, who is practically beaming. “It was nice meeting you too, Y/n,” he adds, and turns away with a wave.

As you walk away, Isamu thrusts the paper in your hand.

“LOOK AT IT AUNTIE Y/N!!”

‘if it’s not too forward, id like you text me sometime y/n :)’ and next to the note is his number.

Cheeky bitch.

:::

Dabi has no fucking idea how he ended up in a bar blasting Kesha from the speakers with millennial women screaming ‘this was my party song!’ but he hates it.

Until he sees you.

You’re in the tiniest jean skirt he’s ever seen, and your ass cheeks are so close to popping out. If you’d just stopped swaying your hips and bend over, he’d get a glimpse-

But you turn around, and he watches you twist and turn in a matching halter top, jewellery adding rhythms to the music.

Dabi swears he has never seen anything as captivating as your baby pink lips mouth along to Die Young. God, was he really thinking that? In relation to Kesha? You must be special, he thinks to himself.

He makes no move, though. He sits at the bar, watching you tip back fruity cocktails and teeter on your fur-covered boots.

He looks away for a second, he swears, and suddenly you’re on the bar stool next to him. Not just sat, but staring. Like, blatantly staring right at him.

He mirrors you, leaning on his palm and watching you.

You’d be lying if you tried to say his cerulean eyes weren’t doing something to you, but there were more pressing issues at hand.

“You’ve been staring at me all night.”

It’s a fact, he has been.

A smile curls onto his lips, and he shifts so he’s closer to you. “Have I? Didn’t notice…”

You’re drunk. Like, much too drunk, because his face is a blur- a handsome blur though. You are aware enough to tell he’s staring at your tits, though.

You click your fingers in his face and he looks back up at you. There’s a moment on his face where he looks shocked, but a bigger smirk replaces it.

“Sorry, hun-”

“Hun? What am I, 5?”

He leans forward, and the overwhelming stench of a beach fire is fighting with your Britney Spears perfume. The air starts to smell like burnt sugar around you, and it’s weirdly compelling.

“What do you want me to call you then?”

“Well, you’ll need my number to call me.”

It takes you a minute to realise how dumb that was- you’re drunk and that is not what he meant, but it made him drop the cool boy act. He stared at you for a second with wide eyes before chuckling under his breath.

“You are somethin’, princess…”

“Princess?”

“Yeah, the skirt and all the pink- very princessy,” He gestured to your outfit before pulling out… a burner phone.

You really should not have drank that much, because you don’t even care to question it as you’re typing you digits in.

note: ffs i didn’t make izuku’s gf feisty enough 😞