I Saw It Before It Was Even Posted I’m Just That Special

I saw it before it was even posted I’m just that special

Little Bit

Georgia Amoore x Fem!Reader

—-

synopsis: georgia keeps coming back to you.

a/n: georgia said she liked this song and i coincidentally like this song too (actually lol) so here we are 🥰

Little Bit - Lykke Li

warnings: NOT PROOFREAD, mentions of a slight injury, the usual swearing, reader and georgia are exes and ended on bad terms, the bad terms being that georgia never had enough time for r, no cheating here dw!!!! despite the rumors… sigh, girl idek if this would work, UMMM WE GET FREAKY, making out, mentions of sex… yeah…, lmk if i missed anything!!!

—-

“Hello? Who is it?”

It’s dark. It’s 10:54pm. You have to rub some of the sleep from your eyes.

Whoever is knocking at the door is panicked. You can hear it in the way they knock- they’re nervous, maybe. Something is wrong. They knock too fast, too hard. Not like they’re in a hurry, but more so like they wish the door wasn’t there in the first place.

“Can I come in?”

Fuck.

You know that voice, even if it’s through a door.

“Georgia,” you sigh, hand on the doorknob, not quite opening it yet. You can hear her let out a small sound that’s a cross between a begging plea and a scoff, then the shuffling of feet.

“Please, Y/N.”

You loved her for so long. You still love her. Maybe some part of you will always love her, and you’ll just have to grow around the mark she made.

You open the door just wide enough for the chain lock to be pulled taut, finally laying eyes on her- she looks like a shell of herself.

“Georgia?” You ask, your brows furrowing, eyes wide in shock.

“Y/N,” she says your voice so sweetly. “Can I please come in?”

You look around her, but she’s in the empty hallway of your apartment building. There’s no one there. You don’t know how she got here, you don’t know what happened- but you know she came here. She came to you.

“I just really need you right now,” she says, and your heart breaks at the sound of tears in her voice, and suddenly you can see them shining so brightly in her eyes like stars.

You probably shouldn’t let your ex in. Especially not when she’s in such a vulnerable state like this, and you’ve been thinking about her more often then you care to admit…

“What happened?” You finally ask, voice small. She stays silent. “Did it- a game? Did something happen at a game?”

Your eyes suddenly widen and you tug on the door, forgetting the chain is there- “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she says, wiping something from her eye. “I’m fine. Please, Y/N, I know… okay. I know, but I still need you.”

You stumble over the words.

“W-we’re not da-dating. We’re not dating.”

“I know,” she says, kind of sadly, kind of resigned. “I just need you.”

If she says that sentence to you one more time you might actually break down and love her again. Love her, really, fully. But you can’t do that. The only way you can love her is secretly, in a tender part of your heart she had carved out so lovingly, and eventually left with scars.

And maybe… maybe you can love her in the darkness of your apartment.

You probably shouldn’t do this. But you’ll deal with that guilt later.

“You can always come here,” you whisper, shutting the door softly, almost like she’s a wild, scared animal that will run away at any movement too loud or sudden. You unhook the lock. The chain falls, it hits against the door.

You tighten your hand on the doorknob, about to pull it open- but you don’t have too. The door suddenly slams open, Georgia bursting in through the door like water through a broken dam- because you swear that’s what this night feels like. That’s what every interaction you have with her feels like. A dam- your resolve- breaking, and her rushing in past the broken pieces, taping you up behind her.

She wraps her arms around your waist, just like she used to do, and puts her face into your neck, just like she used to do.

It takes a second for the world to come back into focus, for your body to process the feeling of her skin on yours again, suddenly your hearing comes back and you hear the sounds of soft sobs. Tears are falling down, wetting your skin- but you can’t be bothered.

“Georgia,” you whisper, finally wrapping your arms around her after a moment of shock. “What happened?”

She shakes her head, cries a little harder- and immediately tries to stop herself and choke it back.

“Hey, hey,” you whisper, softly placing your hand into her hair and playing with the thick locks there, like you always used to do. “It’s okay, b- Georgia. It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it. I can just hold you for a while?”

She nods, after a tense second.

“I can do that,” you continue, still whispering. She once told you that she liked your voice.

“Keep talking,” she whispers, her voice thick and scratchy.

“Okay,” you say, letting out a breath.

You feel like a lighthouse letting a ship know where the port is. You feel like Orpheus trying to lead Eurydice out of the underworld with just his voice, trying to lead Georgia back to herself from wherever dark place she is.

“I had McDonald’s for dinner,” you blurt out. “It was really good. It’s Friday, I wanted to treat myself. Um, I had a pretty hard week. Just school wise. I had, like, three tests this week. Studying was rough, but I survived. I was watching the Office before you knocked. It was that one episode where Micheal goes into the woods and tries to survive on his own- I don’t know, it was funny. But Dwight followed him out, and, um, yeah. It was funny. I miss you.”

Her tears have dried by now.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

And it’s suddenly so right that you’re standing in front of your doorway, holding her in the faint glow of the TV.

“Don’t be. I’m glad you came here. Would rather you here than the streets,” you laugh, dryly.

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, because you both know she’s not really sorry about coming here, but for some reason- neither of you have the heart to say it.

And you can’t tell her it’s okay. You can’t say it’s fine.

Softly, like she’s made of glass and you’ll break her, you press a kiss to her hairline.

“Come lay down with me?” You try to sound convincing, but it’s a question.

“Yeah,” she mumbles, and your stomach drops back down from where it had jumped to your throat in anticipation.

Your heartbeat increases at the thought of getting to sleep next to her again, knowing you’re about to sleep so good next to her, touching her skin. The TV continues to glow, continues to talk in low voices.

You softly let go of her, hand drifting to hold hers, watching as she wipes her tears.

She doesn’t need you to guide her to your bed. She knows where it is, but you take her there anyways with a hand that’s maybe a little too tight. But her grip is just as tight.

You know she’ll leave before you wake up.

She can’t face you in the light. And that’s fine, because you can’t really face her in the light either.

She squeezes your hand. You squeeze back.

It feels a little bit like you never broke up.

—-

Everything is a giant fucking blur.

It’s so dark in here, all of the lights are turned off, and it feels more like a rave of some sort instead of a random frat party. They have these stupid neon strobe lights going, making green and yellow flash obnoxiously over everything- making it kind of hard to see. Making it kind of hard to keep the contents of your stomach actually inside of your stomach.

You’re supposed to be with your friends, celebrating one of your friend’s friend breaking up with her boyfriend who was apparently cheating on her, and the entire time all you could think about was your breakup with Georgia.

And the weeks before you finally toughed up and broke up with her- the weeks where you never saw her, where she forgot about you.

You head towards the counter strewn with half-empty bottles of liquor and red solo cups. You grab one that’s hopefully unused, mixing yourself up some random concoction that will definitely taste like shit, but you hope that you can’t think about her anymore if you drink too much.

You weren’t stupid, despite what someone may think- watching you spill a perfectly good bottle of vodka over the side of the cup, you really don’t have good hand-eye coordination right now- you’re not stupid. You knew it was going to be hard dating a D-1 athlete, you knew you would come third, and you were completely fine with that.

You didn’t get mad when she came home from practice and simply kissed you on the cheek before collapsing into bed, you honestly found it kind of sweet- because she would drag you into bed with her, beg you to run your fingers through her hair, or massage her aching muscles.

You didn’t get mad when she choose to spend one of her rare free nights with her friends- you were a little jealous in the moment, but the pictures she posted on Instagram with the biggest smile on her face made up for her.

You did get mad when she just stopped coming over, when suddenly your bed was too far, not even the promise of your soothing hands could get her to come back to your place. You did get mad when she didn’t answer you for days. You did get mad when you told her you were feeling a little neglected, and then cancelled last minute on your date she had planned- not for any reason, except to go shoot hoops by herself in an empty gym, drilling herself.

You did get mad when you spent every night alone without her.

You put the bottle back down, lifting the red solo cup and taking a big sip.

No. You can’t do this. You can’t feel like this, not tonight.

You take another sip, and another, until suddenly you’re floating through the dance floor and sticky alcohol is splashed on your front, and you can’t really see straight, and everything is kinda hazy and beautiful.

You find your friends in the crowd, downing the rest of your drink before crushing it in your hand and throwing it somewhere, hands in the air as you dance loudly and unapologetically.

You dance until your feet scream at you, your heels digging into your feet, following your friends through the crowd until you lose them, you can’t see them anymore.

Tears well in your eyes. Your breathing picks up.

“Y/N!” A bright and cheery voice exclaims.

Oh, it’s Liz.

“Liz,” you say, your voice not sounding like your own.

Her face quickly turns to one of concern. She takes in your slightly rucked up outfit, your teary eyes, the sweat pouring down your face.

She puts her hand on your shoulder, leaning down close to your ear so you can hear her.

“Why don’t you come with me?”

Okay, you start to say- but where Liz is, Georgia will be.

“No-”

“Bloody hell, Y/N.”

Your eyes widen at the sight of your ex-girlfriend.

“Nope,” you say, popping the p, laughing a little. “Nope, nope, nope. I need my friends, not you.”

You can tell Georgia is a little hurt by that, but she doesn’t back down. Liz stands kind of awkwardly to the side of you, but you keep yourself pressed against her and as far away from Georgia as you can.

You love her, you’re drunk, and she’s looking really kissable right now.

“Well, I don’t see your friends,” she shoots right back. “Do you?”

Her tone is a little condescending.

“Oh, shut up,” you say in disgust, taking a step forward- in your head, you’re gonna knock into her shoulder and strut past her. Hopefully she’ll even look at your ass as you leave.

Instead, you’re drunk, you don’t have your footing, you’re in godforsaken heels- and you careen forward, right into her waiting arms.

She sighs as she wraps an arm around your shoulder, her other hand immediately going to hold your hip.

She pretends to be annoyed.

You’re not surprised by this act, she was so vulnerable last week when she came over and said she needed you, cried in your arms- and you’re putting on this bratty act because you’re mad at yourself for letting her in.

But in your drunk state, you can feel her skin on yours so vividly, and you can feel the way her fingers slightly curl into you. Greedy. Possessive, almost. You fall into her and you let her take you, and suddenly she’s taken it upon herself to make sure you’re okay all-too easily. 

“Okay. c’mon,” she sighs, like it’s some big inconvenience to her, but she slides her arm around your waist and holds to her so quickly, again so possessively.

And you would be lying if you said you never felt as safe as you do when her arm is around you.

“I’m fine,” you hiss at her, trying to push her off of you- but she doesn’t really want to let go, and neither do you. She simply tightens her grip, and you simply stop fighting.

She brings you to a much quieter, much emptier part of the house, helping you sit on a couch before asking Liz to find you some water- or just anything that wasn’t alcohol.

“How much did you drink?” She asks when she sits down next to you, putting her hand on your back. You sit with your elbows on your knees and your head in your hands, staring at the floor intently.

“A lot,” you mumble.

She laughs softly in response.

“Do you feel okay?”

Her thumb is rubbing back and forth against your back. Fuck, fuck, you lost your friends and now she’s so close and so far, and it’s so dark in this room- you can barely see a few feet in front of you.

It feels so secret- because everywhere else music is blasting. But in here, it’s just your voice and hers.

Tears well in your eyes yet again.

Maybe you should stop drinking. It makes you too goddamn emotional.

You turn to her.

You can’t face her in the light. But here, it’s so dark.

She’s let her hair down tonight. She almost never wears her hair down, so you’re kinda shocked- and you kinda wanna run your fingers through the waves.

“Why’re you here?” You ask, words muddled by alcohol.

She shrugs. “Just for fun.”

“You don’t know how to have fun,” you accuse.

She laughs, scrunches her nose. It’s all kinda condescending, still. Like you’re some little girl who doesn’t really know anything.

“Yeah, I do.”

“You never had any fun with me.”

She looks away.

“So it’s me, then? I’m the problem?”

“You’re not the problem, Y/N.”

You roll your eyes. “Fuck you.”

“Don’t be a brat,” she scolds.

Her? Scolding you?

You narrow your eyes. “Fuck. You. You’re selfish as shit, and I’m glad I broke up with you everyday.”

Saying that feels like you’re coughing up your organs, but whatever.

She smiles, scratching her nose.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

“Whatever,” you echo.

She rolls her eyes. “Fuckin’ brat.”

“You can leave. You know that, right? You don’t have to stay here. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to sit on the same couch as a “brat” like me.”

“I’m not gonna leave.”

You find yourself inching closer to her.

“Scared of the dark or something, Amoore?”

Suddenly her eyes meet yours.

“Oh, no. I know what you’re scared of.”

She leans back against the couch, adjusting her legs, arms out wide along the back of the couch.

“Really?” She laughs. Genuinely laughs, as if the idea of you something knowing personal about her is so unbelievable.

Suddenly, you swing your leg over hers and climb into her lap. You straddle her, hands pressing into her shoulders as she stares at you in shock.

“Y/N,” she says, swallowing- suddenly not so cocky anymore. “Y/N.”

“Yeah?” You ask, twirling a piece of her hair. “Need to me to talk some more? ‘Cause you love my voice so much, right?”

She puts her hands on your thighs and barely tries to push you off. She could, if she really wanted to. She’s strong. You love her arms.

“I’m really drunk,” you confess, still twirling with a piece of her hair. You can feel her gaze on your pouted lips. “I’m probably not gonna remember this in the morning…”

“Y/N.” It’s a very clear warning, but you push past it. There’s something between your thighs and a burning desire in your stomach.

“Maybe you should show me why I shouldn’t be a brat.”

Her hand moves up from your thigh to cup your waist.

“Fuck, princess.”

“Yeah?” You say, feeling kinda like a giddy schoolgirl at the way she hungrily rakes her eyes up your body, finally landing on your lips. You bite one of them- and the alcohol prevents you from feeling kinda silly, and you can see it on her face. The way she wants you right now.

“Bloody hell,” she whispers, finally leaning forward to place a kiss to your bare chest. She lets her lips linger, and you know you have her right under your thumb- but now it’s not about the power play.

Now it’s about how fucking badly you want her to touch you.

“Touch me,” you say, hoping she doesn’t tease you about the fact you’re practically begging for her, but she seems to want to touch you just as bad. “Touch me, Georgia, please.”

“Shh,” she whispers, before finally pressing her lips to yours.

It feels a little bit like you never broke up.

—-

It’s annoyingly bright. And loud. Your eardrums might burst.

And in all honesty, you never really understood basketball all that well.

You kinda hate this entire thing.

You sigh, leaning back farther into your chair as a buzzer sounds and people cheer- and you straighten up only to realize that it’s just the first quarter.

It’s only been 10 minutes?

Your friends are all super into the game, of course, and it’s not like you don’t like supporting the girls on the team- Liz Kitley, at least, you still consider her to be one of your friends.

Having to watch Georgia completely command the court is probably one of the hardest things you’ve ever had to do. The way she’s so completely in her element, her hair tied back and sticking to her forehead and neck with sweat- you find yourself wanting to lick her skin.

You shake your head and groan, trying to physically get the annoyingly horny thoughts out- but, fuck. All you can think about is the last time you saw her.

The way her hands trailed your skin so hungrily, getting lower and lower, and the feeling in your stomach that felt suspiciously like an actual fire coming to a burning climax before slowly coming back down, reassured by her sweet kisses.

The way she held you that night was possessive. She made you feel like hers. The way she kissed you that night was like she had been starved of you for years, and thought about you every second.

Your friend nudges you. “Starin’ real hard.”

“I’m not,” you hiss, but you know you are.

“No, it’s okay,” she laughs. “I support it. You both miss each other.” You roll your eyes, but she doubles down. “You’re both still in love with each other, babe.”

Some odd emotion takes root in your chest. It squeezes.

“I’m not in love with her. I’m just… in like with her.”

“Mhm,” she says with a smile. “Well, we’ll all be here to celebrate when you guys finally admit it.”

“Jane, shut up.”

She nudges you again with a teasing smile. “I saw those suspicious looking bruises on your hips after that one party you both disappeared at… I might even say those suspicious bruises were kinda… Georgia shaped.”

“Shut. Up. Jane.” You narrow your eyes, and she only smiles widely before laughing and turning back to the game.

“Take your time, babe. Take your time.”

From what you understood, this was the Elite Eight game for the Hokies, and it was kind of a big deal. This game was the one that worked best in your and your friends schedules, and the stadium wasn’t exactly that far, so you came to have fun with them. To support your school, and Liz, and watching Georgia sink a few threes was an added guilty pleasure of a bonus.

You continue watching, your eyes staying mostly on #5.

Surprisingly, you aren’t watching when she gets hit.

You’ve actually managed to tear your eyes away from her and focus on the ball- when suddenly your friends gasp.

You look around the court, eyes finally landing on someone in a Hokie jersey laying on their back, face in their hands.

Someone in a red jersey walks past her, revealing a head of hair you know is Georgia’s.

You straighten, practically jumping out of your seat, your leg immediately staring to bounce up and down in anxiety.

“Get up,” you mumble to yourself. “Be okay. Get up. You’re fine, please. Please get up.”

She doesn’t get up. When you see the athletic trainers step onto the court you stand up quickly.

Jane is watching it from next to you, still sitting down, biting her nails- she looks up at you.

“Hey, Y/N, calm down,” she says, grabbing your hand. Squeezing, trying to bring you back to reality.

“Oh, fuck,” you mumble as Jane pulls herself to stand. “They have to help her off? She can’t walk herself? W-where’d she even get hit? I didn’t see, I- I-”

“Y/N.”

Jane grabs your shoulders.

“Take a deep breath… wipe your tears… and go get your girl.”

You follow the first two steps but falter at the third.

“What?” You mumble, bringing your hand down from your face.

She looks towards the court, and that’s when you realize she’s walking right past you to get to the locker rooms.

You’re thankfully at the end of the aisle, so you carefully make your way down the stairs, to the barricade, kinda feeling like you’re floating. Now that she’s at least up you feel a little better, your tears are starting to dry.

All you want to do is make sure she’s okay.

And even though she’s not yours, and you only love her in the dark- you need to know.

Besides… it’s been two weeks since you’ve felt her skin on yours.

“Georgia!” You call, hands on the barricade bracing yourself. “Georgia!”

You probably didn’t even need to call a second time, because she turns towards you.

A security guard steps in front of you with a large hand, asking you to please get back to your seat- you lock eyes with Georgia.

Her chin. It’s bright red and slightly swollen.

Silently, you ask her to please let you in- but she keeps walking, two athletic trainers helping her.

“Ma’am, please get back to your seat,” the guard says again.

Does she regret that night at the party? Is this feeling in your chest ever since Jane said she was in love with you hope? And it is being crushed now?

“Okay,” you mutter, feeling tears form in your eyes tenfold.

“You’re Y/N?” One of the athletic trainers has run over to you. The security guard gives her a look, but she glares right back.

“Yeah?”

“Georgia asked for you, c’mon.” She beckons you to follow her-

“Really?”

“Yes,” she deadpans. “She said she needed you. I don’t care what she needs, as long as she checks out, I want her to get back out there.”

“Me too,” you nod, sensing this lady took her job very seriously.

“Well c’mon then,” she sighs, patting the barricade, encouraging you to hop it. The security guard rolls his eyes and walks away, and you quickly clamber over the barricade and follow the woman- who walks very fast.

“Did she really say that she needed me?”

Your voice sounds like a stupid Disney princess.

The smallest smile makes its way into her face.

“Yes. She said she needed you.”

Georgia needs you.

You enter the locker room full of fluorescent lights, squinting as your eyes adjust and the door shuts behind you.

She’s sitting on a bench, her fists clenched as the other trainer softly holds her face to look at the mark already forming.

Georgia needs you.

You softly sit next to her, and it takes her a second to finally notice you out of the corner of her eye- an eye which is scrunched up in pain.

“Georgia,” you whisper. Her hand is shaky when you grab it. “What happened?”

“I think everyone saw,” she mumbles. You brush back some hair sticking to her forehead.

“I was actually playing attention to the ball, so, I didn’t.”

“You paid attention to basketball?”

“Well, not very well. But I tried.”

You move closer to her so your thighs are touching, her hand squeezes yours as she turns her head- and you spot the bruise on her chin.

“She got me in the chin.”

“Jesus Christ,” you gasp, looking up wide eyes to the atheistic trainer. “Is it normal to be a bruise already- God, is your jaw broken? Are you okay?”

Georgia and the trainers all let out a laugh, and you feel kinda silly, but Georgia squeezes your hand as if to reassure you. You feel a little bit better.

“Completely normal,” the woman before explains. “And, a little tip, usually if people are talking- jaws aren’t broken.”

“Oh, whatever,” you mumble, feeling your cheeks get a little hot. One of the trainers hands you an ice pack.

You.

“You’re medically checked out. Ice it for a minute, catch your breath, and you’re ready to go back out there if you want to.”

“Okay, thanks,” Georgia nods, smiling tightly- but you can hear it in her voice. The weight of it all. The pressure.

“We’ll give you a minute alone,” the trainer says, kind of suggestively, but you force yourself to ignore that as her and her colleague let the door shut behind them.

You softly press the ice pack to her chin. She shuts her eyes, and you can tell she’s willing herself not to cry.

“Does it hurt a lot?” It’s kind of a stupid question, but you can’t think of anything else to say.

“No. It’s not too bad.” Her eyes shut, and you place your other hand on her jaw to steady yourself. She lets out a breath.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you whisper, hand moving to smooth back her ponytail.

“Mm- no, no. I’m fine. I just need you right now.”

And it’s in moments like this, when Georgia says she needs you, when she’s touching you and looking to you for comfort… this is how you know you’ll never be able to fully tear yourself away from her.

She’ll always run back to you. And you’ll always let her, with open arms.

You kind of want to ask her what needing you means. But you don’t.

“I should get back out there,” she says. She’s whispering, like this moment will break.

“Yeah,” you agree, swallowing.

“Yeah.”

You meet her eyes again, and her pupils are slightly blown, she looks a little breathless-

“Oh, to fuck with it.”

She slams her lips onto yours, hands cupping your face and keeping you pressed close to her, the ice pack falling and your hands immediately winding around her neck- this is how you need her. You need her hungry and kissing you. You need her touching you and loving you.

She needs you to comfort her and you need her to fuck you.

Any shyness you had is long replaced, especially when one of her hands drifts down to squeeze your ass, making you moan her name into her mouth.

The kiss is disgusting, messy, kind of dirty.

“There’s so much riding on this game,” she breathes out when you move down to kiss her neck.

“I know,” you mumble back against her skin. “But you’re so talented.”

“Yeah,” she agrees, tilting her head back. “I only forget about it when I’m with you.”

Her hand drifts down to your neck, and she pulls you away to start kissing down yours, both of you careful to not leave marks- but you can feel her kissing a little harder then she should.

You’ll probably be leaving this place tonight with at least one faint mark on your neck. And the thought thrills you.

“Really?” You gasp. “Maybe you should stop fucking me over and spend more time fucking me.”

“I will,” she whispers against your skin, leaving one final kiss on the mark you could feel her forming. “I promise I will.”

“Good,” you say back, trying to sound confident. But she looks into your eyes, her ponytail messy from when you had tugged on her hair, and completely melt.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, pointing awkwardly to the hickey. But you know she’s saying sorry for more than that.

You cover it with your hair. “It’s okay, I guess.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” she smiles, a little wickedly.

“Please.”

“I really have to go back now,” she stands up, rubbing her jaw. “Sorry- shit. You distracted me.”

“Sorry,” you shrug.

“I really gotta go before I kiss you again.”

You smile. You smile so big and she smiles right back.

“Well, now you’re definitely gonna win because you’re all fired up, huh?” You stand up, following her to the locker room door.

“Definitely.”

She doesn’t promise to text you or anything, and you don’t mind. You know she’ll come back.

You smile softly instead of saying goodbye, and she stares at you kinda in amazement for a second before shaking her head and running right back over to the game.

It feels a little bit like you never broke up, but you’re kinda glad you broke up.

—-