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

But Listen to the Color of Your Dream (it is not living)

"What are you doing all the way over there, (You)? You're freezing," remarks Pavitr. His voice is laced with concern, but the lilt is unmistakably fond.

He's not wrong. You're currently wedged against the arm of his couch where you're midway through a series, curled up into it as snugly as possible in hopes of retaining some semblance of body heat. It's not working, he can see the gooseflesh raised on your skin from where he sits, the minute shivers your body makes on the exhales. Pavitr's implication isn't lost on you, the offer is very tempting. The thought of pressing against him when he's got that cozy-looking waffle-weave henley on that shows off everything and screams hug me is enough to make your toes curl in your fuzzy socks. Your brain just can't get past the discomfort of possibly imposing yourself on him. Not to mention that in the past, cuddling would eventually become nothing more than a vehicle for wandering hands, unspoken asks that wore a hole in your patience until you knew when the question would arrive without fail.

"I'm respecting your personal bubble," you play it off. Pavitr snorts in disbelief.

"Personal bubble- that's adorable. I don't have one. C'mere," he orders. The crook of an elegant finger beckons you closer, the quirk of his lips inviting, enticing, tugging on your psyche and leaving the sweet ache of a void unfilled.

"Really, you don't need to for my sake," you try to give him an out. He sees it and ducks out of it.

"Oh my god, you're so cute," Pavitr gushes. "I want to, and you've been making eyes at me this entire time," he reaches to grab both hands now. "Come here and let me hold you, sweet girl," he croons, and then he's reeling you in.

You follow willingly, half-crawling across the couch. When you're close enough, he pulls you across his legs by the waist, the sudden contact eliciting a surprised yip from you. You're plopped into his lap, and then strong arms envelop you, draw you firmly against a warm chest. The initial contact makes you freeze, the frisson hitting like a lightning bolt as it rolls through you in waves. Being held, being wanted feels so new, so delicious, you don't know what to do with your body but hold stock still. It feels like the first hit of a dangerous drug, simultaneously ecstatic and frightening. Your heart beats in double time, your gooseflesh spreads across your arms.

"Take a breath, dove, you're okay," Pavitr soothes, one flat hand rubbing firm circles against your tense upper back. "That's it, lean into me. I've got you."

The rhythmic pressure is grounding, the breath you're holding escapes with a huff as you start to liquefy, feeling wonderfully contained in his embrace. The frisson is still there, the cuddle he's giving you feels fucking amazing, but the heat from his body is now seeping into your bones, driving out the cold and allowing your rigid muscles to sag. The soft knit of Pavitr's shirt presses into your cheek, you inhale deeply and catch the clean scent of the laundry soap he uses, layered with an almost vanilla-like scent that's his and his alone, rich, sweet and comforting.  It reminds you of the chilly nights of your childhood where you'd sip hot cocoa to ward the frost away.

"There's my girl," he purrs, the words dripping into your ears like honey. The grin on his face could only be described as dopey, punch-drunk on raw affection.

"Mmm, this is nice," you hum happily.

"Could have had it a lot sooner, 'yanno. I've been told I'm quite the cuddle bug," Pavitr says, the rumble of his chest thrumming against you as he talks.

"Are you telling me you turned down your heat, hid the blankets, and dressed in your softest clothes on purpose?" you accuse.

"The allegations against me are baseless and without merit. I will prevail." he murmurs humorously, resting his chin atop your head. You can feel the contented hums he emits as he continues to stroke your back.

"Is this the part where you put your hand down my shirt?" you ask, half-joking. Pavitr suddenly pauses, his posture suddenly becoming more rigid.

"Why would I do- goddammit, don't tell me there are men out there turning everything into a proposition?" he whines.

"I can't remember the last time I got to cuddle just to...cuddle," you admit.

Pavitr's hold around you tightens protectively, you can almost feel his heart sinking in his ribcage. You hear him sigh, feel his lips against your forehead.

"What fucking bell-ends. Why are men like this?" he complains, his lips moving against your skin.

"You tell me, I'm just along for the ride," you reply.

"I hate that this happened to you," Pavitr mutters into your hair, you can almost see the steam leaving his ears from his anger on your behalf. "I would never use basic affection as a transactional tool like that, I want you let yourself be cared for without worrying that I'm expecting something else in exchange. You should feel safe with your bo- people that you care about," he quickly corrects, not wanting to drop the B-word on you before you're ready.

"I feel safe with you," you tell him. You do, the pressure of his hold is perfect, it makes you feel like someone has redrawn your ink outlines and colored you in. The repetition of his hand sliding up and down your back is calming, you feel boneless against him, yet completely supported. You know he'd never ask anything of you that you weren't wanting to give, and you know he'd shield you from a world that wanted only to take.

"Thank you, darling. I'm glad I can give you that," he expresses. Pavitr rewards you with a slow, deep, open-mouthed kiss, affection pouring from his lips and traveling down your spine. He then shifts to lay against the other arm of the couch, pulling you into the crook of his arm.

"I'd love to keep watching the show like this, but you can sleep if you're tired. I'll be right here," he offers.

"Wouldn't mind taking you up on that," you mumble into his chest. He's comfy and he makes both a great blanket, and a pillow.

"I hope you do," Pavitr breathes. His hand continues its steady path along your spine until you both sink into gentle slumber, safe and warm.

----

He meets you at the door when you stop by as promised, unlocking the front door with a plastic bag in hand from his own errands.

"Oh, perfect timing!" chirps Pavitr, stepping aside to let you in first.

"Looks like you've been shopping! Is there anything I can help with?" you ask.

Pavitr sets the bag and his keys on the counter, wheels around to smack a kiss onto your lips.

"That was it, but I would also appreciate if you could put away the stuff I bought. It's not much," he says, then busies himself with tidying up.

You start sorting your way through the bag, finding homes for the various produce items, snacks, and condiments he'd picked up. It's been a few weeks and you're fairly familiar with his apartment's layout at this point, knowing where he keeps what. It's the last item he has in the bag that gives you pause, a decently large box with a design you recognize immediately.

"Hey, Pav," you call out. "What are you doing with...these?"

Pavitr stops what he's doing, looks at the object you're referencing. It's a box of pads, specifically, the same brand and style you use.

"Oh, they're for if you ever need them when you're here," he answers nonchalantly, as if you'd just asked him for the time of day.

"How'd you know what to buy?" you ask, surprised.

"I'm Spider-Man. I'm observant," he replies, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

Your heart swells at the thoughtfulness. It's Pavtir's unspoken way of saying I want you to be here, the way he noticed the little details and acted on them. In the few weeks you've known him, you've come a long way in feeling comfortable around him, his patience was unfailing and his attentiveness to you made your heart melt over and over again.

"Thank you, Pavitr, that's...really nice of you. You didn't have to do that," you thank him.

"Of course I did, they're just pads, not that hard to keep them around," he explains. He makes grabby hands towards you, his signal that he's craving snuggles.

"You're insatiable," you sigh, making your way over to the couch.

You let Pavitr pull you down on top of him, tangling your legs together lazily. Being held by him feels like taking your bra off at the end of the day, he makes you feel like there's nothing else in the world but you and him. You share a series of sticky-sweet kisses, in no hurry to take them anywhere else but here. Your lips meld with his, tongues occasionally meeting between them in little darts and swipes. There's no overtones in these kisses, simply two people lazily reconnecting with each other, basking in each other's warmth. Eventually, he comes up for air, nuzzles a chestnut-toned nose against your cheek and starts tracing mindless patterns along your back with one finger.

"How was work today?" you inquire.

Pavitr hums contentedly, drops a kiss to the top of your head.

"Pretty good, we're developing the marketing department and brought on a couple new employees, they seem great. How did therapy go today?" he turns the question around.

"It was...a thing," you reply, deflating a bit. Pavitr picks up on this immediately.

"Tough session today?" he gently probes, sits up a bit to get a better look at you and tucks you closer into him.

With Pavitr's help, you had recently started seeing a therapist to process everything that's been happening in the last few weeks. Since then, he'd given you a standing invite to come over afterwards to decompress, knowing from personal experience that the hard work of recovery could be heavy in its own way. Whether it was some TLC or a friendly ear, he was happy to give it if it could help you stand going every week.

"She's nice and all but I hate remembering," you grumble into his chest. "And then I get nightmares again and I feel cranky at work."

"My offer still stands, 'yanno. I'm glad to stay with you if it helps you sleep better," he reiterates.

They aren't coming as often now, but now and then Pavitr hears you calling out for him in your sleep, the throes of a horrid dream trapping you there. He'd sneak upstairs each time, tap on your window to wake you up, and stay with you as long as you needed. Some nights he'd put on a sitcom until you passed out against him, others he'd sit on your bed with you, hashing out what you'd seen until you felt ready to sleep again. He did notice that his presence seemed to keep the nightmares at bay, as if they wouldn't dare try to mess with Spider-Man's girl with him right there. So he'd proposed you staying near him after a hard day, letting him guard your rest. Naturally, you being you, you'd waffle on the issue, worried about imposing on him.

"Maybe..." you chew on the thought aloud.

"Palace had a drop last week and I got a new hoodie and trackpants delivered today. They're really soft, could I interest you in that?" he bribes, letting his breath tickle the shell of your ear. Pavitr knows your weakness is him dressing in cozy clothes, and nothing's comfier than a brand new sweater. It's guaranteed you'll curl right up to him, tell him how huggable he looks.

"No fair!" you whine, knowing he's figured you out. "Fine, I'll crash here, but I get to pick what we watch." Pavitr does a little happy dance in his mind.

"Of course, sweet girl, anything for you," he affirms, rewarding you with a press of lips to your temple.

You lay there in blissful silence for a while, feeling deliciously contained in the way Pavitr holds you to him, still mapping random pathways on either side of your spine. His wavy fringe tickles your cheek, tossed about on the soft puffs of his breath. You're blanketed in the goldenrod hue of the late afternoon sun, strong and comforting.

"We talked about my friends today, Pav," you blurt out, suddenly.

"Oh?" he acknowledges, turning you in his hold to face him, moving to strum his thumb along the crest of your cheekbone instead.

"More specifically, we talked about the lack of my friends, now that most of them don't want to be around me anymore after I, allegedly, 'made a big deal out of nothing'," you cap off your statement in air quotes.

Pavitr doesn't respond immediately, lets the disclosure percolate throughout the room.

"I'm really proud of you, (You), for getting to the place where you can recognize the absolute bullshit that assertion is. Hell, I'm proud of you for opening up about any of this, period. Thank you for telling me," he praises you.

"Thank you, but the problem remains that I don't really have many friends left to turn to," you explain, leaning into his hand on your cheek. "Don't get me wrong, you've been nothing short of life-changing and you've been so good to me, but, but-"

"You're feeling isolated because you don't think anyone else will get it, yeah?" Pavitr finishes your thought.

"...Something to that effect, yes," you confirm with a huff. "I just wish I could have some better friends, but I'm so exhausted and I don't know what I can do about that."

Pavitr hums thoughtfully, an idea taking shape in his mind like a sourdough starter might rise. He plants a kiss to the end of your nose, keeps your face close enough to share breath, with a conspiratorial grin on his mouth.

"Some better friends...I think that can be arranged, dove."

----

You meet them at a rock show on the weekend. Pavitr somehow snagged two tickets to the sold-out venue, but doesn't tell you how he'd managed to pull that off. You adored this band, and normally you'd love the crush of the crowd, but you weren't quite sure you could stomach the idea of a packed venue, a swirling mosh pit around you with no escape. Which is why Pavitr invited his three friends, who he assured were veterans of the pit and would never let any harm come to you.