✴︎ sum. you meet detective david loki at a bar, drunkenly taking him home with you. a night that should have been easy turns unexpectedly intimate when he’s slower, gentler, and far more controlled than he looks. SMUT!! drunk hookup, slow burn, vanilla!loki, avoidant!loki, angst, i listened to sm cocteau twins writing this lol
req for anon! ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆✴︎˚｡⋆✴︎˚｡⋆✴︎ ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆✴︎˚ masterlist 𑣲 playlist
“Mmm—I, uh.. think you might be assuming I’m.. more intense than I am.” Loki murmurs, his breath warm against your mouth.
You’ve got him backed against your apartment door, your clumsy fingers stilling in the loosening knot of his tie. Your lips are slotted messy and desperate against his, and he can taste the sticky-sweetness of the bar on your tongue.
When his words slip past the humming, live wire gin-and-tonic buzz in your head, your heart skids to a stop.
You can’t pull away fast enough. Rejection burns in your ears. You can’t help but think you aren’t drunk enough for this.
You leave Loki’s tie loose, fingers numb and clumsy where they let go. “i’m sorry—fuck, shit—did I…”
“No,” he says softly, quickly. But there’s a subtle firmness to it. His hand catches your wrist, his big fingers encircling your wristbone. His warmth hits you a half-second late, your nerves lagging with the reeling of your head.
He smiles down gently at you, oddly enough. Huffs an almost-laugh through his nose. It lightens the flood in your chest, just a little.
“Hey,” Loki breathes, head dipping closer to yours. It’s electric in itself. “You didn’t do anything,” he tells you.
The words land slow in your chest. You swallow, throat dry. “I thought… I thought you were okay with,” you gesture to the scant, swaying space between you, “this.”
He blinks hard, twice, his pale blue eyes flicking to your mouth and back; like it’s an effort not to look too long.
You notice his other hand on your waist, not knowing when it got there.
“I was.” His thumb presses lightly, and you hear his breath hitch in his throat. “I am.”
“Then what…?” you start to murmur, searching Loki’s face.
There was a paradoxical unreadability about him. He had that tightness, that control, like a string pulled too-tight around his chest. But there was something else there, too. Something warm and boyishly nervous.
“I haven’t done this in… Christ. I just want to slow down.” He says, trailing off close to your ear. His pale blue eyes search yours, bracing for your reaction. “Yeah? That okay?”
Something about the low silk of his voice makes you shudder.
“…Yeah. Okay.”
You feel his hold on your wrist tighten, just slightly, his hand on your waist staying rooted. You’re close enough to smell his aftershave, breathe it in.
“‘m not good at doing it slow,” you slur against his neck, the words bubbling past your teeth easier than they should. You can feel him swallow, thick. His breathing stutters for a moment before he can rein it in.
You press a kiss to the tattoo on his neck, filing away the thought to ask him about it later. “Don’t mean to come on so strong.”
“You didn’t come on strong,” he murmurs. His hand leaves your wrist, then hesitates—hovering, reconsidering before it cups the back of your neck. The touch is steady, yet the choice behind it is far from effortless.
He tilts your head up, gentle, making you look at him. “You came on honest.”
“What do you mean?”
His hand slides up your waist, controlled, thumbing the hem of your shirt. “You know…” His voice is uncharacteristically soft. “I deal with people aalllll day who hide what they want. You didn’t.”
“Then what? what’s your issue, mm?” You demand, hands fisting clumsily in his shirt, still buttoned all the way up.
You didn’t exactly bring guys home with you to take things slow.
His shoulders rise with a small breath. It almost reminds you of a boy scout, preparing for battle, or whatever boy scouts do.
“I’m just…” He shakes his head, sheepish in his own way. He blinks hard. “Slower than I seem. More straightforward. I haven’t, uh, done a lot of things.”
His thumb brushes back and forth, pressing lightly into your side. You can’t tell if it’s to ground you or reassure himself.
“And I’m a little drunk,” he admits, quiet smile playing at his lips. “So I’d rather say it now—when it’s easy—than do the whole… ‘we’re about to tear each other apart’ thing.”
“So.. slower,” you echo, your hand slowly finding the collar of his shirt. You feel his breath hitch. “That’s it?”
“…Most of it.”
You slowly undo the very top button of his collar, watching his body language. His shoulders square like he’s braced against something internal.
“And the rest?”
He blinks hard down at you, eyes flicking. You start to recognize it. His lips part for a moment, and he scrubs a hand over the back of his neck.
“The—uh… control. I don’t like when it’s, um, frenzied.”
He speaks like it’s a challenge to explain himself, even when his head’s floating with whiskey.
“You seem pretty in control,” you murmur, still working on unbuttoning his shirt. You take it slow, watching for discomfort. “Better than me, anyway.”
He chuckles breathily, a disbelieving laugh. “That’s generous.”
You hum, pressing a kiss to the revealed parts of Loki’s neck. You were starting to lose your patience, despite yourself.
“Tell me to stop,” you breathe against him. He shudders.
“I don’t want to.” His hold on your waist tightens. “I want to… feel it. Feel you.” He takes a deep breath, eyes skirting away, embarrassed. “Just without losing my footing.”
A slow, deliberate smile spreads across your face. “Okay,” you say. “We can do that.”
You can see the weight sighing off his shoulders, the relief in the way he blinks lightly.
“Yeah?” He breathes, drunk honesty making him need to hear it twice, that anchoring agreement.
You just slip your fingers into his hand, guiding. He startles almost imperceptibly at the contact, eyes flicking down to where you’re holding him.
“This way,” you say.
Understanding dawns on Loki’s face, and you hear him sigh through his nose. “Okay.”
You lead him down a short hallway, dimly lit. He follows half a step behind you, work-worn hand still in yours, and you can feel him grounding himself through the contact. The apartment feels warmer back here, softer somehow. The hum of the city fades.
When you reach the bedroom, you don’t turn on the overhead light. Just the lamp by the bed, waxy and warm like bleeding sunlight.
You stop just inside the doorway.
Loki lingers there, taking it in. The bed. The quiet. You.
“This is usually where things get…” He trails off.
“Fast?” you offer.
He nods. “Yeah.”
You step closer, still not crowding him. “Then we won’t do that.”
Something in his expression eases at that. His shoulders relax out of their rigid hold. “Thank you,” he says, low and earnest enough to make your chest ache.
You guide him to sit on the edge of the bed. He perches on your duvet, hands resting on his thighs like he’s not sure what to do with them yet.
It’s almost endearing to see such a big, stoic man almost nervous.
You stand between his knees, resisting the urge to touch him just yet.
“Still slow?” you ask.
He looks up at you, eyes warm and a little glassy. “Still slow.”
You lean in, honey-drip slow, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. The closeness alone makes his breath hitch, but then he melts.
Loki’s hand slides from your waist, fingers lingering before he lets go. He shifts on the edge of the bed, shoulders rolling once, drawing a quiet breath as he pulls away.
“Okay,” he murmurs. More to himself than you.
His fingers go to the buttons of his shirt, clumsy at first. He frowns faintly at them, the effort of concentration written plainly across his face. One button comes undone. Then another. He pauses, glancing up at you, checking.
You don’t rush him.
That seems to help.
He exhales, shoulders loosening, and continues. He moves with slow, careful movements, like he’s aware of every inch of himself right now.
When the shirt finally parts, he shrugs it off with a small, self-conscious breath, like he’s surprised he made it that far.
The tank top underneath sticks a little as he lifts it, catching at his ribs. He tugs it down again, embarrassed, not used to being watched like this. He tries again, slower this time. It comes free. He drops it beside him on the bed, ears faintly pink.
“There,” he says, quiet. Almost shy.
He looks at you then, really looks—eyes warm, searching, still a little unsure.
“Still okay?” he asks, voice low, steady despite the nerves humming under it.
“More than that,” you hum, easing your hands down his chest, laying him down.
You climb on top of him, straddling his lap, feeling his want mount in the growing bulge between his legs.
You slide your hands down his chest again, deliberately slow, eliciting a breathy haah that sounds like it’s been trapped in Loki’s lungs for a while.
He appears almost starstruck, looking up at you. Something about the red in his ears tells you that if he were sober, he’d be cold, distant stone.
But neither of you are sober.
He lifts up, kissing you again. Harder this time. His choice. His hands find their way back to your waist, like he likes it there.
You can feel the callouses seared into his palms as they slide under your shirt. They run back and forth over the soft, bare skin of your sides.
“Fuck,” he breathes out, his hands passing over your chest. Reverent. Feeling you. “You’re… shit.”
“Hmm?” you kiss the corner of his mouth, down to his jaw, then his shoulder. Your hands slide down to his slacks, feeling the tent there. Its big—you can already tell.
Your hand thumbs at his belt. “Can I?”
You hear him stifle a needy noise that bubbles up from his throat—almost a groan. It makes you grin.
“Mmm—yeah. Mhm.”
You slide his belt off after fumbling for a moment, your open mouth searing wet, blooming bruises along Loki’s throat. Your hand slips easily down the front of his pants, palming his heavy, flushed length through his boxers.
“D’you want me to use my mouth?” you ask.
Loki shakes his head no, his eyes glassy with a restrained desperation you hadn’t seen yet.
“I just—can I—I just want to be inside you. I don’t—I’m not used to… shit like that.”
You make a mental note to show him what he’s missing later on. But you don’t want to push him too hard, not yet.
“Yeah. ‘Course you can,” you murmur.
You catch Loki’s mouth in a deep kiss, feeling his blood rush into the scent of you.
His hands grab and feel and worship every inch he can reach, far past thinking and deep into wanting.
.
.
.
“Oh, fuck,” Loki pants, one arm braced above you, the other holding your waist hard enough to bruise. Sweat beads on his forehead, his slick-backed hair falling messy over his face.
You’re mewling below him, breathy moans punching out of your chest with every thrust, dizzy with how deep he is.
You knew he was gonna be big.
But jesus, not this big.
You didn’t expect him to know how to use it, either.
“Shiitt—David, fuck!” You moan, hooking your arms around his neck.
“Do you need me to slow dow—aahn…” Loki groans, his head dipping into the line of your shoulder. The muscles in his torso ripple with every delicious, stirring movement of his hips.
You can feel every vein of his impossibly fat dick stretching you out, the space where the two of you meet all creamy and perfect.
“Don’t—mmmph—don’t you dare,” you gasp.
He nods breathlessly, his lips swollen from how hard he’s biting them to keep from groaning too loud.
The cord in his chest—the one he keeps coiled tight—starts to unravel faster than he can rein it in.
His hips snap up more and more erratically, small groans of pleasure escaping his lips as he holds onto your hips for dear life. “Jesus—fuck…!”
You rake your nails down his back, digging them into his skin and making him shudder hard.
You can feel his cock throbbing hard, his veins throbbing like it hurts so good. His hand on your waist moves to swipe sweat-slick baby hairs from your forehead, glassy eyes flicking between yours.
Without thinking, your hands come up to cup his face above yours. Your thumbs brush over his stubble, a breathless, too-tender gesture that makes you both seize.
“Oh, ah-haahh.. mmph..” You whimper, pulling Loki down so that your foreheads touch.
You watch as his eyes roll back into his head, his long eyelashes fluttering. The muscles in his shoulders tense as he gets close, his hips faltering and losing their rhythm.
“I’m gonna—fuck…!” Loki gasps, pulling out right as he cums. He spurts all over your inner thighs, his breath shuddery and panting.
He collapses next to you, blinking hard and breathing harder.
You share that blissful, unthinking moment where the adrenaline and breathless air crescendo into this.
“Fuckin’ A…”Loki sighs after a long beat.
“Mmm?”
“Nothing,” he shakes his head.
You watch him sit up slow, with a carefulness that suggested too much movement would shatter something.
His breathing evens out, deliberate. Controlled again. Too controlled.
You notice the warmth drain from his eyes. They’re distant now, that open glassiness having shuttered back into the cave of his mind. Locked behind something practiced, careful, safe.
He must have sobered up.
“Are you—” you start to say.
“—I have to go.” He says it quick, avoidant, but not unkind. Like he’s stepped too far and cant backpedal fast enough.
He gets up, before you can answer. He shoves his slacks back on, buttoning his shirt to the top quicker than he could get it off. Precise, button after button.
Familiar armor sliding into place. He won’t look you in the eye.
“You just—what the fuck?” you blink, pulling your shirt back over your head. You’re still sticky with sweat and cum.
“Hey,” you try again, softer now. “David.”
He stills.
For a moment, you think he won’t turn around. Then he does — and there’s something naked in his expression that has nothing to do with his clothes.
“There’s a case—I have to… Someone..”
He cuts himself off, jaw tightening. A shake of his head, like he’s frustrated with his own lack of honesty.
“Sorry. ‘M sorry.”
It isn’t a plea for forgiveness.
It beckons distance, pushes you away.
You follow him to your door anyway.
You stumble after him, trying to find the words to interrogate him, cuss at him, anything.
“Hey. What the hell?” You say, but it’s more of a plea. A sad one.
He pauses there, hand on the handle, like he’s bracing himself.
Then he turns back and cups the back of your head, forehead pressing briefly to yours.
His eyes are filled with something that makes your heart clench.
The kiss he leaves on your forehead is fierce and restrained all at once. Like it costs him something.
“Thank you,” he murmurs. The weight of it lands heavier than anything else he’s said all night.
The feeling of his hot breath over my chest as he whispers of how he loves me and my body.
I didn't know what the feeling of man felt like until I felt him, the feeling of being able to be fucked and made love to at the same time.
I couldn't bear to be apart from him in any way.
It was like I was addicted to him, he was ecstasy, the feeling of alcohol that burned down your throat, you hated the taste but loved the way it made you feel.
Summary: David Loki is only intimate with someone he really trusts. When you and him make love for the first time, he shows you just how much of a sweetheart he can be. {David was abused as a kid and wants sweet, emotional sex. He wants to make sure you feel good, safe, and loved}
Warnings: adult content (18+), explicit sexual content, nsfw content, PIV sex, emotional sex, petnames, needy David, aftercare, emotional intimacy, consent is sexy, feelings of nervousness and anxiety, lots of kisses (let me know if I missed anything)
Word count: 4.5k
Authors note: Inspired by this post from @elizabd “Daydreaming about him being a sweetheart during intimacy; checking you’re ok, calling you cute names, lots of kisses…I can dream lol 🩷”
I’m going thru some difficult personal things recently, so i needed something super soft and lovey and gentle. so pls enjoy.
remember that Tumblr is the re-blog website, "likes" are bookmarks. so comments and reblogs help me the most. Thank you all for your support!
The air between you is quiet, fragile — like something that’s been waiting to happen for a long time. David’s apartment is dim, the lamplight throwing soft amber shadows across the room. You can hear the low hum of the heater and the faint sound of his breathing — steady but a little uneven, like he’s holding back something he’s afraid to break.
He’s standing in front of you, close enough that you can smell the warmth of his cologne and the faint trace of coffee on his breath. His hand lifts slowly, hesitating halfway before he finally brushes his knuckles against your cheek. The touch is so careful it almost breaks you.
His hand cups your jaw, his thumb brushing along your lower lip, and for a moment you swear you can feel every word he doesn’t say.
When he kisses you, it’s slow and uncertain at first, almost shy. His fingers trace your jaw, down to your neck, moving like he’s memorizing you through touch. He exhales against your skin, whispering things so quiet you can barely make them out — your name, the word *beautiful*, and something that sounds like a promise.
He leans back in and kisses you again, slower this time, deeper, his touch growing steadier as the fear starts to fade. The world gets smaller — just his breath, your skin, the warmth between you.
“Are you sure?” he murmurs. His voice is deep, rough around the edges, but so gentle. “I don’t… I don’t ever wanna hurt you. Not even by accident.”
You nod, reaching for his wrist and pressing his hand more firmly to your face. “You won’t.”
Something in him shifts then — the guarded look in his eyes softens, and you see the truth he never says aloud. He’s been waiting for this, but not just the touch — the trust. He wants to deserve this.
When you finally pull back, his forehead rests against yours. His eyes are glassy in the soft light. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to hold you like this,” he says. “Not just because I want you — but because I trust you.”
The words settle between you like a vow. What follows isn’t hurried or loud; it’s quiet and patient, full of lingering touches and whispered reassurances. He moves as though every breath, every brush of his fingers, is meant to tell you something he’s never been able to say: that you’re safe with him, that he’s here, that he means it.
Every motion he makes is deliberate, asking without words: *Is this okay? Do you feel good?* And every time you lean into him, every time your hands find their way to his chest, he seems to breathe a little easier.
He exhales your name against your lips, a prayer disguised as a sound. You answer with your hands, sliding up his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palms — uneven, alive.
his breath warm against your skin as he pressed a trembling kiss there. He breathed you in like it was the only way to quiet the storm inside him.
Your hands moved up his back, tracing the slope of his shoulders, the tight lines of muscle drawn from years of tension and restraint. Each touch eased him open a little more.
You loosened the collar of his shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons as he watched you with wide, dark eyes. He let you undress him piece by piece, not hurried, not lustful — just needy in a way that wasn’t about desire. It was about being seen. Being safe.
He’s shaking a little, though he’s trying to hide it. You can feel the tension in his shoulders when your hands slide up his back. He pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“You okay?” you whisper.
He nods, breath shaky. “Yeah. I just… haven’t done this in a long time. Not like this.”
“Like what?”
“Where it means something.”
You swallow hard. “It does. It means everything.”
For a moment neither of you move. David’s breathing is uneven, warm against your mouth. Your fingers rest against the open edges of his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin beneath your palms, the slight tremor that runs through him every few seconds.
He’s trying so hard to hold himself together. You tilt your head and press a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. Then another. His breath catches.
Your lips brush over his cheek, slow and unhurried, like you’re learning the shape of him with every small press of your mouth. His stubble grazes your skin, rough but familiar, and he exhales shakily when you kiss just beneath his eye.
“You’re shaking,” you murmur against his skin.
“Sorry,” he whispers.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Your fingers slide up into his hair, holding him there while you kiss him again—this time properly. Soft, slow, patient. The kind of kiss that lingers instead of taking. He melts into it. Not all at once. Carefully. Like someone testing whether the ground beneath them is real.
His hands come to your waist, tentative at first, barely touching, but when you don’t pull away his grip tightens just a little. Like he needs to feel that you’re really there.
You push his shirt off his shoulders the rest of the way. The fabric slides down his arms and pools at his elbows before falling away completely. Your hands follow the movement, smoothing over the muscles of his shoulders, down his arms, then back up again as if memorizing the warmth of him.
David watches you the whole time. Not hungry. Just… awed.
Your chest tightens.
You lean in again, kissing him slow and sweet. His mouth opens under yours with a soft breath, and the kiss deepens just enough to make warmth bloom low in your stomach, but it never becomes hurried. He’s savoring you.
Your lips travel again—his jaw, his cheek, the hollow beneath his ear. Each kiss softer than the last.
David’s head tips back slightly with a shaky exhale. “God…” he murmurs.
Your hands slide over his chest, palms warm against his skin. You feel the steady thump of his heart under your touch.
“You’re safe,” you whisper against his throat before pressing another kiss there. “You know that, right?”
His arms wrap around you suddenly, pulling you close enough that there’s no space left between you.
“I know,” he says, voice rough. But he still holds you like he’s afraid you might disappear. So you keep kissing him. Slow. Lingering. Your fingers tracing gentle lines across his back while his hands cradle the sides of your face.
Your hands go to his hair, tugging slightly. You enjoy feeling the way his breath stutters when your nails lightly graze his scalp.
David makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, something surprised and needy all at once.
You smile against his mouth. “Still okay?” you whisper.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “More than okay.”
You press another kiss to him—then another, and another—until his hands start moving too.
They slide slowly along your sides, like he’s reacquainting himself with touch.
His palms warm and steady now, resting at the curve of your waist. The tenderness of it makes your chest ache in the best way.
You guide him backward gently until he sits on the edge of the bed. David looks up at you like he can’t quite believe this is real.
You lean down and kiss him again. Your hands move through his hair, slow and soothing, while his arms wrap around your waist and pull you between his knees.
He buries his face briefly against your stomach, pressing a warm kiss there through the fabric. The affection of it makes you laugh softly.
“Hi,” you whisper.
“Hi,” he murmurs back, voice rough. He tilts his head up again, catching your lips in another kiss—longer this time.
His hands slide up your back, holding you close while your fingers trace along his shoulders. Everything about the moment feels unhurried.
Your kisses wander over his face again—his cheek, the corner of his mouth, the bridge of his nose—each one drawing a quiet breath from him. By the time your lips find his again, he’s smiling softly against your mouth.
David’s hands keep moving slowly along your back, warm and steady now, like touching you is the easiest thing in the world. You stay there between his knees, bodies close, breathing the same quiet air.
His forehead presses lightly to your stomach again for a second, and you feel the soft brush of his lips through your shirt. Then he looks up at you. There’s something softer in his expression now. The nervousness hasn’t disappeared completely, but it’s been replaced with something deeper—something trusting.
Your fingers slip into his hair again, guiding him gently upward so you can kiss him. This time the kiss lingers.
Your mouths move together slowly, learning each other again. David exhales against your lips, his arms sliding tighter around your waist until you can feel the warmth of his chest against you.
“C’mere,” he murmurs softly. You let him guide you down onto the bed with him. There’s a brief rustle of sheets as he guides you on top of him. His back rests against the headboard and you settle into his lap. He kisses you again. Slow- then deepening gradually as your hand slides over his bare chest.
Your fingertips trace the muscles there, feeling the way his breath catches when your nails lightly drag across his skin. David shivers under your touch.
“Sensitive?” you tease gently against his mouth.
“Just… you,” he murmurs. Your lips drift from his mouth to his jaw, then lower—kissing along the warm line of his throat. Every small press of your lips draws another quiet sound from him, soft and surprised, like he isn’t used to being treated this gently.
His hand slips under your shirt, warm palm resting against your side. He hesitates for half a second. Then his thumb begins tracing slow circles against your skin. The touch makes you sigh softly into the next kiss you press against his neck.
“Okay?” he asks quietly.
You nod, brushing your nose against his. “More than okay.”
Encouraged, his hands explore a little more—still slow, still careful. They move along your waist, your back, pulling you closer until there’s no space between you. Your bodies fit together easily; Comfortably. Like this closeness is something you’ve both been missing.
Your kisses return to his mouth, hungrier now. David holds you there against him. You can feel how hard he is even beneath layers of fabric.
God, you want him.
His hands roam gently along your back, tracing slow paths that make your skin prickle.
When his fingers reach the hem of your shirt, he pauses, looking up at you.
You lift your arms without a word. The small encouragement seems to steady him. Slowly, carefully, he pulls the fabric up and over your head, his knuckles brushing your sides as he does. The shirt falls somewhere beside the bed, forgotten.
For a moment, neither of you move. David’s eyes linger on you, dark and soft at the same time, like he’s trying to take in every detail.
Your hands drift to the waist of his jeans, fingers resting there. You don’t pull yet—just hold the fabric lightly, your eyes meeting his. A silent question.
He nods once, breath a little unsteady. “Yeah,” he murmurs.
You slide the zipper down slowly, easing the denim open before helping him push them off. You gently remove his shirt next.
And then you pause. Not out of hesitation—but to look at him. Really look. The warmth of the room, the softness in his expression, the closeness of your bodies. The vulnerability of the moment hangs gently between you. You have to stop yourself from drooling at the sight of him.
You reach out, brushing your fingertips lightly across his chest. “Thank you for trusting me,” you say softly.
Something shifts in his face at that.
David’s hand comes up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing along your skin as he leans forward to kiss you again. This one is slower than before—deep and lingering, full of quiet gratitude.
“Thank you,” he murmurs against your lips, “for being someone I can trust.”
His mouth is back on yours, soft kisses turning into hungry, needy ones.
You grind against him, seeking out friction you so desperately desire. He groans low in his throat at the sensation.
His hands go to unhook your bra; he tosses it to the floor. His eyes widen like he’s viewing something holy.
“You’re so fucking beautiful.” He says, hands skimming up and down your sides.
“C’mere” he said, sealing his mouth to your breast, swirling his tongue around your nipple. His hand gives attention to the other one.
You arch into his touch, a moan escaping you.
Your hands are in his hair, each little tug earning you a hum from David.
“Please, David.” you whine. “Need you.”
As if he couldn’t deny such a sweet request.
He stopped his ministrations and looked up at you, his lips were wet and slightly swollen, his blue eyes were blown wide with want.
For a moment he just looks at you. Like he’s trying to memorize the sight.
“Let me make love to you, sweetheart,” he says quietly.
The words send warmth straight through your chest. You nod quickly.
There’s a moment of awkward laughter as you hurry to kick off your pants and underwear, the fabric tangling around your ankles before you manage to shove them aside. David watches you with a soft smile that’s equal parts fond and a little breathless.
Then he lifts up to help with his own clothes. You reach for the waistband of his boxers, fingers brushing his hips as you guide the fabric down. Your hands linger for just a second against his skin, the warmth of him making your breath hitch.
Soon the last pieces of clothing are gone. And suddenly there’s nothing between you. You pause again. Not shy—just taking him in. He was beautiful.
The lines of his shoulders, the warmth of his skin, the way his chest rises and falls a little faster now that you’re both without clothes. David notices the way you’re looking at him.
“You okay?” he asks softly. Instead of answering right away, you reach for him, planting yourself back onto his lap. Your hands slide up his arms, over his shoulders, until your palms rest against his face.
You lean forward and kiss him again—slow and deep, full of all the trust and warmth that’s built between you tonight. When you pull back, your forehead rests against his. “I’m more than okay,” you whisper.
You slid your hand between you, wrapping it around his cock, pumping softly, and he hissed through his teeth at the contact.
“You’re sure you’re okay without a condom like we talked about? And you're still on your birth control?” David’s voice is low and careful, his hand resting warm against your hip.
“Yeah, I am. ” you said softly. “I’m sure. We’re both clean, and I want you. I trust you.”
Something flickers in his expression at that—something deep and a little awed.
He leans up and kisses you again, slow and warm, but you gently pull back before the moment can carry too far.
“Are you sure, David?” you ask quietly.
He doesn’t answer right away.
Instead, he looks at you for a moment, really looks—like he’s measuring the weight of what you’re offering him. His thumb brushes softly along your side while he thinks.
Then he nods.
“I’m sure,” he says.
You search his face for another second, making sure.
“You wanna switch positions?”
He paused, thinking about it.
“Yeah. Come lay down, baby. I want you comfortable.” He said, patting the space next to him.
David liked being in control- not in a dominant way, but in a leading way. He has always had a natural way of leading— never in a way that feels heavy. It’s softer than that. Instinctive.
The kind of leading that comes from caring. From watching you closely, learning the little things that make you comfortable, the things that make you smile. The kind that makes you feel looked after without ever feeling small.
And when he settles over you, careful with his weight, you feel it in the way he holds himself there. Nothing rushed, nothing demanding. Just warm and solid.
When you relax beneath him, his shoulders loosen too, like he’d been holding that breath.
“Okay,” you whisper.
David presses a soft kiss to your lips, slower this time, almost grateful. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his nose brushing lightly against your cheek.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he murmurs.
Your fingers slide into his hair again, holding him close.
“Thank you for asking.”
He kissed you harder this time, and lined himself up, pressing the head of his cock against your entrance.
He pushed in slowly—watching your face, making sure you were okay. You were slick and tight, and he had to fight the urge to lose it right then and there. The soft gasp you let out and the image of your eyes rolling back into your head didn't help the matter.
"Fuck," he breathed as he sank deeper, inch by inch. "You feel amazing.”
His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his whole body tense.
"You okay?" you asked, sliding your hands up his back.
You felt perfect. Tight and warm and your cunt was hugging him perfectly.
"Yeah." he managed. “I'm great. You good?”
“I’m fucking great.” you said.
And when he finally started to move -slow, controlled thrusts that made you gasp and dig your nails into his shoulders- he knew he wasn't going to last long.
He kept his pace measured at first, watching your face, learning what made your breath hitch, what made your fingers tighten against his skin. Every small sound, every shift of your hips made him absolutely crazy. You encouraged him with soft praises, your hands sliding up his back as he hovered close over you.
“David…” you breathed, your voice warm and shaky. “You feel so good.”
The words clearly affect him. His head dips for a second, his forehead brushing yours as he exhales a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh. One of his hands tightens gently at your hip, like he’s grounding himself.
“Yeah?” he murmurs.
You nod immediately, your fingers threading through his hair.
“So good,” you repeat, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re being so gentle with me.”
That makes his expression soften even more.
His lips find yours again, slower this time, deeper—like your praise gave him permission to relax into the moment. The kiss lingers while his hand moves up your side, warm and steady.
“You okay?” he asks again softly.
You smile against his lips.
“Yes,” you whisper. “Don’t stop.”
Encouraged, he kisses along your jaw, down the side of your neck, his breath warm against your skin. Your hands move over his shoulders and back, holding him close while quiet praises keep slipping from your lips.
“Just like that…”
“David…”
“You’re making me feel so good…”
The praise sends a flush across his chest and neck.
When you pull him back down to kiss you, he’s smiling softly now, eyes warm and a little dazed.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs against your neck, lips brushing soft kisses along the hollow beneath your ear. “So perfect for me…”
You tilt your head back, letting his lips roam, your fingers threading through his hair and tugging gently.
“David-!” you gasp, voice shaking.
“Ive got you, sweet girl. God… you’re so perfect,” he murmurs into your mouth, teeth grazing yours lightly in a teasing way, before pulling back just enough to see your reaction.
His blue eyes are blown wide, pupils dark with want and awe, reflecting the heat between you.
He responds to every word, every tiny motion, like your praise is a map for his hands and lips. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately—he makes you feel like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the heat of it, the intimacy, the closeness, he keeps checking in with soft touches, whispered confirmations.
“You’re okay?”
“Feels good?”
“Do you want more?”
“Yes… please… don’t stop…” you whisper, arching into him, letting him know he’s exactly where you want him, exactly how you need him.
The soft sounds of your pleasure, the quiet gasps, and the warmth of his lips on your skin fill the room, making the two of you feel impossibly close—like nothing else exists but this, this slow, tender, aching connection.
David’s lips press harder against yours.
Your hands clutch at his shoulders, nails grazing lightly over the skin as he slides closer, chest to chest, bodies melting together. The warmth between you builds, hot and aching, making every breath feel too short.
“You feel incredible,” he murmurs, lips brushing along your jaw and neck. “I can’t get enough of you…”
You moan softly, tilting your head back so he can reach more, letting him trail kisses down your collarbone. “You say things like that and I’m not sure I’ll ever let you go.”
David huffs out a quiet, almost disbelieving laugh against your skin, the sound warm where his mouth still lingers near your jaw.
“Well,” he murmurs, lifting his head just enough to look at you, “that sounds like a pretty good deal for me.”
There’s something softer in his expression when he holds your gaze.
“You might be stuck with me, sweetheart.”
“Actually… I think I’d like that a lot.”
“Yeah?” He questions, nibbling the skin of your neck.
“Yeah- oh-!”
You were cut off by a sharp, deep thrust of his hips. His hands move with purpose now, tracing the curves of your body, memorizing every inch. The heat of his touch makes your skin prickle and your chest tighten, every soft whisper from you sending shivers down his spine.
“Fuck,” he murmurs against your lips, eyes dark, heavy with want and adoration. “I love how you feel…”
You let out a soft gasp, pressing yourself impossibly closer, your hands tangling in his hair. You couldn’t talk, only moan at how deep he was inside you, how good he was filling you up.
He responds, his pace quickening , letting the pressure build, every movement designed to make you shiver and melt. Your breaths come faster now, your chest rising and falling with need, and the sound of your moans fills the room.
He leans in closer, whispering your name over and over, like a prayer, like a vow, letting the intensity rise. Every word drips with need- rough, possessive, and impossibly intimate, making it impossible to doubt that he’s completely undone by you.
The tension coils tighter, warm and delicious, every caress, every kiss, every whispered word pushing you closer to the edge.
You arch into him, gasping, trembling, encouraging him with soft praises and breathless moans, telling him exactly what he’s doing to you.
“David… please… yes…I… I’m so close…”
He bites his lip softly, and it's the hottest thing you've ever seen.
"Right there?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Yes! God, yes, right there-"
He kept going, grinding against your clit with every thrust and he was hitting that spot over and over. You slid your hands down to grip his ass, pulling him deeper. He has a nice, firm butt. You'd definitely be grabbing it more from now on.
Every thrust had you crying out from pure pleasure.
"Come on, pretty girl" he growled, his voice wrecked. “You gonna cum for me?”
“Yes yes yes yes!”
“I want to hear you… come for me, baby… let it happen…”
“Yes! ‘M cumming-!” You moaned as pleasure washes over you. It’s overwhelming—full of warmth, closeness, and pure connection. When your body convulses, shudders under him, he’s right there, murmuring encouragement against your skin. “Yes… that’s it… fuck… just like that… I’ve got you… you’re so good for me… just cum for me, baby… yes…”
He holds you through it, soft kisses trailing down your neck, his voice warm and steady, soothing and praising all at once, letting you ride it out fully, knowing you’re safe and utterly adored in his arms.
“You feel so fucking good,” he growls, lips brushing along your collarbone. “So soft… so tight… you feel like you were made for me.”
“I am, David! I was made for you.” Your say on the verge of overstimulation.
His thrusts grew frantic as his own orgasm approached.
He leans closer, hot breath brushing your ear, whispering, “You feel so tight… so soft… and I can’t stop thinking about filling you, making you mine.”
“I’m yours, David… take me,” you whisper, your voice trembling with need. “I want all of you… make me yours.”
His voice drops lower, rough and urgent. “I’m gonna fill you… all of you… can you feel me, baby? Feel how much I want you?”
You nod feverishly.
When you moan, it sends a shiver straight through him.
“I’m yours…” you whisper, trembling.
And that send him over the edge.
“Fuck!… I’m coming… I’m coming for you.” He moaned. And it was she hottest sound ever. He buried himself as deep as he could go, hips stuttering forward in short, uncontrolled thrusts as he came, a groan tearing from his throat.
He collapses against you, forehead pressed to yours, lips ghosting over your skin in soft, trembling kisses as he rides out the wave, holding you close like he never wants to let you go.
Afterward, he doesn’t move right away. His arm stays around you, thumb tracing slow, absent circles on your skin. You can feel his heartbeat against your back, steady now, calm.
David’s chest rises and falls a little faster, a soft, almost vulnerable smile tugging at his lips. He turns his hand over to lace fingers with yours, holding it gently but firmly, like he’s memorizing the weight of you in his palm.
“I… I just…” he murmurs, voice low and thick with something raw, “I didn’t think someone could want all of me… and still make me feel safe.”
You brush your thumb along the back of his hand, meeting his gaze. “You deserve it,” you repeat softly, voice warm and steady. “Every part of you. The strong, the messy, the quiet… I see all of it, David.”
His eyes soften, shimmering with something unspoken, and he leans down to press a gentle, lingering kiss to your forehead. “You’re the best.”
You smile against him, heart swelling, and let your fingers curl a little tighter around his.
For a long moment, you just stay there—hands intertwined, foreheads touching, letting the weight of that love settle between you, sweet and unshakable.
The morning creeps in quietly, all honey light and slow warmth. The kind of stillness that only exists right before the world fully wakes. You feel it first — the faint shift of breath behind you, the weight of an arm that tightens instinctively around your waist.
When you turn to face him, he’s already awake, eyes heavy with sleep and something softer. His hair’s a tousled mess, his voice low and rough when he finally speaks.
“Morning.”
You smile. “Morning.”
He studies you quietly — the way the light touches your skin, the way your expression softens when you look at him. There’s no mask on his face now, no detective’s armor, just David — unguarded and almost shy.
After a long moment, he says, barely above a whisper, “I’m so lucky to have you in my life.”
You don’t say anything at first— you just smile quietly, warmth blooming in your chest.
“I feel pretty lucky too.” You say.
He smiles then — small, real, and so full of joy.
He watches you a second longer, eyes tracing your face like he’s memorizing it, then he gives you a peck on the lips.
“I should make coffee before I talk myself outta getting up.”
You can’t help the small laugh that escapes you as he pushes the blanket back and sits up. The morning light hits his shoulders, tracing the shape of his back, the muscle shifting beneath his skin as he stretches. For a moment, you just watch him — the easy strength in his movements, the quiet domesticity of it. You really were lucky.
He disappears into the kitchen, and the soft sounds of clinking mugs and running water drift through the stillness. When you join him, he’s leaning against the counter, two mugs waiting.
He hands you a cup, fingers brushing yours. “Didn’t mess up your preferred ratio of creamer to coffee this time,” he says, half a smile tugging at his mouth.
“You say that every time,” you reply, taking a sip to hide your smile.
“Yeah, but today I mean it.”
You look at him over the rim of your mug, and there’s something different in the way he looks back — steadier, grounded.
He reaches out, tracing his thumb gently across the back of your hand. “I don’t take this for granted,” he says quietly. “Having this.”
“I don’t either. It’s special- what we have.”
He sets his coffee down and pulls you into a hug. He squeezes tight. You nuzzle your face into his bare chest, enjoying the domestic intimacy.
The rest of the morning unfolds slowly — easy conversation, shared glances, the smell of coffee lingering in the air. No rush. No distance. Just the quiet understanding that something fragile has turned into something lasting.
Summary: You can’t sleep. Loki can’t sleep without you.
Detective Loki x Female!Reader
Word count: 1992
Warnings: None, really. Fluff. Needy Loki. You can tell he’s hurting a bit. Possibly being pathetic? Idk. I’m so tired. Had to get this out. Like 1 sexual innuendo. Just some nice feels on this Jan 1 night.
Note: Reader is ALWAYS 18+, and always a consenting adult relationship. Minors DNI, even if there’s no smut. I did not proofread this and I’m sleep deprived. I’m sitting on my bathroom floor cleaning writing and pretending this is me. This might not make any sense, idk, idc. HAPPY NEW YEAR! 🎈
Loki considers himself a light sleeper. Knows all the noises in the apartment. The way the wind whistles through the loose sash lock where rust’s done a number on it. The thunk of the freezer dropping seven cubes of ice because that’s all he takes, so that’s all there’s room for. He counts. Every time. The jarring crack of the floor settling exactly three steps outside of the bedroom door at two fifty-one each morning.
David’s a light sleeper.
…
…
With the exception of working seventy-eight hours in a row, chasing dead leads and working with infuriatingly low IQ individuals.
Tonight, sleep’s less of a necessity, and more of a near death experience in his nonexistence.
Tonight, David doesn’t hear the bed creak as you slip from it.
Doesn’t bolt up when the floor squeaks under your weight, bare feet padding towards the door in practiced stealth from too many nights waking him.
Doesn’t move a muscle or change breath when you leave, the door squeaking shut behind you, eager to betray your escape.
The digital clock on the nightstand clicks to 3:03 a.m.
With it, David’s eyes snap open. The reorientation to consciousness is abrupt and cold, brows cinching with an immediate focus. Over the plush of the pillow his face is smashed in, Loki reaches blind over the bed. No warmth. No body. No indication of you.
The sheets pool to his hips as he sits up. Moonlight spills in thin shafts from the blinds, cutting him in silvery light, shadows, and sleep-hot skin. The chiseled muscle of his back knots, exactly between his shoulder blades where he carries tension. Alert. Silent. Breath stifled in attempt to hear you.
Nothing. For ten seconds.
That’s nine seconds too long.
Muscle memory pulling action before thoughts can, Loki’s out of bed. Feet quiet. Maneuvering over every memorized floorboard that holds his weight without sound. His eyes slip to the off-duty piece on the nightstand. One singular step, he passes it. Being paranoid, right? No one’s here. No one but them. You’re… somewhere. Doing… something. God knows what, but something.
…
…
What if?
That’s not a risk he’s willing to take, when protection’s sitting idle in arm’s reach.
He snatches it, low in his hand, barrel at the ground.
The door opens in sections, inch by inch, until light spills from the other room and over his face. Then enough room for his shoulder. Then the other. Soft clatter comes from the kitchen, followed by your whispered expletives. They’re creative, really. If it wasn’t such an ungodly hour, if he didn’t exist as the personification of death currently, David might even compliment you on it.
No time for that. He needs eyes on you—now.
You’re out of sight. You’re out of reach. That means you’re out of his field of control. Not in the sense of inhibiting or governing you, but in matters of protecting you.
Armed, half-naked, and disoriented to the point of hallucination, Loki sweeps through the apartment with his back against the walls. No surprises, no room for error.
Then, finally…
There you are.
The mere sight of you—back to him, putting the entire force of your weight into scrubbing a pan, water dripping from the counter to the floor—deflates his chest.
In the safety of being unseen, David smears a hand over his face. Opens his eyes with a sluggish, disjointed fit of tics. Without a sound, deliberate in his handling, Loki abandons the piece on the sofa table.
Hands free, all yours now, still without your awareness, Loki indulges in the art of candid observation. Always assessing and gathering information, even when he should only be present in the moment.
A concoction of cleaning bottles line the kitchen counters. Glass cleanser. Disinfectant. Something that promises it’s highly effective with essential oils, and lists about twenty things it’s good for. Fabric spray. Two rolls of paper towels both actively used, definitely unnecessary, both lost amidst the tufts of garbage bags. The duster lays on the tile like a soldier fallen to your insomnia. May it rest in peace.
The shirt you wear is one of his. It almost makes him cringe. The shirt—not you. Fucking Megadeath, of all bands (Megadeath fucks, okay? Fuck off). Comfortably worn, from a time he doesn’t care to talk about, but can’t bear parting with because if he owns it… it’s his. That means something.
It means something to have something nice, to keep it nice, and keep it even when the threads start to thin and the color fades.
It’s his.
He never had many things that belonged to him.
Now you’re in it.
You’re his.
The hem brushes your thighs, hiking just enough to expose the sleep shorts beneath. Sleep doesn’t dishevel your hair, but your stress does. The fit of insomnia bleeding out of you in each scrub, every spray of a bottle, and every frantic dusting.
In his boxer briefs, solid black, no bullshit, Loki looks around the apartment like he’s the intruder. For once, he’s unsure where to step. What to do, what to say. Never’s been the best with talking, social interaction.
So…
Leaning on the wall next to him, the broom offers him a solution. Raking a hand through his hair to tame it, he grabs the it. Through the sleep deprived haywire in his face, Loki begins to sweep across the room. The bristles catch in whispered rasps on the floor.
The sound startles you, and you whirl around in your cleaning frenzy.
“David?” Soap suds on your arms, a hike in your brows that comes as apology. “Did I wake you up? I’m so sorry. I was trying to be quiet.”
David shakes his head, collecting a pile equivalent to nothing because it seems you beat him to this spot. “Can’t sleep without you in bed.”
You lean back against the counter with an exhale of relief, but your eyes track down. “I needed to get up. I was going stir crazy.”
“Good thing I woke up.” He doesn’t look at you yet. “Could’ve found you unconscious on the ground from all this shit.” The very corner of his mouth twitches.
That’s your sign. You breathe a halfhearted laugh, shoulders coming to ease from the tension. “Yeah. Yeah, probably.” You palm at your eye, smile sheepish.
“Activity makes insomnia worse. You’re engaging your brain.”
“I know. I tried the couch, tea, even took melatonin… Didn’t help. I had to do something with my hands before I exploded.”
David nods his understanding, the broom halting. His eyes stare through the floor, and you stare at him.
Circles so dark they bruise sag under his eyes. The slump in his shoulders carries more than any man should. The muscle under his skin jumps involuntarily, different places, different triggers, just enough to be noticed. He scratches the side of his neck, middle fingertip over the tattooed star you insist on kissing like it’s your mouth’s personal landing pad.
“Place looks great,” he says, rough, sincere.
“Thank you,” you murmur, heavy with the tangibility of his internal conflict, hushed with the delicacy of the hour.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I know. I wanted to.”
“Thank you.”
“For what? I live here too.”
“Feels like I barely do.”
“David… I get it. I do. I knew what this was going to be before I moved in.”
When his eyes finally lift, they meet yours without hesitation. The hoarseness of his voice says more than his words can, throat scraped raw from commanding orders, interrogations, nonstop confrontation for days on end. “Come to bed.”
That’s all he says.
Three words.
A desperation disguised as a request.
It’s enough to make your feet shuffle forward, hands raising to find him, feel him.
The instant your hands bracket his face, a shaky breath ratchets him down a few notches. The warmth of your palms, the pressure of your skin on his, it undoes him. Always does. Loki drops his forehead to yours, eyes shut, brows pinched. You mirror without thinking, falling into his orbit: your place of safety.
The broom clatters to the floor.
His hands find your waist, drawing you against him. The shirt to his bare chest, your hips fit against his, perfectly balanced like two halves cut from a whole.
Old habit of restraining his words—had no one that cared to listen when he grew up—his lips part and struggle to find what he has to say. “…Come to bed.” All he can manage, a rasp through his voice.
“Hey. I’m here. I’m here, David. I’ll come to bed. I’m coming to bed with you.”
Through a short nod, David finds your mouth. Slots it with his quietly, desperately, breathing you in, tasting the flowery chamomile you drank. It’s a short kiss, but it’s a plea. Without words, he’s begging.
Come to bed. Come to bed. Come to bed. Be with me. Choose me. I don’t want to be alone.
When he leaves your mouth, he doesn’t go far. Every breath, his lips graze yours. Unhurried, but consuming, recycling the oxygen you give him so he can find center.
You share a whispered exchange, his exhaustion ebbing to the recognition of time spent apart. Time you were alone.
“You okay?” He murmurs, unwilling to open his eyes when he tastes peace in your breath.
“I’m fine, D. I’m good. Just another bout of insomnia, I’ll be okay.”
“Nothing on your mind?”
“No, nothing. I was just trying to exhaust myself. That’s all.”
“…Got a better way to do that.”
The laughter you give fans his mouth enough to make his flit, but the smile doesn’t fully. That’s a rare thing—and that’s okay. That’s David.
“How was your week?”
“David.”
“Go okay? Anything happen at work?”
“David.”
“Are the fumes making your head hurt, too?”
“David—” but you’re laughing, and it’s a soft sound appropriate for the dead of night. “How about this…” Your arms loop around his neck. David’s hands splay over the small of your back, keeping you in place, every inch in line with his. “Whenever you decide to wake up tomorrow, we’ll get some coffee in you, some real food, then we’ll talk about our week. How’s that sound?”
“Perfect.”
It is perfect.
You’re perfect.
The mattress groans as you both settle in. David slips in behind you, body heat climbing beneath the layers of blankets. Moonlight stripes the room, your two bodies molded together, both going pliant when his arm drapes over you. Safety, love, comfort.
The duster stays on the floor.
So does the broom.
The cleaning supplies will wait until tomorrow.
The crust on the pan will still be there to irk you.
The crumb under the stove will somehow inch further back.
The duster will leave the scene having seen better days.
You’ll wake up feeling groggy, but you’ll wake up with David’s arm around you.
You’ll wake up to sunlight, the warmth of his skin, the addictive smell of his body heat and sleep-heavy musk.
Tomorrow, you’ll wake up in the bed you love, with the person you love, and it’s going to be perfect, because…
Well…
He loves you, too.
What’s his—and it isn’t much, but it’s all he has—is yours.
What’s yours, is his—so you told him.
How can he offer something that compares?
You’ve given yourself to him.
Words can’t express how it feels to be wanted. To be loved.
When words fail, his body talks.
Loki tugs you in until you’re flush against him. Your back to his chest. Where your knees bend, his follow. Where your chest rises with breath, his replicates.
With his hand over your chest, thumb stroking the weathered cotton, David nestles his nose in your hair. Your hand covers his, fingers curling over one of his. You match the cycle of your breath to his, but he’s following your lead.
Soon, his breath evens out. His body surrenders to sleep, heavy and warm. You drift a minute later, wrapped in the happiest place you’ve known, and you’re glad you came to bed.
warnings/content — fluff, established relationship. can be read as gn reader i believe! no warnings that i can think of!
word count — 1.7k
a/n — need to see this man happy plz. my first time writing for detective loki!
feedback is always appreciated <3
credit — dividers are from @/cursed-carmine!
There are some nights when David needs a little extra love than others.
You can always tell that it's one of those nights when he arrives home—quieter than usual, shoulders sagging, dark bags under his eyes.
Tonight was one of those nights.
The slam of the front door is what first alerts you to his presence. You raise from your comfortable position on the couch and stretch, trying to ease the tiredness from your limbs before making your way to the entryway of your shared house. His back is turned towards you as he hangs his wet rain coat on the wall hook. You watch his muscles strain under the tight work shirt he's wearing.
"Hi there, detective." You greet him warmly, a small smile on your face as you wait for him to turn around. You see the way his shoulders are hunched forward, his posture a telling sign that he's carrying stress and tension deep in his muscles. He unholsters his gun and places it on the entryway table, along with his handcuffs that are always attached to his hip—both an extension of him at this point.
He turns to face you and that's when you see the darkness under his tired eyes. The appearance of his dark circles doesn’t surprise you. He was up before the first crack of sunlight even dared to seep its way into your bedroom, giving you a quick kiss against your hairline and whispering "See you later, baby. Sleep well." Before slipping out of your shared bedroom quietly to not disturb you. Even though the appearance of the dark circles don't shock you, they still make your heart ache for the man standing in front of you.
He gives you a sleepy smile as a greeting, not responding verbally. You close the distance between the two of you with a few small steps. You untuck his shirt from his trousers before beginning to undo the buttons on his light blue button down, starting at the buttons on the collar and making your way down to the very bottom button.
"Rough day?" You question him quietly as he shrugs the shirt off his shoulders then down his arms, leaving him in his white undershirt.
"Mhm," he mumbles, placing the shirt on the entryway table beside his gun and handcuffs where it will be forgotten until the morning when you do laundry. "Two little girls are missing. It's not looking good." He sighs, running a hand through his hair in quiet frustration.
"I see." You say softly, trying to approach the subject cautiously and considerately. Your hands find his belt, undoing the buckle and unthreading it through the loops of his trousers. "Well, they've got the best detective in Conyers looking for them. If anyone can find them, it's you, David. And you will find them, I'm sure of that." You tell him finally, freeing him from his belt before laying it on top of the discarded work shirt, black leather shining from the overhead light.
When you glance back up at his face, he's already looking down at you, a loving look in his blue eyes. A small smile appears on your lips, which he returns. You stand on your tippy toes to place a gentle kiss against his cheek before you're turning away from him completely, grabbing his hand in the process.
"Hungry? We've got that leftover Chinese food from Thanksgiving. I can warm some of it up for you." You offer, stopping in front of the entryway to the kitchen, still hand in hand. You feel him stop behind you, his body so close that you can feel the heat radiating from his chest against your back.
"No," he declines, placing a soft kiss against the top of your head. "Thank you." He tells you quietly, squeezing your hand gently in his own. He was always gentle with you. He appreciated having someone he could be tender with after long hours of putting on a hard front, interrogating men he knew should he locked behind bars for the rest of their lives.
You nod before you start to move again, your feet carrying you closer to your shared bedroom as he trails behind you, socked feet hitting the cold hardwood floors. Both of you know that he's exhausted, both mentally and physically, and needs some sleep before he finds himself outside in the cold November air again. It's the kind of cold that nips at your skin constantly and gives no reprieve.
You cross into the threshold of your bedroom before you squeeze his hand in return and let go of it, turning your attention to the bed. You pull the covers down as you order him to strip from his trousers, which he follows. The heat in the room has been turned up so it's nice and toasty for the two of you. You pat the bed as you sit down, signaling him to follow behind you.
He sits on the edge of the bed and you situate yourself so that you're sitting behind him on your knees.
"What're you doing?" He asks, reaching his hand back and grabbing at your pajama clad legs. Shushing him, you raise your hands to his shoulders, placing one hand on each shoulder. You begin to knead the tense muscles under your grip, digging your thumbs into the hard knots and circling them, trying to work them out of his shoulders.
You hear what seems to be a soft moan escaping David's lips as you continue the motions, which causes you to smile with pride. "Feels good? You're so tense, Dave." You tell him softly, concern laced between your words.
"Mhm, feels good." He manages to get out, his head hanging forward as you continue to work the tight muscles with your hands. You're both quiet for a few minutes as your hands work, soft groans slipping past his lips every now and then. When you're satisfied with what you've accomplished, you give his shoulders one last squeeze before leaning forward and placing a soft kiss against his right shoulder blade.
You wrap your arms around his torso, hugging him loosely from behind as you rest your chin against his shoulder. He places his hand on top of yours that's resting on his stomach, leaning his head to the side to rest it gently against yours. You allow yourselves a few moments of silence, enjoying each others presence.
"Let's lay down, yeah?" You finally say quietly, tapping your fingers lightly against his stomach. He nods in agreement, removing his hand from yours to allow you the space to move away from him comfortably. The two of you move in silence, finding your ways to your respective sides of the bed. David is always closest to the door, wanting to be able to protect you even while he’s unconscious.
Once the two of you are situated under the covers, you turn to face him. He's lying on his back, eyes on the ceiling. He's lost in his thoughts—something that's easy for him to do. It's dark in the room, but you can still make out the way his face scrunches, muscles contracting involuntarily under his skin, and the way his eyes blink hard.
Adjusting yourself so that you're on your side and able to reach over to him, you begin running your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as you repeat the motion consistently. His eyes flutter shut, and you swear you hear a soft moan of approval at your actions.
While David rarely, if ever, vocalizes it, you know that he loves to be babied by you. You know his job is hard. Long hours, physically and mentally demanding work that doesn't just end whenever he clocks out for the day. It's the type of work that follows him home, always sitting in the corner of whatever room he's in. It's presence heavy and constantly begging to be felt.
You figure babying him is the absolute least you can do for him.
"Get some sleep, baby," you whisper, continuing the movement of your hand in his hair. "I can wake you in a few hours." You finish, eyes still open and watching him.
He swallows, clearing his throat before he speaks. "One hour. Give me one hour and I'll be ready to get up."
Both of you know he needs more than one hour, but you don't argue with him. You know that his mind is only on those two little girls and one hour is all that he will allow himself. Just a short slumber to get his head straight. To think more clearly.
You're just grateful he's allowing himself to sleep at all.
"One hour. Then I'll wake you." You agree, pushing yourself closer to his body. He raises his arm from the bed and places it on your thigh, squeezing it lightly before rubbing his thumb against it slowly. A silent thank you—a thank you for putting up with his long hours, the time you spend by yourself waiting on him to return, taking care of him, the mental load, and just him in general.
"Don't know how I did this before I had you. I think I'd go crazy now if you weren't here with me. I love you." His voice is quiet, but it's filled with raw honesty as the sentiments fall from his tongue. The words hit you like a brick. Their force is strong and they're aimed right at your heart.
"I love you, David. Get some rest." Your reply is simple, but the words are truthful and hold weight.
You stay with him, fingers still scratching his scalp to lull him to a brief, but so desperately needed, sleep. You have no plans of sleeping with him, you'd rather spend your time with him watching as he drifts to sleep. Listening to his soft snores as his brain finally shuts off and watching his chest rise and fall with each breath he takes in and expels out.
You want to cherish the brief time you have with him before he's out in the cold again and you're home alone—waiting on him to walk through the door and worrying sick about him returning home.
Summary: Fresh out of the academy, David Loki’s a young cop on the night shift. What happens when during a routine traffic stop, he’s confronted with an old crush who has other plans to get out of a ticket?
A/N: This was a request by @jakegyllenhaalscharacters . I hope you like it; I actually had a lot of fun with this prompt! It’s fun to imagine a young, slightly less mature Loki. As a Virgo, the rule follower in me was conflicted by the reader’s choice but also it’s kinda hot, right? Also I’m exhausted so I beta’d this once, sorry for any typos I tried lol.
Tags are open
David likes the night shift.
It’s quiet, especially after 2 a.m. The peak hour for conflict is typically over, most people giving in to their exhaustion and choosing peace in the form of sleep.
No drunks on the road. No heightened calls for domestic violence. No dead bodies.
Just the dark and the silence.
David takes a sip out of his coffee, his eyes shifting left to right as he watches the dark road in the confines of his police vehicle. He’s parked between two trees, tucked away and hidden, listening to the soft static of the radio.
Most new cops were the opposite, hating how slow nights can be. It was less action, more babysitting, but David appreciated that. It gave him a moment to study for one of the many exams required to apply to get promoted to detective in the dead of night.
He wasn’t social, not really, so he didn’t miss the social nuances the day provided.
It also meant he wouldn’t get partnered with someone, few people assigned to the night shift. No trigger happy partner or chatty companion needing to fill up quiet voids with words. He could operate alone, in silence.
He liked the night shift.
It was peaceful.
He’s looking down at the book he was currently studying, eyes flickering between the road and the creamy pages when he sees it. A flash of headlights, bright and iridescent casting shadows onto the road. They're moving fast….too fast. Fast enough to be speeding for this road.
Shit.
David stumbles, looking for his radar gun. He can’t find it in the half lit car, and he curses as he gives up on the action. Instead, he throws his car into drive, waiting for a second more before he turns his beams on. The car flies by and David’s off, flicking on his police siren and following in pursuit.
He looks down at the odometer, jesus they were going 90 in a 45, and he’s grateful that whoever he was pursuing clocks that he's tailing them quickly, slowing down and pulling off to the side of the road.
David exhales, it turns into a yawn as he puts the car into park. He steps out of the vehicle, the semi cool Pennsylvania air hitting his arms. He blinks, a series of three that happen in quick succession, as he reads the license plate, memorizing the series of letters and numbers to his brain just in case as he walks to the driver's side.
Faint music is playing, something upbeat and catchy, and the driver rolls down their window, before placing their hands back on the steering wheel.
“License and registration.”
His voice sounds foreign even to him, hours of not talking making it raspy as he raises the beam of his flashlight to the driver who shifts their body, grabbing the necessary documents.
When you turn back to him your eyebrows knit together, eyes flashing with surprise as you ask,
“Loki?”
David watches you for a beat, his mind scrambling to place a face with a name. It’s late though, he’s tired and so nothing registers as he repeats,
“License and registration.”
Your eyes flash something, disappointment, as you pass along your documents. He checks your license first - face (a match), license expiration date, name….
Wait.
He did know you.
“Y/N? Y/N Grant?”
“Yes!” You laugh tiredly, falling back in your seat though you keep your hands on the steering wheel, in sight. David appreciates it.
“You were speeding like a demon out of hell. Everything okay? Family all right?”
His eyebrows knit together, concern laced in his eyes as he looks down at you. He knew your father, the man had been both of their history teachers and was admittedly David’s favorite teacher the four years he went to Manchester High School. If something had happened to him, he didn’t want to get in the way of that.
“No, no everything is fine. No family emergency.”
“So you were just speeding because you thought you could get away with it?”
You gives a sheepish shrug,
“I mean…it’s 2 in the morning. Also I left school later than I planned so I was trying to make up for time. And make it to a bed - preterms killed me.”
David knows he should drop it for what it was, didn’t need to pry but you were one of the few people in high school that was kind to him, talked to him. Despite being a popular girl, you never minded eating lunch with him, asking how he was doing, offering to study together.
He had a small crush on you but figured he wasn’t your type so after getting his diploma, he pushed you away from his mind. Three years made it easy to do.
“You’re driving from school? I thought you were going to Princeton.”
“I was.”
“What happened?”
“Even with a full ride scholarship, I’d still be 100k in debt when I graduate. Neither myself or my family can afford that. So I chose my safety school, Penn State. They also offered me a full ride.”
“Sorry to hear that. I know that you were excited to get into Princeton.”
“Meh. Penn actually has a decent graphic design program so it’s fine. And I’m closer to home so that’s been a bonus when I’m too broke for food.”
David gives a curt nod, shifting his hands so his flashlight doesn’t shine in your eyes. You shift your eyes to his badge and ask,
“So you’re a cop?”
David shrugs,
“I want to be a detective. Gotta work the beat to prove you're one of them to get on track.”
“That makes sense. You were always good with puzzles. We need more good people in law,” you drink in his face, his body in uniform. “And you look great in blue.”
David has had his fair share of women flirting with him, especially when he was in uniform. He wasn’t used to you flirting though, never clocked it in high school so he feels flattered by the comment. The way his lips tug at the corners doesn’t hide it either.
“Are you flirting to get out of a ticket?”
“No! I’m just giving you a compliment. You're still bad at taking them, it would seem.”
You’re still beaming up at him and he gives a dry laugh,
“Lucky for you, I can be swayed. I’ll let you off with a warning. Slow down okay. Lots of deer sightings on this road, better to be careful.”
He hands you back your license, your registration as you ask uncertainly,
“Really?”
“Yeah. Have a good night Y/N. It was nice seeing you.”
He turns to move back to his car, mind wondering the time and if his shift is almost over. When you call for him, the sound of your 95 Honda Civic’s car door squeaking open, he's jolted back to the present as you get out of your car.
His hand moves to his holstered gun out of habit, though he knows you don’t mean any harm nor were you dangerous as you shut your door, wrapping yourself with your arms. He shifts his hand away from his belt, not wanting to alarm you as you near,
“Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I just…we haven’t seen each other in three years. Don’t you want to, I don’t know, catch up?”
“It’s almost 3 am and I’m on duty.”
“I’m on spring break and I’m wired off two Red Bulls. I have time. Also this road is dead so really you have time too.”
David raises a brow incredulously and you sigh,
“Are you really going to make me say it?”
“Say what?”
“That I had a crush on you. Back in school. I was always hoping you’d ask me out but you never did. Even though I was pretty sure you liked me too.”
David takes in the information, another series of three blinks as you let out warily,
“…at least I thought you did. Maybe I’ve misread this whole thing.”
David slightly shakes his head,
“No, you’re right. I did have a crush on you. I just thought you were always being nice to me. You’re a kind person. That’s why I didn’t ask you out.”
That and the fact he was actively trying to do anything to get out of the Huntington Boys Home. After an incident with one of the priests in middle school, he worked diligently to stay off of anyone’s radar. Dating would’ve brought attention to himself.
He chose safety over self pleasure.
“Oh!” You brighten again as David deadpans,
“Still doesn’t change the fact that it's late, early, whatever. And that I’m still on duty.”
“You can take breaks though, right?”
David gives a slow nod as you walk closer, stopping inches in front of him.
“Have you taken yours yet?”
“No.”
He rarely ever did. Especially because he usually always had dead time towards the end of his shift.
“Good.”
You lean up to press your lips to his, the kiss tentative. David’s stunned for a second, doesn’t move for a beat, until his brain catches up with his body and he kisses you back.
It’s innocent, molded to each other and when you pull away you whisper,
“Let me take care of you David.”
You push your lips to him again, this time firmer and this time he catches you, hands gripping your arms as he kisses you back. You're both illuminated by his car's headlights, shadow puppets, and he groans when you skim his lips with your tongue.
He complies, opening his mouth allowing desire to take over, tongue battling dominance. You moan, falling into him easily as he wraps his arms around your waist. Your arms wrap around his neck, drawing him closer, liking the way he tastes like coffee, the faint smell of his cologne.
When you shimmy your hips into him he groans, his erection biting into your stomach.
David tries to latch onto something, anything, to gain control. His body is taking over, a lust fueled haze, and he tries to pull away from you.
He has to maintain control because this was insane, he was on duty, this wasn’t right.
He pulls away from you, firmly gripping your waist as he breathes out,
“Y/N wait. We should slow down.”
“How long is your break?”
“It’s 15 minutes.”
“Perfect.”
You grab his hand, dragging him to the other side of your car, the passenger side. He complies, a lust fueled haze unable to stop him as you push him towards the door, back hitting cool glass as your hands move toward unbuckling his belt.
“Whoa! What are you doing?” His hand is back on his holster, the other over your hands and you give a sly smile.
“I’m thanking you for not giving me a ticket.”
“Y/N you don’t have too…I literally met my quota weeks ago and it’s really no bother…”
You move to push your mouth on top of his, effectively quieting him. When you pull away you murmur against his lips,
“You worry too much. Relax, it's fine. Just let me take care of you. No one will interrupt us.”
If David was better at taking care of himself, he’d be able to think straight and think through a practical solution for this. If he’d made time to try to date on occasion, maybe he wouldn’t be so eager for the way your hands were moving down the front of his shirt.
If he had at least been better at rubbing one out more often, he couldn’t remember the last time he had masturbated let alone had sex, he wouldn’t be so responsive as you palmed his cock through his pants, desire winning.
You unbutton his belt again, slowly, and this time he doesn’t resist. When you slide his pants down, gun and all of his equipment with it, he tries not to linger on the fact that he’s naked, unarmed both literally and figuratively.
It’s a fleeting thought, especially when you're pulling down his briefs, his cock springing out of the confines of the material, greeting the cool spring air as you move to your knees. You look up at him, a devious smile on your face as you move your mouth to cover his crown.
He groans the last of any intelligent thought out the window. You barely had him in your mouth and he felt so good, the way your lips were sucking him, tongue flicking over his hole. He throws his head back, eyes staring up at the starry sky as you move your mouth lower, clocking the constellation canis major. If he could focus he’d tell you something about it, like how it contains Sirius the brightest star in the sky, but he can’t.
He’s a victim to your tongue, its all he can think about.
You take your time with David, drinking in the way he moans, his breathing hitched as you move to his base. He’s bigger than you expected, girth and veins overpowering your mouth, and you inhale his scent as your nose finally meets his base.
He’s trimmed but hair tickles your face, causes you to wrinkle your nose as you have him sit on your tongue, the back of your throat. You breathe steadily out of your nose, years of giving drunken head providing the muscle memory you don’t even think about.
You missed sex, you hadn’t made time for any this semester or the last. You loved sucking a man off, loved having the power of their most prized possession in your mouth. It turned you on.
David looks down at you, eyes heavy as you finally move away, slowly, until you're back at his crown and then you move down on him again, his tip touching the back of your throat.
He loses it then, hand moving to your hair, hands tangling as he urged you on,
“You’re doing so good, yeah Y/N, just like that.”
You whimper, the sound reverberates around his member as you begin to move faster, hand going to his thighs for leverage. His voice is lower, sultrier, as you flicker your eyes up to him.
He watches you in awe, at the way you take more of him, the way you gag around him. You’re practiced at this though, not dissuaded by his size, diligently keeping him in your mouth and he knows he’s not going to last any longer.
It had been too long and you were working him like a professional.
He feels that sinking feeling in his abdomen, feels his balls tighten as he fists some of your hair, pulling hard.
“Y/N, aw shit, Y/N I’m…..I’m….fuck I’m close.”
You don’t stop, in fact it drives you to move faster, sucking him harder and he crumbles, his orgasm hitting him hard and fast.
The relief of his seed falling into your mouth is the best feeling he’s had in months, years, and he shouts, breaking the silence of the night as he pumps into you.
David’s cum is thick, you have to pace yourself as you swallow more of him, liking the way he tenderly held your head as you sucked him dry.
When he’s done you smile around him, pulling away slowly until the only thing tying him to you is a trail of spit that breaks as you look up at him.
His senses slowly start rushing to him - the soft sound of the police radio from his car, the eggshell beam of light that was highlighting your face, the cool air hitting his softening cock.
“Holy shit.” He whispers as you let out a small giggle, moving up him and placing a soft kiss on his lips.
“Have a nice break?”
Right. He was still, technically, working.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Glad to repay you for your kindness.”
David’s eyebrows furrow, lips pressing into a frown as he mumbles,
“Wait, I didn’t…you didn’t-“
“David I’m going to touch myself and cum so hard when I get to bed, your taste in my mouth. Trust me, I’ll be taken care of.”
David can’t help the blush that takes over his cheeks at your directness, watching you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.
“You should probably put your pants on.”
“Fuck. Yeah.”
He moves quickly, pulling up his briefs, his pants. He checks his belt, specifically his gun, cuffs, pepper spray and other items and when he feels that everything is in order, tucks in his shirt and zips up his pants. You wrap your arms tighter around you, Pennsylvania springs were still cold and flicker your eyes back to him.
“I should probably head home. I really am tired.”
He nods, unsure on what to say, how he should proceed. Should he ask for your number? Would you want to go on a date? Was that appropriate considering you sucked him off to kingdom come?
He follows you to the driver's side of your car, opening it for you as the hinges squeak loudly. You slide back into your seat, snapping your seat belt on. You start your car before looking over at him.
“This was nice. We should catch up again.”
David nods as you continue,
“Are you here most nights?”
“Yeah. Usually around this time.”
“Good to know. I’m in town for a week. I’ll be sure to bring dinner next time I’m caught speeding.”
You wink at him, a teasing glint in your eyes and he gives a low laugh, shaking his head.
“You’re trouble Y/N. Next time I might not be so forgiving.”
“Something to look forward to then.”
He smiles at you, hitting your hood and saying,
“Have a good night Y/N. Try to stay at least five over.”
“Whatever you say, officer.”
You give him one last wink, before rolling up your window. He moves away from your car, walking back to his own mildly worried that the battery was dead from having his beams on.
He falls into his seat, watching as your car moves back onto the road and into the night, and turns the ignition as the car roars to life and he's grateful it’s not dead. He makes a U turn, slowly driving back to his original spot, settling in and grabbing his book, his coffee now long cold.
He doesn’t linger on the fact that his captain would ream him if he found out about tonight's extra curricular activities, or the fact he lost an hour of studying time.
Instead he wonders if he’ll actually see you again, if you’ll make good on your promise.
If so, David was happy he had the night shift.
_________
All content was written originally by me; please do not repost, use, or market as your own work.
jack twist, elwood dalton, david loki, who accidentally hits their boyfriend in the face like REALLY hard
but their boyfriend is a people pleaser and says it's fine over and over again while they're trying to move his hand and help💀
JACK TWIST, ELWOOD DALTON, DAVID LOKI, accidentally hitting their boyfriend in the face
male reader, use of 'doll'/'hon' or sum i forgot, broken noses, bleeding, yelling, worry turns into worried anger, jack twist is a switch, nothing to do with the fic, just saying, i have no knowledge on how wind words, foldable chairs are not to be used as weapons, everyone was holding something, on elwoods bit reader doesn't know elwood after retirement if that makes sense, not proofread, ever
JACK TWIST
— it happened when he needed you to help move the horses gear, and some of the fishing equipment to a different place since it was getting a bit colder and he didn't want the wind blowing out any fire or accidentally making it bigger than it needs to be
— he was trying to move one of the chairs and was talking to you but wasn't really able to see where you were since he was in a bit of a rush.
"yeah and that son of'a bitch don'—" the chair hit you smack dab in your face, most of it hitting your eyelid area.
the only noise he heard was the tiny 'ow!' and your hat hitting the ground.
— trying to get your hand off your eye, and saying sorry hoping you weren't absolutely pissed at him just for you to constantly say it's fine, and you were fine, and he didn't need to worry about it.
— he does not let that happen.
"c'mere.." he sat you down, finding a first aid which he was lucky he remembered he packed it. "shit doll it's swollen." his accent got thicker with worry while trying to take more of a look at it.
"it is? oh, that's okay i can–" "hush it." "okay."
ELWOOD DALTON
before retirement
— do not come up behind this man when he's stressed.
— probably has a little area like a basement he goes to train below or let off some steam. you were coming down to let him know that the food was ready but he was too drowned out to really hear you.
"el!" you tapped him, biggest mistake. he freaked out and punched you in the face thinking you were some robber or something.
— only freaks out even more, muttering a bunch of curses and saying sorry a shit load.
"move your hand i broke your fuckin' nose!" "no, no, it's okay i'll walk it off—" "move your damn hand!"
after retirement
— you worked in the bar and he was helping out clean the rest of the mess after cleaning out the guys who had messed it up in the first place.
— he was moving a bit of the tables and chairs and while doing that you came up behind him, unfortunately while he had been moving a table and it hit your face making you fall over.
"oh, my god i just hit you in your face, are you okay?!" he set the table down instantly just to see you shaking your head trying to get up on your own.
"it's alright, no issues!" "you're bleeding!"
DAVID LOKI
— poor guy, feels bad even after whether he shows it or not.
— got forced to move around some stuff cause some guy got fired and he needed help getting his desk cleaned out. for one , he was already mad , for two he was about to get even angrier and he did not have the time for that.
— was moving around some sort of box and you came out of absolutely nowhere.
"hey davi- loki, sorry, do you have the files for– ah!" "what the fuck..? oh, what the fuck!"
— took him a bit to realize, he forgot about moving the stuff and instantly came to your aid. was worried without the blood, got even more worried with the blood.
"shit, shit, shit.." "is it bleeding?" he had pulled you up to get you some sort of aid and wipe off the blood. could care less if you were fine, you were his boyfriend and he didn't want you to just be bleeding cause of him, accident or not.
— let you take about a five minute break before he had to get back to work.
"be careful next time, alright?" he kissed your forehead, patting your cheek very lightly. "m'kay, see you at home."
