Nothing's Gonna Change My World (Pavitr Prabhakar x Reader)

Pools of Sorrow, Waves of Joy

Preface: This story takes place several years after the events of Across the Spiderverse, Pavitr and the reader are somewhere in their 20s at this point in time. This story involves a reader who survives an attempted SA, there will be brief description of the rescue from the event, and extensive discussion of the emotional impact of the event on the reader. There will be no graphic descriptions of the event itself. The contents of this story may be triggering for some to read, for that reason.

Being Spider-Man is not so easy.

Pavitr doesn't like to admit it, but not even he can fix everything. Sure, Spider-Man thinks it's pretty entertaining to knock down the outlandish supervillains he's encountered trolling around the city, but Pavitr knows that the property damage left behind might take years to recover from, if ever. Businesses, homes, dreams crumbling to the Earth in billowing columns of dust. Pavitr had to watch one of his best childhood friends move away because they had nowhere else to go after his home was destroyed in a fight. Unfortunately, that wasn't the hardest lesson.

The hardest realization Pavitr had to make was the one that regular people were the worst villains of all, capable of cruelty no magical creature nor mutated abomination could match. He'd thought he knew what evil was from Saturday morning cartoons: garish getups, twisted features, convoluted plans for world domination. He learned differently the first time he had to punch out a creep who refused to keep his hands to himself. No, it was not easy at all.

Exhibit A: This asshat ruining his otherwise pleasant Friday evening eating his dinner in peace. Bitten-off cries tickle Pavitr's finely attuned ear, his Spider sense an itch, a prickling whine that beckons him walk this way. Pavitr doesn't bother to wipe the crumbs from his face, he yanks his mask around his chin and darts to peek into the alley below. There's a man down there, he's attempting to frog-march someone to his waiting car. It's not going that well as he's only got one hand free to do so, he's trying to muffle his captive's protests with the other, and it's clear she isn't interested in whatever he's offering.

Spider-Man has had it with this shit. A younger him might have fought first with words, a puffed chest, the chance to walk away unscathed.

Not anymore.

His sense is keening now, its sharp talons scraping along his skin. The bangle is whipped off his wrist, the web follows behind it as vortexes in the air, the low whir intensifying as Pavitr picks up speed, the weapon spinning faster and faster overhead. He aims for the ankle and casts out his line with incredible ease. The bangle is now an impromptu bola, it swiftly winds its way around the assailant one, two, three times before Pavitr delivers a sharp tug, and the assailant stumbles. He waits for you to step out of reach, and you do so quickly. In a few graceful wall jumps, he's there, recalling his bangle only to fling it down with a mighty crack on the man's head. Pavitr pins the sputtering main to the ground and lands a jab in his gut, there's cheap vodka on his breath and his eyes are bleary, unfocused. He makes quick work of binding him up with web, leaving a note behind as to what landed him in this predicament. He wants everyone to know what he did.

Nostrils flaring, he turns now to you, hiding behind the front of the man's car. Pavitir nimbly tumbles over the car's sleek hood to get to where you're crouched, hands over your ears. He lowers himself down to your level.

"Miss, are you alright? Are you hurt?" he gently asks.

He gets no response but a gasping sob, red-rimmed eyes meeting his through his mask as you turn to acknowledge your rescuer for the first time. Pavitr gives you a once-over for any obvious injuries and oh his heart aches. Tiny bruises are blooming on your jaw, the rivulets from your tears trailing along them. Your chest is heaving as your breathing comes quick and hoarse, and he notices one wrist wears an angry purple blotch from being restrained. Nothing looks broken and he doesn't see any open wounds, but it doesn't stop his sense's painfully sharp hold on him. The shrill wail pitches in and out, not unlike a radio being tuned to the right frequency. He can hear shuffling in the building you must have come out of - a local nightclub - and he knows he needs to make his exit.

"Hey, I have to get you out of here," he explains. "Can you walk?"

On shaky legs, you stand, pulling yourself up on the car's rear view mirror. Pavitr immediately offers his own hand to help you up the rest of the way, but is met with a sharp twinge from his sense as you recoil from the gesture, and winces himself.

She's so frightened of me. Pavitr exhales and steels himself for what he has to do next.

"We're out of time, I'm sorry, but I have to swing us out of here before people come out and see.  I need to you grab on around my neck and I'll do the rest, I promise I'll make it quick and I won't drop you, okay?" he instructs. He waits for your nod of assent, even though his sense is screaming that you don't like this. Pavitr guides your hands around him and takes firm hold of your waist, his breath hitches and his pulse stutters when he feels you hide your face against his shoulder.

"There you go, good job," he praises, attempting to defuse your anxiety. "Ready?" he prompts.

He feels your nod and tosses out a web, finding purchase on a nearby rooftop and up, up, up he goes. Pavitr truly does try to not swing too fast, he feels awful enough seeing your eyes screwed shut, face firmly jammed against him, but you still feel the cold breeze sailing past your legs as you swing. Just as promised, he sets you down shortly after. He's found a quiet rooftop a few blocks away, you open your eyes to find your vision swimming and blurry at the edges. You stumble out of Pavitr's hold, eyes blown wide and breathing still at breakneck pace.

"H-he was gonna- I didn't want to-" you whimper.

"Woah, hey now, you're okay-" Pavitr starts.

"I t-told him n-n-no and he just, he just grabbed m-me and- my friends are gonna-"

"Hey there-" he tries to gently interrupt.

"Why did he do that?" your cry is so quiet from running out of breath, you're wheezing now and it's getting hard to stand, so you don't. Pavitr's heart sinks because you look so crushed, his sense has set his nervous system on fire, the burning arcs from spine to fingers.

"Hey, hey, darling, hey, shhhhh..." he coos, moving to sit across from you. "Hey, can I borrow one of your hands for a bit?" You oblige him, and he takes your hand in his. They're warm, with long, elegant fingers, and your eyes are drawn to the dried blood staining the knuckles of his suit.

"Can you tell me your name, darling?"

"(You)" you stammer out between labored breaths. Pavitr's lips give the tiniest quirk of a smile through his mask.

"Okay (You), if you keep breathing like that, you're gonna pass out. So I'm gonna put your hand right here-" he splays your hand across his chest, over his heart, and he holds it there. "And you and I are gonna take some deep breaths together, yeah? Can you try for me?" You nodded again. "Good, deep breath in -"  he inhales, and you follow, shaky and shallow. "- and out," he releases slowly. You try to mimic him, but end up coughing instead, your throat feels raw and parched.

"Good job, (You)!" cheers Pavitr. He links your free hands together and gives yours a small squeeze. His mask crinkles a little around the eyes, from the smile he must be giving you. You imagine it's probably brilliant to see and thinking about it feels nice. "Let's try some more."

You follow his deep breathing for a few more minutes. It gets easier to keep pace, the panic starts to retract its claws from around your throat, your ribcage expands and contracts. Periodically, he rewards you with a "You're doing so good", his voice warm and honey-sweet, his heart a hummingbird's wings fluttering against the palm of your hand. It's cold outside at this time of night, but you can't help but feel heat at the apples of your cheeks.

Eventually, you're able to match him. On the final exhale, Pavitr takes hold of the hand on his chest and laces his fingers through it, bringing your joined hands between you. His sense has dulled to no more than a soft hum at the base of his skull.

"There you are, darling," he purrs. You manage a wisp of a grin for his efforts, the tear tracks drying over your cheeks are uncomfortably sticky as you do.

"I'm - " you begin. "I'm beyond sorry for how I freaked out at you-"

"Absolutely do not apologize apologize for that. Do not," Pavitr emphatically cuts you off. "There's nothing unnatural about being upset when someone is endangering you."

"But none of that's your responsibility, Spider-Man," you explain. "You saved me. And for that, I'm so grateful, truly. You have *entirely* more important shit to do than sit with some girl and her feelings."

"The point of being Spider-Man is keeping people safe. That does extend to helping people feel safe too, 'yanno," says Pavitr, who takes a moment to brush his long hair from his eyes. "I would think ensuring you feel safe is included in the job description."

"I - thank you," you say. "Everyone always talks about how cool it is to get saved by Spider-Man. That we should consider ourselves lucky if it happens, say thank you, and off you go to your next adventure," you swallow. "I don't feel lucky right now, I feel...hurt. Scared. Angry."

"Could anyone blame you, though?" Pavitr muses. "I mean, for a lot of people from an outside perspective, it is cool to see Spider-Man up close, I'm pretty handsome, 'yanno?" he waggles his eyebrows. That one does get a giggle out of you, and oh he loves the sound. He wants to let the memory etch grooves into his mind, and trace them with his finger when the days are too long.

"Jokes aside, people assume that I'm infallible. When I save people, that doesn't make whatever happened, not have happened. If I were in your position, I'd feel the same as you do. I think that should be honored, not pushed aside."

"That's really nice, Spider-Man, thank you," you sniffle. "I'm just...nervous. About tomorrow. He..." Pavitr doesn't miss the delicate wobble of your lower lip, nor the shine of the fresh tears in your eyes. A comforting hand finds a perch on your shoulder.

"He is- he was my friend. I've known him for years. In what world would have thought this is something he'd do? I don't get it, truly, I don't. I don't know what signs I missed, or if I was giving mixed signals, maybe my outfit was-"

"Darling, don't finish that sentence," Pavitr stops you. "It was not your fault. It's never your fault, you get me?" he takes your hand again, and waits pointedly for you to nod your agreement. "I wanna see a 'yes'."

You nod in reply, although your hesitance shows in the way you worry your lip on a canine. Pavitr guides you to face him with a gentle hand on your cheek.

"Listen to me, (You). It does not fucking matter what you were wearing, what you were doing, whatever bullshit happened over the course of your relationship with him, or how the Delhi Capitals fared at the auction this year, I don't care. There is no world, no universe where it is okay to do that to someone. He does not have that right, and I need you to understand this."

You couldn't see his face, but the mask he wore did nothing to obscure the cold fury in his expression.

"But what if nobody believes me?"

"I believe you," Pavitr replied, without a hint of hesitation. "Wholeheartedly, I believe you. I'd hope that me tying him up with web and leaving a note about what I saw would help on that end, but if for some reason it isn't enough, know that I believe you, okay?"

The relief you felt was palpable. The pain isn't completely gone, and your emotions are still a tangled ball of yarn, knots twisting in your stomach, but having something meant so much in this moment. Not only did he save you, even better, he heard you. You reach up to wipe at your misty eyes, reddened and tired from crying.

"This is kind of a weird ask but...can I hug you?" you shyly inquire. Pavitr recoils, his eyebrows raising in surprise at the question. For a moment, you'd though you'd offended him when-

"Of course you can," he affirms. And then he does. He's firm, strong, jacked even, but he's not suffocating as he holds you. Inky wisps from his fringe tickle your cheek as you start sobbing all over again into his shoulder. Pavitr says nothing, only moves to support the back of your head with his hand as you let everything out, finally. You sit in silence for a while, the pain slowly dissipating like a sluggish drain into the fabric of his suit. Night air's tiny fangs nip at your ears, but neither of you care. It's quiet, no monsters to fight, no villains to thwart, no crime to bust. It's nice out here, and for now, that's all that matters.

After a few minutes, you run out of energy to keep going. Your head feels full of cotton, fatigue pulls at you like the whine of a dying light bulb. You pull back from Pavitr with a whispered "thank you", who wipes off the last of your tears with a swipe of a second knuckle and a "don't mention it".

"You look like you could fall asleep standing up," he observes. "Any chance I can swing you back home?"

"At this point, I'm too exhausted to care. Why not," you grumble, rubbing at your sore eyes.

Pavitr guides your arms around him once more, a dance he's performed hundreds of times over. A strong arm winds around your waist, pulling you closer, close enough to hear the tattoo of his heart against his chest wall. But it's when he asks "Where to, miss?" in dulcet tones that you shiver, letting it ripple from the neck down.

Pavitr hopes you didn't hear his heart screeching to a sudden stop when you gave him your reply. He hadn't realized that he'd rescued his upstairs neighbor tonight.

"Oh, I know exactly where that is! That's where I- my friend lives! Downstairs! In that building! Haha that's so funny, what a small world..." he prattles, and hopes you didn't catch his near-miss. He imagines that if he pulled off his mask right now, he'd be redder than the suit is.

"Yeah, small world," you yawn. Oh she's precious like this.

"Alright, sleepyhead, you ready to go home?" jokes Pavitr. Your only response is a high grunt, too tired for words. "I'll take that as a yes, then," and off he goes. This go around, he takes the chance to put some zip in his step, taking bigger arcs and wider corners. The sensation of your stomach dropping wakes you up a bit, and you take the chance to peek over Spider-Man's shoulder.

You couldn't be more glad you did. Lights in the windows glitter on the accents of Spider-Man's suit, a golden shimmer flitting across the skyline. The silver shine of the moon ripples in his hair as it whips in his own breeze. Despite the circumstances, the night is beautiful (he's beautiful), and he's given you the gift of the wind.

You start to feel somewhat sad when he decelerates to a stop against the roof ledge of your building. Carefully, he rappels you down to your fire escape, setting you down so gently, as if you might break.

"Lucky me, I left my window unlocked before I left. I probably should stop doing that..." you opined.

"Nah, I think you're good. I think I whooped his ass so hard his grandchildren will feel it. If he even gets to have any after this," said Pavitr, in his attempt to not let you leave on a sad note.

"You're right. He probably has enough brain matter left to realize leaving me alone is the smart choice."

It's when you have one foot back into your apartment he calls your name, his voice wrapping around it like silkworm threads.

"Whatever you decide to do to move forward from this, that's up to you entirely, I support whatever you choose. But if you do want to pursue this officially...I'll help you," Pavitr offers.

"You'd really do that?" you ask incredulously.

"I really would. I want to, if that's what you want," he says. "Besides, my friend does live here. Chances are you might see me around again," (he hopes he does).

"Well, thank you for offering. I'll have to think about it...process all this. I'm sure you'll hear about it if I do go to the police?" you say.

"I would. And like I said earlier, it's just part of my job. Don't worry about it," assures Pavitr. You notice he shifts his weight towards his back foot, about to turn to leave, to disappear into the glimmer of the skyline.

"Oh, and Spider-Man, before you go?" you call for him, hand outstretched. He pauses a moment before approaching you. Once he's in reach, you decide "to Hell with it", and pull him in closer.

Pavitr freezes in place when you plant a kiss on his masked cheek. He hopes you can't feel his face burning through the fabric, or the hitching of his breath when you replace your lips with your hand.

"Thank you, for everything. I really do appreciate it. And I'm sorry if I-" you're interrupted when Pavitr's hand covers yours.

"Hey, don't finish that sentence, darling." He shoots you a wink through his mask the best he can. "You have a good night. You need it."

Reluctantly, you part, and he waits for you to slip back into your apartment, lock the window, and draw the curtains before turning to take the fire escape down a level. Pavitr leaps through his own bathroom window soundlessly, peeling off his mask to look at himself in the mirror. Yep, redder than the suit, just as he thought.

Being Spider-Man is not easy.