The Punisher x Reader
Title: Thanksgiving Surprise
Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader
Word count: 1500 roughly
A/N: Haha this is short and late and shitty but happy thanksgiving my friends I love all of you so much and I truly do appreciate it when you leave feedback on my work and follow me 💕
My gloveless hands fumbled with my keys as I tried to lock the door to my apartment complex. After a bit of effort and some elbow grease, the lock clicked, and I could leave. I started making my way down to my car, shoes clonking down the set of winding stairs which took me to another door. I had become very familiar with this door, me having lived in my apartment for quite some time now. The knob was cold on the inside, which sparked a reminder that ultimately burned out before I could process what I had forgotten. The second I stepped outside into the harsh November air, though, my mind connected the dots as to what I had been missing when I left my apartment complex. I could clearly picture my jacket’s warmth, fruitlessly hanging on one of the hooks near the stairwell, three stories up, in the opposite direction I needed to go in. The wind did a number on my hair, chilling me through my thin hoodie as I made my way to the car. I hurriedly unlocked the vehicle and stepped into it before slamming the door shut, probably a bit harder than I should have. I sat in the drivers seat for a few seconds, trying to warm up my hands enough to get them to cooperate well, before turning on my car and letting it heat up for another few seconds. The radio cracked to life as I turned the small knob on the dashboard, playing the channel with the best signal, which just so happened to be Christmas music. I let it play as I removed my car from its spot on the street, driving cautiously down the icy roads, heat blasting, and Christmas cheer already filling the air.
By the time I had gotten to the store, there were no turkeys left. The place was booming with last minute shoppers, everyone desperate to get their thanksgiving meals. In the Thanksgiving craze, I managed to grab myself a small bag of potatoes and carrots, cranberry sauce from a can, some sort of stuffing mix in a bag that had been strewn in the same aisle as the cranberry sauce, and a pre-made rotisserie chicken from the deli. One boxed pie and a tube of crescent rolls later, and I was stood in a line so long that it almost had me in the cereal aisle, which had, surprisingly, been wiped out. I guess everyone was trying to get their hands on whatever they could. After what seemed like ages, the young cashier who tried their hardest to cash me out as fast as possible, gave me my receipt, and I was out the door and back into my car, on my way home.
It wasn’t my fault. That’s what I had to keep telling myself as the smoke irritated the fire alarm on my ceiling to the point of screeching its displeasure across the entirety of my apartment. I watched the fire alarm from my spot at the stove, fanning a small hand towel over the burnt stuffing I had managed to fuck up somehow. The store bought chicken had been sitting on the counter for twenty minutes now, and was officially not warm enough to be hot, but too cold to be very enjoyable. I figured throwing it in the microwave later would fix that, so I didn’t worry too much about it. The screeching continued as I flopped the towel down on the counter after many failed attempts to quiet the alarm and moved over to the mashed potatoes, which seemed to have heated up nicely. ‘At least I did something right,’ I thought to myself. Proud of my efforts, I moved the potatoes from the pan onto the nicest plate I owned. Even though the plates were all the same. The plates the potatoes ended up on was special. Because I had convinced myself that on the plate hierarchy, that plate came out on top. For some reason.
After managing to put everything else out on the table relatively nicely, I sat myself on a chair, and waited. Frank has never had a set time limit for when he comes home, so I decided to keep myself at the table, for when he came in. I picked at some carrots while I browsed some social media websites, perused the internet for a little while, and even watched an episode of my favorite show, which lasted about an hour. The chair I was sitting on had started to get uncomfortable, and the food turned cold a while ago. Frank wouldn’t be mad if I ate without him, right? No, I don’t think he would. He would wait for me, though. So I decided to give it another ten, twenty minutes, before eating.
It turns out, I made the right call. Halfway into a funny YouTube video, I heard the doorknob jangle. The keys turned the knob, and I got up quickly, eager to start warming things up after just picking at carrots all night long. The door opened, and I froze. There stood Frank in the doorway, looking as handsome as he always does, maybe a bit chillier, but tonight in particular, he looked incredible. The bags of KFC he held in his hands really suited him well. He had a slight smile on his face until he noticed the decked out table, and he immediately looked shameful. I tried to lighten the mood by saying, “Thank God you’re home! I really wasn’t in the mood for chicken anyway!” But that didn’t help, considering what he was holding in his hands.
“I meant- no, no, I- just, like- I don’t really want spit roasted chicken. Kentucky Fried is definitely what I’m feeling right now. It’s warm, hopefully?”
That last sentence made Frank feel awful, unbeknownst to me. He stepped inside and locked the door, whilst saying,
“Ah, God (Y/N). I’m sorry. I got held up at the group with Curtis, and we just started talk-“
I cut him off before he could finish his thought.
“Hey, hey. Don’t apologize for that. It’s okay. It helps, right? The group?”
He remained stoic for a second before responding with a quiet, “Yeah.”
“Then it’s fine, Frank. I’m really glad you’re doing this therapy thing. Hell, I probably wouldn’t have been able to muster up the courage to do that,” I said, as I started moving things from the table to the counter. Frank placed the large bag on the table, and he maneuvered his way to his seat. He sat down, but then swiftly got up, went over to the fridge, and pulled out a beer, and my favorite drink. I smiled as I sat and started taking things out of the bag. He really went all out for tonight.
“Jesus, Frank. What are we gonna do with all the left overs? This is so much food.” I proclaimed, as I stared at foam container next to foam container. The large bucket of chicken sat in the middle, overflowing with wings and breasts and whatever else they put into those things.
“Breakfast, I guess.” He replied, taking a large wing from the bucket. We spent the night reminiscing about our old holiday traditions. He and his wife, my family and I. Turns out, Frank can’t cook. Which wasn’t too surprising. I doubt he had time to learn when he was in the military. We passed around sides and laughed at old stories from our pasts. I loved hearing about Frank, and his past. His friends, his family, his upbringings. Knowing about his wife and kids, about his life before me, it makes me appreciate what I have with him. I know he will never be over his wife completely, and that’s something I’ve come to terms with. But to think that he loves me, as much as he loved her. It means the world to me. I watched him take my empty plate from me, and he smiled as he turned away to put it in the sink. My eyes glanced over his back and shoulders. The back of his neck. The way his shirt fit him. All the tiny things that I don’t normally notice, or appreciate. I got up to help him wash the dishes and put things away, and I realized how happy I was with him. I realized how thankful I was for this incredible man who loves me unconditionally.