Kyoto days were quieter.
Ren liked those too.
He sat on the veranda of Yasaka's estate with one leg stretched out, the other bent so he could lean an elbow on his knee. Cool evening air slid under the eaves, carrying the faint smell of incense, old wood, and the distant river that cut through Kyoto's belly. Beyond the veranda, the garden glowed with lantern light and foxfire, soft golds and greens blending beneath the dark.
Kunou tore through it like a small, determined comet.
The little fox princess wore a casual yukata patterned with tiny maple leaves, sleeves rolled up, golden tails fanned behind her as she darted through the dusk with all the seriousness of a child on a grand mission. Each pounce sent a burst of tiny foxfire flaring around her fingers; each time she got too excited, it sputtered, scattering in sparks that chased fireflies instead of catching them.
"Kunou," Yasaka called gently from behind Ren, voice warm but carrying the easy authority of someone used to being obeyed. "Don't burn the lanterns again, dear."
"I won't!" Kunou answered without even looking back, tone an exact mix of indignant and affectionate that only a daughter could manage.
Ren's mouth curved.
On nights like this, Kyoto's barrier hummed quietly over the city, a vast formation that responded to Yasaka's will. The whole region breathed to her rhythm—a nine-tailed fox holding an ancient capital in her hands.
She came to kneel beside him a moment later, smooth movements making the silk of her kimono whisper against the polished wood. Lantern light caught on the gold threads woven through her obi, on the faint glow of her hairpins shaped like tiny sunbursts.
Yasaka poured tea with the sort of practiced grace that made even something so simple look like a ceremony. Steam curled upward between them, delicate and fragrant.
"I apologize if she's being too energetic," Yasaka said, smiling softly as she offered him a cup. "She looks forward to your visits a little too much."
"A little?" Ren's voice was amused, easy. "If she were any more excited, Kyoto's barrier would start vibrating."
Yasaka's eyes curved, laughter hiding in their golden depths.
"Then I must apologize to Kyoto as well," she replied.
He took the cup from her, fingers brushing hers for a heartbeat longer than necessary.
She noticed.
Of course she noticed.
Her youkai aura—warm and steady like autumn sunlight—rippled faintly, foxfire within reacting to him in a way that had nothing to do with politics or alliances. The leader of the West Youkai Faction, ruler of Kyoto, was very aware of every shift in her own heart.
Ren pretended not to notice and sipped his tea.
Kunou pounced her way back toward the veranda, cheeks flushed, tails twitching like overexcited metronomes.
"Ren!" she demanded, hopping up onto the step in one smooth movement. "Did you see that? I caught three at once!"
Ren looked down at her with mock seriousness, eyes tracing the way her foxfire still clung to her fingertips.
"Mm. You did well," he said. "But you stepped too hard with your left foot. If you soften it a little, the foxfire will listen to you more."
Kunou's eyes widened like he'd just told her a secret technique from some ancient scroll.
"Really?"
He nodded, completely straight-faced.
"Try again. Don't stomp. Let your weight sink, then slide. Think of it like…sneaking up on a cookie jar."
She squinted at him, suspicious. "That sounds like bad advice."
"Best kind," Ren replied mildly.
Kunou snorted, but she tried anyway.
This time, when the next cluster of fireflies danced just out of reach, she mimicked the way he shifted his weight—foot lighter, hips relaxed. Foxfire flared from her fingers in a cleaner line, wrapping around the insects in a gentle loop instead of flaring wild.
The grass didn't even scorch.
She squealed in delight, tails exploding into even wilder motion.
"See?" Ren said, one corner of his mouth tilting. "You're smart. Your body remembers faster than you think."
Kunou puffed up like a very small, very proud pufferfish.
"That's because I'm amazing," she declared.
He ruffled her hair in answer, knuckles brushing between fox ears that were not nearly as dignified as she seemed to think.
Kunou beamed and immediately launched into an overcomplicated story about school, faction meetings she half-understood, and a prank she was "definitely not planning" on some rude visiting emissary who had made the mistake of underestimating Kyoto's princess.
Yasaka watched them with an expression that curled something in Ren's chest—a look made of relief, affection, and a faint ache.
She'd had to leave Kunou alone too many times, for too many meetings, smiling politely at devils and gods while part of her worried about the small girl waiting back home. Ren knew that feeling even if he never said it aloud: the tension of wanting to be in two places at once, the pull between duty and the people who made that duty worth anything at all.
Kunou went on for a long time. Ren listened to every word, humming at the right moments, asking just enough questions to keep her rolling. When she mimed out a particularly dramatic part, he smothered a laugh into his tea.
Eventually, the night deepened.
Lanterns burned lower, foxfire dimmed, and Kunou's endless energy finally frayed at the edges. She ended up sprawled between them on the veranda, sentences turning into half-mumbled thoughts. Sometime between "and then I told him—" and "tomorrow we should—" her words blurred entirely and slipped into soft breathing.
Kunou surrendered to sleep curled up between them, tails wrapped tight around Ren's arm like a very small, very possessive blanket.
Yasaka slid the door shut behind them with a soft click, sealing out the cooler air. The room's dim light painted her hair warm gold.
The garden, beyond the paper screens, was a softer silhouette now. Kyoto's barrier hummed in the distance, an invisible dome over the sleeping city.
"You're good with children," she said quietly.
Ren looked down at the little fox princess clinging to him, then up at Yasaka. A rare, unguarded softness touched his smile.
"Kunou's easy to read," he said. "And she's good at feeling where power actually lies, even if she doesn't have words for it yet."
Yasaka's lips curved.
"She calls you 'cheating' when you're not here," she admitted. "Because you make everything seem…simple. Even when it isn't."
Ren raised his brows, amused.
"Cheating, huh. I'll take it."
He turned fully toward her, studying her face in the lantern light.
Yasaka was many things at once.
A mother. A leader at the level of an Ultimate-class devil. A nine-tailed youkai whose power could shake Kyoto's foundations. A negotiator who kept gods and devils from turning this old city into another battlefield.
She was also a woman whose shoulders had carried a country for too long.
"You're too hard on yourself," Ren said, voice dropping softer. "You think if you're not perfectly composed, the whole city will fall apart."
Her golden eyes widened a fraction, the reaction subtle but there.
"Is that wrong?" she asked.
He shook his head.
"No," he said. "It's just…heavy. Let me carry some of it when I'm here. That's all."
She looked at him like he'd offered to take the sun from the sky and hold it in his bare hands.
Then she smiled, slow and warm, tails curling closer around his arm.
"…You already do," she murmured.
Later, when the lanterns were extinguished one by one and the estate's corridors fell into deeper shadow, the quiet changed flavor.
The estate settled into a rhythm of breathing, sleeping, and patient waiting.
Ren led her toward the private quarters where the world narrowed to paper screens and tatami, to the scent of cedar and faint, lingering jasmine from Yasaka's own aura.
He didn't speak much as he undid her obi, careful movements practiced by intimacy, not instruction. Silk slid through his fingers like dark water. Each fold he placed to the side was another layer of duty set aside.
Yasaka let him.
Her hands rested on his shoulders, not to guide him, but simply to feel the solid warmth of him. Her tails, freed from the obi's restraint, brushed against his legs, each touch deliberate and full of the same quiet trust she'd shown him from the very beginning.
The yukata pooled at her feet, and with it, the last visible barrier between Yasaka, the leader of the West, and Yasaka, the woman.
Ren didn't look at her as a goddess or a ruler in that moment. He looked at her like she was precious.
"I missed you," he said, words barely a breath against her shoulder.
"I'm right here," she whispered back.
"Still missed you."
He kissed her then, slow and deep. It wasn't hungry or hurried. It was a conversation—a question she answered by tilting her head, a promise sealed as his hand slid from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.
When they finally parted, Yasaka's golden eyes were brighter in the soft lantern light.
"You're ridiculously sentimental," she murmured, but there was no bite in it. Only affection.
Ren smiled, thumb tracing her cheekbone. "You like it."
"Mmm," she hummed, neither confirming nor denying, but her tails answered for her, wrapping loosely around his legs in a silent embrace. "You're warm."
"So are you."
His hands found her shoulders, thumbs pressing gently into the muscles that carried the weight of an entire region. He worked at the knots there, patient and thorough.
Yasaka sighed, a soft release of tension she hadn't realized she was holding.
"You're spoiled," she murmured, but arched into his touch anyway, tails flicking lazily against his thighs.
Ren chuckled against her neck, lips brushing the sensitive spot beneath her ear. "Only because you let me be."
His hands slid down her bare back, tracing the curve of her spine with deliberate slowness—worship without words. When she shivered, he pressed closer, murmuring, "Tell me what you want."
Yasaka turned in his arms, fingers threading through his hair as she pulled him into another kiss.
"You," she said between breaths, voice rough at the edges. "Always you." Her tails wrapped around his waist, possessive and pleading all at once.
The futon was already laid out, thick and inviting. Ren guided her down, settling over her with a weight that felt like safety, not pressure. He kissed her again, deeper this time, one hand tangled in her hair while the other explored the lines of her body—hips, thighs, the curve of her breasts.
Yasaka responded with a slow fire that only a youkai of her age and power could possess, her own hands mapping the terrain of his back and shoulders. Every touch was both a memory and a discovery, an affirmation of the bond they'd forged in quiet moments and shared burdens.
"You think too much," she whispered when he paused, forehead pressed against hers. "Even now."
He huffed a quiet laugh, warm breath fanning across her lips. "Just savoring."
"Savor faster," she teased, but her tails tightened around him, betraying her own urgency.
Ren smiled and shifted, settling between her legs. He took a moment to simply look at her—golden eyes bright with affection and desire, hair spread like a halo around her head on the dark pillow, her body a study in grace and strength.
"You're incredible," he breathed.
Yasaka's cheeks colored faintly, a rare vulnerability from the formidable leader of the West Youkai. "Flattery will get you everywhere," she murmured, pulling him down for another kiss.
He entered her slowly, with a reverence that made her breath catch. This was the part that always undid them both—the sudden, intense amplification of sensation, the way Ren's aura wrapped around them like the warmest blanket, transforming pleasure into something transcendent.
Yasaka's back arched, her fingers digging into his shoulders as a soft cry escaped her lips.
Ren stilled, giving her a moment to adjust, to breathe. "Okay?" he asked, voice strained with the effort of holding back.
Yasaka exhaled shakily, golden eyes half-lidded as she rolled her hips experimentally. "Better than okay," she murmured, nails scraping lightly down his back. "Move."
Ren obeyed, starting slow—long, deep strokes that made her gasp. He kissed her temple, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth.
"You're beautiful like this," he murmured against her skin, voice rough with affection. "All mine."
Yasaka laughed breathlessly, nails grazing his back. "Arrogant," she teased, but the way her hips arched into his betrayed her enjoyment. Her tails coiled tighter around him, pulling him closer. "But... not wrong."
Ren grinned against her neck, pressing a kiss just beneath her ear. "You love it," he murmured, fingers threading through her hair as he deliberately slowed his movements, savoring the way her breath hitched. "You love when I make you feel this good."
"I—" Yasaka began, but her words dissolved into a soft cry as Ren shifted, hitting a spot that made her toes curl. Her back arched, pressing her breasts against his chest. "Ren... please."
"Please what?" he asked, kissing her again, slow and deep. "Tell me what you need."
"More," she gasped, fingers tightening in his hair. "Please, Ren... I need more."
He gave her what she asked for—deeper, harder, faster—his movements becoming more confident as her responses grew more uninhibited. The room filled with the sounds of their lovemaking: the slap of skin against skin, the rustle of sheets, the soft, breathy sounds Yasaka made each time he hit that spot inside her. Her tails tightened around him, a living embrace that spoke of possessiveness and trust.
Ren's own control frayed at the edges. He buried his face in her neck, inhaling her scent—jasmine and something uniquely hers, the scent of home and desire and all the things he'd come to cherish.
"Yasaka," he gasped, his hips snapping forward, harder and faster than before. "You feel... incredible."
"Ren," she cried out, back arching. "Don't stop... please don't stop."
"I won't," he promised, his voice strained with effort. "Never stop." He shifted, changing the angle of his thrusts, hitting a new spot that made her vision go white.
Yasaka gasped—all elegance stripped away—her hands clawing at his back as she arched against him. "Ren, I—"
He caught the words from her lips with another kiss, swallowing her moans as his thrusts grew deeper, slower. The way she trembled beneath him—like the city she ruled responded to her every breath—sent heat coiling tighter in his gut.
"You're perfect," he murmured between kisses, voice rough with want. "Every damn part of you."
Yasaka laughed breathlessly, her fingers tracing the line eaten into the furrow of his brow by centuries of battles. "Flattery," she whispered, though her hips rolled against him eagerly. "You're supposed to be—ah—focusing."
Ren nipped at her collarbone, grinning at the way her tails flicked in response. "I am focused," he murmured, dragging his lips up her throat. "On how you sound when I do—" He punctuated the words with a slow, deep thrust that had her gasping. "—that."
Yasaka's laugh turned into a moan as she wound her arms tighter around his neck. "Cheating," she breathed, but the way her hips met his betrayed her enthusiasm. "Using my reactions against me—ah!"
Ren kissed down her throat, lips lingering on her pulse. "Learned from the best," he murmured. His hands slid lower, gripping her hipsource, guiding her movements. When she arched into him again, he groaned—rough, involuntary—a sound Yasaka stored away like a fox hoarding treasures.
"You're right," she gasped, fingers tangling in his hair. "I did teach you that." Her nails scraped down his back, drawing a low hiss from him. "But you—ah—learned too well."
Ren chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin as he pressed a kiss to her collarbone. "You say that like it's a bad thing." His hands slid up her sides, thumbs brushing the underside of her breasts in a way that made her arch into him with a shuddering breath.
"You know I love hearing you," he murmured, nipping at her jaw. "Every sigh, every gasp—especially when I'm the one pulling them from you." His lips trailed lower, worshipping every inch of skin like she was something sacred rather than just another conquest.
Yasaka's breath hitched as his mouth closed over her nipple, her fingers tightening in his hair. "V-Vain," she accused, though the tremor in her voice ruined any attempt at reproach. "Always so—ah!—pleased with yourself."
Ren grinned against her skin, the wicked curve of his lips tangible as he laved his tongue over the peaked bud. "Only because you make it so easy," he murmured before switching his attention to her other breast, lavishing it with the same devoted attention.
Her answering moan was music to his ears—raw and unfiltered, a sound reserved solely for these stolen moments between them. His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him as he settled deeper, filling her completely.
His hands tightened on her waist, pulling her flush against him as he settled deeper, filling her completely.
"You feel like home," Ren murmured against her lips, the words rough with affection, not lust—a confession more intimate than any touch. Yasaka's breath hitched, her fingers curling into his hair as if she could anchor the moment forever.
"Too sweet," she teased, but her voice cracked on the last syllable when he rolled his hips just right, turning the words into a gasp.
Ren grinned, pressing a kiss to her fluttering pulse. Her tails curled around them both—soft, warm, possessive—binding them together in a way more intimate than any embrace could ever be.
"You love it," he whispered, and the confidence in his tone made her shiver. He punctuated the words with a slow, deliberate drag of his hips that had her arching into him with a soft cry.
"You—ah—talk too much," Yasaka gasped, though her nails biting into his shoulders told a different story. Ren chuckled, pressing a kiss to the spot just beneath her ear where her pulse fluttered wildly.
"Only because I love the way you react," he murmured, slowing his movements to savor the way her breath hitched, how her fingers tightened in his hair like she couldn't decide whether to pull him closer or push him away. "Every sound you make—every shiver—I want to remember all of it."
Yasaka's laughter was breathless, golden eyes half-lidded as she arched beneath him. "Sentimental fool," she accused, but the way her tails twined possessively around his waist betrayed her own affection.
Her nails traced lazy patterns down his spine, each touch speaking louder than words. "You—ah—cherish me too much."
Ren pressed his forehead to hers, his breath mingling with hers as he slowed his movements deliberately, savoring the way her body clenched around him. "Not possible," he murmured, voice rough with devotion. His thumb brushed her cheekbone, tracing the faint flush there. "You deserve to be cherished."
Yasaka's exhale shuddered, her fingertips trembling against his nape. "Ridiculous man," she whispered, but her tails curled tighter around him, pulling him deeper. The soft glow of her foxfire flickered against the walls, casting gold across their tangled limbs—a silent confession of her own. When she tilted her hips to meet his next thrust, a soft gasp escaped her lips, raw and unguarded.
Any words dissolved into a moan as Ren shifted, hitting a spot that made her vision blur. Her back arched, pressing her breasts against his chest. Her tails tightened, pulling him closer as she met his rhythm with an urgency that betrayed her desire for more.
Ren's hands roamed her body—reverent, deliberate—mapping the curves of her hips, the dip of her waist, the swell of her breasts as if committing them to memory. Each touch left a trail of fire that had her trembling, her breath catching in her throat. When his thumb brushed her clit, she cried out, her hips bucking against him.
"Ren," she gasped, her fingers tightening in his hair.
Ren increased the pressure, circling that sensitive nub with slow, deliberate strokes that had her trembling, her breath coming in ragged gasps. His name became a prayer on her lips, each syllable a plea for more. Her foxfire blazed around them, a golden haze that spoke of passion and love and all the things they couldn't say aloud during the day.
"Look at me," Ren commanded gently, his thumb still working its magic. Yasaka's golden eyes fluttered open, dazed with desire. The sight of her—flustered, vulnerable, completely undone by his touch—sent a jolt of heat straight to his groin. He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that was equal parts passion and reverence.
Yasaka responded with an urgency that surprised them both, her hands tangling in his hair as she deepened the kiss. Her tails tightened around him, pulling him deeper, the tip of one stroking the back of his neck in a gesture that was both intimate and affectionate. She arched into him, her body a canvas of sensations painted by his hands and lips.
"I'm right here," he promised against her lips, his free hand cupping her breast, thumb brushing her nipple in a way that had her gasping. "I'm not going anywhere."
Yasaka's breath hitched at the raw honesty in his tone. "Ren," she murmured, her fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the gesture impossibly tender. "You—ah—make it hard to breathe."
He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her skin. "That's the idea." He punctuated the words with a slow, deliberate drag of his hips that had her arching into him with a soft cry. "But I want you to breathe with me. Not for me."
Yasaka's laughter was breathless, golden eyes half-lidded as she arched beneath him. "You're too good at this," she accused, though the way her tails twined possessively around his waist betrayed her own affection.
Her nails traced lazy patterns down his spine, each touch speaking louder than words. "You—ah—know all my weaknesses."
"Only because I love you," Ren murmured, pressing a kiss to the spot just beneath her ear where her pulse fluttered wildly. "Every part of you."
Yasaka's exhale shuddered, her fingertips trembling against his nape. "Ridiculous man," she whispered, but the tremor in her voice betrayed her own vulnerability. Her foxfire blazed around them, a golden haze that spoke of passion and love and all the things they couldn't say aloud during the day.
Ren's movements slowed, becoming more deliberate—each thrust a statement, each kiss a promise. His hands mapped her body like it was sacred ground, his touch reverent as if committing every curve, every dip, every scar to memory. When he reached her face, he cupped her cheek, thumb brushing away the tear that had escaped without permission.
"I love seeing you like this," he admitted, voice rough with emotion. "Unburdened. Happy."
Yasaka closed her eyes, leaning into his touch. "Only with you," she confessed, the words a quiet surrender. "You make me feel... normal."
Ren smiled, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Normal's overrated." His hips rolled against hers, slow and deep, drawing a soft gasp from her. "I'd rather have you like this—all fire and vulnerability, all mine."
Her tails tightened around him, the gesture both possessive and pleading. "Ren," she murmured, her fingers tangling in his hair. "I—"
"I know," he whispered, cutting her off with a kiss. "Me too."
The kiss deepened, tongues tangling in a dance as old as time, yet still electric with new discovery. His hands slid lower, gripping her hips as he increased the pace, each thrust driving deeper, hitting that spot inside her that made her vision blur. Her back arched, pressing her breasts against his chest as she met his rhythm with an urgency that surprised them both.
His thumb brushed her clit in slow circles, coaxing a ragged moan from her throat. Yasaka gasped, fingers digging into his shoulders as pleasure coiled tighter—a crescendo building between them.
"You're—ah—too much," she managed, her tails twisting around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer. Ren laughed, the sound warm against her skin.
His free hand traced her jawline, reverent. "Let go," he urged softly. "I've got you."
She shattered with a cry, her body trembling beneath him as pleasure washed over her—his name on her lips, her foxfire flickering wildly around them. Ren followed her over the edge moments later, pressing his forehead to hers as he murmured her name like a prayer.
After, when their breathing slowed and the soft glow of Yasaka's foxfire dimmed to embers, Ren traced lazy circles on her hip, his touch tender. "You're beautiful," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her shoulder. "All the time, but especially now."
Yasaka hummed, her tails curling contentedly around his legs. "Flatterer," she murmured, though she arched into his touch, seeking more. "You're insatiable."
Ren grinned, nipping at her earlobe. "I can't help it." He shifted, settling between her legs again, already hard and ready.
"And tonight," he added, pressing a kiss to her jaw, "I'm not planning on stopping."
Her golden eyes widened, then darkened with desire. "Good," she breathed, nails scraping lightly down his back. "Because I'm not done with you either."
He chuckled, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "Thank the gods." His hands roamed her body—reverent, deliberate—relearning the curves of her waist, the dip of her spine, the swell of her breasts. When he reached her face, he cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her lower lip.
"I love you," he whispered, the words rough with emotion. "Not just the ruler of Kyoto, not just the mother of Kunou. You."
Tears welled in Yasaka's eyes, shimmering in the dim light. She blinked them back, but one escaped, tracing a path down her cheek. Ren caught it with his thumb, pressing a tender kiss to the spot where it had fallen.
"You ridiculous, sentimental man," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "You know I love you too."
He smiled, a genuine, unguarded curve of his lips. "Good to hear." He leaned in, capturing her lips in a slow, deep kiss.
"Now," he murmured against her lips, "where were we?"
Her laugh was breathless, a puff of warm air against his skin. "I believe," she said, her fingers tangling in his hair, "we were right about here." She rolled her hips, taking him deeper, drawing a groan from him.
"Ah, yes," Ren managed, his hips surging forward. "That." His movements were slow at first—savoring, deliberate—each thrust a statement, each kiss a promise.
Yasaka responded with a slow fire that only a youkai of her age and power could possess, her hands mapping the terrain of his back and shoulders, her tails coiling around them both like living silk.
...
Another day, Kyoto's quiet hadn't even fully soaked out of his bones yet.
Ren still smelled foxfire and tatami when he stepped out of a fold in the void—one easy step from Yasaka's estate straight into the heart of a sun goddess' sky.
The world shifted.
Clouds became an ocean of gold.
The air grew clearer, thinner, feather-light and hot. Above him, an invisible, absolute authority burned: the will that ruled over dawn and noon and the late-afternoon light slanting through every shrine gate in Japan.
Takamagahara.
The High Plane of Heaven hung over the world like an unseen palace, home of the Shinto gods and domain of the one who commanded the sun.
Ren squinted up into the glow and grinned.
"Morning," he said, even though by any reasonable clock it wasn't.
Warmth rolled over him in answer—a pulse of divinity that could have seared lesser gods to ash. It slid over his skin instead, testing, weighing, then recognizing the anomaly who kept walking into its halls like he lived there.
The light softened.
Amaterasu stepped out of it.
She wore a simple, elegant kimono rather than ceremonial regalia, hair pinned up with only a few thin gold threads glinting through black. Her presence, though, could never be called simple—sun-fire compressed into a woman's form, every line of her graceful and composed.
"Ren Ming," she greeted, voice steady as ever. Only someone watching closely would notice how her fingers tightened, just once, around the fan in her hand.
"You skipped the lobby," she added. "Again."
Ren walked toward her across the empty terrace as if it were the most natural thing in the world to appear in the private domain of the Shinto queen without warning.
"I like the view up here," he said. "Besides, the front desk keeps trying to make me fill out visitor forms."
A slow exhale touched her lips. It might have been a sigh; it might have been the beginnings of a laugh.
"That would be because you are supposed to fill out visitor forms," Amaterasu said. "Security. Protocol. All those things you take such delight in ignoring."
"Not ignoring," Ren corrected, stopping right in front of her, close enough to feel the way her heat sharpened and then curled around him. "I just want to see my woman."
Her eyes narrowed, but the corners held a faint light.
"You teleport into my palace," she said, "ignore all attendants, and demand an embrace as proof of respect?"
He opened his arms.
"That's exactly what I'm saying, yeah."
Amaterasu stared at him for a heartbeat.
It was the same look she might have given some ancient kami who had just suggested moving the sun an inch to the left for convenience.
Then the fan in her hand dipped.
She stepped into him.
Sunfire wrapped around him in layers—outer heat carefully restrained, inner warmth flowing like afternoon light through paper screens. Her cheek settled briefly against his shoulder, lashes lowering. He felt the subtle way she eased, weight shifting just a fraction as she let herself rest against him instead of standing as if she were still on a throne.
"You are impossible," she murmured.
"And yet," he said, smiling into her hair, "you always let me in."
Her answer was a quiet hum he felt more than heard, humming along his ribs like a second heartbeat.
For a brief moment, the High Plane's endless halls, the watching kami, and the duties stacked on her desk all fell away. It was just a man and a sun goddess standing under an open sky.
They spent the day not as rulers of pantheons, not as people rearranging world-systems, but wandering Takamagahara as if it were just another city.
Ren dragged her away from the formal halls where attendants bowed so low their foreheads nearly touched the floor, away from chambers where gods discussed barriers and war. They walked instead along lesser-used sky-bridges—places where clouds drifted close enough to skim with a hand, where shrines clung like swallows to floating islets and the wind tasted clean.
At first, Amaterasu kept trying to hold herself like the goddess everyone else saw.
Questions about barrier maintenance slipped into her sentences. Comments about shrine attendance, about Susanoo's latest mischief and Tsukuyomi's stubborn quiet, about the number of prayers that had flooded in from some regional festival. Her tone remained measured, polite.
Ren answered some of it. Most, he diverted.
"Do you ever just…want to play hooky?" he asked at one point, leaning on the railing of a bridge that overlooked the faraway curve of the human world. Clouds drifted below, Japan just a hazy shape tucked under them. "Skip a meeting. Leave some pompous envoy standing in an empty hall while you hide somewhere and nap?"
She blinked at him, half scandalized, half tempted despite herself.
"I am the sun," Amaterasu said. "If I 'play hooky,' the human world loses daylight."
Ren huffed a quiet laugh.
"See, that's why you need me," he said lazily. "I've got more than enough light to cover for you for an afternoon."
Her eyes narrowed, though they glittered.
"Is that so?"
"Mm." He rolled his shoulder as if loosening a kink. Far above them, something in the unseen sky stirred—Fate Palaces shifting their orbits, slick lines of Dao running under the skin of reality. The world brightened by a hair's breadth, shadows sharpening, colors deepening.
Amaterasu's gaze locked onto him.
"You would not," she said.
He let the flare fade, Heavenly weight tucking itself neatly away again, his inner Heaven folding closed like an eye.
"I'd rather you didn't make me prove it," Ren said mildly. "I like watching your sun. You do good work."
That earned him an actual laugh, soft and incredulous.
"You say such things very lightly," she said, repeating an old line but with less distance now. Her hand rested lightly on the railing near his. "And yet, when you speak of my duties, you sound…sincere."
"I am sincere," he replied. "I just don't see a contradiction between respecting your work and also wanting to steal you for a day." He glanced sideways, smile turning a shade softer. "You look better when you're not carrying all of Japan on your shoulders at once."
The fan in her hand flicked open with a small snap, hiding the lower half of her face.
"…You are outrageous," she murmured from behind it.
"And you're outrageously cute," he said. "And a little hotter than most women I know."
"You mean in terms of temper?"
"I mean literally hot." He bumped his shoulder against hers, feeling the way her aura rippled. "Come on, sun. Walk with me."
Her fan lowered, eyes brightening just a little.
They ended up in one of her gardens—a place shielded from mortal eyes, where the sky hung always at that golden hour between afternoon and dusk. Paper lanterns bobbed gently along a curving stone path. A koi pond mirrored the sky, fish within shimmering like fragments of sunset and molten gold.
Ren stretched out beneath a maple tree, hands folded behind his head, one leg bent. The grass was soft beneath him, the air warm without being oppressive. Above, leaves rustled in a slow, soothing rhythm.
Amaterasu sat upright beside him at first, posture immaculate, hands resting in her lap as if some invisible audience still watched.
It lasted about five minutes.
"You know," Ren said idly, watching how a leaf's shadow crossed her cheek, "you can lie down too. The tree won't take offense."
She gave him a level look.
"Is there some hidden reason you want your goddess lying vulnerable beside you?" she asked.
"Of course," he said without missing a beat. "Pillow privileges."
The look she gave him was half helpless, half exasperated, wholly amused.
"You are incorrigible."
"Guilty." He patted his chest once. "Come here."
She hesitated, eyes lingering on his face.
Being with him, she realized, was like sitting very close to a bonfire that never burned her no matter how near she drifted. There was danger in him—power that could erase pantheons without blinking—but his hands on her had never been anything but careful.
Slowly, she lay down.
Her head found his shoulder, hair spilling like silk over his arm. He shifted just enough to tuck her closer, one hand resting lightly around her waist, palm warm over the thin layer of cloth.
"See?" he murmured. "Perfect."
Amaterasu stared up through the leaves.
"…It is," she admitted in a very small voice.
For a long while, they just stayed like that.
She listened to the subtle cadence of his breathing, and beneath that, a deeper, stranger rhythm—the pulse of a Heaven that did not belong to this world, beating in time with his heart. He listened to the tiny adjustments in her aura, the way the intensity of her sunlight eased at the edges, bleeding into something more human.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly.
"Mm." Her lashes lowered. "I was wondering…if this is what it feels like for humans. To have the sun on their faces. To simply…enjoy it. Without thinking about where the light comes from, or how long until sunset, or whether storms will come."
There it was again—the burden only a ruler of heaven could truly understand.
Ren's fingers brushed her hairline, thumb tracing the small furrow between her brows that had appeared without her noticing.
"You are allowed to be a person," he said. "Not just a concept. Not just 'the sun.'"
She swallowed.
"I am a goddess," she said softly. "I have never been just a person."
"You are when you're with me," he said. "To me, you're my woman who makes the sky prettier when she smiles. That's enough."
Her breath hitched.
"…You make everything sound simple," Amaterasu whispered.
He smiled up at the canopy.
"It's not," he said. "But if I can shave off some of the complicated edges for you, I'm happy." His voice lightened, just enough to keep her from drowning in her own thoughts. "Also, if I can hug you more while I'm at it, that's a bonus."
She turned her face into his shoulder to hide the flush she felt creeping up along her ears.
"You are shameless," she said, muffled.
"You like that about me."
"…Perhaps," she allowed.
He let the word hang for a moment, enjoying the way her aura flickered at the edges with that one small admission.
Then he shifted his hand from her hairline to her jaw, fingers gentle but firm.
"Hey," he said quietly.
Amaterasu tilted her head up, eyes meeting his.
Lantern light and filtered sunlight played in her irises, turning gold and brown into molten amber. For once, there was no court, no kami, no world watching her. Just him.
"Try it," he said. "Just this once. Just be 'Amaterasu who's dating a guy she probably shouldn't.'"
She huffed a breath that was almost a laugh.
"That is an absurd description," she murmured.
"Fits, though."
Before she could gather a proper rebuttal, he leaned down.
His lips brushed hers lightly at first, a question instead of a demand.
Amaterasu froze for half a heartbeat, shocked less by the act itself—they had already shared nights together—than by how simple it was in that moment. Not ritual, not duty, not even desperate release.
Just a kiss under a maple tree.
Her hand tightened in his shirt. Then she answered him, the tension in her shoulders melting as she returned the pressure, sunfire blooming warm and bright just beneath her skin.
The world didn't end.
The sky didn't fall.
Somewhere, far below, humans went about their day, completely unaware that their sun goddess had just stolen a moment for herself in her own heaven.
When they parted, she stayed close, breath mingling with his.
"…That," she said, voice a touch unsteady, "is highly irresponsible."
"Yeah," he agreed softly. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
She closed her eyes and let her forehead rest against his jaw.
"…Yes," she admitted.
The sun in that little garden lowered with leisurely grace. Shadows grew longer, lanterns brightening in response. At some point, Ren's hand slid from her waist to lace their fingers together. She didn't pull away.
Later, when the last of the light dipped and Takamagahara's corridors fell quiet, he proved with the same shameless devotion that his appreciation for her as a woman went far deeper than lazy cuddles and flustering compliments.
Behind closed doors, slow, reverent touches turned into something hungrier. Their nights were as passionate as any deity's legends told in half-whispered stories, bodies meeting again and again until composure and crown both meant nothing.
Amaterasu, queen of the Shinto pantheon, learned how easy it was for her carefully maintained calm to shatter under his hands—and how liberating it felt to let it.
Ren, for his part, basked.
There were very few things in all the worlds that could rival the quiet pleasure of making a sun goddess melt against him and fall asleep with her head pillowed on his chest, the lingering warmth of their shared heat humming in the air.
It was another kind of cultivation—of trust, of connection, of the fragile, stubborn humanity at the core of gods.
And Ren Ming was greedy with that, too.
...
Another afternoon, another theft.
This time, his targets were not one overworked sun goddess or a fox queen, but three women scattered across different corners of responsibility.
Paperwork, spell arrays, and devil ledgers—Ren decided they had all suffered enough.
Penemue's office came first.
Stacks of documents towered on either side of her desk in precise, terrifyingly stable columns—contracts, reports, reorganized systems of Heaven and Grigori that Ren had helped sketch and she was now tasked with making actually run. She sat in the middle of it all like the eye of a bureaucratic storm, long purple hair pinned up, glasses perched on her nose, pen moving in rapid, exact strokes.
Grigori's headquarters hummed beyond the door, Fallen angels passing through corridors with a mix of lazy swagger and quiet efficiency. Azazel's research divisions were always one bad idea away from blowing something up. Ren could feel at least two wards currently strained past what their designers had intended.
"You know," Ren said, leaning on the doorway he had absolutely not reached via standard corridors, "if paper were demonic, you'd have ascended to final boss by now."
Penemue didn't startle.
She did, however, pause.
Her eyes slid up to him, taking in his relaxed stance, the way reality still hadn't quite sealed behind him where he'd stepped through—a hairline ripple in space that only someone like her would notice.
"…Ren," she said. "If you're here to add more work to my pile, I will defect out of Grigori purely out of spite."
He walked in as if that threat amused him, plucked the pen from her fingers with casual precision, and set it neatly aside.
"I'm here," he said, "to kidnap you."
One eyebrow arched.
"Is that so?"
"Yeah."
He leaned down, braced his hands on the arms of her chair, and kissed her.
Penemue made a small sound—half protest, half pleased surprise—that got smothered quickly. For a moment, her hands hovered uncertainly, then fisted in his shirt. The tension in her shoulders bled away under his mouth, long hours of straight-backed responsibility uncoiling into something softer.
When he finally drew back, she was breathing a little quicker, cheeks tinted a faint rose that had nothing to do with demonic power.
"…This is an abuse of authority," she murmured, but her voice had gone husky.
"I give important jobs to the people who can handle them," Ren said solemnly. "And right now, the job is 'have fun and let me spoil you.'"
Her composure wavered.
She glanced at the mountains of paperwork, then at him.
"I am the Chief Secretary of Grigori," she said. "Azazel will—"
"Azazel," Ren cut in, "already knows. I told him I was stealing you. He looked relieved."
He didn't mention that he'd casually tugged at a few of Grigori's administrative flows before coming here, letting his Dao seep into the system. Paper and schedules bent easily when a Heaven-level law tilted in the right direction. Work would reroute and stabilize in her absence; the world wouldn't end if Penemue took a night off.
Penemue stared, then laughed.
"Oh, of course he did," she said. "Lazy man."
Ren straightened and offered her his hand.
"Come on," he said. "You're done for today."
Her gaze lingered on his hand for a heartbeat, then she slipped her fingers into his.
The seal on her office door closed behind them with a soft click.
Le Fay was next—pulled away from a magic circle she'd been hunched over, cheeks smudged with chalk and eyes bright with curiosity.
Her workshop smelled of old paper, herbs, and ozone. Array diagrams covered one wall in overlapping layers, some drawn by hand, others floating as holographic magic circles projected from her grimoire. She was halfway through adjusting a complex spell configuration when the air behind her folded.
"E-eh?" she squeaked, spinning. "Ren!"
She almost fell over the chalk lines and then caught herself, cheeks going pink. "I was just about to test a new spell configuration, and Vali said if I—"
Ren flicked a knuckle gently against her forehead.
"Work later," he said. "Today's for you. And for me. And for one very serious devil who spends way too much time pretending she doesn't like fun."
Le Fay blinked owlishly, rubbing her forehead. "Serious devil…?"
Seekvaira Agares' study smelled like ink and old leather.
Shelves loaded with books lined the walls, interspersed with display cases containing miniature mecha models, battle suits, and meticulously arranged figurines. Seekvaira sat at her desk in a crisp uniform, glasses perched on her nose, flipping through thick ledgers that recorded Agares territory, contracts, and a thousand minor headaches.
She didn't startle when Ren appeared; Agares training didn't allow for that. Her eyes narrowed instead, fingers pausing over the page.
"Ren Ming," she said, pushing her glasses up with one sharp motion. "You cannot simply—"
"Actually," he said cheerfully, "I can."
He said it with the same easy confidence he used when erasing war gods: as if the universe would adjust to his decision instead of the other way around.
Seekvaira opened her mouth, then closed it again, exasperation fighting with an undercurrent of interest.
"What, exactly, are you planning?" she asked, eyes narrowing.
"A date," Ren said. "With all three of you. Somewhere that doesn't smell like ink, ozone, or old Agares ledgers."
Le Fay, who had been listening through the still-open fold in space, made a small, audible gasp.
"A group date?" she breathed, clasping her hands to her chest. "Like in dramas?"
Penemue tilted her head, lips curving in a feline smile.
"This could be amusing," she admitted. "I suppose even fallen angels deserve one evening where they aren't chasing paperwork."
Seekvaira sighed through her nose.
"…If I refuse?" she asked.
Ren stepped closer, reached out, and gently took her hand.
"Then I'll keep asking until you say yes," he replied calmly. "I want you there, Seekvaira. Not as a noble heiress. Just as yourself."
Her composure faltered, just slightly.
"You say that," she muttered, "but you are aligning people's routines across factions without notice. Do you have any idea how much chaos this causes in scheduling—"
He leaned down and kissed her.
Seekvaira froze.
Her brain, so used to running endless chains of logic and contingency plans, simply shorted out for three solid seconds. By the time it caught up, his lips had already left hers, thumb brushing the faint tremor at the corner of her mouth.
"That's one," he said, smiling.
Penemue smirked faintly.
"Unfair advantage," she commented. "I was ambushed at my desk."
Le Fay, watching them, fidgeted. Her fingers twisted in the hem of her cloak.
"Um," she ventured, voice small. "Is it…my turn?"
Ren turned to her, expression softening automatically.
"Le Fay," he said, "come here."
She practically skipped the distance, then remembered she was supposed to be a proper lady and tried to smooth herself back into something resembling dignity halfway.
He cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her cheeks, and kissed her with a care that made her knees go weak. Le Fay made a tiny, helpless sound, toes curling in her shoes. Her magic, usually so disciplined, surged in a delighted little spiral before settling again.
When he drew back, she swayed, eyes dazed.
Ren kept one hand steady at her waist to keep her upright, amusement and affection mixing in his gaze.
Penemue cleared her throat.
"Don't act so proud about that," she said dryly. "You're the one exploiting our weaknesses."
"Of course," he said easily. "That's half the fun of dating."
Seekvaira snorted despite herself. "Half?"
Ren shrugged, grin widening.
"The other half is making sure you forget why you were stressed in the first place."
...
The place he took them was not any existing city.
Ren had carved it out between worlds—a small pocket realm shaped for relaxation rather than battle. It hung in the void like a lantern lit and forgotten, anchored by his Dao and tethered gently to the edges of multiple realities.
It looked, at first glance, like a quiet coastal town from some human drama.
Narrow streets lined with little cafés, a boardwalk lit by gentle strings of lights, the ocean beyond reflecting a sky scattered with stars. Air that tasted faintly of salt and sugar. Soft music drifted out of open doors, mingling with the murmur of waves.
Seekvaira stepped onto the cobblestones and frowned slightly.
"This realm's foundation," she said slowly. "It's stabilized on…new principles."
Ren slid his hands into his pockets.
"Experimental stuff," he said. "Think of it as a road test."
Le Fay had already zipped off toward a shop window displaying ridiculous souvenir mugs shaped like dragons, devils, and badly drawn chibi versions of certain familiar people. Penemue drifted toward a café that smelled like properly brewed coffee, long hair swaying behind her.
As they walked, their personalities clashed in small, comfortable ways.
Penemue and Seekvaira fell into a discussion (which was definitely not an argument) about the most efficient way to restructure devil bureaucracy to accommodate Ren's new systems. Penemue pointed out bottlenecks with dry precision; Seekvaira countered with projected load-bearing limits and the political fallout of too-sudden change.
Le Fay kept inserting enthusiastic, wildly impractical ideas—magical trains between pantheons, a shared inter-world festival day, a library that physically moved between realms.
"Then," she said, eyes shining, "we could create a shared lecture hall where—ah, I'm sorry!" She flinched back when she realized she'd spoken over Seekvaira. "I didn't mean to interrupt, I just thought that if we could route the—"
"Le Fay." Ren stepped in smoothly, draping an arm over her shoulders. "I like your ideas. Keep throwing them out. If the serious ladies get overwhelmed, I'll just kiss them until they reset."
Penemue snorted.
"Is that your solution to every problem?" she asked.
"It works," he said lightly. "Eventually."
He proved his point a little while later.
When Penemue started to slip back into "work mode" mid-stroll—talking about meeting minutes and inter-faction task forces, about Heaven's new administration reacting to Grigori's data-sharing proposals—Ren caught her wrist, tugged her into a side alley washed with neon from a small arcade sign, and kissed her against the wall.
The alley smelled faintly of oil and fried food, human-world details faithfully reproduced. Neon light painted her hair violet and blue. Papers, reports, and obligations melted under the warmth of his mouth and hands.
Penemue's fingers curled into his coat, long, dry lists of responsibilities dissolving into soft, breathless noises.
Seekvaira, watching from the mouth of the alley with ears pink and glasses slightly askew, muttered something about public indecency and looked away. Le Fay covered her face with both hands, peeking through her fingers.
Later, Ren caught Seekvaira alone on the boardwalk, the other two distracted by a street stall selling taiyaki and takoyaki.
The ocean stretched out in front of them, throwing silver ripples back at the stars. Waves washed the shore in steady rhythm. Underneath it all, his Dao held the realm's structure steady, invisible and quiet.
"You're thinking too much," he told her, leaning against the railing beside her.
"I always think," Seekvaira said. "It is my job to think."
"Sure." He bumped her shoulder with his. "But right now, you're allowed to just…be a girl on a date, you know?"
"A 'girl,'" she repeated, skeptical.
"Beautiful, sharp-tongued, terrifyingly competent girl," he amended. "Who gets to enjoy cotton candy and complain about her boyfriend's bad habits."
She huffed.
"I do not complain," she said. "I offer constructive criticism."
"Right. And what's your current review?"
She hesitated, then answered honestly, eyes on the dark horizon.
"You make everything look easy," Seekvaira said quietly. "Power, politics, war. It is…frustrating. And comforting. And a little infuriating." Her hands tightened on the railing. "And when I see you like this, laughing, stealing us from our duties, I—"
He turned, caught her chin lightly, and stole the rest of her sentence with a kiss.
This one was slower than the first. Less ambush, more deliberate, more intent. The kind of kiss that didn't demand surrender so much as invited it, one long breath at a time.
Her fingers curled into his coat again, the rigid line of her back relaxing as his warmth pressed close.
When he pulled back, he stayed near, foreheads almost touching, the ocean's rhythm filling the pauses between their heartbeats.
"You don't have to keep up with me," he said quietly. "You just have to walk beside me in your own way. That's all I ask."
"…Idiot," she whispered, eyes suspiciously bright.
"Yup."
Le Fay stumbled upon them then, freezing with a squeak, hands flying to her face. Penemue, arriving a heartbeat later with a paper cup of coffee in hand, just laughed and looped an arm through Ren's free one.
By the time night deepened over the little town, they'd eaten too much street food, lost and won games at the arcade, and argued over which mecha series counted as "classic" and which were overrated.
Le Fay pulled him into a crane game disaster.
"Ren, look!" she said, pointing at a plush dragon in the back. "That one is cute."
"Those things are rigged," he told her, already feeding coins into the machine.
"They are not rigged, you just have bad timing," Seekvaira muttered, then immediately started explaining, in alarming detail, the internal mechanisms of crane games.
Penemue watched them all with a small, content smile, occasionally sipping her coffee.
They debated spell theory sitting on a low wall, feet dangling above the sand. Ren poked holes in their assumptions with lazy precision, forcing them to think sideways. They teased each other, complained about Azazel, joked about Serafall's variety shows and Sona's reactions, then fell quiet just to listen to the waves.
When the lights of his little town dimmed and the sky overhead collapsed into a wash of soft color, Ren folded them back into a private space—one where there were no desks, no magic circles, no noble crests or clan expectations.
Just tangled limbs, heated skin, and the kind of laughter that blurred into gasps as his shameless expertise erased every last trace of fatigue from their bodies.
Their night together was unrestrained in its own way, the clash of personalities melting into shared hunger and trust as they explored the warmth they'd been building for so long. Penemue let go of her schedules, Le Fay clung to him with bright-eyed devotion, Seekvaira learned that losing control in one place didn't mean losing herself.
Ren liked that, too.
He liked watching a sharp-eyed secretary go boneless with pleasure, a serious heiress come apart under his hands, a bright-eyed witch burying her face in his shoulder, laughing breathless and soft. He liked knowing that in the morning, they'd be able to face their duties with lighter hearts because of him.