TO BE FAIR THOUGH

harry lewis, arthur fredrick, alfie buttle, george clarke, heinz baines, will lenney

[tobefairthough]

MASTERLIST :

requests will always be open

🧸G.CLARKE

Drunk Love ~ George Clarke

Pub Golf Lovin' ~ George Clarke

🧸H.LEWIS

Glad I met you ~ Harry Lewis

🧸W.LENNEY

nothing here yet

🧸H.BAINES

nothing here yet

🧸A.BUTTLE

nothing here yet

🧸A.FREDRICK

nothing here yet

[buttlesbunnie]

i was wondering if u could do a drabble based off arthur hill’s statement in george’s youtube court part 2 video where arthur calls liv and sabina so bach and chip go over and slap him so i was thinking about what if alfie’s gf was involved too?? xx

hi anon! did it for you just below xx

content: established relationship , swearing , one slap

it was safe to say that alfie’s face dropped when arthur began calling you in the middle of the shoot.

“hello?”

“hi, reader!”

“hi, arthur!”

“oh she is so sweet isn’t she?” chip tutted and grinned.

“get off the phone with my mrs.” alfie pulled a face. “i’m not joking.”

“how are you?” arthur continued.

“i’m good thank you, how are you?”

“i’m doing well, yeah, um…” he rubbed his lower lip, “i just wanted to say that i think you’re a massive slag and you need to shut your legs.”

“oh my god.” harry coughed through laughter, covering his face with his hands.

“… what?”

“yeah, just thought i’d let you know whenever i see you on my phone i just … you really make me feel sick.”

“oh.”

“oi, take it back.” alfie stood up, “‘coz she’ll actually get upset. say sorry.”

to add salt to the wound, arthur shouted down the phone, “slag, slag, slag, slag, slag!”

“arthur!” arthur exclaimed, his eyes wide.

“is alfie there? what the fuck is going on?” you laughed nervously.

“should i tell alfie that you DM’d me asking for a shag?”

“i actually just didn’t though.” you muttered, “lol.”

“did she just audibly say ‘lol’?!” bach barked out laughter.

alfie pushed out of the stands, approaching arthur before delivering a hefty slap.

“jesus!” george cackled from his spot.

“… what the fuck is going on?” your voice came through the phone.

“oh my god, reader, alfie’s just slapped me.”

“good! you called me a slag!”

all the boys chuckled at your exclamation.

“okay, well, bye reader, love you.”

“mmm, yeah. bye.”

arthur turned to alfie, “will she actually be upset by that?”

“i’ll tell her it was a bit. she’ll be fine.” alfie grinned before letting his face fall flat, “but call my mrs a slag again and you’ll get more than just a slap.”

[tobefairthough]

Hey everyone !! Sorry for the wait, I've been taking a little break for my mental health, however I am hoping to be posting ALOT more often, and I have alot of drafts in the editing pile.

Although, I have been bothered to update and change my ugly ahh masterlist, so I hope everyone enjoys that!! Soo anyway thats my pinned post on my account so if anyone can be bothered, go check that out, it would be much appreciated.

(so sorry for the rant)

so much love, Georgie Xxx 👅🧸🦌

[buttlesbunnie]

WORTH THE EFFORT ── a.buttle ౨ৎ ⋆｡˚

summary: all alfie needed was a little bit of a push

content: love island!au , swearing , possessive behaviour , kissing , sexual innuendo

notes: ok hard launching the love island!au i really don’t know how long this is gonna last. i give it … until season 13 is over. will i ever stop creating au’s??? probably not

wc: 2,383

BEING IN A couple since day one was … good. You think. You weren’t too sure how to feel about it. On one side it was consistently stable, on the other side, you were wondering whether you were too quick to settle down.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t tried to explore connections with the other boys, because you had, it was just that none of them were particularly your cup of tea.

Alfie was lovely, he really was, you just wished sometimes that he’d try a little bit harder. You were starting to think that he was growing too comfortable in your couple and thought it was okay to start slacking.

It had only been a week and a half, so maybe you were just being a little dramatic, but it didn't change how you felt by any means.

The morning was chill. Nothing dramatic apart from a bowl of sliced fruits slid your way and refilling your water bottle numerous times whenever you asked him too.

When your phone chimed with a message, you shot up from your place on the day beds, reading the message over before gasping and squealing.

“Oh my God!”

“What?” Hannah asked, grabbing onto your wrist to pull your hand down and read the message.

“She got a message?” Morgan muttered from beside Alfie.

“‘Reader and Oscar, Marcus and Emma are waiting to take you on a date. Please go and get ready’!”

“No way!” Hannah screamed before beginning to jump up and down with you out of excitement.

“Shit.” Alfie muttered, rubbing his bottom lip.

“Why’s she so excited?” Morgan frowned, “Bit weird.”

“Nah, ‘s alright.”

All of the girls helped you get ready, Holly curling your hair while you did your makeup and Mehreen stood to the side, showing you your different outfit options.

You didn’t have long to pick, so you just threw on the most put-together-looking combination she threw your way and stumbled to put your wedged heels on as you went down the stairs.

“Ooo, look at you!” You awed at Oscar, who was wearing a white button-up top open with some black shorts. “Bye, Alfie!”

“No hug? The fuck, girl?” He scoffed playfully.

“Aw, come here.” You grinned, wrapping your arms around his neck and pecking his cheek.

“Don’t miss me too much.” He hummed, patting your ass lightly as you let go.

“Cocky, you.”

“Duh.”

Pulling away from him, you interlocked your arm with Oscar’s and made your way out of the villa and to the cars that would be taking you to your date area.

The boys and Alfie shared a bit of a knowing, worried look before the doors closed and they were blocked off from the outside world.

Marcus was a nice guy.

The date was a little across-the-table scene with a thin vase of flowers between you and a fruity mocktail to share.

You got to learn a bit about him, finding out that he was semi-pro footballer at 29 and had three siblings, consisting of two brothers and one sister. You made a comment about how big his family was, which then prompted him to respond with ‘Yeah, makes me want an even bigger one when I get the chance’.

The remark took you aback a little, not expecting him to be so forward about the possibility of creating a family on the first date.

He was different to Alfie — more bold, more straightforward — and you couldn’t decipher as to whether you liked it or not.

Marcus had good chat, you’d give him that. He didn’t talk about himself too much, and he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know you as a person. Across the patio, you could see Oscar getting along with Emma pretty swimmingly as well.

By the time you made it back to the villa, the sun had set and everyone was in their ‘glam’ outfits. It was kind of perfect, to be honest, because your outfit fit the vibe and it saved you having to change again.

“We’re back!” You exclaimed, hand still locked in Marcus’.

“Yay!” Hannah cheered, waddling over to you the best she could in her maxi dress and heels, “Hi, my love!”

“Hi!” You grinned, hugging her tightly.

“Were they holding hands?” Archie grasped Alfie’s shoulder as they walked off.

“Fuck.” He replied in a mutter, “Am I fucked?”

“Nah, nah, nah. Just be cool.”

You greeted Alfie when he joined, but he didn’t seem too excited to see you again, which put you off a little. You were expecting a grand gesture of sorts, maybe a spinning hug or an offer to go and chat, but all you received was ‘Hi, y’alright? How was it?’.

The girls pulled you to the side, sitting around the mini fire pit so that Emma could introduce herself properly and then you could both debrief the details of your date.

They all seemed really stoked for you, sensing that this was a man who might be willing to put a bit more effort in than Alfie.

“Wait, how old is he?” Mehreen double-checked.

“29.”

“Girl!” She scoffed out laughter, “Age gap much?”

“I know, I know!” You pressed your hands to your cheeks, “But he’s so fit.”

“He is gorge.” Holly nodded in agreement, “More than Alfie?”

You sighed heavily, pursing your lips before speaking, “I don’t know— No, I do. Alfie is definitely more my type, but he’s just been lacking in the effort department, and that’s not something I appreciate. Like, if you want me, please let it be known to the world.” You dramatically threw your hands up to the sky.

“I remember you saying.” Lana noted, “He’s just too comfortable, babe. Hopefully this’ll give him a kick in the bollocks.”

“Yeah.”

On the other side of the villa, the boys were having a much similar conversation, except Alfie was keeping quiet, watching Marcus speak with ego.

“I think the date went really well. She’s a lovely girl, stunning, seemed to take my flirting well and all, so, yeah. Pretty chuffed.”

James glanced at Alfie momentarily before barking out in laughter, “Alfie’s fuming.”

“What?” Alfie blinked, “Nah, nah I’m not. It’s fine. I understand, she’s a proper looker. No hard feelings.”

“I’m gonna go and pull her now, actually.” Marcus said before departing from the boys and making his way over to you.

You beamed at the sight of him, meanwhile Alfie was muttering under his breath, “Y’just spent 3 hours with her, what else could you possibly have to say?”

“And you wanna say you’re not fuming?” Archie cackled, slapping his thigh.

“I’m not fuming, I’m just … Argh, lads, don’t.” Alfie’s fingers came up to dig into the corners of his eyes as he laughed through his ‘tantrum’.

“You’re jealous.” Christian shrugged.

“Yeah, but you’ve got every right to be. You’ve been coupled up since day one. I’d be more concerned if you weren’t arsed, to be honest mate.” Morgan gave his two pence.

“Look look look look look!” Archie gasped, and all the boys heads snapped in the direction he was looking at.

Marcus had his arm around your shoulders as he guided you toward the seating area under the terrace.

“Cheeky bastard!”

“You reckon he’s trying to get a rise out of you?” Morgan asked, looking at Alfie.

“I dunno … If he is, that’s just a bit pathetic. Like, you’re in here to find love and you’re dedicating all of your time to pissing off some random guy?”

“To be fair, on the date, he didn’t ask about you at all.” Oscar explained.

“Is that worse, though?” James but in, “Like, is that more inconsiderate?”

“You lot are scrambling with my head, man.” Alfie groaned, running a hand through his hair, “Bare stressing me out. Chill.”

“We’ve just got your back, mate.” Christian patted him on the shoulder.

Your chat with Marcus was going well.

He was sitting rather close to you, fingers skimming the edge of your thigh mindlessly. He asked how you felt about the date, and whether or not you were still willing to get to know him having now been put in an environment with both him and Alfie. You told him that you were, and Alfie being there didn’t change anything for you because you weren’t closed off by any means.

Speaking of, he seemed to be making his way over to you both pretty purposefully.

“You okay?” You hummed once he was close enough.

“Yeah, do you wanna go chat?” He nodded to the side.

“Yeah, ‘course.” You agreed, nudging Marcus’ hand off your thigh and making the move to stand up, until he stopped you.

“It’s okay, you two stay here, I’ll go get a drink.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Cheers, mate.” Alfie nodded, taking his place beside you and getting extremely comfortable.

He took your legs, slinging them over his lap and threw his arm over your shoulders, keeping you tucked nice and tight into his side. You loved it. This was the type of treatment and behaviour you wanted to receive from him, not passive touch and barely meaningful conversations.

Your fingers found the hand that was dangling beside your head, interlocking with his perfectly and letting your thumb stroke over his first finger.

“Y’alright, beautiful?” He started.

“Oh, so now I’m beautiful?”

He frowned, “You’re always beautiful.”

You hummed, acknowledging his words but not giving him half as much attention as you would’ve done had you been a bit more happier with his treatment towards you.

“What?” He nudged your knee with his lightly, “Talk to me.”

“Just …” You huffed, picking your head up and turning to look at him, “You haven’t even been giving me the time of day recently, and now that someone wants me, you’re like a territorial dog.”

“Am I? I don’t think I am.”

You raised your eyebrows, a light smile on your face, “Alfie.”

“What?”

“Don’t be stupid, ‘coz you’re not. You haven’t pulled me for a chat in days, and now Marcus takes me for a date and has a little cuddle with me, you’re all over me again.”

“Is that what the issue is? We don’t talk?”

“I just …” You rested your head back on his arm, “I’d appreciate a bit more effort.”

He hummed, bringing his other hand down to rest on your shin, rubbing up and down.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” You clicked your tongue.

“I am.” He nodded, “Tomorrow, I will bring you breakfast and a coffee, oat milk not normal,”

You laughed at the detail.

“And then I will hog you the whole day. Anyone tries to pull you for a chat and I will fight them off. Sound good?”

“Mmm … I might get a bit annoyed with you after a while.” You joked, “Or maybe you’ll get annoyed with me.”

“Reader, I could never get annoyed with you.”

“How’d you know? You haven’t spent more than fifteen minutes with me alone in the past four days.”

“Oh, c’mon.” He groaned, rolling his eyes and resting his head to the side, leaning it on yours, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“What if Marcus wants to talk to me all day tomorrow?” You quipped.

“He can fuck right off.” Alfie murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple casually.

“Alfie.” You tutted, slapping his thigh.

“I’m serious. Gonna super glue our hands together tonight.”

“Oh, no, don’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“‘Coz then I can’t use them.” You teased, smirking in a way that had his brain short circuiting and trying to come up with a response to your innuendo.

“What you gettin’ at, girl?” He grinned.

“No, nothing.” You shrugged, feigning innocence.

“You proper mess with my head, you know that?”

You turned your head, keeping eye contact with him as you beamed.

“Good or bad?”

“Oh, good. But, only ‘coz it’s you. Anyone else and it would be a nightmare.” He replied, blinking excessively in a way that told you he was nervous, but he didn’t want to seem like a pussy for refusing to maintain eye contact.

“I feel the same about this protectiveness.”

“Really? Is it doing it for you?”

“Mmm maybe a little bit.”

“Yeah?” He smirked, leaning in a little.

You nodded, poking your head forward the rest of the way until your lips were interlocked with his.

His arm tightened around your shoulders, keeping your head in place as one of yours came up to cup his cheek.

It was perfect, soft but passionate in all the right ways. It wasn’t all about the tongue, but he let it be known how much he wanted you through the glides of his against yours.

Hannah gasped, “They’re snogging.”

Mehreen nearly broke her neck with the speed in which she turned around to glance.

“Aw, yay.” Holly whispered, clapping quietly with small movements so it wouldn’t be audible.

When you pulled back, he came in for another, this time offering you light pecks rather than a full, tongue-in-mouth debacle.

“Happy now?” He chimed.

“No. You can rub my feet before bed.”

“Fuck sake.” He huffed, puffing his cheeks out and leaning his head on your chest.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around him properly and kissing the top of his head.

“God, you are so clingy when you wanna be, aren’t you?”

“Sorry, you just whinged at me for not being clingy enough!” He scoffed.

“I did not whinge!” You exclaimed through laughter.

“You fuckin’ did!”

“Oi!” You shoved him back.

“No, no, I’m playing,” He grinned, his hands finding your waist, “I kinda like when you put me in my place.”

“Okay, chill.” You snorted before reaching out and running your thumbs over his shockingly sharp canines, “Also, I like these.”

“Yeah? They’re sharp, ennit?”

“Mm, you’ve got proper fangs.”

“Good for biting.” His lips upturned, pressing his lips to yours again.

You grinned into it, happily clasping your hands at the back of his head and keeping him close.

The only thing that was able to pull you off of each other was the sound of production alerting you that it was time for bed.

Reluctantly, you dragged your lips off of his and sighed.

“C’mon, big boy.” You patted his pecs.

“Do I get a cuddle in bed?”

“No.”

“No?!”

“Maybe.”

[feelinglostineverycrowd]

I like talking to myself she just gets me

[littlesparkequeen]

[tobefairthough]

Drunk Love

George Clarke

The call came at 11:47 p.m.

You almost ignored it.

Unknown number, late at night—usually not a great combination. But something in your gut told you to answer, and as soon as you did, the noise hit you first. Loud music, people shouting, laughter echoing in the background.

“Hello?”

“Y/N?” a voice said—familiar, but slightly panicked. “It’s—uh—it’s one of George’s mates.”

Your stomach dropped instantly.

“What’s happened?”

“It’s nothing bad,” he said quickly. “He’s just… a bit too drunk.”

A bit.

Right.

You sighed, already grabbing your keys. “Where are you?”

---

When you arrived, you spotted them immediately.

A small group stood outside, half-laughing, half-struggling—and right in the middle of it was George Clarke.

Or at least… what remained of his dignity.

His hoodie was slightly twisted, hair a mess, and he was leaning heavily on one of his friends, blinking like the world wasn’t quite staying still.

“There she is!” one of them called as you approached.

George’s head lifted slowly.

And the second his eyes landed on you—

His entire face lit up.

“Y/N,” he said, like he’d just found the answer to every problem he’d ever had.

Oh no.

You knew that tone.

---

“Hi,” you said carefully, stepping closer. “You alright?”

He immediately reached for you.

Not subtly.

Not gracefully.

Just fully let go of his friend and stumbled straight into you, arms wrapping around you like you were the only thing keeping him upright.

“You came,” he mumbled into your shoulder.

His weight nearly knocked you back.

“I *had* to come,” you said, laughing despite yourself. “You’re a mess.”

“No, I’m not,” he protested, tightening his grip on you anyway.

Behind him, his friends were trying—and failing—not to laugh.

“He’s been like this for the last half hour,” one of them said. “Wouldn’t stop going on about you.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Oh, really?”

“Only because I love her,” George slurred, lifting his head slightly.

You blinked.

His friends lost it.

“Right,” you said quickly, trying to regain control of the situation. “Okay. We’re going home.”

“No,” George said immediately.

You frowned. “No?”

He shook his head, then winced slightly like even that was too much movement.

“I like it here,” he said.

“You can’t even stand.”

“I can,” he insisted—and promptly proved himself wrong by swaying straight back into you.

You caught him with a sigh.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “Very convincing.”

---

Getting him to the car was… an experience.

He refused to let go of you the entire time.

Not even for a second.

“George,” you laughed, trying to adjust your grip as you walked. “You need to actually *walk*.”

“I am walking,” he mumbled, clinging to your side.

“You’re leaning.”

“Same thing.”

“It’s really not.”

He just hummed in response, clearly deciding the conversation wasn’t worth his energy.

By the time you reached the car, you were half-supporting, half-dragging him.

His friends waved you off, still laughing.

“Good luck!” one of them called.

“You’re never hearing the end of this!” another added.

You shook your head, smiling despite everything.

---

Once you finally got him into the passenger seat, you turned to buckle him in.

Big mistake.

Because the second you leaned in—

His hand caught your wrist.

“Stay,” he murmured.

Your heart softened instantly.

“I’m just putting your seatbelt on,” you said gently.

“No, like… stay,” he repeated, looking at you with that soft, slightly unfocused expression that somehow made everything feel more honest.

“I am staying,” you assured him. “I’m literally driving you home.”

He seemed to think about that.

Then nodded slowly.

“Okay.”

But he didn’t let go straight away.

---

The drive was quiet.

Well—quiet apart from the occasional mumble from him.

At one point, you glanced over to find him already looking at you.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re pretty,” he said.

You nearly missed a turn.

“George—”

“I mean it,” he added, like it was the most important thing in the world.

You smiled, shaking your head slightly. “You’re drunk.”

“And you’re pretty,” he repeated.

There was no arguing with that logic, apparently.

---

Getting him inside was somehow even harder than getting him into the car.

Because now he was tired.

And even more clingy.

The second you stepped through the door, he was back at your side, arms wrapping around you from behind this time, face pressing into your shoulder.

“Don’t go,” he mumbled.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said, laughing softly. “But you need to let me move, or we’re both just going to stand here all night.”

“Fine,” he said reluctantly.

He did not, in fact, let go.

---

Eventually, you managed to get him to sit down.

Barely.

The second he did, he pulled you with him, arms wrapping around your waist as he rested his head against you.

“You’re warm,” he mumbled.

“So are you,” you replied.

“Stay here,” he said again, softer this time.

“I will,” you promised.

He relaxed almost instantly, his grip loosening slightly—but not completely.

Like even half-asleep, he still needed to make sure you were there.

And honestly?

You didn’t mind.

Because even through the chaos, the clinginess, the complete lack of coordination…

It was still him.

Just softer.

And very, very attached to you.

[tobefairthough]

Pub Golf Lovin'

George Clarkey x Reader

The pub is loud in that specific chaotic way that only happens on a pub golf night. The air smells like sticky carpets, cheap shots and the kind of competitiveness that ruins the friendship but in a fun, temporary way.

Your team stand confidently by the chalkboard score sheet by the entrance :

You, George and Harry. The dream team. The holy trinity of chaos.

Arthur TV, Becky and Chris stand opposite, already staring you down like there planning battle.

"Alright team excellence, beauty, superior, whatever team we are, we're winning," Harry said stretching like he's part of the Olympics.

George scoffs, " you say that every time, and we always end up battered by hole 3."

Harry shrugs proudly, "Thats called tradition."

You laugh at them and George glances over at you with that quick sideways smile that always hits harder than it should. His eyes flicker down to your outfit before snapping back up like he'd been caught. However you pretend not to notice the way his cheeks tint pink.

"You ready for this?" George asks, his voice slightly teasing.

"Born ready," you say.

"That's my teammate," Harry said fist-bumping the air.

Becky points her putter- shaped straw at you trying to be intimidating, "Your going down."

"Im already down," you reply, "I have awful balance when I'm drunk."

"This is going to end in tears," Chris says laughing too hard for someone who hasn't had a single drink yet.

The music thumps, the crowd shifts and George moves a little closer to you like he's craving your presence. His shoulder brushes yours and you both notice but neither of you pull away. Instead your stomach does an embarrassing somersault.

Soon after, hole one is announced.

Hole 1 : a pint - par two.

George leans in, "starting strong, yeah?"

"Obviously."

You grab your glass and George mirrors you raising his like a toast. You both clink glasses before downing them in one.

You down yours at a good pace but fast enough to impress George who finished his just seconds before you.

He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and grins towards you, "Nice."

"You too," you say trying to pretend like you aren't staring at his mouth. You definitely are.

Hole one goes to your team.

Hole 2 : double vodka mixer - par three.

"You good?" George asks you as you all line up in the bar queue.

"I'm fine," you reply, "you worried I'm gonna slow the team down?"

"Nah," he replies, "Never."

It's stupid how warm that made you feel inside.

You take your drink and sip. George finishes his in an impressive two sips. You poke his shoulder to get his attention, "showoff."

"Just giving an example," he said smirking.

"You trying to impress me or something," you teased.

George almost chokes.

"Well he's failing," Harry says cheekily as George hits his arm with a menu.

Hole 2 goes to the other team as they all get it down in one.

Hole 3 : jägerbomb - par one.

Everyone groans.

"Do you want me to go first or you?" George asks nudging me with his elbow.

"I'll go."

You down the shot and in an instant he taste of sweetness and regret hits your body. You wince and blink at the feeling.

"You ok?" George asks softly.

"Fine," you croak sounding like an old drainpipe.

George laughs and downs his like it's water.

You hate how attractive that was.

Harry screams something muffled after spilling half of his down his front.

The hole ends in chaos unclear who even won.

Hole 4 : wine - par four.

You and George sit in one of the booths, your red wine swirling in both as Harry is sharing a story that happened to him with loud gestures and questionable hand movements.

George leans closer to you, "you look good tonight."

You freeze. Your heart skips at least 20 beats.

His eyes widen slightly, like he didn't mean to actually say that out loud. "I mean, you look good every night, not that I stare, I just meant that- I'm just gonna stop talking."

You giggle. He looks mortified.

"George," you say tapping his knee, "that was very sweet."

"It was embarrassing."

"It was sweet."

He stares at your knee touching his but doesn't move away.

Your heart thumps stupidity loud.

This round was won by the other team, which was expected as you and George did more flirting than drinking.

Hole 5 : tequila par one.

Everyone hates this.

The group crowds around a large, tall table as the bartender brings out the shots, and limes to ease the awful taste of regret.

George eyes you carefully, "you good with tequila."

"No, but I'll handle it."

He taps your wrist softly as your heart flutters, "don't push yourself."

"I'm not fragile."

His eyes soften, "didn't say you were."

You both look at eachother for a beat too long before Harry ruins it by screaming something about being an alcoholic.

The shots slam back and the bitterness hits straight away.

You sway a little at the taste and George instinctively catches your hip, his hand staying for a fraction too long.

Your face heats as he steps back, his ears growing red.

Hole 5 is a tie.

Hole 6 : cider - par three.

You sit on a barstool next to George sipping your cider as George's hand slips onto your thigh like its the most natural thing in the world.

"Sorry- was that ... um sorry- ," George stutters before you catch his wrist and put it back on your thigh.

"I didn't mind," you said.

He definitely noticed the way your voice had dropped half a tone.

Harry soon returns to the table looks st you both and chuckles to himself.

"What," George asks.

"Nothing," Harry says in the most knowing tone on earth, as he began to gulp down his cider.

Hole 7 : mystery drink - par unknown.

"Is it even legal to sell this?" Harry says as he sniffed the mystery concoction.

George hands you yours and leans closer and whispers, "Don't finish it if you hate it."

"Your being very protective tonight," you say as you stare at him.

His breath catches in his throat, "I'm always like this."

"Your not."

Harry is pretending not to watch as Arthur TV is sneakily recording you from halfway across the pub.

Hole 8 : sambuca - par one.

Everyone groans as you mutter under  your breath, "This is hell."

"Ill do yours," George says like it's nothing.

"George, no, do your own."

"I don't want you to get sick and feel terrible."

"Why are you being like this?" You ask as your face heats up for the hundredth time tonight.

"Don't make me say it while I'm drunk," he says.

"Say what," you ask confused but still blushing.

Harry shouts something knocking you both out of the moment before he got to say it.

Chaos resumes.

Hole 9 : last pints - par one.

The final pub is packed and lights twinkle above your heads.

You and George are stood shoulder to shoulder at the bar now.

George's voice is quiet, "Y'know everyone think we fancy eachother."

"That's ridiculous," you stare up at him.

His eyes are softer than you've ever seen them. Warm. Unsure. Hopeful.

Your chest tightens.

"Do you?" He questions.

The pub noise fades.

The lights grow warmer.

"Why are you asking?"

"Because I fancy you."

You throat dries immediately.

You freeze.

"George," you whisper.

You let go of your pint and your hand finds its way to his jaw.

"I fancy you too," you say as he looks stunned like he doesn't believe you.

George blinks like the world had stopped as he stepps closer.

His hands tremble slightly as they curl around your waist.

His innocence eyes flick down to your lips as he leans in and kisses you softly. Sweetly at first, like he's checking that you won't disappear.

You kiss him back instantly and he exhales like that's everything he's ever wanted.

Your fingers curl in his shirt as the the group around you cheers and claps but all you can hear is his breath against yours.

"Best pub golf ever," he whispers in between the kiss.

"We didn't even win," you giggled.

"I did."

[w2sprincess]

He so cuteee

[sweetestboys]

bro this was quite literally the funniest thing I’ve ever seen in my life I was in tears with them

[tobefairthough]

First Post, kinda nervous 😓 🙉 praying everyone likes it... feel free to give me requests, I am more than happy to write them. Hope you enjoy !!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never expected your life to intertwine with someone like Harry Lewis. To you, he was just a voice behind a screen at first—loud, sarcastic, and endlessly entertaining. Someone you watched on late nights when sleep wouldn’t come easy. But somehow, through a mix of chance, mutual friends, and a bit of fate, he became someone sitting across from you in real life.

It started small.

A group hangout. Nothing special. You almost didn’t go.

Harry had been quieter than you expected that night. Not the chaotic energy you’d seen in videos, but something more grounded. Observant. He’d made a few jokes, sure, but mostly he’d been watching—taking people in, choosing when to speak instead of filling every silence.

You didn’t talk much at first. Just a few passing comments, a shared laugh over something stupid. But when you did properly speak, it felt… easy.

“Wait,” he said at one point, leaning forward slightly, “you actually think that film was good?”

You shrugged, smiling. “It wasn’t bad.”

“It was terrible,” he replied, but there was no bite to it—just playful disbelief.

“Your taste is just questionable.”

He laughed then, properly this time. “Alright, we’re arguing about this another time.”

And somehow, you did.

---

The second time you met, it wasn’t a group thing. Not exactly.

You’d been invited out again, but most people cancelled last minute. It ended up just being you and him.

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Harry said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets as you stood outside the café.

“Tragic,” you replied, trying not to smile too much.

But it wasn’t tragic. Not even close.

You talked for hours.

About everything—YouTube, yes, but also things you didn’t expect. Music. Childhood memories. The weird pressure of growing up in completely different worlds. He told you about how strange it was having millions of people feel like they knew him.

“It’s weird,” he admitted, stirring his drink absentmindedly. “Like… they know a version of me. Just not all of it.”

You nodded. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it is.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—just real.

“And you?” he asked. “What’s your thing?”

You hesitated, not used to being the one asked. But something about the way he looked at you—genuinely interested—made it easier.

So you told him.

And he listened.

---

After that, it became a pattern.

Late-night messages.

Random memes.

“Are you awake?” texts that turned into conversations lasting until 3 a.m.

You started noticing the little things.

How he’d send you things that reminded him of you.

How he’d check in, even when he was busy.

How he’d call you out when you were overthinking—but gently, like he understood.

And then there were the moments in person.

Like the night you both ended up on a rooftop during another gathering, escaping the noise below. The city stretched out around you, lights flickering like stars that had fallen to earth.

“It’s quieter up here,” you said.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, leaning on the railing. “Better, innit?”

You nodded.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, “You’re different, you know,” he said suddenly.

You glanced at him. “Different how?”

He shrugged, but didn’t look away this time. “You don’t treat me like… all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if referring to everything—his career, his online presence, the noise of it all.

“I mean,” you said softly, “you’re still just you.”

He let out a small laugh. “Mad concept.”

“I know. Revolutionary.”

That made him smile—one of those rare, genuine ones that didn’t feel like it was meant for anyone else but the moment.

---

It wasn’t a dramatic realization.

No sudden confession. No big, cinematic moment.

Just a quiet understanding that somewhere along the way, he’d become important to you.

And maybe—just maybe—you had become important to him too.

It showed in the way he looked for you in a room.

In the way his voice softened when he said your name.

In the way silence between you never felt empty.

---

One evening, as you sat side by side on his sofa, some random video playing in the background neither of you were really watching, he nudged you slightly.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” he asked.

“What?”

“This,” he said, gesturing between you. “Us.”

You tilted your head. “Weird good or weird bad?”

He thought for a moment.

“Weird good,” he decided. “Definitely weird good.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I’d agree with that.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter this time, “I’m glad I met you.”

You looked at him, really looked at him.

“Me too, Harry.”

And for once, neither of you needed to say anything else.

[tobefairthough]

First Post, kinda nervous 😓 🙉 praying everyone likes it... feel free to give me requests, I am more than happy to write them. Hope you enjoy !!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You never expected your life to intertwine with someone like Harry Lewis. To you, he was just a voice behind a screen at first—loud, sarcastic, and endlessly entertaining. Someone you watched on late nights when sleep wouldn’t come easy. But somehow, through a mix of chance, mutual friends, and a bit of fate, he became someone sitting across from you in real life.

It started small.

A group hangout. Nothing special. You almost didn’t go.

Harry had been quieter than you expected that night. Not the chaotic energy you’d seen in videos, but something more grounded. Observant. He’d made a few jokes, sure, but mostly he’d been watching—taking people in, choosing when to speak instead of filling every silence.

You didn’t talk much at first. Just a few passing comments, a shared laugh over something stupid. But when you did properly speak, it felt… easy.

“Wait,” he said at one point, leaning forward slightly, “you actually think that film was good?”

You shrugged, smiling. “It wasn’t bad.”

“It was terrible,” he replied, but there was no bite to it—just playful disbelief.

“Your taste is just questionable.”

He laughed then, properly this time. “Alright, we’re arguing about this another time.”

And somehow, you did.

---

The second time you met, it wasn’t a group thing. Not exactly.

You’d been invited out again, but most people cancelled last minute. It ended up just being you and him.

“Guess you’re stuck with me,” Harry said, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets as you stood outside the café.

“Tragic,” you replied, trying not to smile too much.

But it wasn’t tragic. Not even close.

You talked for hours.

About everything—YouTube, yes, but also things you didn’t expect. Music. Childhood memories. The weird pressure of growing up in completely different worlds. He told you about how strange it was having millions of people feel like they knew him.

“It’s weird,” he admitted, stirring his drink absentmindedly. “Like… they know a version of me. Just not all of it.”

You nodded. “That sounds exhausting.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Sometimes it is.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—just real.

“And you?” he asked. “What’s your thing?”

You hesitated, not used to being the one asked. But something about the way he looked at you—genuinely interested—made it easier.

So you told him.

And he listened.

---

After that, it became a pattern.

Late-night messages.

Random memes.

“Are you awake?” texts that turned into conversations lasting until 3 a.m.

You started noticing the little things.

How he’d send you things that reminded him of you.

How he’d check in, even when he was busy.

How he’d call you out when you were overthinking—but gently, like he understood.

And then there were the moments in person.

Like the night you both ended up on a rooftop during another gathering, escaping the noise below. The city stretched out around you, lights flickering like stars that had fallen to earth.

“It’s quieter up here,” you said.

“Yeah,” Harry replied, leaning on the railing. “Better, innit?”

You nodded.

For a while, neither of you spoke.

Then, “You’re different, you know,” he said suddenly.

You glanced at him. “Different how?”

He shrugged, but didn’t look away this time. “You don’t treat me like… all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if referring to everything—his career, his online presence, the noise of it all.

“I mean,” you said softly, “you’re still just you.”

He let out a small laugh. “Mad concept.”

“I know. Revolutionary.”

That made him smile—one of those rare, genuine ones that didn’t feel like it was meant for anyone else but the moment.

---

It wasn’t a dramatic realization.

No sudden confession. No big, cinematic moment.

Just a quiet understanding that somewhere along the way, he’d become important to you.

And maybe—just maybe—you had become important to him too.

It showed in the way he looked for you in a room.

In the way his voice softened when he said your name.

In the way silence between you never felt empty.

---

One evening, as you sat side by side on his sofa, some random video playing in the background neither of you were really watching, he nudged you slightly.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” he asked.

“What?”

“This,” he said, gesturing between you. “Us.”

You tilted your head. “Weird good or weird bad?”

He thought for a moment.

“Weird good,” he decided. “Definitely weird good.”

You smiled. “Yeah. I’d agree with that.”

Another pause.

Then, quieter this time, “I’m glad I met you.”

You looked at him, really looked at him.

“Me too, Harry.”

And for once, neither of you needed to say anything else.