step into the daylight and let it go

• He flirts like it’s a weapon—sharp smile, silver tongue, every word tailored to make you flustered.

  But when you call him beautiful? He gets quiet. Almost shy. Like he doesn’t believe it yet.

• You’re the only one allowed to see him undone—crown off, hair loose, voice low. When he’s with you, he’s just Loki.

• He gifts you enchanted trinkets: a ring that glows when you’re in danger, a pendant that warms with your heartbeat, a mirror that always reflects your true self.

• You find out he leaves glamoured illusions of himself to follow you when you travel alone—not out of control, but out of protection.

  “You think I’d let you walk Midgard alone without a shadow watching your back?”

• When he’s thinking deeply, he braids his fingers into yours absentmindedly. You’ve become his grounding spell.

• Arguments are… intense. Words like daggers. But apologies are poetry. He will kneel, kiss your palm, and whisper,

  “You are the only soul I kneel for willingly. I’m sorry, my storm.”

• Midnight conversations often spiral into things he’s never told anyone:

  how the stars whispered to him as a child, how Asgard never quite felt like home, how you do.

• He keeps a journal. You find it once—full of sketches of your eyes, notes about your laugh, a spell for keeping your dreams sweet.

• When you fall asleep beside him, he traces constellations on your skin with his fingertips. And sometimes he says,