The first night you spent with Asgard was nothing like you expected—though, in hindsight, it made perfect sense.

For so long, he had held himself back. Always the Saint first, the protector, the silent guardian. He rarely allowed himself softness, rarely let himself simply be—not until you.

That night, when he finally let go of the weight of his duty, when he looked at you not as someone to protect but as someone he loved—it was the first time he allowed himself to be just a man. Yours.

His touch was unsure at first, reverent even. A quiet question in every kiss, every caress. “Is this alright?” whispered not with words, but with the way his massive hands moved over you like you were made of glass. Despite how enormous he was—his shoulders broad enough to blot out the moonlight, arms thick with muscle—he held you like you were precious, sacred.

But once he let go of his hesitation, once he gave in to that quiet, simmering devotion he had kept caged for too long… the night was, well, short.

Turns out, the gentle giant had a passionate side that burned hot and fast once the walls crumbled. But what came after—that was where he truly showed his love.

You barely had time to catch your breath before he had you nestled against his chest, one hand stroking your back slowly, the other brushing your hair away from your face. He whispered apologies between soft kisses to your temple, your fingers, your bruised skin—words of adoration laced with worry.

“I was too much,” he murmured. “I should’ve… I should’ve paced myself.”

You cupped his face, smiling up at him. “You were perfect.”

He didn’t sleep a moment that night. Not because he wasn’t tired—but because he wanted to make sure you were warm, hydrated, kissed, and utterly worshiped in the gentlest ways possible. You had always known he was huge, but only now did you understand how vast his heart truly was.

That night, he wasn’t a Saint. He was just yours.