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𝓈𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇𝓎𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒. . .

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𝓈𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝑜𝑜 𝒻𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓊𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹. . .

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If I’m not…. I can also imagine Bug!Reader collecting little bugs she sees in the forest. Frank undresses her later that night only to find two pocketfuls of live bugs in your shorts. I feel like she would either be proud of her collection or scared he would kill them or take them away 🛵

my thought process behind why you’re called bug!reader is because when you first meet frank, he’s always referring to you as a “pest” or a “bug.” when he starts calling you bug, you suddenly develop an interest in the little critters. they’re so vulnerable and they remind you of yourself because of frank.

frank spends a lot of time outside with you, gun in hand, watching as you play in the forest and woods of each town you pass through. he knows you get claustrophobic inside. hell, he would too, if he was locked in a lab his whole life.

every night you get a bath if you’re outside all day. he’s weird about ticks getting on you or open wounds getting filled with dirt, so when he strips you of your clothes to put you in the bath and a ton of beetles start crawling from your pockets he has to explain that you took them away from their home. “ladybug, remember when i got you from the lab? you were so scared to be away from the place you grew up. you’re doing the same thing to these beetles. now slip on a robe before we get you cleaned up so we can put all these bugs back in the yard.”

I can imagine that next time Frank has to leave while she’s sleeping he tried to draw him leaving the house to save the tears and it’s just a stick figure with a beard and an arrow going out of the house. Bro would try his best🛵

i think the next time he goes out, he’s leaving a note that says where he’s going. you know he’s coming back based on the fact he left his stuff behind and a piece of paper with words scribbled, so you’re not too nervous this time. when he returns, you’re asking, “where did you go?”

“supply run, sweetheart. didn’t you read the note i left?” frank drops a couple bags of hygiene products, some cans of stew, and a couple gallons of water on the kitchen counter.

you look down at your feet, mouth slightly parted as you whisper. “i.. i don’t know how to read, frank.”

when their relationship turns sexual, this is canon for sure. it’s so easy to get you to shut up when he’s rewarding you with dick. it’s not too terrible if zombies find you, you’re immune to their bite and they’re terrified of frank, but it’s still a hassle he doesn’t want to deal with.

as soon as he feels you squeeze around his cock, he lets out a low groan and pulls himself out. positioning the tip in the plane of your panties, he uses his hand to work himself over and eventually paints your cotton underwear with his seed.

i think you use it when you don’t know the words to verbalize what you’re feeling. on your way to wherever frank is taking you, he keeps you locked in an abandoned house while he goes out to get some food. you wake up and he’s not there, there’s no way for you to get out, and he didn’t even leave a note (not that it would matter, you wouldn’t be able to read it, but if you at least saw a paper with some scribbles then you’d know there was an attempt to communicate his whereabouts). when he gets back you’re a sobbing mess, your hands slamming into his chest as you screams at the top of your lungs.

“you need to cool the fuck down,” frank would say, ushering you to your designated room where all your art supplies are. “do what you need to do. i don’t know why you’re so worked up, but you need to cool off.”

after a few hours, you come out of your room to find frank in the living room trying to set up a radio signal to communicate with someone. in your hands is a wet piece of paper, marked with tears and paint. he studies it for a second before realizing that you painted yourself alone and confused in the house.

“you were scared that i left you?” he asks.

⚠︎ — 18+. fem!reader. bug!reader. ✎𓂃 — apocalypse au. this is the origin for frank and reader meeting.

Paint covered hands and cheeks stare back at Frank Castle with a shock that makes even him feel off centered. It wasn’t the first time he has been tasked with something he doesn’t want to do, and it most certainly won’t be the last time either. When he was told to transport you, the cure, from one coast to the other, he couldn’t deny the orders. If you’re the cure then this can all come to an end. If the blood that runs in your veins can offer immunity, then maybe Frank Castle can finally have closure on the loss of his family.

“Who are you?” No hello, no greeting, nothing. You wipe your sticky hands on your jeans, waiting for an answer. It’s a locked location, so you know this man must not be a threat. If he has access to you, then he must be trustworthy to some extent.

“Frank,” he replies gruffly, grabbing your backpack from the corner of this brightly lit, sanitized room and begins rummaging through your drawers to pack the bag. “We’re leaving.”