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targaryenrealnessdarling · 2 days ago

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Don't gotta finish wof to find this fucker infuriatingly fuckable yk 😘 thank you so much for reading ♥️♥️♥️

False Pretences

19/12: Holly and Hair Pulling - Tom Bennett Word Count: 2k~ | Warnings: hair pulling, fingering, allusions to p in v, ww2 talk and mentions of hitler

12 Days of Smuff Masterlist

It was as clear as fog, what her role was here.

Since war had broken out in Europe, listening to whatever dire news filled those who listened with fear and anticipation, all the keywords present to stir up panic in every household, she knew she could not merely stand idly by on the shores of England, and do nothing.

It was either overalls and dirty, grotty factories, or the Women’s Royal Naval Service.

She couldn’t deny herself, one sounded better than the other.

Of course her family had attempted to deter her from leaving England altogether, waving her off from the front step as if she were slinging a gun over her shoulder herself and facing Hitler head on. Her mother sobbed, but she did not miss the gleaming pride in her father’s eyes. Her own brother had already gone off to fight, so he’d be left with no children at home, and yet he did not complain, did not forbid her from going. He knew the honest truth, that she would have found a way anyway, stubborn as she was.

Usually, people like her, or women, more so, were not allowed aboard naval ships. Especially hunt-class destroyers. It was far too dangerous, or rather in their words, unsuitable for female company. God, if her parents knew where she stood right at this moment her mother would surely throw a fit until she was red in the face.

Better for them to not know at all, she reasons, sat at her desk, tapping the end of her pencil against her notepad. It was only temporary, they’d told her, a quick posting to fill an urgent need. But that hardly felt reassuring now, deep in the belly of HMS Keith with the sound of waves pounding against the hull and the faint but ever-present vibration of the engines beneath her feet.

The ship shuddered as it cut through another swell, and she reached out instinctively to steady the pencil rolling across her desk. She could hear the men outside, shouting and belly-laughing, no doubt taking some much needed time off their duties to celebrate what they thought was as close to Christmas cheer as they were likely to get. Who knew if it was even Christmas Day?

Her pencil hovered above paper, listening to the constant hum of static that she had come to know so well. These last few hours were quiet, luckily. She supposed the people of Europe celebrated Christmas too. In fact, she’d wager that most of the enemy were doing the very same thing this crew were doing right now, drinking, laughing and card games. Perhaps they were not so dissimilar after all.

A small knock came at her door, and she considered ignoring it, wondering if she had somehow misheard through her headset. But then it came again, more firm, and she rolled her eyes and stood, straightening her uniform to see who was so insistent on seeing her this late hour.

She raised an eyebrow as a man stood there, tall, leaning confidently against the doorframe as the ship swayed slightly. He was young, perhaps somewhere near her age, if she had to guess. His sandy, blonde hair was pulled from his face, sides shaven and short, as was the style of young men.

“Evening,” he said, his tone so breezy it might have been mistaken for confidence. Overconfidence perhaps. “Thought I’d pop by and spread a bit of cheer.”

She crossed her arms. “Cheer?”

He held up the sprig of green, holly, she realised, though the leaves looked rather battered. He propped it in the middle of the doorway. “You know what they say.”

Her lips twitched, but she refused to give him the satisfaction. “That’s not mistletoe.”

“You’re smarter than I hoped.”

“Smarter than you, evidently.” She raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, just checking on our mysterious new arrival,” he said, leaning a little closer as if they were acquainted. “Word travels fast, you know. ‘Unmarked door near the comms room.’ Had to see it for myself.”

She smiled, though she willed herself not to. “And?”

“And here you are. Bit of a shock, I’ll admit. Women on a ship, it’s bad luck, you know.”

She snorted slightly, her cheeks warming in embarrassment at her behaviour. “Didn’t take you to be superstitious. Anyway, shouldn’t you be at your post?”

Tom chuckled, the sound warm and unbothered. “Probably. But this seemed more interesting.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. I’m just here to work, same as you.”

“Right. Decoding top-secret messages, I suppose. Life or death stuff, like when Hitler breaks wind or when Goebbels has food poisoning.”

Surprised you know who they even are, she thinks to herself.

She snorted despite herself, quickly masking it with a cough. “Something like that,” she said, turning back toward her desk.

It was her way of dismissing him, but he didn’t take the hint, as men with his confidence rarely did. She busied herself with the papers scattered across her workspace, shuffling them into neat piles that didn’t actually need straightening. She didn’t want to encourage him, but at the same time, she didn’t really want him to go, either.

Behind her, she heard the faint scuff of his boots on the floor. She paused for a moment, a smile rising to her lips when she felt his presence so close behind her. “I do hope you can tell the difference between holly and mistletoe, Mr…?”

“Tom, just Tom,” he answered quietly. “Can’t blame a bloke for wanting a kiss from a pretty girl, can you?”

She turned slightly to look at him over her shoulder, blue eyes almost clear in this low, amber light that felt tighter as time passed. “I suppose it is Christmas, after all, isn’t it?” she smiled.

Tom didn’t wait for a clearer invitation. He stepped closer, his hands brushing her waist as if testing her reaction. When she didn’t pull away, he tilted his head, meeting her halfway. The kiss started soft, tentative, but the heat rose quickly, fuelled by the unspoken urgency of two people who had been too long without touch. Tom cupped her cheek with one hand, the other slipping to her hip.

She turned fully now, her back pressing against the edge of the desk as her hands found their way to his chest. His uniform was coarse beneath her fingers, and she could feel the hard muscle beneath it, the warmth of him seeping through the layers.

She felt the low hum through his chest as he pressed his hips closer, easing her back against the desk, his hand slipping into her hair up the nape of her neck, tightening a fist around her glossy strands as if for leverage to pry her lips open for his access.

She hummed in amusement, prompting him to part with ragged breath, “been around men for too long?”

“Too bloody long,” he confessed, his voice rough as he let out a shaky laugh.

She smiled, but her eyes looked over as if she were analysing him, her hand sliding from his chest over his belt, her small, soft hand drifting over the evident hardness straining in his uniform trousers.

“I can tell,” she muses quietly.

He let out a shaky exhale, flustered either by her behaviour or slight embarrassment at being so called out for it. But it was clear he wasn't the type of man to like small jokes at his expense, and she let out a breathy whine as his fingers tightened in her hair. Keeping her where she stood, and tilting her face up towards him.

“Are you always like this?” He asked.

“Only to the ones that deserve it.”

He huffed, pulling her up by her hips to set her down on the desk, papers and pencils scattered to the floor under his hasty palm. Her legs parted around his instinctively, letting him step between them, his hands dropping then to her thighs.

His breath was hot on her neck as he placed open-mouthed, nearly desperate kisses there. His hand brushed beneath the hem of her skirt, as if testing the waters, pausing only to pull back to speak.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured, though his hand didn't move.

“I wouldn't dare.”

Her breath hitched as her hand drifted higher, teasing the gusset of her knickers, sending a sharp, white spark of pleasure up her spine. Her hands gripped his shoulders, shuddering despite herself, he was certainly in no rush.

“You’re soaked,” he said, his voice laced with both surprise and satisfaction. “God, I’ve barely touched you.”

Her face burned with embarrassment, but instead of chastising him, she tugged him back to her lips. He groaned, his fingers exploring the growing wetness and heat forming between her legs. For a moment there was no more, not even a ship. Just his long, thick fingers against her heat, wanting more.

“Tell me what you want, love,” he murmured against her lips, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric now, skin against skin.

She shuddered, parting her legs wider for ease of access and wrapping them around his hips, “just don't stop.”

The sound his fingers made as he explored through her wetness was nothing short of lewd, her back arched slightly into him, wanting to feel the girth of them inside her, and quick.

“Christ,” he murmured, almost to himself, as two fingers slipped inside her, drawing a soft gasp from her lips.

Her nails dug into his shoulders, and her head fell back slightly. “Tom—” she breathed, her voice breaking.

“That’s it,” he muttered, his tone somewhere between curious and wicked as his fingers curled inside her, finding the spot that made her whole body tense and then melt in the same breath.

She bit her lip to stifle a moan, but he wasn’t having it. His hand moved faster, more confident now, his thumb pressing firmly against the sensitive bundle of nerves that had her hips bucking against him.

“Let them hear you, love,” he murmured, his lips brushing against her jaw as his fingers curled just right inside her.

Her body trembled, the tension coiling tighter and tighter until it snapped, a cry spilling from her lips as pleasure surged through her like a tidal wave. She gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his uniform as her thighs clenched around him, holding him in place as her body shuddered with each wave of her release.

Once it subsided, the feeling of how tight his fist was holding her hair became apparent but not unpleasant. She sighed, the tension leaving her body slowly, easing her into lulling waves of warmth.

He withdrew his hand slowly, his fingers slick and glistening, and stepped back slightly, though the smirk on his face suggested he wasn’t quite ready to let go of the moment.

“Worth the trouble of knocking, I'd say,” he quipped with a wink, infuriatingly wiping the moisture on his fingers against her bare thigh.

She glanced up at him through her lashes, her smile some kind of soft but amused warning. Her hand shot out to his belt, and his eyebrows shot so high to his forehead she was sure he'd seen God for a moment as her hands worked quickly to undo the buckle and then the buttons.

“Christ, love. Didn’t think you’d still have the energy.”

“Maybe next time, bring actual mistletoe,” she said, her voice dry but laced with heat.

“Next time?” he repeated, his grin turning wicked as he leaned down, his lips brushing against hers, a full body shudder running through him as she took him into her palm, hard and thick, giving a few languid strokes before sliding her other hand up his neck.

“Oh, love, you’re going to ruin me.”

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