i need you

My name is Georgia but you can call me Gege. I’m a 25-year-old Brazilian certified fangirl who loves to read and attempts to write sometimes. I have lots of favorite things/interests and that’s why this is a multifandom blog, but mainly I post Taylor Swift, The Hunger Games (Everlark) and The Pitt (Kingdon) stuff. I’m always up for chatting, so feel free to send me a dm or an ask!

I can also be found on Twitter and on AO3.

warning: explicit sexual content

Mel likes when they’re desperate for each other. She thinks it’s hot that, sometimes, not a single word needs to be exchanged in order for their bodies to end up tangled and sweaty, lips touching skin, hands wandering everywhere at once, hips moving to the dance that leaves them both buzzing with desire. It happens more than it doesn’t and it has gotten worse as of lately, what with their increased mutual obsession, as Trinity pointed out last week while pretending to gag. To Mel, it’s like a dream has come true – the fact that someone finally met her right in the middle feels surreal, even after years together.

“You’re getting lost in your head and not in the way you should,” Frank says, a little breathless. His next thrust is deeper, wringing a moan out of her that is definitely way too loud for the quietness of the middle of the night. “Which means I must be doing something wrong.”

“Oh, shut up.” She smacks his bicep and slides her hand down his arm, savoring the shape of his muscles under her palm, feeling wetter and kind of insane. “I wasn’t really thinking. It just struck me once again how good we are together.”

“Yeah?”

Humming a confirmation, Mel clenches around his cock and he gasps, dropping his head to rest in her breast bone. As some sort of revenge, Frank bites on her nipple, licks on it immediately after and then groans something she can’t quite understand. She’s about to close her eyes and surrender to the whole feeling of him when she notices something pink standing out against his dark, messed-up strands.

“There’s confetti in your hair,” she says, laughing, so happy she could levitate. In a swift movement, the rectangular tiny piece of paper is out of its soft confines, solid evidence of their baby shower activities now trapped in between her fingers. “That thing Javadi bought really was powerful, huh.”

“Please don’t bring our friends up right now,” he dramatically grunts. He’s shifted to a slower pace, almost as if trying to control himself, which is ironic considering he just sounded like he was about to go limp.