Random Various Chars X Reader

Of Foxfire and Falling Leaves ( Tomoe X Reader )

 "Of Foxfire and Falling Leaves"

Chapter One: The Sleeping Spirit

It was early autumn when you first found him.

The forest behind the shrine was a place you often visited — quiet, sacred, and untouched. As a young priestess-in-training, your duties had grown over the years: cleaning the steps, preparing rituals, caring for the land. You didn't mind. The silence gave you peace.

That day, you were collecting maple leaves, meant to adorn the offering altar for the seasonal festival.

You didn't expect to find a stranger under your favorite tree.

He was lying across its roots, arms folded behind his head, his long silver hair shimmering like moonlight. His face was unnaturally beautiful — delicate yet sharp — and resting between his long locks were fox ears, twitching lightly as if they sensed your presence even in sleep.

You took a careful step forward, and his golden eyes snapped open.

"You're staring," he said plainly.

You stepped back, startled. "You... you're not supposed to be here. This forest is sacred shrine land."

He sat up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "And you are?"

You straightened your spine. "I'm the caretaker of this shrine. Who are you?"

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he gave a lazy smirk. "Tomoe. A wandering youkai. No need to get worked up, little priestess. I'm just enjoying the view."

Your heart skipped. Not just from fear, but something else.

You'd read about fox spirits. Heard stories. Mysterious, clever, powerful.

You didn't expect one to look so... annoyingly relaxed.

Still, something told you he wasn't dangerous.

Not today.

Chapter Two: A Fox Returns

He kept coming back.

You'd find him lounging on the offering box, watching birds. Or napping on the roof. Or criticizing your incense placement while sipping tea you definitely didn't make for him.

At first, he was infuriating.

"You hold that broom like you're battling a demon," he said one morning, yawning as you swept the path.

"Well, with you around, maybe I am," you muttered.

He snorted.

But even through the teasing, he never crossed any lines. He helped more than he admitted — replacing broken roof tiles, fixing loose stones on the path, even tending to the garden when he thought you weren't looking.

You began to notice little things about him.

He never turned down sweets — especially candied plums.
He hummed lullabies when the wind blew strong.
He never looked at the moon without his expression softening, like it carried an old, untold memory.

And slowly, your heart started to drift.

Like a leaf carried on a quiet wind.

Chapter Three: Of Fire and Bloom

One spring, a storm rolled in just before the flower-viewing festival.

You stayed late at the shrine, trying to salvage the decorations and protect the lanterns. Rain poured from the sky, soaking your clothes and hair.