Another very random Cags-related thought I’ve just had - I wanna write an imagine about doing his hair for match day 😍 just think: him sitting between your legs while you brush his hair out and put it up?! And he’s like ‘owww be careful’ but then he starts to love it and asks you to do it all the time and you convince him to let you do crazy things to it when it’s just the two of you like straightening it or braiding it and stuff. And then one time he just forces you in front of him so he can braid your hair and it turns out beautiful because his sister always tried these stuff on him and stuff.
Word Count: 1,121
No warnings; just fluff. Idea expanded from an idea with @vandijksthighs Enjoy xx
“Stop squirming!” You grunted, smacking Çağlar lightly on the top of his shoulder.
“You’re not doing it right,” he grumbled, pouting a little.
Your massive boyfriend was seated on the floor of the living room while you sat on the couch so you could get the perfect angle to do his hair. You’d been brushing through his hair for almost ten minutes now, mostly because he kept squirming whenever you hit a tangle or when you accidentally pressed into his scalp a little too hard. You’d been asking him to let you do his hair for a match day for ages now, both of you surprised when he finally acquiesced and let you have your way.
“You’re not letting me do it right,” you huffed, rolling your eyes. “Would you prefer to brush through it yourself, Koca bebek?” Big baby.
“No,” he replied petulantly, shaking his head. “You’re almost done anyway.”
“You’re ridiculous.” You laughed, going a bit slower and softer as you finished up brushing his hair.
“Be careful,” he warned as you started to collect his hair and section it out to put it in his now-signature half-bun-up-half-down hairstyle.
“No, I’m gonna make it look shitty on purpose,” you shot back sarcastically. “Bobble,” you said after a minute of silence, Çağlar holding up his wrist so you could take it off him. “All done.” You handed him the hand mirror that had been sitting next to you, watching him look at his reflection in the mirror. “So...what do you think?” You asked, suddenly self-conscious.
Çağlar tilted his head back to smile up at you. “It’s perfect. Teşekkürler Tatlı Cadı.” Thank you, sweet witch.
“You’re welcome,” you replied, leaning down to drop a Spiderman-esque kiss on his lips. “Good luck today, aşkım.” My love.
You weren’t able to attend the match against Leeds away, but you watched him play better than he’d played in a long time. Çağlar was always a force on the pitch but this was different; today he was making tackles and saves you hadn’t seen him make in a while. His confidence was clearly back and you couldn’t help feeling a bit responsible.
“Fuck, you looked so good out there,” you said, covering him with kisses when he walked through the door after beating Leeds 2-0. “So sexy.”
“I had some help,” he murmured, pinning you against the wall as he started to kiss your neck, his hands finding their way up his jersey that you were wearing. You let out a gasp as his lips found the sweet spot and you tangled your fingers in his hair, finding the bobble and tugging the bun free.
You took him to bed a few minutes later, reveling in the moans you elicited from his lips as you congratulated your man on a match well done.
The following week he was wordlessly handing you the hairbrush again and taking his place on the floor. “Really?” You asked, your gaze vacillating between him and the hairbrush you now held in your hand.
“Please?” Çağlar replied, looking up at you shyly.
“How could I say no?” you murmured, taking your seat behind him as you started to brush out his hair.
Over the weeks, it became a routine, woven into his match day superstitions, especially now that Leicester seemed to be on a winning streak. He loved your touch on his hair; the way your fingers danced over his scalp and the way you quickly learned how he liked his hair brushed. It was intimate and the best part of his match day.
Çağlar found you after his shower one morning, handing you the hairbrush. His hair was still slightly damp from his shower, and you gladly took your excuse to run your fingers through his hair. “C’mon, Sevdam.” You took his wrist and let him take his place on the floor while you sat on the sofa. “What would you like me to do? Your usual?”
Çağlar shook his head. “Whatever you want to do, Tatlı Cadı. I’m all yours.”
You tilted his head back so he could look at you and you leaned down to kiss him soundly. “What ever did I do to deserve you?”
“How much time do you have?” Was his cheeky reply, both of you laughing as you started to brush through his hair.
“I love your hair down,” you murmured as you brushed through it, your fingers playing with the soft strands, “but I also love how good that bun looks.”
You decided on a compromise, pulling his hair in the half-up-half-down look but instead of a bun you did a braid.
“What do you think?” You asked as you followed him to the bedroom so he could look in the bathroom mirror.
Çağlar studied his reflection in the mirror, tilting his head from side to side. You admired his cheekbones, hugging him from behind. “I love it.” He dropped a kiss to the top of your head as he maneuvered you so you were sitting on the countertop, standing in-between your legs.
From then on, it became your thing you did every day. You started looking up various hairstyles and trying them out on him - even convincing him to let you straighten his hair once - and he let you experiment.
“Will you let me do your hair sometime?” He asked once after a few months of you doing his hair almost daily.
“Uh, sure,” you replied, shrugging. “I guess.”
You weren’t expecting much, but Çağlar took his offer seriously. The Turk brought you to the usual spot but this time the roles were reversed - you were on the floor and he was on the sofa. You couldn’t help moaning a little at the sensation of the hairbrush through your hair. “Fuck, you’re good at this,” you whimpered, closing your eyes. “I wasn’t expecting it.”
“I’ve still got a few surprises up my sleeve, Tatlı Cadı,” he smirked, his deft hands dividing up your hair.
Fifteen minutes later, you were standing in front of the mirror completely in awe. Çağlar had French-braided your hair, each part of the braid intricately and evenly divided. “Çağlar this...this is amazing,” you whispered, turning around to look up at him with nothing but love in your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me you could do this?”
Çağlar shrugged, sheepishly running a hand through his hair, his cheeks tinged red with embarrassment. “I don’t know. I used to do it for my sister all the time so I just got good at it. Do you really like it?”
“I love it,” you corrected, standing up on your tiptoes so you could wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. “Thank you.”
