#I WAIT IN EARNEST 🤌 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

chadillacboseman · 2 months

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Makarov with a baby is cool, but I wanna read the fic where they MADE the baby 👀

Oh you're so right let's do it 🤌 F!Reader, mentions of getting PREGNANT, obviously.

Nothing gets Makarov's blood pumping like a close call.

Nolan is in the seat next to him, breaths coming in short, pained, waves as he clutches at the wound in his leg. Blood spills past his fingers in thick crimson rivulets, sliding down the fabric of his fatigues and to the leather of the seat beneath him.

Nolan will be fine, it's not his first rodeo; Makarov is sporting his own bullet wound, a clean shot through his upper arm that aches and throbs with each uneven piece of the road.

The rest of the trip is a blur, through rain-soaked streets and to the safehouse where a doctor held at gunpoint meticulously tends to their wounds, too scared to have an errant slip and get their brains blown out.

Sporting fresh stitches and a heart still thundering in his skull, Makarov pushes through the front door and kicks his boots off, ears straining against the thrum of his own blood to listen for your presence.

He calls for you in the darkness, knowing you're likely in bed by now; long gone are the days when you would wait up wringing your hands in his absence.

Makarov moves to the stairs, heavy footfalls carrying him up to your shared bedroom where he finds you curled up under the thick comforter. The moonlight glints off of your skin as your chest rises and falls gently.

"Любовь моя," he nudges you gently, stubbled mouth finding your ear, "I'm home."

"V!" You throw your arms around him and he chuckles, "oh my god, what happened?"

Your eyes are wide as you rake them over his bloodied shirt and the bullet hole in the fabric. You pass your hand over the frayed edges and he catches it in his own, bringing his mouth to dust gently over your knuckles.

"I'm fine," he murmurs, lips ghosting over your skin as he speaks, "but I missed you."

Makarov's mouth is on yours in a heartbeat, his tongue pushing past your lips to tangle with your own. His heart is still hammering, though for different reasons now, pulse thrumming in his ears.

A brush with death makes him desperate, wild and hungry for you; he needs to feel you, to be inside of you to keep himself grounded.

His hands move down your body to lift your shirt over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor near the bed. Makarov takes his lip in his teeth at the sight of you, causing your cheeks to warm under his hungry gaze.

Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, he kisses his way down your stomach and to the waistband of your pajama pants. He tugs them down and off of you before discarding them next to your shirt.

Makarov's arm aches, but he ignores it as he lifts your legs up over his shoulders. You let out a tired whimper as he flattens his tongue and runs it over your clit, as if you are the most delicious thing he's ever tasted.

"V-" you whine out the nickname and he chuckles against your skin before pushing a finger inside you.

You buck against him and he slings an arm across your midriff to pin you in place. His dark eyes meet yours and they crinkle at the corners, giving away his devious grin.

Makarov wants to break you apart, to have you come undone over and over. He gets like that when he comes to to toe with death. He needs to hear you cry his name and beg him to relent before he gives you any mercy.

His finger curls inside you and you let out a pathetic moan as he finds a rhythm with his tongue that sets your mind ablaze. He loosens his grip on your middle and instead moves his hand up to your breasts, rough fingers rolling your one of your nipples between them.

"V, please-" you don't even know what you're begging for, your mind feels like a live wire draped into a puddle of water.

Makarov pauses and then sucks gently on your clit; the motion makes you cry out in earnest and he does it again before adding a second finger inside you.

Your heart fairly hammers in your chest as the pressure builds between your legs, threatening to overtake you. Everything feels overwhelming, unbearable, white hot. You finally hit your limit and thread your fingers into his hair as you grind up against his mouth with a choked sob.

He lets you ride out your high, grinning against your pussy until your legs shake on either side of his head. He gives you a moment to recover, then his tongue is back on you. You gasp, already so overstimulated that it's painful, and grip his hair tightly. You jerk his head up and his eyes find yours- he looks drunk, his eyes heavy lidded and his mouth upticked in a lopsided smile.

"Let me do this," Makarov whispers, "please."

He needs this just as much as you do.

You release his hair and he returns to work. Again and again he makes you come undone entirely until you can think of nothing. Your mind is a scorched forest, and he's the one holding the match.

He knows when you can take no more by the way your legs clamp onto his head and your voice is shrill, cracking in the quiet room. He's satisfied then and pulls away, his mouth still gleaming with your wetness as he shucks his shirt, then his pants.

All you can do is watch, dazed, as he wraps your legs around his waist and then slips inside you. You stare up at him, cockdumb and hazy, and he runs his thumb along your bottom lip. You open your mouth and he puts the digit inside; he groans when you run your tongue along it.

Makarov's first thrust has you seeing stars, clinging to his broad shoulders as he fucks you. Another thrust and you feel like you're gasping for air.

"You can take it," he murmurs. You're not sure you can, "So pretty when you're taking me."

You swallow thickly and look up at him with your mouth slightly agape, pupils blown out with lust. His thrusts are quicker now, and each one nearly makes you sob. Makarov looks down at you as if you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

You are. He doesn't know how he ever got you to love him, or why you stay. He's a terrible man- a murderer, a bastard. He doesn't deserve a pretty, innocent thing like you.

"V," you whimper and he drops his sweat-soaked forehead to yours with a strangled 'hm?', "I want- I want you to cum inside me. Please."

The request sets his mind into a frenzy and he latches his mouth to yours, tongue forcing its way inside as his thrusts quicken.

"You want that, hm?" he pants when he breaks his mouth from yours, "To fill you up?"

You nod and he grins, his lips brushing against yours again before his next words, "you want me to make you a mother?"

Your eyes meet his and you see the intensity in his gaze. You don't even know what it would be like to have a child with him- how you could possibly make it work with his "work".

Makarov thrusts, hard, and you decide that you'll figure that part out later. You give him a choked off 'yes' that makes him feel as if his chest is going to burst from the way his heart hammers.

His next few thrusts are less measured, more sloppy, until he's cursing under his breath in Russian and you feel warmth bloom inside you. He stays planted there until his cock goes soft and he pulls out, pausing to examine his handiwork as it drips down the curve of your ass in pearlescent rivulets.

Makarov falls into the bed next to you and pulls you in close, letting you rest your head on his chest. You decide that cleanup can wait, right now you're content to melt into his embrace. He kisses your forehead and you hum contentedly.

"You sure you want a baby?" you ask, glancing up at him; he looks pensive, staring off into space in the darkness.

"Do you?" he finally looks down at you and his dark eyes are full of something you can't quite place.

"Maybe. Could you keep us safe?"

Makarov scoffs and knits his brows low over his eyes, "I'd kill anyone who even looked at you wrong."

You know he would. You've never felt unsafe for a moment since you met him, even though you know he's a hunted man.

"Then yes."

#makarov x reader #vladimir makarov x reader #ns/fw

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