SYNOPSIS - you're a bartender, of course, the best clients are the marines.
CONTENT - smut! fem!masturbation. poorly written because I'm still learning my way.
WC - 1.1k
NOTE - he makes me sick, I need him!!
The bar was filled with all kind of people. Old creepy guys, girls in their earlier twenties, divorced dads, womans in their fourties and the regulars. The air outide was so hot you could feel sweat dripping on your back, the poor fan barely helping as you crossed the back door and got back in position, behind the counter. You smiled as soon you heard girls gasping when GataOnly started playing, they all gathering in groups to dance, turning all of the old men heads.
– Told you my playlist would perk up things around here. – Lisa laughed, washing spoons.
The door opened again bringing a fresh brezee, you looked and saw a bunch of guys coming in, all in their uniformes, your favorites – marines. Not because you were a fan of the army, but because they were mostly hot and good at tips. A rather young looking boy sat in front of you, fidleting with his fingers.
– Can I get you something? – You asked with a polite smile, he smiled back.
– Yeah, do you have…– he looked around the bar – coke?
– Of course, just that? – he nodeed as you handed him the can. Another guy appeared, taller and way more buffed than him, tapping his back.
– Hey sweetheart, can you get me five shots of tequila?
– Sure. – You hold back a smile at his strong accent. – What are you boys celebrating tonight?
– Graduation, finally out of that hell of camp. – He kept his gaze on you, wandering trough your face and lingering for a second on your shirt. He smirked, licking his lips.
You slid the glasses to him, your eyes locked with him and he smiled wider. His thumb lightly touching the back of your hand.
– Thanks.
– No problem. – he looked at you one last time before cathing the stray of cups. He stopped halfway and looked at the boy drinking coke.
– Cope, hand this over to Hicks. – he demanded, already giving the stray to the boy, who reluctant got up and walked away. Then he sat in his place and leaned in the counter. – What time you get out?
You laughed, incredolus.
– None of your bussines, sweetie. – He smiled at the nickname.
– Come on, it will be fun. I am a really good company.
– Oh, I bet.
His hands were holding the back of your neck, you could feel his hot breath in your face as he kissed slowly a path over your ear to your cheeks. Your hands sliding into his shirt, tracing his abs and exploring the tense muscles, his breath grew ragged and uneven as you explored closer to the waist of his pants. He gripped your chin, a low moan escaping his lips, his eyes scanning your expression, focusing in the mouth.
He could feel his heart racing, desire consuming your bodies like fire. You felt intoxicated by his fingers tracing the curve of your waist while his mouth devoured your lips with expertise and mastery. He made your mind go hazy and your eyes roll. You let your hands wander to his already hard member and caressed it calmly, almost torturing he, making him grunt. His mind wandered to all the positions he imagined you in, feeling your touch drive him to the brink of insanity.
After so long trapped in a camp full of annoying boys and nothing but his own hand to satisfy him, he knew he wouldn't last long with your touch and sweet scent, your soft skin, and the low moans you let out every time his tongue invaded your mouth so fiercely, like a desperate and hungry man.
He not only wanted you — he needed you. He lifted you off the wall and with a simple gesture, placed you on the bed. You breathed deeply as you watched him take off his shirt, revealing his defined chest and muscles. Your eyes drifted down to the waistband of his pants, anticipation churning within you. You noticed a trail of dark hair and moistened your lips, pulling him by the arms until he was almost lying on top of you. You captured his lips in a wet kiss, feeling his knee settle between your legs, giving you a slight sensation of satisfaction.
– You are going to kill me. – He murmured, breaking the kiss and removing your tank top, revealing a black bra. – How lucky I am.
His hands went to your breasts, massaging them slowly until his fingers reached your back and, with a swift movement, unbuttoned it. He smiled as he lowered himself and kissed them, giving them both the proper care. You moaned and bit a finger as you felt his rough, wet tongue on your nipple. With a 'pop' he took your breast out of his mouth and returned his attention to your jeans, and in the blink of an eye you were naked.
His eyes lingered on your face and he kissed you again, this time more calmly, almost carefully. His left hand slid down to the middle of your thighs and he gently pulled your lower lip with his mouth when he felt how wet you were. He smiled and, looking at you, placed a finger inside you and your body arched with the new sensation.
He was a big guy – and every part of his body followed suit, including his fingers. His gaze was penetrating, overflowing with lust; he was vulgar, murmuring in your ear the things he wanted to do, and how beautiful you would look with his cock in your mouth.
You turned your face away, feeling embarrassed. He inserted another finger, maintaining an agonizingly slow and delicious rhythm. He noticed you biting your lip to hold back and immediately cupped your cheek with his free hand, bringing your focus to him.
– Let me hear you. I want to hear everything you have to give me. I want to know how good I make you feel, sweetheart.
You closed your eyes and unconsciously moaned at his words, his rough tone and deep accent making your legs tremble. He released your face and held your thigh, keeping it open. His rhythm quickened, and you could swear the room was spinning, unable to focus your eyes on him or anything else. Your orgasm came quickly and devastating, he chuckled softly, noticing the sticky mess on his fingers. When you opened your eyes again, you saw him bringing his fingers to his mouth and wiping them, then leaning in and kissing you like a wild animal.
NOTES - i have not wrote a love story in a while, so please bear with me lmaoo. leave any thoughts/suggestions in the replies!! xx (ps, this story is kind of based off the song “crush” by ethel cain!)
It’s the summer after your senior year, and you wanted to go to Germany with your friends, but your father had other plans. You’re sat in the passenger seat of his truck. You’re parked right in front of the boot camp. You sigh internally. He stares straight ahead, tapping the steering wheel once.
“Get your bags and meet me at that building.”
“Yes, sir,” you say. It comes out more like an exhale than a response.
You step out into the heat, grab your bags from the back of the truck, and look around. Gravel. Barbed wire. Empty desert. Just you, the faint smell of sweat, and dirt. Thirteen weeks here, while your friends are probably on a boat somewhere in Germany drinking like there’s no tomorrow.
The sound of your boots crunching against the ground fills the silence. When you reach the building, the air conditioning hits you like a wall. It’s freezing, sterile, echoing, and somehow makes you wish you were outside again. You wander down a hallway that looks the same as every other hallway until a voice calls out behind you.
“Alvar.”
You turn, half expecting your dad. Instead, it’s a tall man with a buzzcut and a sharp-looking uniform.
“Are you Y/n?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you say, clutching your quilted duffel bag tighter.
“I’m Sergeant McKinnon. Friend of your father’s, it’s good to finally meet you.” He shakes your hand firmly and politely. “He’s checking in. I’ll get you situated.”
He leads you into a never-ending, empty barracks room.
Rows of bunks. Metal footlockers. A faint smell of bleach.
“Everyone else is still checking in,” he says as you drop your bag beside one of the bunks.
“Got it.”
Tall. Buzzcut. Square shoulders. There’s a faint scar across his nose, like it’s been broken before. He doesn’t look at you, just adjusts his posture, gaze forward.
Your dad moves down the line, voice firm and even.
When he reaches you, he pauses. “Y/n,” he says.
“Sir, yes, sir?”
“Introduce yourself.”
You clear your throat. “Uh, I’m Y/n, Y/n Alvar.”
Gosh, you could just sink into the floor right now.
There are quiet snickers sounding through the room. Your dad doesn’t react.
“She’ll be training with you this summer. Treat her like any other recruit, and remember she is my daughter.”
That earns a few stiff nods and a few careful glances. Your face burns even more.
He gives orders and sends everyone to gear up. The guys rush off, muscle memory and momentum, and suddenly the room feels like it’s spinning with noise and movement.
You stay put, because you’re already in uniform.
The guy beside you, Scar Nose, reappears from the locker area, adjusting his cap. You decide to be nice and social, hoping it’ll ease the tension.
“Hey,” you say. “I’m Alvar.”
“I know,” he replies without looking up.
Well, okay.
“So… you are?”
“Slovacek.”
You nod. “Cool name.”
He doesn’t answer. Just zips up his bag and walks out like you hadn’t said anything.
So much for small talk.
—
Later, you’re led out to the training field. The sun feels angry like it’s personally offended that you exist, which, honestly, you totally get. And to make matters worse, your boots are already sticking to your socks, as is your shirt to your back.
“Pair up,” one of the drill instructors yells.
Slovacek immediately pairs with another guy, leaving you standing awkwardly until someone waves you over. He’s tall, tan, head shaved, eyes warm even from a distance. There’s an ease about him, the kind of person who looks like they could talk anyone down from a panic attack.
“Santos,” he says, offering a hand.
“Alvar.”
He smiles. “Figured. You’re kind of hard to miss.”
You laugh, unsure if that’s a compliment. “Guess that’s one way to say I stick out.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “Everyone’s trying not to stick out. You might have an advantage.”
You’re told to start with endurance drills, then sit-ups, squats, and push-ups. Santos takes it in stride, counting quietly while you try not to die next to him.
“You okay?” he asks when you pause mid sit-up.
“I’m fine,” you wheeze. “Just reconsidering every life choice that led me here.”
He grins. “So… high school burnout or parent’s idea?”
“Parent’s idea,” you say, side-eyeing where your father walks the perimeter. “Yours?”
“My idea,” he says, shrugging. “Needed something that made me feel like I was moving forward, you know?”
You nod, not trusting yourself to respond without sounding like you’re dying.
You finish the set and both collapse onto the dirt, panting. Across the field, Slovacek sprints like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Every motion sharp and controlled. He looks like he belongs here.
You don’t. But when he looks your way, your stomach suddenly feels weird, like you just ate soft cheese. You brush it off, knowing you definitely don’t feel any way toward him.
Santos sits across from you, talking about the town he grew up in. Somewhere small and coastal, full of sand that gets into everything. He’s easy to talk to.
“Your dad always this serious?” he asks eventually, lowering his voice.
You sigh. “Yeah. He was born in uniform, I think. Kinda like those mini soldier figurines.”
He laughs, then glances around. “You holding up okay?”
“I’ve had worse mornings,” you lie.
He smirks. “You don’t look like it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You just look like you’re trying not to implode.”
“Observant.”
“Occupational hazard,” he says with a shrug. “You’ll get used to it. The yelling. The heat. The smell of socks.”
“Can’t wait.”
You finish eating, and for the first time all day, you feel something like relief, someone who doesn’t treat you like a liability or like you’re made of glass.
—
The evening hits hard.
After drills, you’re sent back to the platoon. The air smells like detergent and sweat. Your father’s nowhere in sight, which makes it easier to breathe.
Slovacek’s already at your bunk when you walk in. He’s cleaning his boots, focused and quiet.
You decide to try again. “You train a lot?”
He glances up, one brow raised. “Everyone trains a lot.”
“Yeah, but you look like you actually enjoy it.”
A pause. Then, “I don’t enjoy it. I just don’t complain.”
Ouch.
“Noted,” you say, forcing a smile. “I’ll try to be less human next time.”
He looks up properly this time, studying you for a second before going back to his boots. “You’re not the first one to say that.”
You almost laugh, but stop yourself.
“Do you ever” you start, but he stands, cutting you off.
“I’m heading out.”
“To where?”
He nods toward the door. “PT area. It’s quieter there.”
You watch him leave, wondering if everyone here was built from steel and silence, or if he’s just the prototype.
—
By lights out, exhaustion wins.
The room is dim except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan. You can hear snores, someone shifting in their bunk, boots squeaking in the hall.
Santos’s voice carries from a few bunks down. “Hey, Alvar.”
“Yeah?” you mumble.
“Not bad for your first day.”
“Not dead,” you say into your pillow. “That’s a win.”
He chuckles. “That’s the spirit.”
Above your bed, you hear Slovacek mutter something too low to make out, probably about talking after lights out.
You don’t respond. Instead, you just hope for a better day tomorrow.
please comment below / dm me if you’d like to be added to the tag list! - also, i do take requests for stories, fluff, smut, etc! - my smut account: @kazerine xx
y’all don’t understand the way that i need a drastically unrealistic platonic fic of sullivan and a fem reader. where she someone how ends up with the boys and he’s also her mentor/older brother figure. like c’mon
but i also know this fandom is not the one for this type of fic so i’ll just yearn for it cuz writing my own will never amount to what i desire
