#agent charmer

[felassanis]

Charmer

"Well, if it isn't the Railroad's secret weapon,"

[eeveevie]

a slower pace

Deacon hardly thought he’d ever end up  in this type of conundrum ever again in his lifetime. And that’s how he ended up there, flat on his back in the bed, pondering to himself the day’s events, drowning in his feelings.  

x - x

@rhetoricalrogue​ prompted me for “talking about (but not having) sex” and this happened. Set immediately after Dirty Wastelander Phrasebook. All I can say is self-indulgent 2020 and my use of Saoirse Ronan gifs for mads continues.

Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer) 

1985 words (under a cut) | Ao3

Charmer had kissed him.

Kissed him. Full on the mouth, kissed him—and Deacon liked it. No, he loved it. Oh, that was a dangerous word to throw around, sure, but between feeling so damn touch-starved the last several years and his own developing feelings for the woman, it was undeniable. He felt stupid, clumsy, dumbstruck—a hormonal teenager all over again—and it was all because of her. It was surprisingly a great feeling. Better than his usual sad-clown mentality. A ray of fucking sunshine, all wrapped up into one sweet kiss.  

It was all Deacon could think about on the walk from Mass Bay to Goodneighbor, the two snickering about their victory against the Gunners, counting off their various injuries and playfully bickering over who would have to write the formal report to Desdemona. All while tiptoeing—literally and physically—around the obvious. Their hands would brush, knowing smiles exchanged, but nothing more.

In Goodneighbor, Doctor Amari was less than pleased when she saw two of the Railroad’s finest stumble into her basement clinic of the Memory Den. Despite her flustering, she was more than eager to help the two with their wounds, tending to Charmer first while Deacon loitered nearby. He kept a watchful eye on his partner, smiling to himself when she flashed him a wink.

“Nothing he hasn’t seen before,” she joked when Amari prompted to unbutton her shirt, exposing a few lacerations as well as her bra.

He shrugged. “I like the polka-dotted one better.”

The good doctor only groaned, quickening her pace, ensuring she could shoo the two away as soon as possible. Deacon had made it out of the Gunner’s captivity relatively unscathed, besides the thump to his head that would likely linger into the morning. As soon as the two had the all clear, they were on their way to the Rexford, grabbing their regular key from Clair.

Whatever exciting energy that had been sparking between the two seemed to fizzle out the moment they crossed the threshold of the small, third story room. Deacon didn’t want to acknowledge it, but he certainly felt it, and noticed the way Charmer took a long glance between him and the bed. They had shared cramped spaces before in their travels—hell—they had shared this very room on more than one occasion. But something had certainly shifted in their dynamic.

“I’m going to change,” she remarked, grabbing her pack from his hand. She disappeared into the tiny washroom, giving him the opportunity to shed his own clothes, frowning at the blood and grime collected from their brief imprisonment. At least his underwear was clean.

He shifted through the various disguises in his bag for a clean t-shirt, packing away his trusty wig in the process. He looked at the slightly ajar door separating him from Charmer and thought about cracking some kind of wise joke—for once he refrained. Instead, he crawled onto the far side of the bed, fluffing up one of the pillows beneath his head. Not a moment later, Charmer emerged from the other room, now dressed in a loose shirt and cloth shorts. She kneeled down onto the mattress and paused.

For a fleeting moment, Deacon could have sworn she was going to make another go at him—he wouldn’t have minded—but then all she did was slide swiftly beneath the covers, whispering a soft goodnight as she settled on her side, facing away from him. It was all…very awkward. More awkward than he would’ve ever anticipated a situation like this unfolding. But hey—he didn’t think he’d ever end up in this type of conundrum ever again in his lifetime. And that’s how he ended up there, flat on his back in the bed, pondering to himself the day’s events, drowning in his feelings.  

He wondered, briefly, if his inner monologue could be heard when he felt her shift.

“Deacon?”

“Hmm?”

He opened his eyes—not that she could’ve known with his shades—to find her leaning over him, dirty blonde hair tickling his cheeks, lips ghosting across his. He barely had enough time to react as she kissed him—again—leaving him feeling dumbfounded at how easily she’d caught him off guard twice. Couldn’t she have let him take the lead at least once? Her tongue dancing against his diverted his thoughts rather quickly. Invigorated, he tugged her closer, hissing back a groan when her hips landed against his, instantly causing a delightful friction.

All those emotions from before come flooding back—like a sharp inhale of the purest Jet—and Deacon couldn’t fight the smile that pulled at his lips. Charmer was smiling too as she kissed him, hands framing his face as if to keep him still. It wouldn’t do—he wanted a turn at the proverbial wheel. Ensuring his grip on her was steady, he swapped their positions, swallowing her startled yelp as he pinned her against the mattress. It didn’t take long for her to tug him back into place, one leg hooking around his thigh, both arms draped across his shoulders as their kiss intensified.

He touched her, one hand caressing up and down her side before sneaking up her front, cupping her breast through her shirt. To think, there was a sweeter sound than Charmer’s laughter—her moans—he wanted to hear more of that, by any means necessary. Her own hands were tugging at the hem of his shirt until one disappeared beneath the fabric, sliding across the heated skin of his abdomen and up his chest, circling around to his back. It was a simple thing really—just a touch—but it was electrifying coming from her.

Charmer seemed all too pleased to continue to kiss, to make-out, and as exciting as it was for Deacon, a sharp nagging voice in his head suddenly came ringing through. Shouldn’t they be recovering from their injuries? Wasn’t it just…like supremely awkward in here not only five minutes before? He broke away for a sharp inhale of breath and noticed the tiniest, most hesitant glimmer shining in her eyes. He knew it was probably nerves—hell, he’d be nervous too about making it to second base (if you could even call it that) with somebody after 200 years.

For her own benefit, or maybe for his, he pulled away, resting most of his weight on one arm as he hovered over her. Charmer blinked up at him, obviously confused, panting as she caught her breath. The last thing he wanted was to alarm her. He brushed back the tousled hair from her brow, letting his fingers linger along her temple.

“We can take this slow, you know.”

Her lips curled into a shaky smile. “I know.”

“We don’t have to do anything…tonight,” he assured in a low voice. She skewed her mouth to the side, even more perplexed than before. She didn’t respond right away, her blue eyes dancing across his face.

“Are you saying you don’t want me?” Charmer’s blunt question coupled with a small frown had him shaking his head with a soft laugh.

“I’m not—Jesus, Charmer, I think it’s pretty obvious that I want you.”

Her face flushed with color when she realized. “Oh. That’s good.”

He chuckled some more, endeared by her bashfulness. Who would’ve known? “I just—” he stroked the side of her face, wanting it to come out right. “We should talk this through, ya know?”

She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes for a long second before nodding. “Right. Okay.”

Charmer first rolled onto her side to face him, propping her head and tucking her hands beneath her pillow. Deacon followed suit, allowing for a little bit of space between them—they could use some cooling down after that little escapade. Despite the reprieve, she was offering this soft, encouraging smile, allowing him to find the words he wanted to say.

“What I told you about Barbara wasn’t a lie.”

It dawned on Charmer that it was that kind of conversation, her features settling. “I know,” she whispered. “I never doubted that.”

Of course she didn’t.

“I never thought—” he mimicked her smile, sighing. “That there’d be anybody else.”

She nodded, coy expression returning to her face. “Neither did I.”

Deacon reached over and she met him halfway, linking their hands. He knew Charmer had a similar background—a dead spouse, of all things—and he knew only a few traits about the late Nathaniel James. But the one thing he did know was that Mr. James was one lucky man. Somehow, that luck had passed to him.

“I think that’s enough touchy-feely talk for one evening,” he softly laughed, squeezing her hand.

She hummed in agreement. After a moment, he couldn’t help but notice the small, devious glimmer that flashed though her eyes. “What about…just plain ol’ touchy-feely?”

Oh, Charmer. He smirked. “Hmm?”

“From what little I could tell, you seem to be very good at it,” she giggled.

“Little?” Deacon feigned offense, leaning away. “I assure you, nothing about me is little.”

She shrugged, thumb brushing down along his wrist. “We didn’t really get that far.”

“You’ll be able to handle me all you want next time. Feel for yourself.”  

“You’re assuming there will be a next time?”

“I see the way you look at me,” he spoke. “I’m irresistible.”

“Maybe so,” she teased in return.

“Trust me sugar, when I get you under me again, the whole city is going to hear this mattress squeaking,” he waggled his eyebrows. He thought about the delectable way she had moaned when he had touched her and how it lit his skin aflame. “Amongst other noises.”

“Is that a promise, or a threat?” she asked, the excitement evident in her features.

“Both?”

Charmer seemed delighted by that, but also speechless. Deacon called that a win—and yet, neither of them made a move to continue their earlier session, despite the fact it was practically obvious how much they wanted to. His earlier words floated back into his mind—slow—they didn’t have to rush. And man, was that freeing.

“You know what I’m even better at?” he asked.

She raised a curious eyebrow. “Bragging?”

“Snuggling,” he yanked on her hand, snaking an arm around her waist as he pulled her close to his body. Charmer laughed against his shoulder, but quickly folded into his embrace, hands settling against his chest like she belonged there. “Don’t tell the others.”

She readjusted, tilting her head back on the pillow so she could see his face. After a prolonged moment of silence, she let out a soft chuckle, booping his nose in her own affectionate gesture. “Do you really sleep in your sunglasses?”

“Of course,” he lied. “You never noticed?”

She rolled her eyes, falling silent. Suddenly, Deacon’s heart was racing, but considering the day’s events, their conversation and the very likely direction their relationship was heading, he figured he owed her one hell of a gesture. Charmer watched as he pulled away the frames from his face, reaching over her shoulder to place them on the bedside table. When he glanced to meet her eyes—blue meeting his own for the first time—vulnerable was the last thing he felt.

With one of her hands resting on the side of his face, she leaned closer, guiding him into a softer, gentler kiss. It was so much more different than the first, or the second, but invigorating all the same—if she wanted to kiss him everyday for the rest of his life, he would die a happy man. Charmer kissed him and then she simply stared into his eyes, smiling like the eternal spot of daylight she was. That four-letter word echoed around in his brain again and he knew—he was done for—but he was hardly worried about his fate.  

Charmer—Madelyn—was worth it.

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[felassanis]

I was gone for a day and these bitches crossed my fucking name out

Deacon, where’s your faith buddy?

[eeveevie]

dirty wastelander phrasebook

Madelyn and Deacon find themselves in quite the predicament after being captured by Gunners and must rely on an old Railroad secret Deacon bullshit—the Dirty Wasteland Phrasebook.

For them, it was just a regular ol’ Tuesday.

x - x

This was so not prompted, and is completely self-indulgent and full of all the things I have always wanted to write for myself lately and that makes me the happiest. I hope you enjoy, even if you don’t go here. Also, if you aren’t familiar with Monty Python, please watch this sketch or a lot of the references made here will not make any sense. 

Deacon x Agent Charmer (Madelyn Hardy)

1713 words (under a cut) | Ao3

The last thing Madelyn expected to happen to her that Tuesday—was it a Tuesday? One could hardly tell anymore post apocalypse—was to be abducted. Stowed away in some dingy storage room with her hands behind her back, blindfolded by what was likely the most dust infested piece of cloth possible. At least Deacon was there with her—though she wasn’t so sure of that being a positive, considering their circumstances.

All she remembered was stalking Boston Commons, heading south towards the hospital—in hindsight a terrible idea. The entire street had been flooded with Gunners, crazed and ready to protect their territory from anybody who crossed into it. Deacon had been yelling, taunting them with his battle-cries as he ran towards them, Madelyn scrambling to reload her laser rifle as fast as she could. All for what? So they could scale the old medical center and install one of Tinker Tom’s sensors on the dilapidated roof? That would all be a tad difficult now—one gas grenade and rifle stock to the temple and it was lights out.

From what she could tell when she readjusted to the waking world, Deacon was tied to the opposite chair against her back, their chest, arms and wrists occupying the same binds. When she shifted, she felt him resist, tugging her a little too sharply so her spine hit the uncomfortable plastic backing of the seat she occupied.

“Ow,” she hissed. Matter of fact, everything in her body ached. One look at her Pip-Boy would likely tell her she was in desperate need of a stimpak and probably some RadAway too. That is, if she knew where her Pip-Boy was.

Deacon shifted, one of his fingers sneaking through the gap in the chairs to poke at her back. “Oh good, you’re alive.”

“I think I’d rather be dead,” Madelyn groaned, still wincing as she raised her head to get a better look at their surroundings. It was the standard ‘bad guy’ holding room—tools on a workbench, junk and trash, and the most awful lingering scent of flesh and blood.

“With a hit to the cranium like that, I’m surprised you aren’t,” he muttered. She felt his head tilt against hers with a gentle bump, a difficult task for him with their height difference, even when sitting and restrained. “You alright though Charmer?”

She sighed, pushing back in her own little gesture. “A massive headache but…yeah,” she smiled and despite it all, almost wanted to laugh. “Thanks Dee. Some shit we’ve found ourselves in, huh?”

He decided it was the perfect opportunity to chuckle. “I’ve been tied up under worse situations,” he stated. “Come to think of it, under much better ones too.”

The nearby door slammed open, two Gunners making their way in. A woman dressed in an old military jumpsuit, and a shirtless man with a bandolier strapped across his chest, the two clearly sent for guard duty.

“Oh will the two of you shut up?!” The one with the bandana shouted, clearly tweaking on some kind of drug—jet, psycho—Madelyn could see it in the wild way he was waving his plasma pistol around. But she also noted the glint of green on his wrist and narrowed her eyes—her Pip-Boy. Now she was alert and her blood got pumping.

Deacon couldn’t resist taunting the man, even though they were woefully unmatched. “Why don’t you make me?”

The male Gunner grumbled while the woman laughed. “Where’d that damn gag go?”

Madelyn stifled her own laughter, wondering if they had actually had to silence Deacon at some point—and if he had found a way to remove it even with his hands behind his back. “You’ll have to find a different way to gag me, big guy.”

“Fuck you!”

Deacon hummed. “Something like that.”

At that, she couldn’t resist and choked back a laugh, pursing her lips so the Gunners wouldn’t take out their frustration on her. Even though she couldn’t see him, she could tell Deacon was beaming. He curled a few of his fingers around hers as the Gunner guards began to pace.

“Come on man,” the rugged military woman urged the other man to back off. “The boss man wants these two alive for ransom. Something about this one,” she gestured to Madelyn. “Being valuable or sumthin’”

“What am I, canned cram?” Deacon mumbled under his breath. As the Gunners fussed over something frivolous, he squeezed his grip around her hand. “This is the part where we escape,” he spoke in a soft whisper, head craned towards her.

Madelyn turned but all she could see was the glimmer of his sunglasses out of the corner of her eyes. “Please enlighten me on how we are going to that.”

Deacon snickered as if she had just cracked a good joke—he seemed to find comfort in her dreary, cynical tone. “It’s time for us to use a Railroad classic. The Dirty Wastelander Phrasebook.”

Even though she knew that it is was more or less one of Deacon’s bullshit creations, she also knew it was sometimes best to humor him. She had learnt his ways, knowing that one day one of his lessons would come in handy—that Tuesday would be that day.

“Operation Cramalot?” she inquired, feeling him excitedly grip her hand. “Or do we want to skip the musical numbers this time?”

He was chuckling, shaking the both of them with his laughter. “Charmer, you know—”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by the male guard stomping over again with a snarl, smacking Deacon across the face with an echoing slap. After quickly rebounding, his only reaction was to stay amused, accentuating his words. “Do you have a cigarette? My hovercraft is full of eels.”

“What?” the Gunner growled. “The fuck you talkin’ about cigarettes for?”

While the woman in the corner howled, entertained by it all, Deacon took the time to nudge one of his fingers against the small of her back, signaling her. Madelyn focused her attention on the female Gunner, watching her every movement while she felt her partner nimbly pull at the cords at their wrists.

“Do you want to come back to my place?” Deacon asked, voice high-pitched and full of sarcasm. The restraints came looser still. “Bouncy-bouncy?”

The Gunner shook her head, holding her stomach as she continued to laugh. “I think the boss hit this one too hard—he’s lost it!”

Madelyn decided it was her turn. “If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?” she eyed the female guard, batting her eyelashes, knowing she was laying it on much thicker than she ever would—but at this point she was well aware the other woman was under some kind of influence and wouldn’t notice. Plus, she had a codename to live up to.

Deacon, meanwhile, had loosened their ties enough to the point that they could make their move, but they would need to time it right. He tapped her once more, this time finding the teeniest sliver of skin where her shirt had ridden up—that was definitely on purpose, the flirt. “You have beautiful thighs.”

Finally, the other Gunner moved towards them with her arms crossed, obviously suspicious of the two. Madelyn stayed focused, steadying her breath and responding to Deacon’s signal. “Drop your panties, Dee, I cannot wait till lunchtime.”

With that, the two jumped up, scream-laughing as they tackled their perspective guards to the ground, not stopping until the sound of energy blasts signified their gruesome ends. All in another day for a wastelander just trying to survive, Madelyn supposed. Though, she wasn’t just another wastelander, but dwelling too much on those thoughts never did her any good. Instead, she wiped the blood and sweat from her brow, sighing as she pushed herself up from the ground.

She turned around just in time to find Deacon already standing with a satisfied smile. “I believe this belongs to you?”

Madelyn was all too pleased as she snatched the Pip-Boy—her Pip-Boy from him, quickly securing it back into place on her left wrist. She dusted off the grime and dust from the screen, sighing when the mechanism recognized its true owner, swiftly alerting her to her many injuries and her location. At least they weren’t too far away from Goodneighbor where they could rest up and get proper medical attention.

“Please fondle my bum—am I using that one right?” she asked.  

Deacon chuckled, nodding as he readjusted his sunglasses and pompadour wig. “You do the Railroad—me proud Charmer. I could—”

She eyed him, tilting her head slightly at his pause. “You could…what?”

Come to think of it, he been cut off earlier too. But Deacon wasn’t that easy of a nut to crack and his smile hardly faltered. He gave a little inconspicuous shrug and she suddenly felt a surge of adrenaline and all sense of sensibility fly out the broken storage room windows. She could only hope she was reading the moment and perhaps his signals correctly.

Without much of a second thought, Madelyn reached out to grab him by the shirt collar, yanking him down and closing the distance between them. He was still smirking when their mouths met, lips threatening to stretch into a grin before they finally responded to her kiss instead. She slid one of her hands and hooked it around his shoulder, bracing herself against him as his arms wrapped around her waist, the two clumsily bumping into the nearest wall.

Only then did she pull away with a small gasp of air, staring up at him in surprise—she had acted on impulse, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t wanted to do that, been thinking about doing that for months. They were still staring at each other with somewhat agape expressions, tangled in each other’s arms when he breathed out, the goofiest smile on his lips.

“My nipples explode with delight!” Deacon exclaimed—not quite using the handbook phrase correctly.

Madelyn snickered, tears of laughter prickling at the corners of her eyes at the hilarity of it all before pressing up on her toes so that she might kiss him again. “I figured you might say that.”

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[eeveevie]

nowhere else to be

Charmer was always cold, always tired, and despite Deacon’s best efforts to make her laugh, there was a certain kind of sadness to her eyes. He knew she missed her old life, missed her husband, her child—but he couldn’t, and would never blame her.

x-x

I just wanted to write something fluffy and cute and in Dee’s POV. Also I used Mads’ face claim for the GIF source because it makes me happy. Anyways. Self-Indulgent 2020 continues. 

Deacon x Agent Charmer (Madelyn Hardy)

919 words (under a cut) | Ao3

Dust. It was the one—okay—one million of the tiny, microscopic reasons why Deacon hated the Wasteland. The shit was everywhere—on the floor of every building, caked onto the ceilings and if you were really lucky, the stuff would blow into your face and nostrils every time you opened a door. It hardly mattered how tidy he tried to keep the space within Railroad HQ, though it would defeat the purpose of having a secret underground bunker if everything was old-world spotless.

The Old North Church was particularly dusty. Hell, sometimes Deacon thought it was one rad storm away from toppling over. But it had been standing for over five-hundred years now, had withstood the atom bombs dropping in 2077 and a nasty ghoul infestation—at least until the survivors from the Switchboard cleared it out. Despite the filth, he liked to patrol the catacombs when the spread of jobs was low—so far, Drummer Boy had yet to bring him or Charmer news of a dead-drop.

Charmer—that peaked Deacon’s interest instantly, turning mid-step so he could walk through the church tunnels. He knew she wasn’t in the headquarters proper—too loud, or too quiet—at this time of night, she wouldn’t be outside the building either, especially alone. He hardly doubted she would’ve been able to slip away without him noticing. Not that he was stalking her or anything—but even before they had officially partnered up, he had a keen sense of her whereabouts at any given time. There was a little bit of comfort in knowing she was safe, though he wasn’t going to admit that to anybody, especially Charmer. Not yet anyways.

He saw the faint glow of her Pip-Boy about the same time he heard her shift from the upper pews. What she was doing up there, he couldn’t say, but she seemed to notice his appearance too, head peeking over the edge to look at him. “Oh hey Deacon.”

He flinched, over-dramatizing his movements as he stared up at her. “Jesus, you scared the shit outta me, Charmer!”

“Yeah right,” she called his bluff, bent over the low wall with a smirk. “And what did I tell you about using the Lord’s name in vein?”

He laughed as he crossed through the tattered first floor seats, headed towards the back staircase when he realized she had made no move to come down. When he arrived on the second story, the floorboards creaked beneath his feet and he moved swiftly away from the edge, sitting down in the pew next to her.

He glanced down at the time on her wrist. “Can’t sleep?”

“Can’t sleep,” she confirmed with a nod, leaning back into her spot. “I’m starting to think I got all the sleep I’ll ever get in that damn vault.”

Deacon frowned, though he hid that from her when she glanced at him. He knew her struggles—had seen them firsthand in their travels over the last several months—even though she wasn’t always so keen on divulging every little trauma she was suffering through since waking up. She was always cold, always tired, and despite his best efforts to make her laugh, there was a certain kind of sadness to her eyes. He knew Charmer missed her old life, missed her husband, her child—but he couldn’t, and would never blame her.

He wanted to be a good partner, a good friend—more than friend? Shit, it was complicated. He wasn’t going to think about that right now. Instead he offered a small grin, patting his shoulder. “I make an excellent pillow.”

“Is it because you’re full of yourself?” she teased, still moving to rest her head against him.

Deacon let out a quiet chuckle, slightly adjusting the two so she was situated more comfortably against him. The light on Charmer’s Pip-Boy dimmed and Deacon thought about the last time he had sat in such comfortable silence with anybody. He was used to being by himself, it was easier that way, alone in his sniper perch until he spotted that blue vault suit crawling its way through Concord. When she exhaled, he glanced down at the top of her head.

“You asleep?” he asked, just above a whisper.

She snuggled closer against his shoulder, a few strands of her strawberry blonde hair catching against his mouth. “Mmmyes.”

“Oh,” he pulled the hairs away, tucking them back into place. “So you’re just talking in your sleep now?”

“I’ve always talked in my sleep,” she responded groggily, not bothering to open her eyes. Though, she did ever so slightly tilt her chin into his touch.

He softly laughed. “You should confess your deepest desires to me, this could be the perfect opportunity to blame it on your loose lips.”

Charmer hummed in thought, taking a little bit longer to reply. She placed her hand against his chest and sighed. “I want…chocolate.”

Deacon made a mental note of that, wrapping his arm around her to tuck her closer as her breathing evened out, body going still against him. It was a more than welcome weight, and a much-needed comfort. He hesitated, not wanting to wake her as he tilted his head against hers, taking a selfish moment to inhale the sweet scent of her.

“Asleep now?”

Charmer didn’t respond. Good, he thought. There were worse places to fall asleep in the Wasteland—less dusty ones of course. But in that moment, Deacon couldn’t think of any better place to be but there.

x - x

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[railroads-and-ratways]

Clover at Home

[railroads-and-ratways]

Vantage Point

[railroads-and-ratways]

Commission of “Agent Charmer”/Clover by the very talented zoeragez!