taiscedulcinea

[taiscedulcinea]

The Empire Club | one

Paddy Mayne x Eoin McGonigal x Fem! Reader

summary: Paddy and Eoin take a night off at the Empire Club, and find you along the way.

word count: 7.2k

warnings: sexual implications, intense flirting

a/n: Our first chapter, up and running! Be sure to check out our pinned post to check out all of our featured writers and give them some love, and let us know what you think! If you'd like to be added to a taglist, please don't be shy!

Days of rain had finally, mercifully given up their grasp on Cairo. Those gears of meagre wartime nightlife spurring back into their shuddering grind. The Empire Club's own pompous racket had joined in, and beckoned soldiers, spies, and servants of the night alike.

Major Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne and Lieutenant Eoin McGonigal had joined too, alongside the hordes of ‘Tommies’ with any sense of authority within the British army. Stooped up at the Empire Club; all having tried their best to clean up blood under their fingernails, sand from their hair, or demons from their heads. All for a chance, no doubt, to ‘get lucky’, whether with some ‘exotic’ beauty, a spying-seductress, or another soldier as some were so inclined to do.

Sauntering your way through the halls, you could almost call the social club a second home by now although it had been a short time. A blue silken dress flowing elegantly around your figure, heels clicking rhythmically with your practised, confident gait.

Another night of that blunt, feral, yet seductive Cairo espionage lay ahead. One of going over your files, remembering names, faces, and descriptions of their character before dressing the part of a perfect seductress with the intent to draw whatever you could from them.

It had only been a few weeks, though you’d found your faux-confidence increasing in the aspects of tackling the dance floor and the successes in the way your mouth had managed to pry information from loose-lipped soldiers.  However, nearly all the information you’d managed to gather was either petty gossip or whispers of quiet desperation from lonely men who’d wished for just one night of pleasure before returning to base, which was not what you were there for. 

But, one thing in particular piqued your interest.

The rumblings of secrecy, rebellion, and a group that operated like a vigilante unit under one Lieutenant David Stirling. Yes, his name was prominent in your notes, and you knew exactly why. If you managed an interview with him, your skills would be lauded, and your name thrown up in conversations with the likes of Ernie Pyle and Martha Gellhorn. It made a flush of excitement rumble in your chest, and for once, your enthusiasm on the dance floor needn’t be helped with liquor or mere imitation. It was the first of what you’d hope would be many breakthroughs in your investigation. 

The very investigation you’d been thrown into by the hands of the British GHQ. You were to assess Stirling and his unit, a team that operated under stealth to topple enemy forces via surveillance operations and ambushes. Despite their apparent success, GHQ as a whole doubted its stability, and certainly the sanity of its members.

You knew there were members of the regiment hidden in the shadows of the Empire, and luring them out from their shadowy roosts was the difficult task ahead.

The two men had been sitting at a table on the second story by the balcony for some time now.  They had passed the time smoking and sculling whiskey dirtily while leering down at those below on the dance floor, usually in judgemental glances at fellow soldiers. They drank quickly, like it was tainted water that shouldn't yet be drunk, and yet they were dying of thirst. Granted, it took a fair amount of effort not to act like they were still in the deep desert, having just gotten back from deployment. 

Of course, they had met to celebrate their success in said deployment, dressing up smartly for each other more than anyone else. Paddy’s eyes had clung relentlessly to Eoin since they had left their tents, noting new lines on his face from the deployment and the way his dark curls had grown longer, alongside a smattering of facial hair framed his mouth and chin.  He had grown untamed like the desert, sun-kissed, and slightly lighter in places and it drove Paddy wild, he wasn’t that innocent looking Catholic boy in the Rifles anymore. 

They quietly toasted, one after another; one for furthering the liberation into Europe and the other for surviving. 

Eoin turned to the waiter, nodding at the empty glass in his hand and mouthing a quick ‘thank you.’ They stopped counting rounds long ago, and the Lieutenant noticed that Paddy had grown quiet since their last toast. 

He hasn’t said a single poem or moved a muscle. He’d just been…sitting. 

They knew this familiar game they were playing. It had happened almost bi-weekly as of late before the deployment, with the lackluster orders from command driving the pair to the Empire over and over. It became a dance between them, Paddy would sit and wait for Eoin to fetch them both a treat, maybe a lonely soldier, a pretty young nurse on leave, both, it didn’t matter. When the time came, Paddy spent most of the encounters with his eyes fixed on Eoin.

Eoin always tracked Paddy’s eyesight, though discreetly, like a hawk; Paddy had always had such expressive eyes. 

Eoin stared down from the balcony at the dance floor, shifting ever so slightly in his seat. The Dubliner didn’t even have to search for who Paddy was looking at so intently.  A beautiful, elegant dress flows into his vision — seductive in its way — it makes your skin glow. It flaunts your curves just right, showing off a bit of skin on your legs and back. Eoin can’t help but feel giddy that the dress somehow resembles Paddy’s eyes. What a coincidence, Eoin thinks. A colour he’s grown to love. Ocean blue, expressive in a way that makes people want to look and pull themselves in closer to the relentless, endless sand, which constricts the capital. 

Eoin takes this as the perfect opportunity to tease Paddy; he’s always one for delighting in a wee childish game of ”besting” him.  Ruffle his feathers. Get him to bark and then scratch him under the chin just to marvel at how quick and easy it is for Paddy to heel. 

“What’s the matter, Paddy? See something you like?”

“Not something, someone…” 

“You scared? ‘The’ Paddy Mayne, is scared?!”

“Fuckin’— I’m not scared.” He exclaims, chugging his drink and slamming the glass down on the table, but he doesn’t move. At all. He bloody is scared. 

“I’ve never seen someone make you nervous,” Eoin can’t help but grin, reaching to pat Paddy on the back. 

“Easy to say for the man who’d hop up on a cracked plate.” Paddy growled. 

They both watch, completely hypnotised by your dancing; how fluid you move your hips to the beat, the way you twist and dip with the man you’re with. You shine so brightly, bringing such flavor to the dance floor that it’s hard for Paddy and Eoin not to notice the man you're with. An older gentleman, tall, hair filled with too much gel, and a crooked smile that says, “I’m with the hottest girl in the room, cry about it.” A smile that Paddy wants to wipe from his face. He can’t seem to keep up with the rhythm as well; sometimes he’s too slow, sometimes he’s too fast, and other times he can’t catch the beat to save his life. 

The music moves to a slower number, people catch their breath, and others leave the dance floor to converse at a table. You and the stranger get into a more intimate position, but nothing that tells of the relationship. It’s a little awkward to the eye. 

Paddy thinks he should give this unknown person who isn’t fit to be in the presence of a woman like yourself a good smack round the ears.

Wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you to his chest, Paddy can briefly see you pull his hand up from off the drip in your back so that it rests in a more respectable manner. He just can’t get the hint, can he? He tries it again, and you give him a final warning. A soft smile, too pulled to the edges, a crinkle in your eye that could only be described as your patience thinning.

‘A shame it would be,’ Paddy thinks. ‘To have the man who’s touching you so indecently suffer a terrible fall. Say, out of the second-floor window and then—’

“You think she’ll bite as hard as you?” Eoin’s words snap him out of his daydream, tapping his glass from across the table. 

“Think? Aye.” Paddy watches as the man slides his fingers down too close to your derrière, how your face grows wide, how quickly you pull your arm back to punch him square in the face. 

“Keep your hands to yourself!“ you shout over the music, the sound reaches up to the balcony, and Paddy feels this cold chill go down his spine. It isn’t one of fear. No, far from it, you see, it’s one of excitement. 

Desire.

Need.

Want.

“There she is,” Paddy huffs out.

“Ohh, I think she’s just as bad as you then.” Eoin turns around to ask for another drink from a passing waiter, this time one of a fruity nature, a little small but with a punch to it. 

“Who’s that for?” Paddy says in confusion. 

“Our new guest, of course. You can’t be rude in front of a lady. It’s not gentleman-like.”

Paddy watches as Eoin pushes up from the chair and begins to make his way up the stairs, still graceful in his movement despite the number of whiskeys under his belt. 

Fuck, he’s doing it right now the mad eejit? Shit! Paddy quickly straightened his jacket, smoothed his hair back, and made sure the buttons on his collar were tidy. He jumps out of the chair, not caring to push it in as he follows right behind Eoin.

They arrived downstairs at the bar, glancing at each other briefly. “Oh,” Eoin hummed, fingertips brushing against Paddy’s as he slipped yet another drink he seemingly acquired from nowhere into his hands—whiskey, neat, bitter, with no junk in it. “You like that one, do you, love?” He teased.

Paddy glared at Eoin for noticing so quickly, but his eyes could barely leave where they were fixed, through the dark corridor of the stairs, across the dazzling lights of the dance floor, and onto you and your body as it swayed so freely. Eoin gestured Paddy forward through the doorway and to a round table near the bar, two chairs on one side, one on the other, its back to the dance floor.  The two men sat next to each other, facing their target. Eoin clicked open his cigarette case with a quick, practised movement and placed one between his thin Cheshire-Cat-like lips. He leaned forward, grabbing a candle from the center of the table, and lit it, the warm light flickering and casting a delicious shadow over his sharp jawline.

Paddy has a hard time looking between both of you without feeling a warmth start to travel below his stomach.

His mind slipped into that endless oblivion of scenarios of Eoin that he had locked away. Yet this time, he was with another. Paddy was transfixed in his own mind as he imagined the sharpness of Eoin’s jawline as his tongue ran up your stomach, the way the veins in his hands would pop when his fingers threaded in your hair, pulling just hard enough to make it delicious for both of you. 

“You’re doing it again, Pads,” Eoin remarked, snapping him out of his daydream once more, smoke flowing from his nostrils smoothly and lingering around him. 

“Not tellin’ me what you’re thinkin’.” 

Eoin smoked differently than any man Paddy had seen; he smoked like those spies whose only goals were seduction, always inhaling quickly to save time to emphasise the smoke flowing out of his mouth.

Paddy lifted the glass he cradled to his lips, he let the whiskey sit and burn in his mouth for a moment before he swallowed it.

“I’m thinking that I want her.” He nodded towards where you’d stepped off the dance floor to sit at the bar, not noticing everyone’s eyes on you. “And, that you better save your cigarettes. I’m winning your stupid little competition tonight lad.”

Eoin grinned, holding the cigarette between his teeth as he stood up, grabbing his drink. 

He looked down at the Major from where he stood, a familiar glint in his eye, “Ah sure Paddy, look, let me introduce ourselves.”

The gentleman you had been dancing with before had made his way back over to you. You paid him little mind as he spoke in a posh accent, trying to buy you a drink.  

The punter was swiftly removed in a firm movement and a mutter in a rough brogue of “Sorry, ‘old-boy’.” It was almost a shove, but not quite enough to cause a scene.

A new man replaced him. 

He did not beg or ask kindly to buy you a drink; rather, he has already placed one in your hand. You assessed his face briefly; he was unconventionally attractive, you found you were already latching onto the lines near his eyes and the dimples that raised in his cheeks as he smiled at you. He was slender, yet you could tell he was strong, and he looked down at you from a fair height, even though you were perched on a tall bar chair. 

He had a nice dusting of facial hair, one that you had become quite fond of on the men who shirked shaving.  It framed across his jaw, chin, and upper lip, and it framed slender lips that he licked wickedly before he spoke, knowing your eyes would be on them.  His eyes were two deep pits of a dark, dark brown, unlike any you’d seen; almost like they couldn’t hold expression, so his face had to work overtime.  Perhaps that was why the lines you had already followed across his face marked it so.  His hair was a mess of dark curls, loose and certainly likely to be reprimanded by higher-ups; you knew he probably didn’t care when your information had already informed you both of who he was, and that he had a dangerous wild dog at his side at all times, you knew he came as part of a pair.

Your brain spat out some rhetoric of tall, dark, and handsome soldiers, laughing at itself.

You spoke before he could. 

Faux innocence could come later; you had wanted to test him first.

"So, you’re Major Mayne's little dog? Waiting patiently for him to let you move from his side, are you?” You emphasised your accent, you wanted to appear foreign and unfamiliar to him or his fellow soldiers.

A grin had spread across the dark-haired man’s face.

“And. Move. He has.” He quipped.

“Won’t you heel, boy?” You teased, looking up at him from your seat with that familiar, tipsy confidence that seemingly granted you the endless capabilities of torturing soldiers who thought they’d get lucky.

He shifted until he had almost curled himself against you on the chair, his hand had come to rest lightly on your hip, fingers brushed the silky blue material, savouring it.

A hummed lilt rested between you both, lowly and from deep in his chest, ‘Truefully, I think you’d find at the end of the day it's quite the opposite.’

You stood to meet the soldier. He was much, much taller than you.  

He would have to wait out just a little longer for any satisfaction of niceties.

Turning, you met the direction of a burning gaze you had felt from afar whilst dancing with the Englishman.

Your hand found Eoin’s shoulder, squeezing the coarse fabric of his uniform. But your eyes had stayed fixed on the figure of a man sitting at a round table, whiskey in hand.  He was barely visible through the dim light of the corners of the Empire, yet so present.  

Your own eyes were shining and mischievous, they made his lips part as you leaned up towards what you had heard was his most prized possession, mouth brushing against his ear.

“Tell me, Lieutenant,” You say slowly, “Is there one bed in your hotel… or two?”

The soldier's smile grew like a proud street-cat who’d caught a canary. The grip on his glass tighter than the tension in his pants.

“Why don’t ya come have a drink with us? Maybe you’ll find out.” He retorted almost  immediately, unaffected by your suggestion.

“Kindly,” you had agreed, and were quickly met with a gentle hand guiding you towards the table where the other man sat, staring at you both.

He blinked slowly as you released your grip on his partners’ arm to sit, smiling into your drink as you raised the glass. He looked between the two of you, the knowing glances you threw at each other, and pressed his drink firmly onto the bar table.

“Right, what the fuck were youse two schemin’ about? Or am I going to have to spend another night in the glasshouse.” He spoke crudely.

Your eyes flicked to him, a rush of satisfaction coursed through your body at the look of madness on his face. You’d heard of a rabid ‘mad-dog’ Major and his proclivity for… chaos, but you’d never think it’d take so little to drive him to that point.

You had never even seen a picture of the now well-known Major before; somehow, records had been misplaced throughout GHQ’s scramble to reinforce Tobruk earlier in the year before you had joined. To your almost dismay, what you saw in front of you made you shuffle in your seat slightly as your eyes moved between him and his companion. You hated to admit that, already, the pair were indeed an addictive sight.  

They complemented each other. Paddy was rugged, intense, and physically imposing. Even as he sat, his hair was slightly tousled as if he had been running his hands through it repeatedly, and a beard, lighter than the hair on his head and definitely out of regulation, framed his jaw. His expression is that of a man weighed down by brooding rage, trauma, and restless energy. 

Your index and middle fingers swirl into your drink, catching the stem of your cherry with your fingertips. You press the fruit to your lips, not yet pulling it between your teeth.

“You’re both what is it, Scottish? Then?, aren’t you?” Faux-innocence, You looked between the two of them  

Immediate looks of anger glared back.

You hummed, “What’s the other one…., Ireland?”

The darker-haired man nodded his head slowly.

“Yes, but from different sides you see. I’m Catholic and he’s Protestant, and you see there’s been quite a strug–” 

“Don’t bring that shite in here, Eoin.” Paddy gruffly muttered.

“Oh, I see.  So a truce, of sorts?” You grinned.  “Well gentlemen, differences aside, I do love a man with an accent…” 

“Aye, and I’m sensing you’ve got an accent that would make me normally act in ways which would be considered un-savourable by my superiors?” Paddy pointed a finger at you without hesitation of its rude connotations. 

“Act un-savourable in the ways of violence or sex?” You say matter-of-factly. 

Paddy shifted uncomfortably, adjusting the belt secured around his waist. Eoin watched on with glistening eyes, his tongue ran against his bottom lip in pure, seductive delight.

“None the matter, so, tell me, how did… this little situation arise?” You had emphasised your accent once more, it mixed with your rather upper-class English one to most infuriating effect in some; worked wonders to rile up the rougher working-class men of the British army so deliciously. 

Your teeth caught the cherry, and pulled it past your lips. Watching intently as Paddy’s Adam’s apple bob at the sight of it.  You didn’t have to wait for them to answer your question, not when it didn’t really matter, not now. 

It wouldn’t affect how the night would end, and you know it will only end one way.

“So, all French are really like this, cocky and prideful.” Paddy said with a hint of malice. He thought back to Augustin, how he tried to shoot him on the hilltop, beat him, and yet he still lost. At full advantage but a terrible execution. “Oui, we bring this superiority complex with us, just a little something to remind us of home.” You said with a smile.

“I am not entirely French though, I spent most of my life in London, my mother is a French heiress, though she does own a block in St. John's Wood”

“And ya’ don’t know the entire nation of Ireland?” Eoin muttered under his breath, unheard by the two of you.

“ – So I would say the French have invaded your country once again.” You finished.

Eoin chuckled a light hum of disapproving intrigue in his throat, at your dangerous inaccuracy.

“‘Your country?’, Oh…, you’re going to get my–.” Paddy spat out.

You had cut him off before he could finish, “I never thought Major Paddy Mayne of the SAS would be making eyes at me from across a bar in Cairo… I can’t say I’m mad he did, though.” You paused to wait for any reaction in your revealed intelligence, but both men remained still. 

You had continued bluntly, “Well, you see there's a perfectly respectable whorehouse down the road. If you think you’re going to get lucky tonight, boys, I advise that you look elsewhere.” You grinned at them both devilishly, and gestured vaguely behind you, placing the empty glass on the table and reaching for the chair's arms to move on. 

Paddy clicked his tongue at that, shaking his head slightly at the words, eyes never leaving your own with a piercing gaze.

“Girl, the problem is, my colleague here wouldn’t have the tide take him out even if he begged it to.” Paddy quipped, the darker-haired man rolled his eyes, stooped over examining the quickly emptying contents of his whiskey glass.

“Oh, I don’t think that would be a problem, but, you’re well and truly a problem from my point of view.”  You sighed, “Just so you know, my father has taught me to never be fond of the Irish.” came bluntly from your lips. 

Eoin relished in your boldness, taking a drag of a new cigarette, he closed his eyes, head lulled back in release.  “God… how I love a struggle,” he almost moaned out, smoke pouring out of his mouth into the air above him as he continued. “Y’know, there’s somethin'..., somethin’ they say about the luck of the Irish." The syllables of Eoin’s accent were so rich, like a gooey, sinful pudding, opposite to Paddy’s harsh bark of a tone thus far.  You hate how you must admit that it did work wonders for that Catholic boy, the filthy sinner. 

He didn’t hide that fact.

The Major’s companion, who acted seemingly at times as a ‘talking piece’, continued, his eyes blown so dark as they bore into your own unwavering stare. 

"Paddy and I, well, we could… Oh, only, y'know darlin’, show you what's that all about." He said softly. 

Laughing lightly you switched your gaze back to Paddy, “Silver tongue on this one, hmm?” Raising your eyebrows as you pointed at Eoin, just as Paddy had done to yourself, eyes fixed on Paddy’s darkened look.

Eoin placed his still-burning cigarette on the ashtray between yourselves, hand running through his dark curls as he shook his head.

“Careful now,” Paddy growled out. It was the first time he had spoken in a while.

You quickly reached forward to pick up the cigarette Eoin had left, eyes locking on the Lieutenant’s surprised face as you slowly took a long drag from it.

Reaching back to where you had plucked it from the ashtray that sat in front of him, you ashed it, feeling his dark eyes weighing heavily on your chest as your dress had shifted down. You smirked lightly as you placed the cigarette, still lit, back in the fingers of its owner, hands brushing together slightly.  Eoin brought the cigarette to his lips and a low sound of approval came from somewhere deep in the man's throat as he inhaled, looking briefly at the ceiling again like before. You had remained leaning forward, watching smoke flow out of his nose and circling his dark eyes as they fell, pinning themselves on you. 

He spoke as he exhaled, the last of the smoke almost billowed in your face.

“Tá mé ag dul ithe do fliuch dtí go scréach tú. Laistigh d'orlach de do shaol, a thaisce.”

The language, foreign and new to your ears, spilled like liquid quickly over his tongue. It was quiet, low, barely able to be heard over the clatter of the club's music and shuffling of bodies. You would certainly not have heard it if you hadn’t been leaning towards him at the time.  

He spoke it to you fluently without hesitation, as if you had understood it, and you were the only one it was meant for. 

Eoin always thanked his ‘da’ secretly in these moments for being so determined to keep his sons educated in the language, even when they moved to Belfast from Dún Laoghaire.  Even though he openly used it for sin it was a surviving gift to him from his family, though frowned upon by many pompous Brits alike, to this the words ‘every word of Irish spoken is a bullet fired for Irish freedom…’ rattled around his head.

Your eyes perked up at him. You have no idea what he said; likely just some drunken curse or old-timey saying about stealing cigarettes, you had thought. Though that language did roll beautifully into your head. It nestled itself into a table of its own in the corner of your mind, a ‘reserved’ marker on it for later, you had thought.  

You smiled at him kindly, unaware of the true, filthily blatant intention behind his speech.

Eoin had remained that unnerving dead still he had shown throughout the night when he said it, hands unmoving against the table. 

You had noticed this ability to remain unnaturally still multiple times so far, at the bar and now at the table. It sends a few shivers down the small of your back as you recall rumours that the SAS, a colleague had written so, ‘An unrelenting sniper with an unnatural calm and precision unseen in the British ranks appears to haunt the ‘phantom regiment’, claiming kill-after-kill in the streets of Tobruk with a hand off still-righteousness’.  

You brushed it off as an unintelligible contribution to the conversation. Perhaps you would broach your suspicion later with him, hopefully alone.

Turning your attention to the other Irishman you spoke; 

"Major Mayne, I've heard about some wild men that a certain Commander Stirling lets run rampant through the desert." Mayne cocked his head keenly.

"I thought you would be so kind as to tell me why they call you such animals; you both just simply appear as two dashing soldiers to me." You returned from your lean into Eoin’s proximity, into the back of your chair, and ran your finger across the rim of the empty glass.

Paddy choked on his drink slightly, "Ohhoohoo, no… get tae fuck now," he drawls.

Eoin sneered in your peripheral, his tone dripped with something pent-up and raw, clawing to get out.

“Wouldn’t mind showin’ ya,” Eoin remarked.

“Ah, Major Mayne, it appears there is that very animal nature I was just discussing with you.” You smiled politely, and nodded your head slightly.

The look on Mayne’s face was priceless as he turned towards Eoin, a face of cold terror and anger which you imagined no Nazi war machine or Italian mob could replicate. 

Eoin placed the cigarette back into the ashtray and pushed it lightly towards you, having caught onto your want to share. You admired the cigarette lightly as you picked it up. 

It wouldn't last much longer, especially within those greedy appetite of your smoking partner, you’d hoped you’d share its fate.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a run-in with a spy, y’know.” Eoin mused, downing the last of his drink and looking for a waiter for another.

“I would say I'm less of a spy, rather a very committed journalist,” you replied, leaning back on your chair. You tried to take in both the men before you; they were perhaps the keys to your true goal, and you were indeed delighted to use them.

“I’m looking for an interview with a certain Commander Stirling.” You spoke bluntly.

“The powers at hand want to know about the mental fragility of your almighty ‘ghost’ Commander.”

“You mean that old fucker Montgomery up in GHQ?” Paddy questioned, eyes not fixed on yours, but rather the lines of your neck.  He continues, “I don’t believe you…, he doesn’t care for his men.  You know, at first, looking at you, I’d have entertained the idea of some conversation, but now, I don’t think that’d be in our objective.” He shot Eoin a glance. “There's plenty of other soldiers here for you to pester and sulk at.” Paddy tried to speak for both of them, his hand reaching for his coat, which lay on the seat next to him.

“No. Go on.” Eoin had spoken up from where he had been nursing his latest drink and listening intently. You had avoided his gaze since his earlier comment.  Your eyebrow quirks as you see how still Paddy went when the other Irishman said it, hand retracting from his coat, and stare fixed forward at you. 

There is something much deeper going on here.

“I don't mix work and pleasure," You said, as cigarette smoke billowed from your lips. 

"Gets too messy." 

Eoin grinned boyishly, as he placed his drink on the table and leant his hand against his chin. 

"It's a fair exchange, I'd say."

You had committed to surrendering your hard-to-get game by now, but both of the men were just too much of an indulgence to resist. 

"No," you corrected him, eyes sliding between the pair. "Rather, you two...definitely would be  just for pleasure."

The air around the trio seemed strained with a sudden heavy weight.

“So…” You shifted in your seat, stubbing the cigarette out in the ashtray as you reached down for your leather bag, it kept every tool you needed to conduct your business, including your trusted Welrod pistol. 

“I thought I’d share a bit of the files I have on you two gentlemen.” You spoke as you reached into your bag, you had planned a little game with yourself, a ‘lucky dip’ as such, who would go first in your test of their patience.

“Fuck,” you had sworn quietly under your breath as you pulled out the worn paper.

Paddy’s file.

You clear your throat, nerves hopefully not showing as you open the file, hand brushing the hem of your dress down.  “Major Robert Blair ‘Paddy’ Mayne…” you begin, “From Ireland again is it, yes?”  

Paddy’s eyes had been burning a hole straight through you since Eoin had told you to ‘go on’. 

“Northern Ireland. Ulster.” Paddy snarled.

You knew now exactly how to work them up in this scenario. The pride of the Irish never ceased to amaze, regardless of what ‘side’ or what denomination they subscribed to. 

“Known for your courageous acts at the Battle of Litani River in Lebanon, against the Vichy French Forces and your, I read here…” You chose a snobbish tone for your last comment. “...sporting successes back home, yes?”

You shifted in your seat.

“Very well, however, but unfortunately, any other such accomplishments have seemed to have been overlooked in this report, Mr. Mayne, I only see accounts of battery, military imprisonment, and general barbarism?”

Paddy huffed in front of you as Eoin laughed lightly into his whiskey glass. Your eyes follow Paddy’s arms as they cross against his chest, they were strong and smattered with veins exaggerated by the heat of the social club.

You’ve already pushed your luck with the Major enough by now. Placing the report gently back into your bag, you reached for the other. 

A part of you was more nervous to assess the other Irishman on account of his actual penchant to speak.

The report wavered in your hand slightly as you prepared the next mockery, you crossed your legs and held the page high to cover your face and view of the two soldiers in front of you.

You began, in a forcefully dulled voice as you had read the report, a spark of thought had quickly shot through you, as you realized you hadn't even said the taller man's name, one that the French would most definitely balk at. You had taken your opportunity with glee. “And Second-Lieutenant, no, sorry, now Lieutenant, I believe? On account of your actions towards the saving of Tobruk, no? —” 

The Lieutenant nodded shortly, as your eyes graced his profile, preparing the next intentional mistake.

 “--- Ian, no,  Owan, er, Ewan? Oh, I’m so sorry, I don’t think I have quite the grasp on your language, Mac-gong-ey-gol?” You sound it out dimly. “… from err, Dublin originally, oh did I say that one right? I must have, yes?” Dropping the paper onto the table, you had grinned up at the dark-haired man, watching as one eye twitched in his unique manner of calm anger.

Paddy snarled through gritted teeth next to him at your inaccuracies.

Protective, defensive… oh, the dog that he was, you had thought. 

You shuffled in your seat. “I do apologise, boys.”

Paddy’s short leash had snapped, it appears.

“Don’t say sorry. We’ll have to fuck that name into your mouth proper to get you saying it right.”

Oh, there he was.

You struck like a serpent with your next onslaught.

“I guess I've gone and what is it ‘gotten your goat’, have I not, Paddy?” You grin at the Major, aware of the strange saying that the brutally beaten man had echoed from Mayne to you. You had convinced him to release the information on the pair's whereabouts by giving him a rather stiff handjob through his bandages.

Eoin spoke up again as Paddy vibrated with rage in his seat. "Oh, you’ve only gone and done it now, love.” 

He placed his empty glass carefully on the table in front of him, clicking his tongue lightly to gain your full attention. 

“To be very frank with you, journalist, or spy, or whatever ya’ are. We couldn't give two fucks who'd ya’ want an interview with, could be Stirling or the Pope for that matter.” He glanced at Paddy, still livid in his seat next to him. 

“We just want what you've got hidden behind that dress for us."

He smiled innocently, it was a practised term.

“Paddy’s been wanting it all night, but,” he pauses. “He’s too scared to let you know.” 

The ring on Paddy‘s little finger wrapped with a short, sharp metallic sound against the table at his companions' admittance.  You had wondered why he wore that ring in the first place, searching your mind for any references to it that you had come across in your readings. 

He appeared to be almost testing the words on his mouth before he spoke; 

“I’ll have to warn ye’;” 

He paused, sighing lightly. 

“You see the thing with the Irish, I have come to believe, is that we fuck dirtier than the Brits.” 

Eoin perked up next to him, “Oh, do we now?” It rolled off his tongue alongside an air of slight surprise and a stream of smoke as he ashed his cigarette out in front of him.

“See, there he is coming out of his shell again, he’s been so nervous all night, so he has.”

The Lieutenant stood from his chair.

You noted that he swayed slightly, the only sign apart from the filthy looks he gave you that the alcohol and nicotine had gotten to him in any manner. 

“Oh, but now I’m a keen kitten Eoin…” Paddy drawled.  

Eoin made a ‘purring’ sound at you and Paddy mockingly, voice slightly scratchy and harsh, no doubt from the aforementioned numerous whiskeys and the chain-smoking.

He laughed lightly, reaching over to clasp a hand on Paddy’s shoulder.

“Come on, you both. I’ll call for a car.”

Eoin looked hopefully out the window, it was a small tin box of a car, ‘like a fuckin’ toaster’, made for two in the back and two upfront. Some English rubbish of course, an Austin or a Morris no doubt, nevertheless you’d all crammed yourselves in the cab space, bodies touching, the air warm.

You were in between the two men, and they’re both too close and yet not close enough. You bit your lip, anticipation growing in your belly.

Anything for the job right?

But no. This is not just for the job. Not entirely at least. You were smart. Could’ve found some other way, something that didn’t include what you were sure was going to get you ruined within an inch of your life by two of the most indulging men you’d ever seen but, well a girl’s got to eat.

Though, from the way they keep throwing looks at you from your periphery, you’re more than sure that they’d be the ones devouring you.

The car rattled as it trundled along to the hotel through the remains of the recent rain’s mud, jostling the passengers within and after a hard right turn, it pushed you across into Paddy. You made a startled noise in the back of your throat, hand reached out to steady yourself, it landed on his thigh. He twitched when you went to pull yourself away, but he stopped you.

He took a deep breath like he was trying to focus on something. And he was. He could feel his heartbeat resuming its heavy thudding from the bar, could feel your warm hand over his government-issued trousers.

He made that habitual clicking sound with his mouth and shook his head like he was gearing up to scold you, but instead, he gave you just a cruel little smirk. He took your hand, the first time touching you, his hands rough, guiding your own smaller ones to place over his hot lap. He ground your open palm into it, once, twice, and you let him manipulate your hand the way he wants. Let him use you, he grunted quietly, his hips rising to meet your hand, the rumble and bumps of the car’s suspension aiding his movements, the darkness shadowing his actions.

Your body went tense as you felt Paddy’s knuckles brush the inside of your knee, just where the sequined fabric of your dress stops. You glanced at Eoin. His face was still practically pressed up to the sand-speckled glass, watching the Cairo nightlife pass by outside the window, completely oblivious. 

Paddy pulled the fabric of the dress up, just a bit further over your thighs, slowly and carefully, so as not to make much noise. Your eyes are both on Eoin, and it registers in your mind how strange it is that Eoin has become the center of your escapade despite his ignorance. You watched the way the tendons of Paddy’s hands shift, his thick fingers gripping the fabric to push it aside to expose you to the warm environment of the car, to his hungry eyes that were eager to consume what part of you he could. 

The movements suddenly stilled and a small gasp of ‘fucks sake’ came from the man using you like a tool to get himself off.  The hand of the Irishman to your right had reached across your lap, and gripped the Major’s hand tightly, stalling its movements and smoothing your dress back down.  

The car stalled to a halt with it.

A pout dimmed your face, you had been right there with Paddy, underwear undoubtedly ruined, and at your mercy for the man that you had chased in your head and in real life for weeks now. Eoin had, unfortunately, caught onto the game by now, and looked over at you with an apologetic expression on his dark features.

“I’m sorry, Dove. That’s all Paddy’s fault. You’ll have to make him apologise for that one later.”

It’s like the animal in him could smell how turned on you were. But unlike Paddy, who saw it as a problem that needed to be solved, Eoin saw it as a treat to be savored, of a prize won by patience and time spent thinking of ways to claim it. 

Paddy sputtered a jumble of swear words in retaliation. Eoin just shot him a dark look; you knew he was tightening the leash again with his gaze. 

“This is us.” He spoke, lifting his hand at you both as he cracked the door open, the flush of cool night air releasing the cabin of its torturous heat and tension.

You couldn’t wait to fling yourself from the stifling heat of the car, and by God’s grace, it was a touch cooler outside, though still warm, even given the time of night. Eoin’s firm hand made its way to the small of your back, his fingers tickling the bare skin of your back for a moment before they flattened and guided you forward and through the doors of the hotel.

It’s nice, perfectly respectable for the two men who can’t seem to rush up to their suite. 

Though Paddy seems far more anxious, a few strides ahead of the two of you, with Eoin taking his time to stroll beside you through the humble lobby.

He sent a small wave to the clerk, offering a charming smile and a polite “good evening”; and you followed suit with an awkward smile, far too aware of your warm cheeks and dazed expression to maintain eye contact. The man at the desk smiled back politely and bowed his head in greeting.

Paddy was waiting at the door of the lift already, he looked back at the two of you, and you couldn’t tell if he’s incredibly miffed or if he wanted to strangle Eoin with his tongue down his throat. You wagered it’s a bit of both. His eyes found yours and travelled down the length of your body, they had grown hungry. It was the first time he’d seen you in proper lighting, the glow around you beaming off your sequined body, the rise and fall of your chest hypnotic. If he had thought you looked incredible in the smoky haze of the dim bar, now you looked delicious. 

Ready for him to devour.

“Someone ought to teach you patience, Paddy” Eoin remarked, his tone casual. But an underlying warning to it, you could tell by the way Paddy shifts, his mouth turned down slightly.

Paddy still fought back however, “And, someone ought to teach you when to be done with patience and shut your pretty mouth” Eoin simply shook his head, more amused than offended.

“Perhaps we’ve time for both” you chime in as you reached out to lean into Paddy, pulling away from Eoin. He allowed you, squeezing your hip before placing his hands in his pockets, and he didn’t need to attempt composure; it seems to come to him naturally.

Paddy wouldn’t know composure if it shot him in the foot.

[taiscedulcinea]

The Ghost Of Termoli (Paddy x Eoin)

summary: when paddy mayne discovers there is a sniper among his ranks, he confronts the man in question---eoin mcgonigal.

warnings: graphic depictions of violence, threats of suicide, gunplay, oral sex (m! receiving), facefucking.

written by @crossstones; beta read by @amaranthine-enihtnarama

Termoli was not falling with ease, and screams of drowning men had whipped their way through Paddy’s men’s heads.  Even Kershaw could not quip in his usual brutish manner at their situation. Another concern, or rather intrigue, had come to the forefront of Paddy’s mind, even amidst his active engagement with the Germans in the tight corners of the town. Paddy had had his suspicions about the other Irishman for a while now. Eoin had spent hours, days even, away in the desert from Jalo. Paddy had beaten it out of Saddler, chasing him around camp with various items repurposed into weapons, – finally learning that Eoin had asked him to take him deep into the desert where there were rocky outcrops and long-dry valleys, and that he was carrying something in a long makeshift bag, made out of some old looted rug and a string slung over his shoulder.  

Paddy had thought late one night about what Eoin exactly could have been doing; they were squeezed together in his cot, Paddy’s hands tangled in Eoin’s curls where Eoin had more-or-less collapsed on top of him.  The slow rhythm of Eoin’s breathing and pulse lulled Paddy through his musings until he reached a clear thought.

The high rocky outcrops of the deep desert provided vantage points.

Then came the reports of downed Nazi roaming squadrons in the desert to Stirling, long sniper bolts being found at the scenes, vehicles torched, yet evidence left behind enough to allow it to be pinned to a British soldier. 

 Brutal, swift killings with pinpoint accuracy from up to a mile away and rumours of a ghost sniper in the desert.

The same ghost came with Paddy to Termoli that evening.

Paddy wanted to push Eoin; he wanted to test it and know it was true.  He knew Eoin had disappeared once the alarm was raised, and he knew Eoin couldn’t take his eye off him. Paddy had been making his way through an alleyway alone, red-brick walls raised high above and downed Germans littering the corners.  He had just taken out a pair of terrified-looking young boys when the fire of adrenaline forced his hand.  

“Alright! You eejit bastard..!” Paddy cried out, arms outstretched as he moved into the sweltering, confined air of the centre of the alleyway. He was completely exposed. “I know you’re up there! I know what you’ve been doing in the desert!” 

 A shot rang out with a great crack and shattered against the brickwork beside Paddy, and he just laughed like a madman. He did not know if it was a warning shot from his mysterious sniper or one of the Nazi’s failed attempts at putting the dog ‘Major’ finally down. The alleyway had slowly filled with smoke and dust by now, thrown up by shifting men and the oncoming Panzer tanks. Two figures soon approached Paddy from one end, rifles raised. 

 “Ohho! Now here is your moment, Eoin!” 

 Naturally, Paddy felt poetry spill into his mind in this time of great excitement between life and death; it was ecstasy to him. He began to ramble.

“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,

Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,

Silence the pianos and with muffled drum

Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.”

Silence returned, only the distant rumbling of war in the background.  Paddy sighed.

 “But Eoin, this is not excitement enough, my friend!” 

Yelling towards the rooftops, he reached into the pouches on his chest.  The silence was swiftly replaced by the sound of oncoming footsteps and cries of German infantry, two of them, turning the corner of the alleyway.  The firm round form of a grenade filled Paddy’s palm; he pulled it out and raised it aloft like a victorious warrior in the heat of battle.  

“C’mon...” he growled, pulling the pin with his teeth as he held it, arms outstretched still at either side. “And…the soldier-martyr assumes the position of a dying Christ in his last moments!” 

Paddy breathed, eyes closed, and head tipped back.  The Germans had firmly sighted him by now, guns cocking and various threats of hands up and standing down as triggers rested on fingers.  The sound of the grenade’s fuses spitting and sparking as they slowly fired sounded angelic to Paddy; he would bring himself to the very end of life just for his lover to reveal what he wanted.  

Paddy grinned like a madman. “And… fuckin’ go!” 

Like clockwork, three extremely quick and thick, heavy shots crushed the air around Paddy. One whizzed directly into the grenade’s base, narrowly avoiding the charge, sending it whirling sideward out of Paddy’s hand and into the blown out remains of the building beside him, exploding in a shower of bricks and dust. The two other shots followed quickly thereafter, almost unnaturally, and they sailed inches above Paddy’s outstretched biceps and into the throats of the Germans in front of him. 

 At that moment, Paddy felt pleasure like never before. 

"Fuck, that’s it, there’s my boy." 

He groaned out as he watched the Germans choke on their own blood and torn vocal cords, crumbling to the ground.

He turned, a grin like no other still reigning over his face. It took a second for him to collect himself; he was used to pulling such antics yet none quite as invigorating as of late.  Through the smoke, a figure soon emerged, the long shaft of a black rifle at chest ready position. It looked as if it was attached to his body permanently as an extension of himself. It was Eoin, undoubtedly, yet the lower half of his face was obscured by a scarf, perhaps to keep the smoke out of his mouth and nose. It made him look rough, unhinged, borderline animalistic; it took away his soft smile and curl of his lips, only his harsh, focused eyes remained on Paddy's face. He had smeared some black charcoal across his eyes to help with sun-blindness as the SAS boy often did, adding to the mortifying look. 

Paddy was in heaven.  

“Oh, aye, then. I know you, Eoin, I know what you’ve been doing in the desert.”  

Paddy clicked his tongue, cocking his head. “If you’d’ve wanted target practice with that thing I could’ve just sent Stirling along and told him that journalist he’s balls-deep in is lost in the desert, didn’t have to make me draw yer hand.”

Eoin was furious; his voice had lowered to that vicious tone Paddy loved to coax out of him.  “If ya’ tell anyone about this—anyone but the boys who already know…”

He had quickly closed the gap between the two of them, pushing Paddy against the brick wall of the entrance to the blown-out building. Paddy was still out of it.

“Paddy, fuckin’ look at me now, you’re gonna get one between the ears, ya’know that right, Major? I don’t care about what rank ya’are, or if it's friendly fire.”

He shook Paddy viciously. “Listen to me. I’m unauthorized. It's fuckin’ illegal, Paddy. This rifle's illegally modified and stolen; I’m untrained.” Eoin’s voice lowered to a furious whisper, barely audible to Paddy around the comforting sound of engagement. “Paddy, GHQ cannot know.”  

Paddy knew there was a rigorous selection and training to become a sniper, and although any old soldier like himself could try to pick up a rifle to whack through a few Krauts, not every man could make one sing—oh, but Eoin could. 

The SAS were covert, and so, being a sniper in the SAS was even more covert, one of which both Stirling and the higher ups from GHQ would not approve of. They were all animals, and to GHQ they were not unique in their skills apart from taking the enemy down in any bestial manner they see fit.  Some men, however, found specific outlets to express their creativity. Cooper had become interested in machinery, stolen tanks, mounting guns to Jeeps, and flamethrowers.  Reg had become especially fond of the art of arm-to-arm combat, often disarming his opponents just to crack their skulls over the nearest object.  No men were to be officially recognised as anything but animals, and talents were to be only kept for the heat of battle.

This had become Eoin’s. 

It made the animal inside Paddy keen and purr.

Paddy was left smiling at Eoin like an idiot. Eoin let out a raspy noise of frustration from his throat.

“Ya fuckin’ gone and done it now, Paddy.”  

Knowing the Major sometimes needed a shock to snap out of it, as Almonds had often done, he threw down the rifle at his chest, which he clearly held so precious. Switching their places, his back now against the brick wall and Paddy in front of him with a firm grasp on his shoulder, Eoin pulled sidearm from his thigh and raised in an instant, unflinching, unfaltering, almost unnaturally still at his best friend's face.  Paddy had never noticed how deadly still Eoin could aim a gun; he could see now how it works well in favour of a sniper.

Sunset was falling over Termoli, and they had plenty of cover amidst the chaos.

“I am quite fond of you like this, Eoin.”  Paddy breathed out. 

The gun was still firmly fixed to his forehead. Eoin’s eyes were like a cold fire staring down at him, full of fury and something more, desire perhaps. 

“I like to see you lose yourself.” Paddy hummed, “In fact, would ye’ like me to show you just how much I like you like this?”

Eoin’s eyebrows raised. “Paddy….we’re in a firefight.” 

The gun act was meant to have originally been to try to snap some reality into the Major, but Eoin had realised it had done quite the opposite. Paddy didn’t stop his suggestions.  

“Oh, am I not being quite so obvious?” 

The Major’s hand reached towards the gun placed at his forehead, and he slowly pulled it down, still in Eoin’s hand.  Eoin’s eyes shot wide as Paddy wrapped his lips around the barrel in a swift movement, eyes full of a cold yet pleasureful lust as they stared up at him. He moved his mouth lightly against the barrel a few times before pulling his lips from the gun, a slick trail of spit coating the cold surface, and a small ‘pop’ rang out between them. 

Eoin had a look of disbelief. They had shared beds many times at the hotels in Cairo and had become well-vested in each other's bodies and minds by now, yet Paddy had never quite pushed Eoin’s sanity like this.  Paddy didn’t care, he knew he didn’t have to either as he had reached a hand to lightly squeeze Eoin’s hard cock through his fatigues, and it was such a pretty cock, Paddy thought. Eoin caved at that, moving to pull the gun away from Paddy but was met by a harsh ‘tsk tsk tsk’. 

“No, Eoin, you don’t quite understand.” Paddy hummed. He had gripped Eoin’s hand against the grip of the gun, moving it from his mouth to sit at the side of his jaw. 

“Fuckin’ hell, Paddy.” Eoin breathed, quickly clocking the safety on.  

Paddy felt himself twitch in his trousers, hot and heavy as the idea that Eoin had already had the safety off while the gun was on and in him. Oh, just a sweet moment of death gifted to him by his lover sounded like a joy unknown to any man living to tell the tale.  

“Place that fuckin’ safety back off, that’s an order.” He snarled. “And if I’m not making you feel good enough, soldier, yer gonna pull the trigger now, aren’t ya?”

He shifted on his knees in the dust as he quickly worked Eoin’s trousers and drawers aside. A Panzer tank roared past them, shaking the ground and throwing dust off the rooftops. 

 “Ah, the invigorating heat of battle, eh, Eoin? It does things to a man.”

He was lovingly gazing over Eoin’s straining cock by now, a lustful drunk look on his face. He wanted to take his time to take it all in before some German or SAS boys no doubt disturbed them. 

Eoin groaned out in a frustrated anticipation. “...Oh, fuck’s sake Paddy, just shut up.” 

He breathed out, head leaning back and hitting the brick wall with a slight thump as he grabbed Paddy’s hair, damp with sweat and pulling Paddy forward onto his cock.  Paddy mouthed lazily at it, one hand pushing Eoin’s hip back towards the wall. 

He took as much of Eoin into his mouth as he could in a practised movement, hand moving to lightly squeeze the rest of him through his drawers. Eoin’s breath shuddered as he adjusted to the hot, wet sensation. Paddy worked the gasping dark-haired man’s cock for a while before his jaw ached in contempt. He pulled off him, spit dribbling slightly down his chin and a line of it connecting his mouth and the hot head of Eoin’s cock. He flicked his tongue over it lightly and slowly, eliciting a low growl of something in Gaeilge from Eoin above him. Paddy moved himself back onto Eoin again, this time quickly forcing his throat to work open as he took all of him.  

Eoin shook his head in building overstimulation. He had pulled the scarf back to his mouth, biting lightly on it, a soft grunt escaping through the material.  He let it fall. 

“Christ, ya’are fuckin filthy, Paddy.”

 Eoin ran his spare hand that didn’t grip the cocked, deadly weapon at the jaw of his lover through his curls, and then to Paddy’s, pulling him off with a sharp tug on his hair, and gripped himself tightly. His hand looked perfect against his shaft, long slender fingers, hand veiny and pale like his cock.

Eoin slapped his slick cock lightly against the major’s tongue then cheek.  Paddy’s eyes were completely blown out in lust at the thick weight.  Eoin breathed out in a ragged sigh.

 “Spent so many nights out in that desert thinking about your mouth around me.”

Eoin groaned, hips moving forward to prevent any words from coming back at him, fucking lightly into Paddy’s willing open mouth. Eoin pressed the gun harder into Paddy’s jaw, it made Paddy’s cock kick in his trousers; he was so turned on he couldn’t believe himself. 

 “You’re a fuckin’ lunatic ya’know.” Eoin moaned quietly, the gun still sat in his grasp, resting at Paddy’s jaw, and he pressed it harder. 

“Mmm, but you like it, don'tcha Eoin,” Paddy mumbled, ripping himself out of Eoin’s grasp to catch a breath. 

“Just shut up and suck.” Eoin spat, fed up with the back-and-forth. Paddy smiled, that familiar sight to Eoin, lazy and well-used.  

Eoin’s hips stuttered as he swore out in a mess of English and Gaeilge as he came into the Majors willing mouth, the gun falling easily out of his hand and into Paddy’s as he gripped his strong thigh, quickly transferring the gun back to his holster. Paddy usually swallowed every drop Eoin would give him; he took a moment to indulge in the taste, yet he chose to tease the Lieutenant further. He spat out Eoin’s mess in the dirt.

“Don’t have time to savour the taste of that right now; so, so, very sorry Eoin.” He wiped his mouth with his hand, grinning. “I’d like to replace it with Nazi blood first, but come find me later though, I’d like a wee cocktail of both…ya’know me.” 

 Paddy didn’t bother fumbling with Eoin’s drawers and trousers, leaving the sniper to hastily finish the job.  He stood and stretched his legs lightly, rolling his shoulder, neck and head back, letting out a sigh.

“Now get back to those rooftops, and that’s an order, Lieutenant.” 

He turned, picking up his fallen gun and began walking down the alleyway.

“Éin truailleathói,” Eoin spat out behind him, still gathering his composure against the wall.

“Save that brogue for bed, Sweet Pea.” Paddy teased, not looking back behind him and cocking his gun. Eoin grabbed his rifle from the ground and fixed his scarf round his face again, watching him leave the alleyway.

“The Ghost of Termoli, ah yes, conquered with a quick suck of his cock in an alleyway,” Paddy laughed to himself.

German shouts and running quickly replaced the steps of Paddy in front from behind Eoin, who ducked quickly to the shadows of the destroyed building they were next to and began the search for his nearest route back up into the rooftops.

Eoin would get his revenge on Paddy soon enough.

[taiscedulcinea]

is this a writing account? if so, can any of you write paddy mayne giving unforgivable back shots (the back shots are so wild, reader sees the final outcome of the war)? thank you.

oh, baby... you have no idea what's coming - sam

[taiscedulcinea]

paddy lovers club members

sam - @matrixfangs / @vampgothicz

shame - @crossstones

luna - @iceemochaa

confetti - @confetti-cakemix

motya - @amaranthine-enihtnarama

vamp - @remmicks-salvation

sab - @faestunna

mar - @vcmpbyt

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