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jannavaire · 4 days

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Casting couch scenario with him

Or special massage after a hard day by him?

I went with my Thunder thot.

Not All That Glitters

Warnings: implied noncon, coercion, blacklistic, manipulation, power imbalance. This is a dark fic and you are responsible for your own consumption. 18+ only. Proceed with caution.

Character: celebrity!Thor

Summary: A chance encounter with Hollywood's number one leading man leads to an offer you can't refuse.

Please leave some comments and a reblog. It keeps me motivated and I love any constructive feedback, screaming, keyboard smashes, etc. that you have to offer.

Enjoy!

You smile as a flash leaves a glaring ring in your vision. You resist the urge to shield your face from another shutter, moving carefully before the backdrop. You leave the clusters of photogs and walk the line of reporters and bobbing mics, calling for an interview or a snapshot.

Your name isn't among the rabble. You're a newcomer, fresh off a mid tier credited roll. Something that has your name fluttering through audition rooms but unlisted in the magazine. You'll be lucky to be featured on the up-and-coming rosters of aspiring actors.

As you wave politely, you're drawn in by a journalist with a big red mic, "hey, hey! Do you have a moment?"

"Um," you nod and step closer to the metal rail keeping the press at bay, "sure."

"You're in Caliber, right?" She asks, "new star, any other upcoming projects?"

You're slightly thrown off by the suddenness of it all but Hollywood never moves slow.

"Uh, yes, actually, I'm currently set to support in an adaptation of–"

"Oh! Oh!" The reporter nearly hits you with the microphone as you dodge her and shield your mouth. You realise you were only a placeholder for a desperate paparazzo, "Thor! Thor!"

You peek over as the tall blond strides casually, stopping to pose in his black tux, smiling at the lens brightly. So suave and cool, a veteran of the stomping ground you're trying to tiptoe onto. A-list, well beyond your directory.

You turn back and smile at the camera before it pans away. You hope that doesn't make the cut. Absolutely embarrassing.

You're jostled in the tight squeeze if interviewees as the reporter squeals louder and waves excitedly. As you sidle away, a warm hand catches your lower back. You stop short and look up, fighting to keep an unaffected veneer.

"Pardon," the statuesque blond rumbles in his deep voice, "I'll try not to get your toes."

You bat your lashes up at Thor Odinson, the star of every red carpet and every blockbuster.

"Excuse me, sorry," you murmur, "I was just–"

"Miss, can you move? You're in his way," the cameraman snaps.

"Oi," Thor utters and keeps his hand against you as he faces the reporter, "I was just coming to see my friend. Brilliant actress if I do say so myself."

You blink and hide before you muster a semblance of cool to look over, "uh, yeah, hi!"

You give a pathetic little wave up at him. He winks and leans in to peck your cheek, "play along."

You keep your smile plastered on and turn to the camera. Thor stays close, looming over you. Somehow, he's even bigger than on the screen.

"You… are you working together?" The woman asks as he raises the mic to him.

"Ah, well, we can't tell all our secrets," he teases, "but I am very excited for the future."

"Can't you give us something?" She preens.

"Sorry, we've got to go," he nudges you, "come on, sweetheart."

You move, too shocked to argue with him. That's one way to get attention. He urges you along, taking you away from the barriers.

"Ugh, right arses," he mutters as he smooths his jacket, "pardon me, but I hate how they treat us like circus animals."

"Us?" You whisper, thankfully unheard.

"I hope you didn't mind," he seems to recall himself and pivots to the flashing photogs, "smile, sweetheart, don't want them gossiping?"

He bends his arm behind you, posing as you raise your chin and do the same. Your disbelief keeps you quiet as you let him guide you along.

"Stick with me. One day, you'll be desperate to be away from it all."

"One day? That's optimistic," you reply as you walk with him behind the gabbing celebrities and their interviewers.

"Oh, I know a star when I see one," he follows you along, "and I know a few tricks."

⭐

After your brush with the towering heights of Hollywood, you take your seat with the rest of the extras among the array of sparkling stars. Your table is well out of the shot of the cameras, only caught in the background of the front runners. You don’t mind, the free champagne makes up for the overpriced gown bartered for a name drop of the designer.

You know several of the actors sat with you. They are on a similar level, dependable if not forgettable. You are the lot of ‘those ones’, those faces people swear they’ve seen before but can’t recall where.

Your adrenaline is still amped high and further stoked by the alcohol. You’re not nominated in name, only as part of the ensemble for the film. Still, the reviews were positive enough that you might just get to peek out over the shoulder of the director.

The pandering rolls on. You plaster on a smile for appearances but the presenters are predictable, the poorly landing jokes cringeworthy, and the winners expected. You swallow a yawn as an orchestra takes stage to perform a medley of songs nominated for score of the year. You hide behind your glass, trying not to betray your disillusion as many of the guests show a similar unrest.

“Eh,” you nearly spill on yourself as a hand rests on the back of your chair and you look up at the figure who is suddenly hunched close, “there you are.”

You blink at Thor and glance around the table. Malorie, stage name, Loren, shares a curious look before you face the blond star. Your smile grows effortless as you do.

“Hi,” you greet nervously.

“I didn’t want to lose you in the mix,” he keeps his voice quiet, beneath the sonorous strings, “you’ve a card? Number for your manager?”

You take a breath, stunned. He’s just humouring you. Hollywood is all appearances and he no doubt wants to maintain his veneer as the affable leading man. You play along.

“Oh, sure,” you reach for your clutch. You always carry a card around, it’s part of the job. You’ve gotten some of better roles shoving them in hands, “and thank you, for earlier. I’m still so embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? For what?” He says as he watches you, the heat gathering in your cheeks. It’s just the champagne, you need to slow down.

“Just… you know how ridiculous those interviewers can be,” you shrug and fish out a card, flicking it out between two manicured fingers, “here.”

He nearly covers your whole hand with his own, his other still firmly planted on the back of your chair. He takes it slowly, a lingering touch along your fingers as he looks down to read the type. His cheek dimples as his thumb grazes the raised font.

“You’ll get a call,” he promises, “I should be back to my table before I’m caught out.”

He leans in and to your surprise, pecks your cheek. You struggle not to recoil and give a tiny giggle instead. He gives a soft squeeze to your shoulder before he steps away. You watch him go, turning back slowly to the stable, stunned and stiff.

You clasp your clutch shut and leave it in your lap. You reach for your glass as Malorie leans over, “so how exactly do you know Mr. Ken Doll?”

“We ran into each other on the carpet,” you scoff, “he’s just being polite.”

“Honey,” she speaks behind her hand, “do you know what a PR stunt could do for you? Especially with that man?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You think he’s gonna call you to be his co-star, mm mm. No, sweetie, he’s on the rebound and he needs a humble little lover to bring him down to earth. You know the game. Same as me.”

“No, it’s nothing… he’s not going to call, either way. I’m not stupid. Like you said, I know the game.”

“That isn’t a courtesy,” she nods to him and you peer across to his table. He watches you, sending a wink in your direction, “that’s groundwork.”

You take a drink and look down at the table cloth. You pull your shoulders up dismissively, “whatever, you’re just mad I got that audition over you.”

“Pfft, save me the trouble of squeezing into a corset,” she waves her hand at you, “don’t whine to me when your tits feel like pancakes.”

⭐

“You got an audition,” your manager, Josie, chews into the speaker. You hold it away from your ear as her gum snaps noisily, “big one.”

“Oh?” You wonder as you go over a script, “when–”

“You’re going to have to drop out of that period piece if you get it,” she interjects, “and shouldn’t be an issue. Bigger check with this one.”

She’s always blunt, always to the point, but she’s better than your last agent. The one who emptied your bank account and disappeared. Lessons learned.

“Right, well, we’ll see. I might be able to work both.”

“I’m telling you, sweetheart, this is the real deal. Thor Odinson’s directorial debut. Starring and directing. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. For most people, it’s none in a lifetime.”

“Oh, wow, Thor? He called–”

“His agent did, legal team too. They’re very hush hush about this project so you’re gonna have to keep it zipped.”

“Okay, got it,” you say, “sounds… like a lot.”

“It’s what you’ve been waiting for, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just… I didn’t think he’d call.”

“Have you even had a look at your phone today?”

“What do you mean?” You toss the script on the table and stand.

“I know you hate reading the damn things, but the tabloids are going crazy about that kiss. I’ve been working overtime tryna get these damn vultures off my back. We gotta figure out how to work this.”

“Work what?”

“Leave it to me,” she chirps, “I’ll text you the time and the place for your audition. Remember, keep it quiet. Wear a hoodie or something.”

“Al–”

The line clicks before you can finish. You sigh and swipe away the ended call. She never says goodbye. You’re used to it. You press your thumb down and open the front page, pacing as you scroll down to Entertainment. ‘Winners and Losers…’ ‘Best Dressed’, the typical articles that follow a ceremony.

You stop before you can scroll past the small thumbnail. You squint and read the hyperlink, ‘Odinson moving on?’ You chew your lip and open the page. At the top, a picture of you and Thor on the carpet, one posed, the other with his shoulder to the camera as he speaks to you. A rather intimate scene.

You skim the article, your name pops up, a list of your less insignificant roles, and some leading questions to pad it out. A video ends the article and you frown. The candid moment that Thor pecked your cheek looks much more provocative from another angle.

Your phone buzzes and the message pops up in a bubble across the top. Malorie’s triumphant, ‘told ya so’ is quickly flicked away.

Well, as awkward as it is, this is your chance. Maybe your only to claim your spot among the stars or fade back to the obscurity of the endless Hollywood void.

⭐

You’re surprised to find the address listed is residential. You’re used to hotels or random studios. Nothing so fancy as the gated mansion in the hills. You steer your old beater up and hit the button on the speaker box, waiting for a response as you check your bag. The script arrived the day before, allowing little time for your preparation.

“Name?” The response comes, curt.

You give your name and your purpose but the microphone seems to cut before you finish. A loud buzz signals your admittance and the gate retracts to let you through. You lean on the pedal and continue up the sprawling drive.

You pull in behind a Benz and kill the engine. The contrast of the vehicles remind you how far out of your league you are. You get out of the car, gathering yourself and putting on that well-refined mask. Be calm, be cool, and just do what you know how to do. Act.

You go up to the front doors but resist the urge to lift the large brass knocker. It seems more ornamental than practical. You find the doorbell cam and hit the button, swaying impatiently.

A tall blond woman answers the door. Regal and unlike any maid you’ve ever seen. Her long peridot dress suggests anything but. In fact, you think you know her, at least by sight.

“Oh, you must be…” she chimes as she pulls you in by your hand, your other grasps your bag tightly, “we are so excited to have you here! Thor can’t wait to get started.”

“Ah, okay, thank you,” you say as she lets you go and sweeps around to shut the door.

“My, my, I’m sorry,” she checks her waved hair in a nearby mirror, “Frigga Vanir. Thor’s mother.”

“Frigga,” you’re breathless, “you’re his mother? You’re… you’re…”

“Oh, my day is well behind me,” she tuts, “but I’m flattered.”

“I… had no idea.”

“We try not to let it get out,” she puts a long finger to her lips, “we wouldn’t want any unkind assumptions about the family, yes?”

“I wouldn’t– won’t say anything,” you promise, “um, I think I’m confused. Is this… an audition or–”

“Of course! Thor just hates the whole pretense of studios, such a headache. Besides, this place is so big, we may as well get some use of it.”

“Makes sense,” you accept with a nod.

“This way,” she directs you up the left arm of the double staircase, “oh, dear, you must be so anxious. I do forget how it used to be. But you don’t need to worry. Thor showed me your last picture, what was it? Caliber? I loved it, dear, you are very talented.”

“That means a lot, especially from you,” you say as you follow her, hiking your bag up to your shoulder.

“After you’ve gone through the whole… process, we’re going to do a nice little dinner. You’re more than welcome to join.”

“Thank you, that’s so nice.”

“Don’t be so nervous,” she turns to you as she stops before a door, “you will do just fine. He’s already very fond of you, oh and you are so effortlessly endearing.” She touches your shoulder, “and I do prefer you to the one who came yesterday. She was… loud.”

“Thank you,” you smile as she reaches for the door handle, “um, before… before I go, can I just tell you that you were amazing in Eden. It’s one of my favourites.”

“You do not have to pander to me, dear,” she chuckles lightly.

“I’m not. I–” you clear your throat as you recall the monologue you learned in high school, “‘If we go any further, we cannot go back but—’” You look around, as if there is someone watching, “‘if we go no further, we will be lost forever.’”

She gives a slanted grin, “oh, you’re not lying.”

“I was a very obsessed teenager,” you laugh at yourself, “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, go on,” he pushes down the petal shaped lever, “he’s waiting.”

You nod and turn as she waits for you to enter. You slip through and the door shuts behind you. It’s not what you expected. Any of it. The room is dimly lit, an artificial fireplace licking along one wall, as Thor sits on a chaise with his phone in hand. On the table next to him is a script and a legal pad.

“Er,” you begin nervously, “I’m here.”

You cringe at your own stupid declaration as his head pops up. He brightens and stands to greet you, “oh, you are. I did fear you might not come. Please, ignore any redundant messages I just sent.”

“Oh, uh, that’s fine, I’m sorry, I thought–”

“You’re one time, early,” he says as he approaches and offers his hand, “always a good impression.”

He bends and kisses your forehead before you can react. You say nothing. It’s not the worst you’ve encountered. Too many directors like to physically guide you around a set and they tend to have wandering hands.

“So, you read the script?” He asks as he retreats and sits again. He puts his phone aside and takes the script from the square table.

“I devoured it. It’s so interesting.”

“I can only take so much credit. My brother is a gifted writer,” he flips through the pages, “and you got my notes for the scene we’ll go over?”

“Yes, I think,” you put your bag down, “I think I got it.”

“I don’t mind if you read,” he says, “short notice and all.”

“No, no, I’m awful with a script in hand,” you give an awkward flutter of your fingers, “I’m ready.”

“Alright, so I’ll be Erikkson and you are Alva,” he sets the context, “remember that this is set during a snowstorm…”

You listen diligently as he lays it out. He’s sauve, a professional. The way he goes through it so naturally. You do wonder about the producers, there’s usually one around for auditions, or at least a casting director. You peek around, trying to find a lens, it’s at least standard to record.

You don’t question it. You don’t want to ruin this. You can’t just throw this away after years of scrimping and scraping for parts. You might finally be able to give up the server gig.

“We’re lost,” Thor begins the scene and looks at you, your cue.

“You’re lost,” you argue, “and stubborn.”

You go through the lines. They flow easily despite the late night cramming them into your brain. You follow your instinct, imagine the set around you, a whole swirl of snow gusting and guiding you. You don’t think, just go.

You finish the scene as Thor signals with a clap. His script is beside him. You only feel his gaze then, realise how intently he’s watching you.

“I like it. You’re… subtle. Natural. Exactly what we need.”

“I’m sure you have others to see still,” you say, “before you can make a decision.”

“My mind is made up, I want you,” he says.

“Really?” You can’t help but beam.

“Yes,” he beckons you over, “come here.”

“Um,” your lip twitches but you near him, “what’s up?”

“Well, there’s one more thing we should try, just before I call my casting director,” he pats the seat next to him.

“Okay…” you sit, nervously rubbing your palms together.

“You read the entire script?”

“Yep,” you answer.

“So you know… we– Erikkson and Alva, they kiss.”

You poke your tongue into your cheek, “uh, yeah, but that’s… standard.”

“Still, chemistry is everything,” he angles towards you, “I want to be sure you’re the one.”

“Well, wouldn’t that be better…” your voice trails off and you correct yourself, “yeah, I suppose.”

“It’s all business,” he assures, “if we don’t mesh, it could ruin the whole thing. Trust me, I’ve had some real dead fish.”

You try not to show your discomfort at his last comment. Dead fish? Is that how he sees actresses or women in general?

“Alright,” you shift, “I…”

He touches your cheek and leans in slowly. You tilt your head back and meet his lips as they descend. His beard tickles you as your mouths join and he slides his tongue out. You let him in, wanting to just get it done with and show him you can do anything he needs.

He hums and his hand slips around the back of your head, holding you against him. He smothers you hotly and you find it hard to breathe. You press against his chest, it’s enough to prove yourself. More than. He doesn’t budge.

He pushes you down against the couch, your legs crushed sideways under him as he follows you down. You babble into his mouth and clutch the fabric of his shirt. You bite down on his tongue and he parts at last with a hiss.

“Get off,” you shove him but he remains unmoved, “Thor, what– I think we got it.”

You try to sit up and force him off you but he keeps you trapped under him. He cradles your head, his thumb brushing your cheekbone, “you know how big this could be for you?”

You’re taken aback. His timbre grinds in his throat, different than before. His aura is suddenly dark and smoky around you. His eyes are dilated and endless. You shudder as you press your fingertips into his chest.

“I know but… I don’t want it. Get off.”

His eyes close and he remains as he is. His lip twitches and his jaw ticks. His breath scours you as he lets it out through his nose, your arms trembling beneath his weight.

“Do you know what happens when you say no?”

You gulp and bat your lashes as your eyes burn, “Thor, please, I can’t do this–”

“No, you don’t. Because the ones who say no aren’t heard from. Not in Hollywood. You say no right now and you say no to every director and producer in Hollywood. Hell, I could get you barred all the way to Broadway–”

“Thor, you don’t have to give me the part, alright? I just can’t–”

“You do it or you don’t work again. Not outside that bistro paying you pennies.”

Ice flows through your veins as his heat enwraps you, consuming you in fiery horror. You stare at him, speechless. It’s all you ever wanted but is it worth the cost?

“You’re so beautiful,” he purrs as he caresses your cheek, “I didn’t want it to be like this.”

“I’m just…” your mouth is dry, your tongue clumsy. You feel your stomach pit and swallow up your soul; a fair price for a dream you can’t let go, “surprised. I wasn’t prepared–”

“Baby, I’ll be good to you,” he grazes over your hair and cradles your head, “you just gotta let me…” his lips brush yours softly, “I’m gonna make you a star.”

#like all of this is just a yes for me.#all of it is toxic for sure..but! Thor!...#fic rec #dark!fic #dark!thor x reader

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