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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

57 notes · View notes

litgwritersroom · 10 months

Note

can you please write the background story of ozzy hooking up with the mystery celebrity??

LET ME BE YOUR WOMAN

Ozzy / MC - 5000+ words - @mrsbsmooth NSFW

It’s professional. It’s strictly professional.

Ozzy rolled his neck, stretching the tension from his shoulders. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous.

Being a choreographer was his dream job. The choreography videos he’d posted on social media had been fun to make, but he’d never imagined he’d get this big. Dance classes with a waitlist four months long. Invitations to choreograph music videos and international tours. Working one-on-one with celebrities and popstars, all to great success.

But he’d never worked with someone as famous as Brooke Barrow.

Millions of fans. Tens of millions of albums sold. A twenty-country international tour that had fans getting in fistfights over merchandise. And in just a few minutes, she’d take the podium as the biggest celebrity he’d ever taught.

He cast his eyes around the studio one final time, wiping a smudge from the floor-to-ceiling mirror with a silent curse. Did he have time to go over the whole thing again? He checked his phone. No. But he did have a text from Marshall.

Snogged yer worldie yet?

He frowned.

She’s not my worldie. She’s a client, he typed. This is professional.

The dots danced at the bottom of his screen as the reply came instantaneously. Professional my arse. I can feel you sweating from Essex.

Ozzy rolled his eyes, setting his phone to do-not-disturb.

Maybe it wasn’t strictly professional.

All the celebrities he worked with were gorgeous, but she was like something out of his imagination– though he supposed he wasn’t alone. Curves like murder, eyes wide and innocent, skin like a summer evening; bronze and glowing and warm. Hair like silk, and lips you couldn’t help but want to bite down on. FHM, Maxim and Playboy had tried beating her door down for years, not one of them successful; her “good girl” image hadn’t aligned with the type of photo spreads they’d want to put her in.

But things had changed. The label said she wanted a rebrand; a sexier, more grown-up persona better suited to her now 22-year-old self. The issue was that the label thought she had absolutely no idea how to look hot when she danced. She needed help to nail it for her next video.

And she’d requested him specifically.

They’d spoken on the phone many, many times, to clarify the vibe she was after, or discuss the preparations and stretches she should be doing beforehand. They got along great. She was a professional, but still wonderfully friendly, something he’d come to understand was rare among celebrities. She put on those sequin shorts she was famous for one leg at a time. There was nothing to be nervous about.

He made the last few adjustments to the studio, breathing steadily to calm himself down. He had the choreography down, he’d recorded it and it had been approved by her management team. Everything was set and ready to go. He just had to teach her how to do it, that was all.

But as the studio door flung open, he suddenly felt a little queasy.

God Damn.

Her perfectly curated Instagram had nothing on what she looked like in person. She was unreal, a loose, white t-shirt hung off her shoulders, exposing the hint of her brown skin. The flash of a black sports crop stretched over her perky breasts. Tiny, skin-tight shorts he was sure Lululemon never intended to be so pornographic, and heels; sky high, lace-up heels he’d told her to wear, knowing she’d need to be dancing in them on stage.

He had to avert his gaze, shaking some sense into himself as he greeted her with a smile and an outstretched hand.

“Brooke,” he said, as politely and professionally as he could. “I’m Ozzy, great to finally meet you.”

“Ozzy!” she grinned, smiling with recognition. She took his hand, shaking it gently, but didn’t immediately let go. “Hi! It’s so nice to meet you in person, I really am such a fan.”

Ozzy’s eyebrows shot up. “A fan… of… mine?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Huge fan. I swear, about 50% of the views on your Youtube videos are from me and my friends.”

“Well, thank you,” he laughed, feeling a lot more at ease. “That’s really nice to hear. I’m glad you enjoy them.”

“Enjoy is one way to describe it. My friends would call it “drooling over…” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. She bit her lip, and he couldn’t hide the surprise on his face.

…What?

He couldn’t help the rush of adrenaline that flooded his veins. Jeez, his dancing had helped him with women in the past, but… he definitely hadn’t expected—

Was Brooke… flirting with him?

He was suddenly a little at a loss of what to do. Flirting back would’ve been insane, not to mention crazy unprofessional. He couldn’t get a rep for flirting with his students. But… he knew this choreo– he’d created it himself. It wasn’t exactly “leave room for Jesus” type of dancing. So maybe a little harmless flirting would help her to feel less… exposed.

He glanced down at their still-enclosed hands, and looked back up at her, only vaguely trying to hold back the heat in his eyes.

“Well,” he said, a cool confidence in his voice. “I’ve obviously seen all of your music videos, too. Maybe we should leave it at that… for now.”

He held her gaze, and she bit those beautiful lips again, his eyes lingering on them. Brooke released his hand with a coy smile, placing her bag down on the floor in the corner of the studio. She pulled a water bottle from it, wrapping her lips around the mouthpiece of it, tapping it gently against her lips after taking a sip.

“So,” she said. “Where do we begin?”

Ozzy showed her every move, running her through it in sets, slowing her down and adjusting her position as she followed along.

But she wasn’t getting it.

She was rigid. Stiff, even, like she was embarrassed to fully let go.

“I’m so screwed,” she groaned, flopping to the floor to take a drink of water.

“No, you’re not,” Ozzy chuckled, sitting down alongside her. “You’ve got the steps down perfectly. You’re just too stiff.”

She sighed, tucking her leg underneath her as she turned to face him. “How do you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Make being sexy so fucking easy?”

Ozzy’s eyebrows twitched upward, and he couldn’t help but look her over once more. God, she looked so fine with a sheen of sweat over her body, the glow on her skin like she’d been kissed by sunlight.

“You’ll get it. You just need to loosen up. Let go a little.”

“You keep saying that, but I don’t know how,” she complained, pouting at him.

He laughed, getting to his feet. “Here, I’ll show you.”

He reached out his hand, helping Brooke to her feet, and she let him pull her up with a huff.

Ozzy led her to the mirror which spanned the breadth of the wall, turning her to look at herself.

“Okay, do the leg sweep.”

Brooke did a rigid leg sweep, her hands firmly on her hips.

He raised an eyebrow. “This isn’t jazz dance, Brooke. Make it slutty.”

She giggled, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“Oh, you’re serious?”

“Yes, I’m serious,” he smiled.

“Oh, God, how on earth do I do that?”

Ozzy frowned at her. “Come on, Brooke, you’ve seen people dance seductively. Arch your back. Swing your hips. Run your hands over your body.”

He counted her in, and she tried, running her hands awkwardly up her body. She turned, looking hopefully at him, and he shot her a look of disbelief. Brooke blushed, and Ozzy shook his head, teasing her with his gaze to let her know it wasn’t that serious.

Then, he had an idea.

He’d used it many times, and it always worked. Every single time. He switched to the playlist one of his dancer friends had made him. She said it went hard in the Basildon dance crowd.

“You like clubbing, right?”

“...Yeah?”

“How do you dance in the club?”

“Awkwardly.”

Ozzy laughed. “I highly doubt that.”

Brooke grinned at him. “Yeah, alright, I’m probably a little more relaxed. But I’m usually drunk. And it’s dark.”

Without another word, Ozzy walked over to the door, and switched the lights off.

The studio plunged into darkness, the only light the emergency light over the exit. It was perfect, casting a deep red glow over the room, leaving her in almost full darkness. That deep maroon was the only thing allowing him to see her, and even then, only just. He hit play on the remote once more, smiling as the lyrics started.

Nails, hair, hips, heels, ass fat, lips real

Purse full, big bills, bitch I'm a big deal

Ozzy turned the volume almost to the max, and he took her hand.

“Pretend I’m not here,” he said. “It’s just you, dancing with your friends. Or dancing around your kitchen. No one’s paying attention. No one else is here.”

Ozzy started moving on his own to encourage her, and after only half a minute, he saw Brooke starting to move as well. She was hesitant, but quickly realised she could barely see him, gaining the confidence to start subtly dancing in time with the music.

“Yes,” he smiled. “That’s it.”

She huffed a small laugh, moving a little more confidently.

“Now you’re gonna walk,” he said, moving back across the room. “Or more like…, strut. Towards me. Step to the music.”

“What’s that gonna do?” she asked.

“Get you in touch with your body. And make you feel confident. Toss your hair over your shoulder, stop to dance, do whatever feels right. Just move in time with the music.”

He could just make her out in the low light, her brow furrowed as if she wasn’t sure, but he smiled encouragingly at her. As his eyes began to adjust, he saw her walking toward him, the click of her heels on the studio floor perfectly in time with the beat.

“Great!” he called, “Keep going!”

He began walking backwards around the room, drawing her towards him, and Brooke began laughing.

“You’re moving away!”

“Yeah, I know. Keep coming to me.”

“Ozzzzyyy–” she complained. “I feel stupid!”

“Good thing no one can see you, then, isn’t it?” he teased.

It wasn’t long before she started letting go a little.

As Todrick Hall started instructing her through the song, she started following along.

Drop for me, drop for me, drop

Pose for me, pose for me, pose

Striking dramatic, confident poses, or pausing to do a dramatic slut-drop, she was laughing her head off in no time, loosening up her movements as he finally stopped moving away. Brooke was having so much fun, she didn’t notice him stop, colliding into his chest with a thud.

“Oof,” he groaned, catching her by the upper arms, laughing.

“Oh my God, sorry!” she giggled. “I was getting too into it.”

“Good!” He grinned. “It’s a good exercise to get in the right headspace.”

“Can we keep going?” she said. “That was really fun.”

He slipped the remote from his pocket, hitting next, and Brooke burst out laughing as a deep, sultry rhythm started.

“Oh God,” she groaned. “Is this Buttons? Whose playlist is this?”

“Mate of mine. She loves making dance playlists. This one’s called ‘Hoe town, population me’.”

Brooke burst out laughing. “And you thought that was a good playlist to put on for me?”

Ozzy suddenly blushed, absolutely embarrassed that she might think he’d done that on purpose.

“God, Brooke, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean–”

“Shhh!” She laughed. “It’s exactly the vibe I need. I love this song.”

She took his hand, twirling herself underneath it, swaying in time with the beat. She was rolling her head around, relaxed and carefree, her shoulders beginning to follow as she sang along to the lyrics. And as she sang, he couldn’t help but watch her.

You've been saying all the right things all night long

But I can't seem to get you over here to help take this off

The way her mouth formed every word, her tongue flicking gently and her teeth biting at her lip as she began to move. Jesus Christ, she was sexy. He felt his body starting to react as she joined her hands with his, lifting his hands into the air between them. He couldn’t help but step a little closer, bringing them to the side as her body heat began to radiate against his.

Brooke began winding her body, moving her hips in time with the music. She lifted his arms again, turning herself underneath them, and wrapped them around her shoulders. He tried to keep some distance between them, knowing they didn’t need to be dancing so closely, but before he knew it, she’d pressed back against him, their bodies moving together.

“Can you show me how to do those body rolls you were doing before?” she asked, her voice soft and innocent.

Jesus, he was getting hot under the collar.

“Sure,” he said, pulling her just the necessary amount closer. He reached around her, pressing her back into him. “Chest first, shoulders back, then arch your back, pushing your stomach forward. Roll it through, then grind your hips back.��

He pressed his chest into her back, his hand pressing her shoulders back against him. He rolled her with him, her body bending flawlessly with his, ending with her guiding her world-famous ass back.

Directly into his crotch.

She had it straight away, rolling her body against his in a way that had him glancing up at the ceiling for mercy. Her perfume was intoxicating, rich and sweet like caramel and sea salt, and he inhaled deeply as she pulled her hair to the side. He could still hear her singing; it was like a distraction to her, pulling her out of the studio and onto the stage.

Take a chance to recognise that this could be yours—

She began to grind herself back against him, and his heart began to race for real. She felt so good against him, her hips winding into his… but his mind kicked back in.

Professional. Shit. Keep it professional.

“Looser,” he whispered. “Let go of your hips.”

She sighed, her shoulders dropping a little as she immediately became disheartened.

“I can’t do this,” she said, exasperated.

“Brooke,” he said. “You can.”

“I can’t,” she said, stopping altogether. “I just can’t move my body like you can.”

Ozzy frowned to himself. She was almost there when she thought no one was watching. Whenever it was just her and the music, she was perfectly on beat, playing and having fun with it, moving with flawless rhythm. It would take so little to get her there. He just needed to get her out of her own head. Relax her. Get her thinking about something else entirely. He swallowed, hard. Because there was only really one way he could think how.

People acted differently depending on how they were feeling, and there was one mood that he knew would help her. The one that curbed shame and increased risk-taking.

He could turn her on.

“Would it help if I guided you?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

“Please,” she groaned.

“I’ll have to touch you a bit though. Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” she said, “but I don’t think–”

Brooke’s voice cut off halfway as he pulled her body flush to his, and she gasped a little at his sudden taking of control.

“Hips,” he demanded. ”Roll them, like you were before.”

He gently brushed her hips, but her movements were static, so he gripped her harder, guiding her firmly into the movement he wanted to see. Side to side, in a one-two grind, swaying her with the music.

“Oh,” Brooke said, her voice quiet. “So…”

He felt her begin rocking into his hands, and he leaned in closer, speaking into her ear so she could hear him over the music.

“Yes,” he hissed. “That’s it. Now hands.”

He didn’t wait for her to try, taking her hands and placing them on her stomach.

“Run them up your body,” he said, covering them with his own. “Touch yourself like you would want someone else to touch you.”

He traced her hands over her taut stomach, guiding them up over her ribs, brushing her breasts and squeezing them with her own hands. Brooke gasped, but Ozzy didn’t stop, dragging them up over her collarbones and onto her neck. He splayed them on her skin, threading them into her hair.

“Ozzy,” she whimpered.

“Don’t be afraid to get into it,” Ozzy whispered. “If it turns you on, you’re doing it right.”

Brooke’s breath fell heavy, and he released her hands, letting her guide them over herself. He watched her in the mirror, her face glowing in the soft, red light, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as she closed her eyes. Her hands threaded back into her own hair, and she tugged on it gently, trailing her hands onto her collarbones. She traced her fingers across them, and moved downward, her touch falling heavier on her breasts. She squeezed them together, much harder than he had, and kept going. Lower and lower, over her stomach, trailing down her waist, her hands like a magnet for his gaze as she directed them to the space between her legs. She spread them, bending low to the floor, and traced her hands up the back of her thighs, scratching her nails into the skin. She arched her back, touching herself over and over again.

And Ozzy realised he’d stopped dancing.

All this, right in front of him, an arm’s reach away but feeling like miles. Her body was so effortless, moving with all the beauty and elegance of someone who’d been dancing for a lifetime. He was absolutely entranced by her, the heat in his body like a fire in his blood.The song ended, and for a moment, the trance was broken. But as the next one started, he knew there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop what was going to happen. Doja Cat was going to make sure of that.

The beat was low; seductive and sensual and sex in music’s form, and Brooke turned, gazing at him with deep, hooded eyes. She was in his arms before he could even pull her closer, her body pressed back against his as they began to move as one. He wrapped his arms around her waist, that intoxicating perfume curling into him once more, groaning as Brooke took his hands in hers.

She placed his hands on her, covering them with her own, just as he had, and began guiding him over her skin. Her hips, her waist, under her t-shirt, pushing them onto her breasts.

Baby, worship my hips and waist

So feminine with grace

I touch your soul when you hear me say

"Boy, let me be your woman"

Every drop of blood in his body was rushing south, and he grasped her in a way that was wholly unprofessional, knowing she could feel what she was doing to him. He moved her hair to the side, dropping his lips to her neck, dragging them from behind her ear down to her shoulder. God, he wanted to bite her, her skin tasted exactly like her fragrance, the sweetest caramel with the delicious taste of her sweat.

“Ozzy,” she whispered, gasping for a breath as she reached behind her head and threaded her fingers through his hair.

Jesus, this was already going way too far, but he couldn’t help himself. One hand was on her breast, stroking her rapidly hardening nipples through her bra. The other on her stomach, toying with the waistband of her shorts. Brooke was grinding her ass against him with a wind that would put professionals to shame, the roll of her body against his only drawing more and more heat from his breath. He had to stop this. He had to stop before it went too–

Before he knew it, she’d turned, and her lips were on his.

Ozzy picked her up, and a moment later, he had her against the wall, holding her thigh around his waist as he held her legs apart. Brooke’s hands were in his hair, holding him against her as she slipped her tongue into his mouth, whimpering with need as he began rolling his hips against hers. She tugged at his shirt, and he gladly let her pull it over his head, drawing an irresistible whimper from her as she traced her fingers over his abs. He pulled hers over her head as well, tossing it across the room, before pushing his hands into her sports bra.

“Fuck, yes,” she gasped, “Yes, Ozzy, please!”

He lifted the tight fabric higher, exposing her to him, and leaned down to take her nipple in his mouth. She held his head to her, her back arched, moaning with each flick of his tongue against the sensitive bud. Brooke reached down, slipping her hand into his sweats, stroking her fingers down his length as he groaned into her skin.

“Oh my Goddddd,” she moaned as she traced his full length. “I knew it, I fucking knew it.”

He couldn’t help it, his body completely on fire with every kiss of her palm against his tip. He couldn’t take it any more. He curled his arm around her waist, sliding it into the tiny shorts that had been tormenting him since the moment she walked in, and he took a handful of her ass for himself. He rolled the fabric down his wrist, exposing her, before pushing the shorts all the way down. She reached down, tugging them far enough down that they fell to her ankles, and she stepped out of them. She reached down for her shoes, but he stopped her, turning her face toward his.

“Leave them on.”

Naked except for her pushed-up sports bra and lace up heels, she stood like a goddess in front of him, every curve and angle of her body bathed in a cherry-red glow. His fingers traced her outline, admiring her for the work of art she was, before lingering on the heat radiating from between her legs. He pressed his fingers against her clit, starting a slow, steady rhythm, holding her legs open with his own as he pressed his hard length against her leg.

She tugged his sweats down, pulling him closer, and before he could even think about what he was doing, she was guiding his tip to her entrance. He captured her lips with his, groaning at how wet she was, and began to push inside her.

Brooke whimpered and moaned at his size, and he pulled back for a moment.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he whispered, kissing her softly.

She let her head fall back, exposing her neck to him, an opportunity he gladly took as he began kissing up and down it.

“No,” she groaned. “Oh my God, Ozzy, give me all of it.”

So he did.

Brooke gasped with each thrust, whimpering and moaning his name as if he was her favourite song, and he couldn’t help his eyes rolling back as he savoured her. Every roll of his hips was met by one of hers, drawing forward to meet him as if she couldn’t bear for him to not be inside her.

Jesus, he couldn’t believe she thought she couldn’t dance.

“Ozzy,” she groaned, and he paused for a moment, hearing the pain in her voice. “My heels. My feet are–”

Shit, he hadn’t even realised, capturing her thigh in his hand meant she’d been balancing on one heel. He released her, and she dropped to her knees, laying back on the studio floor, her hands against the wall. Ozzy kneeled in front of her, and she wrapped her long legs around his waist, urging him back toward her. He pressed back into her, his hands on either side of her body, and something came over him.

He’d never had a one-night stand before, it wasn’t his vibe. And almost as if he’d only just realised what he was doing, he paused for moment, looking down at Brooke’s exposed body.

Damn. He’d never had a one night stand before, and he wasn’t going to start now.

He was just going to have to make sure this wasn’t a one-night stand.

Ozzy smirked a little, glancing up at Brooke’s hands to make sure she was holding her hands steady against the wall…

And he danced.

He gave her every movement of his body that he had; hips, torso, thighs; rolling his body into her as he drew himself in and out of her, over and over and over. Brooke’s body wrenched underneath him, begging him with her thighs, squeezing him tightly as she held herself off the wall.

She caught a glimpse of them in the mirror to their side, and she gasped, panting his name with every thrust as she watched him build her toward her peak.

“Fuck, fuck,” she gasped, her voice damn near at a cry, every breath like a wave of curses and groans as she tried to hold back. “Ozzy, fuck, I’m gonna–”

She whimpered, her mouth falling open, and he almost chuckled at how fast he’d brought her there. But he couldn’t help but groan in response as she tightened around him, her strong thighs squeezing his waist as her walls gripped his length inside her.

“Oh Jesus, Brooke, yes,” he whispered, throwing his head back as he guided her through the waves of her climax. He gently slowed as she came down, rolling softly into her so as not to overstimulate her. But almost as soon as she’d taken a breath, she opened her eyes.

She looked up at him with the deepest, hooded eyes he’d ever seen, her full lips parted and her lips wet from his kiss.

“On your back,” she whispered.

Ozzy’s eyebrows raised, and before he could even tell her she didn’t have to, she had him on his back. Brooke slid him back into her, and he smiled up at her…

Until she started moving.

Up. Down. Forward. Back. Side to side and directions he didn’t even know existed. She was a full-body experience, her hips grinding into his, her hands gently caressing and scratching at his chest as she worked herself over him.

“Je–sus–christ,” he gasped, grasping for purchase with each grind of her hips. “Brooke, fuck!”

Her lips fell open, moaning as she watched him underneath her, and she glanced one more time at the mirror. He turned his own head, glancing at their reflection, and almost lost control. Every curve was on full display, her back arched, her breasts exposed, her every movement captured in glass and reflected back at him as he watched her ride him.

She caught his eye in the mirror, biting her lip and moaning as she took him especially deeply.

“Oh, God, Ozzy, you feel so good,” she gasped.

Ahh, Jesus, he was close.

He tried to slow her down, but Brooke had no interest in it, closing her eyes and lifting her pace. So he did the only thing he could do.

He started thrusting back into her.

He fell into her rhythm, meeting her hips with every movement, echoing and mirroring and taking back the lead. His hands left her hips, and he reached for her hands, bringing them to her breasts.

“Touch your body,” he demanded. “Brooke, touch yourself.”

She whimpered, squeezing her breasts the way she’d shown him before that she loved, and Ozzy grabbed her hip once more. He guided her with one hand, thrusting up into her, and brought his other hand to her clit, grinding his fingers against her as he watched her rolling her nipples through her fingers.

Jesus, the visual was too much, and he could feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. He was so close, dancing so close to the edge, holding back for her, desperate to–

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Brooke, shit, shit–”

“Ozzy–”

With a sudden heave of her body, Brooke snapped, her head falling back as she came a second time. The tightness surrounded him, and he couldn’t have held back if he wanted to, exploding in a wall of gasping moans as he bucked up into her. The beat of the music pumped through him, the roll and wind of their hips together like a wave of ecstasy that they rode each other through. His fingers left marks on her hips, grinding her back into him with some unholy urge to come as deep into her as possible, and it only drew a darker gasp from Brooke’s lips.

They stayed like that for what seemed like an age, their hips rolling in perfect unison as they came down from the high together. Brooke collapsed on top of him, her body soft and limp against his, and he wrapped her up in his arms, completely at a loss of what to say.

“That was fucking incredible,” Brooke said, panting heavily into his chest. “If that’s what dancers can do, I need to get better at dancing.”

Ozzy laughed, stroking her back. “You seemed to have pretty good control of your hips from where I’m standing?”

Brooke lifted her head, glaring playfully at him, and smiled. “Glad you think so… now. But I think I can get even better.”

He kissed her gently, smiling back, a little amused at his own boldness. “Well, you’re doing classes with me five times a week for the next two weeks. So…”

Brooke giggled, and leaned over him, kissing him deeply. He groaned into her soft lips, holding her to him, stroking his hand through her hair before releasing her. She bit her lip, an adorably excited look in her eyes, and grinned at him.

“It’s a date.”

#litg #litg fanfic #LITG ozzy #LITG season 6 #LITG double trouble #MrsBSmooth #litg writers room #writers room #love island the game #ask #litg ff

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