A Life in Hollywood
Chapter 15 - Daisy Ridley and Taylor Swift - Part 3
Taylor nodded, then leaned in a little, eyes sparkling with curiosity and something sharper. "So… I heard some things. Not from the usual Hollywood gossip mill. Scarlett mentioned you the other day when we ran into each other at an event. She was pretty… detailed about how you two reconnected on set. And the way she talked about it? Let's just say it stuck with me." She laughed, but there was a real edge of jealousy under it, a little flush creeping up her neck. "Is it true? All of it? Or is she just messing with me?"
Osiah took a slow sip of wine, completely unfazed. "It's true."
Taylor's eyebrows went up. She waited for more, twirling the stem of her glass between her fingers. When he didn't elaborate she let out a short laugh and shook her head, half amused, half something else.
"Wow. Okay. You're not even gonna try to deny it or give me the polite version."
"No point. It happened. It's casual. Nobody gets hurt."
She studied him for a second, then took another drink, her blue eyes flicking over his face. "Must be nice in a way. I feel like I can't sneeze without someone writing a thinkpiece about who I'm dating or why I'm single or whether I smiled at the wrong person at an awards show. Meanwhile you're just… living your life and people like Scarlett are out here dropping hints that make me curious as hell." She paused, then added with a small, self-deprecating smile, "It stings a little, if I'm honest. Not that I have any claim or anything. Just… hearing it from her made it feel very real."
The conversation moved on naturally as the plates were cleared and dessert arrived—some rich chocolate thing that Taylor only picked at, pushing pieces around with her fork. She talked more about her schedule, the upcoming teaser performances that were ramping up.
"New York in a couple weeks," she said. "Small club show to test a few more tracks from the album. Then London—same thing, but with a little more press. Tokyo after that before the full 1989 tour kicks off properly next year. I'm excited but already exhausted thinking about it. Jet lag is going to destroy me. Different stages every night, figuring out how to make the new songs feel big in arenas when I've only played them in tiny clubs so far. Last week in that Silver Lake place someone yelled 'Marry me!' right in the middle of 'Blank Space' and I almost forgot the next line. Had to laugh it off on stage while my brain short-circuited. The crowd ate it up, though."
Osiah chuckled. "Sounds about right for this town. At least they're enthusiastic."
"Yeah. And the interviews never stop. Everyone wants the story behind every song. 'Shake It Off' is fun and empowering on the surface, but they keep asking if it's about specific exes. Like, no, it's about shaking off all the noise—the critics, the tabloids, the expectations. But try explaining that without sounding like a press release." She took another sip of wine, her foot accidentally brushing his under the table and lingering this time. "What about you? Any wild set stories from Avengers that aren't top secret? I could use something that doesn't involve me talking about myself for once."
He shared a couple—nothing classified, just the usual chaos of practical effects going wrong mid-take, an extra tripping during a big reset and nearly taking out a camera rig, the way the cast kept things light with pranks even when everyone was exhausted from night shoots. Taylor listened, laughing in the right places, asking follow-up questions that showed she was actually paying attention. She told him a few more of her own stories in return—one about a radio host who kept mispronouncing song titles, another about a photo shoot where the wind machine nearly blew her off the platform.
By the time the plates were cleared the wine was mostly gone and the conversation had turned quieter, more personal. Taylor leaned forward, elbows on the table, candlelight catching in her eyes.
"I'm jealous, you know," she said, half teasing, half serious. "Not just of the Scarlett thing—though yeah, that stings a little hearing it from her directly—but of how free you seem about it all. No one's waiting to write a headline about your personal life every five minutes or asking your parents for comment. It sounds… simpler."
Osiah met her eyes. "It's not as free as it looks. But I keep it separate from the work. Keeps things simpler on my end."
She nodded slowly, then smiled, softer this time. "Well, tonight feels pretty simple. And I like that."
The candles had burned lower. Taylor's foot brushed his again, lingering deliberately. The air between them had shifted—easy conversation giving way to something warmer, heavier, charged with anticipation.
By the time dessert came they were both relaxed, the wine doing its job. Taylor's hand brushed his on the table more than once. When the plates were cleared she looked at him across the candlelight.
"Ready to head inside?" she asked, voice a little lower, eyes holding his.
Osiah stood. "Yeah."
The second the door shut behind them their hands were everywhere. Taylor kissed him hard, pressing her body flush against his, the full softness of her tits crushing against his chest through the thin dress. Osiah's hands slid down her back and grabbed her ass, squeezing the firm, round cheeks. The fabric rode up as he kneaded them, and she moaned into his mouth, pushing her hips forward so her pelvis rubbed against the growing bulge in his pants.
They stumbled toward the bedroom, mouths still locked, barely coming up for air. Taylor's fingers worked at his shirt buttons, popping them open one by one while he hooked his thumbs under the thin straps of her dress and pulled them down her shoulders. The black slip dropped to her waist in a whisper of fabric, freeing her tits—full, heavy, nipples already tight and dark. He cupped one immediately, thumb brushing back and forth over the stiff peak. Taylor gasped, the sound turning into a low moan when he pinched it gently.
"Fuck, I've been thinking about this all week," she breathed against his lips, her hands shoving his shirt off his shoulders.
Taylor pushed him back onto the big hotel bed. Osiah sat on the edge as she kicked the dress the rest of the way off, leaving her in just a tiny black thong.
{R-18 Scene Osiah x Taylor Swift 4475 Full Word Count aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n}
They collapsed together, breathing heavy. Osiah rolled to the side so he wasn't crushing her, but kept one arm around her waist, his cock still buried inside her as they both came down. Taylor's leg draped over his hip. She traced lazy circles on his chest with her fingertip, her body soft and spent against his.
"Jesus," she said after a minute, voice soft and amused. "I needed that more than I thought."
Osiah chuckled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Same."
They lay there for a long while, catching their breath, the room thick with the smell of sex—sweat, her arousal, the faint vanilla of her skin, and the warm musk of their combined release. Taylor's fingers kept moving idly over his chest and stomach, occasionally brushing lower. A trickle of his cum slowly leaked out of her, warm against his thigh, but neither of them moved to clean up yet.
Eventually Taylor shifted, wincing a little as he finally slipped out of her. More of his cum leaked down her thigh in a slow, pearly trail. She didn't bother wiping it away right away—just lay there looking at him with a small, thoroughly satisfied smile, her hair messy and her lips still swollen from kissing.
"So," she said, propping herself up on one elbow. Her tits shifted with the movement, still flushed and marked faintly from his hands. "I've been thinking. The tour's gonna be crazy, but… I want you there. Not the whole time, obviously. But for some stretches. New York, London, Tokyo—whatever you can swing. I'll make sure you've got a spot on the plane, good hotel rooms, the works. No pressure, just… company. And more nights like this."
Osiah ran his hand down her side, over the curve of her waist and hip. "I'll think about it. Avengers stuff is wrapping, but I've got some other offers coming in. Lazarus Effect might shoot soon."
Taylor nodded, not pushing. "Fair. Just… think about it. I like this. Us. Whatever this is."
She leaned in and kissed him again, slower this time, lips soft and lingering. Then she climbed out of bed, completely naked, and walked to the mini-fridge like it was the most natural thing in the world. Osiah watched her ass sway as she bent to grab two bottles of water. The movement made her cheeks spread slightly, more of his cum still glistening on her inner thighs. She tossed one bottle to him and climbed back in, curling against his side, one leg draped over his.
They talked quietly while they hydrated. Taylor twisted the cap off her bottle and took a long drink, then rested her head on his chest again.
"New York is going to be wild," she said. "I'm doing a couple of small club shows to test more of the album live. The crowds there are so loud and opinionated—it's exciting but terrifying. What if they hate the new direction? I keep imagining someone in the front row holding up a sign that just says 'Go back to country.'"
Osiah chuckled, his hand stroking her back. "They won't. The songs are good. You know that."
"I hope so. London's next—bigger stage, more press. Then Tokyo, which I'm actually nervous about because of the language barrier and the different energy. I've been practicing some basic phrases, but mostly I'm just going to smile a lot and hope the music does the talking." She traced a finger over his collarbone. "The full tour next year is going to be nonstop arenas. I'm excited, but part of me wonders if I'll miss the tiny club nights where it feels more personal."
She told him more stories—how during one radio appearance the host had tried to get her to sing an acapella snippet of a new track and her voice cracked from all the talking, so she turned it into a joke about needing more tea. Another time in a photo shoot the fan they brought in for a meet-and-greet got so excited she tripped over a cable and nearly took down a light stand. Taylor had helped her up and they ended up laughing about it for ten minutes while the crew reset.
Osiah shared a few more set stories in return—how an extra once got so into character during a big battle reset that he actually tackled another background actor for "authenticity," or the time a practical rain rig malfunctioned and soaked half the crew during a night shoot. The conversation felt easy, comfortable, even with both of them still naked and sticky, bodies pressed close.
After a while Taylor's hand started wandering again, sliding down his stomach. She wrapped her fingers around his cock and stroked him slowly back to hardness, her touch lazy but purposeful.
"Round two already?" Osiah asked, eyebrow raised, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Taylor grinned, eyes sparkling. "We've got all night. I'm not wasting it."
{R-18 Scene Osiah x Taylor Swift aFireFist on p.a.t.r.e.o.n}
They stayed locked together, sweaty and spent, hearts hammering. Taylor's legs stayed wrapped around him even after he softened. She traced lazy patterns on his shoulder with one finger.
"Stay tonight," she said quietly. "Don't go back to your place."
Osiah kissed her forehead. "I'm not going anywhere."
They eventually untangled long enough to clean up in the big shower. Taylor leaned against him under the hot water, letting him wash her back while his hands roamed over her ass and tits. They didn't fuck again—just touched, kissed softly, and let the water rinse away the sweat and mess. Afterward they collapsed back into bed, naked, limbs tangled under the sheets.
Taylor rested her head on his chest, one leg thrown over his. "So… about the tour. Think about it, okay? Even a couple weeks would be amazing. I want you there when I'm in New York, London, Tokyo. The full tour starts next year, but these next few months are the crazy ones."
Osiah ran his fingers through her damp hair. "I'll check the schedule with the Avengers stuff and the Lazarus thing. If it lines up, I'm in. At least for some of it."
Taylor smiled against his skin. "Good. That's all I'm asking."
They talked a little longer—her nerves about fully committing to the pop sound and how some longtime fans might react. Random little things that made the night feel more relaxing. Eventually her voice got slower, sleepier. She drifted off first, breathing steady against his chest.
Osiah lay awake a few minutes longer, hand resting on the curve of her hip. Taylor Swift in his arms, cum still slowly leaking out of her, talking about bringing him on tour. He let out a quiet breath and closed his eyes.
The Hollywood machine kept turning outside the bungalow walls—early calls, radio hits, endless promo—but tonight it could wait.
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