pretty baby (Patreon)

synopsis: disappointment is a dangerous drug. and when fucking your brains every week isn't enough to convince you to settle down with him, well, he might just take matters into his own hand! wouldn't a baby be enough to stop you from sleeping around with other men?

pairing: yandere!friends with benefits x toxic!reader

wc: 3.3k

content: smut, porn with plot, heavy yandere behavior, toxic friends with benefits, situationship, city girls UP, piv sex, kissing, conspiring to baby trap, intense jealousy, stalking, he's really an obsessed loser, heavy pining/yearning, poking holes in a condom, car sex, cowgirl, he cries during sex, she's lowk torturing him lmfao

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

The only thing he could think about buried balls-deep inside you was how pretty you’d look pregnant. 

“F-fuck, right there,” you gasped, a fist gripping his hair and yanking his head back to stop him from pressing kiss after kiss to your perfect face. Your hips bucking up off the bed, blissfully unaware of how his brain was buzzing with conjured pictures of your stomach swollen with his baby, a cute sundress hanging over the bump and your lips curling up in an easy smile. “God, don’t stop.” 

Oh, he wouldn’t. 

Not until the condom hopefully snapped in half with each of his mean thrusts. 

He hadn’t poked holes in it. Or even preemptively tried to pull or pluck at it to weaken the latex. But he thought about it. Resisted the urge to just stealthily sneak it off mid-sex.

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong, but buried in your warmth, feeling your walls squeeze down around him while you squirmed and writhed beneath his weight, the temptation crawled up his throat and threatened to escape. To become real. 

You pushed your bottom lip out, about to pout and probably tell him to speed up or slow down, but he was crashing his mouth on top of yours to capture you in a crude kiss. 

Heaven had nothing if it didn’t have you. 

His body shivering, abs tight and tense with each rough thrust rutting into you deeper, pressing right against that same spot that had you crying out before. You clamped down harder as he reached for your swollen clit, already damp from how long he’d been sucking on it before. 

Oversensitive, reacting immediately with a moan muffled into his mouth.

He wanted to choke on it. Suck in every strangled noise you made and seize it for himself. 

You cumming pushed him over an invisible cliff. 

But finishing into the condom scraped at his pride, pierced his ego when a grating voice wouldn’t fucking shut up that it would feel so much better to cum inside of you. To fuck his cum deep, to shove it back in every time it started to drip down your thighs until he was sure that his seed would take. 

Until he knew that six months from now, he’d be taking you to prenatal appointments and planning what color to paint a nursery. 

He wished he could crack open your brain and peer into your thoughts, piece them apart and parse them for what you wanted. 

What the hell you were looking for beyond just a cock pulsing inside your pretty pussy. 

He breathed your name, need pouring out of him as his thrusts stalled, pausing his onslaught of kisses to suck in air and rest his forehead against yours in a bid for intimacy. 

“You look like you’re gonna cry,” you murmured, as if mascara wasn’t smeared around your eyes, glitter from your lip gloss stuck to your skin as he grunted. 

“M’not,” he muttered, but there was a hot lump lodged in his throat. Discomfort at how close you were and how far away you felt even after he finished inside of you. 

It was impossible to ignore the way his skin itched, anxiety coiling tight at the fear that every time he fucked you, it might be the last. 

That you might get sick of him and the sex and say you were done. 

Was it really so fucking horrible that he wanted to have you? 

To be willing to do whatever it took to keep you beneath him like this? 

“Be my girlfriend,” he begged, his fingers trembling as he reached up to cup your cheeks with both hands. “I-I-” 

You giggled.

Grinning in his face as if it had been a joke. 

“Don’t be silly,” you sighed, reaching up to softly pat the back of his hand. 

Silly? 

You seriously thought a relationship with him was silly? 

A year. A full calendar year of fucking, and you laughed at the idea of putting a label on your arrangement. 

“Why?” He asked, trying not to sound absolutely gutted, but the best he could do was grimace. Lips pressing together unhappily while you peeled his fingers away, squirming while his twitching cock stayed rubbing below your cervix. 

“Why ruin what we have?” You asked, exhaling again as you gingerly placed a palm against his chest, pushing him off of you. 

“This is enough for you?” He pressed, painfully aware of how it wasn’t nearly enough for him. 

He’d be better off finding someone new. 

He knew that. His friends told him the same. 

You, beautiful, noncommittal you, never shied away from telling him how little you were seeking something serious. 

He’d been obsessed with you from the first day you sat next to him in class, ten minutes late for the lecture and tugging on his sleeve to get his notes once it was over. And okay, an embarrassing amount of time had passed since then, stuck in the friend zone for an overwhelming majority of it, but his adoration hadn’t faded. Didn’t even dull – not even when you snuck out of his bed the morning after you took his virginity. 

In his head, he thought sleeping together would mean that you’d be his for good. That it would be the start to forever, a future filled with mornings of making you breakfast in bed and burying his nose in the crook of your collarbone before going to work. 

Like usual, he was wrong. 

Never fucking right. 

“You’re enough for me,” you hummed, deceptively sweet as you plucked your panties off of his bedroom floor and shimmied them up your kiss-bitten thighs. He sat up straight at the edge of his bed, his condom-covered cock still twitching as his eyes followed the shape of your exposed body. 

“You’re lying,” he bluntly said, the closest he could come to expressing pain lurching and churning inside himself. “If I was enough-” 

You walked back over to him, tilting his chin up and leaning down to press a chaste kiss against his lips. 

“Look, I’ve gotta go, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?” 

You didn’t care. 

And he didn’t know how long he had to care for both of you until he lost his fucking mind. 

It was already slipping, control leeched every time you left with that casual smirk, bidding him goodbye with a wave and a soft chirp. 

How much more could he take before he couldn’t contain it anymore? 

Before he did something he couldn’t take back? 

He nearly called one of his friends while he stared up at the slowly-spinning ceiling fan overhead, but he already knew what he’d hear. 

Just go on a date. Find some nice new girl. Try to make you jealous. 

But what if no one wanted him? What if the moment he let his eyes drift off of you, you decided you were finally ready to settle down. 

Like the loser he was, he was pulling up your social media, grimacing as he swiped to see your latest messages. 

You’d be mad if you knew he was logged in.

That he knew all your passwords and accounts, even the ones he wasn’t supposed to have any clue about. 

Men messaged you practically every week – he turned off your notifications, attempted to delete them the moment they came in, but you still saw some. Still replied occasionally with perky ‘thank youuu’s and ‘you’re so sweet’ or infuriating emojis. 

The worst part was the selfies. The ones you snapped with your cleavage pushed up and your bottom lip jutted out, making cute faces at the camera as you told them you were single. 

He wanted to scream. 

Would it be incredibly immature to pretend you’d been hacked? Do something to get your account deleted so none of them could contact you again? 

Then again, would you just start texting people instead? Take your interactions somewhere he couldn’t see them? 

He couldn’t keep living like this. 

Which, uh, really just meant he was going to continue living like this and only complain about it more to himself. 

And uh, in a moment of weakness, he’d sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat with a needle, poking a bunch of tiny holes into a condom through a wrapper as he held his breath. Once he finished, he just sorta stared at it, fingers trembling as he looked towards the trash can. 

He should’ve thrown it away. 

But he just clipped the edge so he knew which one it was, slipping it inside his wallet next to a normal one. 

It took you hours to reply to his texts throughout the week, offering him short responses and the occasional photo of your coffee or something you were subtly trying to get him to buy for you. 

You sent him a screenshot of a restaurant you wanted to go to this weekend. You already knew he’d agree. 

But he was too impatient to wait for Saturday when that meant you must be booked and busy Friday night. 

Okay, he wasn’t like, stalking you, but he knew your schedule. Knew your location when you never noticed that he shared it with himself from your phone six months ago. Was it so wrong to walk into your favorite bar fifteen minutes after he knew you had, sliding between the sweaty bodies so he could catch up to you? 

His eyes slid from face to face, each one no more than a blur in the background until he broke through enough people to catch sight of the bar. 

You were near your usual stool. 

But you weren’t alone. 

No, an irritatingly not-ugly man was leering in front of you, still clearly wearing his clothes from work, a neat suit and tie, his lips curled up in an interested smile as he pushed a glass towards you. 

He froze, watching you pull him by his stupid tie so his stupider face was hovering hardly two inches away from you. You said something, your glossy lips opening as you whispered something sensual. 

It felt like a secret. 

Something he’d never be privy to. 

Were you purring in that soft voice about the last loser you slept with? Mocking him with a stranger? 

Making him feel all big and strong and so much better in every way? 

The stranger’s hand slipped down to just below your waist, fingers wrinkling your little dress with barely-veiled arousal. 

He couldn’t stop himself from storming over, grabbing the man by the back of his collar and yanking him back fast and hard. 

“That’s my-” 

You weren’t really his anything. 

But the reasonable, rational part of his brain capable of acknowledging that had not appeared to enter the building with him. 

He nearly raised his fist, and if it weren’t for your fingers wrapping around his bicep, pulling his arm down as you clicked your tongue dismissively, he might’ve broken the stranger’s jaw. 

“Do you have to act like a caveman?” You sarcastically remarked, sidestepping around him to make sure he wouldn’t attempt a second swing. You cast an apologetic glance up towards the guy who’d just been flirting with you, pressing your lips together in a pout. “Sorry about my friend. He’s a little protective.” 

You were trying to kill him. 

It would hurt less if you wrapped your pretty hands around his throat and squeezed all the air out of his lungs. If you carved his heart out and took a bite in front of his face. 

He wasn’t listening to the stranger’s stammered insults, his face flushed red as he turned and disappeared into the throng of bodies, off to search for someone he wouldn’t get hit for. 

“You said I was enough,” he heard himself say, voice shaking with anguish he knew he could only blame himself for. 

“I wasn’t going to sleep with him,” you dismissively huffed, letting go of his arm to fold your own against your chest – just so your cleavage would be all pushed up. “I just wanted some free drinks.” 

He didn’t believe you. 

“You’re crazy,” you muttered without even waiting for a reply, your eyes shifting from the feral look burning in his eyes down to the shape of his lips. 

“You don’t want me,” he bluntly said, jaw clenching as that irritating image of that man holding onto your hip, onto you like you were his floated back up. 

He hated it and he hated himself and he even sorta hated you but- 

“I like crazy,” you shrugged, the corner of your mouth crooking up in an easy smile at his desperation. 

He glanced behind his shoulder, waiting for some bouncer to show up and ban both of you for nearly starting a fight. 

But no one was paying attention when he grabbed your wrist and started tugging you towards the back exit. 

You didn’t try to resist, but you were pouting, dramatically sighing when he stepped back onto the street, dodging people to get to the back of the parking lot. 

“You’re taking me home?” You asked, irritation tugging your bottom lip down as he yanked open his driver’s door. 

Interrupting a man flirting with you was fine, but taking you away wasn’t?

He didn’t understand you.

That was always the problem, wasn’t it?

You were some incomprehensible mystery to him. 

Not because you didn’t tell him what you wanted. But because his brain couldn’t accept it. 

“Just get on my lap,” he grunted as he slid into the seat, fiddling to get it all the way back and you glanced around before climbing in anyway. 

You shut the door for him. Your soft thighs straddling his lap, your pretty sigh contained in his quiet car as you cupped his face. 

“You’re grumpy tonight,” you commented, another observation he couldn’t do anything about. 

“You use me,” he murmured, and you just laughed. 

“You use me too,” you retorted, your nimble fingers already unbuttoning his pants. 

“But I-”

“You love me?” You asked, and he got the impression you were mocking him, making fun of the very concept as his brows knitted together. 

He wanted to refute it. To regain some sliver of his dignity in your eyes. 

“I want this to be real,” he breathed instead, wishing you felt the same and unable to save himself from falling for the facade anyway. 

You tutted at him as you freed his cock. Dragging your more delicate fingers down the thick, throbbing vein running along his shaft with feigned sweetness, “Does this not feel real to you?” 

It did. 

Oh god, it felt like the only thing in his life that was real.  

You stroked his cock and looked down at him with clear amusement, smiling at him as he got harder and harder at your touch. Pre-cum beading up around his pink tip, coating your soft grip as you cooed pretty pet names at him. 

He slipped his fingers underneath the hem of your dress, squeezing your supple thighs and sliding them up to find-

You weren’t wearing any underwear. 

His stomach dropped through the fucking freshly-vacuumed floorboards.

Did you just get off on torturing him? 

You exhaled at his distraught expression, leaning in to leave a tiny kiss on the corner of his mouth before humming, “Come on, pretty boy, you have a condom, right?” 

He hesitated as he fumbled for his wallet in his pocket, his thumb running over the clipped corner of the condom wrapper signalling it was the one he’d poked holes in. He shouldn’t.

It was awful and-

“Well,” you huffed impatiently, tilting your head to the side and arching an expectant brow. “What are you waiting for?” 

He justified it by telling himself you’d probably just keep his baby anyway. 

His palms were sweating as he tried and failed to tear it open, forced to use his teeth to rip into it. You snagged the condom before it could fall off, and for a brief moment, he was sure you were going to hold it up and squint, discover his deception. 

But no, you just sheathed his cock and immediately angled yourself over his thick tip, not needing any lube before sliding down on his length. 

He wanted to enjoy it. 

Tilting his head back on the headrest as you slowly started to bounce up-and-down on his cock, feeling your walls stretch and squeeze around him. 

You were always fantastic. 

The warm pulse of you throbbing, the sound of your breath hitching as you buried your face in his throat, sucking filthy spots and leaving bites and bruises as if you wanted to mark him up for the rest of the world to see. 

But guilt was gnawing at him, shame sloshing around inside with every filthy squelch of him thrusting up in your pretty pussy. 

You gasped, your next exhale tickling the ends of his hair, the curve of his neck as you let out a pretty whine, rocking yourself down and sucking him in.

He tried to hold onto you. Wrapping a firm arm around your waist, keeping you locked in as your intoxicatingly sweet perfume continued to distort his fractured thoughts. 

Maybe he could pull out before he came. You wouldn’t ever need to know. 

Or maybe, just maybe, it would work. Maybe you’d come to him with a positive test and a pretty pout a month from now, calling him a dickhead and a dad in the same breath. You told him once you wanted kids. 

Why not have them with him? 

“Shit,” he groaned, and your walls just gripped him tighter. 

God, your pussy felt so fucking good, he thought he might cry. Loathing himself for the keening whine to all his moans, how his fingers were trembling holding onto your hips as he fucked up into you. 

“Aw,” you cooed, glancing up at him and dragging your thumb over his cheek. 

He hadn’t even noticed it was damp. 

“You miss me that much?” You mocked, and he couldn’t even refute your cute giggle as he grinded against that sensitive spot that had your lips parting in a moan.  

He itched to make you miss him this much too. 

For you to taste the craving that had been consuming him for so long. 

But the best he could do was make you cum. 

Pressing his thumb right up to your clit, hoping all the blood would rush there from your brain down south as he started rubbing rough circles against it. 

He knew the speed you liked. How much pressure to apply. Memorized the motions to coaxing you to a climax and committed them to heart. 

No other man knew you like he did. 

Would love you the way he could. 

Obsession curling and reaching a crux he couldn’t shut down, and he wasn’t sure if it was too late, or if his limbs were conspiring to not pull out in time, finishing in the condom with a guttural gasp of your name. 

It only took you a few more seconds to finish with him, resting your head in that same comfortable spot in his collarbone as you recollected yourself. Refusing to let him see your face when you were unraveled – even if your warm walls were squeezing every goddamn drop out of him. 

“Feel better, baby?” You asked, coming back down to Earth first as you shifted, his cock slipping out of you as he saw the thick white cum collected towards the top of the latex.

And then, before he could react, you were peeling off the condom before he could process what was happening, his mouth opening and shutting uselessly as you squeezed the middle and watched the cum start to leak out from the tiny holes onto his still-throbbing cock.

“That’s a cute try,” you hummed, rolling your eyes at him as you unceremoniously tossed it in his cupholder. “But I’m on birth control.” 

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──