#david loki self insert

David’s key turned slowly in the lock, a deep sigh escaped his chest. The door creaked open, and there he stood—tall, broad, every inch the detective the city expected him to be. But expectations were heavy, especially being the detective that solved every case.

David stepped inside, silent except for the low thud of his boots on the hardwood. No greeting, no shrug of his coat. Just the slam of the door behind him.

he didn’t have the energy to put on a brave face for you tonight. He was tired. The kind that sleep couldn’t fix.

You were in the kitchen, warming up his dinner. His eyes meet yours-and it wrecks him.

He reaches you in four long strides, and then he’s on you—face to your neck, arms around your waist, clutching you like you’re the only thing keeping him together.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t explain. He just needs.

Your hands move on instinct—into his hair, down his back, over the thick fabric of his coat. You can feel the way he trembles. Not with cold.

He said nothing for a long time.

But you felt everything in the way he held you.

Like he was trying to ground himself. Like he needed to touch something good and kind, to remember the world wasn't made entirely of horror.

His shoulders shuddered once—then again. And then he was quietly falling apart in your arms, his badge and bravado left somewhere between the crime scene and the front door.

You didn’t ask what he’d seen. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

You just held him tighter.

As his silent tears dampened your shirt, your heart sank. You knew the darkness he carried, knew the things he had to see to protect others, to try to bring justice to this damn town. But you also knew how he carried his own trauma.

When he unlatched himself from you, his eyes were puffy and red and his bottom lip quivered just a bit.

You held his face in your hands, a simple gesture that meant I see you, I know you. I love you.

“Come here,” you whispered, helping him shed his jacket. You took his hand and led him to the couch.

He sat heavily.

“I’ll be right back with dinner. And a beer?”

He nodded.

“Whiskey?”

He nodded again, confirming his choice of drink.

You plated dinner and poured David’s whiskey and a glass of wine for yourself.

You curled up on the couch beside him while he ate. The show you put on was something mindless and didn’t require much attention- neither of you were watching it, regardless.

For a while- after glasses had been emptied, refilled, then emptied again- you just breathed together.

You didn’t need to fill the silence. It wasn’t empty—it was full of unsaid things. Of grief and guilt and too many hours spent on the job and not home with you.

You stood, gently taking the glass from David’s hand- setting it on the coffee table.

“C’mon. Hot shower make you feel better.”

He arose without protest, letting you lead him to the bedroom.

He sat on the edge of the bed, peeling off his socks while watching you scurry around getting him a fresh towel and washcloth. You even went as far as laying out his favorite pair of sweatpants and t-shirt.

He didn’t have a favorite pair of anything until you came around. The t-shirt had become his favorite the first time he saw you wear it. You had made the most delicious breakfast one morning- wearing nothing but his shirt. Then, after breakfast, he bent you over and took you right there on the kitchen counter. It had been his favorite ever since. The sweats were his favorite because you bought them for him- insisting he ditch the jeans and be comfy. He’d never been comfier.

You stood between his legs, trying to coax him into the shower.

He looked up at you with glassy, tired eyes- there was something in them you couldn’t quite read.

His hand cupped your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone.

“Thank you.” He said, voice meek.

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed or desperate. It was slow. Full of ache. Full of everything he didn’t have words for.

He kissed you like you were the first clean breath he’d had in days.

He hadn’t meant to ignite anything—just wanted to confirm you're real.

But it lights something anyway.

You loosen the collar of his shirt, your fingers fumbling with the buttons, and he lets you undress him piece by piece. Not hurried. Not lustful. Just needy in a way that isn't about sex. Not yet. It's about skin. Warmth. Proximity. Something to soften the sharp edges still carved into him.

You pulled away slightly; reluctantly. You wanted nothing more than to comfort David, but you loved him too much to take advantage of him in any way.

Your face must have said what you were thinking before your mouth could.

“I want you, baby.” He said, voice still quiet, rough, “Need to know I’m still a man. Still human. Wanna..Make you feel good.” He said, his hands resting on your hips.

“I just want you to be sure. Don’t wanna..you know…hurt you. Want you to be in the right state of mind, to.. consent.” You mumbled, combing your hands through his messy dark strands.

“I appreciate you lookin’ out for me like that, honey, I do.” He said. “It means more than you know. But I’d never regret makin’ love to you…or just do it to make myself feel better..You’re everything to me.”

His words melted your insides. They were earnest and true and made you wanna give him everything he ever wanted. Not just your body, but your heart and soul- all of you.

Your eyes scanned his face as his hands skimmed your body. His fingers tracing your ribs, your hips, the dip of your waist, as if memorizing proof that you were real, that this was real.

“I’m alright, darlin’. I want you, if you’ll have me.” He murmured, voice rough.

Your eyes flickered to his lips and back up to his unyielding baby blues. “Of course I’ll have you. Always will.” The last words came out barely a whisper, but loud enough to be carved into David’s memory.

Always.

Within a moment, his mouth was on yours—hungry, uneven, the taste of desperation more potent than the whiskey he’d had just before.

Your clothes and the remainder of his were shed in frantic, clumsy motions, but not for the sake of lust alone—it was about stripping away the day, the blood and grit of the job until there was nothing left between you but skin. Until he could remember he was flesh and bone, not just the badge, not just the case files but yours. Yours to hold, to care for. To love.

The moment you were bare before him, he slowed. “So beautiful..” He muttered before sealing his mouth to your chest, sucking at your skin until you were putty in his hands. He wanted to taste every part of you, claim every inch, erase the bitter tang of violence with the sweetness of you.

His hands gripped and kneaded the soft flesh of your ass. He pulled you flush against him, his cock rock hard against you.

He then pulled you on into his lap and you began to grind your slick heat along his length, earning a moan from him that went straight to your core.

He held you- not as if you were something fragile-but as if you were something solid and grounding. And to him you were that- an anchor. His anchor.

He coaxed you out of his lap and onto the bed.

You gently laid your head on the pillow, watching David’s every move.

He climbed over you, eyes full of hunger and desire.

When you pulled him down closer to you, he followed like gravity itself bound him to you. He pressed his face to your neck, kissing, breathing, grounding himself in the rhythm of your pulse. Your hands traced the slope of his broad shoulders, the tension in every line of muscle, easing him open with touch alone.

“I’ve got you.” you whispered, lips brushing his ear. “You’re here, with me.”

He groaned low in his chest and slid his hands along your body, wanting to memorize every inch. His touch was reverent, then hungry, then reverent again- balancing on a delicate scale.

When he finally pushed into you, he broke. His breath stuttered, his face burying into your neck.

“God—” he rasped, voice cracking, “—you make me feel alive.”

He clung to you, moving with a raw, aching need, every thrust carrying more than desire—passion and warmth. Love.

And you gave him everything: your hands gripping his back, nails in his skin to remind him he was real; your voice whispering his name like a prayer; your body grounding him in the here and now.

He muttered sweet nothings in between moans and curses as he thrust into you, eating up every moan and sigh you were giving him.

You felt the familiar heat curl in your belly, David’s cock hitting inside you just right. He wanted you to come undone under him, to feel you clench and spasm around him; to know he was making you feel good.

Every thrust was a plea, every gasp against your lips a confession he couldn’t voice any other way. He drove into you as deep as he could, angling his hips to hit your g-spot. It was too much- the way he was touching you, kissing you, holding you while the sound of skin on skin rang in your ears. It pushed you over the edge. Your body went taut as waves of pleasure crashed over you. David worked you through your orgasm, eating up every moan and sound like it were mana from above.

His body trembled with the effort of holding himself together, and yet in you, he unraveled—safe to break, safe to want.

Your moans tangled with his, the room filled with the slick sounds of your bodies moving in sync. He moved faster, harder, chasing the edge, but his eyes never left yours.

“Fuck, babygirl..Gonna-mm- gonna cum.” he panted, voice ragged.

“Give it to me David, I wanna feel you.” you whispered, clenching around him, pulling him deeper.

That undid him. With a strangled sound, he buried himself in you, thrusts faltering as release tore through him. His body shook, his face pressed to your neck as he spilled inside you, groaning your name like a prayer.

You held him through it, legs tightening around his waist, arms around his shoulders, keeping him anchored while waves of shuddering breaths left him spent against you. His heart pounded against your chest, heavy and real.

When the aftershocks faded, he stayed inside you, head on your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat. You felt him steady—stitched together by your hands, your lips, your love. Not perfect, not whole, but human. And that was enough.

David’s pleading blue eyes convinced you to shower with him. But you didn’t really need much convincing to begin with.

The bathroom filled with steam as the water ran hot.

For a moment, David just stood under the stream of water, in hopes it would wash his worries away.

It didn’t.

But it helped. You helped.

You ran the soapy cloth over David’s body with reverence, minding the little cuts and bruises he’d been collecting.

He just stood there, letting you clean him-enjoying your caring, attentive hands.

The simple act had him gazing at you like you were something holy; like you could wash his soul clean too.

You simply smiled under his heavy gaze and reached for the shampoo. David let out a something between a moan and a growl when you dragged your nails across his scalp. You continued to comb your fingers through his wet hair- making him feel good and scrubbing out the stubborn hair product he liked to use.

When you both were clean, he kissed you slow and easy, savoring the sensation of your warm lips and the hot water running down his back.

You were both slick with soap suds and water- the nonslip shower mat your only saving grace. His mouth found your neck again, pressing heavy, wet kisses and small nibbles all the way down to your breasts.

It was slower, sweeter than before. There was no rush, no urgency to reach the finish line. He was taking his time with you as if the water bill wasn’t due next week.

He lifted your leg up over his hip and slid into you in one slow motion, savoring the wet, smooth, heat.

Your moans echoed off the tile walls, the intensity of the sound drove him absolutely wild- in the best way.

He continued to kiss you deeply; all teeth and tongue. When his mouth wasn’t connected to yours, he was leaving little bite marks along your skin, not enough to bruise, but just enough to remind you of the moment in the morning.

David-who was thriving off your pleasure- thrusted into you faster now, driving you towards your second orgasm.

He hiked your leg up higher, singing your praises- how tight and wet you are, how pretty you look taking his thick cock.

“Thats it, sweet girl. Mhmm, takin’ my cock so good.”

And with that, a toe-curling orgasm came over you, sending electricity through your veins. He held you through it, his grip tightening as he approached his own climax.

Your orgasm sent David over the edge, with a few more thrusts he was spilling inside you again with a loud groan. You held him through this one too, gently coaxing him through his high.

Neither of you moved. He continued to hold you close while he gently lifted your leg off his waist.

“God, you’re perfect.” He whispered, stroking your wet hair. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” You mumbled into his moist skin. “So much.”

You embraced each other for a while longer. Water bill be damned.

-

When you and he crawled into bed, David curled toward you like a man seeking shelter from a storm.

You pressed your forehead to his. Let your fingers dance over his ribs, slow and grounding.

His hand slid under your shirt, not for anything more, just to feel skin-to-skin.

And when he finally fell asleep—deep, exhausted, and safe—you stayed awake a little longer.

Watching him.

Protecting him, for once.

You woke to the rustle of sheets and the sharp inhale of breath that wasn’t yours. In the dark, your eyes adjusted to the outline of broad, strong shoulders sitting upright on the edge of the bed, his chest rising and falling like he was trying to catch up with the world that had just torn him out of sleep.

“David?” your voice was soft, still husky from sleep.

He didn’t answer at first.

You slid closer, your hand brushing across his back, slow and deliberate, reminding him you were there. “nightmare?”

His jaw flexed. “Yeah.” A single word, gravel-low. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, like he could scrub the images out of his head. “I was sleepin’ so good too.”

You wrapped your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek between his shoulder blades. He leaned back into you, just a fraction, like he couldn’t quite help it, like his body yearned for yours. (It did)

“It’s just us. Just the quiet.” You whispered.

His breath shuddered.

Slowly, you shifted around to face him, climbing into his lap so he couldn’t look away. Your hands cupped his face, thumbs smoothing the furrows between his brows. He finally lifted his eyes to yours

“Sorry to wake you up.”

You kissed his temple, lingering. “It’s alright.”

For a long moment, he just breathed against you, the sharp edges of him softening under your steady touch. His hands—those hands that were always gripping too hard, always fidgeting—slid to your waist and held on, not rough, not desperate, just grounding.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you.,” he muttered against your hair, voice quiet but raw.

You pressed your forehead to his, your fingers curling at the nape of his neck.

“You never have to wonder. You’re stuck with me.” You chuckled slightly.

The tension in him broke. He smiled- small, but still there. “No one I’d rather be stuck with, baby.”

Eventually, when the silence settled, you guided him back down against the pillows. He resisted for a moment, restless energy still sparking through him, but your steady presence anchored him. You stayed close, one hand resting over his chest, feeling the uneven thrum of his heartbeat slowly begin to steady beneath your touch.

You didn’t tell him the nightmares would go away, because they might not. Instead, you offered what you could: quiet, warmth, the simple reminder that he wasn’t alone in the dark.