mr. not-so-right (Patreon)

part two to mr. incorrect

synopsis: so you tried to baby trap your situationship. but when he's too busy being a celebrity to even consider being your boyfriend, you decide to give the single mother thing a chance - only to end up right back where it all started in your small town. this time though, a certain mechanic seems like he won't let his chance to reclaim his childhood crush slip by! there's just one thing...your former flame doesn't want to let you slip away so easily.

pairing: actor!situationship x loser!reader x yandere!mechanic

wc: 5.2k

content: angst, fluff, light smut, mentions of car sex, baby trapping, reader is a loser and a little delusional, yearning, heavy pining, but she is learning to respect herself!, ghosting, skipping town to avoid confronting feelings lmfao, running away, pregnancy, flirting, teasing, kissing, confessions, a man regretting his decisions and realizing he fucked up, oral sex, slight exhibitionism, obsession, yandere behavior

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

In his fantasies, he always sort of pictured himself as the father of your children. 

But he guessed the stepdad to your first one wasn’t too far. 

Especially when the kid wouldn’t know the difference. 

“You want me to come with you?” He mumbled, leaning against the doorframe with his toothbrush still half-dangling from his lips as he watched you struggle to tug your top down over the swell of your baby bump. 

It looked good on you. 

Perfect, actually. 

You padding barefoot across your bedroom, hair mused from his hands when he fucked you after your shower together this morning, your skin flushed and practically glowing as you mumbled curse words under your breath about running late. The taste of your lip gloss lingering on his mouth while he stared as you frantically tried to find the keys your eyes had somehow skimmed over five times in the past three minutes you’d been searching for them. 

“Baby,” he hummed, amusement flickering in his eyes before he sighed and repeated his question while he tugged the toothbrush back out of his mouth, “Do you want me to come with you to your appointment?” 

You paused, swallowing before speaking as you resisted the small smile curling up on your lips, “No, no, it’s fine. You have work.”

“The other guys can take care of stuff for a few hours,” he shrugged. “I can drive you and we can get lunch afterwards.” 

A date with his dream girl. The one he’d spent the past ten years wishing would come back home. 

And okay, yeah, he had contemplated coming to you and convincing you himself that you deserved better than what you were tolerating. But you’d come to the correct conclusion on your own. 

Maybe some part of him was okay with waiting because he knew deep down his smart girl would figure it out – or that idiot would screw it all up so badly he’d seem like your hero once he showed up to sweep you off your feet. 

His wish had been granted at last – and he wasn’t going to just let the opportunity to spend every spare second he had with you. He wanted to ask you to move in with him. To marry him and make sure that it would be his name on the father’s side of the birth certificate rather than left blank. 

But you were still…skittish. 

And he couldn’t risk scaring you away just yet. Not when he hadn’t quite sank his claws deep enough in your heart to hold onto it. 

He had never been one to put much stock in fate or faith. But it had been him you called when your car broke down your very first night back in town. 

Couldn’t that mean it was meant to be? 

“If it’s not going to be a burden,” you hesitantly began, biting your bottom lip as you looked up at him with that cute little helpless stare he had never been able to stop himself from falling for. Not all that much different from the cute girl he’d noticed in hallways, the one whose eyes glittered and lips jutted out as you braced yourself for disappointment after disappointment. 

He liked broken things. 

Like fixing them and putting them back together until they were practically new. It was all he did at work. Even in his hobbies, he enjoyed seeing what he could salvage and fix up. 

Was he supposed to not want to save you too? 

To swoop in and stop you from getting tangled up with stupid assholes like the idiot who knocked you up? 

You had told him who it was after your fourth date. After he fucked you for the first time. Your body curled against his side as you picked at your cuticles, refusing to meet his eyes as you awkwardly admitted that you had let yourself exist for your ex, let him do what he wanted to you and where, all because you thought that he would suddenly get a few brain cells and figure out you were worth more than a bedwarmer. You thought a baby would change things.  

It had.

Just not in the way you wanted it too. 

All it had done was make you figure out he wasn’t going to change. 

So you skipped town. Moved back here and changed your contact information and deleted his number so you could leave your past behind to start a new future. 

A new family. 

“You’re never a burden,” he reassured, even though his ego was bristling a bit at the reminder of the man your baby actually belonged to. Who was surely back in his big city nursing a hangover next to a woman who couldn’t hold a candle to you, maybe wondering where you went or what you were doing without him. 

The one he was never going to let step so much as a single fucking toe back into your life. 

Your shoulders sagged with relief, eyes lighting up again as you nodded. 

“Okay, I mean, that does sound nice,” you relented. 

You didn’t know how to accept the bare minimum. 

But soon you’d see just how special you were. How special he could treat you.

“Good.” 

Shouldn’t he be there anyway? 

You were getting your twenty-week ultrasound, the one where they’d check to see if you were having a boy or a girl and make sure everything was alright. He tried to ask to come a couple nights ago, broaching the idea after spending yet another evening on your couch, rubbing your shoulders and massaging your sore muscles as he murmured that he wouldn’t mind being there. 

For support, of course. 

You didn’t need to do anything alone. 

You had him. 

And he wasn’t going anywhere. 

You bent over to grab your shoes, but he stopped you, fingers slowly encircling your wrist and guiding you back to the edge of your bed. “Let me.” 

“I’m not that pregnant,” you protested, but he just clicked his tongue and did it anyway. 

“Come on,” he muttered. “Let’s go see if we’re having a son or a daughter.” 

He selfishly hoped it was a girl. 

One with your eyes and smile – and not a single trace of the father etched into her features. 

♡

Was hiring a private investigator to find your ex…something incredibly immature? 

Well, yeah, but what the hell else was he supposed to do? 

You moved. Changed your fucking number too, apparently, considering the way his calls never connected, and his messages wouldn’t send. 

He wouldn’t need to be childish if you hadn’t started it.

Or, stopped it, technically. Stopped everything when it came to him. 

He could barely fucking focus on his work. Forcing himself to just eat, dragging himself to sets and interviews on plastering on the fake persona he’d spent so many years crafting that he didn’t know what was beneath it anymore. 

Pulling up old photos instead of sleeping at night, shitty videos he used to practically beg you to let him take, your face shoved in pillows or your pretty pussy captured on camera as his cock slid in-and-out. Part of him wanted to delete them. 

Erase the evidence of what an asshole he’d been when he heard his voice playing back, all condescending and cruel as he took and took and took telling himself he was giving you pleasure when all he was really doing was focusing fully on his own. 

But he couldn’t bring himself to do it when a little voice in his head wouldn’t shut up and stop suggesting that this was all he had left of you.

You never left your stuff at his place. 

No panties or perfume for him to pathetically sniff at when he rolled around a big empty bed. 

He had never given it so much as a second thought before. The way you wouldn’t leave so much as a scrap of yourself behind. No toothbrush or drawer of clothes you’d forgotten. 

What would he have even done if you’d asked for either?

Laughed? Blew you off? 

He didn’t know. 

All he could really do was hope that you’d hear him out when this chase finally concluded – and he caught you after all your hiding. 

Was that what you wanted?

For him to crave you? To ache and burn for your company after so long struggling in your absence? 

Well, it sure fucking worked. 

“Did you find her?” He eagerly asked the moment he slipped into the booth at a busy diner, having to press down on his own leg to stop it from bouncing.

“She moved back to your hometown,” his detective muttered, clearing his throat as he shifted in the leather seat. 

That was a bit fucking excessive, wasn’t it?

He figured you’d just got another apartment nearby – not up and moved all the way back to that shithole you both escaped. 

God, that place was for people who never outgrew the past. Who didn’t dream of something bigger. 

Had you actually given up on him? 

“Are you sure?” He heard himself ask, voice embarrassingly cracking as he blinked at the man across from him. 

“She’s got an apartment in her name there. A new job too,” he added. 

He couldn’t comprehend it. 

Staring like an idiot as he struggled to make it make sense. 

Why would you-

“It appears she’s pregnant,” the detective awkwardly explained, laying out a few photos in front of him when his brain still hadn’t processed what the hell he’d just said. 

Pregnant? 

You? 

That couldn’t-

But a broken gasp gutted him as his eyes flitted across the photographs. 

You in a tight top, one that indeed revealed a fucking baby bump, rolled up on your midriff and yoga pants clinging to your pretty thighs and hips. Standing outside a children’s boutique with shopping bags in hand, smiling up at some tattooed man whose side profile tugged at some faint distant memory. 

“This can’t be real,” he uselessly shook his head, picking it up like he’d even be able to spot any photoshop in it if he tried. 

“He’s a mechanic. Owns a local shop. Neither of them have any social media so my guess is four or five months along,” he revealed, pulling out other documents he’d acquired, more photographs that automatically made the sugary sweet coffee he shouldn’t have downed this morning flood back up as bile. 

“I don’t understand,” he swallowed hard, fingers trembling as he creased the laminated edge. Pouring over the goddamn glow he could see even through a photograph. 

When was the last time you looked at him like that? 

So…trusting? 

No tension tugging down on your face or nervous smile glued on your lips. Shoulders relaxed instead of stiff, glancing up at that fucking guy with the kind of expectation that gave away you already thought it would be met. 

“Can you find out her due date?” He mumbled, too frazzled to attempt to do the math in his head to figure out when you got pregnant. 

But if there was even the slimmest possibility it was his baby, he was going to fight tooth and fucking nail to spend the next eighteen years by your side. 

“Sure.” 

“What else do you know about him?” He heard himself say, dropping the photo and tapping on that dickhead’s irritatingly smug expression. Pissed off at the pride on his face, ignoring the chorus of ‘it should be me’ already playing in his own head.

“Just his name. No criminal history as far as I could find. He’s just her boyfriend,” the detective confirmed, sliding a paper with a clean background check over next.  

Not for fucking long. 

“You have her address?" 

♡

You weren’t used to being wanted.

Honestly, you didn’t think you could ever get used to it.

Not when an annoying suspicion simmered in the pit of your stomach every time your boyfriend wrapped his arm around you or skimmed his palm over the swell of your stomach that he didn’t actually mean a single one of those soft words his gruff voice whispered to you.

He’d figure out for himself that someone without so much baggage would be better soon enough. You bet it would be before your baby even arrived.

But why not enjoy him while you had him?

“You hungry?” He murmured, rubbing soft circles over your skin, his thumb drifting over your belly button.

“Yeah,” you hummed, nodding as he untangled himself from you on the couch, pausing after he stood to squat down and press a kiss to your baby bump.

“What are my girls hungry for?” He asked, like you both belonged to him. As if it didn’t even bother him that she could come out looking like someone whose shadow still lingered over your head.

“I dunno, not really craving anything,” you shrugged, readjusting to put a pillow underneath your back as you flipped through the tv channels.

“Want me to pick?” He asked, already grabbing his keys and wallet off the coffee table while you absentmindedly nodded.

“That’s fine.”

You’d been saying that a lot lately.

Just bobbing your head and believing that if you kept acting like everything was really okay, it would be.

That you’d get accustomed to this…domesticity.

All your intimacy before had been defined by absence. Now that you were living in this abundance of affection, you didn’t really know what to do with it. How to accept what he was so willingly giving you.

He was there when you woke up. Kissing your forehead when you went to sleep. Cooking you dinner and building baby furniture for you. You didn’t have to ask for anything. He just did it.

Texting you when he got to work and when he was heading home, checking in and driving you when you were running late in the mornings. And if he wasn’t at your place, he was inviting you back to his.

Pouring energy and effort into twisting your life into his, intertwining himself into your new routine and making it seem easy – like he always had a spot saved for him in your world.

It was good. Great.

God, okay, pretty fucking wonderful to have someone actually try for you, but you were doing your best to focus on the baby growing on you instead of the man who wanted to be its father.

You wanted to set a good example for your baby girl.

Show her that she didn’t need anyone. Make sure she wouldn’t make the same mistakes you had.

But fuck, that was far easier said than done when his devotion was dragging you right back to familiar patterns.

Craving curling in your stomach on the rare moments he wasn’t there, or he got stuck working late. Missing him more than you wanted to admit when you were making it through painfully long shifts at work.

And when he casually suggested at your last doctor’s appointment that you’d save money if you just moved in with him, you were tempted to take him up on it.

You still hadn’t fully unpacked. And he did have more than enough room at his place for you and your daughter.

But how the hell were you supposed to trust a man when your last one wouldn’t even consider making you his girlfriend.

In the moment, you had mumbled something about wanting to get married before moving in with a man, making up an excuse, even if it sounded a little stupid when you spent five days out of the week pretty much always sleeping together.

“I’ll be back in thirty,” your mechanic mumbled, coming back to press one last kiss to your lips, his mouth warm and comforting as his calloused hand cupped your cheek. “Call me if you need anything.”

The door shut behind him, but he still stayed in your mind.

Picking him apart in your thoughts, torn between your weak-willed heart and the logic that had been burned into you before.

Moving in with a man you really had only been seeing for a couple months was moronic.

Especially pregnant.

So why the hell did it make you feel so disappointed to tell him no?

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, finger resting on your stomach to feel the faint kicks of your baby girl inside and telling yourself that you had to be smart for her, as you attempted to focus on whatever boring reality show was playing on tv.

The minutes must’ve slipped by faster than you realized, because it only felt like you’d been laying there alone for maybe ten, fifteen minutes before you heard a knock on your door.

Assuming that he must have his hands full, you were swinging your legs off the couch, lips pressing together as you stood up, self-consciously pulling his t-shirt down so it covered more of you in case a neighbor might be passing by outside your door.

“One sec,” you called out, still not used to the slower pace you’d been moving at lately, fingers grabbing the knob and pulling your door open – but it wasn’t your boyfriend on the other side.

“Hi, baby,” your former lover breathed, your heart firmly lodging itself in your throat as you numbly blinked at the man in front of you.

The stranger.

Dark circles etched deep beneath his eyes, his hair grown out like he hadn’t bothered to get so much as a single haircut since you’d last seen him. His shirt was freshly pressed, but he didn’t seem to notice the little coffee stain by his collar, or the fact that his fly was down when he was staring down at you like he’d been waiting for this.

“What are you-” You nearly gagged on your own question, not sure if it was simply nausea from seeing him or morning sickness bubbling back up at the familiar scent of his cologne.

“I thought I lost you,” he started, reaching out only for you to step away.

“You did,” you choked out.

“Don’t say that,” he said it the way he used to scold you, all light and teasing, his stare deceptively soft and sweet.  “I-”

“How do you know where I live?” You immediately asked, panic pulsing through you as you forced yourself to take your eyes off of him for a second to see if your phone was still on the coffee table in case you needed to call your boyfriend for help.

“You wouldn’t answer my calls or my texts,” he said, not really offering an answer as he tried to take a step forward before you shook your head and he stopped. “I hired a private investigator.”

“What the fuck?”

You didn’t understand. Couldn’t fucking fathom actually him going that far to find you. All because what? You ghosted him?

“What was I supposed to do?” He asked, arching up a brow as his stare got all serious, piercing into you like he expected you to…well, you weren’t sure.

What reaction did he want from you?

How did he think this reunion was actually going to go?

“I was never your girlfriend,” you defensively muttered, discomfort sinking in your stomach as you were struck by the sudden feeling that you were truly seeing him for the first time. Your lovestruck little bubble had popped, letting you see past the shiny, sparkly veneer clouding your judgment.

“You were more-”

“We haven’t even been friends, in like, years,” you added, throat constricting as you tried to have a backbone for the first time in your life. To say things that should’ve been leaving your lips years ago.

“That’s not true,” he retorted, and it almost sounded like he actually believed it.

But when was the last time you’d been able to have a totally normal day around him without it ending in sex?

Okay, you did remember, but you didn’t want to think about it.

Not when the memory just softened your resolve.

He had gotten some free passes to an expensive spa maybe a year and a half ago, insisting that you should come with him. But when you’d both gotten back to your place, the door wasn’t closed. He had given you his keys without hesitating, telling you to go wait in his car and call the cops. Someone had broken into your old apartment, apparently was creeping around in your bedroom in a mask – only scared off when he came in.

The cops never caught the guy. Or investigated it at all since no one was hurt.

Just told you to change the locks and get something to defend yourself with. He stayed the night though. Crashed on the couch and watched cheesy romcoms until you fell asleep.

“How long did it even take for you to notice I left?” You asked, holding your head up high as you crossed your arms across your chest, ignoring the way it made your breasts ache, another annoying side effect of what he left you with – swollen and sore tits because in a few months, you would be feeding his kid while he had fancy dinners with costars.

“I just thought I upset you, I-I tried to give you space, if I realized you-”

“That I decided I was done waiting for you and decided to move on?” You finished for him, even though your heart was hammering in your chest at just his proximity alone. Skipping a beat at the way he looked totally disheveled for you, the idea that he’d been a wreck without you instead of completely fine like you’d been envisioning.

“If I had known you were thinking about leaving, I would’ve begged you to stay.”

Liar.

Before you left, he had been proudly proclaiming how he’d never settle down.

“That’s bullshit and we both know it,” you softly said, amazed at the way he still managed to let you down now.

“I’m not lying to you,” he huffed. Even if it was the truth, it still took him losing you to learn that lesson.

“Why are you here?” You changed the subject, hardening your mouth into a straight line.

“I know I don’t have any right to ask,” he started, reaching out to grab your hand before you swatted it down. “But I want you to come back.”

You actually laughed out loud before he even finished his surely practiced speech.

“You’re not serious-”

“You’re pregnant,” he stopped you mid-sentence, his eyes drifting down all deliberately to your stomach, his fingers trembling as he stopped himself from trying to touch you again. “And it’s mine, isn’t it? You can move in with me and we can raise our-”

“There’s no our,” you snapped, irrational anger flooding through you as his words echoed in your head. Here he was, offering everything you used to want, but he didn’t even see how fucking late it was. “She’s my baby, not-”

“She?” He repeated, staring at your baby bump with a feeling you wanted to smack him for. How could he look at you all adoringly like that when all he’d seen you for was sex six months ago? “A girl?”

“Go back home,” you shook your head at him, a lump lodged in your throat. “I don’t need you. She doesn’t need you.”

“You can’t seriously think I’m going to leave you here to raise our baby by yourself,” he gawked at you.

“I’m not by myself,” you mumbled. “I have a boyfriend.”

“Like I’m going to be a deadbeat and let my baby call some loser dad,” he argued, keeping his voice low as if he didn’t want to raise it at you – no matter how raw the words ripped from his larynx were.

“You haven’t even met him. What, do you think that the only guy I can get is a loser?” You squinted, shifting on the balls of your feet as it hit him how hard he was floundering and fucking this up.

“No, fuck, that’s not what I’m trying to say,” he stammered, shaking his head hard.

“You’re the loser,” a gravelly voice grunted, and before you could blink, your ex was being yanked back by his shirt, your boyfriend slotting himself firmly between you and him with a to-go bag in hand. “And she’s not yours. Neither of them are.”

“Wait, I know you-”

“Yeah, dipshit, I went to school with you,” your boyfriend cut him off, vitriol dripping from every razor-sharp syllable.  “I guess I wasn’t worth noticing until I got what you wanted though, huh?”

“No,” your ex shook his head, stepping forward just to get shoved back.

“If I ever see you hanging around her or showing up here, those fancy plastic surgeons of yours are gonna have to fix your face,” he threatened, and your stomach churned, reflexively calling out his name to get him to stop before he took this too far.

He was still the father of your child.

Who could very easily take you to court and pay for a high-powered attorney to arrange whatever custody deal he wanted.

“Look,” you spoke up, having to peer past your boyfriend’s bulky frame to even talk to him, “I don’t want anything from you. I don’t need your support, or help, or whatever. Just go back to your life. It never really had room for me anyway.”

You wanted to say something else too.

To thank him, maybe, for at least leaving you with a baby you could love even more than how you loved him. And a spine too, one that you could use to stand up for yourself after a life of being a doormat.

But then your boyfriend was turning and pulling you back inside further, slamming the door behind both of you and flipping the deadbolt.

His dark eyes dragging over you, unconvinced you were okay and having to sweep over your slightly shivering frame just to make sure that nothing had happened.

“Did he touch you?” He demanded to know, his fingers clenching in fist and only releasing it to set the to-go bag on the ground, not even budging from the spot he was standing in like he might have to open the door again to beat your ex-situationship’s ass.

“No,” you denied it, having a hard time catching your breath as you met his pupil-blown stare. “We just talked.”

“What the hell is he even doing here?” He kept his voice quiet, as if he didn’t want him to overhear. 

“He hired someone to find me, and, um, I guess found out about the baby,” you awkwardly explained, not sure whether or not to be embarrassed secondhand or scared that he was going to go back out there and swing on him.

“That guy’s a fucking creep,” he said, loud enough that you were sure he did hear if he was on the other side.

“His ego is probably just hurt,” you excused, biting your bottom lip. “He’ll go nurse it with a beautiful girl back home.”

His home.

Not yours anymore.

You didn’t know why it still sounded bitter.

Conflicting feelings started to coil together in your chest, some invisible heavy weight pressing against it as your boyfriend clenched his jaw.

“He was going to find out eventually,” you exhaled, trying to find some justification that could make you feel better about the whole exchange. To settle the confusion plaguing you. “Maybe it’s better that he knows now so-”

“I’m not letting him have you,” he interrupted you, distractedly glancing at the door.

“It’s not his decision,” you retorted softly.

“I bet he’s still out there,” he grunted, gritting his teeth as you tentatively placed a palm over his arm, trying to pull him back to you before everything escalated again.

“I kinda doubt that,” you dismissively mumbled, shaking your head as you stared at the locks. “Let’s just eat, okay?”

You meant the food.

But he apparently had something else in mind. 

And before you could fully process it, he was pushing you up against the door and peeling your panties down, ignoring the way you stuttered his name as he lifted your thigh and hooked it around his shoulder.

“B-but he-”

“What, baby?” He wryly teased, letting the tip of his tongue drag across the inside of your thigh. “You don’t think he’s there, right?”

You couldn’t take it back.

Just scrunching your eyes shut as your fingers tangled inside his hair, pushing loose strands back from his face as he shoved his tongue inside you, swirling it around in long, lazy strokes.

Pushing it in-and-out in an infuriatingly fast rhythm, refusing to give you so much as a second to breathe, his thumbs digging deep into your skin to hold you in place for him to devour as he pleased.

Groaning into your pussy like it was his favorite dessert, drinking you up as you did your damndest to contain the moans he was desperately itching to pull from you.

“Don’t be shy,” he teased, tracing what felt like letters inside you, each little motion and movement sending shivers down your spine. “Wanna hear you whine.”

You might’ve been able to hold it in.

But then one of his hands slipped over your clit – and you couldn’t stop yourself from giving in.

Crumbling the second his rough fingertips started rubbing soft circles over the sensitive bud, nudging you closer and closer to a climax with his deliberate designs.

He was the kind of guy who knew the importance of precision.

How to make you purr with just the right push, a broken whimper of his name escaping right in time with a press of his fingers and a drag of his tongue.

You sincerely hoped your ex hadn’t stuck around.

That they weren’t going to make you choose or keep tugging you back-and-forth like some chew toy.

Even if that was what you felt like when there was a tongue cleaning you up, white-hot pleasure washing over you and wiping the distress from your mind.

Your limbs trembling, everything shuddering as one of your palms clamped over your mouth to muffle your own sounds, only supported by his hands as your body betrayed you by slumping against the door.

“That’s my pretty girl,” he hummed when he finally disconnected, pride glinting in his eyes as he fixed your panties back into place and helped you get steady on your feet again.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look through the peephole when you were done.

Standing still as he took off his jacket and tossed it across the kitchen counter before bringing the to-go bag back to the coffee table, starting to unbox everything and changing the tv channel. “They forgot utensils.”

“I’ll get some,” you heard yourself say, still a little dazed as you stumbled over to the drawer the forks were kept in, grabbing two as you struggled to collect your thoughts.

“Can you grab my phone from my jacket while you’re over there?” He called out, and you nodded, slipping your free hand into the side pocket – only for it to close around something velvety.

Without really thinking, you pulled it out, your body freezing before your brain recognized what it was.

A ring box. 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──