Touch Me Not || Chūya × Fem!Reader

-15

Clammy fingers gripped tighter and moistened more on the telephone's handset the longer she waited for the receiver to pick up. As anxiety found home in the base her stomach, she tolerated the urge to vomit it out.

"...hello? Who's--"

The sentence remained an unfinished clause. At the moment of a breath's relief did a long, relatively thin albeit detrimental blade strike the payphone's compartment door, proceeding to glide in slant motion and slice through the door's steel constitution - which therefore caused her to drop the handset, leaving it hanging by the wire. (Y/n) felt the tip of the katana in a scarce contact with the back of her midriff; blood dotted out on her skin, absorbed abhorrently by the fabric of her top.

"Ah," the perpetrator frowned, "I've failed to uphold a promise," her voice graced (y/n)'s ears with supreme condescendence.

When the detective felt the sword's retreat, with frozen panic and bated breath, she turned to her back only for a kimono-donned phantom to appear on her own perception. Several meters behind it stood in lithe disposition a woman perhaps a few years older than her.

"Chūya told me not to inflict unnecessary injury." She continued. "But violence is means of business if it is to get what is needed. In this case, what is needed is you."

Of the formation of anxiety housing on the pit of her stomach, it stilled in place and tied her breath down from surfacing her airway like rocks submerged underneath the ocean. However dreadful the entire situation was to her, she detested submission, and estranged the foreboding fear had she failed to overcome this dire predicament.

"Has Chūya sent you?" (Y/n) cautiously asked.

The Geisha-inspired woman grinned malevolently. "He's sent me and no one else. Render yourself lucky, girl, because that just means he acknowledges what you're capable of."

The ability phantom vanished at once. The tall woman sauntered over to the girl who clearly had found herself unable move, and upon being beside stances with her, she pushed the detective from the back and towards the limousine in surrounding of Port Mafia subordinates.

"You've no idea how mad he is," (y/n) hissed in contempt.

"Oh, I have." Replied the woman, smirking derisively. "Perhaps you've just not the slightest idea of who I am."

She didn't wish to know her name. More would she be discouraged to escape if this auburn-haired girl happened to be a high-classed criminal ability user. A member of the mafia, doubtlessly - if the men in business suits weren't enough to provide evidence, then her recent words certainly would; she knew Chūya well enough to abide by his request of bringing (y/n) back.

Quickly, said she to herself, quickly, find a route of escape, because in no way was she coming back to his unit, where he would most likely do something worse than simply pinning her down to his bed or sleeping with her as she laid barely clothed without consent of doing so.

It was in the spur of the moment when she thought of an attempt as one of the subordinates pulled the limousine door open. Stupid and utterly illogical, indeed, but at that second, it was the only possible movement that could lead to her liberation.

With more than a half of her system supported by adrenaline, she grabbed the wrist of the man whose hapless hand was the one to open the car's door for the women to come inside, and, suspending it midair, she slammed the car door shut, thus terribly injuring his hand.

Amid the horror of the man's scream, his handgun was snatched in an abrupt albeit apprehensive motion, and before the executive took initiative to halt her actions with Golden Demon, (y/n) blindly shot, favorably enough grazing the older woman's wrist with a bullet - the latter hissed in lucid distress.

Her subordinates, in abrupt retaliation for inflicting harm to their superior, brought their guns in readying position - only to halt when the detective buried the muzzle on her very own temple.

This was not any ordinary task, Kouyou supposed. She had heeded Chūya's warning with casual acknowledgement, but an occurrence to this extent was in none of her expectations.

"You're a formidable one, girl." Commended the light scarlet-haired executive, ignoring with profound endurance the gash on her arm. "Are you a member of the Armed Detective Agency?"

The detective's silence was in lieu of an expected answer; she refused to disclose any further information that would support the telltales of her whereabouts. Instead, she raised her gun higher.

“Chūya wouldn't be so pleased with a corpse for a lover, would he?"

Kouyou glowered. "You would not do that."

"Try me."

It was a split-second thereafter when such tenacity of wind threw her off of her stance that came along with the shake of ground - and she would have regarded it an earthquake had there been no vermillion-outlined debris lifting from the sudden crevices on the concrete instated by the pressure of a supernatural ability.

And then there he stood - Chūya, with his petite albeit domineering frame - several meters at a distance from her, yet only a fraction of a second's glance on his ocean eyes ablaze and she felt as though his skin against hers was only a hair's breadth away. In the terror of seeing him over again, she thrusted the gun back into her temple, index shaking in panic-stricken anxiety against the trigger over the aching reality that she had to choose between ending her own ingenuous life or facing an over-obsessive gravity manipulator whose conscience had been obscured (more so driven) by the whims of love.

Her finger, breaking faith with her own will to live, pushed to click on the trigger, and although there felt a minor sense of gratitude and relief when the digit refused to budge, her heart caved in on dread when the male executive began advancing to her with heavy, solid steps, having left a trail of dents on the concrete beneath where he treaded.

"(Y/n)." He stated, the last syllable of her name emitting out of his throat in a guttural pitch.

The pain of having to go against gravity forced a quick whimper out of her lips, and her jaw clenched tenaciously when she was brought down to her knees. Gloved fingers lifted her chin to face the perpetrator of her despair, and upon gaining eye contact, she broke ineluctably into mad tears.

"No," she said, sotto voce, "why would you do this?"

"You'd know if you actually came to love me." Replied Chūya, grief and anger evidently intermingling in his voice vibrating in air, and had there not been the noise of breaking cement and gravitational force then she would have lucidly caught up to it. "Every minute feels like hell without you."

The last of her field of vision was that of the woman with scarlet-hued hair who victoriously leered at her with a deep level of condescendence, before a brief, excruciating pain on her neck led to an instant collapse of her person.