A Life in Hollywood
Chapter 14 - Scarlett Johansson and Elizabeth Olsen Part 1 (Avengers: Age of Ultron) - Part 3 of Part 1
"Need anything adjusted before the next setup?" he asked, voice even and professional, giving nothing away.
"No, I'm okay." Her voice came out a touch higher than usual, a little breathless at the edges. She kept stealing glances—at his hands, remembering how they had gripped Scarlett's hip and pulled her hair; at his waist, where the memory of what hung behind his zipper refused to fade; then forcing her eyes back up to his face. Heat was already building low in her belly again, a slow, insistent throb that made her cunt clench involuntarily. The images from the night before kept flashing behind her eyes: Scarlett bent over, tits swaying heavily, ass rippling with every deep thrust, the wet slap of flesh, the way Osiah had driven into her so possessively while she tried to talk to her fiancé. Elizabeth's nipples tightened against her bra, and she had to fight the urge to press her thighs together harder.
Osiah noticed every little tell—the flush, the quick glances, the way her breathing wasn't quite steady. He didn't push. Not yet. Scarlett's words were still echoing in the back of his head, dark and insistent, but he wasn't rushing this. He could have cornered her right there, used the state she is in on set to pull her aside, but that wasn't how he wanted it. Slow was better. Let the tension build on its own. Let her come to him with that wide-eyed curiosity still burning.
"Alright. Holler if you need anything," he said simply, his tone calm and casual, as if he hadn't just caught her reliving every filthy detail of what she'd witnessed. He gave her one last steady look, then moved on to the next group of extras, already calling out quiet adjustments to their positioning.
Elizabeth stood there for a moment longer, heart racing, the heat between her legs refusing to settle. She forced herself to turn back toward the rehearsal area, but her mind stayed stuck on him—on the calm authority in his voice, the strength in those hands, and the raw memory of how completely he had taken Scarlett while she moaned into the phone.
Elizabeth watched him go, biting the inside of her cheek hard enough to taste the faint metallic tang. Her pulse wouldn't settle. It thrummed loud in her ears, a steady, insistent beat that matched the low throb building between her legs. Every time she looked at him now she saw the way he'd gripped Scarlett's hips last night—fingers digging in deep, leaving marks on pale skin. She saw the thick, veined length of his cock disappearing inside her, stretching her open with every brutal thrust. She saw the raw power in his hips as he drove forward, Scarlett's ass rippling and bouncing, her heavy tits swinging wildly with each impact.
Her cunt throbbed at the memory, a sudden, slick pulse that made her clench involuntarily. Fresh wetness soaked into her panties. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, trying to ignore how sensitive her nipples felt against the thin fabric of her bra—tight, aching peaks that brushed with every breath and sent little sparks straight down to her core.
The day continued like that—Osiah doing his job with quiet competence, occasionally crossing paths with Elizabeth. Each brief interaction left her more flustered. He would pass by to reset extras, voice calm and even as he gave directions, but there was an undercurrent now. Something knowing in his eyes whenever they met hers. A subtle weight to his gaze that made her stomach tighten and her thighs press together.
He didn't leer. He didn't smirk. He was polite, professional, asking simple questions about positioning or if she needed water. But every time he spoke, she heard the echo of his low growl from the night before—"Again. Cum on my cock while you talk to him." Every time his hands moved—gesturing to an extra, adjusting a mark—she remembered those same hands mauling Scarlett's tits, pinching her nipples, pulling her hair back hard while he fucked her deep.
By late afternoon they were shooting a sequence with practical debris rigs. The set was alive with the whine of wires and the hiss of compressed air as fake rubble floated and tumbled through the frame. Elizabeth was in position, reacting to the chaos around her, body tense as she channeled Wanda's controlled power. Her foot caught wrong on a taped mark during a quick pivot. The twist was sharp and sudden. Pain shot up her leg like fire.
She went down with a sharp cry, clutching her ankle as her knee buckled.
"Cut!" the AD called immediately, the word cutting through the set noise.
Osiah was there in seconds, clearing space with calm authority. "Give her room. Medic's on the way but let's not crowd her." His voice carried without shouting, parting the small cluster of crew and extras like a quiet wave. He knelt beside her on the concrete, close enough that she caught the clean scent of his skin mixed with the faint smell of set dust.
"Let me see."
Elizabeth winced but nodded, teeth gritted against the throbbing pain. He gently took her ankle in both hands, his fingers surprisingly warm and careful as they probed the joint. The pain was sharp at first, a bright spike that made her hiss through her teeth. Then it eased—almost immediately—under his touch. His thumbs worked in slow, firm circles, finding the exact spots that needed pressure, working the swelling down with precise, practiced movements. The throbbing dulled to a manageable ache, the fire cooling into something bearable.
"Sprain," he said quietly, voice low and steady, meant only for her. "Not bad, but you're done for today. Take the weight off it."
Elizabeth stared at him, breathing shallow and quick. His hands on her skin felt electric, the warmth of his palms sinking straight through her sock and into her flesh. The memory of last night flashed again—those same hands mauling Scarlett's tits, squeezing the soft, heavy mounds roughly, fingers sinking deep before pinching her nipples hard. Those hands gripping Scarlett's hair, yanking her head back while he drove into her from behind, claiming her completely. Heat flooded her core despite the pain in her ankle, a fresh rush of slick warmth making her cunt ache.
"Thank you," she managed, her voice a little breathless. "It already feels better."
"Good." He helped her up carefully, one strong arm supporting her weight so she didn't have to put pressure on the injured ankle. His touch was firm but gentle, nothing like the rough possession she had witnessed the night before, yet her body reacted anyway—nipples tightening further, thighs pressing together as another pulse of unwanted arousal throbbed through her. "We'll get you to the medical tent. The take was solid before you went down, so you've got three or four days off. Rest it."
He kept his arm around her as they moved slowly toward the medical tent, his steps measured to match hers. Elizabeth leaned into him more than she needed to, the solid warmth of his body beside her making it impossible to ignore how aware she was of him now. Every shift of his hand on her waist sent her mind spiraling back to the closet—the wet slap of flesh, Scarlett's broken moans into the phone, the way Osiah had fucked her so deep and hard while she tried to sound normal for her fiancé.
She swallowed hard, face still flushed, the dull pain in her ankle doing nothing to dull the heat pooling low in her belly.
In the tent, while the medic wrapped her ankle, Elizabeth kept glancing at Osiah. He stayed nearby, leaning against a folding table with his arms crossed, making sure everything was handled without hovering. The medic worked efficiently, winding the elastic bandage around her swollen joint with practiced turns, but Elizabeth's attention kept drifting. Every time she looked at him, the images from last night flooded back unbidden—the way his hips had snapped forward, the wet slap of skin, Scarlett's tits bouncing heavily as she tried to keep her voice steady on the phone.
Osiah's presence filled the small medical tent. He wasn't doing anything dramatic, just standing there in his headset and black crew shirt, but the calm authority he carried made the space feel smaller. His eyes met hers occasionally, steady and unreadable, yet she swore she saw something darker flicker beneath the surface every time their gazes locked.
When the medic stepped out for a moment to grab more supplies, the tent fell quiet except for the distant hum of the set outside. Elizabeth's heart pounded. The words tumbled out before she could stop herself, her voice soft and rushed.
"Would you… want to get dinner sometime? Just… as thanks. For this. And for keeping things running so smoothly."
Her face burned the second the words left her mouth, heat rushing up her neck and across her cheeks in a fierce blush. She wasn't even sure what she was doing. She had seen him fucking Scarlett—seen his thick cock stretching her open, seen Scarlett's ass rippling with every deep thrust while she moaned into the phone to her fiancé. And yet here she was, asking him to dinner like some nervous schoolgirl. Her ankle throbbed dully, but it was nothing compared to the slick, aching heat building between her legs again just from being this close to him.
Osiah looked at her, calm on the surface, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes—something possessive and knowing that made her stomach tighten. He didn't answer right away. The silence stretched for a heartbeat, heavy with everything unsaid.
Before he could respond, the tent flap opened with a soft rustle.
Scarlett stepped in, still in partial costume, the tactical top unzipped just enough to show a hint of cleavage. A knowing little smirk already played on her lips, her eyes sharp and amused as they took in the scene.
"Heard you took a tumble," she said, voice warm and concerned on the surface, but her eyes held that wicked glint. "You okay, Liz?"
Elizabeth nodded quickly, too quickly, her blush deepening. "Yeah. Just a sprain. Osiah helped a lot."
Scarlett's gaze slid slowly to him, lingering for a moment, then back to Elizabeth. The smirk deepened, turning almost predatory. "He's good with his hands. Very good." She let the words hang in the air, heavy and loaded, the double meaning unmistakable. "We're very good friends, Osiah and I. Old friends from the first film."
Elizabeth's cheeks went even redder, the heat spreading down her neck. She suddenly felt exposed, as if Scarlett could see straight through her—could see the way her cunt was still throbbing from the memories of last night, the way her nipples were tight against her bra just from Osiah's proximity.
Scarlett leaned in and gave Elizabeth's shoulder a gentle squeeze, her touch light but deliberate. Her fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary. "Rest up. Heal quick. And enjoy dinner." Her eyes flicked to Osiah again, full of wicked amusement, the unspoken claim loud and clear in the air between them. "You two have fun."
She left with that same smirk curling her lips, the tent flap falling shut behind her with a soft whisper. The scent of her perfume lingered for a moment—warm vanilla mixed with something sharper.
Elizabeth swallowed hard, heart racing so fast she could feel it in her throat. Her mouth felt dry. She looked back at Osiah, unsure what the hell she had just walked into. The invitation she had blurted out now felt loaded with layers she didn't fully understand. Scarlett's words hung in the tent like smoke—very good friends—and the way she had said "enjoy dinner" carried an undercurrent that made Elizabeth's stomach flutter with a confusing mix of nerves and heat.
Osiah's expression remained calm, but that darker flicker was still there in his eyes when he finally spoke, his voice low and even.
"Dinner sounds good."
Elizabeth could only nod, her pulse still thundering, the dull ache in her ankle nothing compared to the slick, insistent throb between her thighs and the whirlwind of questions spinning in her head.
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