˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚 hard launch ~ alfie buttle 𝜗𝜚. ݁₊
content - established relationship, fluff, smau
notes - had this is the drafts for a while but was too scared to post
You and Alfie had been dating for just over a year - a relationship built quietly in the gaps between public lives. Long enough that loving him felt natural.
You met through mutual friends, one of those accidental introductions that somehow turned into everything. At first, keeping things private had been easy. Social media had a way of turning soft, personal things into entertainment for strangers, and neither of you wanted that. So the relationship existed mostly off-camera - tucked into late-night takeaways, weekends hidden up North, quiet airport pickups, hoodies borrowed and never returned.
Friends and family knew. The people who mattered knew.
But the internet was observant in ways that bordered on frightening.
People started connecting dots months ago. Alfie appearing in someone's vlog in the background of a party, your laugh faintly audible somewhere off camera. TikToks where you were sitting suspiciously close together. The same kitchen appearing behind behind separate Instagram stories posted minutes apart. Fans noticed when you both disappeared from London at the same time, and somehow, you always seemed to be 'visiting friends' near the Grotto whenever Alfie was there.
Now the date of the Sidemen Charity Match was rolling around, and with every passing day, Alfie became more and more excited about it. Training clips played constantly on the TV. Group chats buzzed non-stop. You found it adorable.
He wanted you there, along with his family and friends. And that meant cameras - cameras you couldn't control. Thousands of people in the crowd. Content creators filming every second backstage.
The closer the match got, the more impossible privacy started to feel.
One evening, rain tapped softly against the windows of the London flat while the two of you sat tangled together on the couch. The room glowed warm from the lamp in the corner, Alfie stretched out beside you in joggers and hoodie, one arm lazily slung around your waist while some football highlights played ignored on the TV.
Or rather, he ignored them. For once, he seemed distracted.
You felt him glance at you before he spoke.
"So..." he started carefully, his thumb brushing absentminded circles against your side. "About the match."
You looked up from your phone immediately, already smiling. "Oh, you mean the only thing you've talked about for the last week?"
He grinned at that, nose scrunching slightly before he tipped his head back dramatically against the sofa.
"Sorry for being passionate about my athletic career."
You snorted. "Athletic career? Alfie, you got out of breath carrying shopping upstairs yesterday."
"Yeah, well," he said, pointing at you lazily, "different skillset."
You laughed quietly, settling further against him, and for a second he smiled too, easy and familiar, before that thoughtful look crept back in.
His fingers drummed lightly against your hip.
"So, seriously," he said after a moment, voice softer now. "I've been thinking."
You grinned into your drink while he rolled his eyes, though there was a faint smile tugging at his mouth.
Then he looked at you properly.
"Maybe we just make it official now."
Your brows lifted slightly. "Official?"
"Yeah." He shrugged, trying to play it casual, but you could tell he'd been sitting on this thought for a while. "People already basically know anyway. Every comment section's like fucking FBI headquarters."
"That's because you're subtle as a brick."
"You posted a photo of your dinner and my reflection was in the toaster."
"That," he pointed firmly, "was not my fault."
You laughed, and Alfie's smile widened for a second before he leaned closer, lowering his voice like he was confessing something ridiculous.
"Nah," he murmured, lips twitching, "I just want people to know I bagged an absolute fucking rocket."
You blinked at him once before a laugh escaped you, warm and uncontrollable.
"What?" he said innocently, though he already looked pleased with himself. "I'm being serious."
"No, you're unbelievable," he corrected immediately, squeezing your waist. "Look at you."
You shook your head, trying to hide your smile as heat crept into your cheeks. He noticed instantly, grin turning smug. "There she is," he teased softly. "Knew that'd get you."
The atmosphere inside the stadium was electric long before the match had even started.
Music blasted through the speakers, loud enough to vibrate through the seats, cameras sweeping across the crowds while thousands of people filtered into the stands in football shirts and creator merch. Everywhere you looked there were signs, phones, people shouting names across rows the second they spotted someone they recognised.
You sat beside Livvy in the family-and-friends section, legs crossed comfortably as you scrolled through messages on your phone while the players warmed up below. The oversized Sidemen FC shirt you wore swallowed your frame slightly, sleeves resting just above your elbows.
AB 23 - in bold lettering across the back.
Subtly had clearly gone out the window.
You spotted Alfie near the sideline almost immediately, mid-conversation with a few of the boys, bouncing lightly on his feet with that endless energy he always seemed to have before anything competitive. Even from here you could tell he was buzzing.
Warm-ups were well underway now, players spread across the grass in small groups while coaches and organisers moved around them. Even from the stands, there was a visible difference between those who approached the game like a bit of fun, and those who had convinced themselves they were about to play in the Champions League Final.
Alfie was somewhere in the middle.
He was moving constantly, jogging a few paces before stopping, adjusting something, turning to say something to one of the others before bouncing straight back into whatever he had been doing before. Every gesture seemed slightly bigger than necessary, every reaction slightly more animated, the excitement radiating from him even at a distance.
As though he could feel himself being watched, Alfie looked up from the pitch. His gaze travelled across the stands, scanning rows of faces before finding the section where his family and friends were sitting.
The moment he spotted you, his expression changed. His whole face softened, like someone had turned down the stadium noise just for him. The grin that tugged at his mouth wasn't the big chaotic one he used for cameras or teammates - it was the smaller one, reserved for you.
There was something strangely intimate about being recognised in a crowd that large. About being seen by someone who knew you, really knew you, in a place where you were supposed to blend into thousands.
Alfie held your gaze for a second longer than necessary, the corner of his mouth lifting just a little higher when he noticed the shirt you were wearing. His shirt. His number.
Then one of the boys shouted something at him, and he tore his eyes away reluctantly, shaking his head with a smile that hadn’t been there a minute ago.
The players' lounge afterwards was loud in that messy, exhausted sort of way that only came after events like this.
Music played somewhere too loud in the background, people drifted between conversations still half in kit, half changed, medals hanging crooked around necks while cameras continued catching snippets of everything. The adrenaline of the match still lingered in the air - everyone talking over each other, replaying moments, laughing about missed chances and near disasters.
Everyone seemed in ridiculously good spirits despite the result.
Mostly because the match itself had been unreal.
And because Alfie had scored an absolute screamer.
You'd watched it happen from the stands in genuine disbelief - the ball hitting the back of the net before the entire stadium erupted around you. Alfie sprinting across the pitch afterwards absolutely losing his mind while his teammates jumped on him.
You were pretty sure Livvy had nearly ruptured your eardrum screaming beside you.
Now every few minutes someone nearby was still replaying the goal on their phone.
"Look at this finish again," his brother said for about the tenth time, shoving the screen toward the table. "Actually disgusting."
His mum laughed warmly beside you. "He's going to be insufferable for weeks."
"He already is," you said immediately.
"Correct," his dad agreed.
Before anyone could continue, a sudden burst of noise came from across the lounge.
You looked up just in time to see Alfie walking in with a few of the boys, still riding the high of the match completely. His hair was damp from a shower, medal hanging around his neck over a black t-shirt, and despite the exhaustion written across his face, he looked happier than you'd seen him in ages.
Buzzing was honestly an understatement.
He was mid-story when he spotted your table. Mid-sentence, he broke off entirely.
You barely had time to smile before he made his way over, weaving through people quickly, still grinning like an idiot.
The second he reached the table, he leaned down automatically, one hand bracing against the back of your chair while he kissed you quickly - easy, instinctive, like he hadn't spent the last year trying not to do things like that publicly. There was no hesitation, no flicker of doubt. Just him choosing you without thinking, like muscle memory.
The conversation around the table paused for approximately half a second.
Then his brother made a dramatic gagging noise.
Alfie didn't even look away from you. "Jealous?"
You laughed quietly as Alfie finally pulled away properly, though he stayed close enough that his hand settled immediately against the back of your neck for a second - warm and grounding, thumb brushing once against your skin like he needed the reassurance that you were really there.
Up close, you could practically feel the energy radiating off him.
"You alright?" you asked softly, smiling.
"Am I alright?" He looked genuinely offended by the question. "Did you not witness the greatest goal Wembley's ever seen?"
His dad snorted into his drink. "You lost."
"Details," Alfie dismissed instantly, waving a hand.
He stayed stood beside you, too full of adrenaline to sit still properly, one hand drumming against the back of your chair while he waffled on about moments from the game, how he felt during the warm up, the sitter he missed in the first half.
There was something nice about hearing him talk like this when the cameras weren't shoved in his face.
No exaggerated reactions for content. No playing things up. Just real excitement.
Eventually Alfie finally dropped down into the seat beside you properly, still buzzing enough that his knee bounced relentlessly against yours. He didn’t even try to stop it - if anything, he shifted closer, thigh pressed against yours like he needed the contact to bleed off the leftover adrenaline.
"I'm proud of you," you told him quietly when he had settled down and stopped bouncing around like an over-excited puppy.
The words seemed to hit him harder than all the shouting and hype from earlier had.
His expression softened instantly. His knee stilled.
For a second, despite all the noise around you, all his attention narrowed entirely onto you.
Then, because he was still Alfie, the softness lasted approximately two seconds before he grinned again.
"And I scored in front of my girlfriend wearing my name on her back," he added smugly. "Movie."
liked by alfiebuttle and 142,946 others
yourusername: a good day to wear number 23
alfiebuttle: yeh i bagged two rockets today, no biggy
livvydimartino: s(wag)gyyy
sabinablair_- my babiesss
theburntchip: he hasn't shut up about this since
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