Tares (ColdAtomHeadcanons)
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Kakashi could see the vein on the man’s head getting bigger and bigger, his teeth grinding together, almost amusing and - and there was a whiff of the smell again.
Kakashi blinked his visible eye lazily, sniffing the air subtly - he was after a mission, so perhaps his imagination ran wild but… But it was there, the woods after the fresh rain and also the warmth of the lit firewood. Kakashi’s mouth opened under the mask, his body almost moving on his own, only to be stopped by the chunin Kakashi almost forgot was in the room finally snapping.
“Irresponsible! Good for heavy work, but writing a half decent scrolls is apparently way over their capabilities. ANBU being able to work in teams of one?! Forget it! There apparently need to be at least two, so one can read and the other to actually write!” It wasn’t even at Kakashi. Just because of him.
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That was exactly how he ended up the way he did - sprawled on Trunks’ chair, only in his boxers while Trunks still had his damn top and boxers on and Goten was half sure he even spied at least one sock. Cause only his best friend could come up with the idea of a damn strip Street Fighter game (suddenly the way Trunks was dressed made a whole lot of sense) and Ryu kept breaking Goten’s trust over and over again. Goten was going to feel his bottom lip for days, considering how much he was biting down on it, fingers clutching at the controller with his breath stuck in his throat. Come on, just one more hit-
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It’s the third time in a week that Iruka’s standing in front of his place, a fire truck in front of it and by now a familiar figure with crinkling eyes shaking his head.
“Maa. We really need to stop meeting like this, Iruka-sensei.”
Now that was a wonderful idea. Something that Iruka would definitely vote for if only that was in his hands.
“Right.” He shook his head, glancing back to his place. “But was it really necessary to flood my apartment because of a burning toaster?” Iruka asked through clenched teeth. Kakashi’s eyes crinkled even more and Iruka was sure now the man was grinning behind his mask if he wasn’t before already.
“We like to be very thorough with these things. You know,” one of the eyes opened and focused on Iruka. “once a flame starts burning it’s really hard to extinguish.” The words along with the almost heated glance made Iruka’s breath catch in his throat, but soon enough Kakashi was grinning again.
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“No.” The answer is short and feels like it doesn’t leave any room for arguments. Goku had always a hard time picking up on things like that though.
“What do you mean, no?”
“We’re not letting some guy ‘with a jiggling belly when he laughs’ and has a hobby of trespassing into our house!” Goku’s mouth opens and closes for a moment, before he takes a deep breath. And people say he is the unreasonable one.
“It’s Santa Claus, Vegeta.” The unimpressed look Vegeta throws Goku’s way speaks volumes and Goku bites his lip.
“And I’m the prince of all Saiyans. And I still don’t go to other people's houses in the middle of the night without the intention of killing them all.” -
Gods and Monsters - short ficlets and inspirations by Tares (ColdAtomHeadcanons)
Fandoms: Justice League: Gods and Monsters (2015)
25 Jun 2020
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It’s a man – or perhaps not just a man. One of Hernan’s hands closes around the man’s neck, his grasp tightening more and more in warning until the man stops snarling and fighting against him. The guy is glaring up at him, his eyes red like blood and when Hernan lifts his other hand to peel back his top lip, he twists and jumps, his teeth closing mere inches away from Hernan’s fingers. It’s thanks to his reflexes and his inhuman speed that his hand’s still whole. But still - it was just a second, but Hernan saw it anyway. Those fangs.
So no, not just a man.
Something more. The guy twitches again and he must’ve gotten some of his bravery - or foolishness - back, because his hands clutch at Hernan’s arm, fingers digging into his skin. Hernan’s eyes narrow and he squeezes the hand on guy’s neck again, until the creature under him is gasping, the eyes roll back in its skull and the hands fall from Hernan’s sleeve. Only then does he allow his grip to loosen and he stands up, looking over the body that’s clothed in shredded, bloodied shirt.
Hernan wrinkles his nose.
The blood will have to go.