#writers room | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

litgwritersroom · 2 months

Note

PLEASE! PLEASE! Hear me out!

Please write a scenario about how Lewie met MC in one of his games but didn't get a chance to ask her name after his game because he lost her in the crowd or something. Then he finally met her again at the villa. Cause that sweet golden retriever boy fell in love with Mc the moment he saw her in the villa, and he is like all in on her already??? Like how is that possible??!

Thank youuu🤍✨🥺

SHOOT YOUR SHOT

Lewie / OC - 4100+ words - @mrsbsmooth

She was screaming his name, but he lost her in the crowd. He's not letting her disappear again.

Lewie jumped up and down on the spot with the other guys in the tunnel, waiting to run onto the pitch. He was first. He was always first. He was the bloody captain, he had to be first. Project confidence. Project leadership. Cool, calm, collected.

But he was nervous today.

If they won today, they’d go up to League One. He’d triple his salary, minimum, probably quadruple it if Terry kept him on as captain. He’d be able to pay off his parents’ house in three months. His life would change if they won today.

Mac clapped him on the back. “Good?”

“Mostly,” Lewie responded, swallowing hard.

“Ahh, none of that,” Mac grinned. “S’just a game, innit?”

Lewie wished he could laugh at it. He stretched his neck as the doors opened. He took the hand of the player escort kid next to him who looked almost as nervous as he did.

Game time.

Cup finals were always packed, but Lewie had never heard a roar like the one he heard as he stepped onto the pitch that day. It was a wall of sound, almost making him flinch as he dropped the kid’s hand, gave him a high five, and took his position.

Lewie was breathing as steadily as he could, but he couldn’t shake the nerves from his shoulders. It felt like a noose had tied itself around him. What if they lost? What if they didn’t get promoted? How many more years did he have in this league? He was already 24. If he didn’t go up this year, his chances of ever going higher were starting to get slim. He’d never pay off his parents’ house. He’d never provide for his nieces and nephew.

The stands were a sea of red. He tried to focus on the green beneath his feet. But his eye was caught by a flash of white amongst the red.

“Lewie! Lewie! Hey! Over here!”

A big group of girls, head to toe in white, chanting and screaming and clearly drinking. They were right behind the goal. But as soon as they realised they had his attention, they began squealing.

And then, he saw the sign.

A huge piece of cardboard. Two words.

An arrow pointing to its holder.

MRS PRITCHARD

Lewie laughed, almost throwing his head back as he beamed at the girls. They started jumping up and down, screaming with excitement that he’d seen them. He was too far away to see them up close. He just turned his attention back to the pitch, still laughing. The whistle blew. The crowd screamed. The match began. And honestly?

He was feeling a bit better.

The match started the way all matches do. Slowly. Sussing each other out, no-one wiling to give away their game plan too quickly. He focused on the game with every shred of brainpower he had, and he was having a bit of a blinder, if he did say so himself. He barely missed a thing, ending up right where he needed to be as his team edged closer and closer to the box.

Levi passed him the ball, and Lewie beat three defenders to get it to Mac, but as Mac took the shot, the ball bounced off the crossbar. The crowd groaned, and the team in blue took possession. Gary forced them over the sideline, and Lewie sprinted back to position. But play had stopped. One of the opposing players was stalling, pretending Gary had kicked him.

“Lewwwwwie! Lewwwwwie!”

He chuckled, rolling his eyes. He was a little closer to where the girls had been. He placed his hands on his hips, to catch his breath, glancing over at them again, and once more, they screamed. Mrs Pritchard held up her sign again.

But this time, he could see the girl holding it.

And he did a fucking double take.

He was still a ways away, but even from this distance, he felt his eyebrows shooting up.

Soft, dark waves, a bit of a tan but a lot of a smile, the enormous, excited grin drawing a smile from him, too. White trousers so tight they looked like leggings, and their team’s white away jersey tied into a crop at the front. She must have been freezing, but she looked like she was keeping herself plenty warm by jumping up and down as she beamed at him.

Damn.

“I love you, Lewie!” she screamed, sending a chuckle through the dozens of fans around her. He took a deep breath, and laughed it off, shooting her an amused smile.

Play resumed. Unfortunately, most of it was down the other end of the field. But now, he had even more reason to get the ball up to his team’s end.

Every time he even came close to the group of girls, they erupted into a wall of noise, and not just for him. They were almost louder than the rest of the crowd combined, and when Lewie bent the ball right into Mac’s boot, they screamed so loud he was sure their voices would give out. But Mac missed again.

Fuck. Nil-all at half time.

The team made their way into the locker rooms. Lewie laughed off all the comments from his teammates about what the hell was going on. He honestly had no idea who these girls were or why they’d suddenly decided to show up to scream for the team, but he wasn’t complaining, and neither was anyone else.

“D’you see the sign?” Gary laughed.

“Yeah,” Lewie shook his head, sighing.

“Did you see the stunner holding it?” Levi flicked an eyebrow.

The locked room fell silent. Lewie sighed even harder. “Yes, I did.”

Wa-heyyys echoed off the walls, and Lewie, one more time, shook his head. He glanced over at Mac, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was taking deep breaths, focusing.

“Hey,” Lewie said, sitting next to him. “You good?”

Mac grunted with annoyance, relacing his boots for the second time.

Lewie sighed. “It’s only half time.”

“And I’ve already missed twice.”

“Yeah, and you can miss five more times, as long as we hold them to zero as well. This game doesn’t rest on your shoulders, mate. If it did, Terry would’ve taken you out already.”

Mac furrowed his brow.

“I mean you have missed twice already,” Lewie teased. “It’s a big goal. Just kick it in?”

Mac huffed a laugh, elbowing him hard in the arm. “Fuck off.”

Lewie lowered his voice, smiling reassuringly at his best mate. “Get out of your head. It’s just a game, remember?”

Mac nodded, taking a deep breath and giving him a brief smile of thanks. “So you really don’t know those girls?” Mac asked, shifting the focus off himself.

“No,” Lewie said, shaking his head. “Never seen a single one of them before.”

Mac’s mouth curled into a smirk. “Bet you might be seeing one of ‘em after, though?”

Lewie rolled his eyes, but couldn’t hide his smile. “I mean, she’s really shooting her shot.”

“With a fuckin’ Gatlin Gun. She’s comin’ on strong.”

Lewie laughed loudly. “Since when is that a bad thing?”

It wasn’t a question that needed an answer. The hint of a smirk on Mac’s face was now in full swing. Lewie didn’t mind a girl who went after what she wanted. He didn’t mind that at all.

“So you’re gonna go for it?”

Lewie shrugged. “I mean, she likes footie, she’s pretty, and she’s got a big sign saying ‘I’m interested’. It can’t hurt to get her number?”

The second half started, and Lewie frowned as he looked towards what was now the opposing team’s goal. The girls would be all the way up the other–

“Lewie! Over here babe!”

They’d moved.

He didn’t know how they’d managed, but they’d moved. The entire group of them were now at the other end of the pitch, behind the swapped goal ends. He smiled, shooting the pretty brunette a small wave, and she pretended to swoon and faint into her friend’s arms.

He belly laughed at that one.

The match resumed, and if he’d thought they were playing well before, the second half had the team electrified. Lewie and Mac passed the ball back and forth without even looking, falling into muscle-memory and pure instincts as they did what they’d done since they were seven. Back, forward, time it right, bit of feigning, more than a bit of fancy footwork, and with every possession, they edged closer down to their end.

Sixtieth minute, then seventieth, then eightieth. Nil-all. Lewie passed the ball to Kobi, who headed it to Mac– Intercepted. A bad pass, but not the end of the world. The ball went out, leaving the Reds with a corner. The others set up. Lewie moved backwards.

But first, another time-wasting injury meant to kill their momentum.

It was a tactic from the opposing team. It was meant to lower their adrenaline levels and catch them slow. The waterboy ran onto the field, tossing him a bottle. Lewie took a big gulp of gatorade, swishing it around his mouth. He needed to keep his adrenaline levels up. He–

“Hey Lewie!” a familiar voice called.

He looked up. His brunette beauty’s arms were in front of her.

Her shirt wasn’t.

She was lifting it. She’d tucked her fingers under her bra, and flipped the whole thing up.

She was flashing him. And she was not being shy about it.

He spat gatorade all over the pitch.

Her rather fucking magnificent breasts were fully on display, and the crowd erupted with cheers, but no sooner had she done it, her friends were squealing with laughter and tugging her shirt down to cover her, but they weren’t quick enough. His eyes fell across her body, to the stunningly intricate tattoo painted across her ribcage.

A red Welsh dragon.

Lewie could hardly breathe, coughing and spluttering gatorade as he tried very hard to remain cool, calm, and collected. But it was a bit hard to look any of the three when he could already feel himself furiously blushing.

The other guys on the pitch were laughing their arses off at him, and he couldn’t help but join in. He’d never had attention like this before. He’d never been so ferociously and aggressively hit on, especially not while he was on the bloody pitch.

He did not mind one fucking bit.

She pulled her shirt down, and as she adjusted herself, her eyes didn’t leave his. She raised her eyebrows. And even though they were still a dozen metres apart, he could almost hear it in his ear.

Your move.

He held her gaze for a second, smiling in disbelief and shaking his head with a laugh. That was definitely the adrenaline rush he needed. He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, still blushing furiously, and she beamed at how flustered he was.

But before he could do anything, his attention was drawn by the referee’s whistle calling the game back into action. Lewie shot her a wink as he reluctantly jogged back to position. He was definitely getting her number after the game.

But he never got a chance.

Things suddenly picked up pace, and he didn’t have an opportunity to look back in her direction. He could hear screaming and yelling, but he was down the other end of the pitch, defending his heart out as the other team got close to scoring twice in seven minutes. But they held them off.

It was the eighty-fourth minute.

The lads bent over, their hands on their knees, puffing and panting as if they’d just run a marathon.

It was a sign. It was time.

They got possession, and Lewie called the code they’d practiced for months. They’d pretend to be exhausted. To be slow, and late, and unfit. Let the other team think that this was everything they had to give. Lull them into a false sense of security.

With seemingly no warning, a red jersey and a sharp undercut went sprinting at breakneck speed down the pitch. The defenders fell for it and gave chase, sprinting after Levi as he took the ball as fast as he could down the field.

They barely paid attention to Lewie moving out wide to the left flank.

Levi to Kobi. Kobi to Levi. Levi to Kobi. Kobi to Mac. Mac to Levi. Levi to Mac to Kobi to Mac. The defenders were focused. Completely focused. Lewie came sprinting up the left of the box, holding level to stay onside–

Mac to Lewie.

The ball was in the goal before the defenders even looked in his direction.

The crowd exploded, no one more than Mac, who took a running leap into the air to tackle Lewie to the ground. The guys screamed and yelled in his ear, celebrating along with the shaking grandstands. 12,000 people chanting his name. It was like something out of a daydream. Something he’d pretended and practiced as he ran drills in his backyard.

‘Pritchard! Pritchard may have just taken them to promotion!’

He should’ve looked for Mum. Or Dad. Nana or Izzie or Josie or Teagan. His mates were here. His bloody under-10’s coach was probably here. But his gaze drifted back over to the area right behind the goal where the group of girls in white had been. Call it curiosity about what she’d do. If she’d flashed him over a decent pass–

She was gone.

He furrowed his brow as he looked at the part of the stands that had previously held the pretty brunette and all her friends, but they were gone. Completely vanished, all of them, the only evidence they’d ever been there was a white feather boa flung over the back of one of the chairs. Lewie shook it off. Maybe they’d gone to get drinks?

But there were only ten minutes left in the match.

Mac scored again, and Lewie looked around to see if he could see any of the girls in white, but all he saw was that same sea of red.

The final whistle blew: 2-0.

They were going up. Their team had been promoted.

The grandstands erupted even louder than they had for the goals. The air itself was shaking with noise. Lewie was so caught up in hugging his teammates that he barely realised fans had started streaming onto the pitch.

He was passed around between lifelong supporters he’d already come to know, and many he hadn’t. His shirt was grabbed, his back patted, his hair ruffled and his arms locked to his sides as he was picked up ad squeezed with surprising force. A beer was pushed into his hand, and he threw it back without a slight hesitation. He was so wrapped up in their victory that he almost forgot to keep an eye out for a group of girls in white.

Almost.

He wasn’t the tallest on the pitch, but he was taller than most, but he still couldn’t see them.

He answered questions for the local paper, he posed for photos, he accepted the cup on behalf of the team and made the heartfelt, grateful speech he never thought he’d get to give, but he didn’t stop looking.

She wasn’t there. Neither were her friends.

It made no sense.

He couldn’t wrap his head around why she’d do all that and just leave.

But, as the confetti settled, the music started to wane, and the celebrations spilled into the locker room, Lewie realised.

She had.

She’d just left.

It took him a while to get over it. Like, way longer than it should’ve.

The guys made fun of him for it, obviously. “Way to Lewie’s heart is to ask him to marry you, then flash him your tits’. They were wrong– of course they were, that would’ve been insane.

There had just been something about her.

It wasn’t that he wanted to date a girl who regularly flash an entire stadium, but there was something about the confidence something like that would need. A risk taker. A joker. Up for a laugh and down for a dare. Someone who made a point of having fun with her friends. Someone who liked footie. Someone who wasn’t afraid to scream his name, to show up to his games and let everyone know she was there for him.

He’d never realised how attractive that was to him.

In fact, he kind of couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He tried asking the ticketing office about them, but one of the girls had shown up in person three weeks before and paid for the seats in cash. There was no name attached. None of the guys recognised them either, so they must’ve been from out of town. How they ended up in Northern Wales for a football match at a bachelorette party was both beyond him, and devastating that he might never get to even find out her name.

He’d been lying in bed one night when he suddenly figured it out.

The next morning, he’d dropped by the security office before training. It’d been weeks, but he was sure they’d remember her. He was sure that was why. It had to be why.

The Security team had, in fact, kicked Mrs. Pritchard and her entire friend group out of the stadium, but they’d just handed the girls over to the police. They hadn’t taken names. Lewie had nodded, and wrote down the number of the officer that took them in.

But he’d never gotten the chance.

Mac had walked past and seen him waiting in the freezing cold for the Security team to arrive, and he immediately staged an intervention. And that intervention involved the entire team making it their business to set him up on dates.

Normally, he didn’t mind dating. Even if he didn’t have a connection with the girl, he’d enjoy taking them out for dinner, getting to know them, asking them about themselves– it was nice.

But now, there was a question mark over it.

Would this be the type of girl who’d come to his games and scream his name? The kind of girl who’d shoot her shot in front of all her friends and 12,000 strangers? Did the girl across the table from him have that kind of confidence?

And for every girl his mates set him up with, the answer was no.

It was a year later his mates told him what they’d done.

He didn’t think about her as often any more. He’d been on a few nice dates since.

But he still thought about her.

He’d kept his searching low-key. He didn’t have much of a social media presence, and for once, he almost regretted not having one. One Instagram DM from one of her friends girls could’ve solved the mystery for him. But even after he set up a profile, that DM never came. He wasn’t one for dating apps, but he’d kicked himself a few months later when he’d realised he might’ve been able to swipe right on her if he’d set one up that day.

But he didn’t think about her as much any more.

The day his phone rang, he’d thought it was a prank. ITV calling him to bring him in for an interview for Love Island. He hadn’t even applied– which surprised them, because they apparently had a long and very detailed application form, with many, many pictures of him shirtless in the locker rooms at training. Fucking Mac.

Terry thought it’d be a good idea. Good promo for his personal brand. Good publicity for the club. Levi threw a fit. He’d wanted to go on Love Island for years, and Terry had always said no.

“Yeah, but Lewie’s not gonna put our entire Public Relations team on stress leave,” Terry had said. The guys had all laughed.

Mac grinned with his hands behind his head. “Nah, he’s just gonna get on TV so that he can subtly communicate his beloved flasher he’s willing to put a ring on it.”

Lewie huffed.

The guys laughed a lot harder at that.

So, two months after that, he stood just inside the Majorca villa with three other guys, waiting to go and pick a girl out of a lineup as if they were picking footy teams at lunch in primary. He was glad to be the one picking. Because this time, he wasn’t the only 8-year-old who could do a scorpion kick. If there was a scorpion-kick equivalent in dating, he didn’t know what it was, and he definitely didn’t know how to do it.

He just knew footie.

It wasn’t in his nature to go after a girl unless he knew for sure she was interested. He knew footie, but he didn’t know dating. Maybe that was why he’d been so drawn to Mrs Pritchard. He’d never even met her and he’d known where he stood.

His phone chimed, and his eyes widened. He was going first.

He took a step forward, placing his hand on the door handle, trying to breathe. The likelihood of one of them holding up a sign for him saying ‘I’m interested’ seemed a lot less likely here than��

Than…

The villa door opened, and suddenly, he was in the league final all over again. He knew that in the memory, there was 12,000 people screaming his name. Screaming for his team.

But all he could see was her. Caramel waves. Tan skin. A smile wide enough to take down a grandstand.

A red Welsh dragon painted across her ribcage.

He stopped at the top of the stairs, his mouth falling open in sync with hers. But instead of screaming and jumping up and down, she furiously blushed and dropped her eyes. Lewie made his way over to stand beside the host, smiling politely at the other girls, but there was no need to make small talk.

“So, ladies, this is Lewie. 24, Football captain from Wales. Lewie, let me introd–”

“No need,” he smiled. “I already know who I’m picking.”

There was an interested smattering of whispers, but he walked forward.

The stunning brunette was blushing something awful, and she didn’t look up at him until he was standing right in front of her.

“Hi,” he said.

She looked up, meeting his eyes, and smiled sheepishly.

“I didn’t think you’d remember me.”

“Bit hard to forget someone I’ve barely stopped thinking about, Mrs. Pritchard.”

Her breath caught, but he didn’t take his eyes off her. That pink dusted across her cheeks was unlike anything he’d ever seen before. The most beautiful orchid-pink, painting her like watercolours across her cheeks and the tip of her nose, and it was him that put it there. He suddenly kind of understood how she’d had the confidence to shoot her shot like she had.

Lewie reached for her hand and she gave it to him. He linked their fingers together.

“Can I pick you?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she grinned.

“Well, then, you’re gonna have to tell me your name.”

She smiled. “Bree. My name is Bree.”

“I’m Lewie.”

“I know.”

Lewie turned back to the host, smiling widely. “I’m picking Bree.”

Bree smiled so widely that he wondered if she might break. The urge to just pick her up and kiss her was one he had to push down. It would’ve been way too forward, and he probably would’ve come on way too strong. Going all in for a girl fifteen minutes into filming beginning was the stupidest strategic move he could possibly make.

The other girls cooed as he stood beside her, waiting for the next guy to come out, and one by one, they paired off with the other girls, until finally, the host said goodbye.

Bree immediately turned to him.

“I saw you, by the way,” she whispered.

He furrowed his brow.

“Your goal. I saw you score it. And I saw you look for me. I was being dragged out by security at the time, but I always wished I could've told you that I saw it.”

He studied her face for a moment, watching the sparkle in her eyes; the light catch in her hair, the way it had that chilly May afternoon. The urge to kiss her was back. The urge to pull her into his arms and wrap her up in them and not let her out of his fucking sight ever again. He wished he was bold enough. He wished he had the confidence she’d had. He just… He…

Fuck it.

Lewie captured her chin in his hand, and in one swift movement, he’d pressed his lips to hers. There were excited laughs, and knew the eyes of the entire villa were on him, but he didn’t care.

Because Bree was kissing him back.

She threw her hand around the back of his neck, splaying her fingers on the back of his head, deepening the kiss as she pulled herself into his chest. Leaning over the top of her, she fit him perfectly, like he’d kind of always known she would.

He’d found her. He’d finally found her.

He wasn’t letting her go again.

#litg #litg fanfic #litg lewie #litg season 6 #mrsbsmooth #litg writers room #writers room #love island the game #ask

58 notes · View notes