smol_Reinaa

“i’ll take care of the things you can’t take care of”
-
apology scene redraw ✍🏼
#bkdk #bakudeku #勝デク

Pixie BKDK cuteness

[ #mhapixiehollow #bkdk #dkbk #mha #fanart ]

Stay hydrated

#bkdk #dkbk

Brainspoosh! PH!bkg, PH!dk #extra/dk #bkdk cw: #nsfw, con-non-con roleplay
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Izuku gasped awake at the freezing water splashed into his face. He spat out what he could, and blearily blinked around himself. A single light shone down on him, the rest of the area dark with shadows.

how these losers are to me
#bkdk #bakudeku

Deku as promised ✨ #MidoriyaIzuku #BKDK What other panel would you like to see drawn this way ?

But when the omega—green-haired, freckled, with an ass that could make anyone stop in their tracks—walked straight up to Bakugou, String Theory knew it wasn’t.

(TBC!)

While he still has access to all the others, this one is off-limits to everyone else.”
.
.
.
What?

String Theory gaped at his boss in disbelief. This…this had to be a joke.

“Ah, I almost forgot,” Jeanist added, almost absentmindedly, “As a special thank you for his work on the international mission with Endeavor and Hawks, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight will receive his own personal omega.

certainly not at the hands of those who are meant to protect the public.”

String Theory could’ve kissed Jeanist’s boots right then and there. Except, he really wanted to kiss that buxom redhead near the window. Or maybe that doe-eyed omega by the water cooler. Or the—

Jeanist paused, shifting slightly uncomfortably.

“An email will be sent shortly containing the rules of conduct I expect all my sidekicks to follow. If any of you break these rules, the entire program will be canceled for everyone. I will not jeopardize these omegas' safety, and

the most stunning omegas he had ever seen stepped inside, offering flirtatious smiles and subtle waves.

“Provided you all behave yourselves,” Jeanist continued, his voice smooth yet firm, “The Genius Office will now have free-use omegas for your…discretionary pleasure.”

Jeanist clapped his hands twice, and just like that, the door to the conference room swung open. The scent of sweet perfume and delicate omega pheromones immediately filled the air.

String Theory’s gaze darted to the doorway, his breath catching as one after another,

“You see, it hasn’t gone unnoticed how hard you’ve all been working recently. I decided such enthusiasm deserved a little reward.”

String Theory’s eyes lit up, his heart skipping a beat. Reward? What could it be? An upgrade in assignments?

A promotion?

Leave it to these plebes to fail to see that he was merely showing initiative—doing what Jeanist should have expected from him.

“A generous offer, String, however, this particular paperwork could only be done by me,” Jeanist said, raising a hand to placate him.

He swore he heard Bakugou mutter “tryhard” under his breath. The intern next to him snickered.

String Theory shot her a cold look. 'Let’s see how she likes it when I have her iron all the denim in the office,' he thought darkly.

“I’m terribly sorry for the delay. Just finishing some pesky paperwork,” Jeanist said smoothly, looking effortlessly composed as usual.

String Theory’s hand shot up immediately. “Sir, why didn’t you ask me to do it? You have far more important matters to attend to.”

‘Damn it’ String Theory thought.

As much as he wanted to look away, to avoid Bakugou’s unnerving gaze, he didn’t. He refused to let Bakugou cow him.

And, if he felt a small sense of relief when Best Jeanist walked in at that very moment, he didn’t show it.

Who the hell goes to bed at 8 PM every night, like a machine, just to stick to an arbitrary regimen?

String Theory scoffed, the frustration bubbling over. He wasn’t sure if he even meant to make the sound audible, but Bakugou’s head snapped up, meeting his eyes.

But the blond alpha was making it damn near impossible.

The kid had no life outside of being a hero. Where String Theory enjoyed his downtime and relished in his personal time, Bakugou took no such luxuries. He was obsessed with heoism—relentlessly so.

Lately, he had thrown himself into overdrive, trying to outshine Bakugou—working longer hours, attending extra training sessions, volunteering for press conferences, even tackling extra paperwork.

Anything to prove that he, was the one who deserved to succeed the legendary hero.

Everyone knew Bakugou was Jeanist’s favorite. It was an unspoken truth. There wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind.

People have even begun to whisper that once Jeanist decided to retire, he would be the one to take over the agency.

The thought of it made String Theory’s skin crawl.

‘Yet, according to the head honcho himself, Bakugou could do no wrong.’ String Theory thought bitterly

He made the most collars, won the most fights, and could practically fly through the air with his explosions while the rest of them were stuck grounded like mere shmucks.

He was a walking wrecking ball in the middle of it all.

String Theory cringed when he thought of what would the public think. Seeing such an unrefined, uncouth, undenimed brute walking the halls of The Genius Office, flanked by those who had worked tirelessly to embody Jeanist’s polished ideal?

The office, sleek and modern with its bold, minimalist design, was a reflection of Jeanist’s sophisticated taste.

It's trendy furniture stood in contrast to Bakugou, whose soot-streaked boots stomped down its magnificent halls and whose gaunlets clanged against every polished surface he crossed.

That was enough to make him worthy of 'The Genius Office.’

Why? Because Bakugou could blow shit up really well. Because he had “raw talent.”

It felt like a waste. A massive waste.

His quirk didn’t even complement Jeanist’s, and to top it all off, the kid outright despised denim.

Yet, because this loud mouth hotshot managed to win first place at the U.A. Sports Festival three years in a row—that was enough to eclipse every single one of his glaring flaws.

hoping to learn from the master.

But none of that mattered.

A month into his tenure at the agency, he arrived.

Katsuki Bakugou, the brash, explosive, and practically barbaric teen with more raw rage than a hurricane and the subtlety of an out of control freight train.

He was still the most promising of the new generation, had all the makings of the next top hero. His appearance was flawless—hair meticulously slicked back, skin practically glass-like. Hell, he even kept a small notepad, jotting down Jeanist’s signature fabric-based phrases,

At the time, String Theory had been convinced that he was Jeanist’s next protégé. Convinced that their quirks—both fabric-based—were a perfect match.

The only difference was that String Theory required more fabric to achieve the same results, but that was a minor detail.