be mine ♡

"But Shin-kun, I've done everything you've asked and we're not even married yet! I've been good! It's not fair!" You can't help the way your arms fold across your chest or your pout deepens. You do manage to keep from childishly stomping your foot.

"If ya keep behavin' like this, ya won't be getting any reward." As usual, he doesn't need to raise his voice for you to know that you're toeing a line that it would be in your best interest not to cross. You relent with a huff.

"Fine. Then there's something else I want," you say and he gives you a flat look.

"I already told ya yer not coming until we're married."

You roll your eyes. You've heard that enough by this point in your engagement to know that it's an exercise in futility to even bother pleading asking.

"No. Something else."

He raises an eyebrow and it's all the permission you need to continue. Your posture straightens and your arms unfold to hang down at your sides.

"I want to see your tattoos." Although his expression doesn't change, there's a momentary hint of surprise in his eyes, clearly not having expected such a request.

You wonder if your own expression betrays your eagerness. While you've seen his tattooed forearms from afar when he's rolled up his shirtsleeves, it's only ever been a small taste of what's etched upon his skin and hidden beneath fabric.

Lately, when you've found yourself in bed with your fingers buried in your pussy, your walls clenching around them and your clit swollen the overwhelming and months-long need to come, all you can imagine is what he's chosen for the centerpiece tattoo that dominates his back.

Nothing you envision ever seems to fit the strict and traditional image of the Inarizaki's kumicho. A dragon seems too cliché. A tiger seems too egotistic. A samurai is too aggressive and an oni too vulgar.

So, when the corner of Kita's lip twitches briefly upward, your breath catches with excitement. Wordlessly, he steps closer to where you stand on the edge of the genkan. With the height advantage of the step, you're almost able to directly meet his gaze without looking up.

When he slips off his black jacket and hands it to you, you carefully fold it over your arms. You can tell that something in the gesture pleases him -- whether it's the submissiveness or domesticity, you're not sure. You're not inclined to offer any protest as he begins to unbutton his white dress shirt with nimble fingers.

With every inch of skin that's slowly revealed, you can feel yourself growing wetter, the fabric of your underwear beginning to cling uncomfortably to your slick folds. When the final button comes undone, you clench your thighs together, pitifully acknowledging it's the only taste of satisfaction that you'll see.

As the shirt slides down his arms, he passes it for you to take and you mindlessly hang it over the jacket already on your arm. Your eyes greedily drink in the expansive swaths of color that cover almost every inch of his skin.

Aside from an inch-wide strip of unmarred skin extending from his neck past the waist of his pants, his entire upper body is etched with traditional yakuza imagery of swirling black clouds and blossoming flowers. You don't miss the rice stalks interspersed throughout the designs.

You find yourself entranced by the design of the fox that stretches from over his left shoulder to cover his heart. It mirrors the traditional ukiyo-e style, only it remains uncolored and you instantly know it's meant to portray the divine white kitsune. Your gaze follows its form back up to his shoulder where it disappears from your sight.

When you finally lift your eyes to meet his, the hunger that you see in them is almost enough to make you moan aloud. Your thighs clench together again in a pathetic search for what little relief you can find.

"I want to see the back," you eventually tell him, your voice breathless.

"Do ya deserve a second reward?" His own voice sounds deeper to your ears and you wonder how many nights he's denied himself pleasure between your thighs in service of controlling yours.

The implied threat that he may put his shirt back on and deny you the chance to see the centerpiece of his tattooed body is almost as bad as his denial of your orgasms. Your desperation drives you to your knees and you fold your legs beneath you in a traditional seiza.

"Please, Shin-kun," you beg as you look up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "I've been good!"

A hint of affection briefly crosses his face and he leans down to give the top of your head a gentle kiss. His hand then grabs your jaw and he firmly guides you back to your feet.

"Yeah, ya have been good, ain't ya?" he hums thoughtfully and something almost nearing amusement tugs at his lips when you nod your head eagerly in his hand in response.

Deciding to placate you, he slowly drags a thumb across your plush bottom lip, letting the tip of it dip into your mouth and brush against your tongue before he drops his hand altogether.

And finally, finally, he turns around so that you can see what he's chosen to have permanently inked across the skin of his broad back.

When you see the artwork, you can't help the grin that grows on your face at your own foolishness. How stupid you are to have ever thought it could be anything else.

Painted in shades of black, green, yellow, blue, and red is the figure of a woman with two uncolored foxes at her feet standing in a lush field of rice that's ready to be harvested.