#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels
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20 OTP Questions
Thank you @adventuresofmeghatron for tagging me :D
I’m going to tag @falloutglow , @its-sixxers , @rhetoricalrogue , @lechatrouge673 , @courier-sux and anyone who feels fancy //// going against the grain and talking about the babes that have been on my mind a lot thanks to Noir AU
Madelyn & Deacon
(this screenshot still amuses me to no end)
1. Who can out-drink the other?
Mads, on account of that healthy, pre-war Irish liver. She can drink anybody under the table. Except for maybe Hancock. (Or Nick, since he’s a synth)
2. Who says “i love you” more?
Madelyn. Once she gets around to saying it, that is. She’s not one to be shy about her love, and thinks it is important to let it be known (physically and verbally) as much as possibly. She doesn’t always need it to be said back, because she knows, and it does well enough for her to see the little changes in Deacon’s expression when she says it.
3. Who has trouble sleeping alone?
Madelyn has trouble sleeping in general, so if she’s alone, it’s tenfold. That started well before she met Deacon, or even woke up from being a popsicle. It gets a little easier after she settles down (away from the haunted hell she considers Sanctuary), and fills her home with things that bring her comfort, including trinkets that remind her of that sneaky spy.
4. Who swears more?
Mads, in privacy, because she’s still got her sweet housewife mentality that says “don’t curse like a sailor in public”. But good lord, that woman has quite the mouth. Otherwise, it’s Deacon
5. Who does more of the housework?
Codsworth? 🤣
Okay, Madelyn. Like mentioned above, she’s still got that housewife mentality. Sometimes it drives her to keep up appearances and “play house”, collecting as much pre-war memorabilia she can so her house feels as close to home as possible.
She does make Deacon cook though. Please don’t make Madelyn cook. D:
6. Who forgets their anniversary?
Both, on purpose. They figure it’s mostly important to focus on the fact that they are together and not on a specific date that it came to be. Plus, when they had this discussion, it almost spiraled into a disagreement over when it would’ve been. When Mads joined the Railroad? When they first kissed? When they first slept together? When Deacon first started stalking her around the Commonwealth? Yeah it’s a little complicated.
7. Who steals the duvet in their sleep?
Madelyn, and Deacon is happy to let her, because if she’s fallen asleep, that’s a good sign. She deserves to be comfortable, even if that means he has to suffer without a blanket.
8. Who keeps the other awake at night with their snoring?
See above: Madelyn is usually already awake. If she is asleep, she has these tiny little sigh-snores that are good for keeping Deacon awake if he’s on watch...otherwise, sometimes it’s a little tricky for him to fall asleep unless he tricks himself to focus on something else or rolls her head a different way so the noise stops.
9. Who finds stray animals and begs the other to let them keep them?
Considering Madelyn already had Dogmeat when she met Deacon, this should be a dead giveaway. Though, this eventually leads to her wanting to adopt every stray kitten they stumble across. Deacon eventually comes up with the compromise to transport said kittens to nearby settlements--one even ends up with Tinker Tom, though she makes him promise that he won’t run any experiments on it, or there would be hell to pay.
10. Who usually makes dinner?
Deacon, because Madelyn will not. She’s pretty stubborn about that. She was never a good cook before the bombs, and now that most ingredients are questionably irradiated, she doesn’t even want to try and figure it out (lest she accidentally kill one of them). She’ll bake, though, and use her well-earned caps to purchase ingredients.
11. Who plays their music out loud?
Madelyn. She really likes music and dancing, so she takes advantage of the times when she can play her music freely without the danger of raiders/animals finding them. Not very covert of her, but Deacon has always found it endearing.
12. Who hogs the bathroom?
Mads. If there is running water, at least, so she can take a long shower or bath. Otherwise, she’s stopped being as high-maintenance as she used to be pre-war, and doesn’t need the bathroom for hours on end to preen in the mirror to prefect her curls/makeup.
13. Who gives the most compliments?
Madelyn; see above comment about saying “I love you”. She isn’t afraid to express herself, or sprinkle (or shower) somebody in praise, especially if they are deserving of them. (Read: Deacon really deserves some compliments).
14. Who usually starts/causes arguments between them?
Even before they were romantically connected, Deacon has had a stick up his ass about Mads’ work with the Minutemen, which he’s eventually come around to as the climate in the Commonwealth has only gotten worse (considering they end up being one of the only people left that can help her after she burns her only way into the Institute).
15. Who isn’t afraid to embarrass the other in public?
Obvious answer is obvious. I sometimes feel like if Deacon and Mads weren’t constantly working Railroad ops (or other jobs for the Minutemen), he’d be walking around like this.
16. Who gives the other cringe-worthy pet names?
Madelyn’s codename may be Charmer, but that doesn’t stop Deacon from coming up with a litany of in-joke names to call her, including references to pre-war media. (But never anything close to her name, that’s reserved for special occasions only). She is more traditional with her pet-names, only because she knows she can’t compete with his creativity.
17. Who fusses over the other when they get sick?
Madelyn is more fussy (call it motherly instinct), but Deacon doesn’t let her fuss too much, unless he’s really out of sorts (like injured, and not necessarily sick). Deacon’s fretting is a silent one, all furrowed brows and pouting as he rushes around to make sure Madelyn has everything she needs: pillows, tea, blankets, warm soup and some sweets.
18. Who finds it impossible to stay angry at the other for long?
Deacon, which he finds frustrating. Madelyn is stubborn, she’ll pout forever, if she had the chance. When they have arguments or spats, they’ll run off to their perspective corners (or rush off to different settlements if it’s that bad), but after stewing about, he’s always the first one to go looking for her. Madelyn will apologize if she knows she’s done something she knows is her fault, but he’s always the first to stop being upset about a situation first to ease the tension.
19. Who clings to the other for comfort when they’re sad or scared?
Madelyn; see below. Touch is her love language, so she typically needs this kind of comfort even when she’s feeling the complete opposite. She doesn’t need a lecture (she’ll ask for advice if she does), she just needs silence and warm compassion.
20. Who is more ‘physically passionate’? (hugs, kisses, or maybe more…)
Deacon, once he realizes that Madelyn is super receptive to touch (and prefers it more than anything else). As well as he communicates through words (see crafts, and lies), he’s much better at communicating and being honest through touch, and can get his point across in these acts of passion.
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something borrowed
From this prompt list: “Is that my shirt?”
I went back to some roots with Mads and Deeks, as I haven’t written for them outside of Noir AU in a hot minute. Even though I went Pre-Relationship, I gave Deacon googley-perv-eyes. 👀
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
1236 words | [read on Ao3]
“You look like shit.”
Caretaker at Taffington Boathouse had met Deacon and Charmer at the gate as he saw them approaching over the hill from the north. The two were covered in grime and blood, having just saved Amelia Stockton from the psychological nightmare that was the Covenant Compound. They had shot their way out through wave after wave of crazed guards before crawling back through the sewer system and into a rad-storm. Neither wanted to step foot in the creepy little suburban settlement—even if it had been abandoned—so they made the brisk run south to Mercer safehouse.
The boathouse had only recently been converted, with Caretaker the only soul on-site, unless you counted the array of idling turrets. Charmer had sent a few of her Minutemen through to patch-up the home too—well, as best as one could renovate with limited supplies. At least the roof didn’t leak, and there was running, purified water.
“You should see the other guy,” Deacon joked lamely in reply. The geiger counter on Charmer’s Pip-Boy crackled and she shot the two an exhausted look before continuing along the path, hauling their pack with her as she went. As she disappeared into the homestead, the first sprinkle of rain descended from the sky. She was usually much more chipper, but Deacon gave her pass considering the circumstances.
Caretaker silently gestured to follow, uncaring about the storm as he leisurely walked back to the boathouse, carefully wiping his boots on the doormat before entering. Deacon smiled to himself but repeated the action, even if he still tracked a line of mud and water through the foyer and into the kitchen. The upstairs floorboards creaked and soon enough there was the sound of running water indicating Charmer was taking full advantage of the amenities.
Deacon loitered downstairs, passed the time by cleaning his rifle, giving his partner the privacy she needed—even if he was also in desperate need of a bath. Or at least a change of clothes. For now he could get by on waiting downstairs, staring out the bay window as the sickly green hue in the sky darkened with thunder and lightning. So, they’d likely be spending the night there—no skin off his nose. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept in a proper bed, and with Caretaker and the other safehouse defenses, him and Charmer wouldn’t have to swap off for guard duty. Deacon wondered if he even had it in him to sleep comfortably, or without one eye open.
When he heard the water draining and the floorboards creaking again, he waited an additional five minutes before making his way upstairs with a silent nod to Caretaker, one that was hardly reciprocated. The second floor had several beds to chose from on the landing, but the wall and door to the bedroom and bathroom had been repaired for structural integrity.
“Knock, knock,” Deacon greeted as he pushed open the partially closed door only to stall in the doorway.
Charmer was standing at the foot of the bed, rummaging through the duffle bag of belongings perched on the edge of the mattress. Her hair was damp, little droplets of water collecting on the ends of wavy golden strands while others stuck to her cheek and neck. The wild urge to brush them away from her face passed through his brain before he blinked hard, focusing on something else. That something else just happened to be what she was wearing—a clean, white button-up shirt—too big in the shoulders that it exposed one bra strap but long enough that he couldn’t tell what she was wearing beneath. Deacon stared for too long at her legs, the back of her thighs, focusing on a little birthmark on her right knee before snapping his gaze back to her face. She had wiped it clean of all the blood and dirt and with it went her makeup—and yet she looked refreshed, not like she had just killed her way out of an underground bunker.
He gulped down the burning sensation in his chest. “Is that my shirt?”
She hummed, peeking over her shoulder at him. Like a goddamn vision. “You’re the one with all the extra disguises, taking up valuable real-estate in our pack. I didn’t have anything else to change into.”
Deacon let out a meek laugh, clearing his throat to cover the awkward sound. Charmer quirked a brow at him, but if she had caught the slip, she had decided not to call him out on it. He stepped further into the room, thankful that his shades hid the fact he couldn’t stop staring at the way his shirt was draped across her frame. If she leaned any further over the end of the bed, he’d get decent view of her ass—lewder thoughts crossed his mind in rapid succession—the color of her panties, what she’d look like bent over the end of the mattress, and what kind of sounds he could elicit if he got his hands on her—under his shirt.
He bit the inside of his cheek, reminding himself that this was his partner—this was Charmer. Beautiful woman she might be, he couldn’t afford to be having those kinds of thoughts about her, even if she was making it extremely difficult at the moment.
“Deacon?” she called, peering at him again as she paused from whatever she was doing. “Did the Rads fry your brain?”
“’Fraid so, you’ll have to carry my brain-dead body back to HQ,” he teased.
Charmer huffed, playing along as she rested her hands on her hips. It only shifted the shirt in more tantalizing ways, and he let out a breath through his nose. “You’ll never fit in the pack between the slinky dress and Triggerman outfit,” she sighed. “I’ll have to just bury you out back with the bloatflies.”
He laughed but soon enough she was gesturing him to come closer, which he obliged, even if he was temporarily confused. “I’ll take care of your gun.”
Innuendo? Deacon raised his eyebrows, a little flicker of excitement dying the moment she eyed the rifle slung over his shoulders. Oh. Right. He chuckled some more to ease the tension only he was feeling. Swiftly he swung the weapon around and passed it off to her, allowing for their hands to graze.
“Be gentle, she needs a lover’s touch.”
Charmer smirked, inching just that much closer. “Deacon?”
“Yeah?” Now he was perplexed—as much as he could allow himself to be in any given situation. What was she doing? He dropped his eyes for a moment to the exposed skin of her neck and collar, glancing over what little of her bra he could see. Her smirk increased as if she could tell he was looking, and he hoped he wasn’t blushing—his reputation would never recover.
A more amused smile took over her features.
“You smell like wet dog,” she softly laughed, gently pushing him away with one hand to his chest. She was warm. “Worse than Dogmeat. Please, take a bath, for both our sakes.”
The spell was broken, at least momentarily, and for that, Deacon was grateful. “You’re the boss, Charmer,” he agreed, already walking towards the bathroom. It was time to run a cold bath and try not to think about his partner in the other room, dressed in his shirt.
#fallout 4#deacon x f!solesurvivor#deacon#madelyn hardy#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#I mean a half wet Mads in a white t-shirt?#Deacon is strong man to resist#fanfic#i did write this while giggly from my edible so uhhh
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Keith/Lance
How do much do I ship it?
Never heard of it/ Notp / Dislike / used to ship / maybe / ship it / aww / otp / IS IT CANON YET?
What non sexual activities do they like to do together?
- Swimming in the pool after they finally figured out how it worked.- Looking out at the stars from a Hidden Room Lance found that one time he was exploring.- Teaching each other how to swear and insult other people in Spanish and Korean.- Teaching the other a phrase they say means something like, “Where is the bathroom?” but they’re actually saying something closer to: “I have a huge tuna.” (Lance has taught Keith to say “My hovercraft is full of eels” and Keith thinks it’s asking for directions.)- Two Truths and a Lie game- Lance listening to Keith talk about conspiracy theories and very seriously questioning his thoughts and ideas, mostly because he thinks it’s super cute when Keith gets serious and rants, and also because it makes Keith Talk and Emotion. (Also to troll.)- So many more things but there’s some cute ones.
Who does chores around the house?
Probably Lance, honestly. He’s probably used to it. But he’s making Keith learn how to do it all.
Who’s the better cook?
Lance. Keith is learning.
Who’s the funniest drunk?
Keith, surprisingly. He gets extra cuddly too.
Do they have kids?
They adopted a little boy (human) and also adopted a little girl they came across on a mission. (Galra.)
Do they have any traditions?
...well damn, I never thought about this one. UHHHH...
Star Wars movie marathon on May 4th.
What do they fight about?
What DON’T these two fight about? But it’s always resolved in a healthy way and most of it is just done to push the other’s buttons at this point.
What would they do if they found their paring tag on tumblr? (If they have one)
Keith would probably be embarrassed as hell. I bet Lance would find it hilarious.
Who cried at the end of Marley and me?
Both of them did. Shiro has proof.
Who always wins at Mario kart?
Pidge and Matt.
One thing I like about this ship?
EVERYTHING???
One thing I don’t like about the ship?
Honestly, the Klance fanbase disappoints me a lot, but that’s not specific to Klance, really. It happens in SO many ship fandoms and I can’t stand how some people treat each other. It’s ridiculous.
The song I would say fits them?
Saltwater Room by Owl City. (Also Stereo Hearts by Gym Class Heroes ft. Adam Levine.)
Another headcanon about the paring?
Even after he started dating Keith, Lance kept flirting with people the same way he always has. Mostly because he’s just a friendly guy. It was always finger guns and playful flirting. Lots of times people ask Keith why he doesn’t get upset, and he says he doesn’t care because he trusts Lance and knows it would never go beyond silly and terrible pick-up lines. He knows Lance loves him and that they’re a thing.
Also he enjoys seeing Lance’s Epic Fails when he tries.
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sentimental
From this prompt list: “The thought of losing you scares me.”
A classic “Mads and Deeks in a church” with a sprinkling of Shakespeare, religious overtones, angst, and comfort. *chefs kiss* I miss writing these two outside of Noir AU. Sorry this took a little while, but thank you for the prompt. @glowstickia
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
987 words | [read on Ao3]
There was a certain kind of peaceful calm that settled over the Old North Church after sunset that Madelyn appreciated. While elsewhere in the Commonwealth, nighttime usually signified the appearance of raiders and radioactive wildlife, but in that little haven of North End, all was quiet. The conditions didn’t do anything to help her fall asleep at a reasonable time, however—not that she ever did.
Her Pip-Boy rang out in a soft chime that signaled it was midnight, prompting her to stop her patrol around the building and head back inside. Regardless of how she felt, she needed to force herself to rest. In the morning, the Railroad would be putting Tinker Tom’s engineering to the test when they used the courser chip and transporter he built to send her (hopefully) into the Institute. Madelyn was still trying to wrap her head around the possibility that in a handful of hours, she could be face-to-face with her son. She’d also come to terms with the reality that the Institute could just as well kill her on sight, or worse, replace her with a synthetic lookalike. Instead of dwelling on the fears, she put on a brave face and focused on the assignment—the Railroad were counting on her success.
“But soft! What light through yonder window breaks?”
She tilted her head up to find Deacon in the upper pews—a favored spot of theirs—leaning over the edge to look down at her. Madelyn smiled, pausing in her path towards the stairway that led towards the catacombs.
“Shouldn’t I be on the balcony?” she asked, softly laughing at his shrug.
“Same sentiment.”
Madelyn didn’t have nearly as much Shakespeare memorized as he did, but decided she was better off climbing the stairs to join him than butcher a soliloquy on the ground floor of the church. Deacon watched her movements the entire time, even as she sat down on the wooden bench beside him.
“It is my lady,” he continued the joke.
Having spent the better portion of the last several months as his side, she’d become perceptive to his deflections—he was hiding something. Then again, when wasn’t he? Even after breaking past his defenses as their romance blossomed, there were secrets to keep, lies to be told. Madelyn never took it personally, knowing that beyond the façade, they were both incredibly fragile and emotional individuals who needed time. Rather than interrogate him, she found comfort in the amiable silence that blanketed them, resting her head against his shoulder as he grasped her hand to lace their fingers. It didn’t matter to her how long they sat there, watching his thumb brush over her knuckles, but as the minutes dragged on she couldn’t help herself from asking.
“What are you thinking about?”
Deacon sighed, breath tickling across her temple as he nuzzled the top of her head with his nose. “You don’t want to know.”
There wasn’t a trace of humor or lewd suggestion to his words, which concerned her. She tilted her head back just enough to confirm his lips were in a taught line, not quite a pout, brows furrowed. Even though they were alone, he hadn’t removed his shades and she had the overwhelming desire to see the stormy blue color of his eyes. But maybe he had left them covered for a good reason.
Madelyn frowned. “What is it?”
“The thought of losing you scares me.”
Finally, a truth. Hard to admit, she was sure, but she’d heard confessions from him before that held significant emotional weight. It wasn’t until she realized the context how poignant this one was. The Institute—her assignment. Up until now, they had run Railroad missions together. Even when she became sidetracked (as he put it), assisting the Minutemen, he was there as her constant companion, partner and friend. Except now, their dynamic had shifted. Now, there were strings attached. More than stolen kisses in rainy Goodneighbor alleys, she had told him she loved him. In a few hours she would be cutting those strings and leaving him behind, traveling into the unknown. Was it any wonder he felt this way?
There weren’t any words Madelyn could speak to comfort him. She wasn’t about to offer up hollow promises guaranteeing her safety, but those would only lead to disappointment if she never returned. Another lesson on old-world Catholicism came to mind—she’d given him plenty since they met, and she would give him another tonight.
“Votive candle,” she said quietly, watching as his expression turned curious. With her free hand, she gestured to the first floor. “They were set up in the church for people to light in prayer for themselves or others.”
Deacon nodded but remained silent. Madelyn raised her gaze to his shielded eyes. “I know we aren’t the praying type, but maybe you can leave one burning for me, while I’m away.”
“Yeah,” he answered in a breath. “I’ll do that.”
With nothing left to say, she rested her hand on his cheek, tilting her chin up just enough so she could kiss him. There was desperation behind the soft, chaste contact and yet neither made to increase the pressure for several passing seconds. Deacon shifted first, warm hand angling her head to allow him better access as he dipped his tongue past her lips. They remained slow and measured, but she could feel a thousand pleas being whispered to her as they kissed, his fingers grasping tightly as they threaded through her golden waves.
Slowly they broke away, resting their heads together and she inched closer to brush her nose against his, silently reminding him in her own way of how she felt. She wasn’t about to tarnish the moment with words, regardless of how heartfelt they were. Her Pip-Boy alerted them to the passing hour, and she knew she couldn’t stay there with him forever.
Madelyn wished they had more time.
#fallout 4#deacon x f!solesurvivor#deacon#madelyn hardy#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#soft moments for these two slay me still so this was fun#fanfic
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distractions
Deacon wakes up injured and confused after the Institute attack on the Castle. Good thing Madelyn is there to care for him, in more ways than one.
A/N: @gingerbreton prompted from this list and I... got very, very carried away. Merged it with an idea I had for another lingering prompt/idea. Obviously there is sexual content here. Yay!
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
4150 words (Under a cut for length and naughty-naughty) | Ao3
Deacon was an idiot.
But he knew that already. Had known that for years, not like it was a startling revelation that needed to come to him upon first waking up. And yet, that was the first clear thought he had when he regained consciousness—that he was a bona fide idiot.
Okay brain, but why?
He figured the best, first thing to do was to open his eyes and move but curiously, his limbs felt heavy and there was a lingering, metallic taste on his tongue—had he been drugged? Wouldn’t be the first time. His chest tightened in fear momentarily, thinking of Charmer and her safety. If he was indisposed, where was she? He groaned, trying to shift against the dull ache that radiated through his body, keeping him frozen.
“Oh no you don’t,” Charmer’s exasperated voice echoed nearby, close enough that whatever imagined worry had begun to stir in his mind instantly dissipated.
He fluttered open his eyes, wincing at the overhanging light. It was dim, but still too damn bright, especially without his shades. Instead, he glanced to look at her as she sat down on the edge of the bed he occupied. He wasn’t sure what he was protesting, but he wanted to speak, so he did. “Hmm yes I do.”
Charmer gave him an uncharacteristically stern look, one that brought back his earlier panic, or at least some concern. “Do you even remember what happened?” she asked in a whisper, and his heart stilled at the misty look in her eyes—she had been crying.
He awkwardly cleared his throat, grimacing at the pain created from his movements. “No?”
“Right. Okay,” she sighed, shifting so she could occupy more of the mattress, be closer to him. She leaned over, fluffing up the pillows under his head and shoulders, helping so he could sit up just a little, the blanket falling just enough for him to notice the mass of bandages covering various parts of his naked torso. Well—that explained a lot.
Charmer’s touch lingered along his shoulders, frown persistent as she continued to speak. “We were in the area when the distress call came over the Minutemen radio, barely made it to the Castle in time when Coursers and Gen-1 synths started relaying in.”
Bits and pieces of Deacon’s memory started to fall back into place, but it all seemed so hazy, like a wayward dream. Maybe he had a concussion, or whatever pain meds he’d likely been pumped full of had dulled everything away. He briefly remembered taking pop-shots from the Castle walls with some Minutemen, all while keeping a careful eye on their General in the courtyard below. She had stuck close to Preston near the radio tower, a goddamned force of nature with her laser rifle, firing in all directions. But the Institute’s teleportation relay gave the synths a clear advantage in the field.
“You pushed me and Preston out of the way of a grenade blast, shielded me from a Courser’s shot,” she hushed, tears threatening to spill over once again. It took a considerable amount of effort for him to lift one of his hands to rest on her waist, gripping the fabric of her faded green dress. “God, Deacon, there was so much blood, we—I—thought you were going to die right there in the middle of the fort.”
He swallowed the lump in his throat, unsure of what to say, or if he should say anything at all. “That bad?”
“Yes,” her voice broke harshly, blue eyes wild as she gazed at him, one of her hands quick to wipe at the tears falling down her cheeks. Deacon cursed the fact he couldn’t lift his injured arm fast enough to perform the task himself. “Most of the blood came from a flesh wound on your thigh, probably shrapnel from the grenade. We had to stitch you up, so you’ll have a decent scar.”
“You have another shrapnel wound on your hip, but it’s mostly superficial, it’ll heal faster than everything else,” she continued in a sober tone. Her hand drifted to rest cautiously on his bandaged right side. “Energy blast from that Courser. Thank God for Ballistic Weave or you’d have a gaping wound straight to your ribcage and guts,” she recoiled, blanched at the very mention. “More likely a pile of goo in the cornfield.”
“Don’t let Tinker Tom know you compared him to God,” Deacon breathed a joke, trying to cut the tension, biting his tongue when it didn’t land. He thought maybe he should’ve gone with ‘goo being better fertilizer’ but decided he’d rather not ruin the moment with a crude joke about his near-death. Charmer flashed a sympathetic expression, her fingers ghosting across the thick padding of gauze wrapped around his right shoulder.
“Through and through from a stray bullet. Ricochet in all the gunfire maybe, most likely friendly fire,” she explained, devastated to admit it. “Your shooting arm.”
Deacon hardly cared—he was alive, he would heal in time. If he never shot a rifle or a gun again, so be it. He still had all his appendages (that he was aware of—he really needed to lift the blanket to double check), and if his sense of humor was already back on the clock, well then—he was sure to be fine. Charmer was there, also alive, with no major injuries save for a few scrapes and bruises. They had survived, the Minutemen had survived, and the Institute were knocked down another peg. For some reason, it hardly felt like a victory.
“I’m sorry,” he exhaled.
“What?” she questioned, clearly surprised by his apology. He wasn’t always one to admit fault, unless he had royally fucked up. “Why?”
Deacon nodded, squeezing at her hip, all he could do to show some kind of comforting touch. “If I stayed where I was supposed to, where you needed me, this wouldn’t’ve happened.”
“You’re an idiot,” she sighed after a long pause. There it was—at least she finally offered the slightest glimmer of a smile, letting him know she wasn’t truly admonishing him. “Brave and resilient in the face of danger, but still—an idiot.”
He managed the best grin he could. “Your idiot,” he paused, wiggling his fingers along her waistline. “Do brave and resilient idiots get rewarded with fancy Minutemen medals or can I negotiate for something…else?”
“Deacon.” Now she was scolding him, even if she was smiling at his antics. She pushed at his chest, distancing herself. “You nearly die and all you can think about is sex?”
“I didn’t necessarily ask for that,” he replied with a smirk. “But now that you mention it.”
Charmer leaned closer again, eying him carefully before placing a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. She lingered, kissing him a few more times—delicately—like he could break at any moment. When she broke away, she brushed her nose against his. “All you’ll be getting is some more pain meds and a good night’s sleep.”
Deacon, stubbornly, thought otherwise. Her kisses were another stark reminder of life—sweet and gentle—and he wanted more. Much more. Perhaps too urgently, he tugged her closer, kissing her with more fervor, resisting the urge to grin when she eased against him, returning his kisses eagerly. It was so very easy to get lost in her, so he did—just focused on her lips, on her tongue, on her soft hand resting against his chest. He felt lightheaded, unsure if it was from breathlessness or his injuries, but didn’t want to pull away, not when she tasted so damn wonderful.
And then, something sharp jabbed into his arm, causing him to flinch. “Ow, ow, ow—needle!”
Charmer breathed a laugh, despite his painful reaction and he watched as she finished injecting the Med-X syringe she had snuck by while he was distracted by her mouth. He was a sucker for sure, but almost immediately he could feel the medicine doing its intended job, alleviating the pain he hadn’t realized was pulsing through him. He sunk back into the pillows, staring up at her as she offered a guilty expression.
“No fair.”
“You can thank me in the morning,” she insisted, moving to adjust him so he was lying flat, tucking the blanket back into place.
Before Deacon allowed himself to fully succumb to the darkness of sleep, he slowly blinked up at Charmer, and hoped his smile didn’t look too ridiculous. “Love you.”
She didn’t say anything in return, only smiled and brushed those soft fingers across his temple, down his cheek before sliding across to his nose in a gentle tap. He knew what it meant.
-x-x-x-
The next time Deacon woke up, the room was completely dark, save for the soft glow of Charmer’s Pip-Boy resting on the bedside table. Knowing his full catalogue of injuries, he felt considerably weirder—the aches and pain had subsided, but there was still a humming static in his bones that no amount of Med-X or Stimpaks could relieve. His lips and throat were also dry, but that was nothing a glass of water couldn’t fix. His brain still couldn’t digest what had occurred—maybe he had a concussion too, causing his denial. Some part of that squishy lobe in his skull wanted to believe that he’d wake up and none of this would’ve happened, that he and Charmer would still be surveying the coastline, cracking jokes about big boats.
Instead, he needed to face reality. He was at the Minutemen’s Castle, in the General’s private quarters, a little worse for wear, sure, but alive. Deacon stared up at the speckled ceiling, quietly thanking whatever guardian angel or saved up good karma had helped him out this time. In spite of his penchant for danger, he wasn’t quite ready to leave this retched Wasteland, not when he found a second chance with Charmer.
All he wanted was to desperately kiss her right then. Kiss her over and over until he couldn’t feel anything but her, drowning in her love and affection. Of course he wanted more—his dreams had brought some form of her to him in an attempt to satisfy the need, but it wasn’t the same, and only left him craving the real thing. Oh, and with a morning stiff. At least things below the waist were in a working order. Deacon awkwardly reached to adjust himself, softly groaning at his own sensitivity. Briefly, he considered continuing with his own ministrations when he realized he wasn’t alone.
He turned his head, further adjusting his eyes find Charmer asleep, curled up on her side and facing him on what little space remained in the bed. At first he didn’t dare to move, not wanting to wake her so easily, knowing it was a real possibility. With her it was always hard to tell just how far away in dreamland she was. A voice in his head finally encouraged him to turn, slowly (and somewhat struggling) rolling onto his less-injured side so he could face her.
She looked so different in the low light—face clean of her usual makeup, soft blonde hair tousled but clearly recently cleaned from whatever blood and debris she had collected from the firefight on the Castle grounds. She had a small, healing cut on her temple, another below her chin. Deacon frowned, hating that her beautiful face had even been scratched in the slightest way. Hesitantly he reached out, resting his hand along her waist and the soft cotton of her dress. Charmer didn’t wake up, instead she seemed to lean into his touch, encouraging him to inch closer. He ran his hand up and down her side in slow swipes, curling around to run softer patterns along her spine before passing over her hip for a gentle squeeze.
Charmer let out a soft sigh, her hand reflexively reaching out for his chest. Only then did her eyes flutter open, but she didn’t seem overly surprised to find him so close. “Hmm…Dee,” she greeted, suppressing a yawn. “Are you okay?”
A loaded question, all things considered. Deacon didn’t respond at first, needing to quash the overwhelming sensation at the forefront of his mind and captured her lips in a needy kiss, gripping his hand along her side to pull her even closer to his body. Thankfully, she didn’t move away, but did tilt her chin for a sharp inhale of breath, breaking the kiss. He took the opportunity to nuzzle her brow, inhaling the sweet scent of whatever she had used to bathe.
“Clearly I’m feeling a little better,” he finally responded.
Charmer’s thigh shifted, and he couldn’t tell if it was deliberate or not until she spoke, the warmth of her leg pressing against his growing erection. “That’s not little,” she breathed, still unable to tell if she was teasing, or fully responsive to his state.
They’d been there before—not necessarily in that exact scenario—but they’d gotten each other worked up only for nothing to happen on more than one occasion. Deacon was silently hoping this wasn’t one of them. Instead of cracking a joke, he zeroed in on her lips again, relishing in the quiet little noises he coaxed from her as his hands continued to roam. It was all too slow for what his brain was demanding, and foolishly, he tried to roll his body atop hers, underestimating the effort it would take to support his weakened limbs. Charmer shifted at the last moment to avoid being crushed as he practically collapsed back onto the mattress with a defeated groan, closing his eyes tight in a lame attempt to block out the pain.
“Maybe we should stick to sleeping until you’ve healed,” she softly laughed, leaning up on her elbow to peer down at him.
Deacon huffed, glancing at her. “If you’re going to mock me, please just take me out back and end my suffering.”
Charmer regarded him with a tiny smile, her hand resting along the side of his face, thumb gently caressing his cheek. To his surprise, she closed the distance between them, her lips gentle when she placed them over his. “Lay still,” she instructed in a soft whisper, barely braking away.
Deacon didn’t dare to disobey once he noted the mischievous hint in her eyes. Her lips trailed across his chin and jawline, the softest giggles fanning across his skin as she mumbled something about his ticklish stubble. Her kisses continued along the line of his throat, up and down before focusing on a spot below his ear, causing him to groan when she gave the tiniest of bites.
“Frisky,” he breathed, gripping her waist a little tighter, encouraging her to shift to straddle his uninjured thigh. Charmer chuckled against his ear but must’ve decided her actions spoke louder than any witty response she could respond with, trailing her tongue and teeth down to his collarbone—now he’d just have more markings in the morning. Good. He’d wear and show them off proudly.
Meanwhile, Deacon had continued running his hands along her sides and back, finding the task more and more difficult as she shifted lower down his body. Every time her leg brushed against his aching groin, he bit back a hiss, a moan—frustrated he couldn’t just flip her beneath him and rut like his mind was screaming out for. Then again, there was something agonizingly wonderful about this slow, calculated torture. Not everything between them had to be rushed, especially if she was taking the lead.
Charmer’s fingers were soft and warm against his chest as she explored his skin, wary of his bandages but firm against the lean muscles he knew she loved. Wherever her hands touched, her mouth followed, smooth and whispered kisses that zigzagged left-to-right, never lingering in one spot for too long. Soon enough she had adjusted so she was at his waistline, trailing along the hemline of his underwear.
She breathed a laugh as she pressed a series of kisses from his bellybutton to his bruised hipbone. “Are you sure you don’t want a medal?”
“How shiny is it?”
Deacon lifted his head, as painful as it was to crane his neck, to watch her movements as she removed his only item of clothing, careful not to disturb his bandaged thigh as she shimmied them down his legs. Charmer settled back down across his uninjured side, and she glanced up at him through her long lashes, eyes shining even in the darkness. The moan that left him when she gripped him was loud, even if her touch was feather-soft at first.
She resumed her kisses along his skin as she pumped him—slowly at first, as if she knew that any faster and he wouldn’t last long. Something about the setting, or the pain meds in his system, or maybe the adrenaline of surviving an Institute raid—who knew? He was already on edge. Deacon shut his eyes and slammed his head against the pillows, resisting the urge not to jerk up into her hand.
“Nuh-uh,” she argued, her free hand sliding up across his chest. “You should enjoy the show.”
Jesus fucking Christ—Deacon snapped open his eyes, tilting his chin so he could look at her just as she maneuvered to run her tongue along the base of his cock, fierce blue eyes meeting his as she licked up to the tip, only pausing to smile before wrapping her sweet lips around him completely. If he had been loud before, he was sure he had just woken up the entire Castle with his sounds of pleasure, unable to hold back as Charmer took him further into the heat of her mouth. Her warm tongue swirled around his crown while her fingers gripped tightly onto the base where her lips couldn’t reach—just unbelievably delightful.
Deacon strained to reach though the aches in his body down to her, combing his fingers through her hair as her head slowly bobbed, lips gradually tightening to tease him closer towards orgasm. Though, he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted that—all of this was fucking spectacular, but what he really, truly wanted was to chase that end with her. With his other hand he gripped her fingers splayed across his chest, lacing them and pressing them against his rapidly beating heart.
“Charm—”
Her mouth fell from him with a resounding pop. “After all that bedside care, you’d think I’d at least get a Mads.” She spoke her other nickname in a throaty sigh, teasing him. All the while her hand never stopped pumping, slow and deliberate as she nipped the skin of his inner thigh.
Deacon swallowed the hard lump in his throat—if he wasn’t already buck fucking naked with his lover’s hand around his cock, he would’ve blushed. Give it up to Charmer to call him out in the middle of a stellar blowjob for not using her given name. The rational part of his brain tried to remind himself that he liked to use it only under special circumstances, but what was more special than making love?
God he loved this woman. “Come here.”
Charmer hesitated to move, but he silently encouraged her, moving his hands along her body so she was perfectly situated, straddling his waist—right where he wanted her. She lowered herself across his chest, giving herself a little space so she could study his face, eyes dancing across his features. One hand rested across his cheek, thumb brushing across the tip of his nose and lips.
“Deacon?”
“Madelyn,” he answered in a whisper against her skin, watching the sparkle in her eyes ignite into a flame. He shifted her down his body so she was resting along his hips, gripping her waistline tightly so he could roll upwards once, twice—show that he was still very much aroused. “I want you.”
“Oh?” She always liked to play coy.
Charmer circled her hips, allowing the length of him to drag along the clothed crux of her thighs. He lifted his head up so he could kiss her in earnest, swallowing her groans as he brought her even closer to him, driving the friction between them even higher. Finally he began lifting up her dress, breaking away from their kiss for the quick moment it took to toss it to the side to wherever she had discarded his underwear. She wasn’t wearing a bra, but Deacon was more focused on getting her panties off—Charmer was already one step ahead of him, carefully moving without breaking their kiss or bumping into one of his injuries so she could wiggle them down her legs. Within seconds she was back on top of him, arched across his chest as they panted between heated kisses.
He whispered her name again—her real name—as he trailed his hand from her waist to her core, teasing his fingers against her entrance, shuddering at the wetness he felt. She trembled at his touch, whining incoherently as she writhed atop him. Still, he probed a few fingers, grinning into their kiss as she broke away in a heady moan. Soon enough she was reaching down to bat his hand away, stroking at his length and aligning it where his fingers had just been. When she sank down, she kissed him hard, almost taking the breath from him. Charmer stayed close in those initial moments, steady drags of her hips against his in-between fevered kisses and heated touches.
Her breath was beautifully ragged. “You doin’ okay?”
Deacon laughed. Even if he was in pain, he wasn’t going to admit it now. “God yes.”
Charmer seemed heartened, gradually leaning back on her heels, resting her hands along his chest as she steadily picked up speed. He gripped her thigh, one hand trailing up along her waist to palm at a breast. Beneath her, he found that he was already losing rhythm with every thrust, clenching his teeth in a desperate attempt to focus—he wanted to last just a little bit longer, for her sake. This didn’t have to be perfect, but damnit, he wasn’t about to come early and leave her hanging, not when he was too injured to make love properly, the way he wanted to.
With a determined focus he met her every move, sliding his hand down to where they were joined to circle his thumb against her clit. That certainly seemed to do the trick, Charmer arching back in a symphony of sounds, movements interrupted as a wave of ecstasy washed over her. Her thighs tightened against his torso, quivering as she cried out, practically begging him to not stop. He wasn’t planning on it, not until she was an unmade puddle in his arms. Her hands clutched at his chest and shoulder and under her breath she muttered little curses between God and Deacon.
He could only grin.
Deacon pulled her tight against his chest as he noted her strength waning, kissing along the side of her face and neck as he pushed up from the mattress, holding her hips to his with every uneven movement. She clenched around him and he knew even without her hushing his name, a silent trigger for him to let go. Even so, he continued thrusting until his orgasm hit him like a derailed train, blinding him and seizing his limbs in a way that had him clutching Charmer to his body as he came, barely giving her enough space to move so that he could spill across his stomach rather than inside of her.
No need for any baby Deacons walking around, he thought. Not yet, anyways. A flittering thought made him wonder if Charmer—Madelyn—would even want to have a kid with someone like him. But that was a thought for later. Much later. Breathless, mind swirling, he blinked hard and glanced down at his lover. She was flashing him this sideways, satisfied smirk—a good sign, chest still heaving as she caught her breath. A moment passed and she reached behind them for a few washcloths, passing one off to him so he could clean himself of their coital activities.
“That was fun,” she commented with a smile. Deacon could feel a but coming. “You know, you really need to rest now. Heal up.”
He sighed, nodding as he relaxed against the bed and pillows. “Lucky for me, I have an excellent nurse,” he flashed her a wink. “Grade A bedside service. Can’t wait to see what the sponge baths are like.”
Charmer chuckled, bringing the previously discarded blanket with her as she settled against his side. He tucked her closer for a snuggle. “With care like that, we’ll split open your stitches.”
He shrugged. This time, he could feel sleep calling to him naturally, without the need of a medical syringe. “Worth it.”
😎 leave a kudos
#fallout 4#deacon#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#deacon x mads#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fanfic#insert captain holt screaming BONE#because there be boning here#f'n finally I have written these two gettin' busy#a little angst a little fluff and a whole lot of sexy
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I went with ANGST because that’s what I was feeling lately. Also, Deacon in his feelings? yes. Does this fic set up the possibility for me to write some reunion goodness? also yes 👀👀
From this prompt list: The jittery, sick feeling when you can’t do anything
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
1228 words (under a cut) | [read on Ao3]
Charmer had only been gone a week—traveling North to Far Harbor with Nick Valentine—before Deacon started going stir-crazy. The first few days had been easy with lots of work to do with the Railroad, even if they were simple jobs better suited for tourists and newbies. He ran dead-drops and delivered resources to safehouses, scavenged the abandoned buildings for supplies to return to HQ. But by the eighth day, traveling alone left him with a hollow feeling in his chest. It didn’t matter that he had spent years by himself, running Railroad ops across the Wasteland. Back then, he preferred to do things solo, found it easier to compartmentalize his emotions and avoid forming interpersonal connections. He didn’t like to think that he was co-dependent but that was before he had a partner.
Before Charmer.
Deacon had gotten so used to her presence in the last year and a half that not having her around was more of a shock to his system than he was prepared for. Waking up alone was an increasingly difficult task, reminding himself as the dreams flittered away and he stared at the empty space in the bed that she wasn’t just loitering in a different room. He craved her touch—it wasn’t all lewd—yes there were a lot of lonely mornings and desperate nights where his own hand paled in comparison, but what he desperately wanted was intimacy.
Charmer was by nature a physically affectionate woman, even before their relationship became romantic. She knew how to express herself with words, could charm anyone with a smile but thrived on simple gestures and little touches. Her soft fingers interlaced with his, brushing along his brow or against his pompadour wig (teasing him to grow out his natural hair so she could run her fingers through it), palm flat against his chest so she could feel his heartbeat—or tapping playfully against his nose. He wondered now that the sensation was missing again, how he had gone without it for so long.
And why he was still so chicken shit to tell her how he felt more often than not. He’d said the words—told her he’d loved her—but he could count the number of times on both hands. Charmer had him outnumbered by hundreds. Now that she was gone and he was unsure of when he’d see her, or when he’d hear her voice again, an unsettling panic rose up in his gut. Suddenly he was worried if he’d be able to ever tell her the words again, given the chance.
By week three, he was pacing around Railroad HQ aimlessly, bones and mind aching from a lack of sleep. There had been no word from Charmer or Valentine—or any of their agents up north, for that matter. The radio silence was beginning to eat at his resolve, so much so that he passed off any assignments to the other operatives available, just so he could watch for Drummer Boy’s dead drop arrivals, wanting to be the first to learn of any news. When week four began, he very nearly chartered a boat to Far Harbor himself before Dez reeled him in, sending him to Ticonderoga for a change of scenery.
At the safehouse he still paced, sick with anxiety—High Rise held a mix of amusement and frustration over the situation, calling Deacon a lovesick fool, but proud of him for having something good in his life to live for. Then promptly booted him to watch duty on the street where his pacing would be less distracting and more useful.
Through the lonesome weeks he had been smoking through more packs of cigarettes than was likely rational for any person—blowing through what little caps he carried with him to keep his supply steady. Charmer wouldn’t’ve been pleased, sticking a bright piece of pink gum between his teeth before she came anywhere near his mouth for a kiss. So for five days he didn’t smoke, even as his hands trembled around the stock of his rifle and his stomach lurched, nearly impossible to keep a bite of food down. On the sixth day—day thirty-six of her absence—he broke, but savored a single smoke back on the roof of the Old North Church, looking down at the etchings they had left in the stone with her pocket knife.
Mads—she had insisted, easier than Charmer. + D—he wasn’t about to leave his full name. More mysterious that way. It was silly and reminded him of something a pre-war couple might do in those romance novels she liked to read, or the drive-in films only she could retell. So High Rise was right—he was a sentimental chump who had managed to fall in love in the middle of a war—but now the Institute was gone, and he deserved to have those lazy days he always dreamed about. And Deacon wanted to spend them with Charmer.
On day forty-one, Deacon sat in one of the downstairs pews of the church, just staring up at the tattered ceiling. He wasn’t necessarily praying—was there even a God to pray to anymore—but was deep in contemplation. He was thinking about Charmer, hoping that by some divine intervention, his thoughts might reach her. Even with the amount of time that had passed, and the continued silence that alarmed the group, the thought that she had died never crossed his mind.
He wondered if she looked any different—he certainly did—had finally taken her advice and grown out his natural hair a little more than where it was the last time she saw him. He’d gotten some new clothes too—different than his usual rotation of disguises—but something a little more comfortable, domestic even, and a heavier jacket for colder climates—just in case. Maybe Charmer had grown her blonde curls out, or cropped them? Was she still wearing that same shade of bright red lipstick? Of course she was—he smiled at the rafters, imagining her grin, her laughter and could’ve sworn he heard her voice, but when he looked over his shoulder, all he saw was Drummer Boy.
“I have something for you,” he greeted.
“Salvation?” Deacon joked.
Drummer Boy pulled free a holotape from his jacket and flashed a knowing smile. “I just received this from a runner—was supposed to be delivered weeks ago but changed too many hands on its way south.”
Deacon immediately stood, the headrush momentarily blinding. He could infer what—and who the holotape was from, and his heart raced in anticipation. Before he could speak, or ask, the Railroad messenger was nodding. “I’ve already sent word back to Far Harbor that they can anticipate an in-person liaison within the week.”
Holotape in hand, Deacon felt his world come back into sharp focus so rapidly it was dizzying. A fluttering excitement he hadn’t experienced threatened to burst his heart right out of his chest. He inferred from Drummer Boy that he’d be the one making the trip to Far Harbor—but it wasn’t like he would let anybody else go in his stead. He’d spent forty-one days alone—would have to spend a few more traveling north to get to her, but it would be well worth it in the end.
He’d be with Charmer again soon enough.
#fallout 4#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#deacon x mads#drummer boy#because i love to give drummer boy a cameo#gaybabylegs
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golden hour
On a quiet morning in Sanctuary, Madelyn realizes an affectionate gesture of hers means a lot more than just a 'boop' on the nose. Or, the first time Madelyn tells Deacon she loves him.
@alittlestarling asked from this prompt list: Dust floating in golden sunlight ☀
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
1215 words (under a cut for length) | Ao3
Madelyn always was an early riser—something ingrained in her mind that had her waking just before the sunrise, regardless of how much sleep she had achieved. For once, as she fluttered her eyes open to the world, she was pleasantly surprised to find herself feeling rested. A rare experience, especially since leaving the vault, especially given her location.
Sanctuary.
Madelyn still struggled with spending the night in the little settlement she used to call home—in all the months that she’d been traveling the Commonwealth, she’d only done so a handful of times, mostly as a last resort when returning that far west, or when meeting up with Preston on Minutemen business. The memories of her life there before the war still haunted her and despite all the changes, all the work the new settlers had put into developing the community, it was still a difficult place to be.
She and Deacon had been working a Railroad op nearby when she was called over the Minutemen radio, and at first she was ready to make the long journey to the Castle when it was made clear that it was Sanctuary that needed assistance. For as quiet as the area usually was, a group of raiders from Concord had drifted a little too close and was causing trouble—the nearby settlements had no guards to spare. It didn’t take long for her and her partner to dispose of the undesirables, but after Sturges had encouraged them to stay for a group dinner, Madelyn figured it was best to stay overnight as well.
Of course, she wouldn’t be staying in her old home. No, never again. Especially with Deacon. She might’ve been brave enough to allow herself to move on romantically—slowly—but she wasn’t about to betray the memory of her dead husband and the home they shared with their son. At least, it made sense in her mind when she chose a quiet, private little home on the riverfront. Deacon didn’t question her, and for that she was grateful.
The morning light of the sunrise started to drift in through the window above the bed, slowly turning from blue to a soft golden. Madelyn smiled to herself, watching the speckles of dust that flittered through the air above her face, highlighted by the incoming light. She hadn’t felt so calm, so free of thought or worry in a long while. Slowly, she sat up, careful not to disturb the heap of slumbering limbs that was Deacon beside her. Blankets tucked around her she stared out the window as the sun inched higher over the horizon.
“Damn,” Deacon’s sleepy, breathless voice pulled her away and she softly laughed as she glanced down, finding him barely peeking his eyes open. “Now that’s a sight to wake up to.”
Madelyn giggled, gesturing to herself. “What, me?”
“Hmm,” he agreed, arm outstretching so he could grasp one of her hands. He brought it to his face and slowly kissed her knuckles, the side of her wrist. “Just you drenched in sunlight. Beautiful. Am I still dreaming?”
“I can pinch you and you can find out,” she teased, leaning down just enough so she was hovering over him.
Deacon pouted, though it was obviously in jest. “I’d rather you kiss me. Less painful, less bruises…unless—”
Madelyn cut him off with his request, pressing her lips to his mouth, swallowing up his soft chuckle in the process. His arms were quick to wrap around her, tucking her close to his body under the covers, but she wasn’t inclined to get too carried away. Not there, at least, even if she desperately wanted to. Reluctantly, she pulled away, resting her weight on one arm as she gazed down at him, searching those steely blue eyes for any hint of disappointment—but there wasn’t any.
Of course not. Deacon was the one who told her they could set their own pace, go as slow (or as fast) as they wanted in this brand-new aspect of their partnership—relationship. Ever since then, there had been plenty of opportunities, but life and the Wasteland got in the way. Turns out, they were both far more patient then either had let on. Madelyn could only be grateful she had somebody so understanding, somebody that cared for her—somebody in her corner.
Like she had done so many times before, she stroked her free hand along the side of his face, fingers outlining the angle of his jaw and chin before affectionately pressing against his nose. “Boop.”
“Always with the boop,” he laughed. Though he didn’t say anything else, or ask, Madelyn felt that she owed him some kind of explanation.
“You were always so touch-oriented,” she started, brushing her thumb across his cheek. “Touchy-feely despite the lies about not wanting hugs. Made me happy, since I’m the same way. Probably why we became such good partners right away.”
“Probably,” Deacon agreed, one of his hands leisurely running along her spine over her nightshirt. “Is that why you keep the boops? For old times sake?”
Madelyn grinned, ghosting her touch across the corners of his eyes, silently inspecting the barely-there crow’s feet. “I started doing that to flirt with you, Deacon.”
“I knew that,” he fibbed. “Expressing emotion through touch is an art, but sometimes you miss a few brush strokes along the way.”
“How poetic,” she smirked. A more grounding memory came back to her, but instead of feeling sad, she felt warm—hopeful. “When I used to tuck my son in for the night in his crib, I’d boop his nose and tell him I loved him. He was a baby, he couldn’t understood my words, but he understood my touch.”
Deacon was looking at her intently, quietly. Madelyn’s heartbeat increased when she suddenly realized what she’d inadvertently revealed. She felt her face flush and as her hand slightly trembled she noticed his small, knowing grin. Well—she might as well come out and say it.
“So…when I do that, then, now, with you—” she paused to steady herself—she never thought she’d ever be in the place to say those words again, to feel that way again, to be with someone new. But there she was, her heart racing and emotions on edge and world bright with color like the very first time. “I guess that was my own way of saying that I love you—long before I knew, before I was ready to say it,” she breathed out, only feeling confident at the fact that his smile was steadily increasing.
“Like a little secret all for myself.”
“Secret’s out now, Charmer,” Deacon said in a low voice, completely mesmerized by her confession. “Might as well give me a proper demonstration.”
Madelyn resisted the urge to laugh—God—she really did fall so quickly for this silly man without realizing it. The room was filling up with more sunlight, painting the bed and the two of them in a glorious golden warmth—she never wanted to leave. She trailed her fingers across his cheek, repeating the gesture from before a little more slowly, with more intent. As she rested her fingers against the side of his nose, she leaned closer, lips ghosting over his.
Finally, she whispered, “I love you.”
#fallout 4#deacon#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#deacon x mads#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fanfic#when in doubt wrap yourself in fluff#this is incredibly fluffy#i've been in a really fluffy mood lately#and deacon is this stupid man in love for it#anyways here is my offering
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a public display
A/N: “You’ve Really Got a Hold On Me” is on Mads’ and Deacon’s Spotify playlist so I had to write this eventually.
@alittlestarling asked from this prompt list: a hoarse whisper “kiss me”
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
1054 words (under a cut for length) | Ao3
Deacon wasn’t used to running solo ops—not anymore at least. Not since he’d partnered up with Charmer—rather, since she burst into the Railroad and into his life in vivid color, all gleaming smiles, floral dresses and captivating well…charm. If he had it his way, he wouldn’t go another day without her by his side, even if that made him a sentimental sap. But Desdemona was the real leader of their ragtag group (regardless of his lies) and what she said was practically law. When it came to sensitive missions, he was still the best at what he did, still the best suited to get the job done when nobody else could.
So, he begrudgingly followed through, sent off to trek the Western side of the Commonwealth for a tourist that never showed. Figured. Three long lonesome days that had him yearning for the company of a certain strawberry-blonde vault dweller. Three nights that felt like a lifetime—valuable time he could’ve been spending with her doing anything—wasted. Dez would get an earful.
When he made it back to Railroad HQ, Deacon wasn’t expecting a party. Well, it certainly was a lot livelier than it usually was, and his brain hardwired what he saw as celebration. But what for? Had he forgotten his own birthday again? The radio had been jimmied so the music it produced was louder and mixed in with the rockabilly tunes of Diamond City Radio was laughter. Charmer’s laughter, echoing high above the others, bouncing off the catacomb walls until it reached where Deacon stood in the entranceway, just staring with a small, curious smirk.
“She’s teaching Tom how to dance,” Drummer Boy appeared to Deacon’s left to explain, expression full of mirth. Unusual, as the Railroad runner was typically sedated, bored even. “I couldn’t tell you the last time we had this much fun in headquarters.”
Deacon couldn’t either. Had to be before the Switchboard, or at least before the Institute decided to start attacking them in earnest. “Dez alright with all this?”
Drummer gestured towards the roundtable where Desdemona was happily sharing a bottle of aged whiskey with Glory. For once, the boss was relaxed, or at least appeared to have let her guard down as she reveled in her agents’ entertainment. Deacon continued to scan the room, noting that unsurprisingly, Carrington was seated, ever the silent observer with his usual unimpressed scowl. But everyone else had surrounded the radio and started dancing, goaded on by Charmer’s clapping and encouragement.
Deacon just watched her, the flutter of her skirt as she spun, the gleaming light that bounced off her hair as Tinker Tom carefully and surprisingly succeeded at lowering her into a dip. She laughed again, congratulating him as he bowed to the crowd of agents. Only then did she seem to notice her distant spectator, expression brightening as she rushed over.
“Deacon!” she was beaming, arms spread wide as she pressed up on her toes to hug him. He was quick to return the embrace, snaking his arms around her waist and leaning down to make it a little easier for her.
He held her for a long moment, barely refraining from sweeping her up entirely and making a show of it, even if it would’ve been wholly within character to do so—the group was starting to get a little too suspicious of their closeness. Perhaps that was why Dez had separated them? A small fear washed over him as he thought about it happening again, or permanently. Out of the corner of his eye he noted the curious way Drummer Boy was peering at them and Deacon wondered just how long he’d been hugging Charmer. Then again, did it matter?
She pulled away first, quick to tug on his hands. “Come dance with me.”
“Huh wha—”
This was not the first time she had asked him, and knowing Charmer, this wouldn’t be the last. He’d indulged her in the past, before their relationship had taken further step, but the opportunities since had been few and far between. The two would rather focus on…other physical activities.
“I won’t take no for an answer,” she insisted, placing his hands on her waist before resting her own on his shoulders.
“Help! I’m being repressed!”
Charmer rolled her eyes, but he knew she loved his teasing, knew she loved him—and for that his chest tightened with a swell of emotions he was sure he had gotten a grip of by now. Turns out you never got over being a nervous fucking wreck around the person you cared about the most. He danced with her, at first too caught up in just seeing her again—red lips framing a perfect smile, soft golden curls, a freshly laundered yellow dress—those ocean blue eyes gazing up at him like they held every last secret in the Commonwealth.
Then he heard the unfamiliar music floating through the radio. “What song is this?”
“The Miracles,” Charmer explained. “You’ve Really Got a Hold on Me,” she continued with a nod. “I gave Travis a crate of records a while ago, I think he’s finally gotten around to restoring them for broadcasting.”
He had to wonder just how many other songs she had given the disc-jockey, how many more opportunities he would have to dance with her to new songs.
“Don’t look now,” Deacon tugged her a little closer, lowering his voice. “But the others are watching. I think they are jealous.”
Charmer snickered, but quickly, her expression faded into something wistful as she stared at him. Her voice dropped into a low, wanting whisper. “Kiss me.”
Deacon shot his eyebrows up over the rim of his sunglasses. “In front of everyone?”
He wasn’t sure why he was asking, when in reality, he didn’t actually give a damn. Not anymore. Why were they even hiding their little love affair anyways? It wasn’t scandalous, it wasn’t a fling—no, what they had was the real deal. A rare thing in the Wasteland. Charmer nodded at his question and before she could say another word he closed the distance between them, lips meeting hers in delightful bliss.
“Oh, now they are definitely watching,” she giggled, pulling away for the briefest of moments. “Absolutely jealous.”
“Good,” Deacon answered, kissing her again. “Let them stare.”
💙
#fallout 4#deacon#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#deacon x mads#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fanfic#there is one monty python line in here because I cannot stop myself#I really enjoy writing deek's pov#anyways here's more NOT boning
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Are you still taking sensory prompts? If you are, how about 46 for Mads please?
The waver in a person’s voice when they’re stressed
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
because one day I’ll write a fic where Deacon calls Mads by her actual freakin’ name right? 👀
1417 words (under a cut because I have no shame) | Ao3
Deacon could still see the smoke on the horizon as he stoodoutside the Old North Church, wispy plumes of grey floating up into the eveningsky as he stared Northbound. Bunker Hill—while the Railroad had beensuccessful in keeping the escaped synths alive and out of the Institute’shands, the battle was far from a walk in the park. No, it was more like a walkin a minefield, with a mass of teleporting Gen-1s and Coursers—oh—andthe Brotherhood of Steel. How they managed to find out about the battlewas beyond him, but it turned an already sticky situation nearly to disaster.
More Railroad agents were lost to both the Institute and theBrotherhood. While Bunker Hill had been saved, it was no longer a viablelocation for the Railroad. Worse yet, whatever undercover operation Charmer hadbeen working on within the Institute walls was no longer a possibility. She haddisappeared from the battlefield—out of Deacon’s sight—reappearing at Railroadheadquarters not too long afterward looking completely dejected. She didn’toffer much to Desdemona, only that she had been banished from the Institute andthat the Railroad’s in, was out.
Their only hope now was to work with the Minutemen—a groupCharmer had long been supportive of to begin with. More than that, she was theirGeneral for Christ’s sake. Desdemona more than encouraged it, seeing thealliance as the golden opportunity the Railroad needed to end the Instituteonce and for all. Then again, the boss was always good at seeing things bigpicture.
Perhaps selfishly, Deacon wasn’t happy—at least in themoment—and decided that the best thing to do was to quietly remove himself fromthe room before he said something stupid in front of Charmer. The last thing hewanted was to hurt her with mean-spirited words when she was already visiblyupset. No throwing a tantrum or dramatic words for this guy—boy, had hechanged—Des was bound to be suspicious, if she wasn’t already. It wasn’t untilhe was outside, defusing himself with a cigarette that he realized walking awaymaybe wasn’t the best idea either. Charmer didn’t deserve to beabandoned, not right now, when she was at her most vulnerable.
Jesus—he was a terrible boyfriend—lover—whatevertheywere.
He inhaled deeply, letting the gentle sting of nicotinesettle in his lungs for a few moments before breathing out. Charmer, if she wasthere, would rather he not smoke and so after one last huff he flickedthe stub to the ground, snubbing it out with the toe of his boot. Just in time,he noticed a familiar shade of blonde hair out the corner of his eye slinkingalong the church sidewalk. For once he allowed her to sneak up on him, turningslightly towards her so she knew he wasn’t completely blocking her out,despite his earlier exit.
“Hey,” she said, quietly, testing the waters.
Deacon was suddenly very nervous. All with one word—shetruly had him wrapped around her finger—but did she even know it? He nodded ather, reining in his emotions. “Hey.”
Charmer’s expression was difficult to read. Even after allthe time and emotional strife they had shared, she was a chameleon, soperfectly good at masking what was truly running through her mind. But hefocused on those stormy blue eyes, the same he had been steadily falling inlove with for months now. She was clearly troubled over the day’s events—moreso from her conversation with Shaun, than what transpired at Bunker Hill. Atleast, Deacon was guessing there was a conversation with her son, or at least adisagreement, or else they wouldn’t be here now.
“Are you okay?” she asked next, and there—subtly, hecould hear it in the tone of her voice. She was asking him the questionbut oh man—Deacon could’ve choked on the guilt he felt rising in hischest.
Charmer shouldn’t be the one checking up on him when she hadbeen the one doing the brunt of the emotional legwork for the Railroad.Institute infiltration? Zapped in and out without a clear indication of hersurvival? Running around Bunker Hill in a field of enemy soldiers and synths? Yeah.Comparatively, Deacon’s qualms were tiny. Minuscule. Practically nonexistent.Made him wonder why he was so resistant to helping the Minutemen in the firstplace. Weren’t they…on the same side?
“Woah now,” he started, reaching out his hands to rest onher shoulders, giving them an affectionate squeeze before shifting to brush afew fallen curls back behind her ear. His fingers lingered along her cheek andhe offered a small, sympathetic smile. “I should be asking you. Aftertoday—”
He stopped, hating the way the words sounded and decided to startover. Even Charmer seemed momentarily confused by his pause, blinking at himuntil he spoke, “Hey, I’m sorry for storming out.”
“Is that what you call storming out?” she questioned, theslightest glimmer of amusement returning to her features. “I would love to seewhat a full-blown Deacon-diva breakdown looks like.”
He smirked, threading his fingers through her hair in softlittle sweeps. “Shouting from the rooftop, extended monologues, broken glass…ohand nudity.”
Her eyebrows raised with a small smile as she hooked herarms gently around his waist. “Nudity works,” she paused, releasing a longsigh. “Today was…not how I wanted things to go.”
Deacon nodded, allowing her all the time she needed to workthrough what she wanted to say. Charmer’s brows furrowed, and she frowned. “Afterall the time I spent searching for my son, whatever I had hoped to find,whatever relationship I had hoped to build with him—all I have isdisappointment. The Institute—”
She broke off, eyes glazed over with tears that she blinkedaway. Her fingers twisted against the leather of his jacket as she shook herhead. “I can’t blame him for the circumstances. He’s still my son, I still lovehim, I always will. But I can’t stand by and let him destroy the Commonwealth.”
Charmer didn’t say anything else, just settled herselfagainst his chest as she hugged him, arms wrapping tightly around his middle.Deacon didn’t speak either and did what he could to comfort her in the momentand just held her, caressing her hair and running his hand down her back insoothing circles. Even if she was quiet about it, she was trembling in hisarms, clearly crying, her hands clenching the back of his jacket as she hid herface in his shoulder.
How long they stood there, he wasn’t certain, but Deacondidn’t move until she did, slowly peeling away to glance up at him with a shakysmile. “Ugh, I’ve got snot all over your shirt.”
He reached to push at his sunglasses, so they rested on hishead, snagging along his pompadour wig. Only Charmer got to see him like this, intheir private little moments, but more and more he felt like the action was becomingnatural. He softly chuckled at her half-hearted attempts to wipe at hischest, catching her hand in his.
“Is this an inappropriate time to make a joke about bodilyfluids?”
Charmer’s laugh was a joyous relief, echoing out into theNorth End neighborhood night. She gazed at him, soft eyes just saying more thanshe ever needed to, those red stained lips curled up in a secret smile savedjust for him. She rested one hand on his cheek—a gentle touch of her soft skin asshe leaned up to kiss him—gingerly at first but it never stayed that way, notwith them.
“You need some gum to chew on,” she teased him between heatedkisses, tasting the smoke that lingered on his lips and tongue. But she didn’tstop, grinning against his mouth when he wedged her between his body and thechurch wall.
“No,” Deacon insisted, tucking her closer to himself. “Ijust need you.”
More kisses, more laughter and then it was just the two ofthem, stronger than ever, ready to face whatever the world was to throw atthem.
“Where to next?” Deacon asked, knowing she had a plan.
Charmer shook her head, hugging him closer as she nuzzledher head into the crook of his shoulder. “Nowhere. At least not tonight,” shereplied in a soft voice. “Tonight, I think we should just be.”
#fallout 4#deacon#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#deacon x mads#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fanfic#I GOT CARRIED AWAY#prime flirting lines in here#gingerbreton#potato answer
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I reined myself in and went pre-relationship. Good news is they were still touchy-feely back then so, yes. Still some fluffy goodness here.
From this prompt list: Indigo skies just before dawn
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy
701 words | [read on Ao3]
Madelyn wasn’t sure what time it was but judging by the dark blue and soft purple haze that dusted the skyline, dawn was approaching. Sure, she could simply adjust the dials on her Pip Boy and see the time, but she was too tired to move. She’d been traveling for a few days now on her way back to the Castle from Sanctuary with a few pit-stops in between—and in those days had managed only a few hours of sleep. It wasn’t for a lack of trying, but that’s just how her body and mind worked nowadays. Sleep was always elusive—she’d always be chasing it until she crashed from exhaustion.
Her campsite the previous evening had been a small shack near the relay tower. She would’ve powered on through the night to a settlement, but the nearby Gunners looked particularly unpleasant. She wasn’t about to pick a fight when she was so unprepared—that, and her partner talked her out of it. Deacon was a welcome companion on her journeys, even when he gave her shit about the time spent running jobs for the Minutemen instead of the Railroad. But even he needed rest—or what he called beauty sleep.
Madelyn insisted on taking first watch, claiming it was only fair after all the times he had shooed her off to bed while he kept guard. Most of the time she hardly slept, and when it came time for her to take over, she was in a bad way. Not that she wasn’t feeling terrible now—so deprived of sleep and on the verge of collapse that maybe now wasn’t the time to be so demanding. But Deacon had shrugged, let her have her way and slunk off inside the shack and as far as she knew, drifted off into a peaceful slumber.
Hours later, as she stared out at the horizon, her mind could no longer sustain the fatigue. Her eyes became heavy and for a split second she succumbed to the darkness, her body slumping back into the bench. Something in her mind must’ve reminded her where she was and she flinched, startling herself into an upright position. Her laser rifle almost toppled out of her lap and if it hadn’t been placed on safety, she was sure she would’ve shot her own foot off. The action had her rattled, heart racing as she struggled for a moment to regain a normal breathing pattern. With one hand, she covered her face, rubbing at her eyes.
“You’re bad at this.”
She flinched again, this time at the voice and the feel of something heavy and warm being draped around her shoulders. “Wha—”
Deacon perched himself on the metal arm of the bench, tugging his jacket around her more securely. “Faking like you aren’t exhausted.”
“I’m not—” Madelyn made to protest but found herself yawning mid-sentence. He smiled, eyebrows raised as if to say, I told you so. She leaned away from him, even if she welcomed the warmth of his borrowed leather jacket, scrunching herself into it as he moved to sit next to her instead. “Okay, maybe I am.”
He rested her rifle against the bench next to his, before patting his shoulder, encouraging her to rest her head against it. Earlier in their friendship she would’ve hesitated, but that was before she realized how comfortable the man was with physical interactions—plutonic interactions—even if they bordered on domestic every once in a while. Madelyn relaxed alongside him, sighing as he adjusted his arm around her shoulders to keep her snug against his chest.
What surprised her was the silence. Usually there was banter—a joke, or a whimsical tale full of lies with some kind of lesson at the end. But for whatever reason, in that moment, he stayed quiet and the only thing she could hear was the steady sound of his breathing—the quiet murmur of his heart. The stars faded away as the sky began to brighten, hues of indigo giving way to orange and yellow as the sun slowly began to rise. At peace with her surroundings, Madelyn allowed herself to fall asleep, knowing she’d be well watched over.
#fallout 4#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#deacon x mads#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fallout fanfic#lechatrouge673
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stolen moments
A/N: More excuses for me to write underlying smut feelings but no smut. These two need to BONE. (If you haven’t read ‘A Slower Pace’ some stuff mentioned here won’t make sense)
Anon asked from this prompt list: lazy morning kisses before they’ve even opened their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
936 words | Ao3
Madelyn couldn’t remember when she fell asleep.
Slowly, she grew more conscious of the waking world, but it only brought her more confusion—just where was she? A brief moment of panic washed over her, nearly jolting her upright but before she could scramble herself awake, she felt the two strong arms wrapped around her tighten, grounding her. Where did those come from?
“Hey now,” Deacon’s voice softly echoed near her ear, calming her even more. “No need for that freight and flight with me, Charmer.”
He pressed the softest of kisses to her cheek, trailing down the line of her jaw before ghosting across her lips. A feather-light kiss first, followed by a deeper one, his embrace ensuring she was tucked close to his chest.
“Where are we?” she mumbled against his mouth, not bothering to open her eyes.
Deacon continued with a few more, lazy, open-mouthed kissed before breaking away. “On the roof.”
The evening before was slowly coming back to her. After a whirlwind of a weekend spent in Goodneighbor, the two had returned to Railroad HQ to regroup, waiting on another update from Randolph safehouse. Of course, Deacon wasn’t one to sit still and had taken to the roof to his sniper’s perch—and because Madelyn didn’t want to leave what had transpired between them in Goodneighbor behind so quickly, she had followed.
Though, they were trying to keep their liaison a secret from the rest of the Railroad members—for now—at least until they could figure out if it would be considered a bad idea or not. Until then, they would need to indulge in their stolen moments, sneaking away all the time they could in the chaos. Madelyn remembered peering out at the North End landscape together, laughing about pre-war billboards that had faded with time, flirting about how much room he had in his tent and bedroll, leaning her head against his shoulder—but she didn’t remember falling asleep.
“Didn’t want to wake you,” Deacon explained, as if he could read her mind. She briefly considered that he likely could. One last, lingering kiss and he pulled away and this time, Madelyn dared to peek open her eyes, smiling contently when she found him staring back. So they had managed to end up in his sleeping-bag together after-all. “Didn’t want to carry you downstairs, have you sleep and wake up alone. Call me a selfish bastard.”
“Selfish bastard,” she teased, sneaking up one of her hands to curl around his neck. She tugged him, with minimal effort, closer for another kiss. God—now that she had opened the floodgates and started kissing him, she never wanted to stop. Not when it felt like this. “That’s some good thinking.”
Deacon seemed to have the same idea, receptive to her kisses with a simple and soft moan, the hand at her waist gripping a little tighter, his other snaking up to thread through her hair. The promise—if it even was a promise—to go slowly started to fade away, and that spark, that heat began to spread. She peeled away, if only to rest her forehead against his, catching her breath.
“You…still want me?”
He breathed a little laugh, hands clenching into the fabric of her clothes, scooting her waist and hips closer and oh—yes. He definitely wanted her. “You’re goddamn right.”
Madelyn stifled the sound of her own pleasure and it was great timing—not a moment later they both froze when the rooftop door squeaked open, Deacon leaning up slightly to tuck her further under him and the covers out of view, that is if their visitor would be so bold as to flip open the tent. With the Railroad—who knew?
“Deacon, you up here?” It was Drummer Boy, obviously annoyed he had been sent lugging up the stairs to the lookout. “Dez is looking for you, we’ve got an update on Randolph!”
“Yeah, I’m up here,” he answered, shifting in a way that had Madelyn catching his innuendo, but struggling to maintain her silence. Excitement, annoyance—overabundance of justfuckme—she bit down hard on her lower lip and squirmed.
Drummer either was ignoring what he could hear or hadn’t heard a thing. “You haven’t seen Charmer have you? Dez wants to debrief the two of you to save time.”
Madelyn rolled her eyes at the choice of words, already noting the shit-eating grin on Deacon’s face—though she loved the added spark of seeing the twinkle of mischief in his eyes when it was just the two of them.
“Let me think,” he responded, fingers pulling at the collar of her shirt and glancing downwards for a quick second—she wasn’t wearing a bra, and Deacon’s face lit up at whatever flash of skin he had seen. “Nope! Not in my secret pockets!”
Drummer Boy only groaned in response. A few seconds later, the rooftop door slammed shut and all around them once again was silence—that is, until Madelyn and Deacon burst out into laughter, falling into each other as they struggled to maintain their composure. As the laughter eventually died away, it was clear that the passion had been interrupted as well—but she still felt wonderfully content, especially under his watchful gaze.
“Come on,” he encouraged, smoothing some of her hair back into place with a free hand. “The next person they send will probably be Tom, and he’ll just slither on right between us.”
Madelyn giggled, but shook her head as she held onto him, smiling when he didn’t move away. She wasn’t quite ready. “Just a few more minutes.”
💙
#fallout 4#deacon#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#deacon x mads#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fanfic#drummer boy#deacon is good at innuendo#god damnit they need to BONE
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delicate
Sometimes when I look into your eyes
I pretend you’re mine, all the damn time
Cause I like you [x]
Madelyn can’t stop staring at Deacon, desperately trying to get a peek of those baby blues again. Oh, and her tipsy inner monologue.
❤
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
949 words | Ao3
The Third Rail always had a peaceful aura to it, even when it was full of rambunctious drunks, all clamoring to get a look at Magnolia’s latest set. It was part of the reason why Madelyn kept returning to the underground bar—the pre-war subway station turned nightclub—the perfect little place for her to get away from the larger stressors found in the Wasteland. And boy, did she have plenty.
It helped that the whiskey Whitechapel Charlie served was much better than the swill served by Vadim in Diamond City. It was the real Irish stuff that had a bite to it—made her belly warm, her head fuzzy and woefully homesick for a time she could not return to. Despite the melancholy, she was smiling as she sipped at her second tumbler cup of the evening, desperate to not let her thoughts consume her.
Her partner, Deacon, was sitting to her right, arms folded across the tabletop with a lazy expression as he nursed a beer. They were in no rush that evening—no urgent dead drop to hunt down, no escaped synth to smuggle to a nearby safehouse, no MILA to install atop a downtown skyscraper. No, tonight it was just the two of them and that Goodneighbor bar.
Madelyn thought about all the possible shenanigans they could get themselves into—he had brought plenty of disguises and cover stories—but her mind kept drifting back to the Rexford, back to that little bed they had shared the previous evening. Jesus, Mary and Joseph—she had kissed him and was well on her way to fucking him when it all slowed down. Which was fine. Was it? She doubted herself now that some time had passed. She chewed on her lip, wishing she could just read Deacon’s mind.
Why can’t the Pip-Boy do that?
Then again, he had been fairly forthcoming with her the previous evening, telling her how he did want her. Eventually. But when would that be? She cursed herself, hating how desperate the thoughts in her mind sounded—but God damn, she wanted him too. She wanted to kiss him again, wanted to run her fingers across his skin and ask him if he liked the way she touched him. She wanted to feel his hands cradling her body as she asked for more.
Maybe it was the alcohol flowing through her veins, but the longer she stared at Deacon’s profile, studying the subtle crows’ feet below his brow, the more she wanted to lean over and just yank the sunglasses right off of his face. How often had she tried to catch a glimpse of his eyes? Now that she’d seen them, though, she could only think of how it was a terrible disservice to the commonwealth that he kept them hidden. Madelyn would never forget how blue they were.
“You gonna stare at me all night?” Deacon chirped, cocking his head her way, flashing a smile.
“Maybe,” she replied quickly, quietly. “It’s a good view.”
She continued to watch him, just staring as he drank down the last of his beer. He arched a brow, tilting the empty bottle her way. “What’s going on in that pretty little head?”
Madelyn pondered the loaded question, biting her tongue. If she told the truth, she’d seem like a harlot, but maybe that would excite Deacon—she wasn’t entirely sure. They were both just the right amount of drunk on alcohol and lust that she could potentially get away with jumping him right then and there. Instead, she blinked, steadying herself and her thoughts. What had he said? Slow—they didn’t have to rush things. Oh, how lucky she was to have this silly, enigma of a man in her life. All the voices in her head echoed at once you like him.
“I like you.”
Deacon grinned and it dawned on Madelyn that she had said the words out loud. Her face felt burning hot, and it wasn’t from the whiskey. It would be better if she could drown in the brown liquid, a gamma gun evaporate her into a goo pile—anything, but she was forced to sit in her quiet embarrassment. She wasn’t even sure why she was flustered to begin with, all things considered. At this point, it was a given—but saying it made it a reality.
“Is that okay?”
His smile increased and he nodded once. “Yeah.”
Madelyn swallowed, his nonchalance doing nothing to calm her nerves. Always calm under every circumstance, wasn’t he? Very suddenly though, Deacon stood, startling her. He urged her to follow, grasping her hand and lacing their fingers together as he led them away from the bar and up the railway stairs. Outside, there was a light drizzle of rain, the two laughing as they ducked into the nearest ally for shelter—and privacy.
“Let me kiss you.”
Deacon was well on his way to doing so, one hand on her cheek as he leaned down to close the distance between them when Madelyn giggled, playfully pushing him away. “Wait!”
She didn’t even hesitate to reach up, stealing away his glasses before he could protest. To her surprise, he didn’t seem to mind, softly smiling as he tucked her close. Madelyn took a moment to gaze at those baby blues, never knowing when she’d get the chance to see them again—though, a wave of excitement rippled through her when she thought about seeing them more and more—her little secret from the world. With a little nod she shifted closer, pressing up on her toes to meet him, Deacon dipping down to kiss her in the way he wanted—soft, perfect, delicate.
❤ 1/29 ❤
#fallout 4#deacon x f!solesurvivor#deacon#madelyn hardy#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fanfic#t-swift february fics#i promise not all of them are gonna have t-swift gifs okay#is it surprising this came first no but this is also my favorite t-swift song so here#self indulgent shit
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style
You got that James Dean daydream look in your eye
And I got that red lip, classic thing that you like
And when we go crashing down, we come back every time
'Cause we never go out of style, we never go out of style [x]
A little bit of flirting goes too far and Madelyn worries shes fractured the first real bond she’s made since leaving the vault.
❤
Deacon x Madelyn hardy (Agent Charmer)
985 words | Ao3
Midnight.
Madelyn shifted awkwardly on the roof of the Old North Church, the pebbles that had collected on the concrete slab hardly a comfortable place for somebody to try and find a little bit of peace. She couldn’t sleep, but when could she? So, instead of keeping the others awake downstairs in Railroad HQ, she ventured upstairs, farther than she ever had through the church stoops until she was overlooking the Boston Harbor.
It was a little chilly, being January, and all Madelyn had was the faded scarf Piper had gifted her, which wasn’t the warmest in these winter months. She should’ve stolen Deacon’s jacket when she had the chance—he was always shifting between disguises, would he even miss it? She tightened the trench-coat around her body, focusing on the sky—at least the stars were shining, creating a beautiful distraction.
“You aren’t dead, right?”
Right on cue—Madelyn had to smile, thinking to herself she favored that distraction over the night sky. It helped that Deacon wasn’t so bad on the eyes, when he eventually shifted into view, leaning over her sprawled out form. She flicked back her gaze to get a proper look at him, silently admiring the default outfit she had grown accustomed to seeing him in—a faded white t-shirt, worn denim jeans, and that leather jacket she’d much rather have slung around her shoulders. His hair—wig—was quaffed up, sunglasses perfectly framing his face, hiding away the most telling part of his expression as always. But Madelyn liked what she saw—more and more each day.
“Have I ever told you how much you remind me of James Dean?” she asked, ignoring his previous question.
“You’ve mentioned it, yeah,” he replied. Something was off, judging by the tone in his voice, but Madelyn wasn’t sure if she wanted to push the issue. Before she could even tempt to, Deacon outstretched his hands. “The ground can’t be that comfortable.”
Madelyn accepted his help, laughing to herself as he lifted her up with minimal ease. “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it,” she joked, brushing off the dirt from her clothes.
She noticed the way he quickly picked back up his rifle, busying his hands as he toyed with the scope. On any other occasion, Deacon would’ve taken the opportunity to let his hands linger—he was always so touchy—something Madelyn appreciated, being a hands-on person herself. Not to sound so…lustful, or that she hadn’t thought about it, especially as the two spent more and more time together. It was a complicated mix of emotions; to be attracted but feel guilty about it all the same as she was still very much mourning the death of her husband. She wasn’t even sure how Deacon felt, even with the occasional flirting—he’d always been a mystery, Madelyn figured that would never change regardless of how close they bonded.
“On patrol?” she questioned.
“Hmm?” He was definitely deflecting. “I’m hunting rabbits.”
“Maybe you should teach me,” Madelyn mused, half in joke, half in honesty—she was a shit shot when it came to rifles. There was a reason she favored her laser pistol. “I’m a great student.”
Despite the fact she couldn’t really tell, Deacon appeared to study her for a moment and the whole interaction worried Madelyn—he never hesitated. Maybe it would’ve been better to suggest they go back downstairs and prank Tinker or…spend some time apart? But then he was smirking at her, waving for her to follow him towards the rooftop edge.
“Have you ever shot one of these?” he asked, handing off his precious rifle that he had affectionately named Bunny.
Madelyn paused, ignoring his stifled laugh when she nearly toppled over, underestimating the weight of the gun. “My uh—no.”
Deacon regarded her with a raised eyebrow but didn’t press for further information. Rather, he circled around to her back, placing her hands into the proper positions on the rifle before carefully adjusting her stance, locking her body between his and the rooftop wall. Madelyn glanced through the scope, steadying her breath—a not so easy task as Deacon’s hands gripped her waist and shoulder a little tighter, his chest pressing that much more into her back.
Madelyn was feeling snarky. Or bold—or both. “Grip me any tighter and I can help you shoot off more than rifle rounds on this roof.”
He flinched away from her, which was the last thing she expected. She dropped her stance, turning so she could face him, heart nervously fluttering in her chest like she had said the dumbest thing possible in that moment. “Dee?”
“Don’t—”
She had definitely said the dumbest thing possible. Madelyn was overcome with dread, wondering, hoping they could come back from this.
“Any other time, Charmer,” he sighed, fingers playing along the fake hairs of his pompadour wig. “Just not tonight.”
“I’m sorry,” she offered, a shiver running up her spine—a mix of the cold and guilt. He wasn’t going to divulge, but she really couldn’t blame him when she didn’t. Not really, anyways. Not always. She pushed forth a small smile. “Remember that I’m here for you, in your corner.”
Deacon nodded, copying her smile. “Here.”
Madelyn wasn’t sure what he was inferring until he shrugged off his leather jacket, quickly placing around her shoulders before she could protest. With Bunny back in one hand, he looked at her (well, she assumed so) expectantly. She adjusted the jacket, trying not to think about how warm it felt around her frame.
“Why don’t we get off this roof and go prank one of the others?” he proposed. “Drummer Boy is just asking for it.”
“Have you been reading my mind again?” she teased, knocking her shoulder against his.
Deacon wrapped his arm around her shoulder, flashing a devilish smirk. “Of course. Including all those naughty ones about James Dean.”
❤ 19/29 ❤
#fallout 4#deacon#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fanfic#t-swift february fics#i mean deacon DOES have a james dean daydream look behind those sunglasses#and mads? I MEAN LOOK AT THE GIF YO#also yes i started this fic with the first lyric what about it
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treacherous
Put your lips close to mine
As long as they don't touch
Out of focus, eye to eye
'Til the gravity's too much [x]
Daydreaming is all well and fine, unless you find yourself focusing on your partner’s lips longer than you should.
❤
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
818 words | Ao3
Deacon had made a hobby out of watching Charmer.
Not that he was a creep—he was just very observant. And as of late, the person he liked observing the most was that 200-year-old woman from Sanctuary. If only she knew he really had been following her ever since she crawled her way out of that vault. Okay, when it phrased it that way it totally sounded like he was a stalker. But Charmer had caught his attention early on and he didn’t have to convince Desdemona too much that seeking her out would be worth it.
It didn’t take long for that old-world treasure to show up in their hideaway church, giving them shit for how easy it was to follow the Freedom Trail. Deacon found it just as easy to vouch for her—even if she could speak for herself, Desdemona would never budge without a vote of confidence from her most reliable agent. But he only trusted his gut, until he met the woman out of time, or so the newspapers were calling her.
From that first official Railroad job he had let her take the lead, allowing her to direct the conversations with the tourist outside the Slocum’s Joe. That’s when he decided he could stand and listen to her talk about anything and be mesmerized. Hell, she could read him the dictionary word-by-word and he would be entranced from a to z. It was a damn good reason she had picked the codename Charmer.
So even now, outside of Stockton’s shop in Bunker Hill’s marketplace he lingered nearby on a bench, keeping a careful watch on the situation, just in case he needed to intervene. Not that he ever needed to when their contacts were hanging off of every silver-tongued word she spoke. Then again, so was he. He focused in on the way she talked, smiling around every syllable—God Damn—she was good at this. And she liked to say she was better suited for the Minutemen. Pfft.
Deacon stared at her lips, just looking, wondering how long she had spent to perfect her makeup that morning before they left on their travels. Just where had she found that shade of red lipstick? The longer he stared, just listening, watching her talk, his mind drifted away. What would it be like to kiss those ruby red lips—kiss her?
Wait. What?
Deacon blinked, startling even himself as the thought flittered through his brain. He shook his head, closing his eyes as if removing her from sight would help—he could not afford to be thinking about Charmer like that. Of all the dames in the Commonwealth, Deacon had plenty he could daydream about. Yet when his mind drifted, he kept envisioning the same strands strawberry blonde hair just out of reach, the same full lips stained with stained with a shade of lipstick he was dying to know the taste of.
He hardly realized he was wrapped up in his own internal crisis when Charmer appeared before him, leaning down slightly to catch his attention. She waved a hand in front of his face, beaming this great big smile that had him momentarily dazed. “Hello, is Deacon in there?”
“Maybe,” he answered with a short, stifled attempt at a laugh. “He might have been replaced when you weren’t paying attention.”
“Deacon,” Charmer said again, head dipping closer, daring to get a peek at his expression. “Don’t make me boop your nose and test the theory.”
Just as her hand was reaching towards his face to do just so, he stood up catching her arms in his grasp as he nearly toppled her over. Not that he would’ve minded her little ongoing friendly gesture. She only giggled, tilting her chin up to look up at him. Some decent news from Stockton had certainly put her in a good mood, but Deacon could regroup on that later.
“Why do you have to be so tall?”
Deacon clenched his teeth—how easy it would be to pull her in and get swept away in the scent of her. Instead, he focused, flashing another grin. “Why do you have to be so short?”
“Rude,” she stuck out her tongue in a playful gesture before carefully slipping away, out of his grasp. “So, where to next?”
Anywhere I can get you alone. He mused it over in his head, nearly saying it out loud, wondering how she’d react. Probably take it with grace, like she did with everything else. He settled for something a little less sappy. “Anywhere you want, doll.”
Still sappy, but it would do, especially when her reaction was that beautiful laugh. Charmer snatched up his hand, linking her arm in his, already eager to lead him away. Deacon was more than happy to follow along. He was in the deep end now—but oh what a wonderful place it was to be.
❤ 7/29 ❤
#fallout 4#deacon x f!solesurvivor#deacon#deacon x madelyn#madelyn hardy#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#fanfic#t-swift february fics#saoirse ronan being in little women was a blessing to give me all these gifs#also writing deacon like this is my fav thing to do I cannot stop i cry just please support#give me all the deacon and mads fluff oops i have to write it
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holy ground
And for the first time I had something to lose
And I guess we fell apart in the usual way
And the story's got dust on every page
But sometimes I wonder how you think about it now
And I see your face in every crowd [x]
Madelyn has another biblical lesson for Deacon, this time with dance instructions.
❤
Deacon x Madelyn Hardy (Agent Charmer)
1181 words | Ao3
It was a quiet day in the Wasteland—a rare occasion for Deacon and Charmer—as they traveled the outskirts of Sanctuary. That day they had no real mission, no dead-drop to rush to, no settlement to help rescue. The Commonwealth had taken the hint, providing the two with warm weather and clear skies—and as they trekked through the grass fields and trees, there didn’t seem to be a raider or ghoul in sight. The circumstances had put Charmer in an unusually delightful, peppy mood and man, was it intoxicating.
Eventually they came across the old abandoned church—which they had long ago discovered was also hiding a tunnel to a federal stock reserve. In recent months the miracle of Mother Nature had taken over, vines and grass growing over much of the building and landscape. It was spring, and for once, you could actually tell. All Charmer wanted to do was bask in the scenery, and Deacon was all too happy to indulge in her desire to just lay in the pasture and let the day pass them by.
With his hands tucked behind his head, he stared up at the sky, watching as the fluffy white clouds slowly floated overhead. Beside him, Charmer was quietly humming along to whatever song was echoing from her Pip-Boy, softly giggling at whatever joke she was keeping to herself. It was dreamlike—Deacon had to pinch the back of his neck just to make sure he hadn’t fallen asleep in one of Irma’s memory pods in Goodneighbor, wondering what he had done recently to turn his good karma around. For once, he decided not to be too philosophical and eased into the good feeling that was radiating through his chest, down to his bones.
Deacon turned his head at the sound of Charmer’s shuffling, raising a curious brow as he watched her sit up, shrugging off her trusty bomber jacket. Next, came her boots, all the while laughter falling from her lips. Before he knew it she was skipping through the grass, and he had leaned up on his arm, craning his neck to get a better view as she circled around him. She had swapped her usual attire for a dress she had purchased in Diamond City, one he knew she’d been saving for a special occasion—he wasn’t about to get hung up on why she considered time with him special. The dress itself was blue, darker than her vault suit, with little yellow flowers embroidered into the cotton. Perfectly Charmer.
On the radio, Travis introduced The Wanderer, and Charmer’s expression lit up like it was Christmas day all over again. She was dancing now, in her own little circle, with the brightest grin as she sang along with all the theatrics, only pausing when she realized that Deacon was very much observing her every move.
“What?” she nervously laughed.
“Nothing,” he replied, flashing a smile. This had all been very entertaining, endearing for him. “Just watching you dance.”
He found himself plucking at the daisies that littered the earth beneath his body, thankful that she couldn’t see his eyes or the subtlety of his expression from that far away—Charmer would’ve definitely picked up on how anxious he was feeling, for all the fake confidence he was trying to portray. She was smiling at him, but a slight blush was apparent. She took a step closer, sashaying her skirt.
“Why don’t you dance with me?” she asked.
Deacon flinched away, though he wasn’t sure why. It wasn’t like he could disappear into the ground—yet. “What?”
“Come on!” Charmer encouraged, that shining beacon of a smile that nobody, not even he could say no to. “It’ll be fun!”
She outstretched her arms, reaching for his hands with far more enthusiasm than he anticipated. The song continued to filter out from her wrist, and reluctantly he stood, taking one of her hands in the process. Still, he leaned away with a hesitant frown.
“I—I’m not a good dancer, Charmer,” he lied. “I’d only step on your feet.”
She peered at him skeptically, the same way she always did when she didn’t believe the bullshit he fed her in their travels across Boston. She was always so good at seeing right through him and it was as terrifying as it was thrilling. He couldn’t be his usual self around her, but perhaps that didn’t have to be such a bad thing.
“Come on Deacon,” she reassured once more, squeezing his hand. “I won’t bite. Unless you want me to.”
He smirked, deciding it was now or never—and right now he didn’t want to disappoint Charmer. Or maybe he didn’t want to ever disappoint her. Maybe he wanted to impress her, or woo her—kiss her? It was a complicated string of thoughts that fluttered through his mind as he let her take the lead, smiling through the uncoordinated dance steps until they fell into the rhythm of the song. With their hands clasped, Deacon glanced to see Charmer’s expression the happiest it had been in recent months. Now he had a new mission—to keep it that way.
Deacon twirled her around under his arm and she laughed, bringing her hand to rest on his shoulder so she was that much closer as they danced, slowing as one song ended and another down tempo one began. Her smile softened and God-damn—had her eyes always been so bright blue?
“Holy ground,” Charmer spoke suddenly, quietly.
He blinked himself out of his stupor. “Huh?”
She was smiling again, that beautiful, perfect toothy grin like she was posing for the front of some pre-war magazine. “Time for a new lesson in religion,” she started with a chuckle. “Holy ground means a place, usually a church, or a place of worship is sacred and protected. Blessed.”
Charmer skewed her lips to the side as she paused. “Its usually related to people, or relationships, so that’s also why a lot of people used the phrase colloquially.”
“Ooh, I love it when you use big words,” he joked, causing Charmer to roll her eyes, though he caught the tint of color creeping up her neck. “Sounds sacrilegious.”
“I knew you’d like that,” she laughed, and he realized they all but had stopped moving, still holding one another as they talked. Neither moved to step away. “It means you consider a place special. Well, more than special.”
“Okay. Great, I feel very learned,” Deacon nodded enthusiastically. Charmer was always very keen on educating him on pre-war religious terminology. “But why are you telling me all this?”
Charmer glanced at him with a sheepish little smile, squeezing his hand a little before swaying them back into a slow dance. “A first dance—something I haven’t done since…”
She didn’t need to say anything else for Deacon to understand clearly. Though, he wanted to mark the occasion as something more, he did so in his mind—their first dance. He memorized the coordinates, feel of the earth beneath his feet—like Charmer said—it was holy ground.
❤ 29/29 ❤
#fallout 4#deacon#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#t-swift february fics#any excuse to use another little women gif#please excuse my wiki definition of holy ground#the song that inspired this whole february project yall#singing like I do on the freeway on the way home when insp strikes and here we are 29 days later and I WEEP#anyways I made Dee this romantic stary eyed man and I am not sorry#CUZ DARLIN IT WAS GOOD#I CANT BELIEVE ITS OVER#SOMEBODY SEDATE ME
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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.
leave a 💙
#fallout 4#deacon#deacon x f!solesurvivor#madelyn hardy#otp: my hovercraft is full of eels#deacon x mads#agent charmer#fanfic#i mean this is super sappy shit right here#the highest levels of bullshit i can produce i can't even tell you how tooth rotting fluff#i am proud#please take this rarepair#have these eels#also now i can write a proper smut scene for them?!
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