fmu: chapter sixteen :p (Patreon)

fill (me) up

synopsis: he's stubborn. he's cocky. and he's unfortunately stupidly in love with you. not that you've noticed. you went from being his biggest fan to being too busy chasing your own acting career to pay attention to him or his wins. that is, until your agent and his PR manager suggest an affair between everyone's least favorite actress and racer that lands you directly in his lap once again.

pairing: grumpy!f1 driver x actress f!reader

content: angst/fluff, PR relationships, past toxic/controlling relationships, complicated feelings, slower build, reluctant/avoidant reader, attempted assault, crazy ex bf, confrontation, reader standing up for herself

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You were in hell. 

The worst part was the fact you made it for yourself. Landed yourself here with every dumb decision you convinced yourself was the right one in the name of your career. 

What good was it now that you’d been branded a cheater? 

Labeled a lazy liar who flaked out for a man whose heart you didn’t deserve. 

You did your best not to think about what they thought of you. 

Even if you were reminded of it every time you looked in the mirror, seeing yourself through the lens of someone else. Dark circles etched underneath your eyes, exhaustion etched into your features no matter how much you disguised under expensive makeup, still able to see the hurt staring back at you in the reflection.  

“You look great,” the makeup artist lied, squeezing your shoulder softly as she finished up, grabbing some of her stuff and glancing back to the door of your trailer. Coming up with an excuse to get out of here as soon as possible. 

There was an obnoxiously large bouquet sitting on the vanity. The sickly sweet scent wafting up and assaulting your nose every so often as you did your damndest to ignore the eye-catching white roses in the ornate glass vase. You never opened the note attached to it. Didn’t need to know what weak apology it contained when you knew the man who dropped them off didn’t mean it. 

“Thanks,” you stiffly replied, nodding towards her before stealing a peek at the time on your phone, tucked between your thighs on your lap. 

“I’ve gotta go,” she settled on, mumbling something about one of the other crew members taking care of touch-ups today, stepping back away from you as she spoke – faint apology shining in her stare. That’s how it was now. Either pitying your circumstances or proudly proclaiming their contempt. “See you tomorrow morning.” 

She wouldn’t. 

This would be your last day here. 

But you hadn't told anyone else that yet. 

Not even the man you were doing it for. He didn’t even want you to be here to begin with.

“You shouldn’t go,” your boyfriend grunted when he caught you trying to slip out of his room, glaring past you at the door as you resisted the urge to listen to him. You knew he’d give anything to be able to get up and stop it. His jaw tense as he held onto the railing of the hospital bed he was stuck in. “Stay and we’ll-” 

“I have to,” you whispered before he could make you a promise he couldn’t keep. 

You had run away from everything already. 

Tried to duck your head and do your best not to drown no matter how high the water rose around you. But treading just below the surface and sucking in rare gasps of fresh air wasn’t enough to survive on. 

You couldn’t keep living like this.

Waiting and wishing for something to change while you did nothing to change them. 

And watching the people you paid to fight for you do nothing to protect you only proved the only one you could count on to save you was yourself. 

Even if he’d been the one to give you the strength to see it. Or well, maybe just scare you into realizing that both your lives were too fucking short to put up with so much bullshit. 

The movie you hoped would change your life did. 

Just not in the way you anticipated. 

They didn’t approve of the security guard you requested, muttering made-up excuses about their budget and blaming you for making them miss shooting days. 

You barely managed to come to any kind of agreement about filming at all that didn’t involve getting sued — but your management team had still dropped you by the time it was done with. Told you to try your luck with some other company, assuming you wouldn’t have any resources left to fight them for breaching their end of the contract too. 

All you’d have to do is ask him for help, and you knew he’d get a fancy lawyer to pull some strings for you. 

But honestly?

Good fucking riddance.  

You didn’t want them or need them anymore. You tied your robe around you tighter as the door to your trailer shut behind her. 

The minutes slipped by as you rifled through random things, dropping your phone in your pocket as you silently rehearsed the plan you’d been preparing since the plane ride back. It was probably stupid. Had some holes you were too deep into it to see. 

Still, it was better than going out onto set today to play the fool, to act like you were fine being mistreated if it meant you’d be famous. You didn’t fucking want it anymore. You wanted a refund. To get all the pieces of yourself back you’d sold for this. 

“You’re wanted on set,” a voice called out to you from outside, but you ignored it. 

Fiddling with your fingers, running your thumb over your bare nails as you waited for the main event to start. 

He didn’t knock – but you still didn’t jump when your ex waltzed through the door like he owned it. 

Like he owned you. 

“You’re not dressed?” He scoffed, his cold gaze cutting into you as he strode over, close enough to pinch the silky sleeve of your robe. “We were supposed to start ten minutes ago.” 

“I know,” you muttered, teeth clicking together before you continued, “I can’t.”

“Are you on your period or something?” He cocked his head to the side, not even bringing up your absence, acting like you didn’t hate him and this was just normal coworker stuff. 

“I’m done.” 

Your announcement wasn’t met with anger. You were starting to wonder if he even had any emotions in that pretty head of his, or if it was just cruel calculations. Narcissistic neuroticism. 

He hadn’t loved you. 

All he really wanted was to have power over you. To possess you so you couldn’t pull away. 

You weren’t sure if he didn’t understand what you were saying to him or if he didn’t want to. 

“You’re not,” he bluntly replied after a long pause, his brows pinched together in irritation. “You’re going to put your clothes on, and we’re going to go out there and-” 

“No,” you interrupted him, relishing in how fucking nice it felt to say that. To deny him of his dreams too. 

“No?” He echoed, scoffing like you were being absurd. 

“I’m quitting,” you shrugged, enjoying the way his eye twitched at your assertion. 

“You’re being dramatic,” he breathed, and you wondered if he truly thought telling you what to do and how you were being and what to feel was ever actually going to work in his favor. “If you’re upset with me, you-” 

“You kissed me without my consent,” you stubbornly said, even if the words tasted awful in your mouth. Left some grime on your tongue like you were tainted by the memory. 

“Don’t be like that,” he exhaled, as if you were the exasperating one here. “Why are you acting like we’ve never kissed before?” 

“You’re not my boyfriend anymore,” you reminded him. No matter how much he tried to act like you still belonged to him. “I have an actual one who-” 

“Don’t fucking talk about him,” he snapped, raising his voice loud enough that you flinched. But that just offended him, his face twisting angrily as he stepped forward. His fingers brushed against yours and you recoiled back further, twisting around you were the one closer to the door. 

Nausea curdled in your stomach at the way his mask shattered at just a single mention of the man waiting for you. The one you chose over him. 

“If you ever lay a finger on me again, I’m going to-” You started, voice wavering as you scowled to make up for it. 

He grabbed your wrist just because he could, pulling you against his chest as his lips curled up in a cruel smirk. 

“You’ll what?” He crudely laughed, bitter blue eyes glinting dangerously in the small space. “You can’t do anything to me.” 

“I-I’ll-” You stuttered, but he just shook his head, condescendingly tilting his head down to remind you how much he looked down at you.

“You can’t leave this project. I’ll make sure the studio sues the shit out of you. What do you think the magazines are gonna print? Everyone already hates you. They only loved you when you were with me,” he snapped, his shiny white teeth catching the light from your lamp. 

He wasn’t wrong, was he?

You did everything you could. 

Poured out your soul for fame and acclaim. And all you would be remembered for was him. 

Just another girl who slept her way up just to fall off the ladder before she could reach the top. 

Your mouth was open, but you couldn’t get any words out, staring up at him as the invisible weight of his betrayal pressed down on your shoulders. You wondered if the old him was ever real. 

The one you used to share a bed with, who’d throw his long limbs over you and snuggle his nose into your neck, murmuring sleepily about how much he missed you at work. Who didn’t put milk in his cereal and surprised you with sweet treats on set. 

Had he just been acting then? Were you an idiot for believing that the pretty things he promised you were real?  

You hated yourself for missing him sometimes. 

For missing yourself when you were with him those first few months. 

Still clinging to the optimism that everything was going to work out just right. You couldn’t get back to her. But you could try to claw your way a little closer, couldn’t you? 

“You’re finally going to break up with that loser fucking boyfriend of yours and come back to me,” he hissed, and you just shook your head at him, disappointment stirred into the fear. 

“No,” you stubbornly insisted, as his fingers squeezed into you. “I’m not.” 

He made a disgruntled noise, his icy stare narrowing like he didn’t know what to do when you didn’t immediately give into his demands and threats. 

“You-” 

“You should watch what you say to me. I could release the audio I just recorded of you,” you murmured, watching him wince at your warning.

“What?” 

For the first time since you met him, genuine shock registered on his face. Hurt you never thought he was capable of contorting all those familiar features into something unrecognizable. 

So ego-centric he was mistakenly convinced he was the only one smart enough to drive a dagger into someone else’s back. 

“You can try to force me to finish this movie,” you murmured, dropping your voice down, disgust dripping from every syllable. “But even if you do, once this is over, I’m never speaking to you again.” 

He was never going to see you again. 

You were done with this rat race. 

Through being their pretty doll to be puppeteered around. Even if all you were to them was another clown, your face painted and your jokes stale as you entertained their circus of misery. 

“You’re making a mistake,” he said, but he didn’t sound the same as before. Not scared, but strained. 

“I’m fixing one,” you scoffed back at him, refusing to let your resolve waver now. “I wish I never met you.” 

You wished you could go back to that first weekend with your actual boyfriend. 

Back when you were still starry-eyed and stubborn, tell yourself to turn around and stay instead of trying your damndest to rub any ounce of success you had in his face. But you supposed some lessons had to be learned the hard way. Instead of wondering what-if, you were making wishes while you crawled your way out of the wreckage of your career.

What good was success if there was nothing left of you by the time you snatched it? 

“You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice dark and low as you ripped your wrist away from him. 

It felt like cutting some invisible string. 

Okay, it was closer to carving away at some infected wound, cauterizing the flesh and sterilizing yourself to save what you could, but there was relief in it. Acceptance that you were going through the worst of it but that you’d come out okay on the other side. 

“You actually did me a favor dumping me like that,” you swallowed hard, still going even when you were fighting your own fear to say everything out loud. It almost felt like you were giving him power by admitting and acknowledging what he’d done to you. How he still affected you no matter how unbothered you attempted to be. “I finally saw you for who you really are.” 

And despite how he wanted you to see him, that irritatingly collected composure had cracked, fracturing further with each sentence you tried to shatter him with. But he clung to it still, attempting to reduce your words to childish complaints. “Are you still upset about the kiss-” 

“You’re a sick, obsessive freak who doesn’t give a fuck about how much he hurts me,” you forced it out before he could twist this to something else, voice trembling just for him to recoil at the accusation. At the truth. 

He couldn’t stand it. 

What did he see himself as? 

Your hero? Saving you from someone else because you were too stupid to make your own choices? 

“T-that’s not-” He stuttered. 

“Why did you ask me to take this role?” You bluntly asked, and he froze, searching for something to say that wouldn’t dig himself deeper. 

“I was trying to help you,” he lied straight to your face, fumbling over the simple stance. 

“Help me? By giving yourself a reason to grope me on camera and call it work?” You huffed right as voices started to trickle in from outside, probably coming to check to see what was taking the two of you so long. 

“That’s not-” He started, stopping again as he got flustered, brows furrowing as his fingers flexed into fists. “We’ve done all that stuff before and-” 

There it was again. The same excuses regurgitated as he justified everything he’d done – he wasn’t going to see that it was wrong. Wasn’t going to miraculously realize the error in his ways and beg for your forgiveness. 

“The only reason you got remotely close to me again was because I was getting paid for it,” you pointed out while he was still rattling off reasons you were being ridiculous, the words spilling out now that the line had been crossed. 

“You’re being a crazy bitch,” he snapped, turning for a second as he picked up the flowers he bought you and dropped them unceremoniously to the floor, like he wanted you to feel ungrateful for something you never asked or wanted for. The vase shattered, shards of glass scattering and water soaking through your thin slippers as you stood still. “You know, I was trying to be nice to you. Did you forget I had a girlfriend when we started this movie?” 

How could you forget? 

Unlike him, you weren’t willing to just drop the past when it was convenient for you. When it was in the way of what you wanted. 

He was just saying it to make you seem like the unreasonable one in the recording. To plant seeds of doubt in whoever might end up listening. 

“I hope you have fun fucking some other girl that looks like me next,” you retorted at his reminder, the corner of your lips curling up as your chest puffed out. 

“I don’t need you,” he snapped, his jaw locking like he hadn’t gone this far just to get you back. “I never-” 

“You’re gonna be miserable and missing me while he’s buried inside me half a word away,” you insisted, tilting your head to the side as you pressed a finger against his chest to push him back – and give you enough time to step closer to the door.

And he could lie, he could swear on his soul that he didn’t need you, but it was impossible to miss the big throbbing vein running across his forehead or the tight clench of his jaw as you brought up the boyfriend he wished he was.  

“I’ll ruin you,” he warned, the threat clear and curt as he continued, “Everything you have-”

“I have nothing,” you laughed, hollow and empty.

And hopefully after this week, he wouldn’t either. 

You didn’t bother stepping over the broken glass when you turned away. 

No, you let it cut through your slippers, sharp pain slicing into the soft skin you forced yourself to ignore as you yanked the door to your trailer open and stepped out. 

You were right. 

Crew members were scattered out, all of them wide-eyed and weary, clearly eavesdropping on your argument as they started to make a path for you, faint embarrassment creeping in at the spectacle it turned into even if you’d been expecting it. 

You were leaving bloody footprints on the concrete, and you could hear someone on set calling your name, concern clear in their shaky syllables. 

At least someone cared.

“You don’t get to just walk away from me.” 

He fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Storming out and saying it loud enough the crowd that gathered could all overhear, a few phones out recording as he said your name like it was an insult. You glanced back, and you could see he’d taken his own little recording device with him, watching him shove it in his pocket as you tried to step back. 

Of course he would grab it. Why leave you with even more proof of what a creep? 

He reached for you, but you side stepped him, turning towards the crew as people just stood there and stared, unsure. 

“I told you not to fucking touch me,” you spat back at him, trying to pull away just for him to grab your arm. 

He was strong enough to keep you still, ripping your phone out of the pocket of your robe and smashing it against the ground – not giving a shit who was watching as you pushed him back off of you. A couple guards cut through the crowd, one of them actually grabbing him and restraining him away from you while you let out a low laugh.

“Nice try.” 

They wouldn’t call the cops on him. 

But he cared more about the court of public opinion anyway. All you had to do was pray it would finally be on your side. 

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