#bc i was in the stadium and went down to watch the lads warm up and... suddenly i'm like wait omg is that cesc over there??

[picturesofthearsenal]

Cesc Fabregas, Sky Sports TV Presenter, looks on prior to the Premier League match between Arsenal FC and Chelsea FC at Emirates Stadium on May 02, 2023 in London, England. (Photo by David Price/Arsenal FC via Getty Images)

[didhewinkback]

chug

a something old blurb about the beer whale (whale beer?) (wheer?) (bhale?)

warning: slight smut at the end bc i know thats what the people come to see

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“Just stand where I can see yeh’” was the request he mumbled into your hair before kissing you on the cheek and heading to the huddle, leaving you free to roam, beers in hand, determined to enjoy the show from a new vantage point, surrounded by the crew members you’ve gotten to know and love over the years. 

You spent the first half with Sandy and Sarah and the catering legends, giggling and dancing to the songs you all knew like the back of your hand at this point, locking eyes with him when he brought out Wet Leg, big smirk on his face as he sauntered up to the mic, eyes burning into yours while he sang one line of the chorus over and over, fire in his eyes when you sang it right back to him. 

You duck down to the front of the stage for the second half, ensuring the lads were well hydrated with water and beer alike, feeling like your heart was going to burst watching him have the time of his life on that stage. In utter disbelief at what the past two and half years have been for him and you both, watching him soar to new heights you always knew were possible but couldn’t imagine seeing play out in real time, the boy whose school band played at your 15th birthday party now singing to stadiums across the world, loving every second and being loved in return. 

He’s at his best when he’s up there, his big, open heart ripe for the taking, making the crowd of thousands feel like a small room of his closest friends, relishing in the attention, the screams, the insatiable energy, gratitude radiating out of every fiber of his being. It’s enough to make you weep when you think about it for too long, an impossible to articulate experience of watching the person you love most in this world achieve their dreams over and over again. 

It’s overwhelming, mind-blowing and also really fucking fun, you think, cheers-ing with the lads as you started another round of beer (it is the end of tour after all), watching as Harry runs across the stage, picking up his water bottle, poised for the classic whale, almost like clockwork. But this time, he pauses, doing a quick double take when he sees you down front with the crew. 

He gestures to your half drunk cup, ushering it towards him as you hold it up to the cheers of your group, Brad’s long arms aiding the transfer as Harry takes it from him and after smiling back at the band, downs it in one go, much to the delight of the lads. They’re goading him on, chanting his name, but everything whites out around you as all you can focus on is the way his throat moves, the beer that misses his mouth falling onto his naked chest, dripping down in a way that makes you feel warm all over. Never one to mind a messy face.

It’s over in seconds but feels like it went on for ages, a time bending effect he always seems to have on you. He winks at you before placing the cup down, facing the crowd fully as he spits it into the air, wide grin on his face as you all cheer before he runs to the other side of the stage.

It’s much later, after the final songs, the emotional thank yous, the celebratory post-show drinks on the beach with the whole crew, that you stumble into bed together, both a bit drunk off the booze and each other, burning up from one too many lingering stares across the party, whispered conversations about how good he looked up there, your beer all over him, his ripped chest gleaming in the spotlight. He’s pressing you into the mattress in record time, hands sliding all over your body as his lips leave their mark on your skin, breath catching at the never-ending stream of praise leaving your mouth as you get lost in each other, in this night, consumed by overwhelming pride and love and the carnal need to have each other close. 

“You’re proud of me, huh?” he grunts into your ear, hand sliding down your thigh to hike it up around his hip, the new angle making the both of you moan out loud. “Y’ love me?”

“Yes, H. Fuck. So much, I -”

“Want y’ to show me,” he says, voice deep in your ear as he smacks a kiss to your cheek, your temple, biting at your lips while his hands slide up your body, interlacing your fingers to hold your hands over your head, his chest sliding against yours. “Be my good girl and show me how proud y’ are, how much y’love me. Want to see it. Want to feel it. C’mon baby, show me -”

So you do. 

Again.

And again.

And again.

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