14dwy Ren - Blog Posts

Redacted BUT Howl AU

Redacted from @14dayswithyou

Ik this is my visual novel account but i dont really use my art acct anymore 😅 anyway took a small break to draw da bois

I love this, I LOVE REDACTED ヽ༼ຈل͜ຈ༽ﾉ

Jelly and a Wish - REDACTED x G.N Reader

Genre: Fluff

Summary: — It's your birthday, REDACTED wants to do something for you, (This is a gift for Render!!!) Thank you for being nice towards me since day 1! It means a lot to me!

Please everyone wish happy birthday to Render,

( Reader is a g.n!)

Content Warning : Nsfw jokes so </3

Did not proof read/Rushed.

It was 12:08 AM when you heard it.

The distinct, unmistakable clatter of something metallic hitting the kitchen tile. Followed by a very soft, very specific curse:

“…motherf—fuckin’ hell, that was glass—”

You sat up instantly, blinking into the dark. You weren’t exactly afraid of the dark. Not really. Just… mildly unnerved by the whole unknown-space-no-lights-possible-ghosts vibe.

But more concerning: the cold, empty space next to you in bed.

Your arm reached out instinctively, brushing over rumpled sheets. “...Redacted?”

No answer.

You frowned, grabbed the small heart-shaped pillow you kept by your side—for comfort, obviously—and tiptoed your way into the hallway. The floor was cold under your feet, and the glow from the kitchen spilled into the dark like some mischievous spirit.

You crept closer, pillow clutched like a weapon.

"Don't be a demon," you whispered under your breath. "Don't be a burglar. Don't be a—"

You turned the corner.

And froze.

There, in the middle of the kitchen, stood Redacted.

Shirtless. Hair messy. Covered—and covered—in streaks of dark, glossy chocolate glaze. Their tongue poked out the corner of their mouth as they tried, with one spoon and absolutely zero grace, to scoop what remained of a shattered dessert into a bowl.

They paused mid-scoop when they noticed you.

"...Shit," he muttered.

You blinked. "Are you okay?? What are you—?"

"I was bein' quiet." They frowned like you were the problem. "Y’weren’t supposed to hear that."

"I heard you drop a glass bowl."

"...It was ceramic. But yeah."

You snorted.

They stared at you, shirtless and sticky, chocolate streaked across their tattooed arms and torso like they had lost a very dramatic battle with a pastry. Even had a glossy smear on the curve of their collarbone, glinting in the overhead light.

You tried not to laugh. Failed. A giggle slipped out.

"Oh my god," you whispered. "You look like you got into a fight with a donut."

They deadpanned, a chocolate-smeared brow lifting. "Y’think this is funny?"

"Very much so."

That earned a low, boyish huff from them—the kind that was all fondness, no real heat. The kind that always made your chest ache a little because it was so them.

Still, his eyes didn’t leave yours.

They gleamed. Intense. Obsessive. That fierce, unmistakable affection he never quite hid when he wasn’t playing pretend as Ren.

You took a tiny step closer. "You okay?"

"I didn’t mean to wake you."

"You didn’t. The chaos did." You hugged your pillow tighter. "...If you needed something sweet, you could’ve, I dunno, ordered cake? Or woken me up?"

They smiled—slow, a little giddy. "I was plannin’ to."

"Waking me up?"

He stepped closer. "Eventually."

You tilted your head. "Then why are you already covered in—?"

"C’mere."

You blinked. "What?"

"Come closer."

"...Why?"

They grinned. "I’m not gonna bite you."

"That's a lie."

They laughed—low, dark, devastating—then crooked a finger at you. "Angel."

You sighed but stepped forward anyway. He met you halfway, plucking the pillow from your hands and tossing it to the counter with casual ease.

Before you could even ask another question, they kissed you.

It was soft at first. Slow. Sweet.

Then it deepened—sticky and warm, tasting of chocolate and midnight, the kind of kiss that made your toes curl and your head spin. Their hands slid up your back, tugging you closer, their mouth smiling against yours like they'd been waiting all night just for this.

When they finally pulled back, you were flushed, breathless, and very confused.

"...What was that for?" you whispered.

He brushed his thumb along your cheek.

"Happy Birthday, Angel."

You blinked.

"...Huh?"

Their grin widened, boyish and smug. "You forgot."

You just stared at them, dumbfounded.

They leaned in, voice a soft, sinful whisper against your ear. "It’s midnight, sweetheart. That means it’s officially your birthday."

Your jaw dropped. "I—oh my god."

"Yeah." They kissed your cheek, the corner of your mouth, the tip of your nose. "Was gonna surprise you with chocolate cake in bed. But, uh... gravity disagreed."

You laughed, burying your face in their sticky, chocolate-smeared chest. "You idiot."

Their arms wrapped around you, pulling you tight against them. "Guilty."

You sighed into their warmth, peeking up at their face. "So this whole mess was for me?"

"All of it." They cradled your jaw in one big, sticky hand and kissed you again, soft and slow. "Y’don’t even know the rest. There’s balloons in the closet. A playlist. I was gonna wear the ribbon."

You choked. "What ribbon?"

He smirked. "You'll see."

You shook your head, giggling. Unhinged. Completely unhinged. And so sweet it made your heart hurt.

"You could’ve just woken me up, you know."

He nuzzled your temple, murmuring against your skin, "Didn’t wanna ruin the surprise. Besides..."

He kissed the chocolate from the corner of your mouth, voice low and rough, almost a growl:

"...Wanted to see that look on your face when you realized."

You melted.

"You’re such a sap."

"I’m obsessed," he corrected, without shame. "Hopelessly. Helplessly."

You smiled, threading your fingers through their messy hair.

"Happy birthday to me," you whispered.

They hummed, pressing another kiss to your lips like they couldn’t stand to be away from you for more than a second. "Y’better make a wish."

You kissed them back, slow and sleepy and covered in chocolate, and whispered:

"I already got it."

You couldn’t stop giggling.

The sheer sight of them—covered in chocolate glaze, shirtless, smeared in sugar like a walking dessert disaster—was enough to send you into a breathless, joy-drunk fit of laughter. They stood there, eyes narrowed, watching you laugh with your whole chest, hands braced on the counter as they sulked dramatically.

"Y’really think this is funny?"

"You look like a feral toddler that broke into a candy factory."

"Wow," they deadpanned.

"Love of my life, everyone. Cutely covered in chocolate..!"

You were still grinning as you grabbed their wrist and tugged them toward the hallway.

"Where’re we goin’?" they asked, still trailing chocolate with every step.

You turned, walking backward, still holding their hand. "To the bath. You’re dripping.."

They groaned, low and theatrical. “But I had plans, Angel…”

You laughed again and kicked open the bathroom door, flipping on the light. "Yeah, well, now your plans involve hot water and soap."

“And you?”

You smirked. "Maybe."

They sat on the edge of the tub while you leaned over to start the water, steam already beginning to curl from the faucet. The water warmed, you turned back to them—messy-haired, Blue-eyed, looking more like them than ever.

Chocolate streaked across the ink on their chest, making the black lines of their Japanese-inspired sleeve gleam wetly. The “angel” tattoo on their neck peeked from behind a smear of cocoa, looking almost like it was inked there just for you. You caught sight of the binary code along their ribs, smudged with icing, and smiled as you reached up to brush a bit off their collarbone.

Your thumb hovered over the tattoo on their hip—your name, delicate and lowercase, tucked just under the hem of their sweats.

They watched you the whole time. Quiet. Barely breathing.

You flicked a bit of chocolate off their cheek. "This is already the best birthday gift I’ve ever gotten, you know."

They huffed. “You say that, but I wanted to give you—fuckin’ hell, Angel—I had a whole thing planned. Music, ribbon, goddamn frosting roses—”

You giggled again and pushed at their chest lightly. “Into the tub, Birthday Disaster.”

They groaned as they stood, stripping off their sweatpants, still muttering curses under their breath. The piercings on their chest caught the light as they moved—both nipples adorned in silver hoops that glinted as you helped them step into the tub.

You caught a glimpse of more metal as they sank into the water—Jacob’s ladder, shining and wicked—and tried very hard not to get distracted by that particular detail.

“...Y’just gonna stare?” they teased, smirking up at you from the water.

You stuck out your tongue.

They grinned. “I’d die happy.”

You laughed again—really laughed—and knelt by the tub, dipping a washcloth into the warm water and gently wiping the chocolate from their arm. Their eyes fluttered shut at the touch, mouth parting just slightly.

It was 12:30 AM. The house was quiet. The world was asleep.

But here you were—carefully washing streaks of dessert off their inked skin while they melted beneath your touch like you were the warm water.

"Y’do this so easy," they mumbled, voice raspy. "Like I ain’t just been a fuckin’ mess since I met you."

You wiped the chocolate off their neck and smiled softly.

"You are a mess."

They snorted. “Thanks.”

You leaned in close, brushing your lips just under their ear. "But I still adore doing this for you."

Their breath caught. You felt it in their chest—tight, almost pained.

They cursed again, soft and sharp under their breath. "I wanted to do it right. Wanted to make it perfect for you. And here you are, takin’ care of me. Again.”

Your fingers trailed over their collarbone, over the silver ring in their nipple. They shivered, jaw tightening.

"You don’t have to be perfect," you whispered.

“But y’deserve it.”

"And you deserve to be loved exactly like this."

Their eyes opened, golden and glassy, staring up at you like you’d just carved your name into the stars.

You dipped the washcloth again, brushing it over their tattooed chest. "Besides," you added with a teasing grin, “I really like my chocolate-glazed feral donut lover.”

They choked on a laugh. “Angel.”

You kissed their cheek. “You’re sweet even without sugar.”

Their arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you close against the edge of the tub.

After toweling them off and shoving a shirt over their head—one of yours, because they absolutely refused to wear anything clean when they could steal your scent—they flopped onto the bed with a dramatic groan.

“You should sleep, Angel,” they mumbled, already sprawling like a cat in a sunbeam. “I ruined your birthday.."

You, very calmly, threw a pair of socks at their face.

“You didn’t ruin anything. In fact,” you said, tilting your head playfully, “I think we should bake a cake together.”

They blinked. “...What.”

“Yeah! Like a proper celebration. You, me, some ingredients, maybe a fruit thing or like—an ice cream cake? Angel food cake?”

They squinted at you. “You just wanna see me set the oven on fire.”

“I want to beat you at baking,” you clarified, grinning wide. “And maybe rub a little whipped cream on your face if you keep looking at me like that.”

Their gaze narrowed, glittering. “That a threat, Angel?”

You leaned in, devilish. “That’s a promise.”

“...Fuck me.”

You smirked, grabbed their wrist, and pulled them out of bed.

—

The kitchen was quiet except for your soft humming and the distant whir of the fridge. The world was still dark, but inside this little bubble—just you and them and the chaos of your shared sleep-deprived energy—it felt like morning sunlight.

They sat on the counter, legs swinging, licking a spoon like it had personally wronged them.

“What kinda cake are we even making?” they mumbled around the spoon, still suspicious. “Can’t just say ‘angel food’ and expect me not to spiral.”

You turned, sticking your tongue out. “Vanilla base. Berries. Ice cream layer. Whipped cream. Something we can eat at 2 AM while watching trash TV.”

They tilted their head, thoughtful. “...You really are tryin’ to kill me, huh?”

You just grabbed the mixing bowl and handed them a whisk. “You’re gonna cream the butter.”

They blinked slowly, mouth twitching. “...You say that like it’s not the dirtiest sentence you’ve ever spoken to me.”

“Redacted.”

“Yes, Angel?”

“Whisk.”

They grinned and did as they were told, muscles flexing subtly under the thin fabric of your shirt. You didn’t look—okay, maybe you looked a little—but you mostly focused on cracking eggs and not falling in love all over again at 12:45 in the morning.

Eventually, the bowl was passed back to you, and you handed them the sifter with flour.

“Don’t you dare sneeze.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” they muttered, only to accidentally puff flour in their own face like a curse.

You snorted.

They looked at you, deadpan, face powdered like a failed Victorian ghost. “Y’think you’re real cute, huh.”

“I know I am.”

You reached up with a dollop of whipped cream and tapped it right on the tip of their nose.

They didn’t move.

Just stared at you.

Dead. Silent.

And then you leaned in, pressed a soft, lingering kiss to that same whipped-cream-smeared nose, and whispered, “Gotcha.”

Their exhale was audible.

Like a man trying not to combust on the spot.

“You’re testin’ me,” they muttered, voice low and fraying, “God, you’re testin’ me. You put a collar on me next-"

You giggled and turned back to your mixing, unfazed. “You can’t even beat me in baking, love. What makes you think you can handle me? Second, We will do that later! Not Now!”

Behind you, they groaned into their hands. “I can’t. That’s the problem.”

You poured the batter into the tray, already lined and prepped. Redacted helped—begrudgingly, like it was the most intimate act of worship they could perform—and then hovered behind you while you slid it into the oven.

“You’re warm,” they mumbled against your back.

“You’re clingy,” you replied, but you didn’t push them away.

Instead, you leaned into them, letting them wrap their arms around your waist.

Their chin rested on your shoulder. You felt their piercings brush your skin—cold against your warmth—and you smiled.

“You smell like sugar,” they muttered, kissing your neck. “You’re sweeter than anything we could bake. S’not fair.”

You turned in their arms and pressed your forehead to theirs. “Maybe. But I still like it when your hands are covered in batter and you sigh like I just sentenced you to death.”

They closed their eyes. “You did. A delicious death. My dignity’s buried in the flour bag.”

“Your dignity died when I caught you licking chocolate off the counter.”

They opened one eye. “Still tasted better than my soul ever did.”

You burst out laughing again—soft, helpless, in love—and their arms tightened around you like a reflex.

“You really mean it?” you murmured after a beat. “You’d bake with me every year? Even if..."

They looked down at you like you’d said their name in the voice of a god.

“Angel,” they said softly, “I’d bake with you every night, every year, every timeline. Even if it kills me. Even if it burns. I don’t care. Long as it’s with you.”

Your smile softened. “Then it’s already a perfect birthday.”

You were just placing the final swirl of whipped cream on top of the cake when you heard them rummaging behind you. You didn’t think much of it—he was always up to something weird in the kitchen. But then he turned around…

With a single candle clutched delicately between two tattooed fingers.

You blinked.

“…Is that from the junk drawer?” you asked, a laugh tugging at your lips.

“It’s technically birthday-colored,” they replied solemnly, inspecting the little pink-and-white wax stick like it was an ancient relic. “And not expired. I checked. S’got like—half a wick left.”

You almost lost it when he stuck it into the cake like it was a ceremonial sword. It tilted a bit, like it was too shy to stand up straight.

“Really went all out, huh,” you teased, grinning.

They lit it.

And then everything paused—soft candlelight flickering across his features, catching the metal of his piercings like tiny stars, the tattoo on his neck peeking out above the collar of your borrowed shirt: angel, inked into a crooked little heart.

His eyes glimmered.

Like you were something sacred.

He cleared his throat once, then said, voice almost shy, “Happy birthday, Angel.”

You laughed—but it caught in your chest, tangled up with something warmer, heavier. It wasn’t even the candle, not really—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were the whole sky and he would’ve kissed the ground you walked on if you asked.

Before he could say anything else, you crossed the kitchen and threw your arms around him.

They made a soft, surprised noise—like you’d punched the air out of their lungs—then immediately hugged you back, tight, strong hands splaying across your back like they could anchor you there forever.

You whispered into the side of his neck, “I’m glad I got to spend my birthday with you again.”

You felt them stiffen, just for a moment—like your words hit deeper than intended.

When he pulled back to look at you, his eyebrows twitched like he couldn’t decide whether to smile or fall apart.

“Angel…” he said, voice low and cracking, “y’don’t gotta—fuck, don’t say it like that. You’re gonna make me—”

He broke off, biting the inside of their cheek like it hurt to hold it in.

You were tearing up too, now.

It was stupid. It was just a cake, a candle dug out of a junk drawer, a night at 1 a.m. in a messy kitchen with your unhinged, obsessive, pierced-up weirdo who pretended they didn’t have feelings—but fell harder for you every damn second.

And it was perfect.

He kissed your cheeks—both of them—in quick, desperate little pecks that tasted like whipped cream and held back tears.

“No cryin’,” he mumbled against your skin. “Not tonight. Not on your birthday. Y’hear me? Don’t cry ‘cause then I’m gonna fuckin’ cry and then we’re gonna be pathetic and sticky.”

You giggled wetly. “That sounds kinda romantic though.”

“Tragic,” they muttered, eyes shining, “but so goddamn hot.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, still smiling. “Then let’s be tragic. But happy.”

“Always.”

You both ended up sitting cross-legged on the floor, cake between you. You insisted on cutting it—he insisted you shouldn't be trusted with knives, so naturally you cut it anyway.

You fed him first—because it was your birthday and you said so. He leaned forward obediently, mouth open like some bratty prince demanding to be served.

“Say ‘ahhh,’” you teased.

They rolled their eyes like you were the biggest nuisance alive, then bit the spoon dramatically. “Ahhh, fuck yeah.”

You snorted. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Tasted like heaven,” he said, licking frosting from the corner of their mouth. “Bet your fingers taste better.”

“Stop being needy for two seconds.”

“Genuinely impossible.”

You popped a bite into your own mouth—sweet, cold, melting—and he watched you like it was a religious rite he was privileged to witness.

And then—deviously—he dipped a finger into the whipped cream and booped your nose.

You gasped. “You did not.”

They grinned like a devil who absolutely would.

“Oh, it’s war now.”

You lunged, dragging a swipe of cream across his lips.

He licked it off without breaking eye contact. “You’re flirting with death.”

“You like it.”

“God, I do.”

The air between you changed—charged, heavy, slow. His hand cupped your jaw. Your fingers still sticky with sugar. He leaned forward and kissed you—soft, slow, sweet, tasting like frosting and sugar and something impossibly tender.

“I ever tell you I love you?” he whispered against your mouth.

You nodded, breath catching. “Every day.”

“Good,” he murmured. “Gotta remind you. You forget sometimes.”

You shook your head, smiling so hard it hurt. “I never forget. You’re unforgettable.”

He nuzzled your cheek, his piercings cool against your flushed skin, but his body solid and warm as ever.

“Still wish I did more,” he mumbled.

“You did plenty.”

He kissed your forehead. “I’m gonna do more. Every birthday. Every night. Every fuckin’ lifetime. 'Til you're sick of me.”

“Impossible,” you whispered.

You beamed up at them, warmth bubbling in your chest like sunlight.

Both of you—messy, covered in cake crumbs, sleepy-eyed—adored each other so hard it almost hurt. It was the kind of love that made everything else in the world irrelevant.

You barely made it to the bed before passing out. Redacted curled around you like a human blanket, arms and legs tangled in yours, breathing against your neck like you were the only oxygen they needed.

It was perfect. Until—

"Angel," they mumbled, nudging you insistently. You groaned, burying your face into the pillow. "Five more minutes..."

They snorted, low and amused. "Yeah, nah. Up y'get, sweetheart."

Before you could argue, Redacted just scooped you up—like you weighed nothing—and slung you over their shoulder like a smug, tattooed gremlin.

You shrieked, half-laughing, pounding your fists weakly against their back. "Put me down, you menace!"

"Nope," they said with way too much glee, "You forfeited your rights when you declared war with whipped cream last night."

You laughed so hard you almost slipped from their hold, but they caught you without hesitation, muttering, "Gotcha. Always gotcha."

You ended up perched on the bathroom counter, while Redacted—still looking far too proud of themselves—started running a warm bath.

"Supposed to be takin' care of you," they grumbled, fussing with soap and towels like it was serious business.

You just watched them with your heart melting into syrup.

When they turned back around, you smiled mischievously. "My turn to take care of you, dummy."

They scowled, but the tips of their ears turned pink. "M'not a dummy. S'posed to be pamperin' you. Birthday rules."

"Yeah? Well," you said, hopping off the counter, "the real rule is we take care of each other."

They stared at you—just stared—like you’d hung the constellations just to light their way home. Then they let you tug them into the tub without a word.

The bath was slow, dreamy. You traced their tattoos with soapy fingers—the chaotic art scrawled across their skin, from the massive Japanese sleeve inked down their arm.

You kissed the "angel" tattoo on their neck, nuzzled the wings inked low on their back, whispered your love against the curve of their hipbone.

And they just... melted for you.

Every brush of your hands, every glance of your eyes—they were falling apart and being stitched back together by your touch alone.

Later, after you’d managed to get dressed (despite their pitiful whining about "c'mon, birthday privilege"), Redacted muttered about "plans" and practically dragged you out the door.

The first stop?

The little cafe.

Your cafe.

The one you and "Ren" went on your first date into like two idiots pretending you weren’t already hopelessly, irreversibly entangled.

Redacted didn't say a word—just pressed a hand to the small of your back and led you in.

The second the barista spotted them, they lit up. "Hey, welcome back! Got it ready!"

They handed over a small, perfect vanilla angel food cake—soft white icing, strawberries, and a single candle flickering like a tiny heartbeat.

Your throat closed up. Tears blurred your vision.

Because you knew.

You knew how much this meant. How hard they must have worked to pull this off, in the quiet, in the background, just to make you smile.

This wasn’t just a cafe. It was your place.

The place where they lied to you—and where you loved them anyway. The place where you learned the truth—and loved them even more.

They pulled out a chair for you, fidgeting nervously, tattooed fingers twitching.

You sat.

They sat across from you, that familiar crooked grin softening their sharp features.

The candle flickered between you.

"Go on," they said, voice rough with feeling. "Make a wish, birthday.."

You closed your eyes and whispered two wishes into the candlelight.

The first:

"Insert your wish!"

The second—

You opened your eyes, locked your gaze with theirs, and said it aloud:

"My second wish is to stay with you forever, Redacted."

They blinked.

Once.

Twice.

And then—

[REDACTED.EXE HAS STOPPED WORKING]

You watched him short-circuit, visibly struggling not to combust on the spot. His mouth opened, closed, opened again. Their piercings caught the candlelight like tiny, desperate stars. Their hands spasmed on the table like they didn’t know whether to grab you or worship you from afar.

They made a broken little noise—half laugh, half sob.

"You—you fuckin'—" they stammered, face flushing crimson from the tips of their ears down to the tattooed curve of their throat. "Y'can't just say shit like that, Angel, fuck—!"

You laughed, radiant, drinking in the rare sight of them absolutely speechless.

Redacted groaned loudly, dragging their hands down their face.

"You're gonna fuckin' kill me," they muttered. "Swear t'god. Death by Angel. Fuckin' death by love."

You stood up, circled around, and hugged them from behind, resting your chin lightly on their shoulder.

"I hope so," you whispered. "If I’m gonna kill you, it might as well be with love."

They turned their head, pressing a kiss into your temple, breathing you in like you were the first real thing they'd ever tasted.

"I love you so fuckin’ much," they rasped, voice cracked open and bare.

Together, you blew out the candle.

And somewhere in the spaces between heartbeats, you both understood—

You weren’t just celebrating another year alive.

You were celebrating every messy, beautiful, wild day you had survived to reach each other.

Every birthday after this?

Would only get better.

Because you weren’t just growing older.

You were growing together.

You cut a small piece of the cake first, hands a little shaky because Redacted was staring at you like you’d personally invented gravity.

You snorted under your breath. “Stop looking at me like that, weirdo.”

They leaned back in their chair, arms crossing lazily, smirk tugging at their pierced lip. “Can’t help it. Lookin’ at my whole fuckin’ world. Sue me.”

Your face heated so fast you almost dropped the fork.

"Shut up and eat," you muttered, cheeks burning, but gods, the grin stretching your mouth was unstoppable.

You held out the bite of cake to them, and Redacted—ever the menace—leaned forward, catching the fork between their teeth, humming low in their throat like it was the best thing they’d ever tasted.

“Mm. Good,” they said simply, but the way they looked at you, like you hung the stars crooked just to make them smile, nearly did you in.

“Your turn, Angel.”

They grabbed a piece—way too big—and shoved it toward your mouth with a grin so chaotic it should’ve been illegal.

"Be nice!" you gasped, trying not to choke, giggling around the mouthful.

"Was bein’ nice," they teased, flicking a smear of cream off your lip with their thumb—and then licking it clean without a shred of shame, like they wanted you to combust right there.

You fed each other back and forth, no hope of staying clean, laughing harder with every swipe of frosting across a cheek, every clumsy bump of noses.

At some point, you both gave up on dignity.

There you were—at this tiny, cozy cafe—feeding each other like absolute gremlins, icing on your faces, table rattling under your weight as you leaned too close, your laughter bubbling so loud it turned heads.

(You noticed the college kids trying not to stare. You noticed the old couple smiling fondly from the corner. You noticed the barista behind the counter giving a thumbs-up. None of it mattered.)

Because in that moment, Redacted wasn’t the figure from the shadows. Wasn’t the myth or the secret.

They were just yours.

Yours, yours, yours.

Your beautiful, punkish, messy partner, silver jewelry glinting in the warm light, tattoos curling along tan skin, their eyes crinkled up from smiling so damn hard.

"You’re so fuckin’ pretty when you laugh," they muttered, like it physically hurt to keep the words in. Their voice rough and low and wrecked in the way that made your stomach do dangerous things. "Swear, Angel. You fuckin' kill me."

You dipped your finger into the icing and dabbed it onto the tip of their nose.

They blinked at you, unimpressed.

“You gonna clean that, or am I wearin' it forever now?” they asked, all dry sarcasm barely hiding the absolute adoration bleeding off them.

You leaned in and kissed their nose—soft and sweet—and pulled back just far enough to see the way their eyes fluttered shut at the contact.

"There. Perfect," you whispered.

Redacted exhaled like you’d punched the air out of them—arms wrapping around your waist, dragging you into their lap despite the tiny table squeezing you both.

"...S'too fuckin' early for me to be this gone for you," they mumbled into your shoulder, nuzzling there like a sleep-drunk cat.

You laughed, heart splitting open inside your chest. "You're always gone for me, dummy."

After you finished most of the cake—and wiped about half of it off each other—Redacted leaned back in their chair, lazily draping an arm across the back of your seat. Their thumb brushed idly against your shoulder as they stared at you with a look that made your heart skip hard enough to ache.

Then they smirked. "Got somewhere else I wanna take ya, Angel."

You tilted your head, curious. "Where?"

They just chuckled low under their breath— sound that made your stomach flip—and stood up, ruffling your hair//

"Trust me."

(You did. Always.)

Outside, parked by the curb under the humming streetlights, was Redacted’s beat-up black motorcycle. The thing gleamed, battered but proud, the kind of vehicle you could tell had survived more chaos than it should’ve. (Kinda like him.)

He popped open the small storage compartment, pulled out a matte black helmet, and shoved it gently onto your head, securing it with exaggerated care.

"Safety first, Dear Angel," they said, tapping the top of the helmet. "Ain't lettin' you crack that pretty head open today."

You stuck your tongue out at them, and they laughed—full, rough, and delighted.

He looked so damn smug about it too, like he lived for these moments. Big, bad Redacted... spoiling you like it was built into their DNA.

They swung a leg over the bike, movements easy, confident, then patted the seat behind them.

"Hop on, Angel," he teased, flashing a sharp grin. "Unless you're scared."

You climbed on—only wobbling a little (which you would never admit)—and wrapped your arms tightly around his middle. You felt his quiet laugh vibrate through you right before the bike roared to life beneath you both.

And then— You were flying.

The city blurred around you, neon and headlights bleeding together, the wind clawing at your jacket and stinging your cheeks. You pressed closer against him, feeling the solid heat of his body through his layers, your heart hammering not from fear—but from exhilaration.

It was terrifying. It was electric. It was perfect.

At a red light, you caught sight of a few familiar faces on the sidewalk—people from before. People you used to know.

Their gazes snapped to you instantly, Wantin to talk, Especially your friend. But You got into a small fight..

You felt Redacted tense beneath you.

He noticed. Of course he did.

"Ignore 'em," he muttered over his shoulder, voice low and dangerous.

Still, you couldn't pretend it didn't sting a little—the way they looked at you, the whispers that seemed to curl in the back of your mind.

You shifted slightly, clutching a little tighter.

"You mad?" he asked, head tilting slightly toward you.

"...Little," you admitted, trying to keep it light, trying not to let it ruin tonight. "But I don't care. Not right now."

You pressed your forehead between his shoulder blades, breathing him in—leather, smoke, and that grounding, fiery scent that was just him.

"I just wanna be with you today," you mumbled against his back. "That's all that matters."

For a moment, he didn’t say anything.

Then his hand left the handlebar just long enough to find your thigh—fingers curling tight, steady, grounding.

"Y'got me, Angel," he said roughly. "Always."

And you believed it.

With every beat of your heart against his spine. With every mile tearing past under the bike’s tires. With every breath you dared to steal from the night sky.

You had him.

Always.

The light turned green. The world roared back to life.

He drove faster now, just a little reckless, taking sharp turns and speeding down empty roads until you were laughing breathlessly against his back, clutching him like a lifeline. (He loved it. You knew he did. You could feel it in how he relaxed under your touch.)

Redacted looked way too proud of himself. That smug little grin didn’t leave their face as they tugged you along the street, their hand warm and rough around yours.

"Keep 'em shut, Angel," he said, sliding his hand over your eyes as you giggled, stumbling a little, trusting him without question.

"Where are we going?" you whined playfully, trying (and failing) to peek.

He just snorted, steering you carefully. "You'll see."

You could feel how giddy he was. His steps were practically bouncing, like he couldn't decide between rushing or dragging it out just to hear you squirm a little longer.

He led you inside somewhere—cooler air, a faint sound like distant bubbles rising. The smell of salt, that deep, watery echo of a place full of life.

You realized where you were a second before he dropped his hand.

When your eyes adjusted— Your breath hitched.

The whole room shimmered in soft blue and purple hues. All around you, massive tanks glowed, full of drifting jellyfish—luminescent and ghostly, pulsing like slow, sleeping hearts.

Big ones with long trailing tendrils. Tiny ones, bright as sparks, moving in lazy spirals. The ceiling was mirrored, throwing a hundred more stars above your head.

It was like stepping into a dream.

A whole exhibit, just for jellyfish. Just for you.

You turned, overwhelmed—and found him already staring. Not at the lights. Not at the tanks. Only at you.

Tears welled in your eyes before you could stop them, blurring the entire world into a wash of color and light.

He stiffened instantly. Panic flickered across his face. "Shit—Angel—? I—"

You grabbed his hand before he could spiral, squeezing tight.

He flinched, confused—but you just smiled through the tears, that helpless, wrecked kind of smile that cracked him clean open every time.

"You’re confused...?" you choked out, half-laughing. "I'm just—I'm so happy. You—"

You broke off, overwhelmed, and pressed a kiss to the back of his scarred, calloused hand. Right over all the little marks he tried to hide without even realizing it.

"You're beautiful," you whispered. "Even with everything. Especially because of everything."

He swallowed hard, their fingers twitching slightly against yours like he didn't know what to do with the feeling burning through him.

You saw it—that tiny, trembling crack in his armor. The one he only ever let you see.

He blinked fast, looking up sharply like he could force the emotions down if he just didn't look at you.

You laughed, wiping your cheeks clumsily—and they finally let themself smile. Crooked. Warm. So, so soft.

He reached out, lacing his fingers with yours and tugging you closer until your shoulder bumped theirs.

"Let's go, Angel," he said gruffly.

You wandered the glowing paths together, hand in hand. Jellyfish floated like dreams on every side of you, casting your joined shadows in strange, beautiful shapes across the floor.

Every so often, Redacted’s thumb would stroke absent-minded, slow circles into the back of your hand. Little soothing touches he probably didn’t even realize he was giving.

And every once in a while, you’d catch him sneaking a glance at you.

Like he couldn't help it. Like he needed to memorize you right here, glowing and real and holding his hand like you’d never let go.

You caught him once—and grinned. He immediately muttered under his breath, "'S your fault for bein' so fuckin' pretty," and refused to meet your eyes for a full two minutes after that.

(You smiled like a saint anyway. Like a fool in love. Like a fool who knew he loved you back.)

The jellyfish floated like a galaxy caught in water. Slow, deliberate pulses moved them through the glowing blue all around you. Some were tiny, no bigger than your fingernail, bobbing like fragile paper lanterns. Others had long, trailing tentacles like ribbons pulled along a gentle current.

You jumped slightly, a tiny gasp slipping out, full of wonder and joy. The sound made Redacted glance sideways at you, a crooked smirk tugging at his mouth— but it was the kind of smile that ached with how much he loved seeing you like this.

The jellyfish changed colors, shifting from pale moonlight white to soft pinks and delicate lavenders, and then into deep, royal blues that mirrored the midnight sky outside. You stood there, struck silent, mouth parted in awe. Your hands tightened in his without even realizing it, squeezing, needing something to anchor you against how unreal it all felt.

Redacted leaned down a little, his breath brushing against your temple. "Y'know..." he murmured, voice low and rough, fond in a way they hardly ever let slip, "I coulda brought you anywhere, Angel. Anywhere in the fuckin' world. But you... you get like this over some floatin' fishbags."

You laughed, wiping at your cheeks again, still damp from earlier tears. "They're beautiful," you whispered, bumping your shoulder lightly against his. "You're beautiful for bringing me here."

He snorted, trying to act unaffected, but you caught the way his ears turned pink under the silver piercings.

("Fuck," he muttered under his breath, low and ragged, like even he couldn’t believe how soft he was for you.)

You let go of his hand for a moment and spun slowly under the shimmering glow. The reflections of the jellyfish swam over your skin—rippling blues and silvers along your arms, your cheeks, your lashes. You looked like something not meant for the earth.

And Redacted was ruined by it.

"Fuckin' ethereal," he muttered, rough and reverent. (Probably meant for you not to hear. You definitely heard.)

You came to a stop in front of him, smiling shy and warm, eyes still glassy with wonder. And he was just—looking at you. Like breathing hurt a little.

You reached out, curling your fingers into the collar of his jacket, tugging him closer. The corner of their mouth twitched up in something like amusement, but his gaze softened completely, molten and unguarded, and he let you pull him down to you.

The kiss was feather-light at first. Soft. Tentative. Almost like you both feared breaking the delicate moment spun between you.

His hands hovered at your waist, not grabbing, not demanding—offering. Waiting. Letting you lead.

You deepened the kiss just a little— And he melted.

Their hands slid over your hips, slow and reverent, their thumbs drawing tender little arcs against your sides. You parted your lips with a soft, unthinking sound, and Redacted shuddered against you like you’d pulled the air straight from their lungs.

When you finally parted, he leaned his forehead against yours, breathing rough, breathing you in.

"Happy fuckin’ birthday, Angel," he rasped, his voice scraped raw with feeling. "Hope it's not... y'know... too much."

You opened your eyes and stared at him. At him, this beautiful, feral, breakable thing trying so hard to be good enough for you.

You shook your head and smiled, radiant and aching. "It's perfect," you whispered. "You're perfect."

Redacted cursed again, low and almost helpless, like he couldn’t handle the way you looked at him like he had strung up the stars himself just to impress you. (And he had. In his own way. He'd given you a whole ocean tonight. Salt was not needed)

The two of you drifted through the exhibits for what felt like hours. You pointed out your favorite jellyfish—the tiny ones that looked like miniature fireworks, and the giant ghostlike ones that drifted by like slow, dreaming spirits. Every so often, Redacted would brush his thumb against the back of your hand, or bump his shoulder into yours—quiet little reassurances, little touches that said I'm here. I’m still here.

At one point, you leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder—and he just... let you. No teasing. No pretending to be tougher than he was.

He tilted his head to lean lightly against yours, closing his eyes for a moment like soaking in you was the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth.

And honestly... It felt that way for you, too.

When you finally wandered out into the cool night air, hand in hand, you could still see the jellyfish behind your eyelids— like the whole world had been changed and made softer just for the two of you.

Redacted tugged you closer against their side, slipping his arm easily around your waist like he couldn’t help himself anymore.

You didn't even try to hide the grin breaking across your face.

"You keep lookin' at me like that," he grumbled, though there was no heat to it at all.

You laughed, soft and light as the night around you. You leaned up and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, catching on the little silver hoop you always secretly adored.

"I do like you, dumbass," you said sweetly. "Love you, actually."

He froze. Just for a second.

And then he was tucking you tighter against him, nearly crushing you to his side, desperate and sure all at once.

"Yeah," he muttered into your hair, voice thick and shaking a little. "Love you too, Angel.

The day had been blessed—there was no other word for it. It felt like walking through a dream stitched together by Redacted’s own hands.

After the jellyfish, he hadn’t stopped. He just kept going, pulling you from one hidden gem to another—tiny cafes tucked between buildings, old bookstores with cracked spines and friendly ghosts, cozy little shops where you used to window-shop and dream about “someday.”

He bought you new anime merch you’d been eyeing—sneaking it into a bag behind your back with the subtlety of a gremlin—and picked out fresh drawing supplies, too, without you even hinting. He just knew. The right pens, the exact brand of sketchbook you always lingered over but never let yourself buy. You loved art

Every time you gasped or smiled or shyly murmured a "thank you," he just shrugged and muttered something like, "'Course I fuckin’ know what you like, Angel. Don’t act all surprised." But the tips of his ears still turned pink every damn time.

The day had been filled with laughter, soft teasing, stolen kisses you tried to sneak—and kisses Redacted didn’t sneak at all. He wanted it known. Wanted everyone to see: you were his, and he was yours.

Now, it was almost midnight. The motorcycle purred under the both of you, the city lights blurring into molten streaks of gold, violet, neon pink.

You clutched the back of his jacket, resting your forehead against his spine. Even through leather and fabric, you felt the steady beat of his heart. He didn’t ride fast tonight. It wasn’t about adrenaline. It was about being close—for every last second of your birthday.

You caught sight of a clock on a passing building—11:58 PM. Almost over. Your chest ached with the bittersweet of it.

Redacted must’ve felt it too. Because the next quiet overlook he spotted, he pulled over, cut the engine. The world slipped into a hush, nothing but the far-off hum of the city and the sigh of the wind.

You climbed off, legs shaky from more than just the ride. He followed, tugging off his helmet, silver piercings catching the moonlight, messy hair falling into his eyes.

He stared at you. A long second—like he was trying to memorize you. Brand you into memory so deep even death couldn't steal it.

Then he smiled. Small, crooked, a little tired. Overflowing with a love too big for him to carry alone.

"Happy birthday," he rasped, voice rough-edged with all the feelings he wasn’t good at naming. "Thanks for... y'know. Thanks for fuckin' spendin’ it with me."

You opened your mouth—ready to tell him there was nothing you would’ve wanted more—but he beat you to it, gaze flickering away like he couldn’t stand to see your face when he said it:

"I really don't fuckin' deserve you, Angel."

Your breath hitched. No. No way were you letting him think that.

You stepped close, cupping his jaw between your hands, feeling the rough scrape of stubble under your thumbs. Grounding. Real.

"Thank you, Redacted," you whispered, voice thick with everything you couldn’t fit into words. "I love you."

Something shattered behind his eyes. Like a dam cracking open.

You leaned up and kissed him—desperate, trembling, crying—and he kissed you back like you were the air he’d been choking for.

His hands gripped your waist, careful and reverent, holding you like you were something holy, something breakable and precious and his.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes shone in the dark. He wasn’t crying—he was too stubborn for that—but you knew. You saw it.

You pressed your forehead against his, breathing each other in as the clock ticked over.

12:00 AM. Your birthday was officially over.

But you didn’t feel sad. Because you still had him. And he still had you.

Maybe that was the real gift all along.

The city lights blurred in your periphery, a soft, pulsing halo. But nothing was brighter than the way Redacted looked at you.

You smiled through your tears and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, brushing against the little silver hoop you adored, then another kiss under his jaw, where a faint scar lived.

"You’re the best thing I got today," you whispered against his skin.

He snorted wetly, the sound rough and choked with barely-held emotion. He squeezed you closer, until it felt like you were pressed heart-to-heart, soul-to-soul.

"Fuck’s sake, Angel," he muttered, voice cracking just enough for you to hear it. "How the fuck am I s’posed to top that next year?"

You laughed—a bright, breathless sound—and wrapped your arms around him tighter, like you could stitch yourselves together if you just tried hard enough.

"I guess we’ll just have to keep trying," you teased, grinning against the curve of his neck.

Redacted chuckled under his breath—low and warm—and then kissed you again. Slow. Deep. Like a vow.

Again and again. As long as you’d let him.

Hey... Angel.

Happy birthday. I'm glad you're here.

I'm fuckin' lucky I get to see you smile, lucky I get to touch you, laugh with you... It means you’re here with me.

You're the best thing that's ever happened to me, y'know that? If it were up to me, I'd wrap you in my arms and never let you go. You deserve everything good, and better than good. You deserve heaven, Angel.

So... yeah. Happy birthday. Thanks for stickin’ around, even when I don't make it easy. Thanks for lettin' me love you the only way I know how—messy, loud, real as fuck. Thanks for choosin’ me, when you coulda had anyone else.

I ain't gonna pretend I'm good enough for you. But I am gonna spend every goddamn day tryin' to be someone you can keep smilin' at. Someone you can love without regret. Someone you can come home to and know—fuckin’ know—that no matter how fucked up the world gets, you got someone who’ll always, always choose you.

And if you ever want it, I'll build it for you. Brick by fuckin' brick.

Happy birthday. I love you more than I'll ever be able to say right.

-RENDACTED

Reblog is okay!

A few months later I got my personal REDACTED/Ren lol(⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)! The dakimakura art was given to me by artist Nasu (https://vk.com/nasu_senpaiii) as a commission, the poster was made by Sanfangzhu (permission granted @sanfangzhu) (*/▽＼*)

REDACTED/Ren belong to @14dayswithyou

Art on the poster belongs to @sanfangzhu

None of the art on the badges and stickers belongs to me

WAAAAAAY~(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧! Your work is incredible (☆ω☆)! You are insanely talented, thank you very much for the gorgeous art (with your permission) *tight hug(/ω＼) (And many thanks for permission to use)

I really love this game and I'm super excited for its future developments! That's why I've created two mobile wallpapers to let Red/Redacted guard our phones. Feel free to use them!💜🖤💜🖤 我很喜歡這個遊戲，超級期待後續的發展! 所以我繪製了兩款手機桌布，想讓Red/Redacted守護我們的手機，歡迎大家使用💜🖤💜🖤

Akage Meme ft. Ren/Redacted

Happy Birthday Ren!

Nighttime Chats

Convincing Redacted they're good enough, this time through metaphor ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ idk thought I'd try something out lol, trust, I know it's cringe

mdni !! / 14 days with you / sfw / redacted belongs to @14dayswithyou

I am pulled from my sleep as I feel something shift. My eyes blearily open to find a blue gaze matching mine anxiously, “Sorry, Angel, did I wake y’up?”

I groan lowly, “No, y’fine. Wha time’s it?”

“…Four.”

My eyes shoot open, “P.m.?!”

Ren calmingly rubs a thumb over my forearm, “No, a.m.”

I settle back down into the sheets, relieved, “Oh… well then go back to sleep, you’re already more behind than usual.”

They immediately protest, “No m’not.”

I give them a look and they avoid my gaze, giving me all the information I needed. I gently question, “You alright?”

He pauses half a second before answering, “Yes.”

I nod, “Mm, what’s wrong?”

He snorts lightly, “’Said m’fine, just watching you.”

I pull him into my chest, laying my head on his, “I know. But you were thinking, not just watching. There’s a difference.”

There’s a long silence before he responds, “…D’you think… if there was a god… d’you think She would ever b’capable of loving a mortal as much as they love Her?... A god has a whole world, an infinite amount of people, places, and things t’love. But all the mortal has is Them. How could such a perfect being ever truly love such an insignificant, imperfect fleck on Their world?”

I consider, well aware of his true meaning and trying to respond in kind, “Well, I wouldn’t know how a god would feel . But from my perspective, I don’t see how a god could not love a mortal. There are so many ways to love, and surely their love for a person, a soul, would be more powerful than any of the others, right? A soul is so special, a type of god in its own right, able to create and destroy, to live and love and experience and share their experience back to the world in a unique way not even a god can.” 

Ren responds, “But there are billions of other souls. Why a specific one? Especially if they’re one that’s flawed, broken beyond repair, a failure of creation? Why not a true god, to be level and equal to Them, powerful enough to fulfill Her every desire?”

I think over his question, “What use is one god to another? If one can fulfil a desire, so can the other, sameness has no meaning. The thrilling part is the new, the learning, the sharing of souls. No creation is a failure, and nothing is truly broken, only changed. Flaws are what make things interesting, unique, and compelling. Even shattered glass can make for beautiful mosaics, or stained-glass windows.”

Ren scoffs, “Unless it’s fractured into pieces too small t’fit into a work of art. Sharp enough t’cut and useless f’anything else.”

I frown, trailing my hand up and down his back comfortingly, “Then it’s frit, and can become swirls of gorgeous color if utilized by an artist willing to see its potential, to handle it with care and love as it should have been from the beginning.”

Another pause, then, “What if it’s a weed instead then? Ugly, unwanted, and choking out other plants for its own selfish desires.”

I shake my head, “Plants and animals do what they have to do to survive. It’s their environment that defines the lengths they must go to, not their form, nor their inherent nature. You can’t blame something for trying to survive. If it is considered ugly and unwanted, then it is in the wrong environment and beheld by the wrong person. A dandelion is considered a weed to adults, but a wonder to children. A flower that is so bright and shining, that becomes a sphere of fluff, whose seeds become dancers in the wind.” I laugh a bit at my own whimsical description.

Ren counters, “It’s invasive, an eyesore, and takes over spaces where it never belonged, using up resources from the ones deserving t’be there.”

I lean back slightly to look them in the eyes, “It sounds like you’re the wrong beholder then. Dandelions are versatile, resilient, and can sustain others through healing and sustenance. Every part of it is valuable in some way or another, if you care enough to look beyond the surface.”

They look back at me with wonder, “Y'so optimistic.”

I grin back at him, “I was a nihilist for a long time, I just happened to finally find meaning in the world.”

He questions, “And what’s that?”

I smile brightly, finding their hand under the covers and intertwining it with my own, “You,” his real name rolls off your tongue so naturally, like it was always meant to be there.

I bring the back of his hand to my lips, trying to convey every bit of emotion I felt for them through my touch and gaze.

They seem frozen for a second, staring at me in shock. Just before he shifts to hide behind his bangs, I see tears fill his eyes as they turn downwards.

I quickly reach out to turn their face back to me, watching anxiously as he furiously tries to blink away his tears, “Hey, listen. I know what you’re thinking right now. I understand the instinct to tear down everything I’ve said, to write it off as me just being careless or misguided. But it’s true, and I need you to believe it.” Tears are now streaming down his face as silent as they are relentless, and knowing how much they hate me seeing them cry, I pull them back into a tight hug.

I continue gently, “I’ve seen you at your worst, yeah? When you were crazy with jealousy and hatred and thought I was going to leave you. But I didn’t. I’m still here, and I’m going to be for a very long time. Not because you made and executed the perfect plan, not because I have no other choice, but because I want to be. Because I’ve seen you as you are, and I fucking love you. And just because that contradicts your view of yourself doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It means you’ve been in the wrong environment for 23 years, and I intend to fix that.”

After a pause I add in a more lighthearted tone, “And if that means I have to beat the shit out of the voice in your head that keeps saying horrible shit to you, that’s what I’m gonna fuckin do.”

Ren cracks a weak smile, “How’re y’gonna do that? They’re a stubborn bitch, and largely immaterial.”

“Like this.” I return my hands to their face and plant a kiss on their forehead. I then move to each of his cheeks. I leave one on his nose and each of his eyelids, and then everywhere in between.

After we are both laughing from my onslaught, I finally pull away, “Better?”

Ren responds with the faintest hint of a smile, “One more couldn’t hurt. Just t’make sure.”

I chuckle, “Alright, one more, but then we have to go back to sleep.”

He pouts at my words, but ultimately gives in when I lean in, and we share a soft kiss.

After, I hold my arms open, allowing them to cuddle in closer, wrapping their arms around me and laying their head on my chest. Our legs naturally intertwine as we sink back into the pillows around us. I absentmindedly trace patterns on the back of his shoulder as we fade back into the obscurity of sleep, together.

Unhinged Angel

Short inspired by a fanart in the 14dwy discord server :3

mdni !! / 14 days with you / cws in tags / Ren belongs to @14dayswithyou

Angel calmly leads the man into the alleyway. He had challenged them to a fight after all, and though Ren had done his best to de-escalate the situation, the man had just turned on him instead.

That’s what made Angel snap.

Day in, day out, they dealt with disgruntled customers yelling at them about something or another as though Angel had personally gone out of their way to ruin this person’s life. They were used to it by now. Not happy, but desensitized, numb.

But when that man turned on Ren and started calling him vile, filthy names, mocking him for standing up for Angel, something inside them broke. Their face changed from an empty stare to widened eyes and a tight smile.

And that brought the unlikely group here. A clearly nervous Ren, his hands clenched into shaking fists and a wide-eyed, concerned look on his face. An eerily calm Angel, leading a fuming man deeper into the alley, away from witnesses, though he was too angry to realize the danger. It isn’t until Angel turns around, a dead look in their eyes and their smile nowhere to be seen that he finally pauses. But it was already too late.

Angel makes eye contact with Ren, indicating for him to leave with a tilt of their head. He wants to do anything other than leave his Angel alone right now, but figures he would be more use as [Redacted], so he reluctantly leaves, mumbling something about calling for help. Angel carefully watches them leave before they refocus on the man. He was now pushing up his sleeves, posturing for a fight. Before he even gets a chance to advance, Angel reveals a pistol, aiming and pulling the trigger without even a flinch.

It takes the man a moment to react, staring for a split second before crumpling with a howl, grabbing at his leg in pain. Angel calmly cocks the gun, and aims once more, hitting his right arm this time. Rolling their eyes at the man’s screams, they unravel the scarf from around his neck and shove the end into his mouth, causing him to gag and choke on the fabric.

Without a change in expression, Angel cocks the gun one more time, regarding the man beneath them. He was openly sobbing now, though his cries were muffled by his own scarf. He writhed around, making sounds and gestures adjacent to pleas of mercy. Before he could crawl too far away, Angel pinned him with a shoe on his back.

They shake their head exasperatedly, “You know… I don’t care about you. I don’t care about much of anyone, including myself. But you know who I do care about?” They pause before answering their own question, clearly not expecting an answer from the sniveling man, “Ren. And you know what happens when you threaten the last fucking thing someone cares about when they have nothing left to lose?”

Angel chuckles, their tone devoid of humor, “Ah, but I suppose it’s too late for you to do anything with that information, isn’t it?”

They straighten, stepping off the man and watching as he futilely resumes his desperate crawl before ending it with a final smoking round from the gun into the back of his head. Blood splattered all across the alleyway and onto Angel’s skin, blemishing it with a dark shade of red.

“A- Angel?”

Angel’s head whips up, meeting a pair of baby blue eyes. There Ren stood, outlined in light like an angel, a hand obscuring the lower half of his face. His eyes were wide, shocked, horrified; no doubt at the scene that lay before him.

Angel’s impassive exterior melts into a look of panic, “W- Wait. No- Ren, it isn’t- It was self defense I swear!” They click the safety on before tossing the gun away and opening their hands in innocence, advancing on Ren as they did so.

Inexplicably, instead of drawing back away from them, he stumbles forward, eyes flicking between Angel and the man on the ground, motionless. Angel pauses maybe ten feet away, unsure of what to say and wary of the wide-eyed look Ren still carried.

Ren mumbles between his fingers, still treading towards them, “Angel… I never thought… I didn’t know you would do something like this…”

Angel’s eyes tear up at his words, “Ren please, I didn’t mean to, I really didn’t! Please just- just don’t… don’t leave me…” Their words trail off and they look down, unable to meet Ren’s eyes that were always filled with such innocence.

Or at least, that’s what they had thought. But as Ren’s hand slips from his own face to cup theirs, Angel sees something entirely unexpected. He was smiling. A deranged kind of smile that they would have been wary of before, but now, they lean into his open palm, accepting him fully and practically begging with their eyes for him to do the same.

Luckily, he needed no convincing as his breaths were shaky, catching in his throat as he looked at them with the most intense eyes they had ever seen. Love-struck through and through, as though Angel was the only thing that kept the sun rising and falling. His state of mind was clear as day when he tugged them in closer, his hands trembling with excitement and his hold reigned in just enough to not inflict pain.

Ren leans down, burying his face into Angel’s neck with a helpless laugh, “Oh, my Angel.”

His gaze locks on to the unmoving body behind his love, his smile growing hopeful in a sinister way as he murmurs, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Taken (Part 5/5)

Unedited, as all of these are. Took the easy way out bc I wanted them to reconcile lmao, ignore the fact that Ren would be fighting this way more. Ren and above image belong to @14dayswithyou

Summary: Angel and Ren have a heart-to-heart

4.2k words

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

I sit at the headboard of the bed, my chin resting on my knees as I consider the man anxiously perched at the opposite end. 

I let the silence simmer for a bit before breaking it, “Why did you drug me?”

Ren scratches at his jaw, “I didn’t want you to hurt yourself any further. Your stitches are still healing.”

I add, “Also it made it easier to transport me without having to deal with me struggling or alerting someone on the way back here, no?”

Ren shrugs, avoiding my eyes.

I roll my eyes, “Why didn’t you let me go into Violet’s apartment?”

He looks at me with a pout, “Like I said, you always take forever to talk to her, and I hadn’t seen you and was worried about you.”

I sigh, “That’s a great answer, Ren,” he seems to perk up a bit, “but now I want a truthful one,” and he slumps again.

He protests, “That is-!”

I hold a hand up, stopping him, “Ren, please, we’ve been over this. Are you really going to test the extent of my knowledge on every little thing? You’re great at gaslighting, but I’m not a canary in a mineshaft, I’m aware of what’s going on. And I swear to god if you say you’re not I’m going to throttle you.”

He looks at me, eyes welling with tears, “I- I don’t know what you want me to say, Angel. It’s like you already have this set idea of who I am and I don’t know how I’m supposed to convince you otherwise when you already think I’m a two-faced liar.”

He buries his face in his sleeves as his shoulders shake soundlessly. I watch with a blank expression, waiting for him to stop. He eventually does, sniffling and wiping his eyes with the back of his sleeve, smearing his mascara in the process.

I tilt my head, still expressionless, “Damn, you’re really good at that. I probably would’ve caved if I didn’t have a whole file of evidence against you.”

He looks surprised, “You- you have a file?”

I scoff, “Of course not, why would I write that stuff down? The only thing I know for sure you can’t break into is my head. Well, metaphorically speaking at least, I’m sure you could crack my skull like an egg if you so chose, but that’s not the point. Why didn’t you let me go into Violet’s apartment? I don’t need your whole thought process, just a concise, truthful answer.”

Ren’s voice lowers, “I thought you were gonna call the police.”

I smile and nod, “Better answer. I was. Really thought I’d be able to throw you off long enough too, but alas.  I probably would’ve been better off insisting than trying to be honest, but oh well, I’ll still hazard my health to tell the truth. But what I’m really confused about is why I’m the one who’s trying to gain your trust right now.”

I pause, considering my last statement before adding, “Was the whole ‘pretend to be anyone but yourself’ decision your own idea, or did someone else instill that lesson?”

I see his eyes flash as I speak before returning to their carefully neutral state, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I sigh deeply, considering the man before me. Eventually I come to a decision, looking down and speaking hesitantly, “Y’know what, I’m gonna tell you about something you keep reminding me of. It’s an old, old memory, so it’s probably warped beyond all recognition at this point, and it’s from a point in my childhood I remember almost nothing from but- ugh, whatever, it doesn’t matter, it doesn’t need to be perfectly accurate.”

I glance up at Ren to make sure he’s still paying attention. Luckily he was, while also mimicking my pose and staring intently.

So I continue, “When I was a kid, I don’t remember how old, my home life got progressively worse and worse. It got to the point where I dreaded going home every night, so instead, I would spend time in this dingy little playground between school and my house. There was a little red plastic tunnel I would hide in, helpful for when it was raining. Anyway, there was this other kid that seemed to do the same thing, they- no- he. He hated when… yeah, well whatever- he would kinda lurk around the playground way later than was normal too. I thought he was neat, and I dunno, I guess I related to him. He would leave little presents in that tunnel for me sometimes, he even gave me a jacket for when it was cold. So I started doing the same.”

I pause, slightly surprised at the emerging memory, “I even gave him one of my favorite stuffies, damn. That was some devotion for like, six-year-old me, don’t think I would do that for anyone now. Anyway, ugh I’m rambling, this has a point I swear. So we became best friends, in my opinion at least. I mean, I had Leon too, but I never wanted to tell him anything about home, so I would just pretend to be happy around him all the time. This other kid-”

I go off on another tangent, trying to remember his name, “Shit if I just had any sort of fucking memory space for names- why do I keep associating him with that goddamn carpet in the school? I know his name wasn’t fucking rug or ground or flower or some shit, but it was like, associated with those? I think??? I’ll just call him- uhhhhh… I dunno, Redacted I guess, heh.

“So yeah, Redacted and I could just chill together, y’know? It seemed like he had some shit he was dealing with too, definitely worse than mine from the few things I could pick up on, even as a child. I swear there were multiple times he had blood on him, but whether it was his or not was hard to say. But he was a sweet kid. Even if he wouldn’t really talk about his situation, I didn’t wanna talk about mine either. We just sorta understood that shit was fucked up, and it was so nice just to have someone there who got it without having to explain or pretend.”

I lean against the backboard, looking at the ceiling, “But all good things have to come to an end, right? Well that happened for us when he gave me a ring – proposed even, I think. Problem was, Leon also happened to be around at the time- Oh yeah- I forgot to tell you- I’m already engaged.”

I giggle, raising the back of my hand and wiggling my fingers as though showing off a ring, before dropping my hand and ruefully staring at it. When I look up, I see Ren clutching the fabric of his long-sleeve shirt in the middle of his chest. Seems like he got emotionally invested, ha, all the better for me.

I continue my story, “Anyway, I think Leon thought Redacted was harassing me, so he threw away the ring and dragged me to school. I argued with him the whole way, hell, I might’ve even hit him, I was so mad. I went straight back to that playground once they let us out of school, and I scoured that entire place for hours that night. Every day after I hoped I would find the ring, just nestled under a toy or stair somewhere I hadn’t checked. But I never found it; and Redacted never showed up there again.”

I pause for a minute, closing my eyes and composing myself, “Sorry, I’ve never told anyone this before, guess I’m not as detached as I thought I was.”

I take a deep breath, “…So after that, the few times I did see Redacted in school he would run away. It’s my fault too obviously, we were both kids, I didn’t do everything I could to check on him and make sure he was okay, but I figured he hated me and didn’t want to see me after the first few times I tried and failed. Every time I saw him after that, he just looked worse and worse, and I don’t know when it happened, but eventually I saw him for the last time. I don’t even know if he even fucking survived that goddamn place. Given what I knew about his family, probably not.”

At this point, tears are streaming down my cheeks as I stay stony-faced, recounting the story of my childhood friend. Once I had finally gotten out of my house and had room to breathe, I remembered the one who helped get me through one of the toughest years. I realized he probably never made it past childhood soon after but shoved the realization deep down and tried to forget about it, not ready to process it.

I push on now, needing Ren to understand, “To this day, despite everything else that’s happened to me, that’s my biggest regret: not even being there for him when he deserved that and so much more. And I’m not going to let that happen to a friend again. You remind me of that kid so much, Ren, and I don’t know if it’s that similarity, or the three months we’ve spent together, but despite all your insane bullshit, I do still consider you a friend. So whatever the fuck you have going on, I need you to tell me honestly. I will do whatever I can to help and support a friend, but my patience is running thin and I’m not even entirely sure what you are to me anymore. I’ve been taken advantage of before, and I won’t be letting that happen again either.”

Once I finish saying all that needs to be said, I finally look back at Ren. He’s wearing an expression I’d never seen before, filled with more conflicting emotions than I could puzzle through. His eyes were filled with tears that had yet to fall, and the clenched fist on his chest, I realized, was not holding onto his shirt, but the necklace he always wore around his neck.

He speaks in a choked whisper, “Y’didn’t throw it away?”

I stare at him, confused and concerned, but also wary of another guilt trip, “Throw what away?”

“The ring?”

My eyebrows furrow in confusion, “Of course not, why would I do that? That would be horribly cruel, and he was the only person I could really trust at the time. I also might’ve had a crush on him, but emotions are weird and we were kids and it’s been so long I don’t really remember. But that’s not the point, did you even listen to the whole point of that story?”

He stumbles on his words, “Yeah- no- I- I heard. I just- m’having a hard time believing it.”

I bristle at his words, “Are you calling me a fucking liar?!”

His eyes widen and he jolts backwards, “NO! No no nono, that’s not what I meant at all! I just can’t believe you remembered… everything… like that. I thought you hated m- um, him?”

I glare at him, “Ren, what the fuck are you implying?”

He shakily opens his palm to reveal the ring necklace laying there, “I took it back after you left, that’s why you couldn’t find it.”

I shake my head warily, “That’s not funny, Ren, there’s no way. Don’t-”

He jumps up off the bed, “Hold on.”

I sit, bewildered, as he runs off, not waiting long before I hear the light thudding of his footsteps returning. He breathlessly holds out a well-loved brown teddy bear to me, “He’s one of my most treasured possessions.”

I cautiously take it into my hands, looking over it carefully. Its fur was stringy and far ashier than I remember, as well as slightly bald in some places, but still has the same eyes invariably covered by fur, same construction, and clearly over a decade old.

I looked between the bear and Ren in disbelief before slowly shifting to meet him at the side of the bed. He looks back at me anxiously, backing up a step to give me room to stand. I close the gap, wrapping both of my arms securely around his waist and pulling him into a tight hug, grabbing handfuls of the back of his shirt like he would disappear if I let go.

I whisper incredulously, “You’re alive???”

Ren leans into me, resting his chin on my head with a small chuckle, “Last I checked, yeah. ‘Preciate y’worrying about me though.”

My face crumbles as the tears I had finally got under control sprang free again, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”

Ren pulls back slightly, confused, “F’what?”

I lean my forehead onto his chest, not wanting him to see my face as I speak, “For being a shitty friend, for letting you go, for not defending you better, for not being there for you, fuck, just- everything. I’m sorry, you deserved so much better.”

Ren shakes his head, pulling me back in and speaking vehemently, “No, Angel, y’have nothing t’be sorry about. Y’didn’t do anything wrong. You’re the only one who didn’t do anything wrong. M’sorry f’being a stupid kid and running away.”

I sniffle, “You weren’t a stupid kid, you were smart as fuck, even back then. Just insecure as fuck too, but I have a feeling I know the bastard who’s responsible for that.” My hands tighten as I remember the one time I followed him from the playground to a trailer park, only to watch as he waited for almost an hour, knocking intermittently on the locked door. When it finally opened, a man flecked with blood stepped out, already screaming, and yanked him inside by the arm. The horrible sounds I heard that night caused me to sprint all the way home, practically thankful for the father I had. A feeling I had never come close to experiencing before or since. Fury builds in me as I think of all that Ren probably dealt with at such a young age.

Until his voice pulls me out of my thoughts, “Are y’alright Angel? You’re shaking.”

I glance up in surprise and loosen my grip on him, “Oh, sorry, yeah, I’m fine just… plotting murder.”

Ren’s eyebrows raise, “Mine?”

I laugh, shaking my head, “Ha! No, no, its- just ignore me.”

His head tilts to the side with a loving smile, “I could never.”

I lightly punch him, embarrassed, “Shut up.”

He laughs and pulls me back into a tight hug which I reciprocate. Catching a glimpse of his hair from my position, I hold a piece out with the arm still around him.

“Wasn’t your hair black? Why’d you make it pink?”

I feel him stiffen slightly as he seems to consider his options before answering quietly, “Thought you’d like it better.”

I squint at him, “Do you like it pink?”

He fires back, “Do you?”

I glare, “It’s your hair.”

He hums, “Mhmm, do you like it?”

I roll my eyes, pulling back so I can squish his face in my hands, “I think you’d look hot with any hair color and should choose what you like best.” Fuck. I really am a simp.

His face immediately flushes red and he mumbles, “But you like Haruko…”

I look at him in disbelief, “You really made a whole persona based on an anime character I liked? I mean, that’s what it seemed like, but I thought I was crazy for thinking that.”

He once again misses the point and focuses on an insignificant detail, “Liked? You don’t like him anymore?”

I sigh, “Do I really need to go get bread slices? Make an idiot sandwich? Of course not, I have an absolutely fucking insane boyfriend now, why would I want an anime character?”

Ren pouts at me, “M’not insane.”

I laugh, “Oh I don’t believe that for a second. That much trauma doesn’t create a healthily functioning adult, I would know.” I then realize how abrupt and harsh my words might sound and quickly course correct, “Sorry, I didn’t mean it like- uh, let’s talk about something else for now. Though actually, that does bring me back to an important point.”

I pull away, sitting back on the bed and bringing him to sit opposite me. I look him dead in the eyes, “How many people have you killed, Ren?”

He answers immediately, “Just one.”

I keep my eyes on him, “Ren, I am giving you the opportunity to come clean now. I won’t be so forgiving if I find things out on my own.”

He avoids my eyes, “Why? What would you do if it was more than one?”

I maintain an even gaze, “That would depend on who, why, and how you killed.”

There’s a long silence before he speaks again, “…Two.”

I insist, “Are you sure? You seemed very comfortable using that sledgehammer.”

He internally curses his carelessness for the millionth time but responds, “I use it in rage rooms a lot.”

When I realize that is the only answer I’ll be getting out of him, I pivot my questioning, “Okay. Who was the other person and why did you kill them?”

He side-eyes me, “Would you care if you didn’t know them?”

My eyebrows furrow, “Obviously? The reason would be the main factor then.”

He pauses for a long moment, “You did know them.”

I almost laugh at the pivot, but realize he’s still manipulating his answers based on my cues, which is sobering enough to maintain a straight face, “Okay, are you going to tell me who it was? Or when it was?”

He stares intently at his fingernails, picking idly at various minor hangnails, “About six years ago.”

My eyes widen, “You were sixteen?!”

He looks defensive, “And a half.”

I smother a smile of amusement and frustration at the pointless addition and gesture for him to go on. But before he can, I come to another realization, “Wait, then I was seventeen almost eighteen. Holy shit did you kill my stepfather?!”

He doesn’t respond, which gives me my answer. I immediately slap a hand over my mouth to cover the grin that was growing on my face. When my stepfather left that night and never returned, I had assumed he drunk himself either to death, or to do something that caused him to die. I suppose now the fact that they never found a body was suspicious, especially since he apparently never made it to any of his regular bars.

Coincidentally, that was the night I had resolved to kill him myself. I remember waiting by the door for hours with a kitchen knife, aching all over from my bruises and with blood dripping from the many cuts caused by him shattering a bottle against the table I was taking cover under. In the end, I had to give up and go back to bed before my mother woke up and started to make excuses for him again.

Now, as my grin grew wider and laughter bubbled up my throat, I had to add another hand to my mouth to keep it all in. I didn’t want him to see how dementedly happy I was about that man’s death or encouraging him to continue to do such things in the future. But when he saw me shaking with wide eyes and covering my mouth, he must have assumed the worst.

“Angel, I’m sorry, I had to! He was a danger to everyone around him, especially you, he-”

I choke out a quick, “Shut up,” before returning to the increasingly impossible job of keeping my mirth in. Eventually I fail, as a violent snort comes out unbidden. After that I surrender entirely, shifting my grasp from my face to my stomach as I tip over and guffaw into the sheets of the bed. I lay there laughing for almost two minutes, probably sounding increasingly more insane, before it finally levels off and I begin to calm back down.

I continue laying face down until I have fully stopped and only then sit up with a straight face, “Okay, ignoring that, how did you kill- ugh no, don’t ask that. Violence isn’t the answer. Violence isn’t the answer, violence isn’t the answer.” I repeat the words over, trying to make them stick.

Ren seems confused, “Are you telling that to me or yourself?”

I temple my hands in front of my face with an expression of restraint, “Yes.”

Ren hesitantly asks, “So… are we good?”

I raise an eyebrow, “About the murder? Yeah, if you’ve told me the truth I don’t really care about either of those- well, you probably didn’t need to kill that other guy, but meh, I don’t really blame you. Glad you’re discerning about it at least.”

I see the corners of his mouth quirk upwards and I make a quick amendment, “That doesn’t mean I condone murder. It’s technically wrong most of the time, so you can only resort to that in life-or-death situations.”

His mouth turns downwards again and I scoff, “Hey, if I don’t get to murder then you don’t get to murder. Consider yourself lucky that you managed to get to that bastard of a man before I did, otherwise we’d be even right now.”

I sigh, bringing my fingers to massage my temples from the massive headache that had been building this whole time. Ren immediately perks up, “Are you okay? D’you need painkillers? Water? Food?”

I bring my hand up, “Quiet, preferably.”

I immediately regret my words as Ren falls quiet, not protesting or yelling as I was used to from others. I amend my words, “Sorry, that was mean, I’m just- ugh my fucking head.”

Ren nods and leaves the room. I watch him leave with widened eyes, not expecting them to just abandon me like that. I want to call out, but my pride seals my throat, choking me from voicing my desires as per usual. After all, that would just reveal my own weaknesses. So I sit and stare blankly as tears well up in my eyes, increasing the pressure in my head even more.

I furiously blink them back, cursing myself, whether for making Ren leave or wanting him to stay, I wasn’t sure. I pull the glossy sheets over my head and collapse back into the mattress, burying my face into the pillow in an attempt to beat back my headache. Only to have my hip spike in pain as well. Just my luck.

It doesn’t take long before I hear footsteps walk into the room, somehow spontaneously sounding at the entrance to the room as if he spawned in at the doorway. I don’t move, not wanting him to see the tears in my eyes. Stupid.

A soft, familiar voice inquires quietly, “Angel? I got you some water and advil.”

A hand gently rests on my shoulder blade, carefully sliding up and down in a comforting pattern. I stay still, enjoying the feeling I hadn’t felt since I was a very young child. Being cared for, safe. Crazy how this murderer was capable of making me feel more secure and loved than my “parents” ever did.

I groan, turning my head and bringing the sheets down enough to look at Ren blearily. Their eyes are full of sympathy as they hand me the painkillers. I take them, evaluating the pills to make sure they matched the container before downing two with a gulp of water. From the same type of glass I had shattered earlier, I notice with another twinge of guilt.

Ren gives me a soft smile, “Why don’t you go back t’sleep for now? It’s about bedtime anyway, and you’re recovering from a multitude of things.”

I mumble, “Mostly y’fault. We arn’ done talkin’.”

Their eyebrows furrow, “I know, m’sorry. But we can finish tomorrow, okay? I don’t think y’really in a state t’continue. I’ll leave the water here, just yell if y’need anything.”

As they stand to leave, I act without thinking, reaching out and grabbing their wrist. He turns, confused, but patiently waits for me to form my words.

“…Don’t…leave me.”

His eyes light up and he kneels next to the bed, getting to eye level with me and grasping my hand tightly, “I’ll never leave you, Angel. Never again.”

I pull them towards me, and after confirming my intention, they instantly succumb to my request, joining me under the covers. They pull me into their chest, both of our arms wrapped around the other securely, our legs tangling as we attempt to get as close as possible. I push all of the red flags out of my mind, I could deal with those in the morning. For now, we indulge in the feeling of comfort and safety we couldn’t find anywhere else in the world.

Taken (Part 4/5)

Unedited, as all of these are. If it seems like it ends abruptly that's because it does, I cut out the end to spare you my sad attempt at including sexual tension lol. Ren and above image belong to @14dayswithyou

Summary: Angel comes to terms with their new situation and Ren is a simp as per usual

2.2k words

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

Warmth. It’s all I can process as I groggily wake in a bed with black sheets, clearly not my own, with sunshine falling almost spitefully directly on my eyes through a crack in the curtains nearby. As my memory slowly comes back to me, I shoot upright in the bed, Fuck I’m at Ren’s place. My hip flares in pain once again, stubbornly reminding me how I got here in the first place.

I don’t have much time to myself as Ren peeks in, timidly asking, “How are you doing, Angel? I made some pancakes if you want some?” I recall our second date, when we ended up stranded at his place due to an unexpected storm. He made pancakes then too, but the situation is vastly different now.

I stare at him incredulously, “What the fuck, Ren?”

He avoids my eyes, “What- What’s wrong, Angel?”

My eyes sharpen to a glare, “Drop the act. You know what’s wrong you piece of shit. You fucking kidnapped me?!”

He makes an uncertain gesture, “I wasn’t- I didn’t want to! You just wouldn’t listen to me, you were going to call someone. You have to listen to me first.”

My face could not possibly display the extent of disbelief I had at his audacity, “You’re insane. Get out of my room.”

I see his eyes light up just slightly and I guess why, “No- no. I’m not staying here, I’m not living here. It’s mine for now because I don’t want you in it, so I’m claiming it.”

He nods, “What’s mine is yours Angel, you can claim anything you want.”

Frustrated at his contradicting shifts between aggressive and passive, I throw a nearby plushie at his head, watching with some satisfaction as he makes no move to avoid it, and it nails him square in the face.

He tilts his head hopefully, “Do you feel better now?”

I turn to my uninjured side, pulling the covers over my head, “Fuck off.”

I hear his quiet response of, “Okay,” before the door gently clicks closed.

Only moments later, he reappears with a plate of pancakes and a glass water, which he sets down on the nightstand next to me. I glare at him, making full eye contact as I swipe the glass onto the floor like a petulant cat. I immediately regret doing so as the glass makes a loud shattering sound, spilling water, ice, and glass everywhere. I flinch and start shaking as less than pleasant memories from my childhood resurface, triggered by the breaking glass.

Ren reassures me as though I had not fully intentionally broken it, “It’s okay, I’ll clean it up, just don’t walk over here.”

I scrutinize his movements as he returns with a towel and broom, cleaning the mess. The worst part is that he doesn’t seem angry, not even irritated. When he catches me staring at him he just flashes a smile. I fully expected to die at his hands right then, and he’s smiling?

When he finishes, he asks, “Anything else I can do for you?”

Coming from anyone else, that would’ve sounded sarcastic as hell, but he genuinely meant it. I stare at him for a long moment before speaking, “I don’t understand you.”

He shifts his weight from side to side, “What do you mean?”

I pause, considering, “Take your contacts out.”

He picks at his cardigan sleeve, “What contacts?”

I glare, “Do you really think I’m that fucking stupid?”

He stutters, “N- No, sorry, I just- force of habit I guess.”

I nod, “We’re past this soft persona, aren’t we? All bets are off, you went far enough to kidnap me, so I imagine I won’t be leaving anytime soon. Might as well drop the act, yeah? Not like I can break up with you now.”

He shakes his head, “I still want you to be happy Angel, if dressing and acting like this makes you feel more comfortable, then that’s what I’m going to do.”

I glare, “It doesn’t, it sickens me. Stop it.”

He seems taken aback, “Wha- What would you rather have me to do?”

I shake my head, “Goddamnit Ren, just stop pretending. Stop pretending to be someone we both know you aren’t. Y’know, I always suspected, just never wanted to confront you. I didn’t think I could take the betrayal if I was right.” I scoff, “Turns out I don’t have to figure out whether I can or not since I don’t have a choice. Never did, right? This was the only possible conclusion, no matter what I did, the only difference was whether I was here willingly or not.”

Ren avoids my eyes, “I’m sorry.”

I smile at him, speaking in a saccharine voice, “Oh Ren, my love, no you’re not. We wouldn’t be here if you were. Now stop treating me like I’m dumb. You know me far better than you let on, right? If that’s really what you think of me, I’ll be hurt darling.”

Despite my biting, sarcastic tone, Ren’s face still reddens at the terms of endearment, “Angel, I really don’t know what you want me to do, I am who I am, but I’ll change what you want me to change. Just tell me what to change and I will.”

I sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of my nose, “Alright, since you keep acting like you have no fucking free will or personality beyond being obsessed with me, I’ll give you the orders you seem to want so desperately. 1. Take out your colored contacts, 2. Put your piercings back in, 3. Stop covering up your tattoos, I can obviously see them, you’re not slick. Oh and 4. Just fully get rid of the pounds of concealer you wear all the time, it makes me uncomfortable just seeing it, much less having it on. Those are currently the easiest things you’re using to manipulate my opinion of you, but I have plenty more theories.”

Ren hesitates, scratching his jaw uncomfortably, “But- but you prefer-”

I throw my hands in the air, “And stop stuttering, I find it incredibly hard to believe that you genuinely have a stutter. And if you do- well, guess I’m an asshole. The point is you’ve gone far beyond the point where pretending to be my type will appease me. If you start being honest with me now, you might be able to regain a sliver of my trust, but if you keep being deceptive and manipulative – keep in mind I acted oblivious for most of our relationship – all I’m going to do is make your life a living hell. I’m sure I can get you disillusioned with me pretty damn quick.”

Ren smiles fondly at me, “I assure you, you can’t. But feel free to try if that’s what you want.”

I scoff, “Sure, I’ll remind you of that when you snap on me. Only took two months last time, bet I can at least halve that this time around. Also remember that I have next to nothing I actually care about and have withstood psychological and physical harassment for years at a time, so you’re not special, and you will not fucking break me.”

I see anger build behind his eyes as I speak and feel the familiar dread rise in my chest equally, but steel myself against it. I’ve dealt with worse, and I’m tired of being the victim. I will die before I’m chained up again. I hold onto as much determination and righteous fury as I can muster, preparing for anything he can throw at me.

But then he steps toward me, and suddenly I can’t move. It’s like with him all over again, I talk big to get him to back off, but then it backfires, and I just freeze, cowering in a corner and waiting for it to be over. My fists clench the sheets as I will myself to do something, anything. But I don’t, I can’t, helplessly watching as the tall figure looms ever closer, somehow not any less intimidating despite the pastel persona.

He reaches out a hand towards my face and I watch it closely, heart beating faster the closer it gets. Fuck fuck fuck, what do I do? I could bite him, but that would just make him angrier, I could run away, but he’d catch me easily. All I can do is glare and try to hide my shaking as much as possible. So I just sit and wait for the inevitable.

But when his hand reaches me, it’s gentle. Barely grazing my cheek with his knuckles before carefully cupping my face in his hands and guiding it to face his. I see only warmth in his eyes, empathy and understanding combined with an all-encompassing devotion I had never experienced before. Or maybe I had, it felt so distantly familiar…

His voice is as gentle as his touch, but somehow carries more weight, “My angel, I have never, ever, wanted to break you. The only thing I have ever wanted is to be by your side, to support you and make you happy for as long as I am able. I’d sooner break myself than hurt you in the slightest. All I ask is to stay with you and I will become anything you could ever want. I am yours, completely and unconditionally, forever.”

I stare at him in shock as he plants a light kiss on the top of my head and leaves with one last lingering glance behind him. As soon as he closes the door I slump over, my heart racing. Holy fuck, what was that? He was… kind. Creepy and overly devoted, sure, but words don’t mean all that much anyway, I’m sure he won’t be able to keep that up for long. More importantly, he genuinely doesn’t seem to want to hurt me. I honestly can’t believe he didn’t hit me. Even after I broke the- ugh shit, and I was so rude too, now I feel bad.

Wait no- he literally kidnapped me. He’s crazy. Why would he even act so obsessed with me, I didn’t do anything? Does he think it’ll get me to drop my guard? Or maybe… what had he said before? I can’t let you go again, not now that I finally have you? Something like that, right? How long has he been stalking me? What happened before? No, it doesn’t matter, I need to figure out how to get out, or just contact someone. How closely is he monitoring me?

I look up and around the room, looking for cameras. I saw a few suspicious places, but it would probably be better if he didn’t know that I knew they were there, so I couldn’t directly inspect them. Instead, I walk over to the closet, stepping inside and closing the door behind me before crouching in the far corner. As usual, it was a very comforting sensation, the walls of the closet around me as I felt invisible in the dark. A helpful quality.

But it wasn’t long before I heard the door to my room open and footsteps immediately approach my hiding place. So there are cameras, knew it. Light floods the closet and I flinch away from it. Outlined in the light I see Ren, crouching to my level.

He looks concerned, “Why are you in here, Angel?”

I drop my head down to rest face-down on my knees that were drawn up to my chest, “Cause I can. You gonna drag me out like he did?”

His eyebrows lower dangerously, “Like who did?”

I scoff, “Surprised you don’t already know. Guess you didn’t stalk me until after I turned 16 then. Either that or you weren’t very good at it.”

Ren doesn’t respond to that, instead turning and sitting at the opposite end of the closet with me. As my eyes adjust to the light, I see that he actually listened to me. His eyes were the same as that night, and he had two sparkling silver spikes below his lips. He had changed from his usual jeans and double sweater combo to the grey sweatpants and dark green long-sleeve shirt he wore the first time I stayed over at his place. His hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, showing the piercings in his ears as well. He looked self-conscious… and hot. I shake my head, Shut up, no, not the goddamn time.

All of a sudden, I notice something on his neck, “Holy fuck.”

He immediately responds, “What? What’s wrong?”

I crawl slightly toward him, squinting to make sure I saw it properly, “…When on earth did you get my name tattooed on your throat?”

He hesitates, touching the tattoo, or perhaps trying to cover it, “Uh… I dunno, recently.” He sounds defensive, “You told me to get rid of the concealer.”

I shift within arm’s length, “I did, thank you. I do genuinely appreciate you listening to me. But define recently. It’s completely healed, so clearly not that recent.” I reach out, slightly brushing the skin with my thumb to check the texture, confirming, “Yeah, that’s gotta be at least two months old.” I smirk, pulling back slightly, “You’d think I’m the yandere, claiming you like that.”

Taken (Part 3/5)

Unedited, as all of these are. The research I did for the end of this has surely gotten me on some kind of list lol. Rendacted cannot keep his accent together and that is not my fault. Ren and above image belong to @14dayswithyou

Summary: Ren does not gatekeep, but he does gaslight and girlboss

2.8k words

14 Days With You is an 18+ Yandere Visual Novel. MINORS DNI

As I check out at the reception desk I call an uber to my place, making a quick transition from the hospital to my apartment. I didn’t know how Ren could access information about me, but my working theory was through my phone. As an aspiring programmer I knew just how simple it could be to hack into someone’s phone and gain remote access. So I didn’t contact anyone, worried that he might see it.

When I get to my apartment I immediately go around my room, trying to quickly pack anything I might need into a bag. My plan was to wait him out in Violet’s apartment, she almost always just stayed home and gamed all Sunday, so I would let her know about my situation and ask if I could stay for a bit. I was sure she would oblige; she was always so kind to me, and never was very fond of Ren.

So I finish gathering my essential belongings and a container of cookies I had stress baked before leaving on Friday. I power off my phone, ignoring the multitude of messages from Ren, and open my door to knock on Violet’s.

Only to run into a cardigan-clad chest. I look up to see Ren with a friendly smile on his face, “Oh, hey Angel! I was going to surprise you! Here!”

He holds out a bouquet of pink roses to me, which I just stare at blankly. How had he intercepted me just as I was leaving? How did he know I had even gotten back home? Why was he wearing a backpack?

He tilts his head, “What’s wrong, Angel? Why do you have a bag with you, where were you going?”

I forcibly pull myself together, and give him a smile, accepting the flowers, “Oh thank you, Ren, these are lovely! I was just headed to your place actually, I was going to surprise you. Good timing, I suppose, would’ve been awkward if we were both at the other apartment, huh?”

This seems to make him happy as he giggles, “Yeah, that worked out well, didn’t it? Luckily you don’t have to walk now, I don’t want you straining your stitches!”

I laugh, “Haha, yeah, I guess I hadn’t considered that. Actually, hold that thought, I was gonna visit Violet to give her these cookies really quickly. I owe her one, so would you mind waiting here while I go inside?”

He holds my arm, stopping me from knocking on her door, “Do you really have to do that right now, Angel? I can deliver them to her later, she probably isn’t even home right now. Why do you owe her anyway?”

I tug my arm free, breathing a silent sigh of relief when he lets me, “Oh, don’t worry, Ren, I’ll only be a minute. She never leaves the house on Sundays.”

But he grabs my arm again, pulling me back, “Please, Angel, can we just go home now? You always take forever to talk to her.”

This time, when try I pull my arm back, he doesn’t let go. I do my best to keep my breathing even, knowing that this was my best chance to escape, but also knowing that he could easily overpower me any time he chose. I look at him with a confused expression, “What’s wrong? I won’t take long, I promise.”

He gently tugs me away from her door, “C’mon Angel, let’s just go, please? I’ve been so worried about you, I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

I hold my ground, “I told you, I’m fine. I’m on painkillers, I’ve been on bedrest for two days. I just need to talk to Violet for a second.”

“But why do you need to talk to her? I thought you were just going to drop off the cookies, can’t that wait? You keep avoiding me and I don’t know why!”

Panicking, I decide to finally make a move while I’m in semi-public at least, “I’m sorry! I want to break up with you!”

Ren’s face falls and it looks like I just punched him in the gut, “Wha- but I- Angel, how could you? You said I didn’t do anything wrong, why did y’lie to me? How can I fix it if you don’t tell me? Please, Angel, don’t do this, we can talk it out, just- just tell me please!” He gently guides me back into my apartment and this time I don’t resist.

I try to pull together my mental fortitude. I really did like him a lot, I would have even said love, but I logically knew it was too soon for that. And now this is proving why. I remind myself of what I saw, the cold expression, the blood, the eyes, steeling myself to not be swayed.

I look at him firmly, “Ren, I can’t date you, I’m sorry, you didn’t do anything wrong, it’s me. I just- can’t.”

Ren shakes his head, tears running from his eyes, “No, I had to have done something, I can’t- you can’t- this is so sudden, something had to have happened. Please Angel, just let me make it right.”

I snap, worried at his insistence, “Ren! You can’t. Sometimes that’s just the way things fall. It’s not your fault, I wish you the best, I really do, I just can’t date you anymore.”

He looks hopeful, “So- wait- can we still be friends?”

I hesitate, “I- no, I don’t think that would be wise. You deserve the time and space you need to move on and find somebody else.”

Ren reaches for me, but I quickly step backwards over an arm’s length away. A devastated look crosses his eyes and settles there as he falls to his knees, pleading and gasping through tears, “No, please, I can’t- there’s no one else I want. I don’t want to find anyone, if I can’t have you I’d rather die alone. I’d do anything for you, please, let me prove it to you. I’ll give you everything I have, just say the word, I promise, Angel, please just give me another chance.”

I shake my head and back away slowly, scared and taken aback by his utter desperation. I keep an eye on him while slowly sliding my phone out of my back pocket, hoping to contact someone in case anything happens.

He catches my movements before I can even attempt to make a call and shoots forward, grabbing my wrist and pulling it away from me before taking the phone itself, “Don’t! Who are y’trying t’call? Conan? Violet? Why would you need t’call them?”

His immediate shift from pathetic and crying to sharp and interrogating had me yanking my hand away from him with such force that I stagger into the couch behind me, hitting my injured hip. I hiss and tears fill my eyes, the pain, fear, and betrayal overwhelming me.

Ren rushes to me, pulling me into his arms, “Angel! You’re hurt, you can’t be making sharp movements like that.”

I shake uncontrollably, feeling utterly trapped as I push back against his chest to no avail, “Then let me go!”

He tightens his grip, “You keep running away! I have to show you, I can be everything you’ll ever need, I swear.”

I struggle harder, “I don’t want you too! I don’t even know who you are!”

He freezes, “What do you mean? I’m Ren, your boyfriend.”

I let out a sob, “We both know that’s not true; I saw you! I know it was you that night Ren, you just murdered someone in cold blood! How would I know what else you’re capable of?”

He holds me tighter, “Angel, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but you need to stop struggling, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

I wrench myself away from him, but I can tell I only succeed because he lets me, “No, you need to let me go.”

He looks betrayed, “I already did!”

I shake my head, moving to the other side of the room. He follows me, but at least stays just out of reach. I protest, “No, not just physically, this obsession, it’s not healthy. You need to leave me. Like I said, find somebody else.”

His eyes flash, “Like I said, I don’t want anyone else.”

I snap, “Well you’re going to need to, because I’m not dating someone I don’t know! I’m not staying with a murderer!”

He gestures for me to calm down, which automatically enrages me, but I stay quiet as he speaks, “Angel, you went through something extremely traumatic, I know everything’s muddled right now, but I can help you. I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m not the one who attacked you, I’m just Ren .”

I straighten my stance, no longer cowering, “You’re not the one who attacked me, you’re the one who killed the attacker like it was your average Tuesday night! And you specifically went out of your way to hide it was you, so you can’t just act dumb, it was intentional and planned!”

A thought comes to mind and I speak slowly, not believing it at first, “Did you- did you hire that man? What were you going to do with me? Were you just going to show off, but went too far or were you actually working with him and whatever disgusting plan he had?”

Ren looks disgusted and horrified at the suggestion, “Angel, can you even hear yourself? That’s crazy! Why would I hire someone to hurt you? And if I had, why would I have killed him? That doesn’t make any sense! Your mind is playing tricks on you, trying to make sense of what happened.” His voice softens and he looks at me sympathetically, “Because it shouldn’t have happened, there is no excuse for those men’s behavior, and you never should have been targeted.”

I squint, “What do you mean, ‘men’? There was only one man that targeted me.”

Ren’s face is full of saccharine sorrow as he says, “See Angel, you’re already twisting what happened, there were two men that night, one killed the other, remember? That’s what it said on the news.”

I lower my head, looking at him skeptically, “Yeah, only one of them targeted me. The other seemed concerned for my safety, six foot five with pink hair and a ring on his left ring finger. So who else was ‘targeting’ me? And how do you know about it?”

Ren attempts to put a comforting hand on my shoulder, but I smack his hand away, rather harder than necessary, but he kinda deserved it, “Don’t touch me.”

He raises his hands, “Sorry, I- I just misspoke I guess, I assumed they were both targeting you from the sound of things.”

I huff, “I don’t believe you. And since when could you speak Japanese?”

He throws his hands in the air, “I can’t! See, I don’t even know Japanese, how could I be the killer?”

I look him dead in the eye, “What would Japanese have to do with the killer?”

He sputters, “W- W- What do you mean? You just said-!”

I glare, “I never said the killer spoke Japanese, nor did I tell the ambulance workers or police. Only the people who were there knew.”

I see his eyes widen and a fond smile flit across his face before it’s replaced by confusion again, “But- that’s obviously what you were implying! I don’t have any secret insider knowledge, Angel, I think you’re just paranoid.”

I am immediately brought back to the alleyway, with the drunken man staggering toward me, “I’m not gonna hurt ya, stop being so paranoid.”

I grasp around for any sort of weapon, settling on the fire poker right behind me and leveling it at Ren, “That’s exactly what he said. You know what the next thing he did was?”

Ren backs a step away, “Angel, I’m not going to hurt you, I don’t have a knife.”

I start laughing, tears streaming down my face and no mirth in my voice, “History really does repeat itself, huh?” My voice drops to an emphatic hiss, “I’m not going to let that happen this time.”

Ren backs further away and sits down with his hands open and facing me cursing, “Shit Angel, m’really sorry, I didn’t mean- fuck I keep choosing m’words poorly, I’m sorry, I really am. I- I’m not like the guy that attacked you at all. I swear. You’re…. you’re right, I was the guy that killed him, but I didn’t know what else to do, I had to protect you, you don’t understand!”

I keep the poker directed at him, “I appreciate the truth, but I’d like some more of it. Because what you didn’t have to do was be there, dressed all in black like a creeper and with a whole fucking sledgehammer. That’s the part I don’t understand.”

His eyes dart around as he thinks before speaking, “I was… I followed you, I’m sorry, I didn’t trust Teo to keep track of you and make sure you were safe. You’re not used to bars, someone could have spiked your drink, and they did! There were three of them, clearly used to this routine. One of them distracted you while the other spiked your drink, and the third one waited outside for you. That’s why I was late, I had t’deal with the other guys first, ‘cause they were gonna bring a car around.”

My head spins from this new information, “Wait- what? What do you mean, ‘deal with’? There were three- I was drugged?! No I wasn’t.” I think back to the night but don’t remember any such ill effects.

Ren shakes his head, “No, you weren’t, because I switched your drinks when he wasn’t looking, the fu-, I mean, the guy drugged himself. I just had to make sure the other one couldn’t drive the car.”

I chew on my lip nervously, “And how did you do that?”

He mirrors my action, probably subconsciously, “Th- the point is that I’d never hurt you, Angel. Please believe me.”

I shake my head, “As much as I’d like to believe you Ren, if that’s even your real name, I can’t risk it, there’s too many things about you that don’t add up.”

Ren leans forward earnestly, “Angel-”

I hiss, “Shut up! I’m done listening to you, get out of my house! You said you’d do anything for me, so leave!” I level the poker at him again.

He shakes his head and stands, genuine pain in his voice as he says, “I’m sorry, Angel, that’s the one thing I can’t do. I can’t live without you, not again, not after I finally got you back.”

My hands shake, “Stay away from me!”

Ren only moves closer to me, each step deliberate and calculated, but I can hear the desperation and helplessness in his voice when he responds, “I can’t.”

He’s so close now that the poker is resting on his chest, right above his heart. I try to keep my hand steady, but as my eyes flit between his eyes and his chest, I realize I wouldn’t be able to actually stab him. He seems to realize this too, or maybe he just doesn’t care as he continues to step forward.

My voice shakes, considerably quieter this time, “Stop Ren, or I swear to god I’ll drive this right through your heart.”

That look. That damn look. His eyes are full of adoration as he continues toward me, my hands now pushed back to my own chest, “No, you won’t.”

My eyes fill with tears as he backs me into a corner. When I see blood stain his cardigan, I immediately drop the poker, instead dashing to the side, hoping to make it to my door. But I never even make it close as Ren easily intercepts me, pulling my back flush against his chest as his arms restrain mine.

He murmurs apologies in my ear as he keeps me from moving with just one arm and grabs something from his bag with another. To my horror, he puts a mask over my nose and mouth, the same used to deliver nitrous oxide during surgery. But I’d had laughing gas before, and that was not whatever sweet-smelling gas was flowing through this. I try to question him, fighting twice as hard to free my face, but there was nowhere to go.

I vaguely hear his broken voice as I rapidly lose consciousness, “I’m so sorry Angel, I didn’t want it to be this way. It’s sevoflurane and nitrous oxide, it’s the safest option I could find, I’m sorry. I promise you’ll be okay, I’d never hurt you…”