#Y'know that thing where two rats are standing up and like having a slap fight?

[somegrumpynerd]

A lil doodle of the boys as rats from @thebad-lydrawn-sanses

[after-witch]

A Private Cell (Yandere FF7 Reno x Reader)

Title: A Private Cell (Yandere Reno x Reader)

Synopsis:  @damtoti​ said: Can I request FF7 Reno with reader as his prisoner? 

Word Count: 1600ish

notes: yandere, violence

The handcuffs bite into your wrists so tightly that you think you’re losing feeling in your hands. You can't tell if they lack circulation or if the tingling feeling is just a by-product of your hands being tightly kept behind your back for hours and hours. There's no mirror in whatever room he dragged you into, but you know there's a bruise blooming on your jaw. You can still move it, so it's not broken, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell.

You've never been arrested before. You never even got in trouble at school. Though, you realize, you weren't exactly arrested. You weren't taken into custody during daylight hours by officials who escorted you into a precinct or tossed you in a jail cell stuffed with offenders. 

You were grabbed after you locked up the shop, after you stepped into the alley on the way home.  You struggled and screamed at your attacker, all flashes of red and white and black, but a good sucker punch and a bag over your head took care of things as your vision went fuzzy and finally black.

The next thing you remember, well: you're here. Sitting on a wobbly metal chair with your hands tightly cuffed behind your back. The room is dimly lit by overhead lights and the only thing remarkable about it are the occasional dots of rusty looking stains that make you shiver.

You don't contemplate these stains for much longer, because the metal door to the room screeches open and in saunters the man who punched you in the jaw. His vibrant red hair stands out even in the dim light of the room, but it's his clothing that stands out the most. It looks... expensive. Not flashy-expensive, not gold chains and black market furs, but tailored. Professional. It makes your stomach twist into knots. You've heard of... special forces, before, of groups that do the dirty work for Shinra and do it very well. You don't know if he's part of that, but he's part of something. What the hell does something like this want with you, of all people?

He grabs a chair from the corner and pulls it--the scraping of metal-on-concrete has never been so loud--until it's a few feet away from you. He flips it around and sits himself down, leaning his elbow casually on the back of the chair.

"Hope you're comfy." It's sarcasm, but the way he says it so conversationally makes you wish you could throw a punch. "Let's get this out of the way. You're... you. You're (Y/N). I'm Reno, and that's all you need to know for now."

You lick your lips, dry from the cold air, and start to ask a question--How do you know my name?--but he raises a partially gloved hand to silence you. 

"Up-up, I'll do the talkin' for now. Lemme be straight with you, (Y/N), because I don't have time for games and I can tell you’re a real honest person, right? Fess up, and I'll put in a good word for ya. Be stubborn and, well." He scratches his chin and shrugs, as if he really doesn't want to consider the idea of you being "stubborn," whatever that meant. “Best to be honest.”

He rests his chin back in his hands and stares at you. You don’t like his gaze.  You don’t like the way his gaze seems... familiar, like he’s seen you before and knows what you might say.

But he just keeps staring and it’s your turn to talk, you guess.

"I..." your voice is unavoidably scratchy, and you do your best to clear it before you continue. "I don't understand what's going on. I didn't do anything."

He stares at you. And then he yawns. Slow, deliberate and annoyingly condescending. 

"Yeah yeah, I've heard that one before." He shakes his head and the acting is so good that you might almost believe that he feels sorry for you. "I'm offerin' you a great deal here, (Y/N). We don't usually do that, y'know?"

You can feel tears beginning to well up. Your hands are buzzing in numb, brittle pain and even the slightest shift of your wrist sends bolts of sharp pain up to your elbows. You’re in way over your head, and you don’t even know why.

"Listen, Reno," you say his name, then wonder if you should have said it from the way his face seems to animate at your words. Whether or not he's mad or surprised is difficult to gauge, and you don't have the mental energy to try. "I swear I don't know what you think I did. I'm not... I'm not that type of person, I don't get into trouble like this."

He stands up and in a swift sudden movement, pivots the chair around. The noise makes you jerk and you can only stare as he pulls the chair closer, this time leaning in towards you. It's an uncomfortable mixture of intimate and intimidating, and he seems to know it. He has a soft smile on his face, almost friendly, almost kind. He wants you to trust him so badly. 

"The boss doesn't have me pick up randos for no reason. C'mon, just own up to it, and this'll be over soon." He opens his arms up, a placating gesture. You stare at his hands, palm-up, and wonder if he's killed people with them. If he'll kill you.

When you don't speak up--you can't, you reason, you really can't when you have nothing to confess--he sighs, languid and deceptively mundane. He pulls something out of his pocket and whips it to the side. It's a baton. You imagine him bashing it into your skull and your heart starts to race. He presses a button, and it sizzles. Ah, it's a taser, too. You don't have experience with being electrocuted but that doesn't stop your entire body from trembling. Pain shoots up your elbows as your wrists shake of their own volition.

He steps closer, and you wince instinctively and all you can think about is how much this is going to hurt. He presses that button again but before he can swing, you cry out: "Wait! Wait!"

He pauses. Mercifully. The crackling electricity is gone as he slings the baton, resting it on his shoulder. He raises his eyebrows. Well?

You feel your shoulders slump. You have to tell him something. Something that will make him think you're admitting... whatever it is they think you did. They must have the wrong person. You can sort that out later, though, when you're not being threatened with a weapon and an electrical current.

"I--I sometimes sell things." He stares. You continue. "I mean, I sometimes sell things... under the table? Things I shouldn't be selling?"

He slowly sits himself back down on the chair and it's all you can do not to cry in relief. He resumes a casual stance that would feel less intimidating if you weren’t tied up and fighting back tears. 

"Tell me more, (Y/N). Who do you sell to?"

You are a terrible liar. You know this, and he might be able to see it. So you half-close your eyes and glance to the side and try your best to look ashamed.

"They... said they work out of Wall Market."

"Ohh." Reno lifts his chin back a little, as if he's realized what type of person you are and what you do, and now you feel real shame heating your cheeks. You would never associate with Wall Market, not if you could help it. You were luckier than most to be able to avoid blackmail and seedy deals.

"So," he says, leaning forward with determination. "Tell me their name."

You freeze. You don't have a name to give. You can't give a fake name. And you can't give a real name, either, because then you'll be implicated and if it ever got back to the real person, you can bet they won't be merciful for you ratting them out. Especially ratting them out for a fake black market transaction that never happened.

"I..." You swallow. Your throat feels prickly. “I can’t say.” 

Wrong answer, you think. Wrong wrong answer. He shakes his head and tuts and slaps a hand on his thigh before standing up. He towers over you and you brace yourself for the baton and the electricity and wonder if you should just shout out a name before he can get a good whack at you.

Instead, he walks behind you and fiddles with your too-tight handcuffs. They fall off your wrists and their sudden loss returns the circulation with an agonizing rush. You cry out and he begins massaging your tortured wrists. The gesture feels strangely intimate and you can’t help but think of his baton and the taser and the bruise on your jaw.

"Yeah, that'll happen if they’re on too long." You don't have time to think of a reply before he continues, still softly massaging your aching wrists. "Tell you what. We'll continue our little... discussion tomorrow, yeah? And in the meantime.."

He tightens a different pair of cuffs around your wrists. They're snug and firm but lined with something that keeps them from making you wince, at least.

"I don't trust these other guys to be alone with a... pretty thing like you, y'know? I took you in, so I’m responsible for you until you ‘fess up everything."

He pushes you forward as the metal door is opened from the outside. You glance at the guards on either side of the door, but you know they wouldn’t help you. Especially when you’re flanked by someone who is probably their superior.

“Where… are we going?” You ask. Your voice echoes a little in the poorly lit hallway, muffled by two pairs of footsteps as you’re shuffled along, an unwilling prisoner. 

“Told ya,” he says, winding one of his arms around your bound elbows and tugging you closer to his back. “You’re in my custody now.”