Touch Me Not || Chūya × Fem!Reader

-10

"No."

It took a little while for Chūya to process what she had deadpanned. "...what?"

"I'm not trying them out." She restated, facing him with defiance in spite of the protruding trepidation to his response. "This is getting out of hand, Chūya."

Whether she was referring to his drastic change of personality (not quite; he had been romantic before, only this time was he using deliberate force) or unanticipated desire to overindulge her with exorbitant clothes, his actions never justified a purpose for doing so. Her time alone was spent contemplating strategies to make him confess a reason for confining her in his quarters; still, there came this feeling of impuissance in his presence that had her words paralyzed on the base of her throat.

Chūya spoke not a word, the slight tip of his hat creating a shade overlapping the vitreous luster of his irises. She took the opportunity to walk back to the bathroom in order to escape his eyes athirst over her dripping body.

At the moment of standing up did he decide cause a swift motion of pinning her back to the bed, hands situated on each side of her frame as her arms, by instinct, contracted onto her chest to prevent the loosening of the towel.

"Chūya!" She exclaimed, looking at him with immediate apprehension.

"Calling out my name like that... how could I resist?" He said hoarsely, though the irritation didn't quite leave his tone. "But you're getting on my nerves now, love. Should I remind you that I'm a part of the mafia? I could do anything to you while treating your consent like shit, and laws don't apply to me so filing a report is useless; hell, you won't even get a chance to do that. You don't want to test my patience, do you?"

"You..." she said softly - a great contrast to her challenging tone a few moments ago - restraining the tears that had edged on the rim of her eyes as a product of his words. There emerged the primal fear that she had failed to take note of from the very beginning.

The very beginning; what was?

The confusion began from when she had woken up in his bed. Had it been from the moment her squiffed disposition decided to sleep with him? Perhaps when she had resolved to visit him instead of going straight to the police department - indeed, that must be it, if only she had felt the distinct paranoia that she could comprehend to be a work of her instinct. Had this been a long-term ultimatum of his; to hold her captive as an allegory of his supposed love, rendering her submissive to whatever he would want her to do by threatening her with his mafia affiliation?

"You promise not to incorporate your job in our relationship as friends."

"We're not fucking friends!"

He ripped her arms off her chest with startling motion. The towel came undone, and all it took for a full display of her bosoms was a diminutive movement from her person, lest he removes the fabric himself.

But repulsion seemed to have blinded his sight from the view of her décolletage. He remained in an unwavering visual contact with her, as she put up the effort not to break it. Soon enough, due to the overwhelming combination of frustration, fear, and disarray, thin tears dripped down from her outer Vs - this placed him out of his mad reverie.

"Stop this..." shakily replied the detective, "please. I-- I don't feel safe with you anymore. Chūya, please stop."

A profound wave of guilt came crashing down him as his brows furrowed in visible bitterness from his own actions that he had left unattended. Quickly, his hand ungripped her arms and raised to her face in an attempt to wipe off the tears, and his heart clenched in great remorse when she flinched involuntarily.

But she was still so stubborn with the situation, and he had given enough affection that lasted his patience.

"I'm sorry, (y/n)." He whispered, leaning down to press his forehead against hers; the tenderest touch that night by far. "You just don't listen. How many times do I need to say I love you to make things clear? I love you, you belong to me, and this body..." the convenient hand skimmed down to the side of her stomach and held the part soothingly, "is mine."

His eyes drifted across the enticing exhibit of her skin, before he took himself off of her, kissing her crown lightly as he handed the bag of lingerie.

"So try these out, alright?"

▪︎▪︎▪︎

Insecurity had never been much apparent up until the present moment - not due to her body, but rather to the exposure of it to the executive as he sat on the sheets with dire anticipation. Upon recognizing her reticent inclination, a fraction of his pent-up disposition alleviated, much to his relief.

Conversely, this had only aggravated her further, though she knew that going against his intents would only give him incentive to hurt her; scarcely, indeed, nonetheless there was the act. She wore the pair that she figured was the most modest among the others, which was coincidentally that of the color she favored.

She refused the intimacy of their eyes, so he initiated physicality instead. He gestured for her to close in on him, and once she did, he pulled her by the waist and hoisted one knee beside his form, therefore leading her to situate her hands on his shoulders for balance.

"It wasn't so hard now, was it?" He questioned with excessive complacency, nearly as if he intended to deride her terror a few moments ago.

Her lack of response vexed him, yet he supposed that kind of temperament was enough for the evening. He tugged her mildly, keeping her flushed against his chest as he laid down the bed; she held her breath all the while. His fedora fell off as result of neglecting to remove it prior, but paying no attention to it clearly gave the fact that it was no longer his primary concern.

"I love you, (y/n)." He reiterated in a whisper. She could practically grow sick at his endless proclamation of loving her, though her blood ran cold upon perceiving his following words: "I don't think I'll ever let you go."