#Sidemen

[georgeclarkeys]

this might be one of the funniest things that has ever happened in a sidemen sunday 😭

[luv-nikki]

Scoring on and off the pitch ₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

George Clarkey x fem. reader!!!

About: you are a video person for the sidemen charity match and you catch a certain player eye.

⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰ ⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰⊱✿⊰

The energy at the Wembley was electric. The fans roared in anticipation, their voices blending into a deafening chorus of cheers, chants, and the occasional scream of excitement. The Sidemen Charity Match was about to begin, and among the many internet personalities on the pitch, there stood George Clarkey.

You stood at the sidelines, with your official staff jacket, camera slung around your neck. You had been given media access to the event, assigned to capture behind-the-scenes moments for a YouTube documentary. Though you were there for work, you couldn’t ignore the way your eyes drifted to George more often than not.

The two of you had known each other for a while—mutual friends, casual interactions, the occasional Twitter banter. But recently, your conversations had taken on a different edge. A flirt here, a lingering glance there. You weren’t sure what it was, but something about today felt different.

As the match began you found yourself cheering for him, even when you were supposed to remain neutral. Every time he had the ball, your camera lens found him. Every time he tripped or stumbled—because let’s face it, George wasn’t exactly prime Ronaldo—you couldn’t help but laugh. Midway through the match, he caught your gaze from the field, a smirk playing on his lips. Then, as if to impress you, he attempted a skillful pass… only to completely miss the ball and trip over his own feet.

After getting up, red-faced but still grinning, George jogged toward the sidelines where you stood. “Enjoying the show?” he panted, brushing sweat-soaked hair out of his face.

You bit your lip, suppressing a giggle. “Oh, absolutely. I think that was the most athletic thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You wound me, Y/N,” he said, placing a dramatic hand over his heart. “Stick around after the match—I’ll prove to you I can actually score.”

The double meaning wasn’t lost on you, and the blush on your face had nothing to do with the sun.

The match ended in a thrilling 9-9 victory, with the YouTube All-Stars barely edging out the Sidemen FC during the penalties. As the players cooled down and fans trickled out of the stadium, the real fun was about to begin: the afterparty.

The venue was packed with influencers, music thumping through the air as drinks flowed freely. You sat at the bar, nursing a cocktail, when George appeared beside you, still slightly sweaty but cleaned up, his jersey swapped for a sleek button-down.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

“I could say the same,” you shot back, tilting your glass toward him. “How’s the ego holding up after that little… incident on the pitch?”

He groaned, rubbing his face. “Don’t remind me. I swear, I was trying to impress you.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh? And here I thought you were just naturally that graceful.”

He chuckled, leaning in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re killing me, Y/N.”

You turned to face him fully, the tension between you crackling like the final moments of a penalty shootout. “Maybe you should try scoring off the pitch, then.”

For a second, he looked stunned—like he wasn’t sure if he actually heard you right. Then, a slow smirk spread across his face.

“Oh, Y/N,” he murmured, eyes locked onto yours. “I thought you’d never ask.”

And just like that, George Clarkey—content creator, and now, quite possibly, the man who would ruin you for anyone else—pulled you into a kiss that tasted like adrenaline, laughter, and just a hint of something more.

[candykissd]

drunk bingo

pairings : harry lewis x female reader

summary : drunk bingo is a crazy time, especially when you're a lightweight. although, harry's there to take care of you.

warnings : alcohol consumption, nausea, mature language, fluff

beths notes : love drunk bingo vids sm!! 💘

the flashing lights were enough to make you feel sick, sicker than you already did. drunk bingo was one of your most favourite events, though, it's safe to say alcohol isn't your best friend.

you were already pretty much pissed by the third drink, and yet somehow were managing to pass out coherent sentences.. up until the eight drink, at least.

you were wedged between george and harry, with bach and arthur tv on the ends of the table. at the start of the night you were sure you were going to be the best team, winning all the challenges, calling bingo here and there. but then they decided to give you a few drinks. not a smart move.

"number 63!" simon called out from the platform on which he stood, the various flashing lights surrounding him sending your head spinning into a vortex of feeling sorry for yourself.

"'m gonna get some air.." you slurred out as you stood up, making your way around the tables, not without stumbling into a few, and finding the back door. pushing it open with all your might and leaning against the railing outside.

"she okay?" arthur asked the other boys as he saw her leave. "yeah, probably just so unbelievably shitfaced." harry shrugged as he stood up, following along the trail that you had walked just a minute ago.

deep breathe in, deep breathe out, is what you told yourself, the nauseous feeling creeping up on you again, despite the fact that it felt as though it had only just washed away. you couldn't help but jump in your skin as you felt a hand on your lower back.

"you okay?" sounded harry's familiar voice as he smiled down at you.

"yeah... 'm good." you mumbled out, raising your hand to your forehead as you turned slightly to face him, whilst you still felt ill, you couldn't help but smile up at him.

you'd liked harry for the longest time, and the two of you had somewhat of a flirtation-ship, always taking the piss out of each other, and flirting with one another. but, it was all harmless. you both denied having feelings for each other; even though all of your friends could see through it.

harry's hand slid up your back, his touch light, but enough to make you shiver as his hand made its way to play with your hair, tucking a piece behind your ear. "you wanna go home?" he asked, tilting his head, as if he was secretly admiring you, which he wasnt doing a good job at hiding.

you didn't say anything, not feeling the need, nor the ability to speak properly, just nodding and smiling softly at him as he stood up straight.

he turned around and signalled to the others through the door that he was taking you home, and just to carry on with the game, before placing his hands on your shoulders from behind, spinning you around and practically pushing you towards the main road where he called for a taxi.

when the two of you got to your apartment, you fumbled around in your bag for your keys. harry laughing as he saw you struggle, grabbing your bag and pulling out your keys for you, unlocking the door and letting you stumble inside first, shutting the door behind him as he followed you in.

it was a good thing harry good handle is alcohol, as he was damn near sober, sober enough to take care of you properly.

you stumbled into the kitchen, steadying yourself with your hands on the countertop as you looked over at him.

"come on.. let's get you ready for bed." he said with a fond smile as he picked you up bridal style, a childish giggle escaping your lips as your arms wrapped around his neck, just as an extra precaution to make sure he doesn't drop you.

"harry wroetoshaw lewis if you drop me..." you laughed out, throwing your head back as he walked you down the hallway and into your bedroom.

"i won't drop you, love, don't you fret." he shook his head playfully as he plopped you down on the edge of your bed.

you sighed contently as you watched him disappear into your en suite bathroom, coming out with the bottle of micellar water and a cotton wool pad, crouching down infront of you.

without saying anything, he wet the wool pad with the micellar water and helped you wipe the makeup of your face, eliciting a small laugh from you and a smile.

once all your makeup was off he threw the cotton wool pad in the bin and looked at you, "you're so good to me..." you mumbled, titling your head as you smiled at him childishly.

"well, im not prepared to get a bollocking off of you in the morning when you wake up with your makeup on." he laughed out as he stood up.

you flopped back onto the bed with a sigh. "these jeans are so uncomfy.." you grumbled out as you swayed from side to side on the bed, as if the action would somehow wriggle them off of your body.

"you wanna get changed?" he asked, looking down at you as you nodded.

"gimme your hoodie." you practically demanded, crossing your arms as he laughed and shook his head.

"so demanding..." he mumbled, pulling his hoodie off over his head, the shirt that he had on underneath riding up slightly, a sight that caused a slight blush to creep up on your face, despite the flush you originally had from the alcohol in your system.

he walked over and stood infront of you, "arms up." he motioned with his hands as well as his words, with you happily obliging as he pulled the top you were wearing off your torso and over your head, placing it on the bed beside you.

you fumbled with the button of your jeans and unzipped them, laying back and lifting up your hips slightly as he pulled the denim off of your legs in one swift movement, before helping you into his hoodie, which you quickly settled into, the warmth of his body still stuck in the fabric, as well as the subtle scent of his cologne.

you let out a soft hum as you crawled over into your bed, snuggling in under the duvet, your head resting perfectly on the pillows.

"you comfy?" he asked, smiling at your drunken state.

"mhm.." you hummed with a small nod, just as extra reassurance. he nodded slightly as your eyes closed, and he knew you'd quickly drifted off to sleep as he made his way to your bedroom door, flicking the light off on his way out, making sure not to make too much noise when leaving your apartment.

the fresh sunlight woke you up as it filtered through the curtains of your room, the sun just directly shining on you as you rolled over with a groan, trying your hardest to shield yourself from the blinding light.

your eyes fluttered open, settling on the glass of water and paracetamol on the bedside table, a small smile forming on your face, your mind flooding with the memories of the previous night, and just how well harry had taken care of you. looking down at yourself and seeing the hoodie your were wrapped up warm in, quickly identifying it is harry's, causing your smile to grow.

although the smile was quickly overtaken by a frown as the pounding in your head grew. pushing yourself up on your arms slowly, and leaning back against the headboard; you reached over for the glass of water and tablet, desperate for some sort of pain relief.

and all you could thing to yourself was:

harry lewis, the man you are.

[artvscvntymullet]

oh good fucking lord he makes me weak at the knees

[cybersigilz]

harry boyfriend-core

[reidyourpalms]

switching sides

summary -> you wear jj's jersey to the charity match and george isn't happy about it | geroge clarke x reader

wc -> 1.2k

WARNINGS -> tbf i don't think there are any, maybe a bit of jealousy

masterlist | main masterlist

you were supposed to be there to support your best friend. keyword: supposed to.

george clarke had been buzzing about the sidemen charity match for weeks. he trained like it was the world cup, talked your ear off about tactics (which mostly involved chaos), and even tried to bribe you into designing a ridiculous banner for him. you declined, kindly reminding him you weren’t his personal hype squad. well—not officially.

but the morning of the match, you decided to do something cheeky. jj’s jersey. no. 10. bright, bold, and a tiny bit evil considering you knew exactly who it would get under the skin of.

you definitely wore it on purpose.

and when George saw you before kickoff, his reaction was immediate: a stare, a head tilt, and then the slowest blink of betrayal you’d ever seen. “you’re joking,” he said flatly.

“what?” you asked innocently, tugging at the collar of the shirt. “can’t a girl support one of the greatest players on the pitch?”

george’s jaw ticked. “i’m literally better.” you grinned. "so that means you don’t need the extra support.”

he glared. “unreal.”

before you could respond, one of the coaches called him over and he jogged off, still shaking his head and shooting you dirty looks over his shoulder. you tried not to laugh.

but during the match? oh, you pushed it.

every time jj got the ball, you cheered louder than necessary. when he made a pass, you gasped dramatically. and when he scored, you actually stood up and clapped.

george? he noticed. every. single. time.

you caught him throwing you glares mid-game, muttering to teammates, and once—once!—he even kicked the ball a little too hard into the sidelines near where you were standing. coincidence? doubtful.

then came the chaos. midway through the second half, play paused. someone was down at the far end of the pitch, and the medics ran in. the crowd buzzed, people grabbed snacks, and players stretched.

and then george stormed over.

like, actually stormed—jogging straight toward you with fire in his eyes and sweat clinging to his neck. you barely had time to process what was happening before he was standing right in front of you at the barrier, chest heaving.

“take. it. off.”

you blinked, “excuse me?”

he pointed to your jj top like it had personally offended him, “i’m not playing another second with you wearing that.” you grinned, tilting your head. “you jealous, clarke?”

he didn’t answer. just yanked his own shirt off in one ridiculously smooth motion and tossed it over the barrier at you. “put it on,” he said, completely serious.

you stared. “are you actually doing this right now?”

“dead serious. you’re my best friend. you don’t wear his kit. you wear mine.”

the crowd around you went mental—cheering, laughing, someone even yelled, “ooohh he's in love!”

you hesitated for only a second before peeling jj’s shirt off over your head (to the sound of more screams), and pulling George’s on. his kit was still warm, smelled like him, and was a bit too big. it hung perfectly.

george’s expression softened. just slightly. “that’s better,” he muttered.

you raised an eyebrow. “you good now?” he leaned in a little, “just needed to remind you who you came here for.”

then he jogged back onto the pitch like he hadn’t just had a whole main-character moment in front of thousands of people.

you stood there in disbelief, george’s name on your back, his scent in your nose, and your heart hammering against your ribs like maybe - just maybe - he hadn’t been joking at all.

the game ended in a blur of sweaty hugs, pitch invasions, and screaming fans. george found you in the chaos, his hair plastered to his forehead, cheeks flushed. you were still in his shirt.

“you alright?” he asked, catching your arm and steering you toward the tunnel, away from the crowd.

“i’m fine. are you?” you teased. “you caused an entire scene just because i wore a jj top.” he made a face. “you know i don’t care about jj.”

you narrowed your eyes, “sure didn’t look that way.” he looked at you for a second—really looked at you. then: “i care about you.”

Oh.

Oh.

you swallowed. “george—”

“i know we’ve always been…” he scratched the back of his neck, suddenly bashful, “you know. just mates. but when i saw you wearing someone else’s name on your back, i just- ”

“you got territorial.”

he gave a sheepish grin. “a bit, yeah.”

you stared at him, heart thumping. this wasn’t new. you’d danced around each other for years. late-night calls. inside jokes. glances that lingered a second too long. maybe you’d just never said it out loud.

you reached for the collar of his shirt and tugged it lightly.

“well,” you said softly, “guess i’m yours now.”

his eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation. when he didn’t find one, he grinned—wide, boyish, and victorious.

“bet.”

INSTAGRAM

liked by georgeclarke, chrismd and others

@/yourusername it’s about damn time 🤍

userone: oh my godd this is so cute

georgeclarke: looked amazing with my name on your back 😉

usertwo: did anyone see them at the match??? it was so funny

chrismd: i see football isn’t the only game he had 👏

first time including anything smau in a story eek.

feel free to request anything!

[harrybog]

oh my god

[the-internets-girlfriend]

Secrets in Doncaster

George Clarke x Reader (Series)

A soccer Saturday in Doncaster is spent laughing and drinking with friends... and the occasional minion. However, can a secret go viral?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Series

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four (Coming out 25/04)

Bonus

The Soft Launch (Coming Soon)

The Hard Launch (Coming Soon)

The First Kiss (Coming Soon)

The Halloween Party (Coming Soon)

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

masterlist

mwah x

[whisperturnedecho]

Throwback to Inside S2 ❤️

[cornliastreett]

george 🥹🥹 i love him sm

They’re all just so… boyfriend😌💘

[whore4wroetoshaw]

hard launch (w2s x reader)

liked by wroetoshaw, calfreezy, vikkstagram, and others

yourusername: i can proudly call myself a wag now @wroetoshaw

view all 10,261 comments

wroetoshaw: i love you so much

↪ yourusername: i love you too 🫶🏻

↪ faithlouisak: fuck off harold

taliamar: this is the longest secret i've had to keep, so happy for you lot ❤️

↪ yourusername: thank you sm bby 🫶🏻

faithlouisak: ok so you're cheating on me now?

↪ yourusername: shh this is just a plan for me to take all of his youtube clout be at my place in 10 love

↪ wroetoshaw: what the fuck

↪ behzingagram: what the fuck

tobjizzle: MRS WROETOSHAWWW

miniminter: so when's the wedding?

↪ ksi: when's the honeymoon?

↪ vikkstagram: when's the pregnancy announcement?

↪ zerkaa: when's the gender reveal?

↪ yourusername: oh!

user: what can i do to get a relationship like this?

user1: HAHA I KNEW IT

want to be on my taglist? click here.

[heavsbbg]

˚ ༘♡ ·˚꒰ᥕᥱᥣᥴ᥆꧑ᥱ t᥆ ꧑ᥡ bᥣ᥆g꒱ ₊˚ˑ

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ . ࣪☾⭑

┊ ┊ ┊ . ⋆ ۫

┊ ┊ . ★.˚

┊ . ˚☆

࣪⊹

hi i’m heav!

not new just lost my old account 😔

18!!

this will be a nsfw/ smutty page so MDNI

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ ✧༺♥༻∞ ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

get to know me!!

╰┈➤ i love reading and writing

╰┈➤ i love green(any shade)

╰┈➤ george clarke, arthurtv, italianbach, and the sidemen>>>

╰┈➤ i am currently writing a book! (unsure when it’ll be done)

╰┈➤i love talking so feel free to use my inbox!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・・★

who i will write for!!

► george clarke

► arthur tv/ fredrick

►italianbach

►harry lewis (w2s)

► chrisMD

many more but these will be mainly who!

┊ ┊ ┊ ┊ . ࣪☾⭑

┊ ┊ ┊ . ⋆ ۫

┊ ┊ . ★.˚

┊ . ˚☆

࣪⊹

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦✦•······················•✦•······•✦

what i won’t write!

𐙚 piss

𐙚 feces

𐙚 abuse

𐙚 siblings/ step siblings/ parents

𐙚 age play

𐙚 acting as if one party was an animal (animalistic ways)

𐙚 drugging

୨୧ —————————— ୨୧ ——————— ୨୧

[louistomlinsonslover]

Checked in - George Clarkey

words : 1.0 k +

warnings : Food-related content (mention of a gross food challenge), Fluff overload (excessive cuteness that may cause butterflies!)

The Sidemen studio was buzzing with energy—cameras rolling, crew members adjusting lighting, and the boys already causing chaos before the video had even properly started. You stood off to the side, tucked just behind the cameras, watching as your boyfriend, George Clarke, settled into his seat amongst the Sidemen.

He looked completely at ease, chatting and laughing with the boys as the crew made last-minute adjustments. Even though this wasn’t his usual kind of content, he fit in effortlessly, his natural charm making it seem like he’d been doing this for years.

You, on the other hand, weren’t in the video. You had come along purely to support him, happy to be behind the scenes, just watching. But what you weren’t expecting was the way George kept checking in on you—over and over again, in the most subtle yet adorable ways.

“All right, today we have a very special guest,” Ethan announced, throwing an arm around George’s shoulders. “Mr. Architecture himself, George Clarke!”

The boys erupted into cheers and mock applause.

George chuckled, shaking his head. “I swear, you lot hype me up too much.”

JJ smirked. “Mate, it’s only ‘cause we know you’re gonna get roasted in this video.”

That was met with laughter, but as the challenge got underway—some ridiculous mix of trivia and forfeits—you noticed something.

Every few minutes, George would steal a glance in your direction.

At first, it was subtle. His eyes would flick over to you when the others were distracted, his brows lifting slightly as if silently asking, You okay?

You bit back a smile, giving him a tiny nod.

Then, the gestures became more obvious. A quick thumbs-up under the table, a casual stretch where he subtly formed a tiny heart with his fingers before dropping them back down.

You couldn’t stop the warmth from spreading through your chest.

JJ, who happened to catch one of these moments, narrowed his eyes playfully. “Oi, what’s this guy doing?”

Vik followed JJ’s gaze and smirked. “I think George is sending secret messages.”

Harry snickered. “Bruv, you’re in a Sidemen video, not passing notes in class.”

George, completely unbothered, just grinned. “Gotta make sure my girl’s alright, haven’t I?”

The teasing was instant.

“WHIPPED!” Harry declared dramatically.

Josh shook his head, laughing. “We’ve lost him.”

Ethan nudged George. “Mate, she’s literally right there. She’s fine.”

George just shrugged, throwing you another glance, his lips curving into the softest smile. “Still gotta check in.”

Your cheeks burned, but you weren’t about to complain.

As the game continued, George found new ways to silently reassure you—his fingers drumming lightly against the table in a rhythm only you would recognize, a small, barely noticeable wink when the others were too busy laughing, a soft smile that made your stomach flip every time your eyes met.

At one point, when the boys erupted into chaos over a particularly questionable answer, George leaned back slightly, resting his arm on the chair beside him. With a casualness that didn’t match the giddy feeling blooming inside you, he raised two fingers in a peace sign—his own silent way of asking if you were okay.

You did it back, mirroring the gesture, and he smiled so softly it made your heart race.

But then, he took it a step further.

While the others were arguing about the score, George turned slightly, facing you more. With exaggerated slowness—so that only you would notice—he lifted his hands to form a tiny heart, then pointed at you before quickly dropping them back down.

Your heart nearly burst.

You covered your mouth to keep from laughing, shaking your head at him, but the way he was looking at you—so full of warmth, so full of love—made it impossible not to smile.

Tobi, who had been watching quietly, chuckled. “That’s actually cute, man.”

JJ groaned. “Oh my days. Someone get a bucket.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “Honestly, just propose at this point, George.”

George just smirked, clearly enjoying the teasing. But before turning his attention back to the game, he shot you one last look—the kind that made your stomach flutter, your breath hitch, and your heart race all at once.

As the game progressed, George continued his little check-ins. Whenever the boys were deep in conversation or focused on the challenge, he’d take a second just to look at you, his lips quirking up in a soft, secret smile meant only for you. And every time, you felt that same giddy rush, your stomach twisting in the best possible way.

Then came the forfeits.

George, unfortunately, ended up on the losing team, meaning he had to suffer through a ridiculous punishment—having to eat an absolutely revolting concoction that JJ had gleefully mixed together.

You winced as you watched the boys cackle over the disgusting-looking sludge in front of George. He picked up the spoon with a sigh, but before taking a bite, his eyes found yours.

He pointed at the bowl, then dramatically wiped a fake tear from his cheek.

You laughed, shaking your head. In response, you held up both thumbs, encouraging him, even though you were internally gagging at the thought of him actually eating that monstrosity.

George grinned, rolling his eyes playfully before finally taking a bite. His face immediately scrunched up in horror, and the studio erupted into chaos.

JJ was on the floor laughing. “Oh my God! His face!”

Harry was crying from laughter, while Tobi clapped his hands together in delight. “Nah, that’s bad. That’s actually bad.”

Through it all, George still found a way to check on you. Even as he dramatically coughed and shook his head at the taste, he sent you a wink between grimaces.

You burst into laughter, pressing a hand over your mouth.

As the video finally wrapped up, George wasted no time in making his way over to you, ignoring the teasing from the boys as he wrapped an arm around your waist.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, his voice warm as he pressed a quick kiss to your temple.

You smiled, leaning into him. “Loved every second.”

He hummed, squeezing your side. “Told you I’d check in.”

Your stomach flipped, and for a moment, it felt like it was just the two of you in the room.

JJ’s voice broke the moment. “You two are disgusting.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes, but George just grinned, pulling you closer.

If this was what being ‘whipped’ looked like, he had absolutely no problem with it.

[swizzlemynizzle]

Underneath the Noise - George Clarkey

—————————————————————————

Masterlist

Chapter 5: Pub Crawl Survivors' Club

—————————————————————————

By the time they stumble out of the last pub, the air’s gone crisp and a bit damp, like London’s gently trying to rinse them off. Y/N’s socks are still squelching in those cursed size elevens, her mascara’s halfway down her cheek, and she’s just realised she hasn’t eaten since what might’ve been a sausage roll seven hours ago.

But she’s buzzing. Not just from alcohol—though the tequila shot she did with a woman dressed as a human-sized inflatable penis certainly helped—but from something lighter. Looser. Like a knot she didn’t know was there has started to come undone.

They’ve officially completed the entire bingo list. Every chaotic challenge checked off, documented, and occasionally filmed at unflattering angles.

They’re still laughing about the fountain.

“Right,” Bach says, his voice suddenly taking on a strange level of authority for someone who earlier tried to chat up a statue. “Now that we’ve all sacrificed our dignity for digital content, I vote we find somewhere warm before one of you gets hypothermia and I have to be the adult.”

“You are never the adult,” Arthur Hill mutters.

Bach glares. “I am now.”

ArthurTV, who has been silently staring at a Pret A Manger sign across the street for a good thirty seconds, suddenly chimes in: “Did you know the Thames used to freeze over in winter? Like, solid. They had entire frost fairs on it. People selling pies and everything.”

Everyone pauses.

“Cool,” Y/N says. “Do you want to lie down?”

“I’m fine,” ArthurTV replies calmly, before nearly tripping over a curb.

Chris snorts. “Right, let’s get you indoors before you try to reenact the Great Fire of London with a vape.”

They end up at a little pub just off Soho—wood-panelled, dimly lit, the kind of place that smells like spilt ale and second-hand stories. It’s mercifully quiet. No DJ, no inflatable penises. Just a few locals muttering over pints and a dog asleep under one of the tables.

“Perfect,” Bach says, already at the bar. “This place looks like it’s never even heard of TikTok.”

They pile into a booth that’s too small for all of them, limbs overlapping, coats tossed in a pile, laughter still spilling out in waves. It’s the first time all day they’ve been still.

Y/N finds herself wedged between Arthur Hill—who’s gently mumbling about how he peaked in Year 10 during a school play—and George, who seems entirely unbothered by the fact that his left leg is pressed firmly against hers.

He hasn’t said much since the fountain. Just small comments here and there, occasionally catching her eye when something ridiculous happens—like Chris attempting to explain the bingo list to the bartender like it’s a UN mission report.

“So which of us actually won?” Y/N asks, sipping her pint.

“Us, obviously,” Chris says, looking offended. “You think your team could out-do us? I saw you trying to convince a pigeon to high-five you.”

“That was ArthurTV,” Y/N corrects.

ArthurTV nods solemnly. “It understood me.”

Chris raises a brow. “Did it?”

Arthur Hill sighs dramatically. “If this is what peak content looks like, I’m quitting YouTube and becoming a lollipop man.”

“You’d cry the first time a kid called you cringe,” George says dryly.

Arthur shrugs. “Fair.”

Y/N snorts into her drink. She’s still wearing the cursed trainers. Every time someone mentions them, she threatens to launch them into the Thames.

“I swear these shoes are actually cursed. Like, haunted by the ghost of failed pub crawls past.”

“They’ve got better grip than your dignity,” George murmurs next to her, not even looking up from his drink.

She whips her head toward him. “You did not just—”

He lifts his pint, calm as anything. “Just saying. You were two seconds away from face-planting into the fountain.”

“I was being graceful under pressure,” she insists.

Chris raises his glass. “To Y/N. May she one day regain the feeling in her feet.”

They all cheer.

Even George.

ArthurTV zones out again, this time staring at the jukebox like it holds the secrets of the universe. Bach gently tugs the menu from his hand and hands him a packet of crisps.

“There we go, mate. Something salty to bring you back to Earth.”

“Did you know there’s a tree in London older than the Tower of London?” ArthurTV mumbles, munching.

“No one asked,” Chris deadpans.

Y/N leans back in the booth, warmth creeping into her limbs. It's loud and chaotic and completely mad—but she’s in it. Fully in it. Not watching from the outside. Not pretending to belong. Just… there. Part of the joke. Part of the group.

George catches her looking again. Doesn’t smirk this time—just meets her gaze, a little too steady for comfort.

She looks away first. Again.

But not because she’s afraid. More because… it’s something. And she’s not quite ready to name it yet.

Outside, the rain has started again, light and lazy, brushing against the windows like a reminder that London doesn’t stop just because you’ve had a weirdly transformative day.

Arthur Hill lets out a deep sigh. “Well. If I die tonight, bury me in Soho. Let my ghost roam the back alleys, lamenting missed shots and poor shoe choices.”

“You’re not dying,” Bach says, handing him a pint. “But I might smother you if you keep monologuing.”

Y/N laughs, curling further into the warmth of the group, her head fuzzy and heart strangely full.

Somewhere between the bingo chaos, the soggy trainers, and the questionable renditions of Wonderwall, something clicked.

She’s not quite sure what it is yet.

But she’s in no rush to figure it out.

———

The laughter softens eventually. Drinks dwindle. Chris is mid-rant about how hobbits would “absolutely thrive on Deliveroo,” and Arthur Hill has slumped halfway down the booth, quietly singing Mr Brightside to himself.

George nudges Y/N’s elbow. “Want some air?”

She blinks, surprised. But nods.

Outside, the street’s mostly quiet now. Slick with fresh rain, glowing under yellow streetlights. The pub’s hum drifts through the door behind them—muffled laughter, a clink of glasses. Everything feels… suspended.

She hugs her coat tighter. “Didn’t think you were the ‘let’s step outside for a chat’ type.”

“I’m not,” he says. “But you looked like you needed it.”

She glances sideways. “Do I?”

George shrugs, shoves his hands in his coat pockets. “You get a look when you’re overthinking. Kind of like you’re bracing for impact.”

Y/N lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “I hate how accurate that is.”

They fall quiet for a beat, the sound of a bus hissing by filling the space.

“I’m still figuring it out,” she admits eventually. “All of it. The group. Where I fit. If I even… do.”

“You do,” he says simply.

That makes her look up.

He’s not teasing. Not playing it off.

Just saying it like a fact.

It catches her off guard in a way that makes her throat feel tight.

“…Thanks,” she says softly, gaze flicking to his. “Even if you did make fun of my trench foot shoes earlier.”

George smirks. “Big head, remember? It’s full of observations.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway.

And just like earlier, he catches it. That flicker of her unguarded. But this time, she doesn’t look away.

They stay there a little longer, side by side in the London drizzle, letting the noise fade behind them.

No chaos. No challenges.

Just quiet.

And maybe that’s its own kind of victory.

---

Last bingo video chapter!!! I might wait a day or two to post the next ones xx

Tags

@madforgeorge

@wherethezoes-at

@sundarksposts

[lailasagna]

…..help, i’m still at the restaurant ☹️