HETA-FAN

"Asano-san you have such a lovely son!" A beautiful woman exclaimed. A gentle laugh answered her. "You flatter me, Mrs. (l/n). Your son is quite amazing as well." The woman's eyes sparkled as she looked proudly at her 5-year-old son playing with a ginger haired boy of the same age. "Haha Asano no need to try hiding your disappointment," the woman's husband stated. "I know it is a shame that (y/n) ended up being a boy as well. I was hoping our children could marry." "Ah about that my old friend..." While the adults continued their conversation, (y/n) watched his new playmate carefully. The boy's ginger hair was odd to begin with but his pal

“That’s mean, Kacchan. Can’t you see he’s crying?” Izuku whimpered, tears stinging from the corner of his eyes. The young boy put up his fists to protect the sobbing boy behind him. He really was scared himself but he couldn't let these three boys in front of him carry on this sort of abuse. “If you keep going, I-I-I’ll never forgive you!”   The male in the centre chuckled a little as he looked at the quivering boy. He really didn’t care what he was doing with his powers, nor the two boys behind him.   “Even though you’re Quirkless…you’re pretending to be a hero, D

"Shizu-chan, be nice to [name]. She's a busy girl having to pick up all this stuff for you. It's a good thing I was here to help her so she didn't get lonely or anything." You don't know if it's just you but you think you hear a seductive tone in his voice. You whisper hoarsely to him. "Izaya what are you doing?! Are you crazy or what?!" Izaya places a finger to your lips and gives you a small smirk, waiting for the explosion about to happen. "IZZZAAAAAYYYYAAAAA!!!!! YOU BETTER GET YOUR HANDS OFF [NAME] OR I WILL KILL YOU!!!! NEXT TIME I FIND YOU, YOU ARE A DEAD MAN IZAYA! DO YOU HEAR ME DEAD!!!" Izaya holds the phone away from his ear and

Steampunk!Pirate!PrussiaxPirate!Reader The Stormstone --- The London street was grey and damp, the cobblestone glistening in the cold daylight. Steam-carriages passed frequently, and people milled about, looking into the windows of shops and tinker’s studios. A light wind blew through the streets, chilling the early morning. Your black cane clacked on the stone as you walked. An airman passed, and you tipped your head down, your face hidden by the small veil attached to your hat. You held your breath as the airman’s gaze fell over you. The airman kept walking, turning his eyes elsewhere, much to your relief. You let out your br