Lover Boy
(David Loki x reader)
Pairing: David Loki x female reader
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.
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