You Fully Got Me HOOKED With Every Word - Tumblr Posts

“I promise, you found me.”

agshjsjsjwgwgagshshs omfg I can’t…I need a minute or two to compose myself after that

you know i'll be seeking if you run and hide

Pairing: tasm!peter parker x virgin!plus size!f!reader

Summary: peter helps you through a panic attack, and reminds you it's okay to open up to him

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+!!!! NSFW!!! panic attacks, general insecurity, virgin reader but not really loss of virginity, oral (f receiving), hurt/comfort

Words: 2.5k

A/N: fic requested by @tearybuttrying !! I wasn't sure if they wanted me to put in the req word for word but the gist of it was virgin plus size peter comforting the reader during a panic attack and a little smutty hurt comfort :) title is from the lucy dacus song triple dog dare. hope you enjoy!

(it's late here so this is pretty roughly edited, I'll fix up any bits later :))

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You hadn't seen it coming.

It was just one of those days, too many little things sticking together to build and build and build, a shotty patchwork of minor inconveniences congealing into something bigger. It sits heavy in the centre of your chest, tightens everything up until you're sitting with your shoulders hunched on the subway ride home counting breaths, trying not to focus on the oppressing noise of people pressing in at all sides.

By the time you're at the front door you're fumbling with the key, hands trembling and chest tight and nausea settling deep in the pit of your stomach.

And then you're in your apartment, back pressed against the front door with a shaky exhale, and Peter Parker is in your living room.

He matches your expression as soon as he sees you, concern pinching together his eyebrows and tugging down the corners of his lips. "Hey, are you-"

"I just need a minute." You croak it out, somehow, fight against the quick constriction of your throat to manage the excuse. You can't bring yourself to look at him as you walk past, make a b line for the bathroom and slam the door.

The cool whiteness of the walls and the tiles are a momentary relief to the inexplicable heat surging through your body. The silence helps, too, makes things feel a little less suffocating, but it's nowhere near enough to soothe that feeling in your chest.

There's a quiet knock behind you, makes you flinch away from the door because God- Peter seeing you like this was not what you needed right now.

Your first thought is hide. Hide somewhere, anywhere in this stupidly tiny bathroom where Peter won't be able to find you, where you won't have to look at him with bleary eyes and see the inevitable pity on his face.

You wished you could fold yourself up, close in on yourself until you were small enough to slot in somewhere nobody would ever find you. But this is New York, and you only have the one physical form, so your next best option is the slump against the side of the tub, legs drawn tightly against your chest and your face in your hands.

"Oh, honey. Hey, it's okay. What's wrong?" He's there in an instant, perched above you on the edge of the tub with an arm around your shoulders, hand immediately rubing soothing circles into your back.

"It's just a little-" Tightness again, cutting you off, pulls you deeper and deeper into an unsteady rhythm. "- A little panic attack, I'll be fine."

"Hey, hey, I got you, everything's gonna be okay." Peter's next to you now, hand on your wrist trying to open you up to him, eyebrows pinched together in concern when your welling eyes finally meet his. "Let me help, yeah? Remember what we did last time?"

You dip your head, swallow thickly before you can get any words out, his hand at your chin tilting your face back up to him. "Breathing," You mutter, take a deep breath in as soon as you do, try to steady the airflow as you exhale. "It's the breathing."

"Yeah, that's right, good job. You wanna do it with me?"

You have to swallow, nodding quickly, try to ignore the separate ache in your chest, the one brought on by how tenderly he's looking at you, the concern in his eyes.

"Okay, we're gonna do in for five, hold for five, and out-" Your jaw is trembling beneath his hand, and he can see the narrowing of your eyes where tears are threatening to overflow. "Hey, you're doing so good, baby. We're just gonna breathe in, okay? Come here."

And then his arms are around you, pulls you in until your face is in the crook of his neck and your chest is prest against his. You feel the slow, rising pressure against you, start to inhale along with him, focus on his quiet counting against your ear.

Hold it in.

One Mississippi.

Peter's a furnace around you, emanates a deep warmth that heats you through, slowly starts to melt you into the cool tile of the bathroom.

Two Mississippi.

Peter smells like you. He smells like your body wash, the sweetness of pomegranate and hibiscus mixed with the lavender essential oils you use to help you sleep. He smells familiar, smells like home, brings a wave of comfort heavy enough to start to fight off the mess of the last 24 hours.

Three Mississippi.

Peter's holding his breath, too. His chest is still against yours, steady, solid, an anchor making sure you don't float away.

Four Mississippi.

Peter pulls away, and he's looking at you like you've got the sun and the moon and a field full of puppies in your eyes. He's searching and searching and searching, looking for an open window or an unlocked door that could let him into your messy, beautiful brain, that could show him what you're thinking even for a moment.

Five Mississippi.

You both exhale at the same time, the intermingling of warm breath in the small gap between you. Peter nods slowly, gives you the faintest of smiles, brings his hand back up to cup your cheek. "Better?"

Your next exhale is still a little shaky, but you can feel the slow unwind of the tightness in your chest, slowly remember how to breathe again. You nod, swallow down the thick knot in your throat.

When you dip your head next Peter doesn't stop you, lets you close your eyes and continue trying to steady your breathing with your forehead rested against his shoulder.

There's a long beat of silence. "Thank you for putting up with me."

"Hey," He starts, pulls back a little so you have to look at him, brushes away the dampness on your cheeks as he cups your face in his hands. "It's not putting up with you if I want to help."

You close your eyes again, lean into his touch as you count through another set of breaths.

Peter's leaning in, too, moves to press his forehead against yours. "You know how much I care about you, right?" His voice is whisper-quiet, stay close enough that you can feel the heat of his breath against your lips. "You don't have to keep hiding away from me."

You stay silent for a moment, savour the contact of his skin against yours. "Sometimes I'm afraid if you see me you won't like what you find."

He has to look at you with that, shakes his head but doesn't pull away. "You are the kindest, bravest, most beautiful person I have ever met. You never have to worry about that, because there is not a single part of you I don't want to know."

It might be this, you think, above all of that stuff from minutes before, that really makes you want to cry. And so you stave it off, lean in to close the tiny gap left between you and press a soft kiss to his lips.

It stays like that for a while, when Peter kisses you back, both of you suspended in the quiet tenderness of the moment, this blooming affection that charges the air.

You smile when Peter deepens it a little, lips curving against his, and he breathes a light laugh. "There she is." His lips are trailing along your jaw now, slides down your throat to the crook of your neck. "There's my girl."

"Pete..."

"Do you want me to stop?"

He's looking at you again, still so close, still so gentle and kind and understanding, and if it were any other night you probably would have said yes, pulled away and buried yourself in your thoughts and stopped it before it got too far. But tonight, you just shake your head. "I don't want to keep hiding."

His lips are back on yours in a heartbeat, picks up the heavy rhythm of it, kisses you and kisses you until your back is being pressed against the sturdy acrylic of the tub and you suddenly remember where you are.

"Pete."

"Mhm?''

"We're still on the floor."

Peter's the one smiling now, grins at you between kisses. "C'mon then."

His lips never leave yours as he leads you to your bedroom, guides you with a hand at your waist and the other at the nape of your neck, tilting you up into him.

By the time he's settling you onto the bed that voice has started to creep back in, the one telling you to cover up, to keep to yourself, reminds you that nothing has ever gone this far before.

He must notice, feel it in the tensing of your body beneath him. "Hey, where'd you go?"

The room is dim, but it's still light enough that you can read the worry in his eyes, the sincerity of it. "I've just never... Done anything like this before."

"I know, baby, it's okay. Just let me take care of you, yeah?"

It's softer when he kisses you next, wraps you up in the sweetness of it, drives your mind devoid of anything else until you feel his fingers slip under the hem of your shirt.

It makes you shudder a little, but you don't stop him, just nod when questioning eyes find yours to ask permission.

You lift your arms to help the swift removal of the fabric, and when your back is against the mattress again Peter's kissing down the column of your throat, travels down and down and down, finds the valley of your breasts and the curve of your stomach, hands slipping down to grasp at the plump flesh of your hips. "So beautiful."

He doesn't flinch away, not like that awful little voice had warned you he would, worships every inch of you and mutters quiet praise against your skin until he's reached the waist of your jeans.

"Is this okay?" He asks, still careful, cautious of your reaction or any indication you want him to stop.

But you don't want him to stop, you definitely don't want him to stop, not when you nod and deft fingers are unbuttoning your jeans. He's kneeling now, leans back against his heels to slip the denim down your legs.

When he comes back down his breath is warm against the inside of your thigh, the sensation sending a shiver up your spine. "Gonna let me taste you, sweetheart?" You gasp at the question, not aided by the little lovebites he's been planting against the softness of your thighs. The response makes him smile, devilishly triumphant as one hand comes up to tease the hem of your panties down just a little. "Been thinking about it for so long. Bet you taste so sweet, honey."

"Yes," You breathe, can't help the way your back arches into his touch. His fingers are still hooked under the thin fabric, the last barrier to having him touch you just the way you need him, grazing feather-light against your skin as he tugs them down inch by inch. "Please."

"Good girl."

Whatever you thought it would feel like, there was no way you could have prepared for it feeling like this.

Peter's mouth is on you, hot and wet and knows exactly what to do, knows how to build you up with just his tongue and his lips around your clit and his fingers anchoring you to him as they dig into your hips.

"Fuck, Pete-"

A hum of acknowledgement against your clit, sends a jolt of fiery pleasure through your entire body until your legs a trembling and your hands are twisted into the bedsheets. "Feel good, baby? Doing so well for me."

Peter's looking at you, a devil between your legs, watches your face as he slowly slips one finger inside you, the immediate slack of your jaw only tightening the strain in his pants.

The next attachment of his mouth to your cunt makes you gasp, a moan of his name as a second finger joins the first deep inside you.

You think you're done for the second he starts curling those fingers, finds a part of you you didn't know existed, that you clearly hadn't been able to find yourself.

He must be able to tell it's too much, the clench of your walls as another gasp tumbles from your lips, the velvet fluttering around his fingers.

"That's it, baby. I got you, let go for me."

And this feeling, the one that washes over you with another tight swipe of his tongue, that presses your hips against him as you writhe in his grasp, is certainly a new one, is entirely different to the feelings confined to lonely nights in your bedroom.

Peter rides you through it, slows his fingers and kisses your swollen clit your breathing starts to slow again.

When you're settled Peter kisses his way back up your body, smiles when he finds your lips still parted.

"Good?"

"I-" Your brain is still a little foggy, can't seem to put together a tangible sentence or even pick full words out of the cloud, and so you opt to breathe a laugh, lean up to kiss him hard. The taste of yourself in his mouth is intoxicating.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Definitely a yes."

"Good." It's back to how it was now, shared smiles pressed into soft kisses and warm breath. "I think we better get some dinner in you after all that."

"You don't wanna keep going?" You ask, and he watches the confusion laced in the pinch of your eyebrows.

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek, soft against your skin. "Hey, it's not that I don't want to, it's just... Baby steps, yeah?"

You're biting the inside of your lip, can't help you smile when Peter's thumb slides down to tug at your bottom lip, opens you back up to him. "Yeah."

"Just don't go hiding from me again," He mutters, smiles into yet another blissfully soft kiss.

"I promise, you found me."

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