Ever since he was little, Madara would find odd bits and
bobs nudged amidst all of his things – crayons in his pocket, pacifiers in his
drawers, socks under couches, and even a tiny knitted beany in his little
brother’s house slippers once. It’s very annoying. It clutters his room and he’s
always being told off by his parents for it.
Then came the drawings. Sometimes crumpled, sometimes
not. Over the years, it grew from
illegible, grainy scrawling to clumsy shapes and bendy forms that took less,
and less stretching of his imagination to determine as hiragana characters.
My name is Senju
Tobirama, one of it reads.
Paranoia coils in him. Soulmate or not, the thought of a
stranger stumbling upon his belongings, his personal, informative, belongings is enough to make anyone holler out
stranger danger. This soulmate mumbo jumbo is weird.
Strangely enough, that’s how he meets his best friend,
through the strange mumbo jumbo.
“I’m supposed to be showing my little brother around school
today,” bawls the boy with the bowl cut while latching himself on Madara’s arm,
all big eyes brimming with tears, and snot running down his nose. “It’s his
first day and I can’t find him anywhere! He must be so scared! Will you help me
look for him?”
Considering it’s Madara’s first exposure to comforting a
fellow seven-year-old that’s crying his eyes out, Madara himself feels a little
lost. His panicking eyes flick around them for help, but all the other children
have quickly vanished into air as if they were the ninjas they routinely
pretend to be. Oddly, he feels betrayed.
Whenever Izuna cries, it’s because he either wants attention
or food. Ransacking through his lunchbox, Madara grabs one of his onigiri, and
shoves it into the crying boy’s hands. He takes a deep breath, and huffs out
his next statement with enough annoyance to drown out his panic, “Will you stop
There, food and attention. He should stop his crying any
But much to Madara’s despair, the boy threatens to swell up
with tears again. “But he’s alone,” the boy whines, “and he’s so small and
everything’s new to him and I need to find him because he could be getting
bullied right now–”
“I’ll help you look for him, okay?” Despite holding the
onigiri, the shrivelling boy still has one arm clinching Madara’s own. Madara
tries (and fails) to shake the crying limpet away. “I’ll help you look for your
baby brother. Stop crying already. He couldn’t have gone far, he’s like five.”
As if the magic words were a box of tissues, all tears dry
up, and the boy glows. “Okay then, let’s go!” He jumps up and drags Madara with
him, snacking on his onigiri in a way that makes Madara feel like he’s been
played. “Let’s go find Tobirama!”
Madara stumbles over his own foot. His lunchbox almost falls
out of his hands. “Tobirama,” Madara squeaks in a high voice.
His new friend, he finds out, is Senju Hashirama. Oldest of
four siblings, like him, and really likes to talk about everything and nothing
at once. Tobirama is the second oldest. He’s a bit of a smarty pants, according
to his brother, so the dangers of meeting someone who might bully him is
definitely a substantial one. Hashirama cheerfully informs him that he has to help
beat up the bullies, as part of the agreement of their newfound friendship.
It feels like getting carried away in a Hashirama-shaped
tidal wave. Madara ends up not minding it. There’s a tugging in his belly,
pulling him towards the library. Flutters of excitement are running up his arm at
the thought of meeting his soulmate.
When they do find him, his little body is curled up on one
of the beanbags, absorbed in book that’s got to be way too advanced for a five-year old to read. Tobirama peers up
from his book at Hashirama’s joyous exclamations. He eyes his older brother
like a particularly unpleasant fur ball he’d just hacked up, the expression as
prickly as his white hair, and dodges his older brother’s hug with an expert
shuffle off his bean bag.
Then and there, Madara knows that he’ll grow to like his
soulmate, just as he knows how Tobirama losing Hashirama on his first day of
school was definitely not an accident.
Summary: Thor and Reader don’t get along. Fate is about to change that.
A/N: No timelines were hurt in the making of this oneshot.
To say that you and Thor
were on bad terms was an understatement. Since the day the team was
formed, the two of you could never see eye to eye. It was impossible to
agree on anything he said, and vice versa. You preferred to strategize,
formulate a plan, and make sure to minimize as much damage as possible.
He believed in the opposite: running into battle, leaving destruction in
his path. He was unruly, loud, and immature to you. You were a
buzzkill, pompous and too strict for his liking. The two of you collided
on how to handle missions daily, and more so on how to handle life in
general. Today was one of those days.
“Thor,” you snapped. You
held your smashed laptop in your hand as you stomped towards him. “What
did I tell you about summoning Mjolnir inside?”
Bruce took a sip of his
coffee and muttered,“ Uh oh.” He briskly walked out of the room, not
wanting to get in the way of your wrath. If there was anyone else
scarier than a pissed off Hulk, it was you.
Thor ignored you and
mindlessly twirled Mjolnir, eyes focused on the T.V. Small clips of the
morning mission flashed across the screen.
Bucky looked at you, and then to Thor who was sat beside him. “He’s still not talking to you?”
Thor smiled, confirming Bucky’s question.
You glared at Thor. “Bucky, tell me, who do you think did the right thing?”