#arda x reader

[spidybaby]

Makeup Voice-over

Madrid Boys x Influencer!Reader

Summary: You ask your boyfriend for help to record the voice-over of your makeup routine.

Warnings: cursing.

A/N: Hi guys! Many of you asked me to do a version of Barca Boys but with Madrid guys. I took the most mentioned in the requests, hope you like it, love you 🙂‍↔️❤️

Jude

"So, I just have to do say what you are doin'?" He asks, confused while you place the airpods on his ears.

"Yes, baby." You smile at him.

"What if I don't know the name of the product?" He asks, worried. "Or the name of the tool?"

"Jude, just do it your way, call it whatever."

"Alright, boss." He smiles.

You left the room, leaving him to do it alone. You walk with a laundry basket to the laundry room. Wanting to be surprised with the video once it's done.

Jude does what you told him, play the video, and start to say what you are applying with a lot of detail.

"Hello' mates, I'm Y/n, your favorite one. Today, I'm doing a tutorial so you can look as amazing as I do."

He chuckles as he stops the video. You recorded in parts so he could pause and do the voice over slowly.

"I'm applying this green gel, I think that's for hair." He says, confused. "Oh, on my face, okay." He doesn't understand why you would apply that to your face. "Now I'm grabbing this and putting drops of it on my face. As you can see, it's the same color as my skin." He explains.

He takes a pause to drink some water.

"With a sponge, I know that cause my amazing boyfriend who I adore gave it to me!" He says proudly. "I spread it all over my face, then you grab another product with the same color and put it under your eye, in your chin, in your forehead."

He tries to understand what you are doing but he doesn't really know much about makeup and he doesn't really know much about the names.

"Okay, so now you need to use powder, place it all over the stuff you just spread." He confusingly says. "Now I know this one, you need to blush your face just like when my perfect boyfriend gives me a compliment. Love you, darling." He chuckles.

He feels happy that he knows what you are doing, he might be dumb but he wasn't dumb to blush.

"Now apply brown powder cause why not." He explains. "Also, now with a brush, you grab this other brown powder and apply it to the eye, close it before, we don't want to become blind."

He praised himself for the knowledge.

"Now that your eyes are powdered with brown, you grab an even darker brown and do it to only a part of your eye." He says, obviously thinking he is correct. "Now you take this shiny powder and apply it to the other part of your eye, yes."

He pauses again, taking a other sip of his drink.

"Okay, mates, and you grab this mascara. Yes, that's the name. Write it down. You apply it to the lashes twice, apparently."

You are downstairs finishing with loading the washing machine, not thinking that it was going to be as funny as it was being.

"Now we apply lipstick, but if I'm being honest let's skip it, fuck!" He says, very confident. "Oh, shit. Not this glossy thing. Okay, apply a glossy thing to your lips but don't kiss your man because that will end up on his lips."

He hates gloss, everybody knows that now.

"And then you spray your face, why? I don't know." He chuckles. "Thank you guys, now go buy a real madrid jersey with the number 5, bye."

Kylian

"Bonjour à tous, je suis Y/n."

"Kyks, in English, please!" You say from the kitchen. He was recording the voice-over on the couch.

"Anyways, today I'm doing my skin care and makeup. Let's start." He says in a very sweet tone. "First wash your face if you don't disgusting."

You can't help but laugh at him.

"Shhh, I'm working here." He says, trying not to laugh. "You now need to pass this cotton thing with this mmm, water?" He questions.

You shake your head, he tries to praise that he knows everything but clearly don't.

"Pass it around and let it dry." He nods at himself. "Then you need to apply this silicony gel, make sure it's spead correctly because if not you will root and die."

"Kylian!" You warn him. "You can't say that to people."

"I know what I'm doing, mademoiselle." He tells you. "Now that you did, apply foundation on this plate and add some of your skin care. Why? Don't know, but do it just like I do."

He pauses the video to talk to you.

"What is the plate?" He asks.

"It's a mixing pallette." You explain. "You use it to mix products."

He nods, understanding. "Now you pick it up with a brush, applying it to your face. Blend it up calmly because if not, you might break an arm." He chuckles. "Then you move to your small foundation, I think that's not what is called but Google it. It's Dior as you can see."

He makes sure to say it because when you did a video asking him to guess the price he was impressed that Dior had makeup.

"Once that's done, you grab this brown cream. Grab the brush and take some product, apply to the forehead and the cheeks." He explains. "And grab this blush, one dot on each cheek, blend it."

You smile at how he looks like he is enjoying doing it.

"Grab the powder and powder yourself, make sure to be very powder, or you'll be all wet with the other products, and you will be the clown of the party."

You cover your mouth, can't believe how extra he was being.

"Then you'll grab another brown product, applying it again, same with the blush, do it again. Don't worry if it seems wasteful. Make your boyfriend get you another one."

He chuckles, knowing that he was being a hit.

"Now you need to move to the eyes. You are going to grab a pallette and apply a color to the eyes. You then gran your marker and draw a line, make it sharp, it needs to be able to cut the enemies."

You shake your head no, laughing at him being so extra.

"Once you do that, you need to apply more lashes, bigger ones." He explains. "They glue to the eyelid, and once it's done, grab a mascara, apply it."

You move from the kitchen to where he is. "Almost done? The food is ready."

He nods. "You are going to grab a color pencil. Paint your lips with it because you'll need it for the lipstick. When you are done, you need to apply a spray."

He tries to remember the name of that spray but he can't.

"And done, now I leave to go to a Real Madrid game to see my boyfriend, love you Kylian, the best, vote for him on La Liga player of the month, bye."

Arda

"Are you sure you want me to do this?" He asks, very shyly.

"Yes, love." You smile, caressing his face. "It's just a voice-over of my makeup tutorial."

"But I'll mess up things."

"No, you won't." You smile. "Just name things as you think they are, okay?"

"Okay."

He walks over to your studio, you let him alone to do it because he asked you to.

"Okay, shit." He takes a deep breath. "Hello everyone, my girlfriend is doing a makeup tutorial. First, she's applying this skin color cream with an eggy looking sponge."

He's confuse at the sponge but won't pay mind to it.

"Then you need to grab another skin color cream. This one is, I think, a little bit more bright, or maybe it's the light." He says, very confused. "You need to hit your face with the sponge and move the cream around. Then you are going to grab a big brush, she's using one I gave her for her birthday, don't ask me, my mom helped me." He chuckles

He didn't lie. He got you a lot of makeup things for your birthday. Thanks to his mom, he got everything right because he was lost.

"Now, with another brush, she's grabbing this thing to make her face have shape or something like that. You need to apply it to the jawline, the cheek, your nose, everywhere basically."

He's confuse about why is it everywhere, but he won't question you.

"Okay, now a different brush. This has been in her collection for a long time, I know cause I once almost broke it, and she told me that." He chuckles. "You grab this pinky powder, apply it to the cheeks and I don't know why she's also applying it on the top of her nose and on her eyelids."

He's confused at why you are doing that but won't complain. He isn't a woman, he can't argue with you about it.

"Okay, now she's using this eye makeup. She likes orange, and she will use it on her eyes. This makeup was when we played with the orange jersey. Love that jersey. Also, the white one is cool, but this one has its own thing."

He's rambling, but you don't mind about it. It was supposed to be something fun for you and him. So you told him to be himself and to ramble if he wants.

"After the eyes, she usually grabs this lash comb, makes her eyelashes grow, they look amazing." He admires the image of you. "She doesn't like gloss or lipstick, so she's using this belly thing on her lips, tapping it with her fingers to make it seem natural."

He was almost done. He knows it because when you do this, you then apply a spray and say you are done.

"To finish you grab this spray, it makes your makeup last. Why? I'm not sure, but I just trust the process, apparently." He says, trying not to chuckle. "Now we are done, and as you can see, she looks amazing. Thank you for watching."

Brahim

"Bueno gente, let's start this." Brahim says. "You'll need to be pretty cause if you are not as pretty as me, sad." He says.

You shake your head no, trying not to let the big laugh you are holding out.

"You need to use some foundation, I use this one from Rihanna." He mentions, not sura about brands but dealing with it. "You grab the sponge, hit your face with it, hard please so you can stamp that makeup on."

You lost it, letting the laugh out.

"Shhh, amor venga!" He says. "Okay, move on, you grab your concealer. In this case, I couldn't sleep because I like to watch my boyfriend who is very handsome, guapo el chico!"

You laugh again.

"You then grab this powder, also grab this triangle, press the powder, and then place it under the eyes, the forehead, the cheeks." He explains, feeling like a pro. "You then grab that cocoa powder lookalike. Then please grab a brush and a blush, I love the kiko one, muy bueno, mucho pimiento!"

"Pigmento!" You laugh

"Exactly," He says. "Now I don't like to add much eye shadow, I place this light brown, como café corto de leche, then I add highlight."

"Coffee with light milk?" You ask.

"Shhh, guapa." He says, waving his hand. "To finish, I apply my favorite mascara. It's named better than sex, even tho it is not because my boyfriend joder!"

You almost pee yourself from how hard you are laughing at his silliness.

"Now, apply a lip oil and go around your day." He says sassy. "Also, don't forget to go and see my boyfriend, The Brahim Diaz, highlights on La Liga Instagram. Adiós, kiss kiss." He finishes with a kiss sound.

[andy-15-07]

Under the Santiago Bernabéu Lights

Pairing: Arda Güler x Reader

Word Count: 1665

Request open!

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.

"Promise," he said.

[jsprnt]

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. 

cute, you think.

what should you wear on your first date with him?

[featguler]

we don't talk about it ────── you don't have the time — arda tries convincing you to come to his game.

♡ ────── pairing : arda güler x reader ♡ ────── tags : reader's gender, ethnicity, nationality, and appearance is not specified. situationship!arda guler. reader speaks turkish n is speaking turkish with arda in this. angsty i guess??? i keep asking myself why i keep on giving him these stressful situationship scenarios omfg ♡ ────── wordcount : 715 ♡ ────── notes : more situationship arda i literally dc. also sorry for not posting in a while im tiiiired with work and my intern!! >:(( title is from august by flipturn!! ♡ masterlist.

“So you can’t come?”

Arda breathes into the mic, his eyes immediately fluttering close as he hears shrugging on your end, his phone trapped between his shoulders and his ears.

“Yeah.”

Arda tries imagining you right now. He tries imagining the expression on your face, he tries imagining what you are doing—swaying around, sitting down, biting your nails, rolling your eyes—and he lets his fantasies feed more into his imminent heartbreak.

He is in the changing room. Practice was rough that day, though he thinks that maybe it’s just him. Brahim seems to be having the time of his life, and Federico is somewhere talking to Antonio about the shenanigans that his kids, plural now that the youngest have turned one, have been up to lately.

And the room is far from quiet.

It’s alive—full of Eduardo chanting a Spanish song that Vinícius just taught him, full of Jude giggling as he texts his family group chat, and it’s full of Arda’s ailing heart beating against his ribs.

“Sorry,” you mumble to his speaker. Normally, Arda would find a way to voice his disappointment; he would click his tongue, he would thump his head against the wall, he would hang the call and scream into his mouth. But not right now.

“It’s in a week,” he tries negotiating, “not a week, even. 10 days. It’s in 10 days.”

The background noise increases—maybe he’s hallucinating—and Arda decides that he wouldn’t let anyone notice his distress.

No.

A part of him is embarrassed that he’s mulling so much over someone who he has been pining for for ages. He wonders if his older teammates, like Toni or Luka, know what a situationship is. His mother certainly does not. He asked her.

And sure there’s nuances and context in every relationship, but it somehow feels humiliating to explain to his teammates that he’s sad over someone who he is crushing on, but is technically going out with, but also not dating, yet is in a relationship with.

“I know, Arda,” he hears something shifting on your end. “It’s just that I promised my friend that we would go hang out.”

“You can hang out at the Bernabeu,” he encourages, still, his voice light despite the disappointment anchoring his chest. “I’ll get you the tickets.”

Arda opens one eye and watches the changing room, making sure that nobody is giving him their time of day.

“I asked you a few days ago,” he mutters quietly, rubbing the back of his neck rather harshly at the pent up frustration he’s developed every time he speaks to you. “I mean, I asked you first. It’s not fair.”

“Not fair?”

You echo him, and Arda lets out a rather long, extravagant sigh.

“Sorry.”

“We’re not—” you sigh. “Not fair? And whose fault do you think that is?”

Arda bites his lips, thinking over his words.

“Sorry.” He sighs again. “My fault. It’s my fault.”

“Right,” you huff into the speaker.

“Right,” he repeats, before uttering out a weak, “I miss you.”

You didn’t answer him for a moment, and Arda fears that he might have lost his hearing, but he eventually hears a breath.

“I miss you too.”

“I miss you more.”

A stupid smile etched on his lips—an idiotic, hopeful smile.

“Whatever.” He can basically see you roll your eyes. “I’m still not coming. I’m not coming to any of your games, you hear me?”

Until you make it official. He can basically hear you say.

He’s had this conversation a million times, and for some reason, it’s not enough push for him to commit to a relationship. He feels like if it were anyone else, he would not have much of an issue in putting a label on your relationship.

But it’s you.

And he has spent so long wanting you. What if you become his, and then you leave? You break up with him, leave him shattered? There is no breakup if there is no relationship in the first place—the senseless voice in his head keeps on whispering—there is no being left alone if he never decided to stay.

“Tell me if you change your mind.”

You huff to the phone again. “See you, Arda.”

He holds back an I love you, and laughs softly.

“I’ll see you around.”

[justageekk]

i just saw ardas photo dump on insta and let me js tell you im NOT well oh my god😭😭🥀 him and his girl made me crash tf out like why r they so underrated :((

im CRAVING a story about going out on a date with him and doing silly stuff like just having funn and at the end going home together UGHH🙏

IN WHERE : date with your boyfriend

THIS ONE SHOT IS : fem!reader x arda güler

note: idon't speak english, only spanish n a little portuguese. any errors are the translator's fault.

arda and his gf are so cute 😭

w: fluff n romantic.

request open!

Tonight wasn’t some elaborate plan. There was no fancy dinner or tickets to an event. Just you, Arda, and the idea of doing anything that could make you laugh.

“What should we do first?”, he asks, getting out of his car and stretching his arms.

“I want to beat you at bumper cars”, you say with a little smirk.

“Oh, you came to humiliate me?”

“Always.”

“I’m in. But first, I want to take you somewhere.”

You ended up at a small outdoor fair on the outskirts of Madrid. One of those local neighborhood ones, small but packed, full of colorful lights and the smell of cotton candy.

Arda guided you through the stands until you reached a kind of elevated ride, a little train that went all around the fair above everyone’s heads. It wasn’t scary or extreme, but it had that childlike amusement park vibe.

From the top, you could see the entire fair lit up—balloons, couples hugging, kids with balloons bigger than themselves.

“Should we go on that first?”, he asks, pointing to the train.

“Seriously? That baby ride?”

“Yes. I want to see the whole fair with you from up there. Plus, I can scout which stand has the biggest stuffed animals”, he adds, sticking out his tongue for a second.

You end up in the last car, which, conveniently, is the most secluded and quiet. As soon as you sit down, Arda settles next to you, letting his leg touch yours and placing his hand on your thigh.

When the train starts moving, you rest your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around your back and rests his hand right at your waist, gently rubbing his fingers against you.

From above, the fair looks like a tiny fantasy world. The lights reflect in his eyes, and he keeps glancing around, wide-eyed.

“This is so pretty”, you whisper.

“Yeah…”, he replies, and when you look at him, you realize he wasn’t talking about the view.

For a few seconds, you both fall quiet, just listening to the soft creaking of the train and the distant laughter. Arda leans in to kiss you.

“I could stay here all day”, he murmurs.

“Only if you agree to lose at bumper cars afterward.”

He chuckles and kisses you again, this time at the corner of your lips.

When the train ride ends and you return to the ground, the energy shifts.

You walk hand in hand, sharing a stick of cotton candy Arda insisted on buying “even though it’s as sugary as you”, and between jokes and silly races to different stalls, you head straight for the game stands.

The first challenge was the classic: knocking down cans with a ball.

“I’m going to destroy you”, Arda said, completely focused.

He throws.

He misses.

Three times in a row.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing as he pulls a dramatic face.

“That was rigged, right? The balls were deflated. No way I miss unless that’s the reason.”

“Sure, champ. Let me show you how it’s done.”

You throw once, twice, again… and the cans fall like dominoes.

“WHAT?”, he yells as the stand guy claps. “WHEN DID YOU TRAIN FOR THIS?!”

“Maybe I have a hidden talent. Or maybe I’m just better than you.”

The prize was a kind of ugly stuffed animal—a blue rabbit with bulging eyes. Arda grabs it and holds it up in front of you.

“I hereby crown you the Can Queen. And this is your trophy.”

“Are you going to sign it for me?”

“Only if you let me win something.”

Then came more challenges: ring toss, rubber duck fishing, balloon darts. He didn’t win any of them. You started to suspect he was letting you win.

“Are you throwing the game?”, you ask as he throws a dart badly and fakes surprise.

“No. I’m distracted.”

“Distracted by what?”

He shrugs, fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie, eyes on your lips.

“Because you look way too pretty when you win.”

You lightly shove him, which turns into a hug. You laugh. He hugs you back.

Eventually, you reach the stand with the giant stuffed animals. A white bear, a pink one, and a massive shark that clearly wouldn’t fit in his car.

“Which one do you want?”, Arda asks, pulling out his wallet.

“The shark. The one that takes up a whole bed.”

“Obviously.”

“You’re not gonna win that”, you laugh. “You have to land rings on bottles. No one ever does.”

“Trust me.”

And he does it. Not on the first try. Not the second. But on the fifth, when he was just about to give up, the ring lands perfectly on the bottle’s neck.

The game guy stares. Arda stares. You freeze.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT. FINALLY.”

“I just won a war.”

“And I won a shark”, you squeal, hugging him tight as he laughs into your neck. “How are we going to fit this in the car?”

“No idea”, he says, kissing you again. “I’ve never had a day so dumb and so perfect at the same time”, he whispers, resting his forehead on your shoulder.

“And you still haven’t lost at bumper cars”, you remind him, winking.

He sighs.

“I’m so screwed, huh?”

“Totally.”

And just like that, you’re running again between the stands, dodging kids and couples, the giant stuffed shark under Arda’s arm like a third wheel on your date.

You reach the bumper cars with flushed cheeks and breathless from laughing. The ride’s mostly empty now, and the guy running it gives you both a tired smile as you climb in.

“One each or together?”, he asks.

“Separate”, you say quickly.

The cars start, and the chaos begins. Arda tries to act serious, but it’s impossible. The moment he sees you coming, he speeds off like crazy, yelling:

“NO! DON’T TOUCH ME! I HAVE A FAMILY!”

“Coward! Face me like a man!”

You chase him around the whole track, making him spin, missing him by inches, crashing into him from behind. At one point, you trap him in a corner and hit him head-on. He throws his hands up in surrender.

You both laugh so hard it’s hard to steer. You keep crashing into each other, into other cars, screaming like kids on a sugar high.

When time’s up, you stumble off, hair messy, smiles stuck on your faces.

“Who won?”, he asks, voice hoarse from yelling.

“You know the answer.”

“…Yeah. I’m completely humiliated.”

“But you look adorable when you lose”, you say, reaching over to brush his hair back.

“Let’s go home”, he murmurs.

“Yours or mine?”

“Wherever you are.”

You hold hands again. Walk through the parking lot with the giant shark dragging behind, your fingers laced with his.

The drive is quiet. There’s soft music on the radio. Arda drives with one hand, holding yours with the other. At red lights, he glances at you and smiles. Sometimes he squeezes your hand like he’s making sure this is real, that you’re really here.

When you get home, it’s almost midnight. Your shoes are dirty from running, your hair’s a mess, and he’s got soft little under-eye circles—but none of it matters.

You go up. The shark barely fits through the door, almost breaking the frame. You laugh as Arda shrugs off his jacket and tosses it on the couch without looking. He heads straight for your room like he’s done it a thousand times before, and you follow him.

You throw on comfy clothes. He lies on his side on your bed, watching you, head resting on his arm. He wiggles his fingers at you.

“Come here.”

You crawl into bed with him, wrapping your legs around his waist, your nose buried in his neck, breathing in his scent and warmth.

“Wanna know what the best part of today was?”, he asks, eyes already half-shut.

“Winning the shark?”

“No. You. It’s always you.”

❝ justageekk, 2025 ❞

[spidybaby]

GQ Couple Interview

Summary: You and your boyfriend got invited to do a GQ interview.

Warnings: cursing

A/N: Doing this while I eat dinner 😔 is very short, but I hope you like it ❤️🥺 also I'm working on more than just these. So be patient with me, pleaaaaaseeee ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Madrid Boys x Actress!Reader

Jude

"Just be yourselves, read the questions, and have fun!" The manager of GQ says.

You two nod, you squish Jude's hand. The makeup girl was finishing retouching your powder.

"Done!" She smiles. You give a small thank you.

You sit properly on the chair. You can hear the cameraman count and give you the big. "We are recording." Shout.

You take a look at the questions. "What is my favorite ice cream to eat with your mom's brownies?"

"Oh, you love that German brand with the Cardi B whip cream."

"Ufff, that cream is amazing." You say, feeling the craving of it.

"Now, darlin'" He smirks. "What is my favorite goal that I've ever scored?"

You blink a few times. "Is it the one you scored in the ammm, champion league?"

"Wrong!" He shouts. "It was one that Erling assisted me."

"Never heard of it." You say, making him roll his eyes. "Anyways, what is the name of my character in Euphoria?"

"Rue!" He says happily.

You can't help but look at the camera, it looks like a scene from The Office. He has a smug on his face, proud of his answer.

"That's Zendaya."

"Oh," He says, smug falling from his face. "Damn, Lexy!"

"That's not even close!" You say, laughing.

"Maddie." He names.

"That's Alexa, you know her."

"Fuck, I don't know." He says, still thinking about the name. "Next question."

"What do you mean next questio- fine." You say, grabbing another card. "What is my favorite order when we visit your parents in the UK?"

"Fish and chips with some side of green beans, but also you love the sausage."

"I love a good sausage." You smile at the camera.

You don't say that in a dirty or fun way. You say that because you do love food, and British food was one big thing for you to discover.

"But don't worry, she gets a good one." He says, winking at the camera. "What's my favorite food order?" He asks.

"So this is where Mister Jude." You start, but then paused. "Jude!" You say, looking at him, hitting his arm with the card. "You can't say that."

"What's my favorite book to read?"

"I haven't even answered the first question. His order depends on where we are at. If we are at a steak house, he somehow wants a salad."

"Not true, I love steak."

"And I we are at maybe Olive Garden, during the pre season trip, he wants a big 16 oz steak."

"Told ya! Love steak." He smiles.

"So if you can describe me in three words, what would they be?"

He thinks them, trying to find the best ones.

"Smart!" He smiles at you. "Inspiring and"

You can't help but blush, you love that he finds you inspiring and a smart person.

"That is so cut-"

"She's also fart the lou-"

"DON'T! STOP RECORDING!"

Kylian

"Do we do it in English, Spanish or French?" Kylian asks.

"If it's okay with you, Mister mbappe. Please, in English."

He nods, making the lady walk back to the cameraman to talk to them. She keep looking over at Kylian.

"Monsieur Mbappé, veuillez signer mon maillot. Oui, c'est là qu'est mon sein." You say with sarcasm. (Mister Mbappe, please sign my jersey. Yes, here where my boob is)

He rolls his eyes while laughing. "Don't be jealous." He says, smiling at you. "I'm not looking at anyone when I have you here."

"So when I'm not here. You do look at others?"

"Okay, time for questions." He says, calling the attention of the set. "Cause you are getting out of hand." He says, joking with you.

You roll your eyes, laughing at him. You know he knows you are joking and you love how he jokes back.

"Okay, here are your questions." The lady says to you. "And Mister Mbappe, here are yours." She smiles at him.

You look over at him, wanting to roll your eyes. "Okay, thank you." He says. "Ready, amour?" He asks.

They let you know that you are being filmed and to start with the questions.

You check the questions before making one. "Oh, what was the name of my pet hamster?"

Kylian frowns. "The one who died pooping?"

You look at the camera. "He was a saint." You say, pouting at the thought of him.

"Chili?" He says, more like asking. "Wait no, Paco?"

"Paco is my sister's dog!" You say, laughing at him.

"Fuck!" He says, thinking harder. "Was it Harry? Like Harry Styles?"

"Yes! My sweet creature!" You smile. "I love Harry Styles, fun fact about me by the way."

"My turn," He smiles. "What's my movie?"

"Easy, you love The Great Gatsby." You smile.

He shakes his head. "Noup."

"Ammm, the teenage mutant ninja turtles?" You ask, joking.

"Hahaha." He faked laughed, then making the most fake angry face. "You are so funny."

"Okay, next question." You ignore him. "Who is my favorite parent?"

"But my movie!" He shouts. "Also, none, you have beef with everybody." He side eye you.

"I do not." You say, frowning. "Oh, I remember, your favorite movie is that one with tom cruise, the one where he flies planes."

"Oui!" He smiles. "Also you favorite parent is your mom." He smiles.

You roll your eyes at him, "what is my f-"

"Hey, my turn!" He says, pouting. "Do you know my favorite goal?"

You think for a while. "Maybe the one against Barcelona, when you were in PSG?" You ask.

"Yep." He nods, waiting for you to look away, then he shakes his head no to the camera. "What is the name of my mother?"

"Fayza Lamari." You say in a very obvious tone. "Love her. Even more than her son."

He looks at you, going from a smile to a frown. "Rude." He says.

"Okay, fun fact about Kylian." You announce. "He's a sucker for praising."

"Tu n'es pas censé dire ça." (You were not supposed to say that)

You look at him, sensing him a kiss. "Je t'aime."

"What type of pasta is my favorite?"

You think, he really loves pasta. "Carbonara." You say, thinking about that being the only one he asks you to prepare. "If you say no, I'll know you are lying."

"It's..." He does this pause. "True." He smiles.

"I knew it, bébé." You smile. You read the next question. "If you can say one of my characters is your favorite, which one?"

He thinks for a moment, trying to order his ideas of which one of the roles you have played is his favorite.

"Maybe when you did marvel." He smiles. "Love that movie."

"I know you love that one!" You smile, getting up to hug him. "Fun fact about Kylian." You say again.

"Okay, we are done." He says, covering your face with the cards. "Cut the camera." He says, laughing at you trying to fight him.

Arda

"Are you sure you want me to be on this interview?" He asks, worrying that he might not be welcomed.

"Babe, of course." You laugh, grabbing his hand. "We are in this together." You smile.

"Are you quoting high school musical again?"

"Love doing that." You smile. "Okay, we are ready!"

"Okay, everybody. We are starting in three, two, one." The director yells, giving you the signal to start.

"Hi everybody, I'm Y/n."

"And I'm Arda."

Brahim

"And we are doing the GQ Couples Interview." You both say, smiling at the camera.

"You start." You say, grabbing his hand and giving his hand a squish.

"What is the name of my childhood dog?" He asks, reading the card. "Wait, I don't have a childhood dog."

"He doesn't." You shake your head. "But I did. What was his name?"

"Chipotle?"

"Chili." You smile.

"What was my dream job as a child?" He asks.

"He wanted to be a bread man." You smile, trying not to chuckle. "Like the one of Shrek, the cookie guy."

"I love bread and cookies, so I wanted to be a bread guy, like a huge piece of bread." He laughs.

"If I was in a desert island, what are three things I would take with me?"

You think for a while, Arda is someone simple, he's not into materialistic stuffs.

"A football ball, your favorite pillow, and me because I want to swim while you play with the ball."

"I mean, it says things, and you are not a thing." He replies, smiling shyly at you.

"I know, baby." You whisper, reassuring him. "Name three of the characters I have done."

"I like when you did that Disney princess movie," he says, not knowing what the name is.

"It wasn't a Disney princess, baby. I was in Barbie." You laugh at him being so confused.

"Oh, shoot." He laughs too. "It's true, she spent days, weeks even saying < Hi, barbie! >"

"Hi, Barbie!" You say in that tone everybody used at the Barbie set. "Okay, name the rest. You still have three because Miss Disney princess is not right."

"Barbie," He smiles to the camera, knowing he has that one right. "The one in La Casa de Papel, and the one in Youth."

"Can you at least name one?"

"I just did, Barbie!"

But that's not-"

"Goodbye, Barbie." He says, waving at the camera.

"But we are not done."

"He said three questions." He points to the calera man. "Plus, we have Taco Bell in the dressing room."

"Joder, maybe a break!" You say, hearing your stomach growl.

"What's my favorite cookie?" He asks, after a few warming up questions.

"That's not even a question, Brahim."

"You see this?" He asks the camera. "This is why I always say that you need to protect your hearts."

"It's the matcha one from that Chinese Restaurant, God damn." You laugh.

"Now, this is real love, people." He smiles. "Love you, baby."

"Love you too." You smile. "Now, if I was an animal fighting among the avengers, which animal would I be?"

"Who?" He stares confused at the camera. "Did she just made up the question?"

"I need to think." He says, waiting a few minutes before answering. "A crocodile."

"Yes!" You smile. "Love crocos."

"She also loves crocs." He smiles. "We have a matching pair."

"Now, back to the normal questions." You chuckle the questions. "Tell me the name of my favorite movie I was in?"

He looks at the camera, confused, looking like a The Office episode. "The marvels?"

"Wrong, it's was Neighbors."

"Tell me your favorite trophy I won."

"The Champions, because that day I surprised you when I told you I wasn't coming to the finals, and I did."

"Loved that," He smiles, getting closer to you, kissing your lips. "Now, who do I think would be the perfect 11 on a team."

"Qué caraj-"

"Amor, language."

[spidybaby]

I know people voted for Barca boys but I NEED more real madrid content

Cloudy Night | Real Madrid Boys

Summary: You accompany them during this rough patch they're experiencing.

Warnings: cursing.

Kylian

"I was horrible." He says, throwing his toiletry bag on the coach.

"Ky-"

"A fucking failure." He yells.

You take a few steps back, letting him have his space to yell, to throw things, to punch a pillow if he may.

You walk to the kitchen, grab a cup, and serve cold water on it. You walk back to where he is, hands on his head.

You tap on his head, offering the glass of water. He just nodded and drank it. "Thanks."

Jude

You sit down next to him, passing your arms around him. You know he needs someone to hold him for him to let himself crash down.

"I love you." You say, tighting your hold on him. "You did everything you could, Kyks. You weren't going to get out of that pitch with an injury, you already had a bother."

"I could've run faster, pass the ball more times, kick it bett-"

"Look at me." You say, separating from the hug. You grab his face in your hands. "You did everything you could, I promise to you that everybody knows you did."

"I don't feel like that."

"I know, I'm so sorry that I can't share my eyes with you so you can see what I see. Kylian, you did more than anybody."

"Then why does it feel like I didn't?"

"You are upset, and that's okay, I promise this will be better. I'm here for you, your parents are here for you, Ethan is here for you. We love you, and we think you are the best."

He hugs you again, appreciating your words. He knows this rough patch is hard, but he has you and his family. That was all that matters right now.

"I promise this is going to be better." You kiss his shoulder. "And I'll be here, with you."

Brahim

"A fucking joke." He yells.

He's not yelling at you but yelling at himself. He feels defeated, all the effort he thought was enough was not even minimum.

"I'm a fucking failure." He yells again, throwing his jersey to the wall. "Fuck me."

You try to let him yell, you want to let him throw things, you let him decompress. You feel like it's enough.

"Jude, let's sit down." You say, grabbing his arms. "Come here."

You won't say < calm down >, you won't try to mention that word. He will get more upset. So you try to make it better by just reassuring him.

"Hey, I'm here." You say, hugging him tight. "I'm here, love."

"I did everything, and that wasn't even enough." He cries.

"You are not a failure, Jude. The team is having a bad season, and that's okay. That doesn't make you a failure or a joke."

"I'm Spain's biggest joke." He cries. "I was on the run for the Ballon d'or. Now I'm a fucking joke who can't even score."

"This is just a bad season, love. I know it seems like the end of the world, but you are the current winners of the Champions League, you won la Liga last season, you got so many things."

"I could've done more, workout more."

"You did, Jude. Everything will be better." You smile.

"You promise?"

"I promise, and I'll be here through everything."

Arda

You try to walk behind him, but his pace is too quick for you. The first thing you hear when you enter his house was his bedroom door slamming shut.

You close the door of the house, you don't want to go upstairs just yet. You know better than that.

Brahim even asked you to let him cold down when he's mad. He's one of those people who likes be alone and you respect that.

You walk into the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients to make something for dinner. He will be hungry after a while, and you need to make sure he gets something.

You wait patiently for him. You are in the second chapter of your show when you hear him go down the stairs.

"It's late." He says, voice soft. He walks to where you are, giving you a kiss to the cheek. You pat the spot next to yours on the couch.

"Come sit, we need to talk."

He does not waste any moment to hug you. Letting you know that it was more than just the critics, more than people saying it was his fault for letting the others get the goal.

"It wasn't your fault, Luca told you that, Carlo told you that, Kylian told you that."

"Then why do I feel like that?"

"Becasue you are a human, and you have feelings. This is a rough season for everyone, for Carlo, for you and the others, the workers at the club. Believe me that nobody is blaming you."

"I tried my best."

"You did, I promise you did."

"I don't want to be alone."

"You aren't, we are together. Even when you can't score." You joke, kissing his cheek.

"That's mean." He laughs. "Love you."

"Can I sit?" You ask him, stepping out in the balcony. "Can we talk?"

"Is there anything to talk about?" He asks, head low. "I wish I could have more minutes. People always say that I don't do anything but I can't do anything on the bench!"

You nod, letting him take everything he wants to say out. You know he ends to ramble, to say everything out loud.

"And when I'm on the field, I try, but not everyone passes the ball to me." He explains. "The other day Luca passed it to me, and then Lucas was asking why not to him. What can I do?"

You move your hand up and down his back. You want him to know that no matter what, you are there to listen to his words.

"Kylian says that I need to wait, that everything will change, but when?"

"Can I say something?" You ask, making him nod. "I know this is hard for you, mostly because you've been trying to show that you are good enough to be playing and not on the bench. You are good enough, you know that?"

"I don't feel like that."

"Well, Arda." You hug him. "You are, and I promise that even if el Mister goes to another team, the new Mister will see your potential, and you are going to shine more than ever."

"You think so?"

"I know so." You smile, kissing his cheek. "And I'll be there, clapping for you, celebrating every goal, every assist, everything."

[jsprnt]

meeting your boyfriend’s parents

arda güler x turkish! reader

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..