Hi, I'm the author of Nothing's Gonna Change My World, and I'm taking some Imagine/Headcanon requests!
Thanks for the response to the fic thus far, and also thank you to some of the authors out there that are wanting to write stuff after seeing it! (and if you want to read it and haven’t, start here)
I’m trying to develop some ideas for a fluff chapter or two to run between the planned angst chapters so in order to figure out wtf I wanna do, I am taking some reaction/imagine requests for Pavitr x Reader only for a limited time. (sry that’s what my brainrot is stuck on)
Some key things to note about me and what I write about:
I’m old, and the fic is about Pav and a reader who are early-mid 20s due to the nature of the plot. As such, I’d prefer to write about an adult Pavitr and reader. Younger people, please keep that in mind if that’s not something you’re comfortable with. (Note: Adult characters =/= guarantee of NSFW content)
Reader is female in the fic, but idc what gender you request for reader here.
I write healthy relationships where conflict is faced as a team. So I’m not up for Yandere, breakups, jealous behavior, cheating etc.
Reader in the fic isn’t physically described, but feel free to request a reader who has some specific characteristics. Just be aware that I’m not BIPOC and I might not be the best person to write about certain topics.
Looking mainly to write fluff, maybe some hurt/comfort (my universe’s Pav wants to be your biggest cheerleader!)
I’m not super familiar with the comics or the rest of the MCU so I’m limited in my ability to branch into other characters or franchises.
I might not take any given request if I don’t feel like I’m the right person to handle it, if it’s something I just can’t get into, or if I don’t have time - I’m old and have an old people job.
Requests go in my asks, I've turned on anon. If you send me ragebait instead of anything constructive, I reserve the right to laugh at your dm at parties. I will close requests once I feel like I have enough.
Ty and I look forward to frothing at the mouth with you
It's there he sees it, the harsh taupe line cutting a swath across alabaster skin. A flash through the ample arm hole of Killua's tank. It's merely a glimpse, just for half a second or so, but it's then that Kurapika's blood chills where it sits in his veins, his throat dries, crackles, the gasp cut off, dead on his tongue.
It all clicks into place. A visceral ache, a profound sorrow deep in Kurapika's bones. A little boy with hair like fresh straw and eyes like the winter sea standing in front of a bathroom mirror a lifetime ago, wind crushed from his lungs in a way he'd always remember the first time he-
"Oh, Killua," he laments. The name tumbles forth from his lips like a prayer, so profoundly sad, reverent, where Killua freezes in place, snaps his head about his shoulder to take in Kurapika's expression.
(CONTENT NOTE: THE CONTENT BELOW THE CUT CONCERNS A CHARACTER BEING OUTED AS TRANSGENDER AND MAY BE UPSETTING TO SOME READERS)
It's in the heaviness of Kurapika's eyelids, the softening of the lines around his mouth that Killua realizes he knows.
"W-why are you looking at me like that?" Killua shudders. Skinny arms cross in front of his narrow frame, as if to defend himself from an attack that isn't coming.
"Oh, Killua," Kurapika murmurs again, mouth forming around the syllables like they're precious. Without permission, Kurapika pitches forward and gathers Killua into a bear hug; soft fuzzy platinum hair tickles his cheek.
Killua tenses immediately, his first instinct to claw his assailant to tatters, leave them here on the tatty bathroom rug. Kurapika's hold is unyielding, and it's surprisingly warm, warm like the way Gon's arm feels around his shoulder when he's dragging him off to Watch this! for the eighteenth time, even though he knows whatever Gon has to show him is going to be lame, but he does anyway because it's Gon. This hug is, perhaps, even better than Gon's, although he'd die before he'd ever admit that. But right now, he's scared, confused, embarrassed because fucking Kurapika of all people read him like a book, and he breaks.
"I-I don't understand-" he blubbers. The first tears are hot against a ruddy cheek.
"I know, Killua," croons Kurapika. One elegant hand fists in the scratchy fabric of the tank. "I know."
What in the fuck could he know? Killua screeches in the recesses of his mind. It comes out instead as a sob, a high, pitiful wail that's muffled in the plush folds of Kurapika's sweater. Kurapika pets his head, lets his nails drag lightly on Killua's scalp as he hugs him tighter. It's here, bracketed between the Kurta's knees on the bathroom floor, shorts long since cast aside and forgotten, that Killua shatters, and Kurapika somehow holds the pieces together.
Five minutes pass. Ten, Fifteen, maybe. Killua's not counting. He stops hiccoughing long enough to notice he's ruining Kurapika's expensive sweater with his tears and snot. Kurapika seems nonplussed by this, only hums what might be a childhood folk song of his, gently cleans up his blotchy face with some toilet paper.
"You d-don't know, Kurapika," croaks Killua. Kurapika sets his mouth, shakes his head to and fro, golden hair bobbing along.
"No, Killua, I know," he insists. It's then when he takes hold of the loose neckline of his top, and pulls it down enough to expose his chest. Except where his chest should be, there's the sheen of tightly-stretched fabric, the subtle hint of rolling curves where there should be none to speak of.
Killua finds himself gaping and flopping about like one of Gon's trophies.
"You have...you...you're like me?" he sputters.
Kurapika's lips quirk into a soft smile. The one he reserves for Gon, for Leorio, and now, for him too.
"It would seem so," he affirms. "The bandages you're using to bind with are showing clear through your shirt, by the way, that's how I deduced you were also transgender."
The Zoldyck startles, recoils to cover his torso as if he were naked.
"Is it really that obvious??" he squeaks. Killua's expression scrunches up into something so fearful it causes Kurapika's chest to squeeze, so much that he never wants to see the boy's face do that ever again in his life.
"No, no!" Kurapika rushes to clarify. Two hands find Killua's tightly fisted ones, he presses his thumbs in as if to say please, oh please, and is rewarded when the boy unclenches and lets him take his clammy, tremoring hands in his own.
"Hey, no, Killua, I wasn't implying you're not passing; I truthfully had no idea until now," reassures Kurapika, features softening. "I only noticed because when I was your age, I used to do the same thing. You're doing great, I hope you know that."
Killua eases a bit. The compliment makes him feel muzzy on the inside, not the way Illumi's would leave slimy trails wending about his brain, nor the way Gon's would make his heart tap-tap-tap against his ribcage.
"T-thanks," he chatters. The Zoldyck averts his eyes. "And, um, I'm sorry for freaking out on you."
Kurapika sniffs a grin.
"You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm sure making that discovery was understandably frightening," Kurapika's voice is warm, tinged with humor, a familiarity he's only shown for his friends, guarded from outsiders. "I certainly was, and I'd at least been prepared!"
I've been writing Nothing's Gonna Change My World in part inspired by my own relationship, or rather, the relationship I wanted to have. The Pavitr of this universe was not only supposed to be an examination of the natural growth of his character after gaining some maturity, he was also supposed to be the partner we wanted to have, effusive, deeply loving, and bright, bright, bright.
Earlier this week, my partner of several years decided to end our relationship. In the span of a few minutes, the light in my life had died.
I had seen ASTV a few days before we'd attended a wedding together. It was there that I noticed the way the bride and groom looked at each other was a way that I'd never been looked at by my partner. Nothing's Gonna Change My World debuted 5 days later. On reflection, the story was in many ways an expression of the way I wanted to be treated, where my own relationship was failing with no hope for repair.
I don't plan to abandon or prematurely conclude the story. I still have plans for it and some other one off stories as well. I will just need to work around my near-term housing instability and increased hours at work. I am glad many of you have enjoyed the story and my interpretation of an older Pavitr as much as I have. I hope you all (and I) can find someone that makes you smile just as much.
I can't believe I have to say this, but please don't sell my work on Amazon.
Today, I was made aware that an individual was selling Nothing's Gonna Change My World as their own on Amazon, under the title "Shadows of the Spiderverse: A LitRPG Isekai".
I have reported this to Amazon and I suggest that others do the same. Guys, please don't do this shit, it's illegal, I will press legal action. You can read it for free whenever you want on 3 different platforms. I would never charge for you to develop unrealistic boyfriend expectations from my Pavitr take.
Chapter 8 was so good omg! Is there gonna be a chapter 9?
Yes, and a chapter 10 at the very least. I think we're gonna take this story on for a long, long time lol. Ch 10 will probably be a chapter about Pav and Gayatri instead of an x reader chapter.
THIS IS SMUT. IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SEE SMUT, OR NOT BETWEEN THESE CHARACTERS, DO NOT TOUCH THAT KEEP READING LINK. Under 18? Please click out of this post! All characters here are in their early-mid 20s.
things that happen: reader receives oral and it's cash money. Pav aesops a lot about healthy experiences. Gwen gets a little (or a lot OOC).
also found on AO3 and Wattpad.
"I swear, I could have put the damn ring on Miles's finger myself after that!" gushes Gwen from her spot on your couch. She's tipsy, you're each on either your second or third hard seltzer, and your living room is starting to wobble and melt before your very eyes.
"I would wholly support that," you agree.
Gwen giggles in that overly familiar way, the one that tells you she's cooking up something wicked in that brain of hers. She leans in closer, slings an arm around your shoulder and peers at you through conspiratorially-squinted eyes.
"So, (You), how's Pav?" she asks, a lilt in her voice that tells you there's definitely an ulterior motive to this seemingly innocent question.
"Oh, he's great!" you reply, ducking out of wherever this is going. "He just raised another round of funding, so he's going to be able to expand his company more!"
"That's great, but that doesn't answer my question," she says. "How. Is. Pav?" she enunciates. Her top two teeth peek out, pressing into her lower lip.
You start to sweat, remembering the topic of conversation you'd been on. Gwen had given you the New York Times review of all the wild shit her and Miles had gotten up to since you last talked to her. You'd immediately learned that drunk Gwen has zero concept of propriety.
"He is...the best, honestly," you deflect, but voice still deeply earnest. "I mean, can I ask for more than a handsome man with great hair who takes care of me when I'm sick, he even cleaned me up and—"
"zzzzz, BORING!" Gwen shouts. She gives you a good-natured but maybe a tad too aggressive shove on the shoulder. "Skip to the good part, I want details!"
"Gwen, I don't know if I should be—" you try to dissuade her.
"Back when he was with Gayatri, we got trashed and she told me he was eating good, is that still true?" she whisper-growls with a saucy wink, in no way trying to lower the volume of her voice.
"Gwen!" you chide. Blood rushes piping hot to your face, heart absolutely banging off the walls of your chest. Gwen cackles maniacally and nearly spills her drink on your nice sofa.
"Christ on a crutch, (You), your fucking face right now is precious! It's just a lil' girl talk, nothing here leaves this room, you get me?" she rambles.
"Well, I mean, I wouldn't even know what to say about...about—" you stammer.
"Oh come on! It's not like you're some kind of virgin or somethi—wait, holy shit, are you a virgin?" Gwen's eyes widen. You think she looks like a fish staring like that. "Oh my god, you're a virgin! That's so sweet!" she cooes at you. She reaches to pinch one of your cheeks.
"No! No no no no, it's not like that! I'm not a virgin, definitely not, we just haven't—" you race to clarify, hands waving in front of your face.
"Well what's the holdup, then? Are you guys trying to up the sexual tension? Are you saving yourselves for some special occasion or..." Gwen wonders aloud, before tapping her fingers together while her face morphs into a faux-dismayed expression. "You're not scared to be with him, are you?"
"No way!" your rejection of the idea is immediate, emphatic. Gwen doesn't seem to have heard that, however, with the way she keeps on prattling.
"Like, I totally get it, he's Spider-Man, he's loaded, he's got some experience, he's really fucking attractive, that's intimidating and all for, like ninety-nine percent of everybody, but I promise he really wants to be with you too, you don't have to just fantasize when you—"
"Gwennnnn, for Christ's sake, I do not fantasize about my boyfriend and—" you interrupt that very, very salacious thought.
"What?! Why on Earth would you not? Who are you fantasizing to?? Is it Tom Holland??" Gwen questions in rapid-fire, face clearly scandalized.
"What the fuck, Gwen. No," you deny. "I'm not fantasizing about any of these people, I'm not fantasizing, period."
Gwen seems awfully confused by that statement.
"But, how else is a girl supposed to get off by herself? I don't get it."
You shrug your shoulders.
"I don't know, I must be broken or something. I've never had an orgasm," you deadpan.
"You what??" Gwen sits up ramrod straight, flabbergasted.
"What?" a shocked third voice sounds outside the apartment. Followed immediately by a blur of red and blue at the window near your fire escape, and then a heavy crash.
You and Gwen share an alarmed look for a moment. You can almost see the steam coming out of Gwen's ears, she marches over to the window, pulls it open, and with a terrifying force, yanks the eavesdropper into the apartment by the hair.
"Ow, ow, shit!" the voice yelps. It's very familiar, you realize. Because it's your boyfriend.
"Pavitr Prabhakar, you have five seconds to explain to me why in the fuck you were spying on our private conversation—" Gwen starts reading him the riot act.
"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to..." Pavitr's groveling, apologies awkwardly spilling from his lips like a leaky P-trap.
You don't stick around to hear them. You about-face and beeline to your room to curl up and die of mortification, only briefly stopping to consider that you just watched your seemingly-normal human friend drag a superhero into the apartment by the hair, like she might bring in a small bag of groceries.
How much did he hear? Would he think worse of you? Did he hear Gwen talking about his—
Nope, we're not doing this today.
You belly-flop onto the bed. Your pillow makes a great set of earmuffs, and doubles nicely as a dark cave to stick your head into while you hear Gwen and Pavitr arguing (more accurately, Gwen winning the argument in a one-sided fashion while your boyfriend tries and fails to form a coherent sentence) in the kitchen. Your head is spinning, dust kicking up from discussions put to the side for far too long that is now filling your lungs. You're not sure why you and him haven't talked about this, whether it was fear, nerves—
Was he scared of you?
You're not sure how long you're hiding there for, but there's one, two, three soft knocks, the squeal of your door-hinge, then, a dip in your mattress. You know it's Pavitr right away when you feel the soothing stroke of a hand on your upper arm.
"Can I hide under there too?" he softly asks.
The idea of your big, strong, superhero boyfriend being scared of Gwen Stacy makes you giggle (although it's not hard to be scare of Gwen Stacy, if you're honest with yourself). You lift the pillow up and make some room on the bed, he lays down on his side to face you, suit and all, save for his mask.
"I'm sorry if I said anything that was—" you begin.
"I'm sorry I was listening to your—" he talks across you.
You both pause. Pavitr sighs heavily and rubs his sore scalp.
"I deserved that," he admits.
"I'm not so sure you did. The direction that conversation was going was..." you trail off, you gesture vaguely in front of you, trying to communicate something to the effect of "cringe".
"You aren't broken," he says suddenly, determined.
You snap your head up to meet his eyes. They're serious and shine with resolve.
"I'm...I don't get it," you say.
"You're not broken for never having an orgasm. And I'm not convinced you can't," he explains.
You chew on the thought for a bit.
"I mean...I've tried on my own, until I just gave up. That sounds like a 'me' problem," you mumble.
"Look, I know you might not believe me, and I know you might not even be interested but..." Pavitr hesitates, runs his hand through his thick, black hair. "I'll give you one. Or as many as you want, I don't know. And I don't want you to worry about doing anything for me, or for anything to hurt, I just want...fuck, (You), my heart broke when I heard that," he admits. His mouth is wilted into a pained frown.
Your face droops, you hate the idea of sweet, sensitive Pavitr being sad on your account.
"Pav, I don't want to get your hopes up though, I feel bad already that with all of the—the bullshit in our lives I haven't taken the time to think about your own needs and—"
"No. You're the one who had three boyfriends that couldn't be assed with your needs, and were put in a situation where your choice was taken away from you, even though it didn't get anywhere," he cuts you off immediately with an open hand below your collarbone. "The only 'need' I have is the need to show you it can be so, so good when you're with someone who loves you. But only on your terms, only ever when you feel the time is right."
You feel the urge to turn away, but you can't resist Pavitr's puppy-dog eyes, the kind he gets when he sees a stray animal that he wants to adopt on the spot.
"You seem very invested in this," you tell him, like it's a strange idea. Should it be?
"I just wanna make my girl feel good" he cooes. He pulls your face against the hollow of his throat. "Hobie told you once that you could ask for whatever you damn-well wanted, and I wouldn't say no. He's not wrong, you know."
"So you are an eavesdropper!" you accuse him.
"Okay, the Amazing Spider-Man has a minor personality flaw, sue me," he snarks, but is sure to drop a kiss in your hair after the words leave his lips. "My point stands, though. If there's anything you ever wanted to try, I'd love to do it for you. That includes giving you your first orgasm. And your second, your third, your forty-eighth—"
"Forty-eight?" you gasp.
"That's really not that many!" he protests, which earns him a well-deserved flick to the forehead from you. "But, in any case, it's up to you. Like I told you when we first got together, all at your pace, sweet girl. If the thought strikes your fancy, just say the word."
"I'll think about it," you agree.
"That's all I can ask of you," he says, and brings your hand to his lips to kiss your palm.
----
The heat in Pavitr's room is stifling. The air conditioner isn't cutting it, you're in a tee and sleep shorts while he's shirtless in jeans, you only have the energy to watch an old sitcom on the bedroom TV while Pavitr works out the fatigue from your sore feet. You lay with your legs across his lap, hissing when the pad of his thumb digs in to your arch.
"Darling, you have to start wearing actual shoes when doing big chores," he gently chastises you.
"A slipper is a shoe," you argue back. Pavitr's thumb arcs up towards of the ball of your foot and you wince when he lands on a tender spot.
"Your poor, abused feet don't seem to think so," he retorts.
"Well, then you can make it better later with those magic hands of yours, mister 'I'm so good at everything'", you declare.
Pavitr snickers, his thumbs find their way to the lower end of your calf, just above your ankle.
"I'm good at a lot of things, dove, but not everything," he says in dulcet tones, one corner of his mouth quirked up just so.
Maybe it's the heat. Maybe it's the perfect amount of pressure his hands are putting on your leg. Maybe it's the silky feel of his voice when it resonates in your ears. But today, you start to notice a difference. You feel...aware, like a deep itch, well below the layers of skin, muscle, fat. A thirst, yet, your mouth feels full and cottony from the humid air of the room.
"You're very good with your hands," you praise. The knot in your leg dissipates, and he moves on, this time pressing at the outer side, halfway up near the heart of the muscle. You exhale as he draws slow, deep circles into the tension there, it's achy, but it's pleasant, too. Pleasant in a way that makes your legs twitch, something that Pavitr doesn't miss under his thumb.
"So I've been told. Among some other things," he purrs. This tone has always brought you to your knees when he used it, and he knows it. Today, however, the shiver you feel isn't the same as the others, instead of a nervous, delighted tickle, it curves lower, warmer, lingers a bit beneath your ribcage in a thick haze.
Pavitr lifts your leg by the calf, places an open-mouthed kiss over the imprint his thumb left there. Then, a second one next to it, intentional, calculated. The stuffiness of the room is so much you think you could scoop it into a glass and drink.
"Pav..." you murmur. It's a little bit questioning, a little bit commanding, a little bit hesitant. The show's laugh track rings obnoxious in the background.
"Sonu...you should take me up on that offer," he suggests. Or is it pleading?
"...Right now?" you gulp. You can feel your pulse in your voicebox.
"If you wanna," he affirms. "You don't need to do anything, just relax and...enjoy."
The juncture of your thighs starts to feel uncomfortably sticky against the fabric of your shorts, you fight the urge to press them together.
"What did you have in mind?" you inquire.
Pavitr rolls over to kiss at your shin, then the inside of your knee before crawling up your body to level with your ear, you can feel his breath tickling the shell.
"I think Gwen mentioned to you that I'm happiest when I'm eating well," he husks directly into it, and then traces the inner rim of it with the very point of his tongue. You shiver from the contact, from his words, the way they felt so close to your skin, or the teasing of his tongue, you're not sure which. You're definitely pressing your thighs together now.
"Good luck with that. It's been tried, and hasn't worked," you warn him. You hate the idea of him doing all that hard work for no reward.
Pavitr is nonplussed, he takes your face in hand to kiss you slow, beginning the dance you know well by now.
"Did whoever was trying give you head for its own sake? Or were they trying to butter you up with oral so they could say they did before doing what they wanted?" he asks pointedly, one eyebrow quirked.
You don't have to think about it for very long, you've never been given this on its own. Only before sex, and it'd be difficult to argue they were into it, or trying particularly hard to please you.
"You're probably right. I don't think they were trying too hard at all. But I should have felt...something, right?" you wonder.
Pavitr sighs and sadly shakes his head.
"There's a world of difference if someone really wants take their time and make you feel good, instead of just half-assing it so you'll give in. It also helps to have...skill, which I can promise you, I have plenty of," he slips you a wink and licks his lips, and the subsequent jolt of thrill makes your core twitch. "All you need to know is that this is for you. I wanna give you oral because I love you, dammit. No strings, no bullshit, just very, very good head. I'll give you the best orgasm of your life, and it's going to be amazing. Sound good?"
You worry your lip with your canine, thighs squeezing together at the image he's planted in your head. Pavitr waits for your reply patiently, he's not leering, his expression is fond, gentle. He's never led you astray before, so he wouldn't now, right?
Right?
"But...if I can't?" you trail off, leaving Pavitr to fill in the blank. He does, with ease, one hand takes yours and gives it a soft squeeze.
"If something's not working for you, we can change it. If it doesn't happen today, then no hard feelings, we'll go back to what we were doing. Even if you don't orgasm, sex can still feel really good in and of itself," two of his long, elegant fingers walk along your arm while he talks, voice even and mellow.
"And when you feel done, we'll be done. It's like a conversation, we go down a line, and change the topic when it feels right to," he explains, kisses your knuckles on the back of your hand. "I think I can get you there, I think you just weren't given a fair shake and need someone to actually try. But if it doesn't happen, we can try again another time. Or never, you're wonderful all the same."
You exhale through pursed lips.
"Okay, I'd like to try at least," you acquiesce.
Pavitr nudges your chin with his hand.
"Do you want to try? Or do you just feel like you should because I asked?"
You understand immediately what he's asking. His eyes are soft, but stern, he scans your face for any sign you are simply appeasing him, rather than agreeing of your own enthusiasm. He's searching for fear and apprehension where there should be desire, curiosity. You don't think you've ever been asked this, and while you can't say your past experiences were ever coerced, save for the circumstances under which you and Pavitr met, you're grateful that he's thinking of this.
"I do want to," you confirm. "I'm...nervous that I'll be disappointed again, but what you're offering feels different from what it's been like...before. You've never given me any reason not to trust you, and I'm ready to try if it's with you."
You smile up at your boyfriend, and Pavitr seems satisfied with this answer. His eyes darken further than the rich cocoa they already are, and he leans in to kiss your mouth deeply, explores every ridge, every surface of it with his tongue, a little preview of his repertoire.
"I am going to eat you up so well, for hours," he rasps directly into your ear, leaving you shuddering, getting even wetter at the seam of your shorts. "On my bed, on the kitchen counter, in my car, on my desk at work after everyone's gone home, every damn day if I have to until you come on my tongue. You deserve that much, dove." His lips ghost on the shell, then along the hollow of your throat, where he leaves gentle, slow little nips and sucks while he crawls back down your body.
You have enough sense to turn off the television before he's back over your legs, kisses and suckles getting closer and closer to the hem of your sleep shorts. Your breaths catch and stutter, each little contact a sweet torture that leaves you jumping under his mouth, your center grows slicker and you'd think he could smell you from here.
And then, to your surprise, he stops. He reaches behind you for one of the pillows.
"Lift your hips a bit for me, darling," he instructs, the tone of his voice honey-sweet.
You comply, confused, and he slides the pillow beneath them.
"What's this for?" you ask.
Pavitr grins brightly and plops a smooch on one kneecap.
"So my girlfriend is comfy, of course!" he says in a voice almost inappropriately upbeat for the situation.
Your heart melts at this thoughtfulness, never has anyone you know associated the word "comfy" with sex, but with someone as attentive as Pavitr, you're learning things can be different. Maybe those words should go together, you think.
Pavitr's nails catch on the waistband of your sleep shorts, they pause there.
"Yes?" he asks, looks to you for your assent through the dark curtain of his fringe.
You're frozen in time when you meet his eyes. It's not a particularly hard choice. It's easy enough to say no, sorry you're not ready for that. Or even ask if you can reschedule to next Wednesday, maybe work it in between the gym and your dentist appointment. He'd be happy to drop it and continue doing what you were doing, wait a hundred years if he had to. What sways you is when you meet his rich, coffee-colored eyes and there's no
want I want gimme give it lemme grab tug squeeze grab take have
You're so used to that by now. No, these eyes are soft, round, curious, even. Curious to know this part of you, to share this with you, a whispered secret on the breath of butterfly wings. To give you something that was always denied, see the way your face would light up when you got there. By the look on his face, you knew Pavitr wasn't lusting after you and what was under the shorts, no, he wanted to try, and you knew that he'd only ever try if it was for you.
"Yes," you affirm. There's no warble in the note of your voice.
Pavitr grins, lazily and closed-mouthed, hooks his fingers around the elastic and starts working the whole thing down in one shot, shorts and underwear all. Warm lips press to the bony cradle just above your mound, your hips twitch under their smack.
"Thank you for trusting me with your body, sweet girl," he says. "I promise you, you will not regret this."
The shorts are worked over your knees, your ankles, and then they're off. Your knees drop off to the sides, you ponder closing them for a moment, covering yourself up like the shy virgin you once were all that time ago. That thought doesn't get a chance to linger, as sloppy, sucking kisses are quickly alternating up your inner thighs, firm enough not to tickle, but enough for the muscle to tense beneath Pavitr's mouth with a yelp, the sensitive spot a direct line to your exposed core.
"Aanhh—" you whine as Pavitr gets closer and closer to where you'd really like him to be. He does get awfully close, the rounded point of his nose bumping against the juncture of your hip and thigh, the corner of his mouth brushing the curve of your vulva as he inhales, smiles. Suddenly, the really nice pressure is sadly gone, Pavitr's propped up on his elbows and gazing down between your legs, while you're slack-jawed huffing and puffing from arousal.
"You're really pretty here," he husks. He mouths at the soft swell just below your navel with deep mauve-colored lips, lets warmth curl up there.
"Why are you staring?" you whinge, averting your eyes.
"Why not? This part of you is divine," Pavitr waxes poetic. "And you deserve to be told as much, because it doesn't sound like you've been hearing it."
"Umm...thanks? I guess?" you sputter, incredulously. You want to shrink away from the compliment, but your boyfriend (your insufferable sap of a boyfriend) isn't having it.
"Shush, you," he jokingly chides, his breath hot against your delicate flesh. "Go away. Let me explain to my girlfriend that her pussy is perfect in peace."
"Pavitr, you're obnoxio—oh FUCK!" your words are cut off with a cry as your entire cunt is swallowed up in a sucking kiss, like the ones Pavitr had dotted along your thighs. There's nothing lazy or perfunctory about this, the suction is just right and there's nothing like the way his soft lips feel sliding against your intimate skin. He pops off with a wet, lewd smack that rebounds around the bedroom.
Pavitr snickers lowly at your reaction, and turns his head to take each of your lower lips between his, run his tongue along and beside the soft, fatty parts before delicately suckling the inner lips betwixt them. His next kiss finishes with a deep lick, one that parts your lower lips at the seam and makes you jump when a wet tongue brushes past your clit.
"Good?" he asks, an inquisitive arch on his brow as he attempts to get a glimpse of your face. His mouth doesn't leave your pussy, simply ghosts against it when he speaks. It's a hint of a touch that makes you prickle, teeny frissons along your spine from your core that sprout behind your ears.
"Very," you tell him, nodding furiously, hoping that will spur him to get on with it.
Pavitr smears a messy, affectionate kiss to the inside of your left thigh before securing his hands on the crests of your hips.
"Love you," he purrs. He nuzzles against the inner thigh with his cheek before returning to his work.
Pavitr treats you to a make-out session with your lower lips, his tongue and lips exploring every dip and curve he can find. Every flick, kiss, suck, even gentle tugs between his teeth carries intention, you can feel the weight of it in each stroke. This is not the same halfhearted attempts at the pretense of 'doing his part' you're used to, he's losing himself to the task, eyes fluttered shut behind the ebony drape of his hair as he drinks you down. It's the same way he moves his mouth when he takes a bite out of a ripe mango, your wetness dripping down his chin when he slurps on your sex.
"Pavi....Pav...hah..." you wheeze. Your chest heaves in harsh breaths as a delicious, gentle heat stretches out low in your belly and finds a home there. Your boyfriend steadily continues to make love to you with his mouth, you can't resist locking your ankles together atop his upper back, he responds in turn by scooching your hips just that little bit closer, wanting as close to zero space between his tongue and your intimate flesh as possible.
"Your taste, it's sofuckengood, fuck," Pavitr slurs into your cunt. You notice him shifting around just out of your field of vision.
Is he...rutting his hips into the bed?
Pavitr licks straight up your seam on the flat of his tongue, ends with a suck on your clit that's enough to pull it out of its hood. A sharp bolt of pleasure triggers your cunt to clench around nothing.
"Holyshitholyshitdontstop" you babble to the room. Your feet kick out behind him, your hand that was bunching up the flat sheet flies to his shade-colored waves, tangles in the dense mop of hair to hold his face against your pussy.
"That's the plan, dove," Pavitr rasps. He gets right back to it, delivering the same treatment to every part of your pussy. The two-o'-clock sunlight streams in rich sheafs through the window, it leaves amber dapples on his back that bend and stretch with every flex of his well-developed back muscles, they collect in the valley of his spine, the two little dimples that sit above his waistband.
This? This is nice.
It's nice like this, the both of you laying here, embraced by the mid-day sun. Pleasure laps at you like waves at low tide, it's warm, warm like the sand between your toes. Your boyfriend is taking your pussy apart with his mouth, the touch of his tongue isn't teasing, neither harsh, nor lazy. It's earnest, steady, and oh is it affectionate, too. He's not here to pay some sort of toll or fee to access your body, he's basking in how wet you're getting for him, the plush of your skin against his lips, your heady scent, the sharpness of your flavor on his tongue. Pavitr's mouth cherishes this entire part of you the same way he does to the rest of you with his words. He's in no hurry, but he has no intention of making you beg or plead for your first release, he simply wishes to take you by the hand and lead you there, walk you to the door and kiss you goodnight at the threshold of a place you didn't believe existed. He knows the way, has learned the road well, and guides you there with no fuss.
Yes, you think, this is nice.
It starts out as a fullness, a pressure on the inside that makes you want to tighten up, squeeze around it and keep it from getting out. The pleasure sitting heavy in your belly becomes urgent, it sinks low, low, lower. The sensation is strangely familiar to you, but it's off. You feel like you're about to burst, about to—
"Pavitr, stop, I'm gonna—I have to—" you reach with your free hand to stop him.
Pavitr finds your hand with one of his, takes it and laces your fingers together.
"Hey. No, sweet girl, this is good. You're supposed to feel that. It means you're here," he explains, gives his head a shake so you can meet his eyes without his hair in the way. A thumb strums back and forth along the dorsum of your hand. "All you have to do is let it ride. I'll catch you, I always have," he reassures.
Your head feels like it's full of bees, it feels like there's a water balloon sitting low in the cradle of your pelvis, it's scary, it's intimate, but you want more.
"You promise?" you ask timidly. It seems silly to ask this of him, but you do anyway.
Pavitr responds with a kiss, the softest one yet, to your lower lips.
"Baby girl, I'd promise you everything," he almost growls into your pussy.
Pavitr renews his focus onto your clit, taking it between his lips and tracing upon it the outlines of flower petals with his tongue. He sups on you, over and over again, batters your pearl about with the point of his tongue, coaxing it out from its protective cloak with a please please oh please pretty please. He does not demand, he waits, arms outstretched. The fullness and urgency quickly returns, you clench down, breath held instinctively. You can't hold it anymore, you yank on his hair, and he moans into your vulva when he feels the sharp twinge on his scalp. You feel like you're going to pop and his face is right there eating you and he said he'd catch you and he's holding your hand when you
pav pav pav please oh please pav i have to
It's warm here
The molten heat nested below your navel loses its shape, pours like molasses down your legs, between your ribs, to the points of your fingers and burbles at your throat. Warm, sticky, wet, spilling out of your core in a steady trickle. Your voice catches in a sigh, the floor of your ribcage drops as the tension eases away in a steady throb, you feel it in your cunt as Pavitr keeps on drawing mindless doodles over your clit with his mouth. It's not fireworks, it's not an explosion, it's sunrise on the roof, three o' clock on the beach in July, it's hot chocolate in December, sticky sweet affection poured into you through your sex and spilling out over the edges. It's a safe place, a joyful place, bubbly, bright, and warm. A place, a home he built for you beneath your skin, in a grove you've been too wary, too exhausted to claim as your own. He presses the key into your palm, at long last, and you are all too happy to invite him inside, in that space between your ribs. Your eyes flutter shut as a gentle tongue laps slowly, soothingly at your swollen flesh, cleans up your release as you give yourself over to the ebb of the tide.
Lips tenderly trail up your mound, your navel, your sternum, your nose. Hands cup your face as the lips find purchase on your forehead, your unfocused eyes open to fuzzy strokes of bronze, charcoal, ivory.
"Yes, Ahava, hello. Hi," Pavitr purrs. Your eyes adjust, the blotches of color wend into a familiar form, and there he is. He's positively glowing, both with a fondness and pride, not of himself, but for you, like he's swallowed down the sun itself. His chin and mouth bear a fine gloss from your wetness.
"Whazzat? Pav?" you burble, your tongue fumbling with the words. You find that you've been curiously transformed into a pile of mush, your corporeal form broken free of its solid container.
Your boyfriend chuckles above you, and brushes a few downy hairs off your forehead where sweat holds them down.
"How's that orgasm treating you?" he smugly inquires.
"...S'nice," you slur, not quite realizing how dopey your face must look. "Kinda feels like I have to pee."
Pavitr covers his mouth with his hands to hide his laughter.
"Alright, well, you hang tight and enjoy the afterglow, beautiful. I just need two seconds to take care of something real quick," he says. You watch as he reaches over the side of the bed and fishes around for something.
"Where are you going?" you ask, a wave of sadness and worry coming over you, remembering past partners who would never stay when the act was said and done, leaving you to your feelings.
"Nowhere, silly," he teases, tongue stuck out. "Just gotta make a wardrobe adjustment, then all the snuggles you can handle, I promise."
You find yourself unable to reply when he works his jeans off of his hips, and the boxer-briefs with them. The tips of your ears heat up like a gas grill when you're given a generous glimpse of prominent hip bones, lithe, defined quads, and an absolutely sumptuous ass that makes your mouth water, you resist the urge to sink your teeth into it.
"Hey, Pavitr, I can, 'yanno, return the favor," you offer.
"Oh, that won't be necessary," he quickly replies as he skips the boxer briefs and pulls on a pair of sweats he'd left on the floor. A hint of something you can't put your finger on tinges the timbre of his voice, and that's when you notice the flush in his cheeks.
Oh.
"Pav...did you...?" you hesitate to say it out loud, your brain refusing to form the words.
Pavitr crawls up the bed next to you, immediately rewarding you with the tightest, most perfect snuggle he's ever given you. You're face to face, noses but a hair's breadth apart.
"As a matter of fact, I did," he admits, turning his cheek into the pillow. "Knowing I was giving you this experience and seeing how much you were enjoying it, it was so damn erotic and I couldn't help but go off the edge with you. Imagine that, being the woman that made Spider-Man come in his pants by just being."
"Well, I'm glad I could do that for you," you jape. Your head feels less foggy, the afterglow abating to something cozy and secure, nicely contained in Pavitr's hold.
"I'm glad I could do this for you," he counters with a tap of a finger to your nose. "This was all for you, anyway, you owe me nothing. I knew you could do it, and I'm so proud of you. You just needed a patient hand. Or tongue," he winks.
"You're insufferable," you groan, burying your head against his bare chest. Pavitr chortles and kisses the top of your head.
"I'm talented. And I have many, many orgasms to make up for," he rebukes. His voice feels like silk, it's dripping with ego and it makes your mouth go dry.
"Hopefully they're all like this one was. I keep hearing that it's supposed to be...erm...explosive, but this one was just...nice," you comment.
Pavitr considers this a moment, and then you know you fucked up when you see his lips quirk into a wicked grin, a devilish gleam in his eye as one hand tightens its grip around your bare hip.
"I see...say, I don't think I ever returned the favor for that upside down kiss you gave me when we met," he muses aloud.
"No, I don't believe you did," you confirm, wondering where he's going with this.
"Oh..." he rises to a kneel on the bed, the covers falling away to expose your calves. "Then I guess now might be a good time to do just that," he proposes.
"What do you mean by tha—ohgod!" you yip, as Pavitr uses his enhanced strength to pull you down the bed by your ankles, and then hoist your thighs all the way up to his ears, his hands settling on your hips. You're nearly suspended entirely upside-down and he's immediately ravaging your sensitive cunt with this mouth, lewd smacks rebound around the room as the blade of his tongue digs deep between your lower lips.
"Jesus fuck, Pav, why are you so good at everything?" you whine, your heels thumping against his back, an expression of the pleasure rapidly coursing through your body.
Pavitr doesn't reply to this, only hums an acknowledgement into your pussy. At this angle, the extra pressure from his face on your clit does a lot of work, and being manhandled by your superhero boyfriend like a ragdoll...yes please. His fingers curl into the flesh of your thighs, his lips lathe aggressively at your inner lips and clit, you can only watch as he pulls his head up just enough to tug at them with a firm suck that makes something deep in your core light up like Christmas, and then releases them with a salacious pop before going right back in to swallow, to consume, to lap you up until there's nothing left to. Pavitr's playing for keeps this time, he's not looking for a gentle release, he wants to give you the orgasm you've only heard about in stories, one that knocks you on your ass that you'll still feel the next morning. He's nothing if not a show-off, and that trait of his is on full display.
"Pavitr Prabhak—ah!" you moan, your legs flailing behind him. "You smug jackass! It's not faaaaaaair!"
Your kicking and screaming (literally) does nothing. Pavitr doesn't let up, his lips and tongue devour and his face smashes into your pussy in relentless pursuit of your climax. You squirm, but his mouth chases, and with you upside down in what you would have never expected the Spider-Man kiss to entail, you're helpless to stop it, vulnerable and ripe for the taking. But you're safe. Cared for. Loved. You can feel it in how his grip on you is gentle enough to leave no marks, the way his thumbs stroke over the skin there. The way he bends forward just enough to keep your head and shoulders on the pillow so you won't hit them on anything, or get dizzy. This scene is filthy, pornographic even with his athleticism, but as your second peak of the night comes hurtling at you, neither of you have ever felt more in love than you do right now. You have trusted him with your body in all ways like you rarely have before, and he's more than shown you he's worthy.
You come with a shout, you clench hard on empty space until you can't, it feels like a sneeze, an insane blossom of pure ecstasy from your center that blooms in a riot of red, pink, yellow, orange behind your eyelids. You feel your cunt gushing, squirting even, followed by an immense relief. Your heart pounds in your ears, your ribcage struggles to expand and contract with your breathing, it feels like you're flying, soaring in the wind. There's a fizzling, tickling feeling creeping along your arms and legs and worming its way into your brain, your pussy feels aflame, overtaxed despite the calming strokes Pavitr is now using to soak up your juices. Your abs feel sore, and you feel physically and emotionally drained, the overstimulation hits all at once, and—are you crying?
"Awww little love, it's okay. Come here, darling, I've gotcha, shhhh," Pavitr's voice breaks through the swell of emotions frothing in your chest, he sets your legs down and bundles you close beneath the blankets. "You've been through a lot of new things today, sonu. You're overwhelmed, it's completely normal and your mind just needs a minute to sort itself out," he explains, you turn your head to see all traces of mischief gone from it, only soft features remain. The flat of a hand drags up and down your spine, warm lips dot squishy kisses along your cheek and temple.
"I—I thought I was broken," you blubber. "I've been trying for years."
"Not broken at all, no ma'am, I even double checked," he quips with a wink. It makes you snort and you can't stop yourself from swatting his chest. "You simply hadn't been shown how sex is supposed to be: none of it works if you're not feeling safe or secure first," he says more seriously. The blunt edges of his nails slowly drag along your back, scratching carefully, it's deeply satisfying and it makes you feel calm.
"So you're saying I couldn't for so long because...I wasn't feeling safe?" you ask, past memories starting to click into place.
"Mmm, precisely so," Pavitr hums. An unhurried kiss is fluttered against your lips, the flavor a bit different than the ones before, you wonder if it's you that you're tasting. "Sex is art, dove. It doesn't just come down to technique, if your mind is worried or not feeling cared for, you're not going to be able to be vulnerable with yourself enough to feel good, or your partner, for that matter. Your partner needs to be invested in your experience, and not as a means to an end for them," he explains, his nose nuzzling yours now. "That means taking the time to make you comfortable, listening to you and instead of rushing you through, and for fuck's sake, they need to give proper aftercare, Jesus," he finishes his rant with a grumble. The protective hold around you tightens, cuing you to snuggle closer into your boyfriend.
"Aftercare...is that why I got upset when an ex went to play video games when we were done?" you ask, everything suddenly making so much more sense.
Pavitr shudders and pulls you even closer, if that were possible, you burrow into his chest. Your legs tangle together under the blanket as he kisses the space between your eyebrows.
"Oh my God, why are men like this," he mumbles under his breath. "Yes, aftercare is making sure your partner is feeling okay and safe after you're done. Sex is intense, physically and emotionally, and if they weren't making the effort to take care of you like this after, it's no wonder you didn't have any fond memories of it. I hate that those were your first experiences, but that will never happen again, I can promise you that."
"Oh...so right now, this...this is aftercare?" you ask shyly. You think it sounds silly at your big age to be asking this, but since you're both putting everything on the table, you might as well learn for the future.
Pavitr senses the discomfort and tips your chin up to meet his eyes. They're still sparkling, but carry a stern edge to them.
"Hey, there are no dumb questions with me," he firmly reassures, his eyes softening further. "Yes, this is one way aftercare can look. It can also mean things like...like rubbing their back, or watching a movie they like together. Maybe even taking a bath with them or giving them a massage, just little things to reassure them and help them come down gently from an intense moment. It's the best part, in my book," he purrs.
You're inclined to agree. You're all tuckered out, your limbs have definitely turned to jelly with no chance of reconstitution, you feel buzzy on the inside in the best way, and it's warm and toasty here under the blankets, tangled up together, his bare skin on your cheek. You're basking in each other's afterglow and he's lavishing as much affection on you as he's got to offer, there's nothing closer, nothing better than this. Well, except maybe one thing...
"Can we...can we take a bath too?" you suggest, uncertainly.
Pavitr scrunches up his round nose as his eyes wrinkle at the corners.
"You act like I'd say no to that. Of course we can, dove!" he exclaims. "You're the one who had her first two orgasms in a row, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn't let you pick?" he's already hefting himself off the bed to carry you there himself.
"Together with me?" you kiss at the juncture of his shoulder and neck, all you can reach from his hold, your feet dangle limply in the bridal carry. Pavitr looks down on you with a besotted expression.
"I like the sound of that," he cooes in your ear as you cross the room. "And I wanna wash your hair with my shampoo again, I loved smelling it on you the next morning."
"But Pav, your shampoo is expensive!" you protest.
"You just had a screaming orgasm, like, ten minutes ago, let me spoil you at least a little," he counters. He nudges the door open where it's ajar with a hip check, being sure not to jostle you.
"That's already spoiling me!" you argue.
Pavitr laughs, deeply kisses your mouth like he did your center, and closes the bathroom door behind him with his heel.
Hope you get well soon! (I wish pav was real too but oh well:')) take care of urself pls stay hydrated and don't starve yourself. Hope ıt all goes well soon!! Take as much time as you need((I was just checking on you bc you didn't post anything in a few weeks ı was worried)) Stay safe!!💗
I never got back to this but thank you! That was...a time lol
I literally get here fast as I could bc i tight there was an update and I missed it, I'm so glad I didn't and it was just how chap 8 was going, also can't wait! I'm so excited for the new chapter jdbddb
Nothings gonna change my world Ch 8 is over 5000 words, unfinished first section, and it’s…holy hot damn. The most absurdly spicy/romantic thing I have seen or written. I hope it’s worth the wait.
can please you do comforting pavitr x stressed out f!reader 🥹
Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice
🎃MASTERLIST🎃
And for rinnnswrlddd on AO3: “I need a cuddle oneshot with Pavitr and GN!reader !! (^_<)〜☆”
Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Gn!Reader
Summary: Pavitr sees you stressed out and feels bad. But not to worry; he knows the perfect remedy.
Tags: Cuddling & Snuggling, Flufftober
Also Read on AO3
Pavitr enters your shared apartment holding a Starbucks in each hand, closing the door behind him with his foot when he hears a groan.
“ARGGHH!”
Concerned, he comes to check on you and sighs at what he sees: You on the couch glaring at your laptop, hands in your hair and stressed the f out. You’ve emptied three cups of chamomile tea and your headache still refuses to leave. You groan in pain and irritation.
He leaves the beverages on the coffee table and comes to sit beside you, massaging your head. “You okay, pumpkin?”
It’s that time of the year when your S/O calls you thematic cringe nicknames.
“Noooo”, you whine, throwing your head back on the couch and shutting your eyes. Looking into the LCD screen for a long time irritates your eye and you rub it in vain. “We haven’t even gotten near to finishing the project! The client emails haven’t been sent, the quotation is wrong so we had to redo everything -and, to top it off, a substantial investor pulled out last minute and now we have to finish this in half the budget! And the deadline is Monday! I frickin hate Mondays!!!!”
“What about your team?”, he asks, moving to massage your shoulder. You sigh, tired. “Stu is on paternity leave -I didn’t know we had those-, Jenny’s got a family emergency so she’s out and Raj is just unwilling! He won’t return our calls or contribute, I can’t-“
“Hey, hey, it’s okay, baby”, he coos, circling his arm around you. “Don’t put too much pressure on yourself, meri jaan. Relax.”
You let him take your laptop away in exchange for the Pumpkin Spice latte he bought you. You take a sip and instantly go lax. Ah, so soothing!
Before you know it, the grey device is webbed to the ceiling.
“Pavitr Prabhakar, are you insane?! Give me that-“
He sits you on the couch, not letting you get up. “Nu-uh, babe. You haven’t slept in three days. Three! I can’t let you go on like this. At least take a nap, please. For me?”
You pout and cross your arms but your resolve isn’t strong. What he says is true, you’ve been working day and night for the past week barely having a proper meal. Perhaps, you should take a break.
“Okay”, you finally agree. You deserve it. 👏
“Great! It’s time for PUMPKIN CUDDLES!”, he announces and maneuvers a cackling you onto the couch in a spooning position.
Your boyfriend can be silly at times but that’s why you love him.
Pavitr circles his arm around your waist and pulls you against him, tangling your legs together before draping a throw blanket over you. His fingers rub soothing circles on your tummy as he leaves soft little kisses on your face and you can feel yourself melt into his arms. Mmmmm… so cozy…
“Yeah, it is”, he whispers, making you realize you’ve said it loud. You giggle and snuggle closer to him. His warmth is inviting, his body heat welcoming as he gently rocks you, intertwining your fingers.
The fairy lights put up In your room magically light up as if on cue, making the room appear more cozy.
Your shuffle around till your head lays on his heart, listening to the steady thumping beat, bringing his fingers to tangle in your hair. Pavitr gives the best head massages.
“Sing me a song, pumpkin”, you ask sweetly and he giggles, obliging.
His tone is melodic and within seconds, your stress -physical and mental- have disappeared in his lullaby.
“More pumpkin spice, meri j-“ Oh.
You’ve fallen asleep.
Pavitr watches you with a smile on his face, taking in your features. How soft you look and how calm! Laughing quietly at your soft snores and the way you clutch onto his shirt, he kisses your forehead.
Removing himself quietly, he retrieves your laptop and shuts it down, keeping it in your room safely. He switches off all the bulbs except the fairly lights on your window, watching mesmerized as the dim light makes you glow. He takes the breakfast and latte to the counter and does a quick work of the dishes. Neat!
Pavitr sets breakfast for you when you wake up searching for him. “Pav? Pavi baby?”, you mumble, sleepily.
Aww, you missed him!
“I’m here, meri jaan.”
He comes to the couch as you pull him in for more cuddles, using his arm as a pillow while the other runs down your back. You release a contended sigh once you’re comfortable, putting a dreamy smile on Pavitr’s face.
Perhaps, breakfast can wait.
He takes a cute pic of you before pecking your forehead and snuggling closer. “Sleep tight, pumpkin.”
Good! working thru my backlog. 1721 words into Ch 8 of Nothing's Gonna Change My World and then after that I'm doing a prompt for Taylor Swift's "Lover".
You Come on Like a Dream, Peaches and Cream (lips like strawberry wine)
Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Autistic!Reader (gender neutral) (they're also aged up to about early 20s)
Word Count: 3,391
Summary: You've never been kissed and Pav wants to change that...but it's not that simple.
Warnings: It's reader's first kiss and they almost have a meltdown over it, but it's ok Pav's a great bf as always and turns them around. Open communication wins! It's soft and sweet!
Also on AO3
(Authors note is at the bottom)
----
These days, you feel like you're in a dream, one you never want to wake from. You don't know how you did it, but at your big age, you managed to finally snag a boyfriend. Not just any old boyfriend, no, you've been dealt a royal flush and had the universe plop Spider-Man into your lap. Nothing could have prepared you for just how gorgeous of a human being he was underneath that mask, all well cared-for chestnut skin, perfectly cut jawline, rich, brown eyes and a permanently smug look plastered on his face. You don't know how or why, but your very first relationship experience was with him!!! To top it all off, Spider-Man (or Pavitr, as he insisted you call him), turned out to be the absolute sweetest, joyful, and most patient gem of a person. You had been so nervous going into your first full-blown relationship, but Pavitr had taken it all in stride, so willing to meet you where you were. You remember working up the courage for days to tell him you were autistic, to allow yourself that vulnerability with him, trying to find the right words to say. The day came, you finally spat it out, and you screwed your eyes shut to wait for the end. Instead, he'd only wrapped both of his hands around yours, and said simply:
"The only thing 'wrong' with you is that you're twisting yourself into a pretzel trying to appease me. And that's not what a relationship is about, dove. You like me for who I am under that mask, I hope you'd let me show you that I'm more than capable of doing the same."
Since then, every day spent with him has been nothing short of magical. Pavitr's been around the block, so to speak, but he learned something new every time you and him met. The way ideas bounced around and stuck in your brain, the way your fingers would flit and flicker in your lap when you were stressed, the way your legs would swing in your seat when you got excited. How worried you were about being enough and all of the lovey-dovey things couples did, things that were all new to you. The first time he'd kissed you on the forehead, an impulse on his end when he just couldn't resist a surge of affection, you'd nearly jumped out of your skin from the head rush you felt. You're just finally getting to the point where it can be calming, instead of overwhelming. Slowly and surely, you'd go halfway and he'd meet you where you were.
The next big step from here was kissing. Not the affectionate little pecks he'd leave on your head, nor the ones you'd learned he likes smacked on his cheek. Real kissing. The problem with that was you never had, you didn't know how. And you didn't want to admit that to him, to ask for help, or even more patience than he's already extended you. You wanted to show that you were serious, that you cared about him and wanted to try.
So, your quest for knowledge began. You fired up google, you cracked open any magazine you could get your hands on, you turned to forums and chatrooms, anywhere you could find to learn more about this mystical art.
"Try picking up speed," you read aloud from a teen magazine. Speed? How on earth does someone pick up speed in a kiss? This made no sense to you, you discarded that tidbit and moved on.
"Don't overdo it on the tongue," says another. "Wait, what do you do with your tongue? Are you supposed to lick them or put it in their mouth or..." you trail off, very confused. You can't visualize anything you can't see.
"Do what feels right, it will come naturally?" you read a columnist's reply, exasperated. "That doesn't help at all, uggghhhhh," you groan, head in hands. Nothing came naturally for you, a downside of autism. Without clear directions, new things left you lost in the woods without a compass.
"I'll never be a good kisser," you muttered to yourself. Why was romance so hard?
You shoved that worry into the deep recesses of your brain, let it stew there, gradually growing by the day until it rattled against its cage. Until the day Pavitr invited you over to his place, brought you out to the bench on his apartment balcony to watch the sunset.
"You have a great view of the city like this, Pav," you compliment. Truthfully, it was, being able to see the sun darken to a deep orange before melting away beyond the skyline. Pavitr chuckles lowly from where he's seated next to you, his arm going round your shoulders and tipping you into his side.
"Never been better than it is right now," he says, half-lidded behind his curly fringe, and grinning fondly.
Oh. Oh, he means me, you realize. You can feel a dull thump low in your ribcage, warmth at the apples of your cheeks and at the tips of your ears. You're close enough where you can just make out the warm puffs of his breath on your skin.
"That's cheesy," you joke. Your fingers twitch in your lap.
"Never said I wasn't, sweetheart," he purrs, in that way that makes you melt like ice cream every time.
Slowly, slowly, you notice the shift in his weight, the flutter of his lashes as he leans in, his lips pursed just so.
Your eyes fly open as you realize what's about to happen. All the late-night reading, the doomscrolling, advice columns and worries barrel you over like a semi on the freeway, your heart hammers at breakneck pace, you can hear it, feel it pounding in your ears. You break out into a cold sweat, your throat constricts as your breath becomes wheezy, strangled.
have to get this right im going to do it wrong do it wrong wrong wrong
"Are you okay?" Pavitr asks, his grin wilting. "Do you...not want to kiss me?"
"No! No, I—I do!" you sputter, not wanting him to feel unwanted. "I just—I don't know how, and I—I don't want to do it the wrong way—"
Pavitr gently laughs, a rich, sweet sound, he takes your hand loosely in his.
"(You), darling, there's no such thing as a 'wrong' way to kiss. It doesn't have to happen any one way,"
"But the websites and Cosmo say I have to trust my instincts and do what feels right, and it's all gonna come naturally, but nothing is coming naturally and my brain won't let me and—"
"(You)?" Pavitr attempts to interrupt your ramble, one hand carefully finds purchase on your shoulder.
"—And I can't figure it out and I'm gonna do it wrong wrong wrong and then you won't like it and then you're gonna break up with me and—and—" you run out of words with which to continue, your tongue fumbles blindly in the darkness of your mind, but merely trips on them. Your hands flick, flitter, and flap in front of your face, you've been too self-conscious to do it in front of Pavitr before, but you can no longer restrain yourself, the chaos inside of you sprouting wings and taking flight. Your thoughts are going a million miles an hour, the edges of your vision go white as you're hurtling towards a meltdown.
"Hey hey hey, hey, (You), look at me, lookatme," he nudges your chin his direction to get your attention on him, and not your swirling thoughts. He doesn't attempt to make eye contact, not wanting to set you further off balance.
"Shhh, shhh, c'mon, c'mere...it's alright, all is well," he whispers low and gentle, reaches for you, grabs, tugs.
You're quickly scooped up into a tight bear hug, your face burrowed into a solid chest. It's warm, dark, and the deep pressure of Pavitr's arms around you scratches your brain just right. Your spiraling thoughts leave your mind, it deflates like a balloon through your nose and mouth as you exhale sharply into his shirt. A soft pair of lips meets your forehead, smacks a squishy kiss against the skin there. The jolt, the little thrill from the kiss takes root from that spot, driving out the cold dampness of
wrong wrong bad no got it wrong messed up he's gonna he's gonna
"There we go, you're fine, darlin'," he coos in your ear. One hand strokes up and down the back of your head, the other finds one of your fidgeting hands, he brings it to his lips to plant a kiss over your knuckles, gives it a tight squeeze that just about turns your whole brain off.
"Do you need a bit?" Pavitr asks. His features are soft, inviting, a little fuzzy around the edges.
"Uh-huh," you assent, nodding against him.
"'Gotchu,"he murmurs, shifts his hold to rub careful circles into your back.
Pavitr slowly rocks the both of you back and forth, hums a melody against your temple that might be an old lullaby from his childhood, or perhaps nothing at all. The input he's giving you is calming, as if he were to wind you about a spool and knit you back together. It's amazing that you haven't been together too long, how he just knows how to care for the scrambly, spiky parts in the deepest recesses of your brain, knows what you need to right your listing ship. With some time, and more unfailing tender touch, you change course, finding friendlier waters. He gives you as long as you need, waiting wordlessly until your mind is quiet again before unwrapping himself from around you.
"Better?" he checks in with you, a fond smile affixed to his face.
You grumble and rub at your eyes.
"Thank you, Pavitr. Sorry I got overkill back there," you express your gratitude.
"You never need to apologize to me for the way your brain works," Pavitr asserts, rubbing his hands up and down your shoulders and arms. "And before you ask, there's no world where I'd break up with you for being inexperienced, or anything like that, really. I could never fault you for that."
"I think I built this moment up in my head so much that it...exploded like this. I've been looking for advice on how to kiss someone the right way and it's so confusing, some of the things they are saying I don't understand," you admit.
Pavitr hums in understanding. He leans over to brush a kiss on your temple.
"I've been wondering for a while if you just weren't ready. But now I realize you've been so worried this whole time about making your first kiss perfect for me. It's really adorable in a way, but I don't want you to get so stressed over what you think I want from you," he cups both cheeks in his hands. "I'm your first boyfriend. Let me be your safe place to explore, find out what you like."
You sigh, heavy and sad.
"I don't know how to do that, my brain won't let me, Pav," you try to explain, your hands wringing in your lap. "I just—I keep hearing that it's going to come naturally. But whenever I do anything new, whether it's in a relationship or out of it, I can't really 'feel things out' like other people can. If I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do with my body going into it, I short-circuit. I can't figure out the steps of something on my own. I have no frame of reference for what it is I'm supposed to do and I just...can't process it."
Pavitr considers this a moment, worries his upper lip with a canine.
"Ah, I see what you mean. You struggle with not having any specific instructions? So, when you're put into a new situation, you feel disoriented and overwhelmed because you can't figure out how to do it? Did I get that right?" he asks.
"Exactly," you confirm, feeling heard for the first time in a long time. "I feel a lot like an alien dropped onto earth with no guidebook. I think I need...really explicit direction on what it is I'm supposed to be doing, so I don't react like that again. I mean, I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with my tongue, and—"
"Oh dear, sounds like someone has been filling your poor brain with bad advice," Pavitr interrupts your train of thought before you can spiral again. "Kissing with tongue is, ah—advanced practice. You don't have to worry about anything like that unless you feel at some point you want to move beyond the basics. Gotta walk before you can backflip, yeah?"
"So...I don't have to do anything with my tongue?" you ask. You can feel yourself heating back up with embarrassment, knowing you must sound awfully naive.
Pavitr doesn't laugh, instead coos softly about how sweet you are, and carefully squishes your cheeks with his palms.
"No, darling. You don't have to do anything like that, not ever if you don't want to, but definitely not now," he assures. You can feel some of your tension relax, like a coil unwinding. "If you ever decide that's something you want to try some other time, maybe once you're more comfortable with kissing, I can teach you, though."
At this, you prick up your ears, your heart fluttering inside your ribcage.
"You'd teach me that?" you exclaim, surprised.
"Of course, (You). We're a team," he tells you, as it if were obvious. His hands slide down to your shoulders. "Let me be your guide. I'll talk you through it so there's no uncertainty for you to get stuck on, and we'll get there together. And that goes for anything, sweetheart, if you want to try it, I'll help you,"
Wherever I go, he meets me where I am
"I feel...very lucky. That I got to meet you first," you effuse to him. "You've already figured me out better than I have."
Pavitr snorts, the edge of his mouth quirking upwards.
"Yes, dove. You are very lucky," he preens.
You roll your eyes at him, drawing a small chuckle from Pavitr. You find yourself drawn to his full, pouty lips, your eyes flicker towards them, something that doesn't go unnoticed by your boyfriend.
"If you're up for it, can I give you a do-over? I promise I won't let you get lost in that lovely head of yours again," he offers, a gentle quirk of his lips on his face, a wrinkle of laugh lines. "But don't take this as a demand, today doesn't have to be the day if you're not sure you want it to be."
You pause, chewing on the idea. There's a glint in Pavitr's mahogany toned irides that tells you there's nothing there but affection, the need for this to be good for you.
He's Spider-Man, he'd catch me if I fell again
"I...want to try," you declare, your voice warbling a bit with nerves.
Big hands come around to cup your chin. They're warm, flames lick where they touch.
"You sure?" Pavitr double-checks. The slight stiffness in his countenance betrays only concern.
"I wanna. Yes," you confirm, nodding emphatically. Your fingers twist and curl against the fabric of your shirt.
Your boyfriend's eyes glimmer, crinkling at the corners.
"Okay, first thing, you gotta take a nice deep breath for me, sweetheart, can you do that for me?" he guides.
You do, the slowest, least shaky breath you can muster, lips pursing on the exhale.
"That's it, now, keep your jaw where it is, but just relax your lips, this bit right here around your mouth," cues Pavitr. You feel his thumbs delicately press near the corners of your mouth, work soft circles into the tension he finds there. "Relax, relax, just like that, there you go," he praises when he feels your lips slacken, part a little at the seam.
"How am I doing?" you ask, your soul reaching out to his for reassurance.
"You're doing very good, sweetheart, so good," he comforts you. "Just tilt your head a smidge to one side, like this—" he guides your face. —and I'll go the other way so I don't bump your nose, good job,"
"And then...?" your heart thumps loud, loud in your ears.
"All you do now is just close your eyes," he waits for you to comply. "There you are, stay just like this for me, relax and enjoy,"
You feel the tickle of his breath on your cheek, the brush of his fringe against your face and—
Oh.
Ohmygod!
Your eyes fling open as Pavitr's lips press against yours in what could be the gentlest, sweetest kiss to ever be kissed. There's barely any pressure, only the soft brush of his lips to match yours, no fancy tricks or ulterior motives. His hands cradle your face to keep you at just the right angle, your eyes flutter shut again as you feel yourself fill up with syrupy sweet
right right right it's right it's good it's warm feels good feels right
from toes to the very tips of your ears, it pours from his lips to yours, unfurling, blossoming, wending about your heart, your stomach. Your heart kicks against your ribs, your belly, the pop of dopamine hits fast, tickling in the tips of your fingers and in the hairs on the back of your neck. It's nothing like you thought it would be, all raw affection in a dosage that you think just might kill you, your head feels all fuzzy on the inside, stuffed with cotton wool.
The kiss feels like it could go on forever, but it's only a few seconds long, he pulls away almost too soon with a barely audible smack of lips. You open your eyes to meet his and his face is
good job good job joy joy joy proud joy proud good job sweetheart
"How was your first kiss, dove?" he asks, a little of his own nerves creeping into the undertones of his voice.
"Did I do a good job?" you respond in kind, the only thought that surfaces through your punch-drunk mind.
Pavitr flashes the most dazzling, brilliant smile, all teeth and crinkled eyes. His face is radiant, beaming as he squishes your cheeks.
"The very best job, darling!" he coos. He leans in to smudge a kiss to the tip of your nose, it tickles and you can't resist making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a squeal. "You are just the sweetest! I could eat you up," he babbles, nuzzles you in an eskimo kiss before kissing your forehead once, twice, three times in quick succession.
"I had my first kiss with Spider-Man!" you squeak, your legs starting to swing from where they hang on the bench in excitement, a happy little stim breaking free.
"Yes, you did! And you have kicky feet! You're so cute I think I'm going to die now," he blurts. His face plops onto your shoulder, his thick, dark curls brushing your neck.
"My head feels all funny," you say, not knowing what to make of the dreamlike feel of your world right now.
Pavitr giggles, high and sweet in the back of his throat.
"That's how you're supposed to feel when you're getting smooched! That means you got a really good kiss from a really great kisser," he slips in a wink, smug expression returning to his face.
"Oh..." you gasp. "So, they're all gonna feel like that?"
You sure hope they do.
Your boyfriend hums, gently guides your chin again.
"Wanna find out?" he proposes.
The way that you stare at his lips again, glassy eyed and pliant as he thumbs at your lower lip tells him all he needs to know. Softly, slowly, he thumbs your eyes closed, guides you back into position, and melts his lips against yours, lets them linger there a while as you feel yourself fill up with milky-sweet affection, acceptance, care.
He pulls away to see your dazed expression. You both laugh, close enough to share breath, your feet kicking out as he squishes endless kisses into your cheek, the smug grin still on his face.
----
A/N: Wanted to do a oneshot outside of the universe of "Nothing's Gonna Change my World" after I got bit by brainrot. I myself am autistic, and I wanted to do something with an autistic reader. This reader, in addition to being a literal thinker, is dealing with dyspraxia, a common feature of autism, which makes it difficult to sequence steps of an action together, doubly so if it's unfamiliar. I wanted to highlight how someone in that situation might need some accommodation in a relationship, especially on their first one.
As always, I love seeing feedback on my work. Let me know your thoughts!
Thank you! I hope all the other autistic readers can have kicky feet and flappy hands too, we deserve relationships like this where we can get unstuck if we're stuck!
You Come on Like a Dream, Peaches and Cream (lips like strawberry wine)
Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Autistic!Reader (gender neutral) (they're also aged up to about early 20s)
Word Count: 3,391
Summary: You've never been kissed and Pav wants to change that...but it's not that simple.
Warnings: It's reader's first kiss and they almost have a meltdown over it, but it's ok Pav's a great bf as always and turns them around. Open communication wins! It's soft and sweet!
Also on AO3
(Authors note is at the bottom)
----
These days, you feel like you're in a dream, one you never want to wake from. You don't know how you did it, but at your big age, you managed to finally snag a boyfriend. Not just any old boyfriend, no, you've been dealt a royal flush and had the universe plop Spider-Man into your lap. Nothing could have prepared you for just how gorgeous of a human being he was underneath that mask, all well cared-for chestnut skin, perfectly cut jawline, rich, brown eyes and a permanently smug look plastered on his face. You don't know how or why, but your very first relationship experience was with him!!! To top it all off, Spider-Man (or Pavitr, as he insisted you call him), turned out to be the absolute sweetest, joyful, and most patient gem of a person. You had been so nervous going into your first full-blown relationship, but Pavitr had taken it all in stride, so willing to meet you where you were. You remember working up the courage for days to tell him you were autistic, to allow yourself that vulnerability with him, trying to find the right words to say. The day came, you finally spat it out, and you screwed your eyes shut to wait for the end. Instead, he'd only wrapped both of his hands around yours, and said simply:
"The only thing 'wrong' with you is that you're twisting yourself into a pretzel trying to appease me. And that's not what a relationship is about, dove. You like me for who I am under that mask, I hope you'd let me show you that I'm more than capable of doing the same."
Since then, every day spent with him has been nothing short of magical. Pavitr's been around the block, so to speak, but he learned something new every time you and him met. The way ideas bounced around and stuck in your brain, the way your fingers would flit and flicker in your lap when you were stressed, the way your legs would swing in your seat when you got excited. How worried you were about being enough and all of the lovey-dovey things couples did, things that were all new to you. The first time he'd kissed you on the forehead, an impulse on his end when he just couldn't resist a surge of affection, you'd nearly jumped out of your skin from the head rush you felt. You're just finally getting to the point where it can be calming, instead of overwhelming. Slowly and surely, you'd go halfway and he'd meet you where you were.
The next big step from here was kissing. Not the affectionate little pecks he'd leave on your head, nor the ones you'd learned he likes smacked on his cheek. Real kissing. The problem with that was you never had, you didn't know how. And you didn't want to admit that to him, to ask for help, or even more patience than he's already extended you. You wanted to show that you were serious, that you cared about him and wanted to try.
So, your quest for knowledge began. You fired up google, you cracked open any magazine you could get your hands on, you turned to forums and chatrooms, anywhere you could find to learn more about this mystical art.
"Try picking up speed," you read aloud from a teen magazine. Speed? How on earth does someone pick up speed in a kiss? This made no sense to you, you discarded that tidbit and moved on.
"Don't overdo it on the tongue," says another. "Wait, what do you do with your tongue? Are you supposed to lick them or put it in their mouth or..." you trail off, very confused. You can't visualize anything you can't see.
"Do what feels right, it will come naturally?" you read a columnist's reply, exasperated. "That doesn't help at all, uggghhhhh," you groan, head in hands. Nothing came naturally for you, a downside of autism. Without clear directions, new things left you lost in the woods without a compass.
"I'll never be a good kisser," you muttered to yourself. Why was romance so hard?
You shoved that worry into the deep recesses of your brain, let it stew there, gradually growing by the day until it rattled against its cage. Until the day Pavitr invited you over to his place, brought you out to the bench on his apartment balcony to watch the sunset.
"You have a great view of the city like this, Pav," you compliment. Truthfully, it was, being able to see the sun darken to a deep orange before melting away beyond the skyline. Pavitr chuckles lowly from where he's seated next to you, his arm going round your shoulders and tipping you into his side.
"Never been better than it is right now," he says, half-lidded behind his curly fringe, and grinning fondly.
Oh. Oh, he means me, you realize. You can feel a dull thump low in your ribcage, warmth at the apples of your cheeks and at the tips of your ears. You're close enough where you can just make out the warm puffs of his breath on your skin.
"That's cheesy," you joke. Your fingers twitch in your lap.
"Never said I wasn't, sweetheart," he purrs, in that way that makes you melt like ice cream every time.
Slowly, slowly, you notice the shift in his weight, the flutter of his lashes as he leans in, his lips pursed just so.
Your eyes fly open as you realize what's about to happen. All the late-night reading, the doomscrolling, advice columns and worries barrel you over like a semi on the freeway, your heart hammers at breakneck pace, you can hear it, feel it pounding in your ears. You break out into a cold sweat, your throat constricts as your breath becomes wheezy, strangled.
have to get this right im going to do it wrong do it wrong wrong wrong
"Are you okay?" Pavitr asks, his grin wilting. "Do you...not want to kiss me?"
"No! No, I—I do!" you sputter, not wanting him to feel unwanted. "I just—I don't know how, and I—I don't want to do it the wrong way—"
Pavitr gently laughs, a rich, sweet sound, he takes your hand loosely in his.
"(You), darling, there's no such thing as a 'wrong' way to kiss. It doesn't have to happen any one way,"
"But the websites and Cosmo say I have to trust my instincts and do what feels right, and it's all gonna come naturally, but nothing is coming naturally and my brain won't let me and—"
"(You)?" Pavitr attempts to interrupt your ramble, one hand carefully finds purchase on your shoulder.
"—And I can't figure it out and I'm gonna do it wrong wrong wrong and then you won't like it and then you're gonna break up with me and—and—" you run out of words with which to continue, your tongue fumbles blindly in the darkness of your mind, but merely trips on them. Your hands flick, flitter, and flap in front of your face, you've been too self-conscious to do it in front of Pavitr before, but you can no longer restrain yourself, the chaos inside of you sprouting wings and taking flight. Your thoughts are going a million miles an hour, the edges of your vision go white as you're hurtling towards a meltdown.
"Hey hey hey, hey, (You), look at me, lookatme," he nudges your chin his direction to get your attention on him, and not your swirling thoughts. He doesn't attempt to make eye contact, not wanting to set you further off balance.
"Shhh, shhh, c'mon, c'mere...it's alright, all is well," he whispers low and gentle, reaches for you, grabs, tugs.
You're quickly scooped up into a tight bear hug, your face burrowed into a solid chest. It's warm, dark, and the deep pressure of Pavitr's arms around you scratches your brain just right. Your spiraling thoughts leave your mind, it deflates like a balloon through your nose and mouth as you exhale sharply into his shirt. A soft pair of lips meets your forehead, smacks a squishy kiss against the skin there. The jolt, the little thrill from the kiss takes root from that spot, driving out the cold dampness of
wrong wrong bad no got it wrong messed up he's gonna he's gonna
"There we go, you're fine, darlin'," he coos in your ear. One hand strokes up and down the back of your head, the other finds one of your fidgeting hands, he brings it to his lips to plant a kiss over your knuckles, gives it a tight squeeze that just about turns your whole brain off.
"Do you need a bit?" Pavitr asks. His features are soft, inviting, a little fuzzy around the edges.
"Uh-huh," you assent, nodding against him.
"'Gotchu,"he murmurs, shifts his hold to rub careful circles into your back.
Pavitr slowly rocks the both of you back and forth, hums a melody against your temple that might be an old lullaby from his childhood, or perhaps nothing at all. The input he's giving you is calming, as if he were to wind you about a spool and knit you back together. It's amazing that you haven't been together too long, how he just knows how to care for the scrambly, spiky parts in the deepest recesses of your brain, knows what you need to right your listing ship. With some time, and more unfailing tender touch, you change course, finding friendlier waters. He gives you as long as you need, waiting wordlessly until your mind is quiet again before unwrapping himself from around you.
"Better?" he checks in with you, a fond smile affixed to his face.
You grumble and rub at your eyes.
"Thank you, Pavitr. Sorry I got overkill back there," you express your gratitude.
"You never need to apologize to me for the way your brain works," Pavitr asserts, rubbing his hands up and down your shoulders and arms. "And before you ask, there's no world where I'd break up with you for being inexperienced, or anything like that, really. I could never fault you for that."
"I think I built this moment up in my head so much that it...exploded like this. I've been looking for advice on how to kiss someone the right way and it's so confusing, some of the things they are saying I don't understand," you admit.
Pavitr hums in understanding. He leans over to brush a kiss on your temple.
"I've been wondering for a while if you just weren't ready. But now I realize you've been so worried this whole time about making your first kiss perfect for me. It's really adorable in a way, but I don't want you to get so stressed over what you think I want from you," he cups both cheeks in his hands. "I'm your first boyfriend. Let me be your safe place to explore, find out what you like."
You sigh, heavy and sad.
"I don't know how to do that, my brain won't let me, Pav," you try to explain, your hands wringing in your lap. "I just—I keep hearing that it's going to come naturally. But whenever I do anything new, whether it's in a relationship or out of it, I can't really 'feel things out' like other people can. If I don't know exactly what I'm supposed to do with my body going into it, I short-circuit. I can't figure out the steps of something on my own. I have no frame of reference for what it is I'm supposed to do and I just...can't process it."
Pavitr considers this a moment, worries his upper lip with a canine.
"Ah, I see what you mean. You struggle with not having any specific instructions? So, when you're put into a new situation, you feel disoriented and overwhelmed because you can't figure out how to do it? Did I get that right?" he asks.
"Exactly," you confirm, feeling heard for the first time in a long time. "I feel a lot like an alien dropped onto earth with no guidebook. I think I need...really explicit direction on what it is I'm supposed to be doing, so I don't react like that again. I mean, I don't even know what I'm supposed to do with my tongue, and—"
"Oh dear, sounds like someone has been filling your poor brain with bad advice," Pavitr interrupts your train of thought before you can spiral again. "Kissing with tongue is, ah—advanced practice. You don't have to worry about anything like that unless you feel at some point you want to move beyond the basics. Gotta walk before you can backflip, yeah?"
"So...I don't have to do anything with my tongue?" you ask. You can feel yourself heating back up with embarrassment, knowing you must sound awfully naive.
Pavitr doesn't laugh, instead coos softly about how sweet you are, and carefully squishes your cheeks with his palms.
"No, darling. You don't have to do anything like that, not ever if you don't want to, but definitely not now," he assures. You can feel some of your tension relax, like a coil unwinding. "If you ever decide that's something you want to try some other time, maybe once you're more comfortable with kissing, I can teach you, though."
At this, you prick up your ears, your heart fluttering inside your ribcage.
"You'd teach me that?" you exclaim, surprised.
"Of course, (You). We're a team," he tells you, as it if were obvious. His hands slide down to your shoulders. "Let me be your guide. I'll talk you through it so there's no uncertainty for you to get stuck on, and we'll get there together. And that goes for anything, sweetheart, if you want to try it, I'll help you,"
Wherever I go, he meets me where I am
"I feel...very lucky. That I got to meet you first," you effuse to him. "You've already figured me out better than I have."
Pavitr snorts, the edge of his mouth quirking upwards.
"Yes, dove. You are very lucky," he preens.
You roll your eyes at him, drawing a small chuckle from Pavitr. You find yourself drawn to his full, pouty lips, your eyes flicker towards them, something that doesn't go unnoticed by your boyfriend.
"If you're up for it, can I give you a do-over? I promise I won't let you get lost in that lovely head of yours again," he offers, a gentle quirk of his lips on his face, a wrinkle of laugh lines. "But don't take this as a demand, today doesn't have to be the day if you're not sure you want it to be."
You pause, chewing on the idea. There's a glint in Pavitr's mahogany toned irides that tells you there's nothing there but affection, the need for this to be good for you.
He's Spider-Man, he'd catch me if I fell again
"I...want to try," you declare, your voice warbling a bit with nerves.
Big hands come around to cup your chin. They're warm, flames lick where they touch.
"You sure?" Pavitr double-checks. The slight stiffness in his countenance betrays only concern.
"I wanna. Yes," you confirm, nodding emphatically. Your fingers twist and curl against the fabric of your shirt.
Your boyfriend's eyes glimmer, crinkling at the corners.
"Okay, first thing, you gotta take a nice deep breath for me, sweetheart, can you do that for me?" he guides.
You do, the slowest, least shaky breath you can muster, lips pursing on the exhale.
"That's it, now, keep your jaw where it is, but just relax your lips, this bit right here around your mouth," cues Pavitr. You feel his thumbs delicately press near the corners of your mouth, work soft circles into the tension he finds there. "Relax, relax, just like that, there you go," he praises when he feels your lips slacken, part a little at the seam.
"How am I doing?" you ask, your soul reaching out to his for reassurance.
"You're doing very good, sweetheart, so good," he comforts you. "Just tilt your head a smidge to one side, like this—" he guides your face. —and I'll go the other way so I don't bump your nose, good job,"
"And then...?" your heart thumps loud, loud in your ears.
"All you do now is just close your eyes," he waits for you to comply. "There you are, stay just like this for me, relax and enjoy,"
You feel the tickle of his breath on your cheek, the brush of his fringe against your face and—
Oh.
Ohmygod!
Your eyes fling open as Pavitr's lips press against yours in what could be the gentlest, sweetest kiss to ever be kissed. There's barely any pressure, only the soft brush of his lips to match yours, no fancy tricks or ulterior motives. His hands cradle your face to keep you at just the right angle, your eyes flutter shut again as you feel yourself fill up with syrupy sweet
right right right it's right it's good it's warm feels good feels right
from toes to the very tips of your ears, it pours from his lips to yours, unfurling, blossoming, wending about your heart, your stomach. Your heart kicks against your ribs, your belly, the pop of dopamine hits fast, tickling in the tips of your fingers and in the hairs on the back of your neck. It's nothing like you thought it would be, all raw affection in a dosage that you think just might kill you, your head feels all fuzzy on the inside, stuffed with cotton wool.
The kiss feels like it could go on forever, but it's only a few seconds long, he pulls away almost too soon with a barely audible smack of lips. You open your eyes to meet his and his face is
good job good job joy joy joy proud joy proud good job sweetheart
"How was your first kiss, dove?" he asks, a little of his own nerves creeping into the undertones of his voice.
"Did I do a good job?" you respond in kind, the only thought that surfaces through your punch-drunk mind.
Pavitr flashes the most dazzling, brilliant smile, all teeth and crinkled eyes. His face is radiant, beaming as he squishes your cheeks.
"The very best job, darling!" he coos. He leans in to smudge a kiss to the tip of your nose, it tickles and you can't resist making a noise somewhere between a laugh and a squeal. "You are just the sweetest! I could eat you up," he babbles, nuzzles you in an eskimo kiss before kissing your forehead once, twice, three times in quick succession.
"I had my first kiss with Spider-Man!" you squeak, your legs starting to swing from where they hang on the bench in excitement, a happy little stim breaking free.
"Yes, you did! And you have kicky feet! You're so cute I think I'm going to die now," he blurts. His face plops onto your shoulder, his thick, dark curls brushing your neck.
"My head feels all funny," you say, not knowing what to make of the dreamlike feel of your world right now.
Pavitr giggles, high and sweet in the back of his throat.
"That's how you're supposed to feel when you're getting smooched! That means you got a really good kiss from a really great kisser," he slips in a wink, smug expression returning to his face.
"Oh..." you gasp. "So, they're all gonna feel like that?"
You sure hope they do.
Your boyfriend hums, gently guides your chin again.
"Wanna find out?" he proposes.
The way that you stare at his lips again, glassy eyed and pliant as he thumbs at your lower lip tells him all he needs to know. Softly, slowly, he thumbs your eyes closed, guides you back into position, and melts his lips against yours, lets them linger there a while as you feel yourself fill up with milky-sweet affection, acceptance, care.
He pulls away to see your dazed expression. You both laugh, close enough to share breath, your feet kicking out as he squishes endless kisses into your cheek, the smug grin still on his face.
----
A/N: Wanted to do a oneshot outside of the universe of "Nothing's Gonna Change my World" after I got bit by brainrot. I myself am autistic, and I wanted to do something with an autistic reader. This reader, in addition to being a literal thinker, is dealing with dyspraxia, a common feature of autism, which makes it difficult to sequence steps of an action together, doubly so if it's unfamiliar. I wanted to highlight how someone in that situation might need some accommodation in a relationship, especially on their first one.
As always, I love seeing feedback on my work. Let me know your thoughts!
This chapter contains references to the events of Chapter 1, continued discussion of periods (not that graphic), vomiting (not that graphic)
Pairing: Pavitr x F!Reader
also found on AO3 and Wattpad.
----
It's dark when you next awaken. The first thing that comes to your mind is
hot hot hot its hot its burning
It feels as if someone's lit a candle just under your nose, dangerously close to your delicate skin. Something heavy, cold, dense sits low in your stomach, you wet your lips and find the sour, acrid aftertaste of chalk. You ease yourself up onto your elbows. Immediately, you realize this was the wrong choice, the something in your stomach shifts, and your belly roils. Head swimming, you stumble off the bed, almost falling all the way down the few steps away your bathroom is. The automatic light clicks on (when did you have that put in?) and you fling yourself over the toilet, now desperately trying to rid yourself of that awful something sitting inside you. Your body is wracked with harsh coughs, fresh tears run steaming hot down your cheeks from the pain.
"H-help. Help," you sputter, seeking comfort as if there was someone to give it.
Behind you, there's thumping, footsteps, closer and closer.
"Oh, you poor thing, I'm right here," a soft lament comes from the doorway.
The presence comes closer, kneels next to you where you're hunched over. One hand sweeps across your sweaty forehead to make sure there's no hair in your way. The other presses its heel between your shoulder blades, rubbing firm, rhythmic back and forth motions to ground you. You tip your head to one side as much as you dare and find Pavitr there, his eyebrows knitted and his lips quirked into a worried frown. You see the tub behind where he's perched and remember that this isn't your bathroom, nor your apartment.
"Make it stop, it hurts," you plead, beg of him as you retch into the bowl. His hand moves to pet your head.
"I know, darling, I know," he sadly commiserates, knowing that not even Spider-Man has the power to spare you this pain. "It will be over so soon, I promise you're almost done, you're doing so well,"
"Pavu, please, help," you cry. You can't keep your head up for very long before the next wave of coughing and spasming starts.
"Hey, sweet girl, it's okay. I know, I know, I know, it hurts, I know," croons Pavitr, who gives your back a brisk rub. "But I'm here now, and it won't be like this for long. You'll feel better soon, I promise," he assures.
You can respond only with a pained sob.
"Shhhhh, shhhhh, shhhh, it's okay," he soothes, plants a kiss against the back of your neck. "You're fine, you're fine, everything's fine now," he reassures as you lift your head, loll to one side to rest against one of your arms. "Shh, shh, it's okay, baby girl, shh, shh, shh..."
You stay there for a while, your boyfriend's hands soothing over your head and upper back as you wait to see if anything else happens. The silence is broken only by the occasional comforting sound spilling from Pavitr's lips, puffs of breath tickling your cheek. Eventually, you ache for the relief from the heat on your face, you lay down and press your cheek against the blessedly cool tile floor.
"S'cold," you mutter. Above you, you hear Pavitr's fond huff.
"Better?" he asks.
"Mmm," You hum, afraid to move your head too much lest it sets you off. You feel a tissue gently dabbed on your lips to clean you up, then one hand under your head that cradles you against a chest, depriving you of the very nice cold floor. You make your displeasure known with a high grumble.
"Hey, hey, hey, c'mere, c'mon," he tuts, taking advantage of his full power to easily get off the ground with only his legs. Pleasantly cool lips press against your forehead. "Still too warm," he remarks.
"Hot," you mewl into the crook of Pavitr's neck.
"Yes, my brave girl, I gotchu. Let's go, here we go," your boyfriend walks you back to his bed, lays you down, and carefully folds the blankets around you, as if you'd break if left unattended. Your forehead crinkles when you feel his presence depart, and it feels so wrong.
"Pavu, Pav d-don't go-," you call out, feeling so lost in your feverish haze.
"Don't fret, dove, I'm right here, right here," his comfort is immediate, resounding. You feel one hand caress your temple, the other presses something so wonderfully cool and damp to your forehead, keeping the stuffy heat at bay. "Feels better, yeah?"
"Mmm, yeah," you slur, relaxing.
You feel arms wind around you from the side, pulling you against a shoulder. Lips peck the top of your head and you're soon pulled back under, under, under.
----
"Hey, (You), hey," a syrupy sweet voice trickles into your ears.
"Wha...Pav?" you blearily husk. The room is tinged the purple-pink of the first minutes of dawn, the highlights catch in Pavitr's raven-toned waves.
"Hi," he rasps in the fondest way possible, you can just make out the white of his teeth in his smile. One of his thumbs is strumming on your cheek while the other brushes hair off your clammy forehead.
"Hey," you respond. You notice that at some point, he's ditched the t-shirt, he's bare-chested save for his track pants.
"Sit up for me a second, sweet girl," he gently commands. You try your best to push yourself up through your hands, but fail. No matter, Pavitr scoops you into his lap anyway.
"There you go, that's my girl," he praises, even though he did most of the heavy lifting. His lips find your brow, leave a squishy kiss there when he feels the stubborn warmth.
"Pav, whathabbened," you yawn. Instantly, you notice a chill on your skin, and not the welcome kind.
"Your fever is really high. You've completely sweat through your shirt, ahava," he explains, already starting to peel it up your torso.
"...Oh," you reply, realizing how sticky the fabric had become as it's removed.
"That's okay, I've gotcha, sonu. Here we go, let me just—" Pavitr frees you from the damp shirt, and covers up your exposed upper body with a big, fluffy towel as you rest your head on his bare chest. He starts to wipe you down as best he can. "—yeah. Let me take care of you," he murmurs. Big hands sweep up and down your ribcage, your back, the curve of your shoulders with a tenderness you initially might not have expected from a superhero, the touch is firm, yet loving, purposeful. A part of you, very quiet now from your illness, hopes he'll do it again someday, without the towel between you.
"Whuh—hey!" you yelp. Pavitr has accidentally poked you square in the boob, and they're tender at this point in the cycle.
"Shit, sorry, I'm so sorry dove, I'll be more careful," he profusely apologizes, his hands immediately becoming oh so gentle. Through the haze of your fever, you can see his face fall in a way that it does when he sees stray dogs in the street.
"Perv," you quip. You watch Pavitr's head snap up at breakneck speed, face fixed with a horrified expression. One that deflates in relief once he sees the fond smirk you used up most of your energy to muster.
"You can't scare me like that, darling," he halfheartedly reprimands, dropping a kiss on your hair.
"Deserved it for poking my boob..." you trail off.
Pavitr sniffs a grin, and reaches behind him to retrieve a shirt. His shirt, to be specific, the one he'd worn that evening.
"I won't stand for this character assassination. I will not be branded a masked vigilante who pokes boobs for personal gain," he banters. He carefully feeds each of your arms through the sleeves of the shirt, and works it down your torso. Even through your stuffy nose, you can smell him on you, it's comforting in a deeply visceral way and it makes everything a little bit more okay.
"Hehe, masked boob-poker," you chuckle. Everything seems much funnier when you're running a fever.
"Hush now, funny girl," Pavitr purrs, and leans forward to kiss at the tip of your nose. He shifts you in his hold and brings a straw to your chapped lips. You hesitantly sip, nervous about getting an upset stomach again. It's some kind of sports drink, the kind you'd only drink in times like this. It's cool and it feels nice on your raw throat.
"Still tired," you say.
"I bet," he agrees. "You've had quite a rough night. More sleep is what you need, sweet girl,"
You're laid back down onto the mattress, you notice that there's a towel now between you and the sheet. You hear the echo of water droplets hitting metal, and then a fresh cloth is folded onto your forehead. Pavitr snuggles right up to you in a very protective big spoon, gentle puffs of breath tickle the back of your neck. As if he could read your mind, one hand trails just below your belly button, splays against the soft swell there and rubs circles into where you're tense and sore. A heavy shudder escapes your lips in relief.
"Good?" he whispers into your ear.
"Mmm, thank you Pav. Love you," you mutter, sleep readily returning to you now that you've been safely restored to your cozy cocoon, warm, safe, dry, and loved.
"I love you too, darling. Sleep well, I'll see you in the morning," he rumbles. The last thing you feel is the smack of lips against your shoulder, and then you find your rest.
----
The room seems so much clearer when you wake next, and not because of the watery yellow light of mid-day. The fog of your fever seems as it has departed, you don't feel too hot or too cold. You turn over to look for Pavitr, but find he's not with you, a hot water bottle tucked against your belly takes the place of his hand, and the muffled clinks of someone pottering around in the kitchen tell you he's not gone far.
You take the opportunity to get a good look at his bedroom in the full light of day. The walls are a rich brown that reminds you of a warm cup of morning coffee, there are a few knickknacks and cricket memorabilia scattered about, there's a figurine on his nightstand of Shubman Gill, one of Pavitr's favorites. There's a dent in the ceiling above the bed, and you can spy his Spider-Man bangles stacked surreptitiously on his dresser, one sleeve of the suit peeks out of a half-closed drawer. There's photos too - one of a younger him wearing a kurta, giving Gayatri bunny ears, another of him holding a little red-headed girl, both wearing aviators. There's even one of him planting a giant smooch on your cheek, you remember Miles taking that a couple weeks ago. The memory makes you feel warm on the inside, even warmer than the hot pack.
"Looks like someone's awake!" Pavitr cheers, entering the room with a plate in one hand, and a folded stack of...something in the other. He sets the stack down on the dresser and takes a seat next to you on the bed.
"Pavu!" you chirp, heart swelling with affection for your boyfriend, the one who cuddled with your sick self all night, doting on you in every way possible.
Pavitr sets the plate on the nightstand and cups your head to smudge a kiss on your temple, holding it for a moment.
"Your fever's getting better," he remarks, nuzzling your hair. "You look a lot more chipper too,"
"I don't feel quite as much like shit, I think I have you to thank for that," you agree. "Speaking of which, thank you for...well...everything. That was a lot, I know."
"I'd do it again in a heartbeat, ahava," he replies immediately, emphatically. "You deserve all of that and more, it's so worth it to see you feeling better."
Flashes of the night before start to come back to you. In pieces, you remember everything, the sheets, the bath, throwing up, calling him a boob-poker, your underwear—
"Ahhh, I want to curl up and die now," you groan into your hands, hunching over in a full cringe as new heat overtakes your face.
"Awww, sonu, but you just got better!" Pavitr playfully whines.
"Pavitr, you touched my bloody clothes and changed my underwear, I will never recover from that. My life is over, I have to change my name and move to Mongolia," you declare.
Pavitr's only response is to start giggling, low and sweet in his throat.
"It's not funny, Pav," you complain.
"Oh, sweet girl, no no no, we're not doing this, come here, c'mere," he pulls you into his hold, bracketed between his knees. "Look here. Lookatme," he guides your face to meet his eyes. You unscrew yours to find only gentle mirth in his, a bubbly kind of affection that seems to be reserved only for you.
"First of all, you have no idea how much of a mess being Spider-Man is in a normal week. I have lost count of all the times I've gotten my blood, someone else's blood, lord knows what other substances on that suit. Would you ever know it? No. I've been doing this for years now, I've had a lot of time to figure out how to deal with it, I have it down to a science at this point. So what happened to your sheets—" he gestures to the stack of folded linens on the dresser "—is old news. It's gonna take a lot more than that to faze me, darling," he explains.
"Okay, but you didn't have to—with the pad—" you cut in.
"Ah ah ah ah, don't start that with me, dove," he stops you, a finger presses first to your lips, then taps you on the nose. "Which brings me to my second point, my dear; I have done end of life care. I did end of life care for an entire year. That—" he pauses, sighs, lingering on the memory a bit. "—that is something. This, my perfect little love, is nothing. You threw up once, you got fever sweats, I put a fucking clean pad in your underwear for you because it took two seconds to do, and you were about to fall asleep on the spot, and it's a normal part of life and I am a grown-ass adult and I can handle it. None of that that even comes close to what I've done before," Pavitr's voice gets increasingly passionate the more he talks. You find yourself unable to do anything but listen.
"And even if it did...I love you. Which means I want to take care of you and make you feel even a little bit better, even if you're feeling gross or sick or bloated or the parts of you that you don't like are on display. In every form, you're beautiful, and I am so grateful you've trusted me with many of them. I would care for all of them happily, if you'd let me," he finishes, stroking each of your hands with his thumbs.
"Pavitr, I..." you try to respond, but find yourself becoming teary. "Stupid fucking hormones..."
"Hey, (You), hey, that means it was a good superhero monologue," he chuckles, wiping your tears with his thumbs. You can't help but giggle yourself. Pavitr always did have a knack for lightening the mood. "I have ice cream in the freezer for those hormones later, if you want it,"
"No, you bought—!?" you double take, you can't believe he remembered your favorite flavor!
"Oh, I did," he smarmily grins. "But why don't you try something a little easier on your stomach first. I cut up a banana for you while you were sleeping," he turns to offer you the plate he'd set beside the bed earlier. The banana was cut into neat slices, arranged in a tidy cascade on the plate.
"Aww, Pav, you didn't have to do that," you coo, smacking a grateful kiss onto the apple of his cheek.
"I mean, come on, breakfast in bed for the sick girlfriend? That's low-hanging fruit," he quips, with a sly waggle of his eyebrows on the delivery.
"Stoooop," you groan between hiccuping laughs at the dad joke.
"Shush, you, eat your food," Pavitr orders, even going so far as to bring the fork to your lips and feed you.
You eat like this in comfortable semi-silence, occasionally punctuated by giggles at each other's ridiculous facial expressions and little whispered praises from Pavitr. The scene is domestic and sweet, and despite you still being sick and crampy, the moment is perfect, a slice of quiet bliss in the busy life of a superhero and his beleaguered lover. Never did you think it was possible to be in love like this, that someone could see you in this state and feel only the urge to crawl in closer. To guide you to his own private sanctum and build a nest for you there, to curl around you so no horrors within you, without you could find you. You called, he answered, no more and no less.
"Hey, by the way, (You), so I had forgotten to ask you about something I heard going on with your case..." Pavitr begins as you finish the food, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck, apologetic for bringing it up.
"I...yeah, there was a development," you admit, face falling.
"I heard that he plead guilty, that there was going to be a sentencing hearing coming up," he recounts the conversation he'd overheard.
"Yeah, I'll have to go to the hearing next month, I'm not looking forward to it though," your stomach turns a little to talk about it. Pavitr sets the plate to the side and tugs you to lie on your side, facing him.
"What's on your mind, darling?" he asks, "bend my ear all you want, I'm listening. Maybe I can even help, I know some stuff,"
"They told me I...I have to give a statement. In front of the court," you nervously huff. "And that he's gonna give his and then...he goes to jail for maybe three years? And then what?"
"Ah, I see," Pavitr muses, stroking your hair as you talk. "You're stressed about the hearing and him being released from prison after. Is that what your nightmare was about,"
"It was," you confirm. "I was back there and he came back and I was calling for you and you wouldn't—you wouldn't come—"
"Hey hey hey, hey," he interrupts. "I will always come for you when you call. For anything, nightmares, feeling sick, you want a belly rub, anything. That man will never so much as breathe the same air as you again, I want you to know that you will never have to fear anything from him again as long as I am living." The conviction in Pavitr's expression was steely strong.
"But you can't be everywhere," you fret.
"I will not let that happen," he says, the resolve in his voice hot and unyielding. The implication under the words is not subtle.
"I thought...Spider-Man doesn't kill his enemies...does he?" you meekly ask, feeling a little faint now.
"I don't, no," he affirms. "But...I can't let you live in fear like that. I have to find a way. I won't let you, ahava."
"Pavitr, please don't get into that kind of trouble for me," you plead, cupping his face. "I need you."
Pavitr forcefully sighs, turns his head to kiss one palm. "Fine. Is there anything I can help with about the hearing?"
"I...know it's important for me to give a statement. To get the judge to rule harsher. But do I really have to get up there in front of everyone and..."
"The prosecutor can read it for you, you know," he informs you. "You just have to write it out, and they can take it from there, if that's all you can do. I've seen them do it before."
"That would make it a lot easier," you say, relieved. "It's hard enough to think about it again, to put all those feelings onto paper."
"I'll help you write it, if you want," Pavitr offers, moving now to rub your back in long strokes. "Whatever you need, you've got it from me. I gotchu, baby girl," his nose nuzzles yours, it tickles a little and you can't resist a small smile.
"Mmm, thanks, Pav," you thank him, sniffling with congestion. "All this stress probably came out as that nightmare. Probably also made it so easy for me to get sick like this."
"And your period showing up early didn't help a bit, you poor thing," he peppers a few kisses on your forehead protectively. "Tell you what, you stay here with me as long as you like, so you'll be comfy."
"Pavitr, I don't wanna—" you protest.
"Or I'll stay with you, if you're more comfortable with that. I don't care," he interjects. "I just wanna take care of you, all of you, so you can rest and don't have to worry anymore."
You sigh. "You really don't want to let me go, do you?"
"You have to admit, you're really enjoying snuggling up in my bed like this," Pavitr jests, a coy smirk painted on his mouth. Your cheeks warm a little in response.
"It is awfully cozy," you admit. "I'm surprised I haven't been in here before,"
"Admittedly, I'd had a very different plan for how your first night in here would go in my head," he says, flashes a wink that makes your entire face burn hotter than the fever ever did. "I can't say this turn of events wasn't perfect, though. I want this to be a safe place for you too, dove," he pulls you even closer to him, your face now tucked into the hollow of his throat.
"Mmm, I think...I think it already is," you concur.
You're not exaggerating. This room feels enclosed in a bubble, the excessive mass of blankets you're tangled in together something of an energy shield. His smell, his tender touch, the best of medicines. Maybe it's the hot water bottle, maybe it's the way his thumbs press into the small of your back, nothing has ever managed to sink so far under your skin, unwind your worries from the inside and respool them quite like this.
A kiss lands on the shell of your ear, interrupting your thoughts.
"Did I ever tell you how that dent got in the ceiling?" Pavitr asks, a conspiratorial grin on his face.
"Hmm, I don't think you did," you say, eyebrows perked in interest. "Entertain me."
Pavitr chuckles lowly. "Well, you know how my sense is..."
----
You're pressed tightly into Pavitr's side in the courtroom gallery a few weeks later, listening to the prosecutor read off your statement in open court, the one you agonized over every word of for weeks, and Pavitr patiently talked you down each time you got stuck. Your boyfriend's got one of your hands, and Hobie's got your other from where he's seated next to you. Between the two of them, they do their best to block your view, so you can't see him. They cover your ears when he takes the stand so you don't have to hear his voice again. When it's all said and done, when the judge's gavel echoes throughout the courtroom for the last time, he's being led away again, to prison for three years with chance for parole, and a lengthy no-contact order in place. They hide your face as he's led out, their countenances exuding fury, rage as he passes, they want him to feel it, chew on it when he sees them. And, just as it started, it's over. They take you to get ice cream after, Pavitr effusing praise into your ear like a leaky faucet whenever he can for the rest of the day. There is one moment, however, when you're coming out of the restroom, that you see them talking, hushed whispers of forty-two and pointed looks that melt into soft gazes when they sense your presence.
You get a call a few weeks later. There's been a prison break, and all involved have left this mortal coil. He was among them. There's whispers of claw marks and dark eyes, eyewitness accounts of green and purple flashes, they toss about the word "prowler", but can't seem to find the creature responsible. Pavitr kisses you all over when he hears, holds you for hours when you break, the months of turmoil oozing out of you like a shattered jar of molasses. Your relief is immense, but you sense some of his own tension uncoiling, as if he's swallowed a sour candy that's finally gone sweet.
"Pavu, did you do this?" you timidly ask of him, then. He takes your face in his hands and kisses your mouth soft and slow, as if to breathe comfort into you.
"No, sonu. I promised you I wouldn't get into trouble, Spider-Man doesn't kill his enemies" he replies. You could feel that he was truthful, and in your mind, that was that.
Later that night, with your feet tangled together under the covers, Pavitr sees how soft and unbothered your face is while you sleep, lines unfurled and ironed out, the muscle pliant along your brow. It's the first time since he's known you that he's seen this, and in that moment, he swears it was all worth it. He tugs you that little bit closer, drops one more long kiss in your hair, and waits for dawn, the new life he can give you is ready to start, when morning comes.
----
A/N: The exact events of Chapter 6 happened to me after I wrote it, which is why this took almost a month. Also, these two will probably do spicy activities next chapter so just as a heads up. For those of you who don't agree with this character being used in smut due to his age in the canon: I hear you and understand that point of view completely. Keep in mind that the Pav you see here has undergone some meaningful growth and maturation from that time, I'm not looking to go "cool, he's 18 because I said he is, now let's write NSFW" - I am very much wanting to write an adult character who is meaningfully different, and I don't want NSFW to be everything about the story. After thinking about it a lot, I decided that this is the road I want to go down, for those of you that this makes you not willing to continue reading the story, I understand.
Thank you all for your feedback so far, I love hearing it, it makes the typing machine go brrrrr.
