The kiss was a cover, right ?
Warning: Fem! Reader, Fake Marriage / Undercover Mission, Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Sexual Tension, Suggestive Content / Heavy Making Out, Mature Themes, Violence Mentioned (Assassins, Missions, Guns implied), Swearing / Strong Language, Chuuya Being Possessive
Mature – Contains heavy romantic tension, suggestive physical content, and implied violence. No explicit smut, but strong intimacy and language.
The ballroom glowed with decadent golds and crystal whites, music swirling from the grand piano in the center like perfume in the air. Laughter bubbled like champagne flutes, swirling around silk dresses and men in pressed suits. And through the crowd, you moved gracefully, your arm looped through Chuuya Nakahara’s, the faintest of smiles tugging on your lips, perfectly faked.
He leaned in, murmuring low against your ear, voice coated in faux fondness for anyone watching:
“If you step on my foot again, I swear I’ll make you regret choosing stilettos.”
You turned your head, eyelashes fluttering like you’d just been complimented, lips barely moving as you hissed back:
“If you keep breathing down my neck, they’ll think you’re obsessed. Try to act like you don’t hate me.”
His smirk was sharp. “Not possible, doll.”
You smiled wider, teeth gleaming, and leaned closer just to keep up appearances.
“Shut up and walk like you’re in love with me.”
You’d been through countless missions with Chuuya. You’d been shot at beside him, argued in blood-soaked alleys, patched each other up with half-hearted gratitude, and always always, ended up shouting at each other before anything close to a thank you was said. But this was different. This mission wasn’t just danger. It was silk, closeness, and the unbearable heat of proximity. Of pretending.
And now the two of you had slipped away from the crowd, down a velvet-lined corridor toward the suspected storage room. The door was locked, of course it was, and you were crouched down in front of it, dress bunched around your thighs, fingers working bobby pins into the lock.
“Any day now,” Chuuya muttered from behind you, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. His voice was low but annoyed, laced with that usual fire. “You break necks faster than you break locks.”
You didn’t even look at him. “Do you want to do it in this dress, dear husband, or do you want to let me work?”
He scoffed. “I’d do it faster.”
“Yeah? Then shut up and be the lookout.”
He opened his mouth to retort—but that’s when he heard it.
Footsteps.
Multiple. Approaching fast.
Chuuya’s head snapped toward the hallway’s curve. Whoever it was, they were too close. If they saw you crouched at the door, the cover would be blown. No time to explain. No time to drag you away.
So he did the only thing he could.
In one swift motion, Chuuya grabbed your wrist and pulled you up. You gasped, your bobby pins clattering to the floor, the lock still unpicked. Your back hit the wall with a soft thud, your mouth parting in protest just as he crushed his lips against yours.
And kissed you.
Hard.
His gloved hand cupped the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as if he owned you. The other pressed to your waist, pulling you into him like he was shielding you- no, like he was claiming you.
You stiffened for half a second, shock crackling down your spine.
But then—
Your hands tangled in his jacket. Your mouth opened beneath his. You kissed him back, angry, breathless, like you’d been waiting for an excuse to do it for years and you weren’t going to waste a second of it.
The footsteps grew louder. Slowed.
Two guards rounded the corner.
Chuuya’s hand slid down to your waist, drawing you even closer. Your leg lifted slightly from the slit in your dress, brushing against his hip. His lips moved over yours again, slower this time, deeper, like he didn’t even care who was watching anymore.
One of the guards groaned and muttered with distaste,
“Newlyweds. Gross.”
The footsteps retreated. They were gone.
But neither of you moved.
Not when the guards disappeared, not when the hallway fell quiet again, not even when the threat had passed, the kiss didn’t end.
It only deepened, his mouth pressing harder against yours, your fingers fisting in his coat like you needed him to keep you standing. The world narrowed to heat and friction, to the silent, reckless language of lips and hands that had no business lingering this long.
It wasn’t for show anymore.
They didn’t stop until the burn in their lungs made it impossible to keep going.
Even then, they pulled away slowly, reluctantly, breathless and dazed, like surfacing from a dream neither wanted to end.
And when their eyes met again, everything unspoken screamed louder than words ever could.
Chuuya’s forehead pressed against yours, breath heavy, the warmth of his body caging you in. Your fingers still gripped his lapels, his thigh settled between your legs. His hand had found the bare skin of your thigh through the slit in your gown, and neither of you were thinking about the mission anymore.
Your noses brushed.
“You could’ve warned me,” you whispered breathlessly.
“I did,” he said, smirking faintly. “Told you to hurry up.”
You exhaled a shaky laugh, but it was heavy with something else.
Heat.
Want.
His hand didn’t leave your leg. In fact, his thumb stroked slowly over your skin, sending goosebumps spiraling down your spine.
“You kissed me like you meant it,” you said, voice quiet. Uncertain.
He didn’t deny it.
Instead, Chuuya leaned in again, lips brushing your jaw, and muttered:
“Maybe I fucking did.”
You froze.
So did he.
Something between you cracked open. No masks. No pretending.
Just raw, heavy tension and the truth buried under years of insults and close calls.
“I should go back to the door,” you whispered.
He didn’t move. “You should.”
Neither of you moved.
And then his hand still on your leg, slid higher. Dangerous. Possessive. His body pressed flush against yours, and you were suddenly very aware of the hardness pressing against your core. Your stomach clenched.
He tilted your chin toward him. “Unless you want to stay here a little longer, Mrs. Nakahara.”
You bit your lip. “You’re impossible.”
“You like it.”
You did. God, you did.
And you hated that you couldn’t stop looking at his mouth. Or the way he looked at you now, like the fight was over. Like he’d already won.
You turned back toward the door. “We’ll talk about that kiss later.”
He gave a sharp laugh. “Yeah? I’m counting on it.”
And as you crouched again, this time unlocking the door with trembling fingers and his body heat still clinging to yours, you knew one thing:
You were in way deeper than this mission ever planned for.
