iamartemisday said: Okay, so Loki disguises himself as Thor to get Jane into bed with him, except Jane figures out right away that it's not really Thor (maybe Loki says something Jane knows Thor would never say), but she goes along with it anyway because it's not like she's ever going to get the real Thor in bed like this since he never sticks around long enough, so why the fuck not? And Loki might actually know that she knows but it's kind of ambiguous and the whole this is a big fucked up mess and they love it.
startraveller776: #43 Diary (Smut Prompt) from Lokane Fanfic Prompts. (Jane is happily married to Thor, the most wonderful man she's ever met in her life. Despite this- and the near idyllic life they share- she finds herself constantly daydreaming about Thor's black sheep younger brother, Loki. Day after day, she imagines what it would be like to be with him, until it comes to invade her actual dreams. She wakes up sweaty and aroused almost every night after that. She can't even have sex with Thor anymore without picturing Loki. Ashamed of herself, Jane finds a seemingly perfect way to release her illicit desires without anyone getting hurt: she writes them all down in a journal. Page after page is filled with detailed descriptions of all the devious things she wishes Loki would do to her (and vice versa). It proves a helpful method of coping, and Jane figures she can go on like this forever by burning each journal as she finishes it and then starting a new one. She's getting ready to do just that when she walks into her and Thor's bedroom to find Loki flipping through her journal, reading all the steamy scenarios she's come up with for the two of them. He is amazed at how dirty her mind is. He also wants to try out a few of these fantasies of hers. And much as she tries, Jane is powerless to resist him.
flameysaur said: They need each other. They want each other. They hate each other. They will never, ever, love each other.
Wherein Audrey asked for filthy Lokane prompts and got them. (PWP. NC-17. Trigger warning: basically everything.)
I dedicate this violent psychologically and physically abusive dubcon fuckfest to my friendship with halfpennytumbles. (Which features none of those things, for the record.) Also, people who watch The Grand will notice that there's inspiration from what is possibly the hottest scene ever recorded on television. Did I mention you should watch that show? Because you should watch that show.
Apparently, one cannot carry a pre-creation singularity in one's bloodstream for the better part of a week without some side effects. Jane kind of wishes she'd chosen biology as her secondary or tertiary degree (particle physics and quantum mechanics, respectively)… or was friends with an M.D…. or had friends at all, really. Then she'd have someone to ask about whether she's hallucinating.
Because Loki, who is supposed to be ash on Svaltheim, is following her.
At least, Jane's pretty sure he is.
The first time she saw him was during Thor's third visit to London. (She stays here for now, sorting residual readings from the Convergence; so much data, so little time.) He (Thor, that is) doesn't stop in as much as Jane imagined he would, but it's still a lot better than every few years, and world-saving is a never-ending struggle. (Besides, he sees time a lot differently. Three weeks might as well be three hours to a god.) That time, after they did — well, what they do when he visits, and what they do is very good — Jane took Thor to a fish-and-chips pub, because why not?
And, amidst the goggling Londoners, seated by the back wall, armored and everything, was a very not-dead Loki.
At least, Jane thought so. But before she could say a word he was gone, and maybe it was just someone who looked like him, after all, and she'd already had two beers. So she blinked a few times, had another drink, and tried to put the strange moment out of her mind. She definitely wasn't going to mention it to Thor, not after everything; he'd been through enough.
But she sees him again during Thor's next visit, on a eighth-story balcony of the building opposite her flat. And the visit after that he's on the other end of the subway car, staring at them, totally unnoticed by anyone else.
That time, she finally asked Thor if he noticed anyone on the bench five rows back. Thor had said only an elderly man reading a book, and Jane, with some misgivings, called it a trick of the light and declined to elaborate.
(She might just be losing her mind, after all. The aether had done… strange… things. For instance, she swears she can see the radiation waves from her microwave through three walls; now she just uses the stove.)
Then he starts turning up when Thor's not around. On the bus (he seems to like public transit); at the library, idly perusing the history section; in the garage where the first holes in space appeared and her meters still spew more information than she knows what to do with (almost). He never says anything. He just kind of watches. Smiles from time to time. That's all. And if he notices that she notices him, he certainly doesn't act like it.
Once (the time in the coffee shop) she looks straight at him for three straight minutes and, though his brow knits in a slightly puzzled expression, he doesn't otherwise react.
Which is a point towards the whole hallucination thing.
Jane doesn't say anything to him. It's not a good sign when you start talking to figments of your imagination.
Besides, he's dead. She watched him die.
She figures it out after almost three months of this, on the day he's following her down the street — twenty feet back, keeping pace whether she's walking briskly or window-shopping — and they pass a construction site.
He gets cat-called.
Later, after he's gone (he just vanished when she turned a corner eight blocks down), she returns to fish for information under the guise of giving a lecture to the workers about harassment; their response (cleaned and paraphrased) is that any woman with endowments such as those should expect to be the regular recipient of vocalized appreciation.
It's then that Jane gets it. It is Loki, he's disguising himself as different people, and it's fooling everyone except her. And he doesn't seem realize it.
She tries to think about how she's going to present this to Thor next time he comes by — Your psychotic adopted brother is alive and stalking me, surprise! — and in the meantime dedicates herself to ignoring Loki's presence as best she can. He hasn't done anything yet. He hasn't even come close to her. He has no idea she knows he's there.
No reason to panic.
She starts having dreams.
She's prepared to blame Loki for this one, too; maybe he's sneaking into her mind the way he's sneaking around London. Or it might be Thor's fault, for reacquainting her with sex (okay, so it had been awhile) but not coming by often enough to keep her newly revitalized urges satisfied. Jane's never been all that great about taking personal responsibility (as many people have told her many times) and this is no exception. The erotic fantasies that have her waking up and fumbling for her vibrator at three in the morning are not her fault.
Because she wouldn't be thinking this way on her own. She went without for the better part of four years before Thor brought her to Asgard, showed her his palace chambers, and proceeded to earn her forgiveness for never returning to New Mexico. She's not some kind of, of…
And she's never had a thing for bad boys. Never.
(Although 'bad boy' doesn't even begin to describe Loki. That's a term better reserved for a rebel without a cause, not a mass-murdering megalomaniac. It would be healthier to have wet dreams about Hannibal Lecter.)
But her subconscious keeps betraying her. If she sees him that day, she dreams of him that night. It usually takes place wherever they crossed paths, and it's invariably filthy, involving desires she's never realized she had.
(His fault. Or Thor's. Maybe the aether's. Not hers.)
Because her base default it to track data — it's always to track data — she starts keeping a journal in her bedside drawer. 4/12/14: Oral sex (male receiving); Picadilly Circus; ignored by public. 4/15/14: Restroom in Puccino's; vaginal intercourse; orgasm denial. 4/17/14: Highgate Cemetary; oral sex (female receiving) followed by anal intercourse; moderate asphyxiation with necklace. Bare facts, nothing else. Not until she's achieved proper documentation does she allow herself to reach for the vibrator.
It makes her angry.
Jane stays out very late the night it happens. It's been four weeks since she last saw Thor and had an orgasm that wasn't fueled by increasingly disturbing fantasies about his brother. Part of her wants to go 'on the pull', as it's called here, but being frustrated and irritable and increasingly chafed by life doesn't make her love Thor any less; besides, she's never known how to pick up guys anyway. (She could call Richard. She even turns over her phone a few times, and wonders what it would have been like if their date hadn't been interrupted, if she'd just ordered the sea bass; he was cute, and smart, and they probably could have done all right if Jane's world hadn't involved so many gods.) So she has a few drinks, takes a very long walk in the misty night air, and comes home at an hour that should have bothered her more than it did.
Loki's stretched out on her bed.
Worse, he's sitting up against the headboard, ankles elegantly crossed, thumbing through her journal.
When Jane drops her purse in shock — because she drops her purse in shock — he looks up and smiles. It's a strange smile, one that doesn't suit him at all. "Did I frighten you?" he says. "I apologize."
She just blinks.
He hasn't spoken directly to her since they met on Asgard. His attempted introduction was cut off by a punch to the face; after that everything he had to say about her was deliberately directed to Thor. So Jane doesn't even have a remembered conversational rhythm to rely on. She doesn't know what to do.
"You could have told me of these desires, my love." Loki sets the journal back in the open drawer — oh, God, he's seen her vibrator — and slides it shut with a delicate click. "You can tell me anything."
Jane continues to mouth wordlessly, and Loki looks curiously hurt by her silence. Tonight there's no armor, just simple cloth and a layered overcoat; his hair falls over the collar of his shirt to brush his shoulders, and the green and the black and the white skin of his sharp face don't make any sense with his earnest, injured expression. "Did you not trust me?" The bed squeaks as he gets to his feet. "You need never fear my judgement or doubt. I swear it on Mjolnir."
Mjolnir.
Oh.
Oh.
"That… that journal was hidden for a reason, Thor," Jane finally says, slow and careful and cautious. She slips out of her shoes; it will be easier to run that way. "You shouldn't read my private things."
Loki — apparently satisfied that she is fooled by his illusion — nods. "I give you my word," he promises, "that you will be glad I did."
He steps forward and kisses her.
The act is such a pale imitation of his brother that it crosses the line into mockery. His lips aren't soft, they're weak; his hands aren't gentle, they're feeble. Jane is so appalled by what he's trying to do — he thinks he can fuck her while wearing someone else's face — that she doesn't even respond. Her mouth stays shut and her hands fist at her sides.
It doesn't take more than a minute before Loki notices she's not with him. He pulls away and frowns at her in a caricature of concern. "Is something wrong?"
She should scream. She should run. He is, for all intents and purposes, planning to rape her by deception; the rational reaction is to do whatever she can to stop him—
—but she is just. So. Furious.
"It's nothing," Jane says, lowering her eyes. She glances very deliberately at the closed drawer where her journal sits. "I only… thought you would be better at this, is all."
Her arrow hits.
Loki's expressions hardens. "So be it," he snarls — then grabs her by the neck, lifting her to her tiptoes. He holds her there for a moment, until she starts to feel the shallowness of her own breath and begins to struggle, before throwing her back onto the mattress. The ancient springs squeak as she bounces.
Either her rage is fueling her arousal or her arousal is fueling her rage; it doesn't matter. She is enraged and aroused and she can already feel the bruises forming on her throat. Jane touches them with her fingertips as Loki strips in front of her.
"I have read your little book cover to cover, Jane." His coat comes off, then his vest. "You dream of being forced into submission." His shirt. His boots. "If that is what you desire, I am more than willing to acommidate." His pants. His underthings. He's so hard Jane's surprised he can even stand. "Pick a scenario, my love. Any one of them. There will be no regrets."
Jane smiles.
Loki may have read her journal cover to cover… but he missed the point, because she only ever wrote the bare facts.
He doesn't know that in these dreams — dreams of him, not of Thor — he overpowers her, but she still wins.
And that's what makes her decide to go ahead. She touched real power, once — held it inside, made it a part of her — and she wants to feel that again. Or something close. This is close.
"I don't know, Thor," she says. She tries to look at Loki like she's seen his body a dozen times before, tamping down on the desire to explore the new territory with her eyes and hands and tongue. "Are you sure you want to? You seem a little—" here Jane pauses judiciously "—off. Like it might be too much for you."
Loki looks as though he might kill her, and oh, wow, does that feel good. This is what comes of wearing a mask, asshole, she thinks spitefully as he climbs on top of her and starts to tear at her clothes. He hooks a hand into the collar of her blouse and it comes off in pieces — an expensive loss, but worth it. Jane's honestly not sure if he's play-acting.
"You've always thought it was too much, haven't you." The words are spoken into her shoulder, where his sharp teeth make her recoil in protest even as she arches with pleasure. "That's why you've never shared these proclivities of yours. You think the God of Thunder can't satisfy you." Her jeans don't come off so easily, making him curse. "Tonight will be different, Jane, and you'll not soon forget it. I'll take you like the little Midgardian whore we both know you are."
At the word whore she hits him. Just like she did on Asgard.
It's every bit as satisfying.
They stare at each other for a long moment… until Loki grins in a way that probably looks completely wrong on Thor's face.
His returning slap is open-handed, and not as hard as Jane is sure it could have been, but the crack of it still echoes through the room and sends a blaze of hot pain across her cheek.
He had done that in one of her dreams, too.
The same hand that struck her finds its way to her chest, twisting roughly through her bra. Jane can't stop herself from whimpering. It encourages him to pinch harder. "Giving in so easily, are you?" he says, a gleaming manic edge to his gaze and words. "Based on your scribbles, I'd expected more of a fight."
She rakes her nails down his back and he hisses. "I'd fight," she taunts, "if you were at all intimidating."
"You're not intimidated because you think you know me."
"No. You're just not that impressive right now — not like you usually are. Can't imagine why."
Another barb that strikes home. Jane finds herself on her stomach without ever leaving his arms; her jeans come off a little more easily this way, and the hooks at the back of her bra give a moment later. "I am a god, mortal," he growls, and in spite of all the mockery she's throwing his way his erection is still hard and heavy against her backside. A firm hand on her shoulder blade forces her flush with the bed. "There are limits to the amount of disrespect I will tolerate."
Jane's never been angrier or more turned on in her life. "You don't scare me," she retorts recklessly. "You think some big mystical toy makes you a man, but it doesn't." So what if he used the tesseract for a little while? From all she's heard he barely even touched the cube, while she held the aether inside her. Jane knows what real power is now, and Loki's not it. "Bluster all you want; I won't buy it. I'm stronger than you."
Loki's hands are everywhere, grabbing and groping and kneading with unabashed greed. One knee forces her thighs apart, and three fingers curl into her without any preparation or warning. She's so wet that they slide effortlessly. "You do like this little game, don't you," he murmurs, a strange wonder to his voice. "What a sordid creature you are."
She can only moan.
"More?" he replies innocently and with deliberate misunderstanding. "As you wish." The next noise Jane makes is a squeak of shock as he twists his hand to push his thumb into her ass; she stiffens with discomfort, a sensation that fades almost immediately as he uses his hand to work her from both entrances at once. "Which way should I take you, Jane? Have you a preference? Not that it would matter; I'll do as I like regardless."
At this point he could fuck her any way he wanted and Jane is pretty sure she'd come like a rocket. But she's not so overwhelmed by sensation — oh, God, the pressure is incredible like this — that she's lost all her bite. "The usual way," she says, not elaborating, forcing the kind of sigh unique to a dissatisfied woman. "We may as well, if this is the best you can do. I can tell you're not really into it, Thor."
He releases her at that, leaving behind a horrible empty ache that's more painful than the slap. "Your cunt, then," he says, positioning himself between her legs and pressing her into the mattress with his weight. "I've been very curious what my brother seems to find so fascinating about it."
Jane freezes.
Loki takes the opportunity to shove himself in to the hilt. She grunts at the force of it; he groans with satisfaction. He wastes no time, either, and Jane's being driven hard into the bed, the old springs digging into her stomach with each thrust. All she can do is hang on.
And it feels so good.
"Say my name, Jane Foster." He's not bothering to give her room, too busy clutching her arms or wrists or grabbing handfuls of hair to worry about whether she's getting crushed. "My real name."
"Loki."
Amazingly, he gets harder inside her. Narcissist. "Yes," he confirms. "Yes. Good. Again."
But she doesn't indulge him a second time; the first was really a question. "You knew I could see you?"
"I realized weeks ago. How do you manage it? It's vital that I know." He nips the shell of her ear, which feels so good that she bucks her hips back into his, meeting his next thrust. It draws a strangely vulnerable noise from his throat.
"You knew and pretended to be Thor anyway. That's disgusting."
"No, you pretended." Loki plants one hand next to her head and wraps his other arm around her waist, hauling her up until each thrust is so deep it feels like a bruise. "Does my brother realize what a depraved, deviant, unfaithful woman he chose in place of his throne?"
She should feel guiltier than she does, but it's still a game without being a game, and she severed her morals from this encounter the moment it began. "No, he doesn't," she says. She wrenches her head around enough to look over her shoulder, look him in the eyes. "Do you think you can make it worth my while to betray him? Because I'm really not sure."
Loki bares his teeth, and Jane can see just how much he hates her. "I will teach you respect," he growls, smacking her side hard enough to make her yelp.
"No." That one really hurt, and the signs of his fraying temper are what bind hers into place. This is power. "You won't."
It only makes him grip her tighter.
Aren't they just the pair.
She keeps expecting him to pull her onto her knees for maximum leverage; instead he sandwiches her between his chest and the bed, taking more and more of her air as he moves faster and faster. The wet noises their bodies make are obscene."You like it," she tells him, making her words as derisive as possible. "You like that I think you're pathetic."
"Wretched little mortal."
"A mortal you've stalked for months."
"Because you're an oddity." He's putting his back into it now; the headboard slams against the wall with the violence of each thrust, and Jane has to fist her hands into the sheets just to hold on. She's not going to be able to walk tomorrow. "When I figure out why you can see me, you'll have no further value." She feels his breath hot and rapid against the crook of her neck. "Do you know what I do to things of no value, Jane?"
She can guess. "Fuck you."
"You are. And you will again. You will as many times as I see fit, in as many ways as I see fit—" his breath hitches as he shoves a hand beneath them to rub roughly between her legs "—there are so many choices in that little journal of yours, Jane Foster, and I will break you, I will ruin you—" But he can't keep berating her because she reaches around to scratch her nails across his face and his words degenerate into formless moans as he bites at her fingers, still trying to get closer, always trying to get closer, two beings who've been twisted by singularities until what's left behind is warped and ionized and drawn together like magnets—
Panting with pleasure, she manages to lie: "I won't even remember this."
Loki's whole body bows over hers as he comes, and the ragged movements together with the nearly-helpless noises of release he whimpers in her ear combine to push her over the edge as well, shuddering and gasping for air against the sheets.
He finally lifts his body off hers a moment later, allowing Jane to take her first deep breath since they began, and she feels him stroke a shockingly tender hand across her side before pulling free entirely. She flinches; everything is sore. She stays face down with her eyes closed, ignoring the rustle of Loki dressing, very deliberately shutting out the implications of what just happened.
"I will be seeing you again, Jane," he says, making the words more of a threat than a promise.
Jane doesn't even turn to look at him. She just gives him a dismissive little wave, as though he's not even worth the trouble of replying.
And that's going to be the way of them.
In the morning she is not, in fact, able to walk.