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Feb 2

SHOW ME. ⋆ weak spot short.

pairings. black fem oc (milagra) x roman reigns warnings. smutttt. profanity. age gap (10+). ex boyfriend's dad. word count. 4.5k

His days began and ended the same when she couldn’t be with him.

With her.

Staining thoughts. Wondering and wishing for her return.

If he had it his way she’d never work. Never have to bear the burden or hustle and bustle that came with labor. She’d marinate in his bed all day, soak her scent into his sheets, while he waited on her hand and foot.

But Roman knew—that kind of thinking—it was wrong. Toxic misogyny plaguing the nation since the dawn of time trickling down on him like the devil whispering in his ear.

He couldn’t sit still. He cleaned the house spotless. In between tasks, all he did was reach for his phone. The whole day becoming a waiting game of when she would reach out for him.

He was a lone wolf. It had always been like that. Group activity became a chore. Just something he had to do to justify his existence. And after the death of his wife, and his son’s departure from home as if it were on fire, he lost the will to even pretend. A simple routine, he developed. He left the house only when he had to. Everything he needed was there already.

With the exception of his players, there was really no one depending on him. No one to tell all the little things to—the new flavor of greek yogurt he found, his new personal record for miles ran, or what he learned about the most random sea creature while waking up to the discovery channel somehow.

Milagra became that person overnight. He couldn’t wrap his mind around it. How he was able to move through life all on his own for so long, comfortable in loneliness, letting it grow around him like weeds and tangling his limbs in the vines of it—just for her to come around and infect him with warmth. A warmth that his days fell bland without. Incomplete. Imagine waking up and the sun never rises. The panic. The internal mayhem.

Living in darkness, just going through the motions until something happened—good or bad. He let the light in like she suggested, and now he couldn’t remember how to maneuver in the dark.

Three weeks. That’s how long it took for him to form his addiction.

It was a Sunday night. Roman wiped down the last surface after dinner. No logic in the act of checking his phone for notifications knowing that she was in the air by now. He clicked over into a different thread, named by two emojis—a football and owl.

duffy’s tonight!

It was the last text in the group chat from one of his linebackers. Every other day there was a new suggestion, a new outing. A reason for his players and colleagues to bond and get the most out of these years. Roman only participated when he absolutely had to. Wins after big games, somebody celebrating a birthday or milestone, or one of his players reaching out to touch graduation. Any other time, he’ll read the texts for awareness, and went on with his day.

But not tonight. Something about tonight was different.

Those vines of solitude were creeping up on him and he didn't want to suffer in compliance. So he did something he hadn’t done in ages. He got dressed and went out. Left the confines of his comfy estate to socialize on his own accord.

Duffy’s was a sports bar—everything, but low-key—sitting on the boulevard, a mere ten minutes from campus. A go to for locals, faculty, and students alike. Roman towered over nearly everyone as he stepped in. Always aware of the dragging stares from women of all ages and sorts, accompanied by acknowledgment from a handful of students and some of his coaches.

The lack of space already suffocated his mind and body. He was completely out of his element.

He made it to the bar, getting lucky with an open corner seat right by the blown up screen, showcasing a college basketball game. It was one of those nights, despite it being the night before an official week of work and school. Too much traffic at the bar. He found himself constantly shifting, making space for strangers to squeeze their orders in. Handing out it’s okays, or you’re goods, whenever they bumped him a little too hard.

Only an insignificant thirty minutes in and he felt his body shutting down. His social battery, he remembered she called it once, dying. One bar at a time. He shouldn’t have, but he ordered a beer, sipping the ice cold liquid slow, praying it didn’t take the toll his head imagined it would.

Pulling his phone out again, his thumb swiped up, unlocking it, just to stare at the same messages living in their thread.

Depending on how I feel when I land I might just have to call it a night

Boarding now

The game had five minutes left in the second half now. He made a silence promise to himself that he would call it a night after it ended. Dreading the wrestling match with sleep he’d have to endure without her soft body under his.

“Sorry, man.” A young random offered after squeezing and brushing up against Roman’s strong bicep. His phone buzzed in his hand and all was forgotten.

Home

Miss you so much

They came back to back and he didn't waste a second making work of his keyboard after loving the first message. He typed—I miss you too—but ended up erasing it. Not enough. I can’t wait to see you again—but he deleted that one, too. His thumbs danced over the bright screen. All he really wanted to do was beg her to come save him, if just for the night.

He ran his fingers over and down the length of his scruffy beard. Biting into his bottom lip—he just did it.

Show me.

The bubbles appeared, disappeared, and reappeared. His chest opening up and the world around him fading a bit. The skin of his forehead tightening with focus.

Until he felt a heavy hand pat down on his shoulder.

“I didn’t know you were coming out tonight, Roman.” He nearly jumped out of his skin. Tearing his attention away from the phone, his only connection to her. He turned to find one of his assistant coaches. A younger one from the pack. “Now it’s gonna snow,” he teased.

“I know right.” He chuckled to himself at the same time he felt the phone buzz in his hand, burning a hole. “How is everything? How’s Jayda?” He set it down, replacing it with the beer, so he didn't get the urge to check it in the middle of conversation. He hated when people did that.

“About to pop any day now.”

“You excited yet?”

“Yeah—yeah I think I am. Fatherhood is…” He shook his head. The thought too heavy to finish.

“I know—trust me. I remember going half crazy at this stage. Always wondering if I was ready or not. I’ma let you in on a little secret, though. You’ll never really be ready. You just have to be. Learn along the way.”

Jamal nodded, slow at first, tasting his words before deciding if they were good enough to swallow. “Yeah. Absolutely,” he agreed. He spread his large hand and Roman caught it, bringing each other in for a one handed hug, ending with strong pats to each other’s back.

His mind became a storm of the memories when he found himself in Jamal’s shoes. Much younger than him. Still in college trying to figure himself and his place in this world out; and somehow he was expected to help a little person do the same. Such a different time. A different him. Unrecognizable. An extension of him that died when he watched them lower his wife six feet under the dirt.

Reaching for his phone mindlessly, looking for a distraction, he found it, remembering how it buzzed just before he put it down. Two images, is what the notification hinted at. The air sucked out of his midsection at the unveiling of them.

Her top half—two full breasts, brown nipples pebbled, making the blood in his veins thicken and his dick jump desperately. Swiping, he had to lick the dessert she made of his mouth. This angle was from behind. Her ass perched up, tan lines on either cheeks. Evidence of her weekend voyage to the tropics. He sighed deeply and adjusted himself as discreetly as possible. Mouth watering back up at the sight of her lips poking through.

Zooming to get a better look, that’s when he noticed it. The dark cherry wood of a dresser he sees every day. Is she?—

“Wassup coach!”

His heart beat against his ribcage, begging to be set free, hearing his cornerback’s deep voice just inches away. In under a second he managed to lock the phone and hold it close to his peck like a newborn baby. Head swiveling to find the source of the voice.

“H-hey-w-wassup, man.” He cleared his throat.

“What you doing up and out so late?” He held his finger up to the young bartender moving at the speed of light before promising to come back his way.

Roman’s mouth moved a bit, but nothing came out. All he could see was her naked body. Waiting for him. Ready for him in his territory. He held two big palms, one over the other, over his manhood when it jumped again.

He shrugged, facilitating a brief moment of laughter between them both. “I can tell,” Isaiah admitted.

Roman checked the time on his watch, squinting. “It is getting pretty late.” Time was of the essence. He stood, placing a fifty dollar bill under his half drunken beer.

“Make sure she gets that, for me. Not too many of those.” Roman nodded to the shot glass of something clear. “Class tomorrow, boy.” His hand came down over Isaiah’s muscular shoulder blade twice before he practically raced to the door. Nodding to everybody he knew on his way out, barely maintaining eye contact. The last thing he needed was for someone to stop him on his pursuit to her.

The door to the bar hadn’t even made it to the hinges before he was FaceTiming her, and two rings passed, before it ended. His legs carried him fast as they could without looking too anxious. After two more failed attempts, a text came through.

Yes, those are from today lol. Like five minutes ago…

The tires to his GMC screamed against the pavement.

“Milagra!” He ascended up his stairs, two at a time. Heavy and wide strides down the hall to his room. A hand on his door when he heard it. The enticing voices from the band, The Troop, over the beat of one of their gems. All I Do Is Think Of You. It fit better than a tailored Italian designer suit.

Roman never thought he’d feel these things ever again. Devotion. Exhilaration. Hedonism.

Home in a another person.

Heartbeat accelerating when he pushed it open, he could already smell her. Strong, but feminine.

He let go of all the air in his lungs with just one breath. Was he greedy for always wanting this when he stepped foot into his bedroom? Was he blessed and highly favored for always eventually getting exactly what he wanted? Her.

Laid in the middle of his bed like the most expensive display in a museum. On her stomach, in nothing but baby pink Skims underwear. Her dainty feet, arched in the air as her chin made a home against her palms.

He didn't know where to pay the most attention to. The line in her curved back, her soft and glowing skin, the curls sprouting from her head that she barely showcased. The line of her supple breast sinking into his comforter, or the curve of her ass.

Her face. That’s where he made camp.

“Hi,” he greeted, still breathless from his strenuous pursuit up the stairs.

She chuckled to herself and even the sound of that made a string of heat cascade to his core. “Hi,” she said back. “What are you doing out the house this late, Papa?” She teased.

He shrugged, words still a hard concept to grapple with. “Missed you too much.” He didn’t have the moxie to play games anymore. To dance around his feelings like some emotionally stunted teenager.

“So, come here.”

Floating, he made it to her in four giant steps. His heavy sneakers sinking into the plush carpet. He didn't even allow shoes up here.

Milagra’s smoky eyes weren’t modest about the line they trailed, from his face, down to the hefty bulge in his black sweats. Brown eyes flicking back up once more, asking permission. If only she know, all the things she already gained full access to at any time.

In response, he unzipped his hoodie before throwing it somewhere. Lifting the shirt underneath slightly, and tugging the waistband of his pants and underwear down. She watched the whole ordeal liek the climax of an action packed film. Clit pulsing and begging for stimulation, knowing her owner, her best handler, stood close by.

Like an extra limb, it hung from the dark hairs, too heavy to stand straight up. Every vein aggressive under the low ceiling lights. Milagra took ahold of it, still amazed at his size. How hard he got for her and she only held him.

A kiss, soft with the comfort of finally returning to him, landed on the pink mushroom head, drawing his balls tight. She tugged on them while she wrapped her mouth around the head, swirling her tongue over the muscle’s circumference.

“Mmh,” he almost growled. Her mouth had a spell in it. Something wearing him thin until he was nothing. She let go and he immediately missed her. She held a tongue out for him. His playground. Sliding himself back and forth, the spit connecting them even when he pulled away. A lump of curls filled his hand before he pushed himself deep inside.

“Fuck.” His head hung back, easing his way past her limits, finding a steady rhythm. A favorite soundtrack of his, the suction of him hitting deep into the back of her throat, before he felt her hand on his hard thigh. He let go, and she struggled for air. Her suffering a reward. Evidence of her willingness to lose something, if it meant he’d gain something. Still with a hand to her head, he guided his stiffness back into her wet mouth.

He peeped movement. Her hand sliding under herself and inside of her panties. Her hips rolling into her hand, and he lost focus. Watching made it decadent, but he couldn’t deny the loosening of all his discipline, watching her fuck herself.

“Show me,” he whispered, a cloud of steam surrounding his words. She shuffled to switch positions. Laying on her back, exposing the wet spot plaguing her panties. With a finger she yanked them aside to show him. Two fat lips sticky and shining with her excitement.

“That’s my landing strip,” he noticed. A smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth remembering their dilemma before she left for her work trip. She hummed with a nod, finger resting on her mouth, soaking in the cage of desire in his eyes. A man with a big appetite, tasting food from Florida to the hills of Europe— he never wanted to put something in his mouth so bad in his life.

Rougher than he meant to, he maneuvered her to the edge of the bed, before kneeling on one knee. His personal alter.

Licking, from the bottom up one good time, his warm tongue made first contact. It was always the best one. She was so reactive. Everything he did meant something to her body. It was appreciative of all movement, like someone that had to work for everything finally being handed something.

He did it again. Finishing with a strong flick at the top, his eyes trained on that pretty face. “I swear there’s nobody prettier.” His compliment didn’t sink deep into her, for he wrapped his mouth around the bud poking through her lips, sucking gently.

He snatched a gasp from her parted lips. Back arching and disconnecting from the bed. Toes pointed and nearly cramping. Possessed by pleasure. She was supposed to be the conductor of this orchestra. She had plans to run the show. And he stole it. Came in, sniffed around, assessed, and took over. Same thing he did months prior when she walked through his door for the first time.

He kept lapping at her, taking note of every area that made her jump or tighten. Pulling her closer when she shoved him away. Locking her legs in his hold. Licking up and down her folds with a stiff tongue. Twisting to the side she buried her helpless moans into the material of the covers.

Without abandoning her clit, he slid a finger in, then another. She was full and drunk off just that. What the hell would she do with his dick?

Using muscle memory and he felt and curled his digits in the same fashion that had her exploding just before she departed.

“Oh my god,” she gasped.

Slurping and sucking, he was a like a machine, made with one mission—making her cum.

Holding her down, he didn't stop just because she came. He kept going, simply because he liked the taste.

Milagra laid in a daze as he stepped out of his sneakers and sweats. Turning on all fours after gaining a sense of reality back. The exact way she dreamed of him taking her, savagely, in her dream just the night before.

“Stay just like that,” he instructed huskily. More shuffling, she listened until a hand came down on her ass. He rubbed and coated himself in her. Slapping it on her clit a few times. Every movement drawing up the meter of anticipation.

Pushing, he broke past all of their longing.

She sucked in a heap of air through clenched teeth, opening up for him. Her soft flesh settling around his hardness. It hurt so good.

“You okay?”

She nodded hastily. “Just fuck me, please.” She appreciated it, but she didn't come straight off a five hour flight for good manners and delicacy.

She didn't need to tell him twice.

Diving all the way in, she felt it in her chest. All the blood in her body pumping to full speed. Contracting around him. Her body was confused. It didn't know whether to pull him in or push him out in a state of emergency. A breech of some kind.

But he made himself familiar. Building up a steady rhythm, hands gripping from the the meat sitting at the top of her ass. She looked for releases, biting down on her own forearm, crumbling the thick duvet in her hands.

“Keep that ass up for me.”

She lasted longer than he expected. Eventually his assault had her body sliding down until she was lying flat.

The difference in size was always more apparent in this situation. His hard body looming over hers, caging her in, punishing and protecting her in the same mission.

“Creamin’ on this dick. Fuck.” They collided. A cruel sound filling his bedroom, overpowering the music. Squelching and the slapping of hungry skin. “She talking to me, Mila.”

She stuck her tongue out for him to take. He latched on, covering her entire mouth in sloppy passion. This angle—so focused on getting to her mouth, he always forgot how deep it could get, until she reminded him. Her moans ascending in volume and carelessness.

“It’s so big, Roman.” Her upper lip curled into a snarl before opening, nothing, not even air making it out of the canal of her plump lips. “Oh my god,” she gasped.

“Sucking on me.” A gruff praise that turned her up. She met him thrust for thrust as long as she could, but she was no match for him. His strength, his mileage. It defied his age.

“Turn around, baby. I wanna see you.”

It was a task, but she pulled her weight over until she landed on her back. Legs spreading, showing him the sticky white mess. His long arm reached over her for a pillow, tucking it under her hips.

She reached down, while he reached back to remove his shirt. Hand full of him, rubbing it up and down her center, side to side, smacking, bucking her hips to meet it. Roman didn't stop her. He just stood and watched in awe as she put on a show. Biting down on his lip so hard he almost drew blood. It went on for awhile until she couldn’t take the self-inflicted torture. Sinking him back into his sanctuary.

“Ooou,” she winced. He was impossibly hard inside of her. Fingers wrapping around hers to pull her hand from his abdomen. He started slow, watching her face twist in heat. Her eyes running from his. Distracted by his abs crystalizing and partly embarrassed. She begged for it and could barely handle him. Biting off more than she could chew. Grocery shopping on an empty stomach. A dangerous sport.

“Oh my god—”

Bashful, her hands came over her face. She couldn’t imagine how she appeared. Only knew how she felt. Him inside of her, penetrating more than her body. It always ran deeper than the physical. A wave of intimacy she wasn't all the way accustomed to.

He wasn’t having it.

“Uh-uh.” He grabbed at her hands before taking them, pinning them to the soft bed.

A fool. He made a fool of himself. Driving into her wetness, pelvis to pelvis, staring deep into those sultry, solid brown eyes. He could see everything he was doing to her. Her pussy holding on for dear life, until it sucked the life from him like a leech.

He pulled out, at the last possible second, like always. He sighed deep, frustrated with his own body. A new battle he just wasn't used to. What the fuck was she doing to him?

“Roman,” she demanded his attention, softly. Grabbing at his beard. “It’s okay,” she assured.

And it was. As long as he could get it back up and restart the race, she didn't give a damn how fast he came to his end.

She sucked it again, until he stopped her, almost bussing again. They ended the way they usually do. In his favorite position. Under her, holding her, mouth to her ear, as he took control. Talking to her.

“You like the way I fill that little pussy up?” He whispered fiercely into her ear. “Tight—pretty pussy.” His voice—it’s like it was orchestrated for love-making and all the nastiness in between. “Missed this shit.” His hits developed a clinginess. More reluctant to pull away before shoving himself back inside. “Give daddy one more?”

Listening, she placed flat palms on his chest. Leveraging herself to slam her lower half up and down on him. He gripped and spread, encouraging her movements, but ultimately she was in control. Fucking herself on him, leading the way to her own end zone.

Nothing was better than this. This is where he found peace. Found his will to see another day.

More ferocious, yet sloppy her motions grew. She was closer than close. She could feel the heat of a new sun. Clenching down on him. White liquid coating the hairs on his pelvis. His hands grabbed for her, bringing her in close to safety.

Her hips, they kept going, they were driving themselves now. Grinding back and forth, the skin of her ass dimpling, as the savage in her unveiled itself. An ungodly and otherworldly scream, a chrysalis in her chest first, and then breaking, finding freedom up her throat.

It took her body a moment to realize it—that they had passed the finish line. Gradually it shut down. Shaking and bucking. Dying out. She didn’t even recognize how tight she held him back. He was the only thing keeping her there. Grounded. The only tangible evidence of reality as she came down from her trip.

Breath coming out in shakes. Her eyes fluttered open. The next sensation she felt—his hands—starting their descent from bliss. His routine. Rubbing and kneading the skin of her back, her arms, cupping her neck.

Sleep was a thief. Slick, quick, and efficient. Taking her without even leaving trace.

The next time milagra opened her eyes, she found herself still wrapped in the safest place on earth. She tried to unravel herself from the heat of his tight hold, chuckling when he shook his head, gripping tighter. She turned so she could see him. Roman dragged his eyes open, centering on her in the dark room.

“Stay.” He suspended her in place with just his eyes. Everything was just so much better when she was there. Food tasted better on his tongue. Music sounded more robust—he could hear every instrument and feel as though he lived every lyric.

“I have to go in the office tomorrow. I just wanted to see you before I had to go back—to real life.” Her heart was heavy. This was always the worst part. The little moments they stole, it’s all she could think about when she wasn't with him. So short and sweet—the tryst—she thought she imagined it all somedays.

He curved his palm so the soft line of her jaw fit into it. The pad of his thumb resting on the plump flesh of her bottom lip. “This is real life,” he whispered back. “As real as it gets.”

The organ we tax with love skipped a beat under the protection of her ribs. She shook her head so subtly he couldn’t see it.

Real life.

Nobody knew about the things that went on in his estate. The way she escaped the fast life of Miami to find solace in his home for days at a time.

More importantly, his son, the tie that connected them from the beginning, was still in the dark. She hadn’t spoken to him in months, but she thought of him constantly. His smile and the way it would drop had he known. His love for her and the way it would harden into something more vicious if he could see them right now.

Real life.

The thought of it—knowing she wasn't alone in this—it made her giddy. Pins and needles of felicity all over her skin. She was so ready to start over. Go harder—further. Do all the things she couldn’t do before. Feel all the things.

But at the same time, it curated a sense of fear. Clawing at her neck like an animal trying to break free. For she knew that meant the time would eventually have to come, when what they gave birth to in the dark, would have to come to the light.

la's language★. this is set literally a couple days before part two starts. nasty nasty business lol. i barely proofread this so if you find mistakes, pls pretend you didn't. the sfw alphabet will be up tomorrow instead. i was proofing and found spoilers. some things y'all shouldn't know yet🙂 so be on the look out for that tomorrow night. hope i didn't disappoint friend @thekittysmeow k, bye ♡.

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