X Reader One-Shots

{Fallout: New Vegas} Silus

Note from writer: Every time I think I'm going to write something easy that I don't need to do a bunch of research on, I realise that I absolutely cannot remember the layout of a building, and I need to fuss around in the game. It's not as bad as I make it sound by whining, like "Oh, no, what a travesty, I need to play a game that I adore, to then get the trash fanfiction that I'm writing to be accurate to the source material." What it really is is that I always put off playing it, because I feel like I should be doing something more productive, like writing my trash fanfiction. I think you can see why I take so long, other than being out of ideas and characters. (Suggestions are currently welcome, although I'm pretty bad at thinking of ways to write a lot of the lads. Thanks for sticking with me.)

Alright. Love you, friends. All three of you that have ever read these shiny, new shorts. They're comfy and easy to wear, didn't you know? I'm sorry, that joke was terrible, but not entirely surprising from me.

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The soft, uneasy chatter of NCR soldiers fills the stale, dust-filled air of the Airfield-turned-Military-Encampment. By this point, (Y/N), a merc that's helped out the NCR more than once, is used to it, even though she's barely had time to learn the layout of the place yet.

While not an enlisted soldier in the New California Republic, (Y/N) is well known and well-liked in their ranks. She's received well by them wherever she goes, and she's currently been given permission to board in Camp McCarran. It helps to help, it seems. 

She's managed to strike up a friendship with a few of the soldiers stationed there, too. Captain Curtis being one of the people to whom she's grown somewhat attached, seeing as he's one of the few that ever seems to take any time to listen to her stories about what she's seen out in the wastes, and, of course, on the Strip. He even seems interested in what she has to say. He's the only one that she trusts to keep her disillusionment-turned-dislike of the way that the NCR is heading a secret. After all, if word got out, she'd be out of a semi-stable income.

"(Y/N), get up here! I want you for something!" A voice snaps the merc out of her thoughts.

"Yes, ma'am!" She yells up to the second floor, as she rushes toward the old-world staircase. Apparently, these stairs used to move on their own, pre-war. In too bad condition now, of course.

As she reaches the room that Lieutenant Boyd, who just called her, is in, she notices a man seated in the next room over, through a big window of torn out wall and a big pane of glass. He's wearing Centurion armour, from the looks of it. A piece of painted, salvaged anything on every part of him, save for head. His hair is longer than she'd have expected, having seen other Legionaries.

"Listen, there's a little problem that I need your help with. He's in there," the Lieutenant gestures toward the man through the window.

"Why do you need my help?" (Y/N) asks, tentatively. Lieutenant Carrie Boyd is a well-known abrasive personality about Camp, a few minutes with her makes clear what it is that's so off-putting. "I'm not even NCR, not really."

"And that's my favourite thing about you. I can't do a lot to our little guest to make him talk, too many regulations leftover from President Tandi's time in office. You know the ones. But you, my mercenary friend, don't technically have to abide by these regulations." An unsettling smile spreads across Lieutenant Boyd's face. "So, I want you to get in there, beat the shit out of our Centurion friend, and get him to tell you everything that he knows."

Immediately, awkwardness overcomes (Y/N). She doesn't exactly want to abuse a Prisoner of War by orders of an indirect superior, but she really doesn't want to get in Lieutenant Boyd's bad books. Or the NCR's, for that matter.

"But, ma'am. I-," she considers her next words carefully. "I don't want to, you know... hurt him."