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patchoulimademoiselle · 1 year ago

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Juicy. (Part 8).

Tony Stark (Sugar Daddy) x Reader Insert.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, profanity, mentions of PTSD, public sex? A little bit of angst and fluff, but definitely NSFW 18+.

Word Count: 3.9K

Authors note: I wrote this part while soaking in my bath tub, drinking a glass of wine and listening to Jhene Aiko. I don’t call it “bad bitch fanfiction” for no reason!

Guns n Glitter masterlist.

The days following the Incident feel like a loop. Tony wakes you up with some sort of extravagant gesture, as he should, smothering you in what feels like a million kisses, and he asks you what you want to do. At first you took full advantage, shopping sprees, a random jet flight to a random city, a night out clubbing, anything and everything to distract you and make you feel normal again.

A girl being waited on hand and foot by her billionaire sugar daddy with sexy facial hair. Trademarked.

But it only works for a while. The press stalks your every move, any and every person you encounter only asks about what happened that night. All your efforts to escape fail, it only makes you feel more helpless, strung out and spread thin.

So you try a different approach, turning inwards for answers. Tony gives you his credit card to order a new skin care routine to the house. You spend hours picking at your face, soaking in the tub, drinking wine that’s a little too strong for you, trying new makeup looks with new products you splurged on. Anything to feel something.

And once again, it works for a while. Your skin and hair look amazing, you feel a little more like yourself. Reading, journaling, breathing.

But all it takes is the sound of a helicopter flying down the beach, Tony drops a tool down in the garage, a plate clatters in the sink, and you’re back to that night, glass shattering outside the bedroom door, the same glass you step on and give yourself away, watching as the intruders run after you.

You start having nightmares, jumping out of your sleep in pain, a memory of stepping on glass that night. Tony does all he can to comfort you back to sleep. You start having panic attacks, holding your breath without knowing it, anxiety attacks, a sense of fear creeping up on you from what feels like out of nowhere, consuming you.

And as normal as this is, a trauma response to the horrible thing you experienced, Tony can’t stand seeing it happen to you.

He understands, he used to suffer from similar symptoms. He knows what this is.

PTSD.

He knows talking about it helps sometimes, but it also doesn’t. It only makes you relive it, only presses play to the memories in your mind and brings you back. Nothing really helps.

The only thing he knows he can do for you is to be there for you. And when he finally decides he can’t take it anymore, he can’t watch you gasp and cry as you struggle through another panic attack, body half naked on the cold floor, shaking, so fragile and helpless, he decides to get you out of here.

He wakes you up, same as every morning, a kiss to your forehead. It feels different this time, you notice he lingers, he’s worried, and it makes you feel bad.

“Tony?”

“Hi, baby.” He smiles when you open your eyes, “I have a surprise for you.”

You smile, “You always have a surprise for me.”

But he only shakes his head, fingers tracing your collar bone. “This one is different. Better. You have to get up and get ready.”

You groan, trying to roll over and ignore him. He doesn’t let you. “But I don’t want to get out of bed today.” You protest. “I want to lay here and be naked. I want you to join me.”

He lets out a whine that you recognize, “Why do you have to torture me like that? I’m try to be cute.”

You feel him grow hard, turned on by your antics, you know you’re about to win, you reach a hand up to cup his face, pulling him in for a soft kiss. “Come join me in bed, daddy.”

He kisses you. More like a peck, once, twice, before he’s pulling away from your grip. “You are a fucking monster, and I’m going to take you up on that offer in about an hour.” He pulls out his phone, checking it. “But we have reservations, and for the first time in my life I actually care about making them on time. So please, for the love of God, stop teasing me and put some clothes on?”

You can’t argue after he begged so nicely, your eyes lingering to the bulge in his pants as you sit up.

“Five minutes?” You bite your lip.

“Bathroom, Y/n! Before I I change my mind and don’t let you leave the bed at all today.”

You know he means it, as good as that sounds, as much as you would enjoy a good brutal fucking, you remember the ache and strain of your muscles from the last time you teased him too much. And as horny as you are, you’re slightly curious about the plans he made for you today.

So without another word, you slip out of bed and into the bathroom, using all your new products to shower, shave, exfoliate, wash your face, brush your teeth, and style your hair. You pick a cute outfit, juicy track suit, panda dunks, and a crop top. You feel so young, so cute, so yourself.

You double check in the mirror, applying lipgloss across your lips, and you watch as Tony comes to check on you, eyeing you with approval. He kisses your cheek, hands cupping your ass ever so softly before giving it a firm squeeze.

“There she is.” The comment is simple, vague, but all the reassurance you needed to feel confident. You can’t help but smile, turning to kiss him, leaving behind a shiny trace of lipgloss.

He doesn’t wipe it off, just rubs his lips together, and for some reason it turns you on a little.

“Tony Stark, you’re such a dream boat.” You fluff his hair, grabbing his hand to pull you with him as you finally leave the bathroom. He doesn’t protest, trailing behind you like a deer stuck in headlights, eyes glued to your ass, rhinestones putting him in a shimmering trance. “Where you taking me?”

“There’s a car waiting out front.” His eyes trail up to meet yours when you turn to look at him, waiting for an answer. “You don’t want to bring anything?”

The question makes you pause, “Should I be bringing something?”

“You just went shopping,” he shrugs, handing your phone to you. “You don’t need anything if you don’t want anything.”

Now you’re genuinely confused, raising an eyebrow at his antics. He only flashes you a smile, bright white teeth and teasing tone, he isn’t going to tell you anything. So you take your phone and continue downstairs, out the front door, and into the black limo parked out front.

You suddenly feel like you’re underdressed for whatever this is, but realize he’s wearing joggers and sneakers, so it can’t be anything too extravagant this time. You hope.

He pulls your feet by the ankle to rest them in his lap, a warm hand resting on your leg during the car ride. You take a few pictures, unashamed that he catches you drooling over him.

“Like what you see?” He winks at you, pulling his shades down ever so slightly.

“Fuck me Mr. Stark!” You bounce up and down in your seat, waving your hand in the air. “Me! Me! Fuck me!” He laughs at your attempt to mimic the many young girls that throw themselves at him.

It was annoying at first, early on when you were first figuring out the terms of this arrangement. It intimidated you, made you feel challenged in your roll. Until you started really spending his money, dressing yourself up, showing your face with him more. The attention was on you just as much, and he learned very quickly how it felt to have so many people publicly throw themselves at the person you were dating.

If you could call it that then.

But now, you aren’t sure what to call it at all. His laughter dies, his eyes locked with yours, and you feel that familiar tug in your chest, the feeling that you finally put a word to.

You love him, and he loves you. It scares you.

“Tony?” Your tone turns serious, and his smile fades. “Did you really mean it?”

You don’t have to elaborate. He knows exactly what you mean, matching your energy when he turns to face you fully, pulling you to sit closer.

“There is nothing I’ve ever said to you that I don’t mean.” He says honestly, voice thick with an emotion you aren’t sure you’ve seen from him before. “I love you more than you can begin to understand. You don’t know what this does for me.” He passes his finger back and forth between you, this, your connection, your bond, your presence in his life.

“All of this is worth nothing if I have no one to share it with,” he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “All of this finally means something because I get to share it with you.”

The money, clothes, cars, all of it.

You understand his longing for companionship. A man like him who has seen and done it all, in the end, what was it all for if there is no one to keep your company, no one to laugh with, no one to lay beside at night and tell your darkest secrets to.

No one to love you despite all your ugly.

He reaches to grab your hand, butterflies awaken in your stomach, and you realize you don’t want this to happen. You don’t want to ruin the fun you have together, you don’t want to play the game of dancing on the edge and taking things too far.

You love him, you think you love him, you aren’t so sure now, seeing him smile at you with a trace of something else, adoration, love, it makes your stomach turn.

You don’t want to ruin this.

“That means a lot to me, Tone.” You smile through the nerves, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you too.”

But, you never say it, it’s on the tip of your tongue, hanging in the air. But, he isn’t really relationship material is he?

Is he love bombing you? You both agreed you were too busy for a relationship, agreed to see each other on the weekends in between his work and your schooling, agreed to never take it too far because it wouldn’t work.

He tried it before, it doesn’t work.

So how did you get here? So caught up in each other, so distracted by your feelings that you forget what brought you two together in the first place. Needing a distraction, needing a mutual connection that benefits both parties and doesn’t ever overstep the boundaries in place.

But is it wrong to find love in such a transactional relationship? Is this wrong?

He can sense your hesitation, he can feel it actually, your body is rigid in his arms, stiff with anxiety. He can see your thoughts, your eyes blank as you stare into his.

It makes him laugh, placing an apologetic kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Take a deep breath sweetheart.” He says. “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay, everything is about to change, you can feel it. But this man has just planned some kind of surprise for you, a chance to get your mind off things and return to your normal self. And here you are ruining it.

You smile, pushing back your doubts, and you notice how relieved he feels, He put his heart on the line, not sure how you would take it. You feel bad, fingers toying the the hair on the back of his head.

You do love him. But you aren’t sure how far you can take it.

His intentions seem innocent at first when he kisses you, hands slow and gentle as they grab your hips, pulling you into a straddle. It’s cute, sensual, his every move is calculated.

You barely notice his hand slip under your shirt until you feel him pinching your breast, toying with the nipple.

You want him to fuck you, grinding yourself down onto his lap, you can feel a bulge growing in his pants, the kiss is no longer innocent, lips fighting for control.

He wins, of course he does, flipping you to sit in the seat next to you, sinking down to his knees between your legs. He reaches for the waist and of your pants and your eyes dart up to the partition, drawn closed to separate you from the driver.

It must be a green light in his head, pulling your legs free to expose your bare pussy, wet and clenching at nothing for some sort of relief.

He smirks up at you, cocky as he pushes your legs further apart at the knees. He kisses the inside of your thigh, teasing, payback for earlier no doubt.

You can’t help but reach for him, fingers in his hair as he works his way up your thigh, between your legs. This is what you know, this is what you are familiar with.

You gasp, lips brushing against your clit with a ghost of a kiss. You arch off the seat, chasing him, he laughs at you, your grip tightens in his hair.

“Is there something you want?”

There are so many things you want, so many ways he could give it to you. You aren’t sure what you want to ask for first.

So you don’t ask at all, grabbing his chin, “Eat my pussy.”

And you can tell he likes it by the way he moans, his tongue warm as he obeys. You’re pretty sure the diver can hear you, you wouldn’t be surprised if the audio got leaked to TMZ. You also don’t care, pulling him closer, sinking further into your seat to allow him better access.

He lifts your legs over his shoulder, hands on your hips to press you flush against his mouth, burying his face between your legs. All attempts at being in control are gone, all witty comments, any jokes you might have wanted to make about how desperately he is pleasuring. You’re an obscene mess, crop top pushed up to expose your breasts, mouth agape and chest heaving as you struggle through the pleasure, the sensation overwhelming and he flicks his tongue across your clit.

“Tony,” A breathy whine, barely audible if he hasn’t been paying such close attention, “I’m going to come.”

He doesn’t say anything, just continues the pace he’s set until your nails are digging into this shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as you squirt on his face.

There’s something degrading about it, something hot and just wrong about the way he sucks at your clit, tasting your pleasure.

You’re panting, legs shaking, pressing against his chest to get him to move, it’s too much, you can’t help but cry out at the overstimulation. But he doesn’t let up, sloppy sounds filling the air around you, along with your moans, and a second orgasm overcomes you.

He hums with approval, almost teasing you as he finally leans back, eyes twinkling, face dripping, “Do you feel better now, sweetheart?”

Oh, you feel more than better, speechless, body like jello as you watch him sit up, placing a kiss on each of your breasts, your fluids left behind. He doesn’t stop there, working his way up your chest, your neck, to the side of your face.

“Did I break you?”

It feels like a challenge more than anything, a sudden burst of energy overcoming you. “You wish.” Because yes, he was a good lay. A very good lay. But you’re even better, and you will always go the extra mile to prove it.

Because he is a high value man. Handsome, rich, protective, secure. He is a provider, hardworking. He deserves a bad bitch to match his energy.

He laughs, breathless and panting, you let him settle beside you before climbing into his lap, sitting right on top of the erection in his pants. He groans a little, every move you make to get comfortable is torture, you can feel how hard he is, pussy pulsing at the attention.

You feel so young, so alive, his hands in your hair as he pulls you into a kiss. Slow at first, until you start to grind in his lap, his kisses become more desperate, hot and passion filled, a dance and a fight for dominance and pleasure.

“Sit on it.” Not a question, you lift just enough for him to slide his joggers down, gasping at the feeling of his cock springing to attention, slapping lighting against your pussy.

You moan, reaching to grab him, hard and warm in your hand. Your eyes lock with his, guiding this cock to toy at your entrance, throbbing tip brushing against your folds.

The look he’s giving you is dangerous, encouraging, and so finally, you lower yourself down, feeling yourself stretch around him. He moans, head falling back against the seat, enjoying the feeling.

Slowly, you bottom out, reposting to shift from your knees to your feet. He welcomes the adjustment, arms wrapping around you to pull you into a gentle embrace, one hand on the small of your back, the other at the back of your neck.

“Fuck me, baby girl.” He looks drunk, mouth open and eyes dark as he pleads with you.

You love when he talks to you like this, guiding you, but letting you set the pace. It makes you feel confident, sexy, no pressure to perform.

The encouragement has you biting your lip, setting a slow pace of rising up, letting his cock slowly slip out of you, then slowly sitting back down. He takes a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing your skin ever so gently.

You gasp when he bites down, clenching around him at the pleasure of it, the slow pace you had tried to keep up long forgotten. You grab his shoulders for support, his head popping up to claim your lips again, hips thrusting to meet yours at a vulgar pace.

The limo slows to a stop, but you ignore it, his grip on you tightening as you fuck yourself down on him, pleasure starling to build in your stomach.

He breaks your kiss, leaning back and letting you take control. You grab his hands, fitting one against your breast and the other to grab your throat.

“You fuck me so well.” A thumb across your lower lip, “You look perfect like this.”

You can only imagine, hair a mess, lips swollen and red, tits bouncing at your efforts.

You clench around him, watching his jaw tick with restraint. His grip around your neck tightens, enough to leave a bruise you’re sure.

He’s getting close.

As hard as he’s trying to hide it from you, you can tell. And so you start to ride him faster, rising to your tippy toes.

“God, yes. Don’t stop.”

His hands snap down to your waist, guiding you to go faster, his hips thrusting up to meet you. The pace has you moaning, knees growing weak, and you can’t help but lean into him.

“You gonna come for me?” You whisper.

You can hear commotion outside, cheeks flushing at the thought of someone hearing you, seeing you.

“Y/n,” He sounds wrecked, voice thick and scratchy, “Baby, I’m about to-“

You clamp your hand over his mouth, forcing yourself down onto his cock, giving him one last squeeze, pussy clenching around him. You feel him twitch inside you, a moan muffled against your hand as he finally comes inside of you, warm cum filling you up.

His hips buck wildly against you, riding out his pleasure, holding you in place as you help him through it, milking all he has to offer.

You uncover his mouth, letting him catch his breath. He smiles at you, a flash of pretty teeth before he kisses you, stealing your breath away one more time.

“You are going to be the death of me.” He whispers, “You are perfect in every way.”

As you should.

He helps you find your clothes, waiting for you to fix your hair and reapply a layer of lipgloss, wiping the traces of it from his face, before you finally step out of the limo. You realize you are at the airport again, jet fueled and waiting for your arrival. You aren’t sure if he was trying to distract you or if you really did get caught up in the moment, but it has you smiling, arms up in the California air as a breeze brushes your skin.

You want to be young forever, free, lit up and intoxicated on love and adrenaline. You know who you have to thank for this, his fingers at the small of your back, guiding you.

Your love, your protector.

"Where are we going?" You know he wont tell you, but you can at least attempt. He gives you nothing, just a smirk when you turn to look at him.

He is inches behind you as you ascend the stairs to the jet, his hand never leaving you. You aren't sure what this is, affection, adoration, but he can't stop touching you, pulling you to sit across his lap. You ask for champagne, he asks for a rum and coke.

He runs a hand through your hair, pushing it back over your shoulder. You realize then what this is, his eyes twinkling as he examines you, eyes on your lips. This is love.

That anxiety creeps back up into your mind, that burning question that seems to be an instinct more than curiosity. What will happen now?

Because you could never pretend that this isn't here, this lingering feeling that turns in your stomach when he looks at you too long, that ache in your chest. The longing in your heart.

It wont just go away.

Your drinks arrive, and you're quick to down it before asking for another. His eyes are on you, but he says nothing, letting you cut loose. That is the point of this after all.

The jet door closes and takes off, Tony holding you until you’ve drunken yourself into a tipsy state, a smile on your face, body feeling light and airy as you lean back into his embrace.

He humors you, whispering stupid jokes and dirty promises in your ears while an 80’s movie plays in the background. You are at the center of his attention.

Always.

You dread the moment where this peace will be broken, the reality of your situation will have to resurface at some point. You will have to go home, you will have to go to school, you will have to decide what to do moving forward.

But for now, you let him spoil you. The jet touches down, and you instantly feel overdress when your feet touch the earth again. It's a temperate climate, not exactly tropical, but not cold either.

Clear skies and pretty blue water, you could try to play the guessing game, but knowing Tony, you would never get it right.

His lips are at your temple, a hand on the small of your back, "Welcome to Italy, baby."

The smile on your face makes all the trouble worth it, Tony decides then and there that he will spend the rest of his days trying to make you happy. He owes you at least that much.

"Tony Stark," Your eyes gleaming, "You spoil me."

His hand slides lower, giving a firm, teasing, squeeze on your ass. You can feel him toying with the rhinestones, "Juicy."

You cant help but laugh, the weight of reality lifting off your shoulders once again.

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