A Life in Hollywood
Chapter 11 - Emilia Clarke and Daisy Ridley
A couple of days after the People's Choice Awards, the bustling city of Los Angeles hummed with a familiar energy. The coffee shop nestled in a quiet corner of a trendy neighborhood was the perfect retreat from the chaos. Osiah and Emilia sat in a cozy nook, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the soft murmur of distant conversations.
Emilia sipped her latte, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she recalled the after-party. "You know, Osiah, I still can't believe how that joke landed. Taylor was practically choking on her champagne when I mentioned your 'magic hands.'"
Osiah chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, I'm just glad I could provide some entertainment. Though, I have to admit, your timing was impeccable."
Emilia leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Speaking of timing, I have to ask—are you really considering what I said about us becoming an official item?"
Osiah met her gaze, his expression thoughtful. "I am. But I'm sure you're not just thinking about the sexual compatibility, right?"
Emilia threw her head back and laughed, a sound that was both infectious and disarming. "Of course not! I consider many factors, you know. But it's one of the few topics I can tease you about since it throws you off balance." "And let's face it, you're quite the impressive lover. Turning me into a puddle is one of your many talents." She made an obscene gesture with her hands, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
Osiah's laughter filled the air, rich and genuine. "I'm glad you think so. But seriously, Emilia, I'm nervous about your PR. I mean, look at you now. Anyone could snap a picture and—"
Emilia waved a dismissive hand, her smile never wavering. "Paparazzi? Please. I'm not that famous to have them swarming around me like flies. Besides, some celebrities actually pay them to be at certain spots. I find that a hassle. I'd rather get away from all that."
Osiah nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "You're right. Some people have this mentality of 'be famous or nothing,' and it just gnaws at you, chipping away at your humanity."
Emilia reached out and playfully slapped his shoulder. "You really want those mental and psychological compatibility points, don't you?."
Osiah leaned back in his chair, a slow, easy grin spreading across his face as he raised his hands in mock surrender. "Sure, sure, sure," he drawled, the words a playful concession. "You caught me. I'm a sucker for it. What can I say? I'm a deep-feeling kind of guy."
Emilia's laughter was a bright, musical chime that cut through the low hum of the coffee shop. She took a deliberate sip of her latte, her eyes sparkling over the rim of the cup. "Oh, I know you are. It's one of your more endearing, and frankly, surprising, qualities. But enough about my sordid plans to make you my arm candy. Let's talk shop. Did you actually watch any of the films or shows that were nominated? Or were you too busy being an in-demand man in Hollywood?"
"I did manage to catch a few," Osiah admitted, swirling the dark coffee in his own mug. "I was rooting for *The Hunger Games* to take Favorite Movie. Not just because I have a soft spot for Jennifer, but the scale of that thing... it's a beast. The logistics alone must have been a nightmare. You?"
"Honestly? I was team *Frozen*," she confessed with a cheeky grin. "I know, I know, it's animation. But 'Let It Go' is basically the anthem of every actress who's ever felt trapped in a role. Plus, I have a professional interest in ice queens. As for TV, I was gutted for *Game of Thrones* in the drama category, but you can't argue with *Breaking Bad*. That was just... perfect television. A complete, devastating masterpiece from start to finish."
"It really was," Osiah agreed, his expression turning more serious. "Cranston was a force of nature. That's the kind of performance that changes the landscape."
They fell into a comfortable rhythm, debating the merits of the nominees, their conversation a natural ebb and flow of professional respect and genuine fandom. It was easy, this part of their dynamic, a shared language of an industry they both inhabited.
Emilia set her cup down, a sudden, radiant excitement illuminating her face. "Speaking of professional landscapes..." She leaned forward, her voice dropping to an excited, conspiratorial whisper. "I got it, Osiah. I actually got it. I'm going to be Sarah Connor."
A wide, genuine smile broke across Osiah's face. He reached across the small table, his hand finding hers and giving it a firm, warm squeeze. "Em, that's incredible. Congratulations. That's... that's a legacy role. That's huge."
Her fingers tightened around his, her gratitude for his unadulterated enthusiasm palpable. "Thank you. It feels massive, honestly. Terrifying and exhilarating all at once. The competition was brutal. I heard they were seeing everyone—Brie Larson, Jodie Comer... even some of the bigger names were circling it. The audition process was... intense. They had me doing screen tests that felt less like acting and more like a psychological evaluation. They wanted to see the fire, but also the fragility underneath it. The soldier and the mother."
Osiah didn't interrupt. He simply listened, his focus absolute, his dark eyes absorbing every detail. He asked the right questions, not about the glitz but about the grit. "How did you find the physicality of it? That's a huge part of the character, the raw, visceral exhaustion."
"That's what I focused on," Emilia said, her appreciation for his question clear in her animated response. "I didn't want to just look tough. I wanted to feel worn down by it. I spent weeks with a stunt coordinator, just learning how to move with a certain kind of weary efficiency. How to hold a gun like it's an extension of my arm, not a prop. It was about convincing them I could carry the weight of the world on my shoulders and still keep running."
She watched him, a soft, fond smile playing on her lips. "You're the only person I've told who actually asked about that. Everyone else just asks if I'm excited to wear the leather."
"I'm more interested in the woman inside the leather," Osiah said softly, and the sincerity in his voice made her heart do a little flip.
Emilia squeezed his hand one last time before letting go, a playful glint returning to her eyes. "Alright, enough about me and my impending badassery. I heard a little whisper on the wind. Something about a certain production secretary getting a promotion. Congratulations, Mr. Morse. I hear you're going to be the 2nd 2nd AD on *Terminator* with me."
Osiah chuckled, a low, self-deprecating sound. "You heard right. Though I'm not sure 'promotion' is the right word. It's a different world, for sure. Being a secretary was about managing chaos from an office. This... this is about being on the ground, in the thick of it. My workload is actually a lot less in terms of sheer volume of paperwork, but the pressure is way more concentrated. It's all about timing and communication."
"So what's the difference?" Emilia asked, leaning forward, genuinely intrigued. "What does a 2nd 2nd AD even *do*?"
"Think of it like this," Osiah explained, his passion for the mechanics of filmmaking evident. "The 1st AD is the general, shouting orders from the front line. The 2nd AD is the captain, relaying those orders and managing the troops. The 2nd 2nd AD... I'm the sergeant. I'm the one on the walkie-talkie making sure the PAs are in position, that the background actors are ready to go, that the exact shot of espresso the director needs is in his hand *before* he asks for it. It's my job to make sure the 1st AD never has to worry about the small stuff. I'm the human buffer between the director's vision and the reality of a hundred people all needing something at the same time."
Emilia listened, captivated. "So you're like... the director's right-hand man's right-hand man?"
"Exactly," Osiah grinned. "I'm the guy who whispers in the captain's ear. It's less about spreadsheets and more about walkie-talkies. It's about anticipating problems before they happen. It's a different kind of puzzle, and honestly, I can't wait. It's one step closer to the chair."
"Well, Sergeant Morse," Emilia said, her smirk returning full force. "I look forward to you whispering in my ear. Just... try not to do it while I'm trying to deliver a line about the coming apocalypse. It might be distracting."
"I'll do my best," he laughed, raising his coffee cup in a toast. "But I make no promises."
Emilia leaned in closer, her voice a sultry purr as she traced the rim of her coffee cup with a perfectly manicured nail. "You know, Osiah, I think I might have to stake a claim on you while we're on set. I mean, if I blink, you'll probably be over there, working your magic on someone else. Sandrine Holt, maybe? I can just imagine her, all prim and proper, until you lay those hands on her. She'll be a puddle, her cunt dripping, orgasming from your touch. And then you'll just... fill her up, won't you?" Her hands moved expressively, mimicking the act with a wicked grin.
Osiah threw his head back and laughed, a rich, warm sound that drew the eyes of nearby patrons. "Emilia, you're ridiculous. And a bit of a pervert, but I like it."
She winked, unabashed, a playful spark in her eyes. "I'm just saying, I plan to monopolize you. I don't want to share. Especially not with someone who might not appreciate the full extent of your... talents." Her fingers danced in the air between them, mimicking a lewd, suggestive gesture that was both crude and charmingly direct.
Osiah chuckled, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head slowly. "Well, I'll do my best to accommodate your possessive streak. But you know, I have a job to do. I can't just be your personal plaything all day."
Emilia's eyes sparkled with renewed mischief. "Oh, I know. But what about after? Will you visit me every end of day? Relieve me from all that pain and stress? Give me pleasure too?" Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, and she made another obscene gesture with her hand, her eyebrows waggling suggestively.
Osiah mirrored her movement, his own grin turning devilish. "Of course. I'll do my best to make sure you're well... taken care of. Both in terms of relaxation and... other forms of release."
Emilia reached across the table, her hand finding his, her fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns on his palm. She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear as she whispered, "You know, I don't really mind the pain and stress part of the set. It's all part of the job. But the pleasure you give me... I can't afford to pass up."
She took his index finger, slowly drawing it into her mouth, her eyes never leaving his. She sucked gently at first, then with increasing pressure, her cheeks hollowing as she took two fingers, her tongue swirling around them in a slow, deliberate tease.
Osiah pulled his hand away, a low chuckle rumbling in his chest. "Emilia, you're way too eager right now. We're in public, you know."
She pouted, her bottom lip jutting out in a mock sulk. "It's your fault. Making me remember all the feelings you can impose on me. My mind and body are in agreement—we want more. And we want it now."
Osiah reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering. "Patience, my dear."
Emilia's eyes flashed with anticipation, a slow, sultry smile spreading across her face. "I'm holding you to that promise, Osiah. And I plan to collect it on set... thoroughly."
Emilia let out a deliberate, fake sigh of frustration. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she knocked a silver spoon off the edge of the table. It clattered loudly against the floorboards, rolling under the table with a metallic rattle.
"Oh, bother," she muttered, though her eyes were dancing with mischief. "I'll get it." She slid off her chair, dropping to her knees, and ducked under the table.
Osiah didn't even blink. He just watched her, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. He saw the side of her face emerge from the shadows beneath the table, her hair spilling over her shoulders. Then, he felt the gentle tug of her fingers on his belt buckle. He shifted in his seat, angling his hips away from the table edge to make room for her, ensuring their little secret remained hidden from the casual glances of other patrons.
{R-18 Scene Osiah x Emilia Clarke 502 full word count aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n}
Suddenly, a shadow fell over them. A waitress, looking confused, leaned down toward Osiah. "Sir? Is everything okay? You seem to be... struggling with something."
Osiah froze, his hand clamped over the back of Emilia's head, holding her in place. He didn't pull away. He didn't stop. Instead, he just looked up at the waitress, a look of pure, unadulterated bliss on his face.
"Oh, I'm fine," he said, his voice strained and thick. "Just... enjoying a very enthusiastic date."
The waitress blinked, looking past Osiah's shoulder to see Emilia's face flushed and red, her mouth stretched wide around him. She quickly averted her gaze, looking back at Osiah with a look of mild embarrassment.
"I... I see," she stammered. "I'll just leave you to it."
"Thanks for checking on me," Osiah said, a wide, charming smile spreading across his face. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills, tucking them into her hand. "Keep the change."
The waitress hurried away, cheeks burning.
{R-18 Scene Osiah x Emilia Clark and Daisy Ridley 1955 full word count aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n}
"God, I'm sorry," Daisy stammered, looking like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole. "I just... I don't know what came over me. I just... I want more."
Osiah smirked, wiping his hand on a paper towel. "Don't apologize, Daisy. You were excellent." He reached out, gently squeezing her shoulder. "Now, let's get cleaned up before we cause a scene."
They spent the next few minutes tidying up, using wet wipes and hand towels to clean the worst of the mess. Emilia handed Daisy a fresh lipstick, fixing her smudged lip color with a gentle touch. "You look stunning," she said with a wink.
"Come on," Emilia said, standing up and offering Daisy her hand to help her up. "I'm starving. Let's get some lunch. We can talk."
***
A few hours later, the three of them sat in a quiet, dimly lit bistro. Daisy was incredibly shy, constantly glancing around the room as if afraid to be recognized, yet she couldn't take her eyes off Emilia. It was a strange sight—Emilia Clarke, one of the world's most famous actresses, sitting in a booth with a random waitress, laughing and eating a salad.
"You know," Daisy said softly, fidgeting with her silverware. "I'm really surprised you invited me. I mean, you're Emilia Clarke. You probably have lunch with presidents and movie stars every day."
Emilia laughed, a bright, infectious sound that made Daisy relax slightly. "I have my reasons," she said, her eyes drifting over to Osiah, who was busy pouring water for the table. She gave him a playful, knowing look.
Daisy followed her gaze, her eyes widening as they landed on Osiah. She remembered the way he had looked at her, the way he had commanded her. She felt a fresh wave of heat rush to her cheeks. "Oh," she breathed, understanding dawning on her. "I see."
"So," Emilia said, turning her attention back to Daisy, her expression turning serious. "What are you doing working part-time here? You're too talented to just be serving tables."
Daisy sighed, looking down at her plate. "I'm actually auditioning for something pretty big right now. A huge franchise. But until I get the call, I need the money. It's just... it's hard. I spend all day dreaming about being on set, and then I come here and have to serve people who have no idea who I am."
"That's tough," Osiah said, his voice warm and encouraging. "But you're going to get it, Daisy. I can feel it."
"Really?" Daisy looked up, hope flickering in her eyes.
"Absolutely," Emilia nodded, reaching across the table to squeeze Daisy's hand. "You have the fire. I'd love to see you land that role."
They spent the next half hour talking about the industry, with Emilia and Osiah giving her advice and encouragement. When it was time for Daisy to leave, she stood up, her eyes shining with gratitude. "Thank you both. This means a lot to me."
She pulled out her phone, and they exchanged contacts. As Daisy walked out of the bistro, Osiah and Emilia watched her go, a satisfied smile on their faces.
Emilia leaned over the table, elbowing Osiah in the ribs with a mischievous glint in her eye. "Well, that was fun. But we still have time, don't we?"
Osiah raised an eyebrow, a grin spreading across his face. "Oh? And what did you have in mind?"
Emilia laughed, standing up and grabbing her bag. "Your place, then mine. I think we have some unfinished business to take care of."
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