X Reader One-Shots

{Fallout 4} Paladin Danse

Note from writer: Here he is, finally. The sweet and somewhat grumpy favourite Fallout 4 Romanceable Brotherhood boy. That's only that specific because Elder Arthur Maxson is also kind of lovable, even if he looks so much older than, say, McCready, when, in fact, our boy Artie M. is canonically two years younger than Little Mayor RJ. What even?

In any case, I'm happy to be back and writing the worst, trash fanfiction, for all of you fellow garbage humans out there. Although, with how obtuse my writings can be, it may be difficult to see this as anything but the ramblings of a madman.

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"Ugh, it's chilly. How is it chilly?" A young woman whines. "There's a fire right there. It shouldn't be this cold."

Her companion, a well-built man with an ever-stern look, doesn't seem to answer. He shoots a sidelong glance, perhaps of pity, at his travelling companion sitting next to him. There's a look of hesitation on his face before he goes back to looking ahead and into the flames. Or, perhaps he's looking past them and to his great mechanical suit on the other side. Who ever could know?

The woman blows into her hands, huddling to herself in an attempt to keep warm. "It's not even that cold in the day. Why is it cold?" She sighs, finally looking away from the precious source of warmth and light and toward the source of her daytime entertainment, her friend. "Danse, aren't you chilly?"

It seems an odd combination, the frank and somewhat ideologically focussed Paladin, and the overly affectionate, wildcard Initiate. It's quite the wonder, how it managed to get to the point that she would be allowed to join the Brotherhood.

Despite her demeanour being one of friendly harmlessness, she's proven time and again her proficiency on the battlefield. Even if she never seems to want to use her Brotherhood issued laser weaponry. For the time being, Danse doesn't seem too worried about it. After all, if she follows every rule and rises rank too quickly, they'll have less time together, and likely less privacy to talk freely under cover of 'showing her the ropes'.

She'd informally joined up after a recon team found her fighting her way through a great horde of muties. If not for them, then she'd likely be dead in a ditch. Or, more likely, in a gore bag. The group had patched her up after the long battle, having made somewhat of a battlefield alliance without ever exchanging words.

After that, it wasn't long until she was at Boston Airport, training under the Brotherhood's careful guidance. While she was technically new there, she wasn't by any means green. Battle-hardened, one could even say. Of course, this meant that she'd often go out when there were dangerous operations with living things that needed to be made dead. Made her feel an awful lot like a very special form of cannon fodder.

It was on one of these perilous missions in need of cannon fodder that she was first under the direct command of Paladin Danse. Seeing her demeanour, he'd assumed that she'd be the jokester troublemaker type. The reckless type that one would often be the first casualty. He was surprised to see her trigger discipline when the fight finally came. After that, it was no surprise when he leant that she'd been a wanderer of the wastes all her life, having started her journey as far as New California.

It was only a matter of time, after many victories, for them to spend time with eachother outside of the battlefield. Although, there had been rumours of, and an informal investigation into, an inappropriate workplace relationship. There was no torrid affair. Sad. At least, to a certain pair sitting the fire, it is.

All of these hidden feelings and bashfulness about asking, when to everyone else, it's plain to see that they both have some form of fancy of eachother. 'Did he just? No, I'm sure he's always like this with his friends.' 'Is that? No, no. Just being nice. Don't get your hopes up.'

Danse gives a soft exhalation as he comes out of his memories, something resembling a fond chuckle, perhaps. He decides that he'll do as she's not-so-subtly asking. She gives out a strangled noise as she's pulled out of her own thoughts, caught off-guard by the Paladin's arm now resting over her shoulders.

They huddle together, still trying to give the façade that they're doing it for warmth, even just to eachother. Both thinking that 'Next time. Next time, I'll say something.'(Y/N) smiles, the warmth of her affinity for Paladin Danse more than making up for the chill of the brisk New Hampshire night.

"Thanks, Danse."

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Note from writer: So, this sucked and I know it. It's short as heck, and there isn't even that much going on. Danse is almost just a passive observer, rather than an active participant in the story. All that he does is reminisce. And that's just it, all it is is just the reminiscing and nothing else.

Oh, and not just that, but I'm out of boys on my list. I don't think I know how to write well enough for any of the rest of my character ideas, for various reasons, and I don't even have that many ideas in the first place. I suppose that this is more a warning than a request for aid in character suggestions. I likely won't have a short out every Tuesday, anymore. We'll see where it goes. Because, I love writing these dang shorts, and it feels bad, man, that I don't heckin' know what to do about them.

Something that could greatly aid in my idea problem is playing games that have characters in them, rather than Fallout 76. I don't even play that, that much, either. I'm bad at doing productive things, and I'm also bad at doing wholly unproductive things.But, hey, I can tell you a secret. I already can't remember how many times I've written for this bad fanfiction book instead of doing my homework. I'm a terrible student.

I don't think that I did well at proofreading this, either. This is just kind of a disaster. I might think about doing OC shorts, rather than all of my favourite FPS characters. Ah, I'll think about it. Let's hope that I can think of something so as to have a new one out fairly regularly because I really would miss it, friends. Alright, you look after yourselves. All three of you that'll ever read this.