#finchyficrequests

[fiftyfiftyfinchy]

Loved the Arthur tv coming out fic btw!! Could you do one where the reader and Arthur tv have been good friends for a while getting closer. They both have a moment where they almost confess/they both realise that they like eachother and kiss (I sound so down bad omgg like genuinely please don't judge, you're just a really good writer)

Okay, so I took a little creative freedom with this request and combined it with something I had already drafted but was struggling to piece together. I hope you enjoy it. If it does not suit you, rest assured, there will be many more arthurtv fics to come.

The drive from the airport to the Airbnb was oppressive. Heat radiated from the dashboard, making the air sticky despite the futile efforts of the car’s weak air conditioning. Arthur drove with one hand on the wheel, his sunglasses perched halfway down his nose like he was trying to be ironic. He wasn’t. He squinted into the sun, oblivious to the low-grade panic blooming in your chest. The kind of panic you couldn’t blame on turbulence or the thin, suspiciously warm wine they served on the plane. This was different. Yes, you had accompanied him on each of the annual friends' holidays before, but over the past few months, something was growing between you two. Something that neither of you cared to discuss, whether it be out of fear or just the hope that it would all dissipate with time.

“You good?” Arthur asked, glancing at you. His voice had that effortless lilt, like nothing could ever rattle him.

You nodded too quickly. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

He smirked, the corners of his mouth curving like they’d been made for this exact shape of mockery. “Should’ve slept on the flight.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Why not?”

You shrugged, fidgeting with the air vent. The heat made your skin feel tight, but not as tight as the coil of nerves in your stomach. Arthur’s easy presence should have been comforting, but instead, it felt like being trapped in a room where the air was too thick to breathe. And then there was his forearm—resting on the wheel, golden from the sun, veins faintly visible, the kind of detail you shouldn’t have been noticing on just a friend, but couldn’t seem to stop. His forearm alone made your mouth dry.

When you pulled up to the villa, laughter spilled out from the garden. It was too loud, too unselfconscious. Your friends, sprawled on lounge chairs with drinks in hand, looked like they belonged here in a way you didn’t. Sabina waved, her hair shining in the evening sun, while Chip raised a glass like you were arriving at some royal ball and not just late.

“Finally!” Chip hollered. “Thought you two were shacking up on the roadside.” He winker at Arthur. Don’t overthink the comment, you thought to yourself.

Arthur shook as head and grinned as he grabbed your bag. “You’re awful. Had to take the scenic route, that’s all.”

You muttered a thanks when he handed you the bag, but your voice sounded off, like it belonged to someone else. The villa was impossibly picturesque, all whitewashed walls and wild vines. It would’ve been romantic, if you weren’t so hyper-aware of the way your hands trembled.

The fire on the beach didn’t help. It was too warm, too close, and the couples—oh, the couples—were too much. Sabina melted into Chip’s side like wax, while Simon whispered something into Talia’s ear that made her giggle and slap his arm. Arthur sat beside you, close but not close enough, his long legs stretched out in front of him. You were painfully aware of how far apart your knees were, like some great void stretched between you.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” Arthur said, his voice low. It slid into your ears like honey, sweet but cloying.

“Sure,” you said, eyes fixed on the flames. The fire popped, sending a spark into the night sky, and you wondered if it would burn out before it hit the sand. “Peaceful.”

“Peaceful but quiet,” he said, leaning in. His tone was teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something else. Something sharper. “You’ve barely said two words since we got here.”

You looked away, your throat tightening. “Just tired, like I said.”

Arthur studied you, his gaze heavy. You felt it lingering on your profile, on the set of your jaw, the curve of your shoulder. His presence was suffocating and magnetic all at once. You hated that you noticed the way his shirt stretched over his chest when he leaned back. Hated that your stomach knotted when he ran a hand through his hair, his biceps flexing just enough to make you want to scream. 

Before he could press further, Sabina interrupted with a pointed grin.

“Arthur, what’s with the whispering? You two plotting something?”

“Yeah,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “We’re planning to overthrow your fire-making reign next time.”

Everyone laughed, but the tension inside you didn’t dissipate. It thickened, curling around your ribs, squeezing tight. And when you saw Arthur whispering with Isaac and Chip later, glancing your way, it was unbearable. Your stomach churned, every instinct screaming at you to leave, to run, but you stayed rooted in place, pretending to focus on the story Sabina was telling about how Chip proposed to her. When did all these pesky feelings start to arise, you thought to yourself. You sat amongst the girls, lost in thought, sorting through years of memories with Arthur, trying to pin down the exact moment that things changed, but to no avail. You resigned to looking at your feet, trying not to eavesdrop on Arthur’s conversations while poking at the fire like you could control something, anything.

When the group began to drift back to the villa, Arthur stayed. Of course, he stayed. He had the kind of presence that demanded resolution, the kind of persistence that made your heart feel like it was beating wrong.

“You’re not yourself tonight,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. It wasn’t a question. It was a challenge.

You stood abruptly, brushing sand off your shorts.

“Let’s go for a walk. A more private moment might be nice.” You hated the way you sounded terse, but couldn't help it. Your mind had been reeling all month thinking about spending the entire weekend with him, not being able to touch him in the way that you wanted.

Arthur raised an eyebrow but luckily, didn’t argue. He followed you down the shoreline, his footsteps crunching softly against the sand. The waves lapped at your feet, cold and relentless, a contrast to the heat that radiated from your skin.

Finally, you stopped, the moon casting a pale glow over the water. You turned to face him, every muscle in your body taut, your chest tight with a thousand unsaid things.

“I can’t keep pretending,” you whispered just loud enough for him to hear over the waves melting into the shore, your voice shaking. He stopped walking and looked at you, concern written over face. You shut your eyes as if the darkness were a safety net that could protect you from whatever came next.

“Arthur, I like you. More than as a friend. And if you don’t feel the same, I get it, but I had to say it. I had to. Even if it’s not perfect timing.” You dropped your chest, exasperated and relieved from not carrying the weight of it anymore. You opened your eyes slowly, bracing yourself. 

His expression didn’t change. For one excruciating moment, he just looked at you, and you wanted to evaporate, to become part of the salt and the sea.

Then, he stepped closer, his hand lifting to cup your jaw. “It’s not just you.”

Your breath caught. “It’s not?”

“No,” he said simply, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “It hasn’t been for a long time.”

You didn’t wait for anything else. You leaned in, and he met you halfway, his lips warm and certain against yours. The kiss was dizzying, like stepping off a ledge and realizing you could fly. His hands found your waist, anchoring you, and for a moment, nothing else existed.

Until it did.

A loud cheer erupted from the villa, and you broke apart, startled. Your friends stood silhouetted against the light, clapping and whistling.

“About bloody time!” Chip shouted, his grin audible even from here.

Arthur laughed softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Well, so much for a private moment.”

You smiled, breathless, and for the first time that night, you felt like you could breathe.

[fiftyfiftyfinchy]

hello hello, hope you’re doing well <3

i would like to request a lil fic of george clarke x reader where the reader is a huge metal artist and george essentially forces the boys to attend her band’s show and they’re front row, just rlly fluffy and george being the hugest simp ever. thank you so much <33!

This request was such a fun challenge to tackle—it really pushed me creatively, and I absolutely loved every minute of writing it. Thank you to everyone who has sent requests in!

The backstage air reeks of hairspray and stale beer, a kind of chemical cocktail that feels like home. I’m cross-legged on a couch that’s seen better days, my guitar on my lap like a second ribcage. The strings dig into my fingertips as I strum a few lazy chords, trying to pretend I’m relaxed. This is supposed to be fun—a surprise gig at a tiny venue, the kind of place I played before everything got big. And yet, the familiar hum of anxiety sits low in my stomach, coiling tighter with every muffled cheer I hear from the crowd outside.

There’s a knock at the door. “Come in!” I call, half expecting my manager with another last-minute update.

But it’s George. He steps in with his usual boyish grin and a large bouquet of red roses, which he’s holding like he’s not sure what to do with them. “Hey, rockstar.”

My heart does that stupid flutter thing, and I have to bite back a smile. “George! What are you doing back here?”

“Had to wish you good luck in person,” he says, handing me the flowers. “Also, you look incredible. Not that you ever don’t.”

I laugh, setting the roses on the table next to an abandoned coffee cup. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“It’s part of my charm,” he says, closing the distance between us. His fingers find a stray strand of my hair, tucking it behind my ear. “You’re going to kill it tonight. I’ll be out there, front row, taking way too many pictures like a proud mum.”

“You’re impossible,” I say, but I’m grinning anyway. George has this way of making me feel seen in a way that’s too much and not enough all at once. “You know you’re going to stick out, right?” I gestured to his pale blue sweater and lightwash jeans.

“Good thing I’m not trying to blend in,” he says, leaning down to kiss my forehead. “Break a leg out there.”

“I just might!,” I call as he heads for the door. He pauses, throwing me a mischievous look over his shoulder.

“Oh, and… you might notice something interesting when you’re on stage. Just keep an eye out.”

Before I can demand an explanation, he’s gone, leaving me alone with my curiosity and the soft scent of roses.

——-

Out in the crowd, George adjusts the band T-shirt he’s just purchased, the fabric still stiff from the merch table. “Come on, lads, it’ll be fun. Just keep an open mind.”

“Mate,” Arthur Hill says, glaring at the mosh pit as though it’s personally offended him. “You’re more excited about this than you’ve ever been about my gigs. Should I take it personally?”

“I’ll come to your next one, I swear,” George says with a laugh. “But admit it—tonight’s going to be a story to tell.”

Chris groans, already rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, I’ll remember it when my ears are bleeding tomorrow.”

“Earplugs, mate,” Isaac says, holding up a pair like he’s just won a survivalist competition. “Be smart.”

Chip is practically vibrating with excitement, his eyes locked on the chaotic throng in front of the stage. “This is going to be sick. ArthurTV, you ready to throw down?”

ArthurTV’s eyes widen. “I… don’t think that’s my thing.”

“It’s everyone’s thing if you try hard enough,” Chip says, grabbing his arm and hauling him toward the madness. George stays back, shaking his head and smiling like someone’s dad at a theme park.

——-

By the second song, the crowd is a single, writhing organism. My guitar roars like an animal, each solo ripping through the air like claws. The fretboard is a battlefield under my fingers, precise and unforgiving. I glance out into the chaos and immediately spot George, bright and obvious, phone held high as he snaps photo after photo. His friends… well, they’re trying. Chip is fully immersed, dragging a flailing and slightly horrified ArthurTV into the pit. Even Chris and Isaac are nodding along by the fourth song, though Chris looks like he’s silently mourning his eardrums.

Backstage staff pass by, chuckling. “Your boyfriend’s mates are… something else,” someone says.

“Tell me about it,” I reply, but I’m smiling so hard it hurts. George’s support is one thing, but seeing his friends—most of whom probably thought metal was a punishment—start to come around? That’s something else entirely.

——-

The final chord fades, the house lights flicker on, and the crowd’s roar feels like it’s rattling my ribcage. Backstage, I’m still coming down from the high when the door bursts open and George strides in, his grin wider than the Thames.

“You were incredible,” he says, pulling me into his arms before I can even catch my breath.

I bury my face in his chest, his heartbeat grounding me. “Thanks. But, uh, your friends look like they’ve been through a war zone.”

“Oi, we survived!” Chip says, flopping onto the couch like he’s just run a marathon. “ArthurTV even moshed.”

“I was dragged,” ArthurTV clarifies, collapsing beside him with a groan.

Arthur Hill smirks. “I’ll admit it, George. She’s got more stage presence than you ever have. No offense.”

George doesn’t miss a beat. “None taken. I told you she’s amazing.”

Chris gives me a reluctant nod. “Alright, that was fun. Don’t expect me to become a regular or anything, but… yeah. Good show.”

George pulls back slightly, brushing a thumb over my cheek. “I think I got some good pictures. Sorry if I blinded you with the flash, though,” he said with a giggle. 

“You’re ridiculous,” I say, laughing, watching him scroll through the more than fifty pictures he took of me on stage. I sneak a glance at his face, alive with excitement and pride. My chest swells with something too big to name. His support has always been loud and unwavering, but seeing him drag his reluctant friends into my world and watch them get swept up in it? It felt next level.

As his arm slips around my shoulders and he leans down to kiss the top of my head, I realize it doesn’t matter where I’m playing or who’s in the crowd. If George is there, it’ll always feel like home.