Brunnhilde found Thor in the kitchen, standing over a steaming pot of something that smelled amazing, wearing an apron and listening to the radio. He swayed to the music, lost in his own little world. He probably didn’t even know she’d come in.
“Thor?” she asked, wiping sweat from her forehead and breathing heavily. She’d just finished up training with the new valkyries.
Thor jumped and dropped his spoon on the counter with a clatter. He turned around, looking shocked to see her. “Brunnhilde! You’re back...already.”
Brunnhilde crossed her arms with an amused smirk. “I am,” she said, attempting to look past him, but he leaned over and blocked the stove behind him. “Are you cooking?”
Thor shook his head, even though she could clearly see him standing in the kitchen, wearing an apron with a picture of a glowing spatula that read “If he be worthy”, covered in flour, smelling like he’d just walked off the set of that Chopped show he liked so much.
Brunnhilde pursed her lips, unconvinced. “Right. Then what’s that?” she asked, pointing at something nonexistent on the ceiling. He looked up immediately with a confused expression, genuinely concerned that he’d gotten something on their kitchen ceiling. Brunnhilde took her opportunity and darted past him, pushing him away from the stove.
What she saw made her breath catch in her throat tears spring to her eyes. Thor was making traditional Asgardian dishes, the very ones they’d been talking about the night before. (They had tipsy, and it turned out Thor got nostalgic and emotional when he was tipsy, so they’d spent hours talking about what they missed most about home.)
“You made them...” she breathed, turning back to Thor with wet eyes.
Thor shrugged, twisting the pot holder in his hands awkwardly. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said.
Brunnhilde shook her head, confused. “How did you...you remembered how to make all this?”
Thor shook his head. “Oh, no.” He motioned for Brunnhilde to step aside, so she did. She hopped up one the counter and swung her legs over the side. Thor went back to stirring the rice stew in the pot. He talked to her over his shoulder. “I asked around, got the recipes for a few things, but not much. So I asked Stephen for some help. He did a bunch of magic that I don’t understand and got them for me.”
Brunnhilde shook her head in disbelief. He’d done all that for her, for them, and she loved him for it. Her heart pounded in her chest. She loved him for it. She did. They’d been together for half a year, officially, plus the months they’d spent together but not together before the final war with Thanos. And in that time, she’d fallen in love with him.
Brunnhilde’s mouth fell open slightly. She stared at him—the man she loved—in awe. “I can’t believe you did that,” she whispered. Couldn’t believe he’d done all that just because she was homesick, and couldn’t believe he’d made her fall in love with him, that was.
Thor glanced at her, his eyes sparkling. “Anything for you, dear,” he said, meaning every syllable.
Brunnhilde jumped off the counter, bundled up the front of his shirt in her fist and yanked him down to her lips. She kissed him roughly and pressed him back against the counter. She pulled back just enough to breathe.
“Your majesty,” she said, her voice low, “I love you.”
Thor dropped the spoon for the second time that evening. Poor spoon. He stared at her hard enough to bore holes into her skin. He brought his hands up to cup her cheeks. “You do?” he asked, his eyes brimming with tears.
Brunnhilde’s heart dropped to her toes. He was disappointed. He didn’t love her as much as she loved him. And why should he? He was the king of Asgard. He needed a queen. Brunnhilde was far from a queen. Thor deserved so much better than a former scrapper that enslaved innocent people.
Thor must have sensed her thoughts spiraling into self-loathing because he kissed her gently. His thumb brushed over her skin. “I love you too,” he mumbled against her lips. “So much.”
Brunnhilde just wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her body against his until they were practically melted together. Thor’s hands dropped from her face to envelop her in a tight hug.
“Are we going to eat that food by any chance?” Brunnhilde asked suddenly because she ruined everything, even their quiet, intimate moment. “Cause I’m starving.”
Thor chuckled. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, right below her hair. “Yeah, it’s almost done. Go shower, though. Wash your hair. You smell.”
Brunnhilde gasped in mock offense, shoving herself away from Thor, her hands flattened against his chest. She stuck her tongue out at him, then flipped him off for good measure.
Thor plugged his nose and gagged. “You better go,” he said, his voice all stopped up. “The fumes.”
Brunnhilde turned, her dark hair spinning in an arc around her neck. “That food better be done when I get back!”
“It will be,” Thor called, watching her hips sway as she walked towards the bathroom. “I love you!”
Brunnhilde spun on her toes. “I love you too,” she said, her voice dripping with affection.
———
Later, when Brunnhilde’s hair smelt like strawberries and cream and she’d changed into the softest clothes she owned, she came downstairs to find Thor setting a steaming plate piled high with food onto the table. He heard her footsteps and gave her a soft smile.
“Hello,” he said. His eyes crinkled around the edges when he smiled. She found it incredibly attractive. “You look gorgeous.”
Brunnhilde couldn’t help but blush. She shrugged. “Thanks,” she said, a bit awkwardly. She’d always been bad at taking compliments, even before Hela and everything else.
“You’re welcome,” he said. “The food’s ready, as I promised. That’s your plate.”
Brunnhilde looked to where he pointed, and her plate was on the other end of the table, opposite his. She frowned slightly, picked up the plate, and slid it so that it was in front of the chair next to his.
“I wanna sit next to you,” she said at his confused look. She walked over and plopped down in the seat, staring up at him with mischief in her eyes.
“That’s not very traditional,” Thor argued weakly before sitting down anyway.
“And when I have ever honored tradition?”
“Point taken.”
They ate in relative silence after that, but only because the food was so very good and they couldn’t bear to take a break to say anything. When they’d finished, they didn’t move (perhaps because they couldn’t; an unfortunate side effect of eating too much). Thor leaned back in his chair, looking completely and utterly at peace. He took Brunnhilde’s hand in his and rubbed her bruised knuckles. She hummed a little.
“The last time I ate that stuff,” Brunnhilde said, her voice low and her eyes far away, lost in some old memory, “was right before your father sent us in to get Hela.”
Thor watched her closely, ready to comfort her if the tears came because they so often did.
She took a shuddering breath, depressing those memories in favor of staying in the moment. She’d been working on that. “I dare say yours was better.”
Thor laughed. “You flatter me, Brunn,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m glad you liked it.”
“I did,” she said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he told her, giving her hand a little squeeze. He shrugged. “It wasn’t hard, though. I had fun.”
But Brunnhilde hadn’t thanked him for the food. “I didn’t mean...I mean, thank you for...everything. For giving me a home. For loving me.”
Thor lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles. He didn’t shut his eyes, but watched her. “You’re very welcome for that. Thank you for letting me give you a home.”
Brunnhilde leaned over the table, ignoring how the edge dug into her middle. She cupped Thor’s cheeks and ran her thumb across his scar. Her eyes sparkled, and so did his. She kissed the tip of his nose, which made him scrunch up in delight. Odin’s beard, he was cute. So cute, in fact, that she couldn’t help but press her lips to his.
Thor wrapped one arm around her back and pulled her as close as he could without making her uncomfortable. His other hand came to rest on top of hers, where he gently caressed her ring finger. Maybe he’d put something there one day.