Just some random one-shots of a fandom people don't even know about.
Filled with random One-Shots and short mini series.
*Reader Insert Friendly (M/GN/F)
*Rating: Mild to Diablo
*Slow to Update
*Requests: OPEN (Just Slow-Read First Page Rules)
💮7/1...
[1]Night soon castes it's darkness across the land, both people and animals alike slept. Strange creatures emerged from hiding, causing blood shed among the lesser beings.
Mr. Simpson didn't want to do this but he had to usher the normies out, allowing certain individuals to remain. The type of people the barkeep to afraid to shoo away.
Bamforth shuffled playing cards within his many hands, gloves and long trench coat discarded to the side. The bandanna pulled down and rested round the man's neck, dark eyes watched the form of the human who wondered around- cleaning tables. The Kivouachian knew the human understood why he was here, something the human seemed nervous about. Bamforth could see the fear radiating off the plump lesser being.
"There is no need to be frighten." The Kivouachian glared from under his hat, shadows covered parts of his face. "You're acting like we're going to kill you." Mr. Simpson lifted his head, looking to the man cloaked in darkness, the barkeep briefly stopping in hesitation.
"How could I not be afraid when there are a lot of people who are stronger and can easily ta kill me!" An awkward laugh escaped Mr. Simpson's throat, the barkeep set the rag to the side. In it's place- a set of clean glasses and bottle of whiskey.
"I seen that your bastard daughter had been here earlier." The sound of the card deck slamming onto the table surface, it seemed to have echoed within the walls of the saloon. Mr. Simpson's hazel eyes narrowed, a brow twitched from the way that monster had just called you a 'bastard'.
That's something that the human didn't like the sound of.
It hadn't gone unnoticed by the Kivouachian. Why did that human care anyway?
Mr. Simpson was barely in your life, the other man in the military was more of father then this low life.
The sound of the saloon doors slamming open let the two men know of the new arrival. A figure completely dressed from head to toe in a long white dress, a large fancy brim hat sat upon their head, face hidden to all.
"It's nice of you to finally join us." Bamforth hadn't been bother to even turn to face the newcomer, the figure in white proceed to walk forward, kicking off heels in random directions. Not a care in the world where they could've ended up.
"There's nothing nice about it! Agh! Those things were killing my feet." Whined Whittaker, taking off the girly hat to slam it upon the ground in annoyance. "Do you know how long I had to where this shit?!" The white furred creature gathered all the ruffles within his white gloved hands, "I thought I was dying from a fucking heart attack." Once the male was close enough to his partner-in-crime had let the varies layers go, the fabric swiftly glided to the wooden floor below.
Bamforth briefly glanced to Whittaker with an amused smirk, a small- not to big. Two cups were sat before the two, golden brown liquid filled the glasses, white gloves were tugged off and tossed to the table, revealing furry claw hands. Whittaker didn't wait for his drink to be fully filled, opting to chug down whatever was there. Mr. Simpson almost nearly spilled the alcohol due to the Kivouachian's sudden grab, the glass slammed down with a satisfied sigh.
White claws rested upon his hips, fingers brushing against the fine silk.
"I won't lie. My ass is looking fine.~" Purred Whittaker, shaking his hips, the skirting flowing along with the motion. Bamforth gestured for the human to leave the bottle,
"I will not ask about the dress..." Dark eyes fully locked onto his partner, "But have you properly dealt with the Stable Master?" Mr. Simpson, the human, had left to serve the other creatures that came in. The human kept his ear out, listening carefully to the main two patrons. After all, they were the two men who were guards to the main man himself. The one who hid within the depths of the saloon, Mr. Simpson never once saw him- carefully hidden. Both Bamforth and Whittaker never traveled far from the pub, only doing minor jobs within town or around.
"Yeah, yeah I did. I would've gotten it done sooner if some harlot hadn't interrupted me. But yeah, I got it done." Brow rose upon Bamforth's dark face,
"And that's where the dress comes in? Couldn't you just have ridden of of them instead of this silly get-up." Bamforth drank his fill of the whiskey, the white Kivouachian rubbed the bridge of his muzzle in annoyance.
"I could've but it's that one lady from the other day." Bamforth recalled the day's prior events, there wasn't a single woman they went after. Whittaker saw the brief confusion upon his friend's face, "That- mmm," a white hand twirled around in thought, "That lady with the cow or whatever the fuck it was."
Oh.
He's talking about the encounter from nearly a month or so ago.
Whittaker leaned forward, elbows resting upon the table's surface as his chin laid upon his open palms. A mischievous smirk upon blacken lips, sharp teeth gleaming within the light.
"Now if I didn't know any better, I'd say you've taken quite a fancy to a human." The Kivouachian joked to which Bamforth had ignored,
"I've already told you; There was no need to be wasting ammo over something so little and meaning less." The darker of the two kept a straight face, no emotion showing. It's something Bamforth was good at, keep others from reading his thoughts through emotion. Whittaker stood straight, walking to the sitting man. Playfully punched the insect-like man's arm,
"I bet you thought about it." Whittaker laughed to himself, "That's so fucking gross." The white Kivouachian leaned forward, "I won't lie. I'm pretty sure some of these fine folks thought about it." He gestured to the small crowd within the room, "Fuck, man. Even these strange ass aliens won't stay in their own race. I've seen some shit when out hunting." Bamforth chuckled, eyes closing with a shake of his head.
"Of course you'd watch." Replied Bamforth, already finding entertainment from what his partner said. Whittaker sputtered, if he didn't have any fur, the would be seen blush forming upon his cheeks in embarrassment.
"I do not!?" The white furred Kivouachian turned away with a huff, arms crossed. "Not my fault these creature fuck out in the opening."
"It seems you like to watch... Are you trying to suggest something?" A ghost of a smile crossed Bamforth's thin lips, the words purred out like silk.
"You know what; Don't talk to me for a week." Whittaker turned his back to Bamforth,
"Now you sound like an angry woman." The dark man chuckled once more, this isn't something the male had done often. It felt nice getting it out of his system. Whittaker did not dare to reply, for once actually keeping quiet. The white Kivouachian's ears twitched at the sound of a chair screeching, looking back to spot Bamforth standing to his feet. "While you're here acting like a fuming housewife, I'll be needed elsewhere."
