shots, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘳.

[016] lifeless.

- requested by @Ivy_the_horny_bitch -
[ 'Make us dead.' ]

The loud bang of the explosion rings in your ears. You step back, horrified at the sight before you. Noir was in that building!

You see a shadowy figure swing out of the debris, two people in his grasp. When he lands in front of you, his boots making a thud, he dusts himself off and lets go of both of them. Your eyes wide from shock, he notices you and immediately rushed to you, grabbing both your shoulders in his iron grip.

"Doll, what the living hell are you doing here?", he scolds. "Do you- I told you not to follow me." He shakes your shoulders a bit before looking at you up and down.

"I'm fine, Noir.", you say, smiling and rolling your eyes. "What's goin' on anyways?"

"These trigger men been bleeding townfolk and plugging buildings. Damn crumbs I've been tryna squash for a long time now.", he sighs. "You sure you're okay? They rigged a bomb to explode, this whole block's closin' down now."

You nod and he breathes a sigh of relief, letting go of your shoulders and stepping back. "Don't come near when I'm out here working, alright?"

"I know nothing bad will come to me when you're around, Noir.", you smile.

"Don't take any chances. I'd kill ya if you died.", he jabs sarcastically. You laugh and step closer to him. He nods, understanding the hint, and brings his mask above his mouth. His hot breath stains your lips with love. Dipping you back, he brings his tongue into your mouth. He was always a great kisser.

That was four years ago.

"I do."

It was hard to believe you had married the man behind the mask. Of course, you knew his secret identity. The wedding was nothing special. Just you and him, his aunt and your family. There wasn't much budget, of course, but it was the best day of your life. It took you a while to get used to calling him Peter. You had called him Noir on that wedding day, making your family raise their eyebrows and his aunt snap her head back at you. Peter himself had glared at you when you had said it, though in a more playful manner.

Needless to say, you didn't get much sleep that night. Neither did he.

That was one year ago.

His twenty-ninth birthday was the day you died. Your last words to him still bounce around in his head sometimes.

A building collapses with you outside, waiting eagerly for Noir to finish his work. You had pushed your chances too far this time. A gun cocks at the back of your head. You don't dare move or speak as you ball your fists up, nails sinking into your palms. You pray before you see Noir swing out of the building, dropping people to the ground safely.

"Noir!", you had screamed out. He turned to you, still in the air, and shoots a web at you in a desperate attempt at pulling you away. Your last plea for salvation before you hear the gun's chamber click. The web reaches you a split second before the bullet does, dragging your body to him, blood already dripping down the back of your head. His hands grip your hair tightly, holding you, blood staining his gloves. He cries like he never cried before.

Your last words were a desperate call for a hero. You didn't call for Peter. You didn't call for your husband. You called for Noir, the city's beloved hero. The Spider-Man. He failed.

Apparently, a bullet is faster than a web.

That was a month ago.

A month after your death, New York had settled. In fact, nothing in New York had changed after your death. It was another statistic in the census, another tombstone for a gravedigger, another lost loved one for Peter Parker.

Noir's heart remained heavy and cold. He had tried to escape the feelings of guilt, he really did. He was tormented by it. The one person he couldn't save was you. He found the Black Cat. He smoked. He drank. He ran. But there was nothing he could do to forget about you.

Your funeral had been organized by your small extended family. Peter's aunt had long passed away and your family hadn't invited Peter. They were never a big fan of him because of his habit of flaking out of dinner parties or events. They never knew his secret identity.

Peter had crashed the funeral anyways, as disrespectful as it may seem. He showed up as Spider-Man and your family was awed at his presence at your funeral. He stood there at the very back of the benches in silence, staring at the ground and sometimes the pictures of you around the coffin.

Your mother had gone up to him, asking him what he was doing at your funeral.

"I'm sorry, ma'am.", he choked out through his hidden sobs. His voice was quiet out of shame and guilt. "I couldn't save her."

Your mother cried at his words while he hung his head in shame. Noir kept his eyes locked on your picture. When everyone had left the funeral, he requested to be alone with your coffin. Once the doors were closed and everyone was out of earshot, he took off his mask and cried. It was a cry of desperation, anger, shame, guilt, fear, everything. All the while he held your coffin in his arms, listening to your flatlined heartbeat.

"If it's not too late to say." he had wept. "I love you, [Y/N]." He took a deep breath before gathering his thoughts and continuing. "I'm... sorry for everything."

Then he wept. His tears stained your coffin, the flowers, his trench coat, his gloves. There were no other words left to say.

He was everything, but you were something he never dreamt of being.

Lifeless.

"ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴀ ʙᴇᴀᴜᴛɪꜰᴜʟ ᴘᴀɪɴᴛɪɴɢ."
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