X Reader One-Shots

{Fallout: New Vegas} Cursor Lucullus

Note from writer: I like this boy far more than his lack of personality really would entail. The only reason probably is that he's a sweet Legion lad, too, I'm sure of it. He has so few lines, and no emotion in his dang voice, and yet, he's a big cutie that I've grown so attached to. Maybe it's because I go between Cottonwood Cove and The Fort a lot. I don't know. I'm out of excuses. I just think he's pretty neato. That is all, friends.

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Skulking around Cottonwood Cove, a young woman in ratty, raggedy pre-war clothes feels the dread hit her full-force as she notices the figure of a tall man, standing by the river. Sneaking around so near, and then within, a Legion stronghold was probably not the best idea that (Y/N) has ever had. Fortunately, he doesn't seem to have noticed her from so far away.

(Y/N) had never thought that there'd be so many Legionaries around in the still of the night. She wonders how they could possibly stay awake in the day, but she doesn't let her thoughts run off with her. Not when she's an ill-timed cough away from death or enslavement.

Somehow, she's made it past a lot of the tents, and behind a building. To get there, she was nearly seen by a man in a strange helmet standing on the roof. After that, she had to sneak right by a man wearing a face covering. She wasn't sure whether his perception was hindered by it, but she took care to not get caught, all the same. Now, she has sight of these weirdly placed cages near the shore. They look like they're occupied by some kind of animals, but she can't quite make out the shapes. 'Good thing they're asleep,' she thinks. 'They might alert the legionaries over there if they hear me.

'(Y/N) turns back around, and her eyes find the man by the river. He's staring directly at her. 'This is it. This is how I die,' she panics. Somehow, she stays silent, and she notices that he hasn't made a move to rush her or shoot her, or even to flag up her presence. She hopes, briefly, that he somehow hasn't noticed her. Then, dread fills her as the man slowly raises his arm and beckons her to him. Subtly, though. He looked as though he was checking to make sure that noone would see him.

Following by the man's example, (Y/N) checks for patrolmen and such like. She sneaks down toward the bank, praying that she'll somehow make it out of this alive. Being barefoot is such an aid to her stealth. She's thankful, at least, that she thought to leave her footwear back at the homestead. "Where is your collar, woman?" The boatman demands as soon as (Y/N) makes it to him undetected.

"Collar? What are you talking about?" She's trying her best not to let her fear and confusion make her voice any louder than the current whisper.

"Oh?" The man still looks stoic. Maybe a little bit surprised. Amused? "You're not a naïve slave that made it out of one of the cages."

Realisation sets in, leaving (Y/N) breathless and dizzy and scared. She can feel her heart beat faster and louder, and it's taking all of her restraint not to scream and run and give away her position to the entire camp. She manages to summon up a weak whisper. 

"Please." This is all it takes to make her out of breath like this, just trying to talk. Trying to reason. It's like the air's been stolen from her lungs, and her legs begin to ache for movement. "Please, don't tell anyone."

"And why not?"

"I don't know, just, please. Please don't kill me."

"Whoever said anything about killing? We were discussing enslavement."

"Oh, God. Oh, no. You're not taking me like this, you just can't." This comes out a lot more like begging than the show of defiance that (Y/N) had intended. It's 'resist and die', or 'comply and live a life that would be a mercy to end', she just knows it.