Could I please request Arda Guler with prompt 7 from comfort and prompt 12 from fluff if possible? Thank you and take as long as needed ❤️❤️
Homesick~Arda Güler
・❥・prompt list
・❥・masterlist -> part 2
・❥・who I write for
・❥・a/n: I still cry everytime I remember arda could've been at barca 😪. Shame cause I love him sm
7. “You’re not a burden. You’re my world.”
12. “You’re the best part of my day, every day.”
It was a Tuesday. Arda came home with a bag of her favorite pastries, a little bouquet of roses from the stand near the training center, and his training jacket zipped halfway down, hair slightly damp from the shower he didn’t fully dry from in his rush to get home.
The apartment was quiet. Unlike usual. The TV was playing something in the background, some home renovation show she usually made fun of.
But she wasn't watching it. She was curled up in the corner of the couch, hoodie sleeves pulled down over her hands, her gaze distant and unfocused.
He set everything down carefully and stepped over to her. “Hey, baby.”
She looked up and tried to smile. “Hi.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” It came out too quickly. “Just tired.”
Arda crouched in front of her, studying her face. “That’s the third time this week you’ve said that.”
She glanced away, swallowing the lump in her throat. “Maybe I’m just… drained.”
“Okay,” he said gently, “but drained from what?”
He didn’t say it accusingly. Just softly, like he truly wanted to understand.
Her lips trembled, just slightly. And he noticed. Like he always did.
He reached up and tucked some hair behind her ear, letting his hand linger on her cheek. “I bought croissants. And flowers. The lady at the stand said these looked like ‘the kind of thing you give someone when they’ve had a rough day.’”
She let out a breath, half a chuckle, half a sigh.
“I’ve been trying not to show it,” she murmured. “I didn’t want to… I don’t know. I didn’t want to put more on your plate. You’ve been dealing with so much lately with training and stuff. And I just… I didn’t want to add to it.”
He frowned. “Add to it?”
She hesitated before she spoke up.
“I just…I've been feeling kinda lonely. I miss home. I’m overwhelmed sometimes for no reason. I didn’t want to say it because I didn’t want to burden you.”
His face changed the moment she said that. It was like something in his heart cracked wide open.
He reached up and gently cupped her face, thumbs brushing beneath her eyes as he looked at her.
“aşkım,” he said, barely a whisper, “you’re not a burden. You’re my whole world.”
She blinked quickly, lips parting, but no words came out.
He kissed her forehead gently. “You don’t have to carry this alone just because I’m busy. I want to be the one you come to.”
“I didn’t want to take space away from you,” she mumbled, eyes watery. “I didn’t want to make it about me.”
“It is about you,” he said softly. “You’re the best part of my day. Every day. I come home for you. I wake up for you. Even on the worst days, thinking of you gets me through.”
Her voice cracked as she spoke again. “Arda…”
Then he leaned in and kissed her softly. The kind of kiss that anchored her back into her body. One hand cradled the back of her neck while the other rested on her knee, grounding her in her place.
She closed her eyes and leaned into him, forehead pressed to his. “I miss my mom. My dad. Just… small things. The kitchen. My cat. I feel stupid for crying about it.”
“You’re allowed to miss the pieces of you,” he murmured. “They made you who you are. And I love every part of you.”
He pulled her gently into his lap, her legs curled across his, arms wrapped around her waist. He held her like she was something breakable and precious all at once.
She buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. His cologne. His warmth. It smelled like safety.
He whispered against her hair, “We’ll go visit soon, okay? Or call them tonight. Or I’ll book tickets right now if that’s what you need.”
She just shook her head, clutching him tighter. “I just need you to hold me please.”
He smiled into her temple and kissed it once, twice, then again.
“that's the easiest thing to do,” he whispered.
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You signed the contract because it felt like the smallest, most sensible thing in a row of wild decisions.
“Real Madrid,” your agent had said over coffee, as if the name had no weight. You had smiled and signed on the dotted line and reminded yourself this was still photography,light, lens, patience. It was work. It was a job you loved.
Except it wasn't just light anymore.
The first time you met Arda Güler in person, he ruined a perfectly framed shot.
You were crouched by the dugout, telephoto lens aimed at the empty pitch as the sky folded into the copper of an impending sunset. The team had begun warmups and the stadium hummed,less a crowd than a living thing rising, filling the outline of the stands.
Arda jogged into view, a dark silhouette at first, the movement catching the last gold of the sun. You tracked the motion, waiting for the swing of a boot, the expression before a sprint. He glanced at the camera,maybe because you were very obvious, or maybe because the universe had a wicked sense of timing,and then, smiling like someone who had already decided the joke, he kicked the ball straight toward you.
It wasn't a hard kick. It didn't need to be. The ball rolled at your feet like a question.
You snapped reflexively, and the photograph caught him in mid-laugh,hair damp, eyes crinkled, that wide, careless grin. It was a shot you would have deleted later for composition or lighting. Instead you kept it. You kept it and you noticed how the rest of the session fell into soft focus.
He introduced himself later, as players do,hand offered, charm dialed down to something approachable.
"Arda," he said, and when you told him your name he repeated it like it fit better with his accent. "You take the photos?"
You told him yes, because saying anything else would have been ridiculous. He asked if you were new to Madrid. You said you had been in the city long enough to be lost with confidence. He laughed and asked if you liked tortilla.
" Sure," you said. "Only if you promise to make it better than the ones at the press center."
He tilted his head. "Deal. But you must teach me how you take those photos."
.
After that, Arda managed to appear in every other assignment like a recurring motif.
Matchday close-ups: he caught you adjusting the aperture and gave you a thumbs-up right when the shutter fired. Training grids: he walked between drills, dragging your attention like gravity. Team portraits: you wanted a composed, stoic lineup and he planted himself at the edge, peaceable and disruptive, leaning on the shoulder of a teammate and making an awful face just behind the captain.
You complained once, half-joking, while editing in the darkroom beneath the stadium.
"You know," you said, scrolling through a grid of near-identical images, "if you keep photobombing me like this, my editor will think I'm unprofessional."
Arda sat on the counter, the light from the monitor ghosting across his face. "Then I will be your secret unprofessionalism."
You told him you needed concentration. He offered coffee. You wanted coffee. You told him to stop talking about the coffee and start telling you where the best tortilla in Madrid was.
He told you, honestly, that he liked the noisy neighborhood places. He said the woman who owned a tucked-away bar used to scold him because he ordered too many churros as a kid. He said it like a fact and an apology.
When he wasn’t saying anything you could file, he watched the way your hands moved,precise, patient, as though you were composing with fingers more than with a camera.
"You take like you keep things safe," he said once, the doors to the locker room clapping shut behind him. "Like you're trying not to let anything fall out of the picture."
You laughed. "Maybe because I always forget to hold my own things in place."
He frowned like he meant to argue,like it was a charge against you,but instead he reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch was quick, nothing showy. But your chest learned the pattern of his fingers as if by rote.
.
The stadium had a way of shrinking and growing with the seasons. In winter it was a glass dome of breath and steam, in spring it opened like a promise. Under the floodlights one late autumn night, after a win that smelled like mud and victory, he found you packing up in the press room.
You were packed in tiredness,legs buzzing with adrenaline you couldn’t place. He leaned against the doorframe in a hoodie, hair still damp, the day’s exertion flatting his usually energetic face into something more sincere.
"Do you want to," he began. "Do you want to see the city at night with me? Just for a little,no cameras, no interviews. I know this great place."
You surprised yourself by saying yes.
You met him at the players' exit and the city welcomed you with a hush that felt like permission. Madrid was quieter away from the arteries of tourists and you and Arda walked through open-air cafés and under terraces of orange trees. He bought you a slice of tortilla from a stall, and you admitted, after one bite, that it was the best you’d had in months.
"I told you," he said, feigning wounded pride. "I told you anybody could cook a good tortilla, but only some people give them the right attention."
He spoke like he was teaching and like he was learning at the same time. You kept stealing glances at his profile,strong, youthful, the face of someone who had become famous before the world had taught him how to be careful with himself.
"You know a lot of photographers," he said after a while. "I see your work. You make things look like stories."
"I just try to notice," you said.
"You notice me a lot," he said, and when you looked at him, he smiled without hiding anything this time. "Maybe more than the others."
You pretended not to blush.
.
Your relationship folded itself into the small hours and the small spaces in between assignments. It was a kinship of late coffees and editing sessions where he would lean over your shoulder and point at a frame like he’d discovered a constellation. It was the way he would slip you his headphones on bus rides so you could hear what he’d been listening to before a match. It was the reckless thing where he learned to say your name softly in Turkish, and the gallant thing where he learned a few of your favorite English phrases to make you laugh.
There were complications, of course. Fame had a perimeter. Photographers were supposed to be impartial. You were supposed to be objective.
There were nights you spent apart because he had appearances and you had deadlines. There were afternoons when you read tabloids that tried to sell a story about how focused he was on his career and how that had no room for romance. Each whisper in print felt like something you had to photograph away: a rumor you wanted to catch mid-fall before it became truth.
"Ignore it," Arda would say when the headlines tasted bitter. "They will write whatever looks good on paper. You know the truth."
"The truth looks better through a lens," you said once, and he reached for your hand without a word and squeezed.
.
The night of the winter friendly, with the crowd like a low tide of sound, you were meant to take portraits by the pitch for an editorial. The lights were higher than usual, throwing halos around the players, making the grass a luminous field. You set up, adjusted, and waited for the moment you’d rehearsed in your head a hundred times.
Arda walked out last, as if on cue, hair shining with the floodlights. He caught your eye before the line formed. He winked,something quick and utterly deliberate,and instead of taking his place, he walked slowly toward you.
The manager barked into a radio. A teammate hissed at him. You heard the edge of annoyance in someone's voice, but Arda kept coming. He stopped in front of you where the world narrowed down to camera glass and breath.
"Take it," he said softly. "Take whatever you want."
You looked through the lens and you saw every flake of truth you had learned to keep. There was the boy who kicked a ball at your feet in a sunset and the man who had learned to be more careful with hearts than headlines.
You pressed the shutter.
He closed the distance, slow enough that it felt like the warmest eternity. Your hands trembled,even though you had trained them not to,and you lowered the camera. He cupped your face, thumb grazing your cheek, and kissed you as if it were the most natural thing in the world to have your world tilt toward him.
It was a quick kiss at first then softer, then certain. The stadium around you roared with applause and you laughed because that felt like the most honest noise you’d ever heard.
When you finally stepped back, he rested his forehead against yours. "You make everything look beautiful," he whispered.
"You make everything hard to photograph," you said, breathless.
He smiled.
"Then maybe I'll stop trying to keep you in the frame," he said, "and just keep you in the darkroom with me."
You thought of all your photographs: the frames that held moments like specimens, the prints you kept like small, bright truths. You thought of the way his laughter disturbed the order of a shot and how you had learned to prefer the disruption.
"Promise?" you asked.
He kissed you again, under the Santiago Bernabéu lights, and the city seemed to hold its breath.
where him and the reader had a fight and she was like you are sleeping on the couch and he didnt want it at first but he was so mad that ge thought he will sleep on the couch and he slept on the couch but the reader got scared bc (idk you can think smth) and went to him to sleep with him on the couch and he woke up asked her what she's doinh and she was just cuddling with him.
thank youuuu sorry for the bad english🥹
Quilt of steam — Arda Güler.
Pairing: Arda Güler x Fem!Reader
Summary: After an argument with Arda, you make him sleep on the couch. It ended up only punishing you though, because now you were scared to sleep alone. You end up folding and join him on the couch.
Word count: 561
Disclaimer/s: arguing , anger , angst to fluff , hurt/comfort . + being scared
A/N: ahhh this req got me goood omg thank youu !! i hope it’s to your liking <3
“The couch. Now.” That was the last sentence you said to your boyfriend before calling it a night. He’d rolled his eyes, not believing you’d demand that.
“Oh come on…” Arda’s words drawled out of his mouth, only furthering your annoyance. “You cannot be serious! Let’s just go to bed.”
He moved toward said bed, and you’d spewed out a chorus of, ‘no’s’ until he stopped. Arda rubs a hand over his face before throwing up his hands in defeat.
“Fine! Whatever.” And then he left, grabbing a blanket before slamming the door shut.
When he was finally gone, you had gotten ready for bed and put on your comfort show, ‘Criminal Minds’. Bad idea. It was a very, very bad idea.
Usually, you had Arda to snuggle into when you got scared. Now, you only had an empty bed and your brain was churning. The dark room terrified you, the door to your closet being slightly cracked did nothing to suppress your anxieties.
With a long, deep breath, you grab your small blanket and an extra pillow, you prepare yourself for the run of your life.
It’d taken you three minutes to get from the bedroom to the living room, where you found your boyfriend fast asleep on the couch. Your lips pull into a frown at the sight.
Guilt swarmed you as you took in his appearance through the dim light that the moon provided. His bottom lip was pushed out, like he’d fallen asleep frowning.
Sighing, you take off your slippers and lower yourself onto the couch, making sure to be as gentle as possible. You didn’t want to wake him, just lay with him.
For a moment, you thought you were successful. He hadn’t stirred or anything. With one last risky move, you rest your arm across his chest, and lay your head on his shoulder, taking one final look at Arda before closing them.
“What’re you doing?” Arda asks, his voice surprising you. Your eyes snap open and you would’ve accidentally thrown yourself off the couch if it hadn’t been for Arda’s arm wrapping securely around you.
Now flush against your boyfriend, as he’d pulled you practically on top of him, you give him a sheepish smile. “I was scared, didn’t want to sleep alone..” You explain weakly, feeling all too embarrassed over it.
Arda’s eyes are still only half open, but his lips still pull into a grin. “I told you, you need to stop watching that show before bed.” He teases, his thumbs rubbing circles into your waist.
Your eyes roll at his words. “Okay, well, that’s a hard no.” You pause then, “I know you’re still probably mad, but can I stay here.”
Without hesitation, Arda hums, his head bobbing slightly. “Of course.” His fingers thread through your hair, pulling your head closer to rest in the nape of his neck.
The leftover anger you held from earlier dissipated the second he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “I’m sorry.” You mumble, eyes fluttering shut.
“I’m sorry, too.” He mutters, “I love you.”
Oh you were definitely not upset anymore, well… not upset at him. You were still upset with yourself, upset that you’d gotten so angry at him.
“I love you, too.” Within the next few moments, both of you had fallen fast asleep in the comfort of each others arms.
A/N: based on this request, thank uu 🤍 my first arda fic!!
W/C: 2.175 (yes, I got ahead of myself)
"is this too much?"
you ask yourself, thoroughly examining your outfit in the mirror. you run your hands down the soft fabric, grunting in indecisiveness.
turning around, you're greeted by a huge pile of clothes on your bed. a combination of dresses, jeans and shirts crumpled up from the way you'd thrown them behind you, after trying them on.
jeans with a sweater, too hot.
a pair of trousers with a blouse, too formal.
a skirt with a cropped top, too much skin showing for a first meeting with your boyfriend's parents.
the weather was becoming warmer these days, so you also had to keep the fabric and thickness of the clothes in mind.
"fuck this.." you mumble, sitting on your bed, the clothes barely allowing you to see you pink bedding. you lay down, the clothes becoming your soft pillow, apart from the buttons on the items, digging into your neck and the back of your head.
you and arda have been together for a few months now. you had gotten acquainted with him through mutual friends when he had just transferred to real madrid.
at first, you were a little nervous, meeting new people was exactly your thing. though, your friends had convinced you to meet him, only due to the shared background you both had.
since arda was born, he'd never lived anywhere else other than türkiye. born and raised partially in the capital, ankara. only to move to istanbul to play at his childhood dream club, fenerbahçe.
the years had gone by fast, and when a huge opportunity came, he finally decided it was time for him to leave and move onto one of the biggest clubs in the world.
you had met arda at a small gathering, specifically a surprise birthday party you attend for one of your close friends.
the night was full of fun games, karaoke, and the best of all the multiple 'halay' dance routines.
you'd found arda to be a very sweet person, the second you met him. the way he so gently shook your hand, and gave you the prettiest smile you'd ever seen on a boy, had you mesmerized instantly.
obviously, you knew who he was before you met him. it was unavoidable to not know who 'arda güler' was, especially as a turkish person.
growing up around adults who watched and played football religiously, you were definitely aware of the debate.
which football club is türkiye's biggest and best?
was it the 'lion's', galatasaray, who had won the league last year? or was it the 'yellow canaries', fenerbahçe, who were first on the 'Süper Lig's all-time table'?
some would even nominate the 'black eagles', beşiktaş as candidates.
since all three of these clubs are based in the eurasian city of istanbul, derbys were an absolute show every time.
the excitement, the nerves, the turkish anger issues revealing themselves when someone gets fouled, or the thrill of seeing players of the opposite team fight each other, after a highly emotional match at full-time.
to see arda right in front of you, after seeing him on tv all the time was incredibly weird. but, you got used to it fairly quickly after seeing how humble and kind he was to everyone around him, whether he knew them or not..
you rub your nose with your fingers, eyes itching from the amount of dust in your room. you pause your movements for a second, sniffing softly and looking at the sun shining through your window.
the combined actions finally allow you to sneeze, and you don't waste time before you stand up to and go open your windows.
you were supposed to be picked up in an hour, so you had to hurry up and choose something to wear.
you had already texted your friends asking for advice on how you should dress. it didn't help much though, because whatever they said you should wear, you'd change your mind about it last minute. finding an issue with the clothing items, and then having to chuck more clothes on your bed as you rummaged through your closet.
your mind becomes busy with getting distracted by the beautiful weather outside, and the neighborhood children playing and laughing together.
though, you immediately whip your head around when your phone goes off. processing and realizing the ringtone, the one you had specifically set for arda, you walk over.
you sigh in irritation as you look around for your phone, finally catching a glimpse of the white case, from underneath a single black sock.
you're entire demeanor shifts when you read the caller id, smiling to yourself when you pick up. propping the phone in position, against the alarm clock on your nightstand, so he can see you properly.
"aşkım?" (my love) he says, the sweet nickname falling off his lips. his phone incredibly close to his face, as he shifts and moves, from what you can see, his car.
"arda, why did you call?" you question, grinning when you can finally see his full face. he moves his arm, playing with his hair as he smiles back.
"just finished training, showered and I'm coming over right now.."
"right now?" you panic, pointing downwards with your finger to confirm. "right now? but I'm not ready yet- and you said be ready by 5:45.." you blurt, already getting up to your feet, eyes flickering around the room as you forget he's on the phone for a moment.
"hey, calm down.. we have a lot of time, I just thought I'd come over since I know you're nervous.."
you look back at the screen, brows furrowing in confusion.
"that’s very sweet, but you just gave me a heart attack.."
"I'm almost at your place, canım. (my life) don't worry.."
you nod back, your heart calming down slowly.
"I don't know what to wear.." you say, running a hand over your face.
"I'll help you, I'll be over in a minute.."
"okay.." you mumble, waving quickly before telling him you'll hang up and wait until he arrives.
your thoughts are interrupted by an annoying yell and then a scoff.
"y/n! the footballer is here!"
you chuckle at your brother's voice, it's undeniably funny how much he liked galatasaray. even though arda had almost transferred to real madrid months ago, from fenerbahçe, your younger brother had vowed not to like him ever since he heard about you two.
well, he did cave when you asked him if he'd come along to some real madrid matches..
"I'm coming.." you shout back, jumping when you come across your brother. he scoffs at you, hurriedly stomping up the stairs to probably bother your older brother.
"arda?" you question, smiling when you notice him in the living room. he looks up immediately, walking up to bring you into a tight hug.
"I've missed you, tatlım.." (my sweetie) he whispers against your ear, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.
you look at him, grinning from ear to ear. you hadn't seen him since he had left for an important match in a different country, so it was practically your catch up dinner too.
"I missed you too.." you reply, planting a kiss to his cheek. without waiting for him to say anything else, you drag him towards your bedroom, showing him the disaster.
"did a tornado visit your room, and should I be concerned?" he asks, squinting at the pile of clothes.
"I don't know what to wear.." you groan, throwing yourself onto your bed.
you watch arda walk closer, his hands reaching out to grab a slightly wrinkled floral blue dress.
"this one." he firmly states, turning around to grab a pair of white kitten heels from your shoe rack.
"and this.." he says, presenting the two items like a football shirt.
muscle memory, you guess.
you sit up, fixing your posture as you analyze the combination.
"that's not too much?" you ask, getting some hope.
"what do you mean? this is perfect, my parents would love it.."
he watches your unsure expression, placing the dress on your bed and the shoes on the floor.
"try it on for me, okay?" he asks, nudging your chin up, so he can look you in the eyes.
"I'll wait for you in the living room, maybe b/n will join me.."
minutes pass, and you've pulled the dress on successfully. fidgeting with the fabric, you smile, starting to feel satisfied. already thinking of what jewelry and other accessories you'll style the dress with.
hurrying up, you walk into the living room, surprised when you can actually see both your brothers sitting with your boyfriend. and it didn't look like either of them had said anything crazy to arda.
they looked, strangely happy and relaxed..
"what do you think?" you ask, raising your brows at the three boys.
you're bombarded by compliments, and almost gawk as your older brother calls you 'pretty'.
had arda replaced him with other person while you were getting dressed?
without much more thinking, you run back to your room. pulling on the rest of your accessories and fixing your appearance.
"I'm more scared of meeting your sister, than meeting your parents.." you confess, playing with the ring on arda's finger, looking up at where the driver is taking you.
"my sister's not going to kill you.." he chuckles, looking down at your intertwined fingers.
"still.."
you've heard the horror stories. girl's meeting their 'sister-in-law', only to find out how incredibly mean and protective they are about their younger brother.
deep inside, you knew his sister would be nice. he'd told you so many times about her wish of wanting to meet you.
it was just scary to meet three new people at once. especially those closest to your boyfriend. you had to get along, no questions asked.
you fidget with the bouquet of flowers in your hand. other hand intertwined with arda's, as you waited for his family to open the front door.
"hoşgeldiniz.." hearing the welcoming greeting in turkish you immediately tense up. arda seems to notice, looking at you and squeezing your hand reassuringly, before you step in.
you try to smile when you make eye contact with his mother, her loving arms coming to wrap around you. you greet each other with two, traditional kisses on each cheek, the worries in your heart slowly melting away.
you hand the flowers to her, and watch as the smile on her grow, an exact replica of your boyfriend’s smile..
you watch as arda hands his sister the gift bag in his hand, a kilogram of baklava.
you almost drool at the thought of having the dessert with a cup of turkish tea, but stop yourself before you get ahead of yourself.
it doesn't take long before you're all seated at the dinner table. having greeted all three of his family members with a lot of affection.
the atmosphere was friendly, warmer than you had dreamt of. but, you should've expected it, especially with how loving and caring your boyfriend is.
you admire all the different types of food prepared for dinner. eyes catching on the 'manti' you, oh-so- loved. you could describe them as little dumplings, instead of soup they were mixed in with yogurt, a sauce of tomato paste, and a lot of spices.
with how small they looked, you could guess it took a long time to make. not to forget, the other types of food. 'mercimek soup', 'olive-leaf sarma', and a colorful 'çoban' salad to refresh your palate.
you almost drooled at just the sight of the delicious array of food, and the way it tasted was a million times better.
"so, what city are your parents from?" arda's dad asks, the insanely predictable question every uncle asks when they notice you're turkish. only to magically always know your dad in some way or another.
"my mother is from c/n, and my father is from c/n.." you answer, making sure you answer with the perfect pronunciation.
"oh, back when I was younger- around arda’s age. I worked in c/n. we had worked hard for our bread and butter, sending money to the family was the most important thing back then.."
and without noticing, you'd passed the 'meeting my boyfriend's family test'.
only, because everyone at the table started complaining loudly, comfortable enough with you, already- to act like that. indicating they had all heard the story he was going to tell, a million times before.
you chuckle, smile pulling on your lips, as you feel arda's hand slip onto yours. his palm resting on the back of your hand, as he pats it reassuringly.
you glance at your boyfriend, his boxy smile showing, as he calms you down.
"don't listen to him, or he'll talk your ear off, y/n. let's talk about something else.." his sister chimes in, leaning forward to ask you something to save you from the talk.
this could definitely become something you could get used to..
it’s difficult to communicate with a cute boy when you don’t speak each other’s language fluently
arda güler x jude’s younger sister
A/N: missed writing so much! based on this request, thank you babes! ❤️ (physical features are not specified!)
W/C: 1.574
"I'm outside, hurry up.."
you scream at your incredibly slow older brother through the phone. squinting as the july sun beams through your windshield, into your eyes.
"you're so impatient, you guys-" your brother huffs, his voice low and hushed.
"I'm not the impatient one! mister jobe over here, just ate an entire bag of sweet-and-salty popcorn in one sitting!"
you turn you head, giving jobe a nasty look, in turn, receiving a jab from your irish twin.
"stop! we got it to share!" you shout, rubbing your arm.
"now he's hitting me, come on, or I'll kick him out of the car!"
You scream, fighting back the urge to open the passenger door and kick your brother out to the curb.
"I'll be there in five, behave.."
"It's never just five minutes with you, and I'm not a dog, so I won't 'behave'-"
before you can end your sentence, your older brother hangs up on you. leaving you speechless as jobe snorts at you.
"fuckin' rude ass.."
you mumble, leaning back into your car seat.
"here, sis.." he suddenly says, nice enough, tipping the bag of popcorn just enough for you to see the contents.
it's not much, but it is something..
"thanks.." you reply, sticking your hand into the bag, and retrieving the sweet-and-salty goodness, popping the crunchy snack into your mouth.
five minutes turn into ten, and before you know it, it's been over half an hour.
"look! finally.."
you look up from your phone when jobe suddenly speaks. sighing in relief when you spot jude walking out of the real madrid training center.
"Is he alone?" you squint, moving your head to see.
"he's with brahim, and arda.."
you perk up at the names, immediately following his gaze to the three guys, all carrying their toiletry bags. indicating they'd just finished training.
the second name uttered by your brother, had your heart stuttering instantly. you try to hide the smile creeping up to your face, and pretend like you're still pissed at your older brother for being- extra late.
though, seeing the boy you've been crushing on for a couple months, next to him- maybe, just maybe you'll forgive jude for being so late.
you clear your throat, trying to act like seeing arda hadn't thrown you off a bit, and roll your window down as jude walks over to you.
"you're late.." you mutter, trying to scold your older brother, very discreetly.
you squeal when his hand comes up your face, his palm stretched over your face to shut you up.
"and I'm paying dinner, again, so shush.." he mutters, pulling his hand back when you slap his arm.
"paying for food is your duty as an older brother. it's not like you earn money to buy things for yourself.." you bite, smiling when jobe chimes in.
"yeah, big bro- she has a point.."
you grin at your big brother's expression, though your face falls when he starts talking to his teammates.
your eyes flicker to arda, noticing he'd gotten his hair cut since the last time you saw him.
you had been crushing on him since the day you two met, when you picked up jude after one of his spanish classes, and drove arda home too. out of the kindness of your licenseless-older-brother's heart.
arda didn't even speak that much english, nor did you speak any turkish.
spanish wasn't totally out of the question for the both of you, since you both were learning the language after moving there.
safe to say, you knew the guys communicated in a strange mix of spanish and mostly english. whatever was understood, went.
"can the guys join us?" jude suddenly says, breaking you out of your trance.
"you're paying, so I won't object.." jobe says, leaning back into his seat, and pulling his seatbelt on.
"sure, why not?"
not even twenty minutes pass, and your already parking your little volkswagen polo into the parking lot of the restaurant.
'a perfect first car for my daughter, especially in a new country..' your dad had beamed at the spanish dealership. shaking the dealer’s hand like he'd just bought a brand-new mercedes.
the ride to the unfamiliar restaurant is less awkward than you'd imagined, with two of your older brother's friends in the backseat. mainly lively due to your, suddenly very talkative brothers.
"we're here.." you speak, killing the engine and collecting your handbag.
your eyes dart to the building, and back to your outfit.
you'd never been before, and could only arrive correctly due to jude screaming a couple of directions in between his gossip session.
you sigh to yourself, your pretty summer dress was definitely better than the basic tee and sweatpants worn by the guys.
turning, you reach over to open your door, gasping when the door is opened by someone else.
you look up, making eye contact with a certain age mate of yours. you smile up at him, like it's on instinct, getting out of the car as he holds the door open for you.
"thank you, arda.." you speak, trying to hide the nervous tremble in your voice.
there was something about that smile that made you want to cheese over him all the time. and his brown hair, which looked golden in the sunlight, or the language barrier that made it extra difficult to get closer to him.
but, if your older brother could do it, you could too..
"have you been here before? to this restaurant?" you ask, eyes expressive as you watch him close your car door once you've stepped out.
"yes, two times.." he answers in his thick turkish accent, making eye contact with you.
"was it good?" you continue, eyes flickering to your brothers and brahim already walking into the restaurant.
noticing, you both speed up your pace, your handbag dangling from your hand, and in between you both.
"very good, delicious.."
you chuckle at the movements he makes to express himself, finding it absolutely adorable to his already sweet personality.
"that's good. I trust your taste.."
your words earn an awkward grin back, and you clear your throat. holding yourself back from completely crossing the line.
"you're insanely slow today.."
you hold back a surprised gasp when jobe grabs onto your hand, unaware of your moment with arda. your brother drags you towards a reserved table, and you sigh in reluctance before plastering a smile on your face and greeting the hostess.
the next couple minutes are filled with laughter and chatter, you glance across the table often. conveniently sitting across from arda. you notice the quick glances he takes, and grin to yourself.
taking a second bite of pasta, you look at your bothers. sneaking a bite of jobe's food when he's not looking.
you freeze when you hear a lone chuckle, looking up with red sauced lips to make eye contact with a smiley arda.
he quirks up a brow, looking down at his pizza, before sliding the plate closer to you.
"share?" he suggests with a smile, making you nod eagerly.
"deal.." you say, sliding your plate closer to him. before snatching a slice of the pizza.
"delicious..." you mutter, covering your mouth when you chew down on the cheesy goodness.
arda nods back excitedly, glancing at you with the most tender look in his eyes.
you gulp your food down with an ice-cold lemonade, watching as arda tries your pasta.
"very good.." he finally says, looking at you with a thumb pointing up. giving you the universal sign for 'good/okay'.
though, your cute food tasting moment is interrupted by jobe pricking his fork into your pasta, ruining the mood.
"can I have a breadstick?" he mutters, mouth full.
"I thought you said that you had a new diet for next season?"
"it's a breadstick. come on, sis.."
"okay- you're making it sound like I'm restricting you. eat all you want, damn.." you mutter, chuckling when you make eye contact with arda.
"you want one?" you ask, holding the breadbasket out.
"no, thank you.." you hear him say, before you're distracted by the rest of your food.
later, when dessert is ordered, and you're staring at your empty plate of food when it's being taken away, your phone pings.
you look up, unlocking your phone quickly before reading a pop up message.
'receive a note from 'arda's iphone'?'
you look up at him, quirking up a brow at the smiling boy.
you accept quickly, eyes scanning the message.
'you me, dinner again? I will study english for you.'
you almost lose your composure at the phone number underneath the sweet message, your face and body heating up.
your eyes lock, and you try to nod as discreetly as possible.
you save the number quickly, sending him a message, and watch his phone screen light up.
you grin to yourself, both of you sneaking glances at each other.
flustered enough, to not notice the look both your brothers and brahim are sending you two.
your older brother is protective as ever, though confused about what he should worry about.
arda was a good kid, and there was no way in hell he could give him the 'older brother talk' in your stead.
"your dessert, miss..”
you tune out the waiter, mind drifting to the message arda sent.
Kenan wouldn't say he was the jealous type. He had nothing to worry about. He knows you love him and wouldn't do anything to hurt him, it is the same for him. But seeing you talking to that man, laughing at his jokes, while he is leaving little touches, that did something to him. He knows that you are oblivious to the fact that other men flirt with you and that it isn't out of kindness most of the times.
You two were at a club after Turkey won one of their matches and they went to celebrate. Kenan of course brought you with him. That is how he found himself grabbing his glass stern in his hand while sending dagger looks over to where you were standing.
He was pulled out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder. He turned around to see who it was. "Are you okay?" Arda asks, a small smile on his face.
"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Kenan answered and took a sip of his drink.
Arda let out a laugh, "You just look like you want to kill someone with that look on your face." He was right. If looks could kill, he would already be dead.
"That dickass doesn't know how to back off," he pointed with his glass and Arda followed with his gaze. The man was still laughing and chatting with you, completely unaware of the tension he was causing.
"Maybe you should-,"
Before Arda could finish his sentence, Kenan had trown back the last of his drink and put his glass down and was walking over to you. Without hesitation, he wrapped his arms around your shoulders and pulled you close, his eyes locked onto the man's smirking face.
"Hi, baby." you say as you look up to who it was. You smile as you grab his other arm to hold.
The man stared at both of you, a scowl on his face. "Who are you? Can't you see we were talking?" His tone was dripping with annoyance
You weren't able to say anything as Kenan was fast to reply, "What rude of me to not introduce myself," he said with sarcasm as he held out one hand for him to grab. "I am Kenan Yildiz. Her boyfriend." He stared at him and gave a firm hand, which made the man wince.
Kenan puts his hand on your torso, pulling you closer to him. The man rolled his eyes,"You could have mentioned you had a boyfriend. I wouldn't have to waste my time on you." at that Kenan wanted to hit him, but you pulled him back as the man walked away.
"What was that?" you asked him as you grabbed his hand to hold.
He smiled at you, trying to reassure himself as much as himself. "Nothing," he said. "I just wanted to talk to you." You playfully rolled your eyes at him while he planted a gentle kiss on your head. Together, you walked back to the rest of the group, Kenan's hand still firmly on your torso, trying to make sure everyone knew that you were taken and off-limits.
Warnings: None, this is just fluff, not proof read (English isn't my first language), Translations of the turkish text can be found as footnotes at the bottom!
A/N: MY SHAYLAAAAA omg happy birthday to my golden boy. I love him so much it's not even funny anymore😞😞 turkish reader because I am turkish and I always hate feeling like a foreigner when reading fics about him soooooo
જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Arda... who you met through your brother, who also played in Fenerbahçe's U19. Both were friends, so it was a given that he'd pop up randomly in your living room from time to time, playing Fifa with their friendgroup. You always said he was your 'favourite one' out of your brothers friends — Arda was sweet, polite, soft spoken... it was hard not to have a crush on him.
જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Arda... who had this massive crush on you, but was always too shy to make a move. He also thought it would be disrespectful to your brother to just date his little sister like that, but on one Valentines Day, his little 15-year-old-self still thought it was a good idea to gift you a rose. And, to no one's suprise, your brother was absolutely livid when he found out. After a while, he came to terms with it — He'd rather have Arda date you than any of his other friends, that's for sure.
જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Arda... who always plays at least ten times better when he knows you're in the stadium, watching him. He swears that you are some kind of good-luck-charm and everytime you try denying it, he brings up the fact that his team never lost when you were there. So, you had no other choice but to show up at every single game. Not like that was a bad thing, you were his number 1 fan after all.
જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Arda... who never had the opportunity to travel outside of Türkiye for vacation and whatnot and who was always overwhelmed when traveling for an away game when he got moved up to Fenerbahçe's A team.
You were staring at your laptop, your fingers absentmindedly tapping away at the keyboard as you tried to scrape together your last braincells to get started on this essay for school. Gosh, what you wouldn't give for a little peace and quiet now. Just as you were thinking that, your phone started to ring — A sound you definitely didn't want to hear right now. Although it annoyed you at first, you still reluctantly took your phone to see who was calling you to which the irritated expression was immediately lifted off of your face. "Aşkım? Nasılsın?¹" you asked Arda, smiling as you put him on speaker. "Fransa mükemmel bir yer, ya-²" You were able to hear him chuckle on the other side of the line. He was just at an away game in the Europa League and was excited days before he even arrived in France.
"I wouldn't know."
"You will soon, don't worry, love." Arda promised you that, when you two got married, he'd propose to you in Paris.. let's see if that actually happens.
જ⁀➴ You were the first person, right after his parents, who Boyfriend!Arda told about his transfer to Real Madrid. You'd expect him to cry tears of joy, but no, it was you. At the end of the day, he had to comfort you, because you couldn't seem to calm down. You were just so happy for him and so proud of him and he deserved everything good thay came his way.
જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Arda... who alway has to cuddle you to be able to fall asleep. He whines to you about how he "can't fall asleep without you" and how he "needs to know you're safely sleeping in his arms" and, and, and.. It got especially 'worse' when you moved in with him in Madrid after you graduated, now that he had the opportunity to do it every night.
જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Arda... who you can absolutely never, ever say no to.
"Hayır.³" You love your boyfriend very much, there was no doubt in that. But, you just couldn't bring yourself to watch that one movie you told him you disliked but he still picked out anyway. "Ama niye, hayatım?⁴" Arda complained back, looking at you with his signature puppy eyes. "I already told you I don't like this one." With a groan, you let your head fall back against his chest, hoping he'd just accept it and keep scrolling through the literal endless variety netflix had to offer. But, when he didn't you knew what he was up to: "Ugh, fine! But only this one time."
જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Arda... who loves trying out all restaurants and cafés in Madrid with you. It was nice to get to experience new things like this with your boyfriend, especially when it was in a completely different country. While living in Spain was all fun and games, learning the language was certainly not.
જ⁀➴ Boyfriend!Arda... who liked getting his picture taken with you and the Champions League Trophy more than actually winning it. In all the pictures, you were able to see the love and admiration he has for you and that he, undoubtedly, thought you were the real trophy.
it’s me again yayyy thank you so much for the request hope you enjoy it i added some elements hope that’s okay💖
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request: Heyy! I think angst reader x arda guler will be good. But ended up with fluff. Since you know... He doesn't get enough time/chance to play in real madrid...
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pairing: Arda Güler x Y/N
summary: Arda knows about you having a crush on Dominik long before you even met but after the loss against Hungary he feels jealousy creeping
genre: angst to fluff
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You stood there in your seat after the game ended waiting for your boyfriend Arda to text you. Türkiye had a game against Hungary tonight and you decided to surprise and support him but things went downhill after Szoboszlai scored a penalty and the score remained like that throughout the game. You felt bad knowing Arda would be upset about the outcome and thought about ways to cheer him on once you went back to his hotel room. You were thinking about watching a movie and eating takeout when he texted you saying he’d meet you at the car park.
You thought it was strange he didn’t ask you to come down to the tunnel to meet but just figured he wanted to get out as soon as possible and replied with a simple okay making your way out. Once you reached your car he was a few rows down waiting texting on his phone.
“Hey” you timidly said not knowing how to approach the situation, he was already having a hard time at Madrid with how little he was playing and now he’d lost a game for his country and you knew he’d feel bad for it. You also weren’t dating for too long so you felt weird about the situation.
“Hi” he simply said and continued texting.
You shyly reached over to him and wrapped your arms around his torso still thinking his bad mood was all about the result and wanted nothing more than to console him but he didn’t return the hug straight away like he usually does so you pulled back with a frown.
“I know this wasn’t the outcome you hoped for but you played incredible Arda and I want you to know I’m so proud of you.” you said with a little smile but he avoided eye contact with you which made you frown deeper.
“Is something wrong?” you asked and he lifted one eyebrow like ‘are you serious’ “I mean is there something else wrong? Did I do something?”
“I don’t know. Are you more proud of him than me?”
You were completely taken aback with his question, you couldn’t even register who he was talking about.
“Who?”
“Who do you think?” he asked trying to see if your mind would go to Dominik immediately but it didn’t.
“Arda I seriously don’t know what yo… Are you talking about Dominik?” you asked finally realizing what your boyfriend was saying.
This happened a few weeks ago when one of your closest friends met Arda for the first time and being as inappropriate as she is she mentioned your years long crush on one of the Liverpool players.
“I always thought your boyfriend would have black hair, that’s your type isn’t it?” she asked while being drunk and you tried shushing her as politely as you can but she was far past the point that she could sense your uneasiness and continued.
“You know like that guy Szo- Sozobol- ugh what was it?”
“Szoboszlai?” Arda asked clearly intrigued by the conversation.
“Yesss! That’s the one she’s been obsessed with for years, she even had him on the background of her phone.” your friend continued laughing telling your boyfriend about your stupid high school fangirl crush embarrassing you utterly.
“So… Dominik Szoboszlai?” Arda asked once you were in bed that night. You covered your face with your hands when you felt your cheeks heat up with shame.
“I’m so sorry about it, she was just drunk out of her mind.” you tried excusing your friend’s behavior but couldn’t deny it was true, because it pretty much was.
“So you had him as wallpaper?”
“This is embarrassing. Please stop talking.” you begged but he continued interrogating you both to mess with you and try to understand how big was your crush but he ended up dropping the subject because it was obviously a silly celebrity crush which holds no value over your real relationship.
This was until tonight.
“So you know who I’m talking about.”
“Arda, you know that was a stupid little crush back in the day. It means nothing.” you tried reassuring him but he seemed really annoyed and this was so out of character you didn’t know how to approach it. But even though you tried your best to explain it doesn’t mean anything, he seemed convinced otherwise.
“Are you here just to see him play?” he asked and your eyes found his in shock.
“What? Do you seriously think that?” you took a step back feeling dizzy, what the hell was he accusing you of?
“No of course not…” he tried reaching for you but you held your hand up preventing him from getting closer to you. You couldn’t even understand his reaction as you were really falling in love with him and just wanted to support him. You felt tears forming in the corners of your eyes.
“Y/N I’m sorry, I just…”
“You really hurt me Arda, I think it’s best if we spend the night apart.” you whispered turning back and walking towards your car but heard footsteps behind you.
“Y/N please talk to me.” he pleaded but you kept on walking.
“Y/N!” he shouted and you stopped dead in your tracks.
“I don’t want to talk to you, I’m not the reason you lost and I’m certainly not going to take the blame for something I didn’t do. If you’re this pressed about something that happened long before we met it’s a you problem. I need some time to cool off and think. Please don’t follow me.” you said in one breath and hopped in your car not even knowing where to go.
You typed in hotels and found one in the area hoping that there was an empty room and luckily, there was. You pulled your suitcase out and put on your pajamas leaving them on the counter and hopped in the shower to think more clearly when you heard a knock on the door.
Panicking, you stepped out of the shower and put on your clothes trying not to freak out too much and asked who was there.
“It’s me” you heard Arda’s voice and immediately relaxed, you didn’t even have time to think how he found you and opened the door to reveal a disheveled looking Arda standing there.
“I was so worried.” he said and pulled you in a hasty embrace. You stumbled a little but he kept you balanced. As much as you were upset with him, you felt so much more relaxed when he’s with you and leaned into him.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry…” he repeated and pressed feather like kisses all over your face and head while sitting you both down on the bed.
“I was so wrong, I know that and I know I don’t deserve you right now but I felt insecure and took it out on you. I thought you’d be more impressed by him and felt so little.” he explained and you finally understood his weird behavior all night, even though it wasn’t okay at all.
“Arda you need to tell me what’s bothering you if we want this to work.”
“I want this to work so much and I’ll do anything.” he cut you off and you smiled a little which made him also smile. He was looking into your eyes with so much intensity you felt vulnerable under his gaze but you also knew he was being genuine and trying his best.
“I love you.” he finally said and this was a first in your relationship so you were caught off guard and didn’t know how to react.
“It’s completely fine if you don’t feel comfortable enough to say it back, I swear it’s okay I just wanted you to know…” he started rambling and you cut him off with an emotional kiss. He stumbled back a little but quickly reciprocated and pulled you to his lap deepening the kiss.
“I love you too.” you smiled as you pulled back to breathe but your noses were still touching and he smiled too.
Maybe this wasn’t the best night in your relationship but it’s definitely the best moment
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i don’t know how i feel about it, i think it’s kinda cute but ughhh hope you like it please tell me you do lol if not i’m open to criticism as well🥹
why do you do this to yourself ? ────── arda is not your boyfriend, but he sure gets jealous like he is.
♡ ────── pairing : arda güler x reader
♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. reader is a university student living in madrid. situtionship!arda güler lol. might have to mention that reader is a business major but it doesn't really matter. this one's a bit suggestive towards the end, folks.
♡ ────── wordcount : 757
♡ ────── notes : i don't know why i keep on writing jealous fics... but debut arda fic! i love him sm ♡ this is lightly based on dial drunk by noah kahan and the bolter by taylor swift, just the vibes, not the actual drunk dialing. enjoy loves ♡ masterlist.
Arda’s friends think he’s stupid.
Hell.
He’ll give you one better: Arda thinks he’s stupid.
His friends think it’s stupid that he would move four-thousand kilos away just to fall in love with a person who doesn’t seem all that interested in getting into a relationship, with him or not.
But Arda? He thinks he’s stupid for staying anyway.
The distance between Ankara and Madrid intimidates his friends—scares them, even—but Arda has gone through it. Falling in love with someone is usually next on the list after settling into a new town; he’s used to this.
But staying?
No, no. Arda is quite the bolter. He leaves a room as quickly as he gets into it. He falls out of love as soon as he tastes a glimpse of their lips.
It’s not that he’s afraid of hurting. It’s just how he works—he moves here and there physically, and his heart cannot help but move along.
Which is why you are such an odd case.
Arda is not too sure that you are even in love with him. And he would ask you if you would want to be his, but he fears rejection more than he welcomes the possibility of change, so he is stuck in this strange, mindless limbo, swimming between self-deprecation and self-doubt. And he is not too sure either that you are stuck there with him.
“Mhm,” Arda closes his eyes, his strong grip around your waist as the sun dims just outside your apartment window. Madrid is beautiful all day, but to him, nothing beats the sunset Ankara would parade back in Türkiye.
Arda shifts, and instead of resting the side of his head on your chest, he turns his neck to place his chin on you. His eyes—sometimes brown, at times grey—flicker from one corner of your face to the other. He takes in the curves of your eyebrow, the way you breathe, and quietly scoffs.
“What?”
Without peeling your eyes from your phone, you raise an arm to run your fingers through the strands of his hair, now cut short to combat the summer heat.
“Who are you texting?”
“Some guy,” your reply irks him, “from my marketing class.”
Arda pushes air in his mouth to puff his cheeks, rolling his eyes.
“Sounds fun,” he grumbles.
“He is.”
Arda pushes himself off you, using one hand to support his body while the other softly grabs your chin, tugging you to look at him. He leans down, closes his eyes, and presses his lips against yours.
You drop your phone on the bed, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.
He likes this. He likes the way you kiss him back, the way your nails dig into his skin. He likes this, and he likes you.
Arda opens his eyes after a moment, drawing away from your lips to watch you breathe as he rests his forehead on yours.
“You gotta stop texting this guy,” he finally breathes, looking in your eyes for some kind of reciprocation.
You laugh. “Why?”
Arda shrugs. “‘Cause I said so.”
“Well,” you push a strand of his hair away from his brows only for it to return to its place, “we’re not exactly together, are we? I don’t have to listen to you.”
Arda pouts at that—his bottom lip juts out; his nose scrunches.
“Don’t look at me like that?” You laugh again, softly pushing face away from you, despite his insistence in staying still.
You smile up at him before turning to blindly reach for your phone, buzzing with Snapchat notifications from some fucking guy in marketing class. Arda slants his eyes, leaning down to press his nose against your neck, silently kissing your skin.
“Sure,” he mumbles against you, “or you can be on top, if you want.”
“Of course,” he hates the sarcasm dripping from your words. “Should I go ahead and tag Arda Güler on Instagram too while I’m at it?”
“Why not?” He continues nibbling on your skin. “Next time I start, I’ll send a free ticket over.”
“Stop that,” you pull away from his lips, and Arda lets out a whine. “You’ll leave a mark.”
He pouts, and ends up placing the side of his head on your shoulder as you continue toying around with your phone, the low sun enhancing the features of your face.
Fuck.
Name a bigger idiot watching the Madrid sunset right now.
a home in your mind ────── academic pressure. you are crying. arda tries calming you down.
♡ ────── pairing : arda güler x reader
♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. reader is a university student stressed out over some assignment!!! hurt-comfort. jude mentioned!!!
♡ ────── wordcount : 812
♡ ────── notes : struggling doing my thesis proposal... here's some arda lol i so desperately need a study date with him!!!!! title is from on the drive home by niki, but it's not based on the song ♡ masterlist.
“Baby…”
Contrary to popular belief, a lot of footballers are actually not meatheads. Arda knows that it seems easy to equate physical advantage to a generally empty head, but football requires the same amount of mental exertion as it does physical. And, including him, not a small number of his football friends were overachievers when it comes to academic validation.
Arda understands it all too well—the gripping feeling before a test, the anxiety coursing through your veins increasing as the clock ticks by. He understands staying up late before an important presentation, and he understands trying to absorb verses and information into your brain like a sponge, only for it to dry out when left unattended for too long.
“...how can I help?”
He likes to think that his presence will somehow ease your head—that’s what you do to him, anyway. Knowing that you are watching his every move on the field, whether in person or on a screen, eases him. It graces him with confidence, filling him with a sense of force only a romantic would recognise.
But he doesn’t know if you would feel the same thing.
Doing an essay is, after all, different from trying to score a goal.
It’s different from racing past opponent players, it’s different from scanning the entire field for an opening. Football uses your brain more than any other part of your body, yes, but the adrenaline would more often than not make it feel like he is running on autopilot.
He sits next to you, trying not to take in the way your shaky fingers hover above your laptop’s keyboard; trying not to see that even as you are regulating your breath, some quivering sobs would sliver out between your lips.
“I’m fine,” you try brushing his concerns off, and though your eyes are welling up with water, you still insist on reading the same paragraph you’ve been reading for the past ten minutes.
“‘lright,” he mutters, leaning forward to take a look at your face before slipping his hand in one of yours, pulling it to his lips. You don’t resist.
“I just,” you begin after a sigh, “y’know, like none of this is making sense.”
“Uh-huh,” he nods, pressing the back of your hand against his cheek, fully facing you.
“This guy says one thing,” you gesture at the screen of your laptop, “and then says a completely different thing three paragraphs later. I mean” — you cut yourself off with another sigh.
Arda rubs his thumb against your hand.
— “I know he’s probably making sense, this paper’s in the syllabus for a reason, but, shit. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just stupid.”
Arda makes a disgruntled noise, frowning as he kisses your knuckle again. “Hey, don’t say that,” he murmurs, using his other hand to trace his fingers on the high of your cheeks, “you’re just frustrated, right? Don’t say cruel things to yourself.”
The moment he makes contact with your skin, the tear that you have been holding back spills over your cheeks.
“God,” you blow a shaky breath, looking away for a moment, embarrassed at your vulnerability. “I don’t know, I’m just stupid.”
“Come on,” he encourages, keeping his knuckles against your face. “You’re just frustrated. We’ve been at this for so long now, I think it’s time for a break.”
The sun has set hours ago, and Arda’s been there in your apartment since it hadn’t even risen yet. His chest is beginning to feel heavy from being cooped up in your room, but also from seeing you so defeated.
He leans in to press a small peck to your cheeks before standing up, gently tugging on your hand, trying to get you to stand too.
“Let’s get something sweet from the coffeeshop down the street.”
“People are gonna see me cry,” you whine, tugging your hand back to yourself. “And people are gonna think we had an argument.”
Arda laughs, letting go of your hand and then cupping your face in both of his, leaning down as he presses his nose against yours. “What? Who’s gonna say that?”
“I don’t know,” you sniffle, also giggling with him. “Some gossip accounts on TikTok. Remember what they said about Bellingham?”
He rolls his eyes playfully. “No one’s gonna say anything about us. We’re basically perfect.”
“Huh,” you close your eyes. “The perfect couple—a Real Madrid football player and a loser who can’t read.”
“Baby,” it’s his turn to whine. “You’re just tired, I swear. I’ll get you a cake, and you’ll feel better in no time. Come on.”
He stands, tugging you along with him, and you weakly go along. “Fine,” you murmur, “but you’re paying.”
Arda rubs both his thumb under each of your eyes. He leans a kiss on your lips for a moment and let your arms drape over his body.
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