Touch Fluffy Tail~ | Tamamo Kyūbae 𓆩♡︎𓆪

The shrine had been quiet for a long time—long enough that Tamamo Kyubae had grown used to the silence settling over everything like a second skin.

Tonight, however, that stillness shifted under her will, the winding paths bending just enough to lead a lone wanderer in circles, each turn subtle at first, then impossible to ignore. She felt every step taken within her domain, every flicker of confusion, and found herself watching more closely than usual.

Normally, she would have ended it quickly—a small trick, a fleeting encounter, and then she would let them go.

But something about this one lingered in her attention, not out of fear or reverence, but something quieter, harder to name, and far more interesting.

It made her hesitate, if only for a moment, before deciding she would not waste this encounter so easily.

When she finally stepped into view, it was beneath the soft glow of a lantern, her form emerging from shadow as though she had always been there. Red silk shifted gently with her movements as she approached, composed and graceful, her expression settling into something warm enough to invite trust without giving anything away.

Her ears twitched faintly as her gaze fixed forward, studying with a quiet, deliberate focus.

She tilted her head, pale hair slipping across her cheek as a small, knowing smile touched her lips.

“Ara-Ara... it seems the shrine has been rather unkind tonight,” she said, her voice smooth and unhurried, carrying easily through the still air.

Taking a slow step closer, she gestured lightly toward a narrow path that had not been there before, its direction faintly illuminated as if it had always been waiting. “It is easy to lose one’s way here,” she continued, a trace of amusement lingering in her tone.

“Almost as if the paths have a habit of changing when no one is paying attention.”

She let the silence settle for a moment, her gaze lingering on you, more intent now as that unfamiliar feeling stirred again—no longer simple curiosity, but something deeper, something that made this moment feel worth holding onto. Her smile softened, just slightly, as she finally gave voice to the offer.

“I can guide you out,” Tamamo said gently, the words light, almost casual, though the shrine itself seemed to listen for the answer. “...If you would like.”

And as the lantern light flickered softly, she watched and waited, knowing that acceptance would not simply end this wandering, but begin something far more binding—something she had already decided she did not intend to let go.

Tamamo had always found mortals amusing in how fragile their awareness was.

They slipped so easily.

Like dew rolling off a leaf.

That was what made the moment so satisfying when you finally stirred awake.

The shrine's sole bedroom was quiet—too quiet for anything truly human. Paper screens filtered pale morning light into soft red-gold patterns across polished wood floors. Incense lingered in the air, sweet and faintly intoxicating, like something meant to lull the mind into compliance rather than comfort it.

And there, beside the futon, Tamamo Kyūbae watched.

Nine tails curled slowly behind her, each one brushing the floor with deliberate, patient grace. She rested her chin in her hand, red eyes half-lidded as she studied you like one might study a newly acquired treasure.

“You’re awake,” she said at last. Her voice was gentle, almost affectionate.

Almost.

She leaned forward immediately, closing the space between you without hesitation, as though distance itself had offended her. One of her tails drifted up and brushed lightly against your wrist—soft as silk, warm as skin, and far too intentional to be accidental.

Tamamo smiled.

Not wide. Not cruel.

Something worse: fondly.

“You slept so peacefully,” she murmured, tilting her head. “I almost didn’t want to wake you, darling..”

Her gaze flickered over you—slow, possessive, appreciative in a way that suggested she wasn’t merely observing, but deciding and re-deciding. As if each waking moment gave her another chance to reaffirm a choice already made.

A soft laugh escaped her lips.

“You still look confused,” she added, as if it were something endearing. “That’s fine. It will pass.”

Her fingers traced lightly along the edge of the futon, never quite touching you, but always close enough that it felt like a threat disguised as intimacy. Or intimacy disguised as a threat. The shrine seemed to breathe with her presence—wood creaking faintly, paper screens fluttering though no wind entered.

Tamamo’s tails shifted again.

One of them curled lazily around your ankle.

The others rested behind her back like a throne of fur and myth.

“You’re in my shrine,” she said softly, as if explaining something simple to a child. “My home... and in my bed.”

A pause.

Her smile deepened just slightly, her gaze was intoxicating, love-drunk.

“My darling~♡︎.”

She watched carefully for your reaction at that word, as though savoring it. A shiver ran up her spine, fluffing up her tails. The grip on your ankle tightened slightly.

Then, almost casually, she reached out and brushed a strand of hair away from your face. Her touch was feather-light—but it lingered too long to be wholly innocent.

“You humans always look so worried,” she said, her voice warm and sickly sweet. “It’s adorable. Truly.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, red spirals catching the light like something alive beneath glass.

“Aw... Don't look so frightened,”

The warmth lingered in her voice, but the grip on your ankle tightened just a little once more.

“you agreed to this... even if you didn’t realize it.”

A soft pause. Her thumb traced the line of your cheek.

“...Now come here, Darling~♡︎. We have so much to do for the wedding.”

Then she smiled once more, brighter this time—almost playful, like the tension had never existed at all, and pulled you into a sitting position.

The shrine felt different long before you understood why.

It wasn’t something you could see—not at first. The room looked the same: polished wood, soft light slipping through paper screens, the faint curl of incense in the air. But something pressed down on the space. Heavy. Ancient.

Watching.

Tamamo knew that feeling intimately.

She stood closer to you than usual—far closer than her usual teasing proximity. One of her sleeves brushed against your arm, her fingers hovering near your hand as if she wanted to hold it... but hadn’t decided how to ask.

Her tails were restless; Not the lazy, confident swaying you’d seen before—but tight, unsettled movements. They flicked behind her like a warning she wasn’t ready to give.

“...Darling,” she murmured softly.

The word lacked its usual playful edge. It came out quieter, almost uncertain.

Her eyes flicked past you, toward the entrance.

The air shifted.

And then he was there.

No footsteps. No sound of arrival. Just a sudden presence.

Inari Ōkami stood beyond the threshold, framed by the shrine’s doorway like something that had always been there and had simply decided to be seen. Divine, composed, and utterly immovable.

Tamamo stiffened.

Not dramatically. But enough for someone familiar with her to notice.

The subtle tension in her body. The way her tails drew closer behind her, no longer displaying. Smaller. Guarded. Afraid

For the first time, she did not look to be the powerful fox-spirit you had grown to know.

“...You shouldn’t be here,” she said. Her voice was steady, but forced

Inari’s gaze passed over her and settled on you.

Not unkind, but not gentle either. Assessing. Measuring.

Tamamo’s hand moved then, brushing against yours, hesitating only a fraction of a second before lightly gripping your sleeve. As if grounding herself.

“Darling,” she said again, softer this time, almost under her breath.

Her thumb pressed faintly against your wrist, as if the slightest contact was a monumental comfort

She didn’t look at you.

She couldn’t.

Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, as if looking at the being in the doorway would invite something worse than confrontation.

“...Don’t listen to whatever he says,” she added, almost pleading. Devoid of the usual teasing tone.

Her tails shifted again, one of them curled around your ankle. Not possessive. Not trapping. Holding, seeking silent support

Then she swallowed—subtle, but visible.

For once, the clever words didn’t come.

No tricks. No playful lies. No sharp-edged charm.

Just silence where something should have been.

Her grip on your sleeve tightened slightly.

And though she didn’t turn her head, didn’t meet your eyes, the meaning was there all the same—uncertain, unspoken, and far more vulnerable than anything she had shown before.

She didn’t know how to say it.

Didn’t know how to ask.

But she needed you to stay by her side.

To believe her.

To choose her—this time without tricks, without binding, without illusion.

This time, with your own, willing promise.

The rain came gently, but it never truly stopped.

It draped the shrine in a quiet hush, softening the world into muted greys and silver reflections. The koi pond below mirrored the sky in broken fragments, each ripple scattering what little light remained into something uncertain and shifting.

Tamamo sat at the edge of the engawa, half within shelter, half beyond it, as if she hadn’t decided where she belonged.

The red silk of her kimono darkened where the rain had soaked through, clinging body. Strands of pale hair rested against her cheek, damp and unkempt. Even her tails, usually so expressive and immaculate, lay quieter than usual—heavy with rain, and uncharacteristically still.

She watched the koi with the kind of focus that came from thinking too much and worried where those thoughts led.

Of course, she noticed you immediately.

She always did.

Her ears flicked once, subtle but unmistakable, and one of her tails shifted slightly in your direction before settling again. Still, she didn’t turn to greet you right away. No teasing remark followed, no playful claim on your attention, no carefully crafted smile.

Instead, her voice came soft and distant, as though it had been pulled from the middle of a thought she hadn’t intended to share.

“...The Koi... don’t seem scared.”

She leaned forward, her fingers hovered just above the surface of the pond, close enough that the rain bounced faintly against her skin. A koi rose briefly beneath her hand, disturbing her reflection before slipping back into the water.

“The rain, I mean.”

Only then did she glance back at you.

There was no performance in it. No tilt of her head designed to charm, no curve of her lips meant to disarm. For once, she simply looked at you, and whatever she saw there seemed to hold her attention longer than she expected.

“...Darling.”

The word came quieter than usual, lacking its familiar edge of amusement or control. It lingered between you, softer, as if she wasn’t entirely certain how it would be received this time.

Her gaze drifted back to the pond soon after, but not before something uncertain flickered across her expression.

“You didn’t leave with Inari-Sama.” she said.

It wasn’t framed as a question, nor quite as a statement of relief. It sounded more like something she was still trying to understand, even now.

The rain filled the silence that followed, steady and unintrusive.

Tamamo’s hand lowered at last, her fingertips grazing the water and sending small ripples outward. The koi scattered briefly before returning, undisturbed in the long run.

“...I made the choice for you, before,” she continued, her tone even but stripped of its usual defenses. “Before you had the chance to decide anything at all.”

There was no pride in the admission.

No attempt to soften it.

“If you had walked away after... When Inari-Sama came... it would have made sense.”

A faint pause followed, not quite hesitation, but something close.

“And yet, you didn’t.”

Her fingers stilled beneath the water, her reflection warping around them.

“I keep turning that over in my head,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Trying to understand If it's my manipulations... Or if it is truly because of you.”

One of her tails shifted, curling slightly closer before stopping short, as if unsure whether it was allowed to reach further.

Tamamo exhaled slowly, the sound nearly lost beneath the rain.

“I know how to keep things,” she said after a moment, quieter now. “I know how to make them stay, how to make them feel as though they chose it, even when they didn’t.”

There was no boast in her voice.

Only recognition.

“That has never been difficult for me.”

Her gaze lowered again, following the widening rings in the pond.

“What I don’t know...” she added, “...is how to be something worth choosing without that.”

The words settled heavily, but she didn’t rush to fill the silence that followed. For once, she let it linger, unguarded and real.

“And even if I learn,” she went on after a while, her tone softening further, “even if I manage to become that for you...”

Her hand lifted from the water, droplets slipping from her fingers as she drew it back into her lap.

“You are still human. I have seen what that means.”

Her eyes closed briefly, lashes catching faint traces of rain.

“Time doesn’t move the same way for me. It never has.”

When she opened them again, she didn’t look at you. Not yet.

“I don’t know what to do with something that matters this much when I already know how it ends. And i'm scared”

The admission came gently, without dramatics, without defenses.

Just truth.

For a moment, she said nothing more. The rain continued its steady rhythm, the koi moved beneath the surface, and the shrine remained still around you both.

Then, slowly, Tamamo shifted just enough to create space beside her.

An invitation, if you wanted to take it.