★ 𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓.
your baby father doesn't take too kindly to you downloading tinder. nevermind his own girlfriend.
content warning: smuuuut. infidelity. (?) manipulation. toxic relationship.
toxic!babydaddy!roman x black!ex!reader.
note: condolences to mia cause.... yea. key west will be a au/miniseries. requests are open for these two if u wanna send.
KEYWEST!VERSE.
The silky fabric of your pink-striped Victoria Secret pajamas catches the heel of your foot as you stride to the front door seconds after the doorbell rings.
You mutter a greeting once the swing of the door reveals a very pristine, put together Roman. Much too formal for such a routine, casual stop. A navy short-sleeve knit polo shirt that stretches to the will of his bulging biceps, pressed black slacks, a thick black Rolex around his wrist topped off with his signature slicked back bun.
Your mouth waters when your eyes land on the brown bag of takeout gripped in his hand from your favorite hole in the wall, Green Turtle.
“Sup.”
You grab the bag from him and close the door when he walks inside and sets his sights on his crawling seven-month-old, Lorelei. He bends at the hip, lifts her into his embrace and smiles once she squeals at the rapid ascend.
You remove the contents of the bag behind the kitchen island while silently watching the interaction between the two. You watch as she repeatedly beats her pudgy palm against his mouth with a coo and how he eats it with every swat.
When he catches your eye, he digs into his pockets and tosses three thick wads of cash each encircled by a rubber band onto the counter. He mentions something about whether or not the security system’s still giving you any issues, that there’s a new one currently in his trunk he brought to install.
You give him an unconvinced look.
Given the nature of the man you’ve grown to know like the back of your hand, you can’t tell if the initiative is out of his genuine inclination to protect you and his baby or his manipulative desire to have you and the house under his constant surveillance at all times. Or, and more likely, a combination of both.
Classifying the relationship you have with your child's father as ‘complicated’ would be an understatement.
You two met at Sunburnt, a tiny surf shack that you own and run with your cousin just off the shore in Key West. He came in one day with his wetsuit peeled to his waist, drenched hair sticking to the skin of his tanned shoulders, chewing a saccharine chunk of gum between his molars and asking about sex wax for his surfboard. If you felt him staring as you showed him around the shack, you didn’t mention it. Instead, you were busy stifling a smile as Namina widened her eyes in swooning jest behind his back across the room. You found out he surfed at the beach on the other side of town, so it was interesting when you started seeing him around the one the shop’s by more often.
By the time he was a regular, you’d learned that he was a child of the ocean inside of a wrestler’s body. He told you he was raised and born in town and whenever he gets a break from the fast life, he comes back to Key West for grounding. That apart from the ring, surfing has his heart.
You quickly learned of his tough disposition. He isn’t as tender, internally or externally, as you’re used to. As you’d like. But he’s action-oriented. Solution-oriented. A protecter. A provider.
He tugs on the edge of your skirt. He pulls on the hemline of your tee. His hand engulfs yours when he holds it. He fucks you straight to sleep. Your name is engraved on the foot of the passenger side of his Camaro. He walks through crowded parties with his palm at your back. He puts dents in men who look your way. You love him.
Eventually, it gets bad.
He starts getting jealous. He tells you to take down certain posts. You’re fighting in public. He doesn't like your friends, calls them hating ass hoes. He tells you they’re in your ear while trying to make a play in his phone. You break up until he lures you into having one last conversation for the sake of closure, and then you’re just skin and flesh in a foggy car again.
Even when you decided to call it quits over his controlling tendencies for good after three years, he couldn't find it in him to exit your life. He’d drop by Sunburnt with a takeout bag from Green Turtle for you during lunch. Whenever he was out of sex wax for his board, he’d come to the shack although there’s a strip of other surf shops and pretend not to be disappointed when you’d pass him over to Namina to assist.
Your pregnancy was the result of a dark night of the soul, so to speak. A temporary lapse in judgment, a moment of weakness. It was months and months after the split and you were feeling touch deprived. He was the solution.
He sits Lorelei atop the island and takes a seat on the stool beside the counter, watches as she takes the guacamole-dipped tortilla chip you hand her and start viciously attacking it.
He furrows his brows at the infant, “she not feeding you or something?”
You smack your teeth, “she’s teething, asshole.”
“Oh.”
As you dig into your respective bowls, your eyes rove around his formal attire once more. “So. What’s the occasion?”
Lorelei babbles and coos.
You watch him swallow a bite and watch it quickly travel down his throat before he washes it down with a bottled water. His eyes never parting from yours, “Mia. She’s having her birthday dinner tonight.”
Your brows raise in acknowledgement, “first public outing a year and a half in. That’s a big step.”
“You counting?”
You feed Lorelei another chip, deciding against dignifying that with a response.
“It’s not a step at all. She’s not my girl.”
“She’s not your friend.”
Mia and Roman were set up by her father, one of Roman’s esteemed mentors within the wrestling business. A woman who comes from a long lineage of old money and extensive influence. Unfortunately, that has no bearings on the explicitly casual and noncommittal attitude he’s always had within his relationship with the woman despite her wishes. Although, there are times in which he undersells their relationships to himself.
You’ve never left the picture. She knows it.
She’s had her sights set on him since you two were together, patiently waiting in the wings for her opportunity. When you left him, she got it. She just didn’t expect the stonewalling. The avoidant attachment.
He had made it clear at the beginning that whatever they had going on was casual. Still, it didn’t hurt any less to find out he’d gotten you pregnant during their situationship. And as quiet as it’s kept, the ceiling for how much she’s willing to tolerate if it means she can keep him is exceptionally high.
You’re so amused at how adorable Lorelei looks with guacamole smeared all over her mouth and cheeks that you grab your phone and snap a picture for safekeeping. You stand and grab a wet wipe from the counter behind you before returning and standing by a seated Roman to quickly show him the picture.
As fate would have it, in the split second it takes for you to unlock the phone and lean it towards him, a match notification from Tinder drops from the top of your screen.
In an effort to play it extremely cool, you quickly lock the phone and tuck it into the pocket of your silk pajama pants.
“What was that.”
You take the baby wipes and clean Lorelei’s face once she begins rubbing her eyes with her fist and start to fuss, quiet.
“Why are you on Tinder?”
Meekly, “I’m a single woman, Roman.”
In a move that sucks a loud gasp out of you, while you have your back to him, he swiftly pickpockets your phone and unlocks it using the date he has tattooed below his collarbone. He opens your notification center and clicks on Tinder and watches as it takes him to your existing conversations, his heart beating out of his chest and his jaw tight. An empty folder of chats except the notifying match reveals a newly installed profile.
“Roman!” You go to snatch your phone from him when he exits Tinder and open the FLO app but your tone startles an already fussy Lorelei and she starts to wail.
He stands up while holding it just out of your reach and you're defeated by the realization that you’re no match for his height and build. You grumble underneath your breath about him being absolutely fucking unbelievable and grab the crying infant before taking her upstairs with an attitude.
In the FLO app, he sees two things: you’ve been having regular periods, and there’s an absence of little hearts on the days of your monthly calendar. No sex.
By the time he makes it up the stairs, you’re turning off the light switch and inching the door of Lorelei’s bedroom closed. He follows you into your room and extends his palm with your phone on it for you to take. When you go to snatch it, he jerks his hand back and crosses his arms, his tone low and menacing, “so, what? you just needed some dick?”
That has to be it, he realizes. He bought you this house, he sends you money on a weekly basis, he spends two days of the week with his daughter as per your custody agreement, he pays the bills, he makes sure you’re up to date with your maintenance. Why the fuck else would you want another man in his house?
“I’m not doing this with you Roman. I-It’s none of your business.” Except you’re unconvincing because with every word your voice becomes more and more shaky and it has everything to do with the fact that you know he’s historically made everything that concerns your love life his business since your split and the closer he inches towards you, the less space you have between the door and your back. Except the way he’s looking at you is all too familiar and it lets one butterfly loose in your stomach.
Before you know it, your eyes are fluttered shut because he’s nosing at your sensitive neck and biting at your hot earlobe and the silk of your pajama pants are air thin against the bulge under his slacks. You murmur at him to move and pitifully try to distract him with reminders that he has somewhere to be but you never once tell him to stop as he slides his big hands under your sleek button-up top to grope the swells of your breasts.
He sucks red bruises into your neck as you pant and whimper, rolls your nipples between his fingers, and grumbles about deleting that shit and him being right here into your earuntil a puddle forms in the gusset of your panties.
He detaches his mouth and takes his hands out of your shirt.
His voice booms, “get on the bed.”
You swallow before slowly getting on and laying on the foot of the bed.
He digs his phone out from his pockets and fumbles with it for a second until vulgar audio begins to expel from it. When you pick it up and view it at eye-level after he tosses it on the bedspread, your core clamps down around nothing. It’s a depraved old home video of you where you assume the back of the phone is being supported by a stray pillow. The only thing in the frame is a side-profile close up of your torso-and-up while on all fours except your belly is flat against the mattress and you’re hugging onto a pillow for dear life. He’s out the frame, but he’s behind you. You watch as your body jolts with every thrust, your hooded eyes glued on the camera right as you cream on his dick with your bottom lip rolled into your mouth, only the whites of your eyes visible.
In the heat of your trance, you don’t notice he’s at the foot of the bed until he’s pushing your knees to your chest and his solid length is deliciously rubbing against your now pulsing core.
“Who else gonna make you feel like that? Like this?”
Your hooded eyes flicker from the video recording to his, your pelvis mindlessly starting to roll against his. He smirks.
You raise your hips to assist when he peels your pants off and arch your back when he tugs your panties to the side with one finger. He attaches his mouth to your swollen clit with his hands pushing your knees to your chest. He sucks with a force that lights a subtle flame at the center of your stomach and weakens the muscle in your upper thighs.
“Fuckkkk.” It feels so good.
You can feel the combination of his saliva and your arousal drooling into the crevice of your ass and making a mess of your duvet. He eats until your torso quivers and the second you try to writhe away, he pulls back and slaps your drooling cunt. Two intimidating pools of black overcast by furrowed eyebrows and offset by a pink, shiny mouth, “stop.” His hands wrap around your hips and tug your body back down before reattaching.
Your eyes roll back and you cry out when he hits your special spot with his two fingers and rubs rough figure eights onto your clit with his other hand, “this is what you wanted. You wanted me to see that. That’s why you showed me, right?” You’re too dazed to answer, but the implication makes your pussy clench around his fingers. “Yeah. I know. I always do.”
And when he calls you a slut and tells you that you were just too fucking polite to tell him to cancel his plans and give you some dick, you’re whining and fumbling at his zipper until he catches on.
He tosses you over until you’re on all fours and strips until every one of his articles of clothing are in a puddle on the floor. He barks an order for you to put him in when you feel his thick and hot shaft against the flesh of your supple ass. With your face against the duvet, you reach under your body and between your legs to grip him in your hand. He groans when you spare him a couple strokes before tucking him against the wet folds of your pussy to lubricate him.
You both exhale out a sigh when he slowly sinks into you. It’s been so long and he’s still so big. You ball the duvet in your hands when he finds a solid, delicious pace, “fffff. Mmm.”
He’s transfixed by the filthy image of him sliding in and out of your hole. You’re already fucking creaming. All that can be heard in the room is him pounding into your little pussy, wet flesh, the creaking of the bed, and your pitiful moans. He leans over your arched back to push on the nape of your neck, “tell daddy this is what you wanted.”
The harsher angle that ensures there’s no space between your pelvis shoves you deeper into the duvet with a yelp. “This… this is what I wanted, daddy. Oh god.” Your mouth parts with a whimper when stops thrusting and just gyrates his hips against yours— his fat dick massaging your sweet spot.
His stomach clenches and he bellows a deep groan when you reach under you to knead the full balls slapping your clit. He’s obsessed. You’re his. Nobody else can have you, “you like that big dick inside you don’t you baby? Daddy making that little pussy feel good?”
You nod with your face against the duvet, “s-so good. Daddy’s gonna make me come.”
“Mm. Rub that little creamy pussy and come all over your Daddy’s dick then.”
You move your fingers from his balls and start rubbing your clit as he pounds you hard into the mattress. When you orgasm, you clench the sheets in your fists as you see stars and cry out into the duvet.
He slows to a stop and slowly pulls out. He chuckles when your body collapses onto the comforter, your legs quivering in aftershocks.
You feel yourself being lifted and loosely realize that you're now at the center of the bed. He crawls on after you and between your legs. In a particularly vulnerable moment, after he tucks the duvet over both of your bodies and you're floating back down from your high, you lock your lips with his in a sultry but passionate kiss. It’s long and sloshes the waves in your belly in all sorts of directions. He presses your knees into your chest and raises his torso so the duvet is curtains over his towering, elevated body before sinking back into your sodden cunt.
You’re staring at each other with parted mouthes and hooded eyes, groaning and moaning as your glares flicker from your squelching cores to one another. You tell him you love him, he tells you he loves you too. You wrap both wrists around the forearms keeping your knees pinned to your chest under the comforter, lost in pleasure.
It’s 9:45PM when his phone rings. You shake your head and pout as your body jolts with each thrust. He answers, places it on speaker, and tosses the phone on the bed.
“Roman…? You’re like half an hour late. Everyone’s here and they’re asking about you... where are you?”
He halts thrusting and lets a string of saliva slowly ooze from his tongue and onto your clit. With your brows furrowed, you take one hand off his forearm to rub his spit onto your sweet button, “I told you I was going to stop by Capri’s to see my little girl, Mia. You know I only get her for two days out the week.”
There’s a look of realization in his when you two lock eyes after you cover your mouth with your palm. His dick found your sweet spot. You try your best to remain mute as to not notify Mia of whats really happening on the other side of the phone but he just feels so good inside of you. As fucked up as it is, him doing this to you while having her on speaker just makes your pussy pulse around his dick that much harder.
“I know… but I just thought since we made plans…”
The sensation of your clenching core around his cream-covered dick forces him to stare at the ceiling with a dropped-jaw as to not come too early. He takes a second too long to respond, “A… Am I expected to just neglect my responsibilities when my family needs me? That’s the kinda man you need me to be? That’s… that’s ridiculous.”
Too quietly for Mia to pick up on, little sprinkles of yes yes yes drift from your mouth when his hips start slapping against yours. You’re about to lose it. One hand rubs your clit, the other slides under your button-up to grope your breast as he massages your sweet spot with every thrust of his fat dick. You’re moaning and panting with your eyes fluttered shut. The image alone is enough to makes his balls swell. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. Under him.
“No, no, no. I don’t want you to think that. I just… no, you're right. I guess it isn’t always black and white. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ll call you later.”
A second after he hangs up, he starts thrusting harder. “You liked that didn’t you? You like almost coming on Daddy’s dick with her on the phone?” He smirks when you nod sheepishly, your lips rolled into your mouth. He knows you inside and out. Your kinks, what gets you going. He calls you a nasty little slut, tells you that you almost made him bust all inside you until you’re whimpering and telling him you’re close.
“Tell me who you’re gonna call next time you want to be a slut.”
The bedsprings creak and duvet rustles as you quicken your pace on your clit when you feel your peak creeping up on you, “o-oh god. Fffffuck. You. Gonna call you. I promise Daddy. Only Y.. you.”
With his bottom lip bitten between his teeth, he pounds himself into your wet little pussy until your watering eyes see white. Your siphoning muscle clamps down so hard on his dick, it catapults his own orgasm. The groan he lets out when he shoves himself as far as he can, stops thrusting, before nutting inside you in ropes is primal.
Your body continues to jolt in aftershocks as he lowers your knees from your chest to lay flat on the mattress with him still inside you. Both still panting, you slowly wrap your legs around his waist and your arm around his neck, “mmm.”
Eventually, he lays on his back and you lay on his chest. You spend the next hour catching your breath and sweet-talking each other with your cunt still a mess of his come until you fall asleep.
With your head tucked into his chest, he reaches for your phone on the nightstand. He unlocks it, goes to your Tinder account settings, and deactivates your account.
