prompt: "Can you do a drabble in which Loki shows Jane for the first time looking like a Frost Giant and he's afraid of her reaction, not knowing that Jane is into alien romance novels and the one she's currently reading is about blue skinned men from an ice planet, so it turns her on when she's sees him this way. Btw yes there's a romance novel of that its by Ruby Dixon its called Ice Planet Barbarians." (vampirella)

rating: T (strong)

genre: canon divergence (post-thor: ragnarak; infinity war never happened. all the asgardians have made it safely to earth), humor, romance, jotun loki

summary: Jane Foster, brilliant astrophysicist with several degrees, has a dirty little secret—one that Loki finds very interesting.

a/n: i changed some things from your prompt, vampi. also, my version of jotun loki is based on fan art by dyana wang. we are also going to pretend that jotuns can control whether their touch can injure other species. i mean, they can make ice come out of their hands and turn it into a weapon; it stands to reason that they can choose to cause frostbite in others—or not. i hope you enjoy this bit of crack fic!

FROST REALM JOTUN

It started with a pair of shoes.

Well, if Jane really wanted to pinpoint the beginning of things, she might say it was in the gilded halls of the Realm Eternal. Or maybe she could even blame the moment a deity out of mythology fell from the sky during a freak storm in the desert. Because meeting Thor meant eventually meeting Loki, and she learned that once you were on the radar of the God of Mischief, there was no escaping him—when he finally stopped hiding under the guise of his adopted father.

Some time after defeating Malekith, Jane and Thor went their separate ways. She'd been swept up in the romance of meeting an admittedly hot demigod from another world, but when they weren't in the thick of a world-ending crisis, they discovered that they didn't have all that much in common. He was often gone with the Avengers. She was often so wrapped up in her work that she hardly noticed his absences. They were better off as friends.

A year ago, a spaceship of Asgardian refugees showed up, seeking asylum on Earth as the Realm Eternal had been obliterated. Thor led the motley crew of survivors with Loki at his side. Loki, of all people! Jane had watched him die on the obsidian hills of Svartalfheim. She even shed a tear—for Thor's sake, of course. Ultimately, it didn't matter. Jane was too busy to worry about immortals coming back from the dead.

Unfortunately, said resurrected immortal wasn't too busy to worry about her.

Off and on over the last several months, the raven-haired prince popped up out of the blue at the oddest times. In her lab, at a Harvard alumni dinner, during a really awkward blind date. (That one she hadn't minded as much.) And yes, at her apartment.

Hence the shoes.

It had been a long, fruitless day at the lab, and all Jane wanted to do was go home and fall into bed. Maybe read a passage or two from her favorite book to wind down. She trudged three flights to her floor, balancing a box full of data printouts under one arm and her satchel under the other—the strap had finally broken on the dilapidated thing—only to trip over something as soon as she stepped through her front door. Papers went flying, scattering across the entryway. When her eyes landed on the pair of large shiny Oxfords, she groaned.

Loki.

For one whole second, she entertained the idea of dragging him by an ear to the mess, demanding he help her clean it up. But last time she'd done something like that, he repaid her by changing all of her slides to cat memes when she was invited to present at the annual Astrophysics and Astronomy conference.

She heaved a sigh—hopefully loud enough to be overheard—and crammed all the printouts into the box. It was going to be hell to put them back in order, but right now she needed to get rid of her uninvited guest. She was too tired for whatever "harmless bit of fun" he had planned for the evening.

Jane found him in the living room, stretched out on his side across her second-hand couch. One long leg was bent up, arm propped on his knee. Today, he wore all black. Slacks, button-down, tie loosened at the color. An equally colorless jacket was carefully folded and draped over the back cushion. He didn't immediately notice her, instead he was riveted by whatever book he was reading, pale eyes widened with profound curiosity. The expression reminded her of when she took him to the planetarium last month. How, during the show, he looked less like the cunning semi-reformed villain and more like an earnest student. He'd peppered her with dozens of questions afterward about Midgardian astronomy.

Her cheeks flushed at the memory. Because a switch flipped inside of her that night. One minute, he was a nuisance she grudgingly tolerated—she might even call him a friend on a good day, if she was pushed hard enough—and the next, butterflies took wobbly flight in her stomach whenever he flashed his dimples at her.

Like right now.

He glanced up from his book and gave her his signature grin that was on this side of feral. She pursed her lips to keep from smiling back. She was not happy to see him, she told herself. This was Loki. The maniacal demigod who had once tried to take over her world. Who faked his heroic death and stole the throne of Asgard. Who sometimes stared at her as if there was nothing else in the universe that could intrigue him more—that he could want more.

No, stop that. This was just her sorely neglected hormones latching onto the nearest available male. Darcy was right; Jane needed to get out of the lab more.

She crossed her arms as if to ward off his troublesome charm. "What are you doing here?"

Loki nonchalantly waved his free hand. "I couldn't endure another insufferable evening of Thor recounting his exploits across the nine realms." He rolled his eyes. "I thought I might find better company here."

She snorted. Better entertainment, he meant. "I'm flattered," she said, tramping down the little thrill in her middle that declared she actually was, "but I'm not up for visitors tonight. In fact, I'm heading to bed. So, if you'd just"—she mimicked the wrist-twisting he did whenever he used magic—"that'd be great."

"Oh, but I'm already quite comfortable," he said, not moving an inch. "I think I'll stay and finish this fascinating tale." He held up the book.

No. Please no. Her heart stopped. In his hand was her well-worn copy of Ice Planet Barbarians.

Jane had a dirty little secret. It wasn't that she read the occasional romance novel. There was nothing wrong with that. It was that she really, really loved this particular love story—between a petite human woman and a seven-foot blue man with horns. She could say that her obsession with it was more about the absolute devotion the sa-khui males had for their human mates, argue that the female protagonist was surprisingly three-dimensional, but that would be a lie.

Jane had a very particular fetish. For aliens. Which might explain her whirlwind fling with Thor.

And her recent misplaced attraction to Loki.

"Where did you get that?" she asked, knowing that the book had been in her nightstand drawer among other things she'd rather he didn't see.

"You took so long to return, and I exhausted your small library of mortal academia." He said the last word with a note of derision. "This, however"—he gestured with the book—"has been terribly enlightening."

She closed her eyes as mortification set her face on fire. Where was a catastrophic event when she needed one?

"Tell me," Loki went on, "do all mortal women dream of being ravished by monsters?"

"Vektal is not a monster!" Jane snapped before she could think better of it.

"Oh? He's not?"

She clenched her jaw, ready to let Loki have it for insulting her favorite romantic hero, but the tirade withered on her tongue when she looked at him. He was sitting up now, back straight, and though his expression was carefully neutral, he stared at her with fervent interest. As though the universe itself hung in the balance awaiting her answer.

Her throat felt suddenly dry. "He's not."

The corners of Loki's mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile, but something else. Something hungry. "And you," he murmured, rising from the couch and crossing the small room toward her, "wish for an interlude with such a creature?"

Her breath hitched when her back touched the wall. "It's just fiction. It's nothing."

He raised a brow in disbelief, giving a significant glance to the book with its dog-eared pages and tattered cover before setting it on the bookshelf next to her. "That isn't what you want?"

Yes, she did. With every cell in her body, she wanted it. Not just the rabid loyalty of Vektal, but his otherness. But she'd die before making that confession to Loki. She tipped her chin up and, glowering at him, said, "Nope."

Why, oh why did her voice have to betray her by sounding so airy?

His gaze dropped, traveling languidly from her eyes to her toes and back as he wet his bottom lip. "You're certain?"

"Mm-hm." She didn't trust herself to speak, not when her heart was trying to bang its way out of her chest. Not when he was so close to her, she could grab him by his tie and—

What was happening?

He hummed with mock disappointment and took a step back. "Such a shame," he said. "Particularly when you've had a very real Frost Giant at your disposal all this time."

She frowned at him. "Frost Giant? What are you…"

The rest of her question died when he flicked a hand in the air. A wave of glittering green washed over him, taking with it his Asgardian, human-esque appearance. What was left in its wake made her lungs forget how to function. He was a bare-chested behemoth—at least a foot or two taller. And his skin was blue. With ridges etched into his flesh in intricate designs. He wore a crown with golden horns, and a kilt that reminded her of ancient Egyptian gods.

Was he trying to bring her fantasy to life as another prank? But his eyes were all wrong, a brilliant red instead of a glowing, pupil-less cerulean. Why would he change that important detail? In answer, a vague memory climbed out of the cobwebbed corner of her mind. Thor had told her once that his brother was adopted, that Loki had been born on Jotunheim as the son of the…Frost Giant king.

Oh.

This was what he really looked like?

Unable to stop herself, she stepped forward, brushing her fingers over the lines in his muscled abdomen. His skin wasn't like suede—not like the imaginary sa-khui. It was supple, though, like well-cared for leather. And cool to the touch instead of hot. He didn't have a tail, either. But all these differences were completely negligible according to the warmth building in her middle.

He was—dammit, he was breathtaking.

A low rumble in his chest startled her, and she yanked her hands back, glancing up at him. "Did you just…purr?"

Loki bore his teeth in a broad grin. "There are a few qualities I share with your beloved barbarian." His voice. It was deeper and more resonant with a bare scratch of sandpaper. He retreated when she reached for him again. "Pity that you have absolutely no desire for any of this."

"None at all," she absently agreed as she tried to close the distance between them. Just one more touch. For the sake of science. She was absolutely not behaving like a toddler with grabby hands. (Gimme. Gimme. Gimme.)

What was wrong with her?

Keeping rudely out of range of her questing fingers, he let out an exaggerated sigh. "I suppose I should be going then."

"No!" Jane's eyes went wide at her involuntary outburst. "I mean…you don't have to." Her entire body was on fire now—from embarrassment and nothing else. Totally. One hundred percent.

Mirth left his crimson gaze, replaced by something wild. Something ravenous. He was on her without warning, picking her up as if she weighed nothing and setting her on one of her bookshelves so she was closer to eye-level with him. The wood groaned when he planted his large hands on either side of her thighs. Her middle came alive with feverish anticipation.

He was practically nose-to-nose with her. Gah, he even smelled delicious. Like an exotic spice sprinkled over winter. "Say it."

She pressed her lips firmly closed and shook her head. She owed it to Morning Jane to resist temptation with every last rational brain cell she had left. There were disturbingly very few.

"Say you want this," he murmured, and did she hear the tiniest hint of insecurity in his tone? Did he mean "this" as in "the real me"—as if no one had ever wanted that before?

And there went another dozen brain cells, lost to a pang of compassion in her chest. She started making silent apologies to Morning Jane. At this rate, she wasn't going to last long, especially when his long fingers grazed against her hips.

"As for me," he said with an impish grin, "I'm infinitely curious about Midgardian anatomy, particularly that third—"

"Don't!" she hissed, heat flooding over her face. (Flooding other places too.) "I swear, if you say one more word—"

He swallowed her threat with his mouth over hers and yep. That was it. Every last brain cell happily gave up the ghost in favor of letting her live out her secret fantasy. She ran her hands over his wide shoulders, down his chest, tracing the raised lines in his skin. He rumbled in response, and she grinned against his lips as he carried her to her bedroom.

Morning Jane didn't get a chance to regret anything later. Loki was too good at keeping her distracted—indefinitely.

It started with a pair of shoes.

Well, if Jane was being honest, she might say that it started with a book.

~FIN~

a/n: thank you so much for reading!