summary : everyone knew how much you two are into each other- except you and paddy mayne
The officers in Cairo had stopped trying to separate the stories from the truth.
Some swore they saw Lieutenant Paddy Mayne knock out three MPs with one punch outside a bar near the Nile. Others claimed the new female lieutenant—the first woman ever assigned to their unit—once stole a German staff car while smoking a cigarette and laughing the entire chase back to camp.
Most believed both stories.
They were a disaster waiting to happen.
And somehow, command kept letting it happen.
“You’re a bad influence,” one captain muttered as you walked through camp beside Paddy, both of you covered in sand, blood, and someone else’s whiskey.
Paddy scoffed. “Which one of us?”
The captain took one look at the pair of you and gave up entirely.
It had started months ago.
Your first day in camp had been met with stares, whispers, and enough skepticism to choke on. Men paused conversations when you walked by. Some looked amused. Others looked insulted.
Then Paddy Mayne had appeared.
Tall. Broad. Dangerous-looking even while half-drunk. The sort of man who looked born for war and bar fights alike.
He’d walked straight toward you while the others watched.
“You the new lieutenant?”
You’d tilted your head. “Better than you.”
The entire tent had gone silent.
Paddy had grinned like he’d just discovered religion.
From that moment on, things simply clicked.
The same complete inability to follow orders if they sounded stupid.
Within months, the two of you became infamous across the camp.
If there was a fight in Cairo, odds were one of you started it.
If there was a mission considered impossible, both of you volunteered before hearing details.
If explosions were involved?
The soldiers started calling you “the twin storms.”
Paddy pretended to hate the nickname.
You knew he secretly loved it.
Tonight, Cairo buzzed outside the open windows while jazz music drifted through the officers’ club. The room smelled of cigarettes, sweat, and liquor.
You sat backward in a chair, sleeves rolled to your elbows, watching Paddy lose spectacularly at cards.
“You’re cheating,” he accused.
“You say that every time you lose.”
“Because you cheat every time I lose.”
Across the table, one lieutenant leaned toward another and whispered, “Think they know they’re in love?”
Paddy looked up instantly. “Careful, lad.”
The poor man nearly swallowed his drink whole.
You burst into laughter while Paddy leaned back in his chair, completely unbothered.
That was another thing everyone noticed.
Paddy Mayne tolerated almost nobody.
You could insult him, steal his cigarettes, threaten him with bodily harm, and he’d only grin wider.
And you trusted him in ways that terrified you.
In war, trust was more dangerous than bullets.
“You know,” Paddy said suddenly, studying you over the rim of his glass, “when I first met you, I thought you’d last maybe a week.”
You raised a brow. “Only a week?”
Then his expression softened slightly—something rare enough that conversations nearby quieted.
The words landed heavier than expected.
For the first time since the war began, you fit somewhere.
Not because they accepted you.
Not because they respected your rank.
But because Paddy looked at you and saw someone exactly like himself.
The first person to notice was Sergeant Riley.
Mostly because he’d spent years watching Paddy Mayne threaten people with violence as a form of affection.
So when Paddy handed you his last cigarette without complaint, Riley nearly choked.
Paddy noticed immediately. “You got a problem?”
Riley blinked. “You just gave her your cigarette.”
“You threatened to kill Fraser yesterday for asking for one.”
Fraser pointed from across camp. “He did! Swore on God and Ireland both.”
Paddy looked irritated now that everyone was staring.
You, meanwhile, took a slow drag from the cigarette completely unaware of the crisis unfolding around you.
“She asked first,” Paddy muttered, like that explained everything.
Everyone noticed them except the two people involved.
Like how Paddy always unconsciously walked on the side closest to the road whenever you were in Cairo.
How you automatically checked his knuckles for cuts after fights.
How he slept easier if he knew you’d made it back from an operation.
How you stopped carrying matches because Paddy always lit your cigarettes before you could ask.
Neither of you mentioned it.
Because war made people foolish in strange ways.
It convinced soldiers they were temporary things.
And temporary people didn’t dare name permanent feelings.
Still, the camp saw it all.
Especially during missions.
One night, your team returned from a brutal raid beyond enemy lines. Exhausted men stumbled back into camp covered in dirt and smoke while medics rushed toward the wounded.
The second Paddy climbed out of the truck, his eyes searched for only one person.
The moment he spotted you sitting against a crate with blood running down your temple, something terrifying crossed his face.
He crossed the distance instantly.
You blinked up at him. “Hello to you too.”
Only then did you grab his wrist and pull his hand down hard enough to stop his pacing.
The entire camp watched in silence.
Because Paddy Mayne—violent, unpredictable Paddy Mayne—actually calmed down when you touched him.
“You’re shaking,” you murmured quietly.
You softened your grip slightly. “I’m alright.”
For a second, the war disappeared from his face.
Then someone nearby cleared their throat loudly and reality snapped back into place.
Paddy stepped away first.
You looked equally confused by the sudden tension in the air.
“What?” you asked the others.
Riley rubbed a hand over his face. “Christ alive, you really don’t see it.”
“No one answer that,” another soldier warned immediately.
Because if either of you realized what was happening, the entire balance of the universe might collapse.
Operations grew bloodier.
And somehow the two of you only became more inseparable.
The moments between missions turned precious without either of you admitting why.
The camp slept quietly around you while Cairo glittered in the distance beyond the dunes. Somewhere far away, music drifted through the desert air.
You sat on the hood of a jeep cleaning your pistol while Paddy leaned against the front tire beside you.
“You ever think about after?” you asked eventually.
Paddy glanced up. “After what?”
He snorted softly. “Bold of you to assume we survive it.”
You kicked his shoulder lightly with your boot.
The honesty in his voice hurt more than expected.
Then Paddy spoke quieter this time.
“If there is an after…” He looked out toward Cairo’s distant lights. “I think I’d go mad if you weren’t in it.”
Not because the words were shocking.
Some part of you had known for months.
The terrifying thing was how natural it felt.
You looked down at him carefully. “That almost sounded romantic.”
And there it was again—that look he only ever wore around you. Softer around the edges. Like the war loosened its grip on him for a few stolen seconds.
Then, without thinking, you reached down and brushed dried blood from his cheek with your thumb.
Paddy went completely still.
Around the corner of the jeep, three soldiers instantly backed away after accidentally witnessing the moment.
“Don’t make noise,” Johnny whispered urgently.
“I think they’re about to realize it.”
The entire camp had been waiting months for this.
But you and Paddy remained trapped in that tiny moment beneath the desert stars, looking at each other like the rest of the world had disappeared.
His hand slowly closed around your wrist.
Or maybe not unlike him at all.
Maybe this was simply the version of Paddy Mayne the rest of the world never got to see.
The desert night had gone strangely quiet.
Not truly silent—there were still distant engines somewhere beyond camp, muffled laughter from the barracks, music drifting faintly from Cairo—but everything around the two of you felt suspended. Like the world had paused just long enough to let this happen.
Paddy still held your wrist loosely in his hand.
You could feel the warmth of his fingers even through the grime and exhaustion of the day.
Neither of you moved away.
For once, neither of you had a clever remark ready.
That alone should have been alarming.
His eyes dropped briefly to your mouth before lifting again, almost like he was checking whether this was real. Whether you’d disappear if he blinked.
“You’re staring,” you murmured.
“You’re difficult not to look at.”
The answer came too quickly.
And somehow that affected you more than all the reckless flirting and sharp comments exchanged over the past months.
Paddy Mayne was many things.
Careful with words was not one of them.
You smiled faintly. “That sounded dangerously sincere.”
But his voice had softened.
The air between you tightened.
Then your hand slid from his wrist to the side of his neck almost without thinking, fingers brushing warm skin beneath the collar of his uniform.
This man walked through gunfire like he was immortal, yet one touch from you seemed enough to unravel him entirely.
Your thumb brushed along the edge of his jaw.
Like you were learning him by touch.
His gaze darkened slightly.
“You keep looking at me like that,” he said quietly, “and I’ll do something irresponsible.”
You huffed a laugh. “Paddy, your entire existence is irresponsible.”
Then neither of you spoke again.
Because suddenly there was no room for words anymore.
Enough for him to meet you halfway.
The kiss started careful—hesitant in a way neither of you had ever been about anything else. Like both of you understood instinctively how dangerous this was.
Not because of regulations.
Because once this happened, there would be no pretending anymore.
Paddy’s hand slid to your waist slowly, almost reverently, and the moment his mouth fully met yours something in him seemed to give way entirely.
You kissed him deeper and felt the quiet sound that escaped his throat before he pulled you closer without thinking.
It felt devastatingly natural.
Like something that had been trying to happen since the day you first challenged him in that crowded tent months ago.
When you finally pulled apart, neither of you moved far.
Your forehead rested briefly against his.
Paddy looked at you for a long moment, breathing unevenly, eyes half-lidded with something softer than you’d ever seen from him before.
To your complete surprise—
Not the dangerous smirk he gave before fights.
Like a man who had spent months searching for something only to realize it had been beside him the entire time.
His thumb brushed absentmindedly against your hip.
“So,” you whispered, unable to stop smiling yourself, “that’s what all the fuss was about.”
Paddy let out a low laugh under his breath and looked almost offended by the understatement.
“Christ,” he murmured, eyes still fixed on yours. “This is what it feels like.”
The words hit harder than the kiss had.
Because there was genuine wonder in his voice.
As though Paddy Mayne—fearless, brutal, untouchable Paddy Mayne—had finally discovered something capable of bringing him to his knees.
Behind a nearby truck, Johnny silently handed another soldier money.
“Told you they were in love,” he whispered smugly.
After the kiss, the camp lasted exactly twelve hours before everyone knew.
Not because anyone caught you again.
Because Paddy Mayne walked into breakfast carrying your mug alongside his own without realizing what he was doing.
The entire mess hall fell silent.
Riley nearly collapsed from laughing.
Paddy stopped mid-step, looked down at the mug in his hand, then slowly looked up at the dozens of staring soldiers.
“…not a word,” he warned.
Of course that made it worse.
By evening, the entire camp—and likely half of Cairo—knew.
Oddly enough, neither of you cared.
There was no dramatic announcement.
No discussion about what you were to each other.
You simply…started existing together openly.
Like it was the most natural thing in the world.
You slept in his tent more often than not now, though “sleep” was generous considering Paddy still woke at the slightest sound and you still stole the blankets like a criminal.
Shared bruises after missions.
And somewhere along the way, you started sharing the quieter things too.
The pieces nobody else got from Paddy.
The rest of the camp noticed the difference almost immediately.
Still terrifying in a fight.
Still fully capable of flattening a man for looking at him wrong.
But now there was something anchoring him.
It showed in small moments.
Like how he stopped charging headfirst into danger without thinking because now someone waited for him to come back.
How his temper cooled faster whenever you touched his arm or said his name a certain way.
How he actually slept through the night if you were beside him.
That last one disturbed everyone most.
“You’ve domesticated him,” Stirling accused while watching Paddy quietly clean your knife beside you one evening.
You looked up from your paperwork. “I beg your pardon?”
“He hasn’t punched anyone in almost a week.”
From nearby, Paddy muttered, “I punched Thompson yesterday.”
“Yes, but he deserved it,” Stirling argued. “That doesn’t count.”
Paddy handed your knife back handle-first before leaning against your shoulder casually.
The camp watched this with the same horror one might reserve for witnessing a wolf become affectionate.
Because Paddy touched no one.
And you treated him differently too.
You checked his injuries without asking.
Fixed his collar absentmindedly before briefings.
Dragged him away from fights before they escalated into murder.
Nobody else could have done that.
Paddy actually listened to you.
One night after a particularly brutal mission, tempers ran high across camp. A young officer made the mistake of criticizing Paddy’s decisions a little too loudly.
The atmosphere turned deadly instantly.
Everyone saw it happen—that dangerous stillness settling over Paddy before violence.
Because everyone knew what came next.
Except this time, your hand slipped into Paddy’s before he could move.
Fingers threading together loosely.
Paddy looked down at your joined hands.
And whatever storm had been building inside him simply…settled.
“You’re glaring again,” you said mildly.
“That sounds like his problem.”
You squeezed his hand once.
The entire tent watched Paddy exhale slowly through his nose before muttering, “Fine.”
The officer looked moments away from fainting.
Later that night, Riley sat beside you near the fire while Paddy argued with someone across camp.
“Well,” Riley said thoughtfully, “you’ve achieved what no military training, commanding officer, or act of God could.”
You raised a brow. “What’s that?”
“You made Paddy Mayne emotionally stable.”
From across camp, Paddy shouted, “I heard that, you bastard!”
Riley grinned into his drink.
You grounded Paddy in a way war never could.
And Paddy loved you with a kind of frightening certainty.
It lived in the way he always reached for you first after missions.
The way he unconsciously relaxed the second you entered a room.
The way his eyes searched for you in every crowd like instinct.
And you loved him just as fiercely.
Even knowing war had a habit of taking good things away.
Especially from people like you two.
Maybe that was why neither of you wasted time pretending otherwise anymore.
One evening in Cairo, you sat together on a rooftop overlooking the glowing city while music drifted up from the streets below.
Your head rested against Paddy’s shoulder while he smoked quietly beside you.
“You know,” you murmured, “the camp’s terrified of you.”
You laughed softly and tilted your head to look at him.
Paddy glanced down at you, expression gentler than the moonlight deserved.
“No,” he admitted quietly. “Not with you.”
Then he leaned down and kissed you slow and unhurried beneath the Cairo night, like he had all the time in the world.
And for a few stolen moments—It almost felt true.
The next morning began disastrously.
Which, in fairness, was becoming a theme whenever you and Paddy were involved.
You woke tangled in blankets and warm skin, sunlight bleeding through the canvas tent in thin golden lines. For one blissfully peaceful second, you forgot where you were.
Then the voices outside reached your ears.
Your eyes narrowed immediately.
Beside you, Paddy looked entirely too relaxed for a man whose unit was clearly planning his public execution through humiliation.
“You hear that?” you muttered.
“You seem suspiciously calm.”
“That’s because I know exactly why they’re laughing.”
Memory returned all at once.
Paddy’s hands gripping your waist.
The fact that at one point you had buried your face in his shoulder trying—and failing—not to laugh while he absolutely refused to be quiet.
Paddy actually had the audacity to grin against your neck.
“You should hear yourself when you’re trying to stay quiet.”
You shoved him immediately while he laughed outright now, completely unashamed.
Outside, someone shouted, “You two decent in there or should we come back after the honeymoon?”
You nearly died on the spot.
Paddy, traitor that he was, looked delighted.
You dropped your face into your hands.
“This,” Paddy informed you smugly, “is victory.”
That stupid grin widened.
An hour later, you stepped out of the tent trying to salvage what little dignity remained.
Your uniform was immaculate.
Collar pulled high despite the Cairo heat.
Avoiding eye contact with everyone.
The bruises scattered along your neck and collarbone burned beneath the fabric like criminal evidence.
You were fully prepared to survive the morning through sheer denial.
Unfortunately, the camp had eyes.
The second you appeared, conversations stopped.
A few soldiers coughed suspiciously into their coffee.
Riley took one look at your expression and lost all composure entirely.
You pointed a warning finger immediately. “Not. One. Word.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he lied horribly.
Another soldier squinted at your neck. “That’s a lot of collar for Cairo weather, Lieutenant.”
“Heatstroke builds character.”
“No, but hickeys certainly—”
You grabbed the nearest tin cup and launched it with terrifying accuracy.
Because Paddy Mayne stepped out shirtless.
The camp lost its collective mind instantly.
Cheers exploded from every direction.
Someone actually started clapping.
Another soldier shouted, “GOOD LORD, LOOK AT HIS CHEST.”
You whipped around so fast you nearly injured yourself.
And there stood Paddy, entirely unconcerned, lighting a cigarette like this was a perfectly normal morning.
Except now everyone could see the evidence scattered all over him.
Red marks along his chest.
Scratches down one shoulder.
Bite marks near his collarbone.
The realization hit you like artillery fire.
Paddy glanced down lazily at himself like he’d forgotten they were there.
Then—because he was the proudest man alive—he smirked.
The camp practically gave him a standing ovation.
Riley was crying from laughter now. “HE LOOKS SO PLEASED WITH HIMSELF.”
“I am pleased with myself,” Paddy answered immediately.
“You animal,” another soldier yelled.
Paddy took a drag from his cigarette and leaned casually against the tent post, looking every bit like a man who had just personally won the war.
Meanwhile you considered faking your own death.
“Robert Blair Mayne,” you hissed violently, “put a shirt on.”
He looked genuinely confused. “Why would I hide your good work?”
You covered your face entirely while several soldiers nearly collapsed onto the sand.
One man wheezed, “He’s never recovering from this.”
“No,” Riley corrected through tears, “we’re never recovering from this.”
Paddy, meanwhile, walked over completely shameless and slipped an arm around your waist.
You refused to look at him.
“That bad?” he murmured against your temple, clearly entertained.
“And you left teeth marks on me.”
You made a sound somewhere between outrage and despair.
The bastard looked delighted.
Then his hand slid gently against your side beneath the teasing, grounding you instantly.
Always hidden underneath the arrogance and laughter.
Paddy glanced down at you with that same quiet look he wore when no one else was paying attention.
The camp noticed that part too.
Because despite all the jokes and cheering, the way Paddy held you remained oddly careful. Protective without even realizing it.
Like loving you had settled something restless inside him.
Riley watched the two of you for a long moment before muttering, “He used to wake up looking ready to fight God.”
Nearby, Johnny nodded toward Paddy, who currently looked smug enough to ascend directly into heaven.
Riley snorted. “Now he wakes up looking loved.”
The camp was still in absolute shambles.
Half the men were laughing too hard to function, the other half looked emotionally scarred, and somewhere near the trucks someone had started taking bets on how long it would take before you finally strangled Paddy.
Current odds were apparently before lunch.
You stood rigid in the middle of camp while Paddy remained beside you shirtless and entirely unrepentant.
Worse—he looked comfortable.
Relaxed in a way that should’ve been illegal for a man covered in very obvious evidence of last night.
“You couldn’t even pretend to be embarrassed?” you muttered under your breath.
Paddy glanced down at you innocently. “Why would I be embarrassed?”
“Because the entire camp can see—”
He looked down at the marks across his chest again.
Then he had the nerve to grin.
“Ah,” he said proudly. “Those.”
The nearby soldiers burst into laughter again.
You looked moments away from committing murder.
Riley wiped tears from his eyes. “Lieutenant, respectfully, you mauled that man.”
Paddy immediately pointed toward Riley with his cigarette. “And I’d let her do it again.”
The cheering somehow got louder.
You stared at Paddy in genuine disbelief. “You are impossible.”
“You seemed to manage me quite well last night.”
Several men collapsed onto crates wheezing.
“What?” he asked, entirely too smug. “I’m complimenting you.”
“You are never speaking again.”
He leaned closer then, lowering his voice enough that only you could hear.
“You’re very pretty when you’re embarrassed, by the way.”
Your expression faltered instantly.
That was another unfair thing about Paddy Mayne—he could switch from insufferable menace to devastatingly sincere in a heartbeat.
And the sincerity always hit harder.
His fingers brushed lightly against your wrist.
“You alright?” he asked quietly.
The question softened you despite yourself.
Because beneath all the teasing, Paddy was watching you carefully now. Checking whether the attention had become too much.
You exhaled slowly. “I hate you a little.”
Around you, the camp still buzzed with amusement.
One younger soldier looked at Paddy cautiously. “Sir…with respect…”
“How are you still standing?”
Paddy barked out a laugh before slinging an arm around your shoulders.
“You’re disgusting,” you informed him.
“And yet,” he said smugly, “you’re staring at my chest.”
“Because my crimes are on display!”
You made a helpless noise while Riley nearly threw himself onto the ground laughing.
“Sweet Christ,” he gasped, “he’s in love.”
Paddy looked genuinely offended. “You say that like it’s surprising.”
That shut everyone up for exactly two seconds.
Then the camp collectively lost their minds again.
Because Paddy Mayne admitting love openly felt roughly equivalent to witnessing a natural disaster become self-aware.
Paddy met your gaze steadily despite the chaos around you.
“Course I love you,” he said like it was obvious. “Look at you.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
Maybe because he said them so easily.
Like loving you wasn’t frightening.
Wasn’t something to hide.
His thumb brushed absently against your shoulder while the camp erupted around you once more.
One soldier shouted, “I can’t believe we’re witnessing emotional growth.”
Another pointed dramatically at Paddy. “Put a shirt on before morale gets too high.”
Paddy ignored all of them.
Still looking only at you.
And suddenly the embarrassment faded a little beneath the warmth spreading through your chest.
“You’re staring again,” you murmured softly.
Paddy’s expression changed the second he saw it—that same quiet wonder appearing again like he still couldn’t quite believe he got to have this.
Riley watched the two of you carefully before groaning loudly toward the heavens.
“That look,” he accused. “You two keep looking at each other like you survived the end of the world.”
Paddy didn’t even glance away from you.
Men continued yelling commentary across camp like spectators at a sporting event.
“Lieutenant, blink twice if you’re being held hostage by romance!”
“You’ve ruined her, Mayne!”
“He smiles now! Explain yourself!”
Paddy ignored every word of it.
Mostly because he was too busy staring at you again.
You noticed eventually and narrowed your eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“That’s always dangerous.”
His voice had gone lower somehow.
Around you, the camp slowly began noticing the shift in his expression too.
Riley stopped mid-laugh. “Oh no.”
Another soldier followed his gaze toward Paddy. “What?”
“That look,” Riley said immediately. “That’s the exact look he gets before fights.”
You blinked. “What does that mean?”
Paddy answered before Riley could.
“It means I’ve decided something.”
You should have been more concerned by how calm he sounded.
Instead, you crossed your arms. “And what exactly have you decided?”
Far too close for a man already causing nationwide military distress.
“That I haven’t kissed you properly today.”
The entire camp erupted instantly.
“NOT IN FRONT OF BREAKFAST.”
“STIRLING, I OWE YOU TEN POUNDS, HE’S DOING THE LOOK.”
Your face burned while Paddy looked entirely unaffected by the chaos.
“You’re insane,” you informed him.
Then his gaze dropped briefly to your mouth.
And that tiny movement alone nearly sent the surrounding soldiers into cardiac arrest.
“Paddy,” you warned quietly.
The man had apparently lost the last functioning piece of restraint he possessed.
Without another word, he grabbed your hand and tugged you toward the nearby supply tent.
“IT’S NINE IN THE MORNING.”
Reg cupped his hands around his mouth. “PADDY, FOR THE LOVE OF CHRIST, WE ALL LIVE HERE.”
Paddy didn’t even look back.
Only threw a lazy middle finger over his shoulder while dragging you away.
You were laughing now despite yourself, trying unsuccessfully to slow him down.
“You cannot just kidnap me in broad daylight.”
“That is not a valid argument!”
He finally pulled you around the side of the tent where the noise of camp became slightly muffled.
The second you were out of sight, Paddy’s hands landed on your waist and he looked at you like he’d been thinking about this for hours.
Which, honestly, he probably had.
“You are impossible,” you said breathlessly.
You barely had time to roll your eyes before he kissed you again.
Not careful like the first kiss beneath the Cairo stars.
This one carried all the unbearable affection and wanting he’d been shamelessly displaying all morning.
His hand slid against your back, pulling you closer while your fingers curled into his shoulders automatically.
From somewhere outside the tent came immediate screaming.
“THEY’RE DOING IT AGAIN.”
“WE CAN HEAR YOU KISSING, YOU MENACES.”
You broke apart laughing against Paddy’s mouth while he rested his forehead against yours, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter himself.
“They’re animals,” you whispered.
“We trained them poorly.”
Then he kissed you again because apparently he truly could not help himself anymore.
Outside, the soldiers sounded moments away from rioting.
Riley’s voice carried over the noise: “I’m requesting separate tents for my own psychological wellbeing!”
Didn’t care that the camp was losing control.
Didn’t care that half the regiment was currently scandalized.
The only thing he seemed capable of focusing on was you.
The way you smiled into the kiss.
The way your hands slid into his hair.
The fact that every time he touched you, the world became quieter somehow.
When he finally pulled back, he looked devastatingly pleased with himself again.
“You know,” he murmured softly, thumb brushing your cheek, “I was having a perfectly good morning already.”
You laughed weakly. “And now?”
“Now,” Paddy said, looking at you like he’d discovered something holy in the middle of war, “it’s excellent.”
Outside the tent someone shouted dramatically, “I hope you’re both ashamed.”
Paddy raised his voice without looking away from you.
THIS IS PROBABLY THE LONGEST I HAVE WRITTEN OKAY?! I AM NOT OKAY
dededos
prguitarman
romaincrisis
ellievsbear
vaporwave
