#soft!thor

Their naked bodies were dewy and hot after sex. They sat on the couch, regaining breath. She had her back turned toward him and collected her hair to one side of her neck. He leaned forward to kiss her on the other, then stroked her shoulder.

“You have a beautiful back.”

“Oh,” she replied, looking back at him, “how come?”

“It's strong,” he said, “Defined.”

She smiled. “Thank you. I work out a lot.”

“Do you?” he asked with a chuckle. She turned away again.

“What kind of workout?”

“I like lifting heavy things,” she said, then waited for his reaction. He only smiled, so she continued.

“Weights and stuff. I also run. But it's mostly just the old school kind.”

“You keep surprising me,” he said and snaked his arms around her, tugging her toward him.

“Well…” she began, not really knowing where to take the conversation. “I do it because it reminds me that I can do hard things,” she thought, but didn't have the courage to speak out loud.

Bruce frowned and looked at the clock again. You’d been working a punishing number of hours. More hours than any one person should be working. It was too much. 80 hour weeks. 20 hour shifts sometimes.  And when you come home, collapsing into bed and curing around the nearest stuffed animal or warm body… It broke both their hearts. Especially when you cried. Never where they could see you, or when you thought they were looking. 

But in your sleep. As tears ran down your cheeks and you whimpered in the dark. So tired and care worn that your heart referred to rest. It aired the grievances in your sleep that you couldn’t voice during your waking hours.

“What was she doing?” Bruce asked. 

“She couldn’t give me very many details,” Thor said, “But she did say that it wasn’t going to be a dangerous situation. And it sounded like she was in a hospital.”

“IN a hospital?” Bruce said, slightly alarmed. 

“No. No- with a patient. Not as a patient,” Thor said soothingly, wrapping an arm around Bruce’s waist and resting his forehead on the other man’s ribs.

Bruce Exhaled slowly and nodded, thankful that you at the very least, weren’t in any dangerous place this time. 

“How long has it been?” Thor asked. 

“I don’t know,” Bruce admitted, “She left around 11am yesterday. And I know at some point she took a nap in her car.”

“Ah yes,” Thor snorted, “Her trusty rolling fortress… At least she was reasonably comfortable for a while.”

“If a little chilly,” Bruce said smiling. 

For a long moment, the two of them were silent. Staring at the clock and considering. Wondering how much longer it was going to take for you to stumble through the door. 

“She’s going to be tired,” Thor said, a little sadly. 

Bruce made a soft sound of agreement and sighed, “Yeah. I think we better make sure there’s clean sheets on the bed and something hot to eat.”

Thor nodded, frowning slightly. The God hated the idea that you were hungry and exhausted somewhere. And he hated it even more when he thought about all the weight you’d lost just from the stress. Bruce knew it by the way his eyes darkened. 

But. 

They didn’t have much time to debate. Or consider what you might like to eat when you got home. The door swung open and the sound of your bag hitting the floor brought them both to their feet quickly. 

“Holy shit,” you murmur, rolling your neck to stretch it out and limping slightly as you walk through the narrow breeze way.

You blink in surprise at seeing them both in the kitchen and your face relaxes into a tired smile, “I hope you haven’t been up all night waiting for me.”

Thor shook his head, a little alarmed when you wavered on your feet, “Of course not, my love. Only until we knew you were safe somewhere for the night.”

You nod and stifle a yawn with difficulty, catching yourself on the back of a chair, everything going black at the edges breifly, giving you the tunnel vision you’d gotten all too used to in the past weeks. “I think-”

But that’s all you manage to get out, before you crumple. Like a wad of paper into the arms of the nearest man.

Bruce would tell you later, he was thankful Thor had the presence of mind to toedge closer to you. Pointing out that, if he had tried to catch you, it probably would have resulted in Bruce spraining something and Thor having to carry both of you to bed. But that in the moment, the heart rending picture of him having to carry your exhausted, overworked body just made him go a little green around the irises. 

It took both men to get you into your pajamas and tucked into bed. When you were awake, you fussed at them. Protesting that you were fine around being told to take drinks of water and Bruce taking vitals while he decided whether or not you needed medical attention or just some rest. 

Ultimately, as you curled in their arms, slipping into fitful sleep, Bruce decided that the stress of waking up in unfamiliar surroundings might be more detrimental. Particularly if you woke up alone. In a bed that was too small and narrow for them to join you in. 

And Thor deferred to Bruce. 

“My brave little Valkyrie,” Thor hummed, tutting softly. “Though she is but little, she is fierce. Let her sleep. For when she wakes, she will move mountains.”

Bruce chuckled, “Shakespeare?”

“Can you think of any other words to describe such a woman?” Thor said grinning. 

“No,” Bruce admitted, Kissing the demi god’s chin and tucking a blanket closer to you. “But-”

“I know,” Thor soothed, “Even steel can break… She needs to rest. Properly.”

“I’m going to talk to Tony again… I know she doesn’t WANT to work for SHEILD. Or Stark. And I know she doesn’t WANT to use her powers for those people… Not in any capacity they want but… She’s one woman. And it’s not like the not for profits are treating her any better.”

Thor sighed, looking apprehensive, “But-”

“I know,” Bruce grumbled, “We should respect her wishes but… Thor. What will she do if HYDRA catches up with her? In a dark Alley. With no way to call us. They could make off with her and we’d never-”

Thor kissed him quiet gently. They had had that argument. Amongst themselves and with you. Many times. You liked to hide in plain sight. And, You had pointed out to them, many times that Bruce eluded Hydra on his own for many years. And that his particular ability was much more likely to be of interest. 

“We’ll try again when she wakes. AFTER,” he said scowling, “We get a decent meal into her. I don’t like those cookie things she keeps in her car.”

“Granola bars,” Bruce corrected automatically.

“Whatever. They’re not food,” Thor groused. 

She looks uncertain, like she’s trying to find what she wants to say, and you wait. Applying your energy to preparing after school snacks for Children that will be coming to the meeting hall almost anytime. 

“Thor- I- he thinks he bought you,” she said finally. 

“He did,” you say patiently, “After a fashion.”

She sighed and nodded, picking up another knife and starting to cut celery. It feels wrong to her, a Queen, especially one like you doing anything like this with their pretty, manicured hands. Up close she can see bandages that are protecting blisters until they turn into callouses. And she can understand Thor’s sadness at it. He’d been trying to protect you from certain realities. The lack of extra money for diversions. How expensive even your... decidedly lackluster wedding had been. 

He’d tried. 

But looking at your hands now, Brunhilde can see that he wasn’t as effective as he might have wanted to be. You know. And in your own small ways, you’re doing your best to mitigate certain burdens. Even if it means being uncomfortable.

“He thinks-”

“I know what he thinks,” you say. You’re getting a cramp in your hand but you’ll be damned if you stop and rub it until she leaves. “He feels like I should hate him for it. He thinks I will come to hate him. He feels honor bound to keep me and simultaneously feels like a terrible person for doing it to start with.”

The Valkyrie looks up and blinks at you. You suppose in surprise. 

“I’m quiet. Not stupid,” you caution. “Being quiet and sweet spoken kept me alive. It doesn’t mean my ears stopped working.”

She nods and smiles a little, “So I screwed up the guts to come tell you all this. And get you to stay for no good reason?”

“Evidently,” you snort, “Honestly. I have no where to go. I had to renounce my claim to my brother’s throne... Or Rather it was done for me before he sent me packing. So I have no where to go. And I have a sneaking suspicion that if this marriage dissolves, leaving me free to take the crown at home... Cadel will likely quietly put a price on my head.”

Her smile faded and she swallowed hard, “Gods-”

“So,” you tell her, “I am. Very tidily trapped. Like it or not.”

“But-”

“But,” you say firmly, “My jailers are humane and... There is a certain freedom in having no choice or funds. And it doesn’t hurt that my spouse is... Kind, if befuddled sometimes.”

You’re reticent to discuss Thor. Even with Valkyrie. A queen must never publicly criticize her king. A Queen must be outwardly kind and gracious at all times. And she must never complain. 

And while nothing you said was untrue, the reality of your situation was painful. And often left you feeling afraid. And worse, depressed. You know Thor was, effectively tricked. That he hadn’t intentionally stranded you in a Kingdom where the custom is strange and some of its people resented you. That you had been uprooted from your home for some trading rights and a tenuous ally-ship. Your job was to shut up, look pretty, and produce an heir and a spare. A task you couldn’t do until the marriage was consummated. Something Thor seemed to have lost interest in after Tavor’s appearance. Which meant that your position here wasn’t even remotely secure as you and Thor both knew that you were a Queen and a Wife in name only under the law. And that if it ever came down to it, Thor’s word against yours was all it would take to leave you stranded in a worse position. It was complex. And not something you necessarily were at liberty to speak about. With anyone. Least of all one of Thor’s closest friends. So it was a relief when a short while later Brunhilde excused herself went to go see to some other affair. Possibly the cute boat captain she had a soft spot for. 

_____________

“I already know that,” Thor huffed.

“Then what are you doing about it?” Brunhilde asked folding her arms.

Thor stopped and groped for a rag to wipe his hands and studied the engine he was tinkering with for a moment. “I’m not sure there is anything I can do. Aside from keep her happy.”

“Happy?”

“Happy,” Thor repeated nodding. He felt sick at the implication that you had no other choice. That you were prevented from going forward or back. And that he. Nor his advisors had bothered to consider the implications of your situations. They’d simply seen a pretty face and a royal family of good standing. With a Daughter of an appropriate Age. That they were willing to give to a relatively small, almost impoverished kingdom. And that had been that. 

“How are you going to do that?” she pressed. 

“Why does it matter?” Thor asked.

In the back of Brunhilde’s mind, she could see the sad, kind of hunted look on your face when you thought no one was looking. And the blisters that had made you hold your knife at an awkward angle. 

“Because she is Queen,” she answered firmly. 

“She is that,” Thor said nodding. 

“If only in name,” Loki challenged, leaning on a support post. 

“Wait-”

Thor felt his cheeks burn and he turned his attention back to his engine, unable to look at either one of them. 

“Did Tavor-”

“No!” Thor said quickly, eyes flashing. And Brunhilde nodded. Sure, it was a quick response. A decisive one. But Thor had no reason to lie for you. And you, well. None of them really knew if you could lie. But it was very, very clear that regardless, Thor was not going to countenance your virginity, or lack there of, a subject to debate. “He was her childhood sweetheart,” Thor said, gentling his tone just a little.

Brunhilde nodded and took a deep breath, “Then why?”

Loki exhaled slowly, “He doesn’t want to feel like a rapist, mostly.”

She nodded and pulled a flask out of her pocket, “Gods.”

Loki nodded and glanced at Thor. “Where is her Majesty?”

“In the meeting hall,” She answered, “She was cutting carrots.”

Thor made an irritated face and sighed, “Was there no one else to do it?”

“She likes feeling useful,” Brunhilde answered, careful not to mention your blistered hands. 

It was a large tent. One made to house at least 10 grown adults. And he’d set it up on a raised platform. One designed to keep it out of the mud and the muck. The the touch he was most proud of was a small heater, a tray of fruits, cheeses, and wine, and fairy lights twinkling softly around the ceiling. 

He wanted to make you an oasis. Of sorts. 

And so he had. And it looked... Quaint, if not terribly luxurious. The pile of blankets and a small projector set up to play a series of romantic movies. Little romantic comedies. Softness. Sweetness. Something that might lift your spirits. Stories that you might enjoy watching. 

“This might do,” he rumbled, giving everything another once over. “Maybe.”

Outside it was chilly and the rain had slowed to a dreary, damp, dismal drizzle that clung to his hair and beard. And he knew you were going to hate it the second you stepped out the door. And he made a mental note to maybe wrap you in his jacket. You seemed to like it when he does that. And he wants you to be comfortable. 

Perhaps comfortable and relaxed enough to let him steal more than a few rather chaste kisses. He smiled a little. He’d like that. A lot. He wants to feel you smolder in his arms. And, as a bonus it would distract you. Probably very nicely.

He made sure two glasses of sweet, strawberry wine were poured and the lights were perfectly dimmed. He wanted soft. And romantic. Things that would appeal to your love of those kinds of things. Things that might make you forget your homesickness. And then he made his way into the house. 

“Sweetheart?” he called from the foot of the stairs. “Are you ready?”

You pause in your sewing and take a deep breath. Your hands are cold and you’d like to go to sleep. But Thor... He’s calling. And even if you’d love to ignore him. To pretend to be asleep and not go outside, he’s trying so hard. He wants so badly for you to be happy here. And it would be rude to repay his gentle kindness with anything other than at least trying. Trying to be happy. 

It wasn’t his fault that you were frightened. 

It wasn’t his fault that every time you closed your eyes you saw Tavor. The silver revolver. The madness in his eyes. His face contorted in fury. No longer your gentle, idealistic young knight. Your Tristan. But King Mark. Spurned and driven mad. 

It wasn’t Thor’s fault that you saw him dead. His brains spattered on the wall behind him. Blood, and brains, and bits of skull. Things you’d never seen. Things you never wanted to see. 

And as you knelt in the grass, crying and wretching, making a fool of yourself in front of your King’s closest friends. Clutching at his shirt. You hadn’t even felt Loki jab something into your neck. 

None of it was his fault. 

So you came down stairs.

And when he beamed up at you, proffering his jacket, you couldn’t help but smile back at him. He was always handsome. But he was even more beautiful when he smiled. His curious, bi colored eyes dancing and the smallest little crinkle of his nose.

It made you want to kiss him. Even if your heart still felt like it was made of lead and guilt knotted your stomach. 

“Where are we going?” you ask, sweeping your skirt out of the way and gathering it into your hand so you could walk down the stairs. 

“The back yard,” he chuckled. “It isn’t much. But... I think my lady will enjoy herself. I tried to give her a taste of home.”

“Home?” you ask, tilting your head. 

He hummed and helped you into his jacket, tilting his chin up to kiss your forehead, “Home,” he answered. “New Asgard may not have as many fine story tellers as Green Briar. And my own knowledge of tales is sorely lacking but... My friend, Banner, has always spoken very highly of John Hughes and his films. I thought we could watch them.”

“I’d like that,” you murmur, cheeks coloring. 

It felt like it was too honest. Like he’d said some things that weren’t fair. But it had been weeks. Months now. And no one had heard from you. No one had seen you. And it was clear that you didn’t want to be found. That you wanted to leave your old life. Leave him behind to start over.

It made his chest hurt. His eyes burned. But... It was time to turn out the lights. He’d left them on. Left them to tell you that he was waiting... But after three months? After even Heimdall couldn’t find you. After his mother couldn’t see you. He didn’t know if you were alive or dead. All he knew what that it was time to grieve for you. Grieve for you and move on with his life. But even as he looked down at that letter, he knew somewhere in his soul that there was no moving on from you. 

He took a deep breath and looked down at the letter. The words, he knew, even if he destroyed it, were going to be burned into his mind. 

My love, 

This is going to be my last letter to you for a while. Because I’ve come to a realization. I have hurt you. With my actions and... inaction. You reached out to me for aid and I hurt you. I betrayed your trust by pushing you away. In my own anger and pain at watching you suffer. Watching you fight an enemy I couldn’t fight for you. I pushed you away to spare myself. I am unworthy of you. But I’ve got to move on.

He cringed away from his own words. He’d never been a poet. His words felt too clumsy to tell you what he felt in his chest. About how heavy and sore he felt. Like he’d been rubbed raw. Still he read on.

But I’ll never stop loving you, he’d admitted. And I’ll never stop waiting for you to come home.

It was a short letter, compared to some of the things he’d written you. But still. As he passed it over a flame and watched the words curl into smoke, he didn’t feel relieved. 

For the first time since you left, he felt sad. Sure. He’d been lonely and longing. Angry sometimes. But this sadness, this hollow, gnawing grief caught him by surprise. And all he wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep. And sleep. It made him realize with a jolt what it was like for you. To carry the weight of your pain privately. “Oh my love,” he sighed, heaving himself to his feet. 

He turned towards the bed and felt it calling him. Warmth and comfort, though less without you in it. 

And then came the banging, “Thor!”

“What?” he growled as Banner bounded through the door. 

“Medical,” the man panted, trying to catch his breath, grateful when Thor put out an arm to steady him on his feet.

“Medical?” Thor said confused. 

“Y/N. Medical.” he wheezed, Straightening up slowly. 

It took a few moments for the words to penetrate. To process through his brain. You. Home. You. Hurt. And he was gone before Bruce could get the rest of the thought out.

___________

Thor didn’t pause at the door. He didn’t even think or consider that you might not want to see him. Because he needed to see you. Now. He needed to know that you were alive. 

He stopped at the foot of your bed and watched shock register on your face, seeing him. “Thor,” you breathe. He couldn’t speak. You looked frail. Covered in bruises and cuts. He doesn’t know where you’d been and he doesn’t care. All he wants to do is tear the people who did that to you, limb from limb. 

His feet feel like lead as he moves forward, inching towards you. “Sweetheart,” he murmured, cradling your face in his hands. Brushing your cheek bones with his thumbs when you start to cry.  “Don’t cry,” he pleaded, trying to smile. “It’ll be okay. I’m not angry. I’m just glad you’re home.”

“Thor,” you murmur, swallowing hard. He can see you grappling. Trying to get the words you want to say out. 

“What is it, darling?” he asked, kissing your forehead. 

“I-I-I,” you start to stammer, trembling. And Thor feels his heart drop. jumping to the worst conclusion. There was someone else. You didn’t love him any more. But he couldn’t move away from you. You were warm. And real. And here. Finally. After endless sleepless nights and hours of longing. 

“I’m pregnant.”

Thor stopped dead. It felt like someone had punched the air from his lungs. “Y/N,” he said softly, “I don’t- I-mine?”

You nod slowly and he smiles. Beaming from ear to ear. But as he shifts you very gently into his lap, he feels it fade. You’re fragile. Too thin. But as he brushes a hand against your belly, he can feel it. The small curve. The energy that tells him there’s a healthy baby. His baby. Growing. And he pulls you close. And thankfully, he feels you relax against him. Your fingers curling around the fabric of his hoodie. Thor tilts your chin up gently and kisses you softly, “How long?” he asked softly. Mindful of the others milling about in the hall. But this was his moment. This was his love. They could wait. 

“Almost 14 weeks,” you tell him quietly, “I thought I was just sick. I always get sea sick.”

Thor tilts his head, “Where were you?”

“Trying to finish my father’s research,” you tell him. The pain that flashes across your face makes him hurt for you. “It turns out he really was mad.”

“But the bruises-” he started. 

“Pirates,” you clarify, “They took over my research vessel.”

Thor scowls and hugs you closer.

“Everything was fine until then,” you tell him. 

He nods and presses a kiss against your hair. “How did you get back?”

“I started a mutiny... And once everyone was fighting I called the coastguard.”

That makes Thor smile. He could see it. “My son is lucky to have such a mother,” he murmured, heart swelling with pride. 

“Is it a son?” you ask. He can hear the amusement. The teasing. In your tone and that makes him happy too.

“It is,” he said, pressing a kiss against your temple. “A healthy boy.” But in the back of his mind, he can already feel concern creeping in. Asgardian babies are strong. And they pull that strength from the mother who carries them. And you, gods help you both, don’t have much to spare right now. 

But when you look up at him, tired and soft, his heart melts. “I’m sorry I left,” you tell him softly. 

Thor smiles a little and presses soft kisses into your face until you squirm in protest, “We’ll talk about this later,” he soothes. “But right now, I think the healers are getting impatient. And you, my darling, need rest.” And a few good meals, he adds mentally. Anxious to get you healthy again. 

“Stay?” you plead quietly.