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watchyourdigits · 1 year ago

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Falloutober Day Six

Monument

SIBLING FLUFF! This day serves as another look back into Frankie's past, to when he was little. We get a snippet of his relationship with his three older sisters. More specifically, his relationship with Elizabeth, who basically ends up raising the three others after they move to Texas following their mother's passing ~4 years prior. Lots of ranches in the West Texas/Panhandle region were bought up by oil companies in the '50s and Frankie's father isn't too pleased about the whole thing. Frankie is very young and doesn't understand his father is (mostly) speaking metaphorically and ends up a bit traumatized. Next prompts will actually be post-War this time lol Ages: Elizabeth (16), Jane (13), Mary (9.5 - the half is very important!), and Frankie (just turned 6) Word Count: 1.4k Warnings: alcoholism, corporal punishment, childhood neglect, religious themes

"What's that they're doin' over there, Pa?"

The sun had risen high in the August sky. A halo of light shone around his father's head. Frankie had to squint up at him where he sat on the porch in his favorite rocking chair, staring angrily at the horizon.

"Settin' up more of them oil rigs."

His voice bore the tone he took when he was angry about something or other. Frankie watched as his father picked up an empty beer bottle and brought it to his lips. He spit a thick, brown liquid into it with a sound that made Frankie's face scrunch up in disgust.

Frankie turned his attention to where his father was looking. The men on the rigs were mere specks compared to the looming metal infrastructure surrounding them.

"What's an oil rig 'n why're they buildin' so many of 'em?"

"All you gotta know 'bout 'em is that they're monuments of greed, built up by the kind of man that don't believe in leavin' God's creations alone."

"They worship the Devil?"

"Yeup."

"Who let 'em do that?" Frankie asked, appalled.

"'Member that old feller who up and died a year or two back?"

"No."

"Well, his kids was s'posed to take care of the place. They sold it to some company and now they're doin' this nonsense," he said, gesturing off into the distance with his bottle before spitting into it again.

"Why'd they go 'nd sell it, Pa?"

He grumbled something under his breath.

"You're askin' too many goddamn questions, boy. Get me another beer then go play with your sister's inside."

"But I don't wanna play inside - all they do is mess with their dolls! I wanna play cowboys and Injuns with Wyatt, Buck, 'nd them."

"Do I have to whoop you like last week?"

Frankie's eyes widened as his father leaned down to glare at him. Swallowing hard, he shook his head furiously.

He still had bruises on his bottom from where his father's belt had welted the skin there. It had been his eldest sister, Elizabeth, who had snagged some ointment for him from the school nurse's office.

Frankie scurried off without another word, moving as quickly as possible to grab his father another beer from the fridge. He brought it out to him in silence. His father grunted as he took it, not looking down at him.

Frankie sulked his way back into the house. His sisters were in the living room, as expected. Elizabeth, his eldest sister, was sitting on the couch. She was listening to a radio show while she carefully stitched away at something in her lap.

"I can't believe you ripped my Raggedy Ann doll," Jane said, accosting the youngest of the three, Mary. "Are you slow or somethin'?"

Mary shook her head, tears welled up in her eyes.

"I ain't slow! 'Nd I said I was sorry!"

"Knock it off, you two," Elizabeth said sharply. "I'm fixing it right now, just gimme a minute."

Frankie passed the two girls on the floor and pulled himself onto the couch beside Elizabeth. He watched quietly as she stitched away, but he grew restless.

"Hey, Lizzie? How do you make it so the string don't come out when you're done?"

"Doesn't come out," she corrected. "All you gotta do is tie a knot. See, watch."

Frankie paid close attention as Elizabeth tied off the end of the thread. She brought the whole thing up to her mouth and used her teeth to rip off the excess. She showed Frankie the finished product and he ran his finger over the stitches.

"Good as new?" he asked, looking up at her.

She smiled and nodded, bringing a hand up to ruffle his hair.

"Yup. Good as new. Here, Jane," she said, tossing the doll to her.

Jane examined her handiwork and gave an approving nod.

"Thanks, Liz."

"Any time. Now quit bein' so mean to poor Mary."

"Yeah! Quit bein' mean to poor me!" Mary parroted, sticking her tongue out at Jane.

"What're you doin' today, Frankie?" Elizabeth asked, taking to ignoring her sisters as they continued bickering.

"Nothin'," he said with a sigh. Elizabeth gave him a knowing look, so he continued, "Told Pa I wanted to see Wyatt and Buck, but he said for me tuh go inside and play with y'all instead."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes and then leaned down to whisper in Frankie's ear.

"Don't tell them I said this, but Pa's been a real ass lately, even to me. It's 'cause of all that booze he's drinkin'."

Frankie giggled as her breath tickled his ear. He pushed her off playfully.

"Maybe we play cowboys and Injuns instead?" he asked, eyes lighting up.

Elizabeth shrugged, a smirk gracing her lips.

"Don't see why not."

"I wanna be a cowboy," Jane announced, having overheard their conversation.

"No, me 'nd Frankie are the cowboys," Elizabeth said firmly. "You 'nd Mary are the Injuns."

"That ain't fair and you know it!" Mary protested, crossing her arms in a huff.

"Try bein' born first next time, then we'll talk."

The rest of the afternoon went by in a blur, with Frankie and his sisters switching off between various games as they found ways to entertain themselves. At some point, their father stumbled in from the porch and demanded they clean up, ending the fun.

Later, Jane heated up some leftover chicken for them and they ate dinner together while their father slept on the couch in the living room.

"Who wants to say Grace?" Elizabeth asked.

"I do!" Frankie said, raising his arm high above his head.

No one disputed his claim, so they clasped hands and bowed their heads.

"Thank you God and Jesus for the food you have given us. Thank you for keeping us safe. Please keep blessing us and our food like you do every day. And please make those Devils next door go away forever. Amen."

"Amen," the girls said in unison, dropping their hands.

Later that evening, Frankie couldn't fall asleep, the metal screeching and groaning keeping him awake as the sounds rolled across the flat land between the properties. He got up and put on his slippers, creeping through the halls to Elizabeth's room.

She was tangled in her sheets, dead asleep, a book open beside her on the bed. Frankie tip-toed over to her and pulled her sheets up like she did for him most nights. He grabbed the book and made sure to dog-ear it before placing it on her nightstand. As he tip-toed away, Elizabeth stirred.

"Frankie? What're you doin' up so late?" she said groggily, groaning as she rolled over to block the light streaming in from the hallway.

"Sorry, Lizzie," Frankie whispered back sheepishly, feeling guilty for waking her up. "I couldn't sleep. Those Devil money rigs are keeping me awake."

He watched in the dim light as Elizabeth sighed and scooted over, patting the bed. He wasted no time clambering in beside her, pulling the sheets up to his neck for comfort.

"What is all this about?" she asked, rolling onto her back now so she could turn her head to face her younger brother. "You said all that stuff at dinner…"

"Pa said the oil rigs are made by evil men who aren't scared of God. They use them as monuments to the Devil! Then I keep hearin' the sounds they make… They're like demons hollerin’. What if they-"

"Don't be scared of some dumb machines. They can't hurt you all the way over here."

"But Pa said-"

"Pa don't so much as know what day it is… Speakin' of which, we got mass in the mornin'."

"Yeah, yeah, I know… Pa goin’ with us?"

“Naw, he slept on the couch. His neck’s bound to be hurtin’.”

“Maybe we can ride the tractor to church instead of the truck,” Frankie suggested, wiggling a little in his excitement.

“Sure. I’ll even let you sit on my lap and steer a little if you hush up ‘bout it.”

Frankie nodded firmly and squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to fall asleep.

A minute or so passed before he realized he'd forgotten something important he'd wanted to say. His eyes shot open in a panic and he poked at Elizabeth’s arm.

"Lizzie… Psst… You awake?"

"Hmm?"

"I forgot to say I love you."

"I love you, too, Frankie. Now please get some sleep, a'ight?"

"Okay. 'Night."

"G'night."

#not these children in their sunday best showing up to church on a tractor lmaooooo #elizabeth secretly likes the attention she gets from the local boys bc of it & gets to pretend for a minute that she's a normal teenager #anyway i'm going clinically insane over the tenderness between elizabeth and frankie #lizzie won't hesitate to throat punch her sisters. but they aren't sensitive like frankie is & honestly deserve it most of the time #as frankie grows older lizzie only becomes more fiercly protective of him & especially so after he comes out to her #they are each other's ride or dies and honestly the idea of lizzie being killed when the bombs fall RUINS me #so i've chosen to instead to ghoullify her. she eventually works/travels with the Followers of the Apocalypse and lives happily ever after #obligatory tag time #regg writes #oc: frankie #ficlet time

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watchyourdigits · 1 year ago

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Falloutober Day Three:

Distant Glow

Spooky prompt, but the truly horrifying thing about this is just how long it took me to review.

This takes place on Danse's second ever night in Sanctuary. He and Frankie buried some raiders, but Danse looks way too good with a cigarette between his lips. Frankie finally decides it's high time he pay MacCready a visit. I recommend reading days one and two of this series before this one, but you don't have to.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: graphic sexual content (w/dubious preparation & top MacCready), canon typical violence, religious trauma, homophobia, alcoholism, drunk driving, mention of suicide

Ship: Danse x male Sole Survivor

"I know you're in there, hotshot," Frankie said impatiently, knocking on the door a little too desperately. "Let me in."

"I'm busy!" came MacCready's muffled reply.

"With what? It's after midni- Oh… That's- Jesus-... C'mon, why the fuck else would I be here?"

He heard MacCready groan, followed by some shuffling around. The door finally opened. MacCready had this look about him like he was both irritated and curious at the same time, the prospect of whatever Frankie had to offer him obviously proving far more enticing than his own hand.

His forehead was damp with exertion and the underwear he'd thrown on left little room to imagine what he'd been up to before his unexpected visitor arrived.

"What the heck is your problem?" MacCready asked as Frankie pushed past him into the room. "It's been months. I thought we weren't doing this anymore."

The room reeked of booze and cigarettes, just like he remembered. He took a deep breath, recalling the many other times he'd visited.

"Yeah, well… Things change."

Frankie liked MacCready well enough as an occasional partner. It was hard to find someone who didn't spend the entire time begging to see his face. MacCready hardly seemed to notice, let alone care. It's not like they were doing this to be intimate anyway, just using one another to scratch a common itch.

"I thought you and the 'Paladin' were off taking care of business?"

On the downside, MacCready sure as hell talked a lot.

"Buryin' the raiders," Frankie corrected poignantly. "We finished."

MacCready raised a suspicious eyebrow, "And?"

"And nothin'. Just thought I'd stop by for old time's sake."

"To take your mind off the Paladin."

Frankie pursed his lips.

"It's not about Danse, alright? It's just… been a while. You know me."

"I do know you. Which is why I know you're using me to distract yourself from-"

Frankie stared at MacCready darkly. He couldn't see it, of course, but he was sure to have felt the change in energy as Frankie approached him slowly.

"Keep yammerin' on like that 'n' I'll leave," he interrupted. "I can take care of myself, same as you."

Frankie noticed MacCready's softening cock twitch in his briefs, betraying his temptation to indulge in the unspoken offer of him staying a while. He groaned at the sight of it.

"Fuck, RJ... You're just as pretty as I remember you bein'... I think about you, ya know."

"Yeah?" MacCready asked, looking Frankie up and down, gaze lingering on the bulge forming in his jeans. "Fine. How do you wanna do this?"

"I was thinkin' maybe you could fuck me for a change," Frankie suggested, not missing a beat.

It was a ballsy move, given that he'd been the one intruding. MacCready gave a noncommittal huff at the suggestion. He went over to his nightstand where he'd left out a bottle of whiskey, taking a sip from it. He made a face of disgust before holding it out to Frankie, who hesitated as his chest grew tight with worry.

He'd sworn off booze when Shaun had been born. Things were a hell of a lot different now, here at the end of the world; a sip to match Mac's couldn't hurt. He took the bottle and knocked his mask up just enough to take a swig.

As he did so, MacCready silently closed the space between them. He snaked his arms around Frankie's neck and leaned up, pressing his lips to his throat. A sweet spot, just below his jaw. Frankie swallowed the alcohol, feeling the familiar comfort of the burn as it went down.

He let slip a low moan as MacCready sucked at the flesh there, using that time to take another large gulp or two of the whiskey. Mac was venturing dangerously close to his jaw, the place where the scarring began.

Frankie felt the heavy warmth of both his own arousal and the booze as they mingled in his stomach. MacCready, already a little buzzed, tested his luck by actually nipping at his jaw. Frankie shivered, straining uncomfortably against his jeans now. He tipped his head down and fit the mask back into place, hiding his exposed flesh from the man hanging off him.

"Quit that."

"Aww, c'mon, I think I'm owed a little fun. Given the intrusion," MacCready said coyly.

"Fair 'nough. So… was that a yes?"

Normally he was more than happy to take the reins, but tonight was different. Tonight, he was feeling a bit emotional after having snapped at Danse for damn near nothing. Apparently he was unable to control his own libido enough to hold it together.

Granted, the sight of him with that cigarette between his lips, the sheen of sweat over taught muscles that captured the moonlight just right… To say it had all been too much was an understatement.

Disinterested and unaware, Danse had no clue what Frankie was talking about when he told him to quit staring. The searing looks he gave were beyond tolerable. It was like he was about to jump him, fuck him senseless then and there, though Frankie knew damn well that would never happen. Ever. It was enough to drive him mad.

Or send him running back to MacCready, who contemplated him for a long while, mulling over the offer.

Finally, he licked his lips, giving Frankie another quick once-over.

"Sure. But next time, we go back to the usual."

"Of course," Frankie reassured quickly, his heart leaping into his throat.

He couldn't remember the last time he'd been properly fucked. He more than trusted MacCready to get the job done, given his equal fondness for women and men.

Can't be that much different, right? Just gotta get it out of my system, then I'll be fine…

For what it was worth, MacCready did try his best to act like a proper top, mostly taking a page from Frankie's own playbook as a guide.

He maneuvered Frankie toward the bed and laid him down gently the way he'd done to MacCready in the past.

Frankie removed his belt and shimmied himself out of his jeans. He tugged his mask off quickly while Mac was distracted, scrounging around for supplies, namely lube and a condom. He took his shirt off and shoved the mask back on, albeit a little crooked, just as MacCready turned around. He didn't seem surprised to see him lying there, naked as a jaybird. He did, however, let his appreciative gaze meander its way down his body. Frankie flexed a little for his benefit, grinning to himself. He was fit and he knew it, toned and thick with muscle from all his work on the farm growing up and subsequent military involvement.

Some dark, indescribable dread that had been forming just out of sight hooked its needle-like claws into his mind as MacCready watched him.

Frankie responded to it by propping himself up on his elbow, polishing off what was left of the whiskey before placing the bottle on the floor beside the bed.

He straightened his mask one last time and then laid himself back down, his cock heavy and leaking at the prospect of attention as it rested against his lower stomach. MacCready took his underwear off and climbed onto the bed, settling between Frankie's thighs.

"Uhh, so how do you wanna…?"

The whiskey had put in a great deal of work dulling Frankie's senses. He'd probably be fine with a few fingers and a good railing.

"No foreplay. I want you behind me, 'nd don't be afraid to manhandle me. I ain't all fragile, unlike you."

MacCready rolled his eyes, reaching down to indulge himself quickly before grabbing hold of Frankie around the middle and helping him get into position.

On his hands and knees, Frankie was all the more desperate, practically dazed with it. He had a perfect view through the window beside the bed.

There was a glow from one of the rooms across the road, where all others were dark. Frankie saw a large figure pass in front of the window and then stop there, just in Frankie's line of sight as he stripped his full-body uniform off.

MacCready held Frankie apart with his free hand as he started carefully running circles around his hole. Soon enough, he plunged a finger inside and got to work, opening him up little by little. Frankie relaxed into the sensation, rocking his hips back against MacCready's palm. He'd needed this more than he'd thought, his cock throbbing painfully.

"H-Hurry it up, hotshot," Frankie whined, growing impatient.

Quit bein' a fuckin' pervert.

The last thing Frankie saw before forcing himself to look away was Danse peeling his shirt off. He'd been too late and the image lingered there, burned into his mind as he let his eyes fall shut.

Danse sparked something in him, a kind of devotion he hadn't felt in a damn long time, the kind one usually reserved for Sunday mass.

A second finger and Frankie moaned loudly, biting his lip hard as he continued fucking himself back onto MacCready's fingers. He could almost imagine it was someone else behind him…

MacCready pulled his fingers out too quickly, probably smirking like a madman as he left Frankie hanging. Frankie opened his mouth to protest, but fell silent when he heard MacCready preparing a condom.

"You ready?"

"Of course I'm fuckin' ready."

He knew he wasn't, not really, but something told him he needed to feel whatever was coming. It was the least he deserved do to atone for the sheer volume of unsavory thoughts he'd been harboring lately.

MacCready teased at his entrance for a moment before slowly working his way in. Frankie gasped at first and then bit down harder on his lower lip, drawing blood as MacCready pushed his way inside.

"Is it supposed to be this tight?" MacCready grunted, trying to adjust.

Frankie stole another glance out the window. Danse was gone, the light turned out for the evening. Frankie put his head down into the pillow, trying his damndest to forget what he'd seen. He didn't answer MacCready, instead pushing his hips back into him just as he'd run out of length to give.

"You okay, Frankie?" MacCready asked nervously.

He was unusually silent, after all, so Frankie gave a quick thumbs up.

"S'long as there's no blood, we're fine. Just… Just fuck me like you mean it," he mumbled breathlessly into the pillow.

"Only if you ask nicely," MacCready said, closer to his ear now.

Frankie let slip another moan.

"Please."

MacCready heaved a content sigh and ran a hand along Frankie's broad back as he pulled himself out about halfway. He bucked forward in an awkward, stuttering motion. It hurt more than expected, causing Frankie to cry out.

"Sonuva-!"

"Shi-shoot, sorry-"

"F-fuck that. Keep goin'."

MacCready managed to settle into a quicker pace after a few more slow thrusts. He fucked him like he was mad at something, just like Frankie had asked him to.

Soon enough, the pain evened out into a dull throbbing and Frankie found himself moaning and keening like a whore as he pushed back in time with MacCready's hips. Frankie reached down to touch his own cock, which had taken on an angry red color.

It didn't take much longer for MacCready to cum, and he did so without warning. Frankie felt the twitch from within as his thrusts became more erratic and then finally stilled. Thankfully, he didn't pull out right away.

An image of Danse's broad hands on his hips, holding him place while he had his way with him…

Danse would probably make the most divine sounds, grunting as he fucked him steadily. Frankie would bet any money he was damn good at it too, thick fingers pressing into his flesh, nails digging in as he emptied himself inside. Leaving bruises behind, kisses like whispered prayers, marking him, claiming him as his own. Worshiping him and everything he was. A false idol, an act of blasphemy in the face unrelenting God.

That gruff voice of his alone could turn even the most evangelical preacher into a sinner.

"You've done so well for me."

A few more frantic pumps of his cock and Frankie cried out for a final time, gasping as he struggled for breath as the white heat of his own orgasm drowned out all rational thoughts about the man with those big, brown cow eyes.

MacCready peppered Frankie's back with kisses as he rode it out, a small comfort. He only pulled himself off Frankie once he'd settled enough, though he still struggled to steady his breathing.

Mac clambered out of the bed, leaving Frankie empty and alone as he searched for a clean towel. Frankie collapsed onto the bed and rolled onto his back, shivering in the absence of the warmth of another's body.

MacCready cleaned him off carefully, making sure not to be too rough around his more sensitive areas.

"Feeling any better?" he asked gently, scooting back onto the bed and staring down at him with nothing but concern.

Dammit, Frankie… Just be honest. You can't keep lyin' like this, pretendin' everything's peachy keen when it ain't.

"Worse, actually. Ain't your fault. I let it get real bad this time. I can't-" Frankie's voice cracked, tears pricking his eyes.

He was choking on his own words, the emotions weighing on him, taking him aback with how strong they were. MacCready, somehow, had seen this coming a mile away and remained unphased.

"Hey, hey, hey. Deep breaths. Just like we practiced. I'm here."

The other good thing about MacCready was that he didn't run away when the tears came. This time was worse than before. Frankie's every nerve burned with it. Everything felt wrong, sinful, just like it used to.

It was like he was seventeen again, drunk and kissing his best friend, Wyatt, for the first time in the dark corner of a house party. They'd left early that night. Together.

Wyatt had borrowed his father's truck and drove them to an abandoned field, somewhere between both of their homes. He'd kissed him so tenderly in the back of that truck. Everything else that happened between them that night had hurt, but Wyatt's kiss had made it all better. The feeling was imprinted on Frankie's lips for all eternity.

Wyatt had died not even a week later, completely and utterly alone after he'd had an argument with his father. He had drunk a little too much after the fight, borrowed father's truck once last time, and wrapped it around a telephone pole.

Frankie knew what they'd argued about, given the dirty looks his family gave him when he showed his face at Wyatt's funeral. He knew it was his fault his best friend was dead. Wyatt's father knew it too, threatening to kill him in cold blood if he so much as saw him at their son's grave.

If Wyatt hadn't kissed Frankie, he might have lived, at least for a little while longer.

The same went for Malcolm, who specially requested that he be transferred into the same regiment as him under the guise that they were cousins by marriage. Mal, the poetic one, who'd read him some fancy novel or another every night before they fell asleep.

Mal, who took his place on the night watch, and lost his life for it. Frankie couldn't have known, but he still blamed himself.

It was hard not to believe God was trying to punish him for loving truly and deeply, evil bastard that he was. If Frankie somehow ended up at the pearly gates, he'd have a choice word or two for that cruel motherfu-

"Frankie…" MacCready said softly, moving his hand to lace their fingers together.

He gripped MacCready's hand like a lifeline.

"The world ended. No one cares anymore."

He knew that, but it all felt like it was just yesterday…

"The end of the world don't mean shit. I'm still goin' to hell, right along with everyone else here."

"I thought you didn't believe in God anymore?"

"I don't. That's what makes it worse… Y-you… Well, you don't just forget."

Frankie had felt an initial, fleeting sense of freedom upon first walking out into the wasteland.

He was swiftly and brutally reminded that the body didn't let go so easily of the kind of pain a man typically took to the grave.

Still, it didn't hurt to try.

"Got any more booze?"

"I think you drank it all."

"Right… I'll get you s'more."

"Don't worry about it. You wanna stay here tonight?"

"If it ain't gonna be a trouble..."

"You, trouble? Never," MacCready teased.

Frankie gave him a half-hearted smack upside the head, contemplating whether he should break the news now that he and Danse had only put the raiders in the hole. It was by Preston's orders that they didn't actually bury them. He'd demanded MacCready bury them as recompense for being late to guard duty earlier that day.

Naw, let him enjoy the bliss of not knowing.

It was temporary anyway, just like everything else.

Temporary, like the distant glow of Danse's bedroom light as he fell asleep alone.

Frankie wondered if there was ever a time when Danse had someone beside him at night. What would someone like that even look like?

Nothin' like a deathclaw's chew toy, that's for damn sure.

#this is my first time writing anything even remotely smutty in a decade or so if i'm being honest #i've spent more time rereading this than actually writing it at this point so i'm DONE #it's going out idc if the smut is bad or not anymore because it's not about that anyway!!!#obligatory tag time #maccready x frankie #danse x frankie #danse x male sosu #danse x male sole survivor #regg writes #ficlet time #nsft

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