X Reader One-Shots

{Fallout: New Vegas} Vulpes Inculta. A second part, no less.

Note from writer: Wow, a part two. I just don't have any ideas for lads, that's the main thing. For a lot of these, I do like to leave it up to the reader's imagination what happens next. So, to aid that feeling, I may well write a few outcomes of this, so that it's ambiguous. Maybe it went this way or that. Maybe there are some subtleties that I missed that the reader can fill in( hint, hint). Maybe there's another possibility that would end with more cute things, or more intrigue, or darn near anything. Maybe there's something that I've missed. Who ever could tell, huh?

I really am having trouble with ideas. And with motivation to play the games with characters in them. I like Borderlands and Borderlands 2, but I don't play them very often, because I have New Vegas, which I adore so much. But, I don't play New Vegas, because I have things to be doing at the same time, so I opt for more stable games that will allow me to Tab out without committing sudoku. These games end up being ones without important and wife-able characters, like Minecraft and The Sims. So, not much ever gets done, regarding this. I do try my best, and I want to be better. I just need to figure out how.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After being a Legion informant for a few months, the stage performer known as (Y/N), is certainly getting the hang of not acting suspiciously around NCRMPs and Securitrons. Well, practically everyone on the Strip, including her friends and co-workers in the Aces Theatre.

'It's not that big a secret, right?' (Y/N) thinks to herself as she strolls casually to the meeting spot. 'I'm not actively harming anyone. I'm just looking and reporting what I see.' These rationalisations and justifications bring little comfort to her.

She's usually this way, as she makes her way to a run-down shack a ways outside the Strip. Anxious and nervous, looking over her shoulder for someone to catch her and lock her away for being a traitor to the Strip and the NCR. To everyone. But all of that guilt and worry seems to fade away when her gaze settles on the reason that she's out there. The reason that any of this informant nonsense began.

And there he is. Mr. Fox. Or, to anyone in the know, Vulpes Inculta.

"Ah, there she is, my little songbird. I've been waiting for you, you know." He coos, overdramatic in his affection, trying to get (Y/N) to laugh and break character. Even if there aren't many people around, the two always keep up the act until they're inside, and certain that there are no prying eyes and curious ears.

"Yes, dear, you're always like this. You know that I'm late back because I go to work. I'm not here as soon as my shift is up, I still have to walk it." (Y/N) often takes on the role of a realistic and occasionally sarcastic, but ever so lovestruck, working woman.

"Well, now that that late work nonsense of yours is all done with, why don't we come in. Make ourselves a little bit more comforable. In eachother's arms, perhaps."

"Cheeky."

Sneakily glancing around once more, (Y/N) steps through the doorway, that 'Mr. Fox' is ever so kindly holding open for her.

When this shack was initially decided upon for the meeting place for relaying picked up information, it was a lot more grotty and dank. With the time that the couple have spent there, so as to not look suspicious by being in and out over the course of fifteen minutes, they've done a remarkable job of making it somewhat livable. Just owned-looking enough that squatters might worry about getting found by some irate landowner.

The past few meetings, the two have had nothing glaring to fix or improve in the shack, so they've spent an awful lot of time together. 'Practising their act,' is what they call it. Neither one of them is brave or foolish enough to say to the other all of the things that they might say without giving some excuse as to why it's insincere.