Written 04/23/2015
Idea: "There's something about Mito Uzumaki that attracts Madara and Hashirama to her, and it's the fact that she's a kunoichi and not a shinobi."
Characters: Fem!Hashirama, Fem!Madara, Mito Uzumaki
Pairing: Fem!Hashi/Fem!Mada/Mito
Warnings: Drinking and implied sex.
There is something about Mito Uzumaki that attracts Madara and Hashirama to her like moths to a flame. Neither of them know what it is about the red-haired woman that just pulls them in and makes even Madara social, but they both agree that it isn't necessarily a bad thing (and the small, soft smiles that Mito wears every time one of the two younger women come talk to her about something might even make it a good thing, not that anyone would ever hear Madara admit that out loud).
It takes her a while, but eventually Madara thinks she has it figured out.
She and Hashirama were born and bred to be shinobi. Raised from birth to do a man's job, in a man's world. They fought, and they fought hard. Neither of them knew anything else, no matter how bright Hashirama's smiles were, or how hard she tried to act like how a woman was "supposed" to, she never quite managed to shake her upbringing, and she never would.
Mito however, Mito had been raised a kunoichi. She was regal, and refined, and delicate-looking in a way Madara had only ever seen her mother achieve back when she had been very small. She was as beautiful and deadly as the wolfsbane that grew in the mountains. Her skills might be subtle, but there was no doubt that they were there. And it was this fact that drew both the Uchiha and Senju in, and refused to let them go.
Even waking up with a hangover couldn't make Madara think that whatever it was about Mito was bad, because damn her head might hurt (she had only had three drinks, this was nuts), but she was warm, Hashirama a comforting weight against her back after all these years together now, and Mito was-
Mito was safely snuggled up against Madara's own chest, breathing deep and even, red hair mixing with brown and black as she slept and all Madara could remember as she blinked bleary eyes down at the woman was soft hands tracing her scars, and soft lips following them as she leaned against Hashirama who was whispering in her ear, voice low and soothing, and oh-
So that had happened. And yet... And yet, Madara didn't feel the intense urge to fleefleeflee, getoutofthererightnownownow. Madara almost felt- safe. Safe between the two women she knew she could trust with her life.
Also irritated at the fact that she was even awake. With an inaudible huff, she closed her eyes again, carefully reached down to tug the blanket up over her head, and decided that she must still be drunk. And that she had been more than reasonable when she decided that feelings were stupid back when she was a teenager, because they really were.
She'd let Hashirama deal with it when they all woke up. For now though, Madara was going to try and sleep off the hangover.
