Enemies to lovers this; lovers to enemies that; how about enemies that are lovers?

The feud between your gang and the O'Driscoll was generational, built on years of rumors and lies that would make a treaty or parley impossible.

But you and Colm wanted peace, because it would make your secret relationship much easier.

It started off as teasing; he was first to claim you had felt more for him, during an ambush on his hideout where you ended up in a room with him, sealed off to the fight outside. You brushed it off, until you ended up tackled under him. You were focused on getting him—and his knife—as far away from yourself as possible; until, in the position you were both in, your leg brushed his hard-on, both of you pausing.

And that did it for you.

You had let him live that day, and you met up for a normal talk a month later—because you noticed he wasn't the only one in this.

That's exactly how your secret endeavours started; sneaking off, pretend-fighting during ambushes you'd plan beforehand to make sure nobody got hurt, but also to not reveal yourselves.

Same as today.

You snuck out late into the night to meet him in the town saloon, a more bold move than ever before, but you were sure it'd all go fine.

Colm orders your drinks—already aware of what you like to drink, of course—and seats you both at the bar, looking into your eyes like the swoon puppy he's proved himself to be.