Contract Search Heated Ice, Soothing Waters

[Tsuchimikado Shizue]

Of all the places in Kumogakure where Shizue might have found herself standing at the turn of a quiet afternoon, the Shinrya Estate remained the one that never quite felt real. Had she ever even been here before?

The grounds unfolded in deliberate harmony, stone paths bordered by carefully tended greenery, water features placed with the kind of patience that suggested generations rather than years. The estate carried weight without menace, refinement without ostentation. It was not merely a residence but a statement of continuity, authority, and intent. Shizue moved through it with practiced familiarity now, her steps unhurried, the hem of her clothing whispering softly against the flagstones as she crossed the inner courtyard.

At her throat, the collar rested warm against her skin.

It was not decorative in the conventional sense, though it was undeniably beautiful. Each scale had been shaped from prismatic material shed from Kitsune’s alternate form, a dragon whose hues shifted with the light. The colors mirrored Shizue’s iridescent eyes so perfectly that most observers assumed it was a deliberate aesthetic choice. Only a rare few, well, two people, knew the truth of it, that the collar was not commissioned or forged but given, an offering that carried intimacy, protection, and trust in equal measure. When Shizue breathed, the colors shimmered faintly, responding as if alive, casting colors in a cascade of scintillating shimmers across the cobbles.

She touched it absently as she walked, thumb brushing the edge in a familiar, grounding gesture which she had picked up in the past couple evenings.

The estate had changed her. Or perhaps it had revealed what had always been there. The girl who once feared fading into obscurity had learned that proximity to power did not erase her, but instead sharpened her sense of self. Here, she was not a footnote or an accessory. She was present, seen, wanted. Loved. She stepped with pride, and for once it wasn't a facade, a fragile thing that might break if you stared too long at it.

Kitsune’s presence was not immediately visible, but it was felt, like one feels a warm breeze before a rain storm. The Shinrya Estate seemed to hum differently when the Raikage was home, the air charged with quiet awareness. Kitsune ruled Kumogakure with a steady hand and an iron will when necessary, but within these walls, she allowed herself moments of softness that few were ever permitted to witness, or that was what she had been told. Whispers of the Raikage were everywhere in the Capitol, after all, and she was as much on everyone's tongues as anything else in the news.

Shizue paused near the veranda, sunlight catching her eyes and her collar; scattering color across the polished floor. She allowed herself a breath, steadying, savoring the calm. There were days when the weight of her own stalled rank and unfulfilled ambitions threatened to surface, but they felt distant here. The estate did not judge her for what she had not yet become. It held space for what she was becoming, for what she was to Kitsune.

Her gaze lifted toward the inner halls, anticipation threading through her chest.

Kitsune was a woman of contrasts, composed and formidable, tender and deliberate. Leader of the village, wielder of immense power, and yet with Shizue, she was attentive in a way that felt profoundly personal. Their bond was not hidden, though it was carefully respected. Within the privacy of the estate, she hoped that glances would linger longer, hands finding one another more easily, and words spoken without the armor of rank or title. She didn't know if Kitsune could ever let her guard down like this, but she hoped.

Shizue smiled to herself, a small, genuine expression she did not bother to suppress, it lifted her mood even further, and drove the butterflies in her stomach to a frenzy.

She straightened, adjusting her posture, fingers briefly brushing the collar once more as if to remind herself that this was real, that she belonged here not by accident but by choice. Whatever doubts still lingered within her were quieted by the simple truth of Kitsune’s presence in her life. The Raikage had seen her at her weakest and her most uncertain, and had not turned away.

As Shizue stepped further inside, the light shifted again, scattering across her eyes and the prismatic collar in perfect unison. Whatever awaited her in the halls beyond, she met it with calm resolve, grounded by love, by purpose, and by the knowledge that she was no longer walking her path alone. She wondered if Kitsune knew what she had planned. She thumbed the wicker of the basket that held their lunch again and bit her lip nervously, trying to picture Kitsune's face when she announced they'd be in search of a secret hot springs that Shizue had overheard one of her father's female clients raving over. 3 hours into the mountains, and a hike besides, but worth it if her ravings were true.

 

[Shinrya Kitsune]

To the casual observer, the Shinrya Estate was a sprawling monument to traditional architecture and quiet luxury, a fortress of solitude befitting the leader of Kumogakure. But to Kitsune, as she stood in the shadows of the open veranda, it was merely a cage of gilded wood and stone that only truly became a home when a specific heartbeat crossed the threshold.

She had shed the rigid armor of her public life. The impeccably tailored three-piece suit, the symbol of her unyielding authority in the Torre, had been discarded. In its place, she wore charcoal slacks that draped perfectly over her hips and a button-up shirt of deep red silk. The fabric was rich and dark, shimmering slightly with her movements, the top few buttons undone to reveal the pale expanse of her collarbone, while the sleeves were rolled to the elbows, exposing forearms that held a deceptive, wiry strength.

Kitsune didn't need to see Shizue to know she had arrived. The dragon blood that coursed through the Raikage’s veins - usually a controlled burn - flared into a possessive heat the moment the girl entered the courtyard. It was a primal recognition, a resonance that hummed in the marrow of her bones.

She watched from the doorway, a glass of water forgotten in her hand, her golden eyes slitted slightly as they tracked the light dancing across the courtyard. It caught the prismatic scales at Shizue’s throat, scattering rainbows against the stone. A deep, rumble of satisfaction vibrated in Kitsune’s chest. That collar wasn't merely jewelry. It was biology. It was protection. Those were her scales, shed from her true form, shaped by her own hands, and placed around the neck of the one thing in this world she coveted above all else. To see Shizue wearing her collar - her scales - was an intoxicating display of ownership that cut through even her most disciplined defenses.

"You wear my essence beautifully, Shizue," Kitsune said, her voice dropping into a lower register, smooth and heavy like velvet over steel. She set the glass down on a side table and descended the wooden steps into the courtyard, her movements fluid and silent, carrying the predatory grace of a apex hunter closing in on something precious.

She stopped just inches from Shizue, close enough that the heat radiating from her body was a tangible weight in the cool afternoon air. Kitsune didn't ask for attention; she commanded it. She reached out, her index finger hooking deliberately under the edge of the prismatic collar. The scales were cool against her skin, a sharp contrast to the warmth of Shizue’s pulse fluttering beneath.

With a gentle but firm tug, she tilted Shizue’s head up, forcing those iridescent eyes to meet her golden gaze. "It suits you," she murmured, her thumb brushing against the sensitive skin of Shizue's throat, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart. "A visible reminder to the world, and to yourself, of exactly where you belong."

Her gaze lingered on Shizue's lips for a heartbeat before drifting down to the wicker basket clutched in the girl's hand, and the practical shoes she was wearing. Kitsune’s eyebrow arched, a smirk playing at the corner of her mouth, a look that was equal parts amusement and indulgent curiosity.

"And I see you haven't just come to be admired," Kitsune noted, stepping back half a pace but keeping her hand resting possessively on Shizue's shoulder. "A basket? Nerves? You're practically vibrating, pet." She leaned in, her voice a husky whisper against Shizue's ear. "You have the look of someone with a plan. Tell me... where are you taking me? I find myself strangely willing to follow."

 

[Tsuchimikado Shizue]

Shizue had told herself, more than once, that she would get used to this, to the way the Shinrya Estate seemed to hold its breath when Kitsune was near.

It never worked.

The courtyard had been calm, sunlight warm on stone, the little chorus of water somewhere in the architecture whispering like it was in on a secret. Shizue had been letting herself enjoy it, letting the quiet sink into her bones, when the air changed. Not with a sound, not with a gust, but with presence. With that strange, undeniable certainty that she was no longer alone.

Then Kitsune’s voice slid through the space, low enough to raise gooseflesh along Shizue’s arms. "You wear my essence beautifully, Shizue." Her fingers tightened around the wicker handle of the basket before she could stop them. Heat climbed up her neck, chased by a sharp, stupid pulse of pride that made her chest feel too full. She tried to answer, she really did. Something clever. Something composed. Something that did not sound like a girl who had never once in her life been addressed like that.

Instead, her breath caught and her gaze flicked toward the doorway, and there she was.

Kitsune had traded her public armor for silk and rolled sleeves, and it should not have mattered. It was only clothing. It was only a shirt, partially unbuttoned, a hint of collarbone, forearms bared like an invitation. Shizue had seen people dressed far more boldly. She had worn far bolder herself, back when dressing well was a shield and a declaration all at once. But on Kitsune it was different. On Kitsune it looked like indulgence. Like a private luxury. Like the Raikage had decided, for a handful of hours, that she could be something other than untouchable. And Shizue, standing there in practical shoes with a basket in hand, felt abruptly, painfully aware of the prismatic collar at her throat. Kitsune’s approach was silent. Fluid. The sort of movement that made Shizue’s instincts light up in a way that had nothing to do with danger and everything to do with being caught. Kitsune stopped close, too close, close enough that Shizue could feel the heat coming off her, could feel the space between them disappear the way water disappears into sand.

Kitsune’s finger hooked beneath the edge of the collar, and Shizue’s entire body reacted as if she had been touched directly. Her chin tipped up with that gentle tug, the motion controlled and unhurried, and it did not matter that it was soft. It did not matter that it was careful. It was possession expressed politely. Shizue’s pulse jumped under Kitsune’s thumb when it brushed the skin of her throat. Her mouth went dry. She swallowed, and the movement dragged against the contact in a way that made her eyes widen despite herself.

A visible reminder to the world, and to yourself, of exactly where you belong. Shizue had a dozen thoughts. A hundred. Most of them were not suitable for daylight. Her eyes dropped to Kitsune’s lips for half a second, long enough to imagine how easily that voice could become a whisper against her skin, how easily that hand could slide from collarbone to waist, how easily Shizue could forget rank, forget ambition, forget the village and the mountain pass and every sharp edge of the world.

She forced herself to breathe. Once. Twice. She still felt faint for lack of air.

“Is that what it is,” she managed, voice softer than she meant it to be, “a reminder?” It came out like a challenge. Or a plea. She was not sure which, and Kitsune was far too good at reading the difference anyway. Kitsune’s attention dipped to the basket, to Shizue’s shoes, and Shizue could have melted on the spot at the way Kitsune looked amused. Indulgent. Like Shizue was an adorable problem she intended to solve personally.

And then, pet, spoken against Shizue’s ear like a private sin, and Shizue’s grip on the basket tightened again because if her hands were not occupied she might have done something reckless. Like grab the front of Kitsune’s silk shirt and find out if the Raikage tasted like heat and trouble. “You’re very observant,” Shizue breathed, trying for teasing and landing somewhere closer to trembling sincerity. She turned her head just enough that her lips were close to Kitsune’s cheek, her voice aimed for the space between them. “I thought you might enjoy being stolen.”

A pause, deliberate, the kind she used when she set a seal and waited for the moment it clicked into place. “Just for the afternoon.” Just for one afternoon, right?

Shizue shifted the basket slightly, angling it so Kitsune could see the neat parcels inside, wrapped with care. Rice balls tucked beside pickled vegetables, a small container of sliced fruit, something sweet hidden beneath cloth like a confession. Nothing extravagant, nothing that screamed money. Just effort. Thought. The kind of preparation that said I want you comfortable, I want you pleased, I want you to stay with me long enough to forget what you carry.

“I overheard something,” Shizue continued, and she hated that her cheeks warmed again because she could hear how eager she sounded. “One of my father’s clients, she was talking about a spring in the mountains. Not the public ones. Not the ones with guards and gossip and people who think they have the right to look.” Her gaze lifted, meeting Kitsune’s golden eyes. She let the words slow, let them become silk.

“Private.”

She did not say the rest out loud. She did not say secluded, hidden, steam curling around skin like a veil. She did not say warm water makes it hard to tell where you end and I begin. She did not say I want to see you without the world clinging to you like armor, but she let it sit there anyway, implied and unmistakable.

“It’s a hike, and probably not a gentle one for non-shinobi,” Shizue admitted, and she flashed a small smile that was half apology, half mischief. “Three hours into the mountains, and then a walk besides. I know you could probably leap the whole distance without breaking a sweat, but… I thought it might be nice to do it properly. Together. No meetings. No shinobi lining up at your door. No title, just you.”

Her thumb brushed the collar, but this time she did it on purpose, slow enough that Kitsune would notice. The scales shimmered, throwing color across Shizue’s skin, and Shizue watched Kitsune watch her. “And if you’re worried about your time,” Shizue added, voice dipping, “I can be persuasive.”

The words were risky. They landed like a spark, wanting something to ignite, something to burn. Shizue leaned back just enough to look up at Kitsune fully. She tried to steady herself, to stand like someone who belonged in this courtyard, like someone who could make bold plans and not flinch when they were noticed.

But she could not hide the way her body responded to Kitsune’s closeness. The way her breath kept catching. The way the line of Kitsune’s unbuttoned collar made Shizue want to trace it with her mouth and learn, very carefully, what kinds of sounds the Raikage made when she stopped being composed.

Shizue cleared her throat, a poor attempt at regaining control. “I told myself I’d be calm when I asked,” she confessed, and her laugh was quiet, a little embarrassed, a little thrilled. “I’m failing.” Her voice quivered a bit, with underlying want, with excitement, with fear that she'd be turned down.

She shifted her weight, the hem of her clothes whispering against stone, and took a single step closer. Not enough to press into Kitsune, not enough to break the last shred of polite space, just enough to make it clear that if Kitsune moved, Shizue would not retreat. “If you say no,” Shizue murmured, “I’ll behave. I’ll accept it gracefully.” Her eyes flicked down, just briefly, to Kitsune’s mouth.

“But if you say yes,” she continued, voice turning softer, warmer, “then I want you with me out there. I want you where the only thing that matters is the water, the heat, and the fact that there’s no one to see the way you look at me.”

Another breath. Another reckless thought. “And,” Shizue added, almost casually, like she was discussing the weather, “I picked the spot for a reason.” Her lips curved again, that small, dangerous smile. “It’s supposed to be good for sore muscles.”

She let her gaze travel, slow and appreciative, over Kitsune’s rolled sleeves, over the strength hidden in plain sight. She did not touch. Not yet.

“But I was also thinking,” Shizue went on, “it might be good for… tension.” Her eyes returned to Kitsune’s, steady now. “Tell me, Kitsune,” she said, letting the name come out without title, without distance, “do you want to follow me?”

The question hung between them like steam, like a shadow of a future that could be, like velvet sheets. Shizue’s fingers stayed on the basket, knuckles pale, the only proof she was still holding herself back. She waited, heart thundering under the collar, and did not look away. Not when every part of her was already halfway up the mountain, already imagining the warmth of hidden water, already imagining the Raikage without the world, and wondering how far a dragon would let herself melt when no one was watching.