#david wayne loki

The first time David Loki noticed it, he almost thought he imagined it.

His hand had brushed yours when he passed you a file across the desk—nothing more than a quick graze of knuckles.

You flinched.

Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just a small, sharp recoil like your body had pulled away before your mind had time to decide.

David’s brows pulled together for half a second. Most people probably wouldn’t have noticed.

But David noticed things.

He didn’t say anything.

He just set the file down instead of handing it to you the next time.

It became a quiet pattern.

He never reached over you when you were sitting at the desk. He slid things across the table instead of placing them in your hands. When you stood beside him looking at a board of case photos, he kept a careful inch or two of space between your shoulders.

At first you thought it was coincidence.

Then you realized it wasn’t.

One night, you were both still at the station long after everyone else had left. The building hummed softly with fluorescent lights and distant air vents.

David sat across from you, sleeves rolled to his elbows, reading through witness statements.

You rubbed your temples.

“Headache?” he asked quietly.

You nodded.

He reached automatically toward the coffee pot beside him, then paused halfway. His hand hovered in the air for a moment before he pulled it back.

“Do you… want coffee?” he asked instead.

The hesitation made your chest tighten.

“You don’t have to do that,” you said softly.

“Do what?”

“Act like I’m… breakable.”

His eyes flicked up to you, immediately concerned.

“That’s not what I’m doing.”

You looked down at the table, tracing the grain of the wood with your finger.

“You noticed though.”

It wasn’t a question.

David shifted slightly in his chair.

“I notice a lot of things.”

A small, embarrassed breath escaped you.

“Yeah… I figured.”

Silence settled for a moment.

The kind that wasn’t uncomfortable—just careful.

David leaned back slightly, giving you more space without making a show of it.

“You don’t like being touched,” he said gently.

You swallowed.

“No.”

He didn’t ask why.

That alone made something in your chest loosen.

The tension between you and David didn’t arrive all at once.

It built slowly, quietly—like something neither of you meant to create but neither of you knew how to stop.

At first it lived in the spaces between you.

Across the desk when he slid a file your way instead of handing it to you. In the careful distance he kept when you stood shoulder-to-shoulder looking at case photos.

He noticed everything about you.

The way you tucked your hands into your sleeves when people crowded too close. The way you leaned away from accidental brushes in the hallway. The way your body relaxed—just a little—when it was only him nearby.

And you noticed things about him too.

How he always made space for you without announcing it. How he stood between you and other people without thinking. How his voice softened when he spoke to you, like you were something he didn’t want to startle.

It made something warm and dangerous settle under your ribs.

Because you liked him.

You liked the way he looked at you like you were worth paying attention to. You liked the quiet humor in his voice. You liked the way his mind worked—sharp and strange and thoughtful all at once.

And that was the problem.

Because liking someone meant closeness.

Closeness meant touch.

Touch meant your body might betray you.

David liked you too.

More than he meant to.

He told himself it started with professional respect. You were smart, observant, good at reading people in ways he admired.

But then he started noticing smaller things.

The way your brow furrowed when you concentrated. The quiet little jokes you muttered under your breath that made him hide a smile. The way you sat curled in your chair during late nights at the precinct.

And sometimes—when you forgot yourself—you would drift a little closer to him.

Those moments stayed with him longer than they should have.

Because he knew you didn’t like being touched.

He had seen the way your shoulders snapped tight when someone brushed past you unexpectedly.

So he kept his distance.

Even when every instinct told him to close it.

It created this strange orbit between you.

Like two magnets hovering just shy of snapping together.

Late nights at the precinct made it worse.

You’d sit across from each other at the breakroom table, tired and loose from hours of work.

Your knees almost touching under the table.

Sometimes you’d both reach for the same pen or file and your fingers would stop just short of brushing.

Every time it happened, both of you froze.

Then someone would pull back.

Usually him.

Not because he didn’t want to touch you.

But because he did.

Too much.

One night the tension got almost unbearable.

You were both standing in front of the case board, studying the photos pinned there.

It was late. The building was quiet.

You stepped closer to look at something.

Your shoulder ended up inches from his.

David’s brain immediately noticed.

Your hair smelled faintly like shampoo and cold night air. He could feel the warmth of you beside him without even touching.

His hands stayed locked in his pockets.

Your arm shifted slightly.

For half a second it brushed his sleeve.

Both of you went still.

Your breath caught.

David didn’t move away.

He just said quietly, without looking at you,

“Sorry.”

You blinked.

“You didn’t do anything.”

Another second passed.

Neither of you stepped away.

Your voice came out softer this time.

“…I didn’t mind.”

That made David turn his head.

His eyes met yours.

Something unspoken passed between you then—curious, cautious, hopeful.

Like both of you were standing at the edge of something fragile.

Not sure if it would break.

Or become something real.

David swallowed slightly.

“Okay,” he said gently.

And neither of you moved away.

—

It took weeks before the next step happened.

It was late again. Always late with cases like this.

You were both sitting on the couch in your apartment, a half-eaten box of takeout between you.

Your knee bounced anxiously while you read over case notes. 

David watched it for a moment before speaking.

“Can I ask something?”

“Depends,” you muttered.

He almost smiled.

“Is it all touching… or just certain kinds?”

Your knee stopped bouncing.

You stared at the papers in your hands for a long time before answering.

“Most of it.”

He nodded slowly, absorbing that.

“But not all?” he asked.

You hesitated.

Then you held your hand out between you on the couch cushion.

Palm down.

Not touching him.

Just… there.

“If I know it’s coming,” you said quietly. “Sometimes.”

David looked at your hand like it was something fragile.

“Okay,” he said softly.

He didn’t move right away.

“Tell me if you want me to stop.”

Your throat tightened.

“I will.”

Slowly, cautiously, David rested the tips of his fingers over the back of your hand.

Barely any pressure.

Just warmth.

Your shoulders tensed automatically—but you didn’t pull away.

His touch stayed still. Patient.

Not trapping you. Not holding you down.

Just there.

After a few seconds, your breathing steadied again.

“Okay?” he murmured.

You nodded once.

“Okay.”

A few minutes passed like that.

Then you spoke again.

“I used to not mind it.”

David didn’t interrupt.

You kept your eyes on your hand under his.

“I have trauma. A lot of it.”

The words came out flat. Practiced.

You told David about the past, how it affected you to this day. 

David’s jaw tightened.

Your fingers twitched under his.

David stayed perfectly still, like even breathing too hard might make you bolt.

“I got used to… never knowing when someone was going to grab me.”

Your voice got quieter.

“So now my body just assumes it’s bad.”

Silence filled the room.

Then David spoke, voice low and steady.

“You’re allowed to decide who touches you.”

Something in your chest cracked a little at the certainty in his tone.

“You say stop,” he continued softly, “I stop. Immediately.”

His thumb shifted slightly—barely brushing your knuckle.

“You say never again, I listen.”

Your eyes stung.

“You say this is okay…” he murmured.

His hand gave yours the faintest squeeze.

“…then this is all it ever has to be.”

A shaky laugh escaped you.

“You’re weirdly good at this.”

David shrugged slightly.

“I… understand what it's like to have a lot of trauma.”

You finally looked up at him.

His eyes were gentle. Patient. Not expecting anything.

You turned your hand over under his.

Palm up.

It was a small thing.

But it made David go very still.

Your fingers curled loosely around his.

“You can hold my hand,” you said quietly.

His breath left him slowly, like he’d been holding it.

“Okay.”

And this time when his fingers closed around yours—

it felt safe.

The First Time You Reach For Him

It happened without you even thinking about it.

Which was the surprising part.

You were sitting beside David at the precinct, reading through a report while he typed something at his computer.

Your chair rolled closer without you noticing.

You leaned against his shoulder.

David stopped typing.

Completely still.

You didn’t realize why until you glanced up.

His eyes were wide behind his glasses.

“…What?” you asked.

“You leaned on me.”

You blinked.

“Oh.”

You started to pull away immediately.

“Sorry—”

David grabbed your hand quickly, stopping you.

The sudden movement made you freeze, but his grip softened instantly.

“Wait,” he said.

Your eyes met his.

“Was that okay?” he asked.

You thought about it.

Your shoulder was still brushing his.

Your hand was in his.

Your chest didn’t feel tight.

“…Yeah,” you said slowly.

David exhaled.

Then he did something that made your heart twist a little.

He leaned his head gently against yours.

Like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your fingers tightened around his automatically.

David smiled faintly.

“You know,” he murmured, “this might be my favorite one so far.”

You looked at him sideways.

“Which one?”

“The leaning.”

You snorted.

“That’s your favorite?”

“So far.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Well… get used to it.”

David’s smile softened in a way that made your chest warm.

“I’d like that.”

And this time, when you stayed leaning against him—

neither of you questioned it.

The First Hug

It happened on a bad day.

The case had gone wrong. A suspect slipped through their fingers, a victim’s family had cried in the hallway, and the weight of it clung to both of you long after the station emptied out.

You were standing beside David’s desk, staring at the board without really seeing it.

Your hands were shaking.

David noticed immediately.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

You sniffed once, trying to play it off.

“I’m fine.”

You weren’t.

He didn’t move closer. Not yet. He’d learned that rushing you only made your body go rigid.

Instead he leaned against the edge of the desk, watching you with that patient look of his.

“You wanna sit down?”

You shook your head.

A tear slid down your cheek before you could stop it. You wiped it away angrily.

“I hate this part,” you muttered. “When you can’t fix it.”

David nodded slowly.

“I know.”

Another tear came.

You laughed weakly, embarrassed. “This is stupid.”

“No,” he said gently.

You were quiet for a moment.

Then, hesitantly, you said:

“Can I try something?”

David straightened immediately, attentive but calm.

“Yeah. Of course.”

You stepped closer to him.

Not all the way.

Just close enough that the space between you felt… noticeable.

Your hands fidgeted with the hem of your sleeve.

“I think I might want a hug,” you said carefully, like the words themselves might bite you.

David froze.

Not in rejection—just in caution.

“Okay,” he said softly. “How do you want to do it?”

You huffed out a shaky breath.

“God, that sounds ridiculous.”

“It doesn’t.”

You thought for a second.

“Maybe… you don’t move. And I decide?”

David nodded immediately.

“Okay.”

So he stayed exactly where he was.

Still. Safe.

You stepped forward slowly.

Your body hesitated when you reached him, but after a moment you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his shoulder.

David didn’t wrap his arms around you right away.

He waited.

When you didn’t pull back, his hands lifted slowly and rested lightly against your back.

Not tight.

Just there.

Warm.

Your breath hitched.

But you didn’t move away.

After a few seconds your arms slid around his middle, tentative and unsure.

David’s chest tightened.

He hugged you back a little closer.

And when your shoulders finally relaxed against him, he let out a quiet breath into your hair.

“Still okay?” he murmured.

Your voice came muffled against his shirt.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

“…actually it’s really nice.”

David smiled softly into the top of your head.

The First Kiss

It took another month.

You were sitting together on David’s couch, a movie playing that neither of you were really watching.

Your legs were tucked under you, shoulder brushing his.

That had become normal now.

Comfortable.

David still didn’t initiate much touch unless you clearly wanted it, but the quiet closeness had started to feel natural between you.

Your hand rested in his.

Absentmindedly tracing the lines on his palm.

David watched you do it with quiet fascination.

“Can I ask you something?” he said.

“Hmm?”

Your eyes were still on his hand.

His voice dropped slightly.

“Would it be okay if I kissed you?”

Your fingers stilled.

You looked up at him.

There was no pressure in his expression. No expectation.

Just that same steady patience he always had with you.

Your stomach flipped.

You studied his face for a moment.

Then you nodded.

“…Yes.”

David didn’t rush.

He leaned in slowly, giving you time to pull away if you needed to.

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you didn’t move back.

His hand came up carefully, resting against your jaw.

Even that small touch made warmth spread through you now instead of panic.

His lips brushed yours.

Soft.

Gentle.

A kiss that asked more than it took.

Your breath caught.

But when he started to pull away—

your fingers curled into the front of his shirt.

David paused.

Your voice came out barely above a whisper.

“Wait.”

His eyes searched yours.

“You okay?”

You nodded.

Then you leaned forward and kissed him again.

This time a little more certain.

David made a quiet, surprised sound against your mouth.

When the kiss finally ended, his forehead rested lightly against yours.

His voice was soft with disbelief.

“…That was nice.”

You laughed.

“Yeah.”

---

Tags: loki only tags: @sataninsatin @go-commander-kim @severuined @romancries @eclecticfashionbookszipper @fagen @kissyabish @sizzlingcloudmentality

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.