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The air was heavy with smoke and sweat, the aftermath of yet another night you weren’t supposed to have. Sheets tangled at your hips and skin still buzzing, you leaned on your side with one palm braced against your temple, the other lazily bringing a cigarette to your lips. Ash flicked into the tray balanced on the bedside table, the room faintly glowing from the ember between your fingers.
Beside you, Naoya sat propped against the headboard, bare chest streaked with shadow and a cigarette dangling from his lips like it was second nature. He hadn’t even bothered fixing the mess you made of his hair.
The ringtone cut through the haze. He cursed under his breath, plucking the phone off the nightstand. A beat of silence then his voice, flat but tight.
“Who the fuck calls this late- WHAT?! Now?” His jaw flexed as he listened, the cigarette trembling just slightly at the corner of his mouth.
You took a slow drag from your cigarette, eyes fixed on him rather than the smoke curling past your lips. The phone was pressed to his ear, his tone sharp but it wasn’t the words you paid attention to. It was him, Naoya.
Half bathed in moonlight leaking through the thin curtains, shadows cutting along his jaw and collarbone. Even pissed off, he looked untouchable like the kind of man who shouldn’t ever be caught like this, bare skin against tangled sheets and your scent still clinging to him.
And yet here he was.
Beside you.
When Naoya ended the call, the dull thud of his phone against the nightstand seemed louder than it should’ve in the stillness of the room. He set it aside, the muscles in his jaw ticking, his eyes narrowed like the weight of the world had just landed on his shoulders.
Smoke curled from the half burned cigarette still hanging from his lips, but he wasn’t really smoking it anymore, just clenching it there, pissed. With a low exhale, he dragged a hand down his face, fingers pressing into his temples in frustration before muttering under his breath, “Tch… I’m fucked.”
“That doesn’t look good,” you said finally, your voice breaking the silence. The comment was light and supposed to be teasing but your eyes lingered on his face, reading him in ways you knew he hated being read.
He didn’t answer. Just leaned his head back against the headboard, taking a long drag from his cigarette before exhaling smoke toward the ceiling.
That silence was answer enough.
You sighed, extinguished your own cigarette in the tray with a sharp twist then pushed your share of the blanket aside. The sheets whispered against your skin as you shifted, crawling across the small stretch of mattress that separated you. Each movement was deliberate, the weight of his stare following you the whole way. When you finally swung a leg over him, settling into his lap, your knees sank into the mattress on either side of his hips. He didn’t protest though his gaze flicked up at you with warning but not enough to make you stop.
Wordlessly, you plucked the cigarette from his mouth, brought it to your lips, and drew in the one last drag before snuffing it out too. Smoke left your lungs in a slow ribbon as you leaned closer, the taste of him and tobacco already mixing on your tongue.
Your hands settled on his shoulders, grounding him and grounding yourself. His, almost automatically found your hips, fingers flexing like he couldn’t decide whether to pull you closer or push you away.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” Naoya muttered, voice rough and low almost lost in the distance between you.
You huffed out a laugh, mocking but soft, trying to chip away at the heaviness hanging over him. “Yeah, like we ever actually listened to ourselves.”
That earned you a look caught somewhere between frustration and want, the kind of look he only ever gave you. His hands had stilled at your sides, palms still pressed warm against you but no longer stroking, just holding you there like he couldn’t decide what's battling inside his head.
Your hand rose to his face, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing lightly along the edge of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your palm, kind of like tense yet he still leaned into the touch.
When your lips met his, it was slow, soothing and almost tender. A kiss meant not to ignite but to steady and to remind. His hands slipped from your sides back to your hips, the weight of his touch changing, no longer heavy with distraction like he’d let the call slip from his mind and found his way back to the night with you.
Little did he know, while you both sank deeper into the kiss, mouths moving slow and unhurried as if the world had fallen away, your free hand was already slipping behind the headboard, fingers brushing wood before closing around the cold weight of steel hidden there.
And little did you know, at that very same moment while one hand remained firm on your hips, grounding you in the heat of the kiss, the other slipped lower with practiced ease curling around the familiar grip of the pistol hidden beneath the bed frame.
It all happened too fast.
Too instinctive.
When your lips finally parted, when the haze of smoke and heat gave way to breath, you both knew.
Click.
In one heartbeat, you had the barrel of your gun pressed against his temple and your other arm splayed across his collarbone to keep him caged where he sat. His breath hitched sharp though his eyes narrowed.
At the very same time, his weapon dug mercilessly beneath your jawline, the steel pressing into delicate skin. His other hand fisted the back of your neck shoving you down against the barrel, forcing you to feel just how close he was to ending it.
The room was suffocating with smoke, sweat, and the scent of betrayal.
You were so close your noses nearly brushed, so close your breath mingled. The intimacy of a kiss hadn’t faded but only shifted, now a ghost replaced with the threat of pulling the trigger.
Your pulse thundered.
His grip on you tightened.
And the cruelest part of it all? Neither of you pulled away.
── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──
YOUR POV
You’ve always known.
The Kamo Clan and the Zen’In Clan were oil and fire, never meant to mix, always meant to burn.
Rivals for generations, tangled in blood feuds and power plays. It was never just about strength, it was about legacy, dominance, and proving which clan would stand on top even if it meant cutting throats in the dark.
You’d grown up with that knowledge carved into your bones.
“Never trust a Zen’In,” they told you.
“Never fall for their tricks.” Every lesson, every mission drilled the same rule: they are the enemy.
You weren’t dumb.
You knew what it meant when you first crossed paths with Naoya Zen’In.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
He was supposed to be just another target, just another watchful pair of eyes you had to outmaneuver. You were supposed to spy on each other, play nice, feed off deception. Smile at the right moments, lie through your teeth, keep the enemy close enough to bleed but never close enough to matter.
And yet, somehow, it persisted.
The lies blurred, the games twisted. Nights stretched longer, conversations slipped from calculated to careless, and before you realized it, Naoya Zen’In had found his way onto your bed.
Into your veins.
Into that part of you that knew better but didn’t care.
It wasn’t meant to be love. It was supposed to be strategy. Yet when his hand lingered on your skin a moment too long, when his voice softened into something not meant for anyone else, you let it happen.
Again and again.
Night after night.
You remember one evening, smoke curling between you two in the cramped interior of his convertible parked somewhere no one would think to look. He had laughed at something you said, something stupid and something meaningless, but you’d never heard his laugh sound that way before.
Naoya leaned back in the driver’s seat, a smirk tugging at his lips, though his eyes stayed sharp. "What the hell are we even doing? We're so fucked."
You didn’t gave him the chance to talk further. Instead, you pushed forward, shifting from the passenger side and swinging one leg over until you were straddling him in the driver’s seat. His breath hitched, his hands instinctively catching at your hips as if to steady you though his eyes betrayed more than just caution.
You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear as your smirk widened. “Keep your enemies close, that’s what they say right?”
Enemies.
Lovers.
Both truths gnawed at you, feeding on the secret you carried every time you let him touch you.
You’ve always known.
You weren’t supposed to fall in love with the enemy.
And yet, you did.
For a while, you thought things were finally looking better.
The clan had been quiet, too quiet, maybe but you let yourself believe it was a good sign. Nobody asked questions about where you’d been slipping off to, nobody pressed you too hard on your reports. You thought maybe, just maybe, they were letting you breathe. Letting you live.
You should’ve known better.
It was never that simple.
The summons came without warning, a message delivered sharp and cold, commanding your presence. You’d walked into the room expecting another assignment, another name on a sheet of paper, another faceless job to carry out with the same efficiency as always.
But the moment your eyes scanned the order, your breath stopped in your throat.
Naoya Zen’In.
The name burned like fire on the page.
For a second, the world tilted. The air left your lungs, and your hands trembled even though you forced them still. They were watching you, always watching but all you could hear was the faint echo of his voice in your head, lazy and mocking from nights past.
"What the hell are we even doing? We're so fucked."
You almost laughed, bitter and broken because of course this was how it had to go. You’d been fooling yourself thinking you were untouchable, that you could carve out a place with him that existed outside the clans’ bloodstained games.
But fate didn’t bend, not for you, not for him.
And as you folded the paper neatly, tucking it away, you felt your heart crack against the steel you were forced to wear. Slipping it into your pocket, your fingers brushed against the cold metal of the pistol hidden there, a sharp reminder of the weight you carried as you walked out of the room.
Your mission was clear: eliminate Naoya Zen’In.
And the cruelest part? You weren’t sure if you could.
── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──
NAOYA'S POV
Naoya had always known.
The Zen’In clan didn’t need to remind him who the enemies were. He’d grown up hearing it in every sneer, every story and every scar the older men carried with pride.
The Kamo clan was filth.
Liars.
Weeds choking out what little honor the Zen’In name had left.
They weren’t meant to coexist, they were meant to be crushed.
So when you came along, it was supposed to be simple. A mission, nothing more.
Spy on you, extract what he needed through deception, and move on.
Sleeping with you? That was supposed to be his advantage. An enemy’s bed was the easiest place to slit a throat, after all. You’d fall asleep, trusting, unguarded and he’d end it clean.
No fuss.
No hesitation.
At least, that’s how it played out in his head.
The first attempt came after a night that left you boneless against him, the sheets tangled at your legs. He’d watched you breathe, chest rising and falling, the curve of your lips softened in sleep. The pistol was in his hand before he realized it, barrel aimed right at your head.
His finger brushed the trigger.
And still, nothing.
He told himself he’d do it later. Another chance would come.
The second attempt was cleaner, more detached. He brewed the tea himself, slipped the powder in while you weren’t looking.
Easy, right?
You would’ve never seen it coming. But when you raised the cup to your lips, smiling absentmindedly at something he’d said, Naoya’s stomach turned. Before you could drink, he “accidentally” knocked it over, muttering a curse as the tea bled into the floorboards.
You hadn’t suspected a thing. He hated you for that. Hated himself more.
The third time, he thought distance would make it easier. A rifle, a scope, a rooftop across from the place he knew you’d be. He lined you up perfectly in his sights, your figure framed in the glass, oblivious. His pulse steadied, his breath slowed, everything drilled into him since boyhood.
And yet, the shot never came.
Naoya told himself he’d kill you eventually.
He had to.
He’d known it from the very beginning: you were the enemy. Or at least, your clan is.
But each time he tried, something stayed his hand.
Now the Zen’In clan was circling him with narrowed eyes and whispered doubts. His loyalty questioned, his resolve sneered at. He could feel their suspicion like a blade at his back, sharp and cold.
So when the order came again, there was no room left for hesitation.
He had to give it another shot.
And this time, Naoya promised himself, he wouldn’t falter no matter how painful it would be.
After all, he was the great Naoya Zen'In. Since when did he turn soft? You shouldn’t even matter to him.
── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ── ── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ──
PRESENT
“Shoot it, Zen’In.”
“Shoot it, Kamo.”
The words landed in the same breath, sharp and unflinching. Your gazes locked, neither one of you daring to blink as if a single flicker of hesitation would hand the other victory.
A challenge.
You both knew you couldn’t.
Yet, you both knew you should.
Logic demanded it, bloodlines demanded it, everything in your nature screamed for it.
So why wasn’t anyone moving? Why did the air feel too thick, the trigger too heavy, and the silence between you louder than the war around you?
Naoya’s grip on your nape tightened, fingers digging in just enough to remind you who was in control. The barrel of his pistol slid from your jaw to the underside of your chin, tilting your head back with the subtle threat of steel.
“I'd hate to ruin this pretty face,” he drawled, voice low, almost amused yet his eyes gave away the sharp edge of restraint.
You only smirked, the defiance bubbling up despite the dangerous position. “Shoot it, Zen’In.” The words dripped off your tongue as your own gun cocked with an audible click, the muzzle firm against his temple. A visible reminder that you weren’t just playing submissive in his hands.
“What’s the matter?” you murmured, lips ghosting over his, your breath mingling with his cigarette tinged exhale. “Can’t do it, can you?”
His pistol traveled higher, pausing at your lips. The cold metal kissed the corner of your mouth before he pressed it forward, slipping the barrel against your parted lips.
You let it in. Your tongue grazed the steel, your eyes never leaving his, savoring the shift in his expression, the flicker between dominance and hunger.
“Shit. How am I supposed to kill you now when you’re looking at me like that?” he muttered, voice rough.
You raised your hands slowly, pistol still dangling loosely from your grip, mocking surrender. His other hand caught it easily, and you let him take it, unresisting. He tossed it carelessly out of reach before his palm returned to the back of your neck holding you still like you belonged there.
Saliva dripped from the barrel of his gun, trailing down your chin in a shameless mess. His eyes followed the path as he dragged the muzzle free from your lower lip then your chin and the slope of your throat until the cold metal rested over your chest.
Right above your heart.
“Quick death, yeah?” Your lips curved into a daring smirk despite the steel pressing against you. “Shoot it, Zen'In. That stupid shit only beats for you and I hate it.”
Naoya’s gaze never left yours.
“Fuck what the clan says,” he snarled against your mouth, the words muffled by how hungrily he crashed into you, teeth clicking, lips bruising. His grip on your nape yanked you closer until your body was flush to his, like he was trying to devour you whole.
Your hands slid up his arms, tracing the taut muscles with a trembling kind of reverence until your fingers curled around his wrist, the same wrist that held the pistol to your heart. You dragged it harder against your chest, pressing it right over the frantic rhythm of your heart, showing him in silence what your lips couldn’t form into words.
It was okay.
Even if he pulled the trigger.
That was how far you’d fallen.
How far gone you were for him.
If this fucked up story ended here, if the last thing you felt was the echo of his bullet tearing through your chest, it would still be his hand, his choice, his mark left behind. And in that twisted way, it almost felt like love.
But Naoya didn’t allow it.
Didn’t let your desperation steer him toward your ruin. His grip tightened, stopping your hand before you could curl it around the trigger. A low and frustrated growl rumbled in his chest, spilling against your lips as his mouth crashed harder into yours. He tossed the weapon away, the clatter against the floor distant, meaningless.
The next thing you knew, the world flipped, your back sinking into the mattress as Naoya caged you beneath him.
Desperation laced every move, his body pressed flush to yours like he couldn’t stand the thought of even an inch of space between. His cock found your heat instantly, sliding against your soaked folds, the promise of ruin heavy and real.
Your hands clawed for him. His shoulders, his arms, his back, anything you could hold, anything that proved he was here. He drove into you with a force that left your lungs shattered, his thrusts relentless, punishing, as if fucking you was the only rebellion he had left.
“Fuck what the clan says,” he rasped against your skin, teeth sinking into the soft valley of your chest. His mouth left bruises where anyone could see, marking you shamelessly, claiming you like he had nothing to lose.
Your head tipped back, words spilling from you in broken gasps. “Let’s just disappear… Naoya, let’s just go- anywhere but here.”
But he swallowed the plea in another bruising kiss, hips slamming harder, like running was impossible like the only escape either of you could have was right here, in each other.
It was when the cold press of metal brushed against Naoya’s temple that he finally broke the kiss, his thrusts faltering, dragging out the ache in every inch of you. His breath came hot and ragged against your cheek, pupils blown wide, a storm of hunger and fury swirling in them.
“Should’ve killed me when you had the chance to.”