"No, he's not on any flatbread."

You settled between his knees, palms smoothing slowly up his thighs. His skin was cooler than yours, smooth and hard under your hands, and you felt him shiver at the contrast.

“You don’t have to stare, you know,” he muttered, mouth twisting, eyes on some point above your head. “I am quite aware I am not-”

You cut him off with a kiss to the inside of his knee.

He flinched. Just a twitch. You smiled.

“I like looking,” you said, lips brushing another glowing line. “I like touching even more.”

You followed one of the markings with your mouth, kissing along the curve of his calf up to the thick muscle of his thigh. The light under your lips seemed to pulse, faint and responsive. Loki’s fingers bunched in the sheet.

You went slow on purpose.

Every few inches you let your tongue flick out, tracing the raised pattern, feeling the way the muscle jumped under your mouth. Each small reaction was another little victory, another crack in his composure. By the time you reached the top of his thigh, his breathing had gone rough, a low sound sitting in his chest, waiting for the next excuse to escape.

“Darling…” he warned, voice already strained.

You hummed against the place where thigh met hip, and his hips jerked, helpless.

He was half-hard, heavy against his stomach, the same cool blue as the rest of him but deeper at the tip, ringed in those pale designs that looked like frost fractals. You paused to just look for a second, openly, hungrily, letting the sight of him sink in.

“Loki,” you whispered, thumb gliding along a glowing band that curled near the base. “You’re obscene like this.”

His laugh came out shredded. “That is hardly- ah- hardly reassuring.”

You shifted closer, hands bracketing his hips as you leaned in, placing the softest kiss right over that band. His breath stuttered. The line flared a little brighter.

“Good obscene,” you clarified, kissing it again, slower. “The kind that lives in my head for days.”

His head thumped back against the headboard at that, a quiet curse slipping out in a language you didn’t know. His hand found your hair, fingers threading through but not pulling, not yet.

You followed the underside of him with your mouth, working in long, unhurried strokes—kiss, breathe, kiss—letting your lips and tongue map every ridge, every small irregularity. You kept him just on the edge of what could be called teasing and what was plainly worship, taking your time, never quite giving him what instinct clearly wanted: heat and friction all at once.

“Look at me,” you murmured.

He dragged his gaze down, lashes heavy, pupils blown black.

You held his eyes as you closed your lips around the very tip, not taking him deep, just sealing your mouth there and letting your tongue circle lazily over the most sensitive part. The flavour of him bloomed on your tongue, cool, sharp. You moaned low in your throat just to feel how violently his body responded.

“Gods…” he hissed, hips attempting to lift. Your elbows dug into his thighs, holding him down.

“Don’t move,” you breathed against him, lips still brushing that slick, sensitive flesh. “Let me.”

You pulled back just enough to speak, then went right back to it, alternating soft kisses with slow, deliberate licks along the glimmering lines. Every time you passed a glowing mark, his entire body tightened like a bow being drawn. The hand in your hair trembled.

“You keep… doing that,” he ground out, “and I am going to disgrace myself on your pretty face.”

You smiled, wicked and fond, and dragged your tongue from the base up to the head in one long, wet stroke. His groan rumbled through him, all the way into your palms.

“Good,” you said softly. “I want you to.”

You shifted your grip, one hand sliding lower to cradle him, thumb stroking just under the crown where the markings converged. The other splayed over his thigh, feeling the jump of muscle as you took him back into your mouth, inch by inch this time, sinking down until you felt the heavy weight of him filling you, stretching your lips, pressing against your tongue.

You didn’t rush. You worked him in a slow, obscene rhythm, down, hold, drag back, your lips and tongue paying attention to every glowing line on the way. Saliva slicked your mouth, a thin string connecting the head to your tongue when you pulled back to breathe.

Loki stared like he’d never seen anything so unreal.

“Look at you,” he whispered, voice gone raw. “On your knees for a monster.”

You let him see the heat in your eyes as you licked him again, slow and filthy. “For my monster,” you corrected, voice rough. “Who I happen to think is devastatingly beautiful.”

He made a sound like a choked laugh, or a sob, hand tightening in your hair. For a moment you felt the faintest pressure, the instinct to guide, to take. Then it loosened, his knuckles brushing your cheek instead.

“Then show me,” he said hoarsely. “Show me what your beauty feels like.”

So you did.

You sank down on him again, this time letting your hand join your mouth, fist gliding in counterpoint to your lips. Your tongue traced every etched line you could reach, savouring the faint glow against the wet heat of your mouth, the way his breath broke apart in your ears.

"I love you. please, don't ever leave me. If i can't have you, no one else will."

The words flows through your mind like a distant echo. They should concern you, feel like a threat. But something inside you numbs those thoughts out. All you feel is him.

Din. Your beloved Mandalorian.

He brings you to the peak of pleasure, lifting you to new heights as your climaxes ripples through your body. His growls of pleasure vibrates through the room as he fills you with his love, his shaking voice whispering your name as his seed paints the inside of your womb.

A smile graces your lips as you embrace him, caressing the top of his head as he buries his face in your neck.

Your beautiful Mando.

A loving and passionate man who loves you beyond words and would move heaven and earth to protect you. To you, he is everything.

~

Seeing you beneath him, Din still can't comprehend the truth of it.

That you're his.

The first time he laid eyes on you, his soul felt connected to yours, your bodies and souls intertwined in a messy chaos. He was a part of you, and you were a part of him. You were one. His love for you seemed to have no limits, no boundaries. It grew and deepened and consumed him. Every inch of his body ached for you. Every thought in his mind pertained to you.

Din wish you could feel the way that you make his heart soar with a simple look. He wish you could comprehend the infinite times a day he thinks of you and smile. You tore down his walls like they were nothing and showed him what it meant to live. Really live.

How can he ever let you go?

When you are the one he wants to spend eternity with. His red string. His friend. His lover. The love of his life.