The Widow Across The Hall
Pairing - Frank Castle x Black Widow!Reader
Word Count - 1.6k
Summary - Frank Castle find himself secretly wondering about his neighbour across the hall, always coming back home at mysterious hours with unexplained bruises and cuts. He chalks it down to bar fights- or maybe some underground fight club- but when he returns home one evening to the unmistakable sounds of a fight echoing from her apartment, he wonders whether he’s been assuming all the wrong things about you.
Warnings - 18+, MDNI, violence, cursing, tiny bit of angst but mainly fluff, no use of Y/N, reader has red hair, nicknamed ‘Red’ due to this. This is my first fic so please be nice :))
Main Masterlist & Marvel Masterlist
The first thing Frank hears as he unlocks the door to his shitty apartment in the dingiest corner of Hell’s Kitchen is impact- the sound of a body slamming into the wall, glass shattering, the unmistakable rhythm of a fight, something Frank knows all too well.
The second thing he registers is that it’s coming from your apartment.
Frank doesn’t hesitate, he pivots three long strides to your unlocked door. His hand is already under his shirt and drawing his hand gun.
Frank had first met you a few months back, dragging two moving boxes down the narrow hallway. Crimson hair pulled back into a tight bun, a few stray strands dancing around your face. You’d offered a polite “Hello” with a lilting accent he couldn’t place. He’d just grunted, nodded and shut his door- not ever really one to ‘love thy neighbour’.
Since then, he’d only caught glimpses and short conversations with you in the hallway or the elevator: blood on your knuckles, a limp in your step, or a bruise blooming on the edge of your jaw. He’d chalked it up to bar fights, this had only intrigued him more.
As Frank pushes through your door and into the chaos, he realises he’d been extremely wrong.
You’d only been home for a few minutes when the prickle at the back of your neck told you something was wrong. You couldn’t make out any movement or noise, just a subtle shift in the air. Your body trying to protect you from a threat that your mind hadn’t caught yet.
You exhale slowly, rolling your neck more annoyed than alarmed as you drift towards the kitchen with measured steps, trying to hear anything out of the unusual.
The cold granite offers little reassurance as your fingers skim the countertop and then the knife block.
The floorboard creaks behind you, it’s not the casual groan that comes with living in an old apartment block, but rather a weight- another person.
You move without hesitation, your hand snapping to the knife and pulling it free with one smooth, practised motion. The blade leaves your fingers before the intruder even realises you’ve turned.
It whistles past his cheek by mere centimetres before burying itself in the wall with a violent thunk.
Behind his balaclava you can see his eyes widen for a few seconds before rage floods them, roaring and charging at you.
Your grunts carry through the apartment as blows are traded with the intruder. Your chair has been overturned, your favourite lamp lies in pieces.
A sharp yank pulls your head back- your braid wrapped in the intruder’s fist. Pain sparks across your scalp but you twist with him, driving your foot into his knee at a vicious angle.
His grip falters for a split second and you slip free, using his own momentum to flip him over your back.
The intruder hits the floor hard but drags you down, fingers clamped around your forearm. The two of you crash into the dining table, sending the vase of wilted flowers to the floor.
You hiss through your teeth at the impact but you’re already moving. You scramble up and drive your boot into his face with a hoarse, furious yell.
His head snaps back, body slack. Neck tilted at an ugly angle, suggesting he’s probably not getting up again.
“Fuck” Your breath comes out in uneven huffs as you blink hard, the room tilting as the adrenaline quickly drops.
“You good Red?” A gruff voice calls from behind you.
That stupid nickname, you think before turning to see him stood with his gun still raised, his eyes flicking from the intruder’s crumpled body to the trickle of blood coming from your temple.
He watches you nod through the pain. “Just peachy, Frank”
He doesn’t buy it for a second but steps deeper into your apartment, boots crunching on broken glass and eyes sweeping the room with a soldier’s precision.
“You wanna tell me” His voice is low and gruff, “Why someone’s tryna put you through a wall?”
You let out a dry humourless huff as you head into your bedroom. “How long you got?”
Frank follows, leaning against the doorframe as you swiftly move around the room. He takes in the cracked walls, the barren shelves and a singular framed photostrip of three small girls, one of them unmistakably you. You tuck it carefully amidst your clothes before reaching for a pistol, ammunition and a pair of pointe shoes.
“You didn’t answer my question” He reminds you.
You sigh before digging deep into a drawer and flashing him a belt. It’s black leather with a heavy, red buckle, an hourglass symbol that’s a warning sign within itself.
“Understand now?” You stash the belt in your backpack, zipping it harshly
Frank’s brows knit together as the pieces click into place. Returning home at mysterious hours, the bloody knuckles and split lip. Even the way you moved, like someone who had endured years of training- because you actually had.
You’re not concerned about Frank knowing. You’ve seen him from your peephole- storming down the hallway, blood coating his hands and face. How he’d disappear for days at a time, sometimes weeks. You remember the way his face had been plastered on just about every newspaper just over a year ago.
You know what kind of person he is, and he knows exactly the type of person you are.
An assassin and a soldier.
“They’re gonna send more of him after you?” Frank asks, stepping in your path.
You shrug, slipping past him and tugging the backpack strap tighter over your shoulder. “Most likely, which is why I need to leave”
The floorboards creak under you again as you cross back through the dining room, scoffing under your breath at the masked man crumpled on the floor.
“Come with me”
You freeze in your tracks, hooking your head over your shoulder. “What?”
“You heard me-“
“Yeah, I did” You snap, “But I don’t want to involve you in this Frank!”
“Why the hell not?”
“You barely know me Frank- I don’t know how long I’m gonna be running from The Red Room”
Frank’s expression shifts to confusion. “The Red Room? That’s not possible- Natasha Romanoff shut them down before she joined The Avengers”
You laugh sharply. “That’s what SHIELD wants you to think, it’s very much still active”
“Yeah? If it’s active how’d you escape?” Frank steps closer, his eyes narrowing slightly.
You shoot him a cold, warning glare. He lifts his hands in surrender.
“Alright, forget I asked” He pauses for a split second, “I have another place in the city … It’s hidden, safe”
“Frank-”
“Red”
You exhale, defeated. “You’re not gonna give this up are you?”
The corner of his lip curves slightly as he shakes his head. “No, I’m not”
“We should get rid of him before we head out then” You sigh and look at the body again.
Frank’s already rolling up his sleeves. “Yes ma’am”
