A tribute to the girl who remembers every detail but thinks she's
FORGETTABLE.
Philoxenia MASTERLIST
Imagines
Requests opened!
"I don't want to be chosen by everyone, but understood by One"
Cosimo Galluzzi

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Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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One Nice Bug Per Day

tannertan36
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cherry valley forever
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
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祝日 / Permanent Vacation
Xuebing Du

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if i look back, i am lost

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@shotsweetera
A tribute to the girl who remembers every detail but thinks she's
FORGETTABLE.
Philoxenia MASTERLIST
Imagines
Requests opened!
"I don't want to be chosen by everyone, but understood by One"

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
Blueprint of Us
☆°°° Summary: The morning after their breathless encounter at the stadium, the morning after was replaced by a thick, dizzying domestic reality. As she and Kenan navigate what it means to be entirely each other's behind closed doors, Kenan drops a major professional update:an offer to shoot for Vogue Turkey. The sudden intersection of his meteoric rise and her sharp, observant creative brain shifts the energy, forcing Yn to confront her habit of hiding vulnerability behind irony while Kenan proves, piece by piece, that she is entirely chosen.
☆°°° Author's note: EYO HAVE Y'ALL SEEN HIS VOGUE SHOOT??!!. LIKE svbsjshinbdvstvsfcsgbavdybs!! 😭😭. The fluff is getting more tooth rotting!!!! But you guys know I had to bring in some real-world flavor! Kenan dropping the news about his Vogue Turkey shoot is such a massive moment, and I loved writing Yn's internal creative brain taking over. 🧿✨💣
☆°°° Warnings: Extreme domestic fluff, established relationship transition, lazy morning kisses, zero angst,mentions of internet/fan hostility, subtle internal self-awareness, and absolute sweetness.
☆°°° Song playing: Die For You - Joji
☆°°°Word count: 1.5k
<<Previous chapter: Soz (The Promise)
It almost feels like a dream, the goal gesture, the kiss, that damn kiss post match, it just didn't feel real. Obviously it didn't take the media and his fans to identify me, the threats are already coming in, but I'm used to it ever since my sudden rise to fame?
Because right now, the only reality that mattered was taking up the entirety of my living room floor.
"Kenan, I swear to God, if you put that gray piece there again, I am kicking you out of my house," I complained in a sharp tone, but it was completely ruined by the massive smile pulling at my lips.
I was sitting cross-legged wearing a pair of oversized sweatpants “Revice” had sent me that practically swallowed my frame, paired with a tiny cropped white tank top. My braids fell over my shoulders, shifting slightly as I leaned forward over the half-finished Lego that had been mocking us for weeks.
"Schatz, you are micro managing a plastic foundation," Kenan groaned, though there was zero actual frustration in his low, morning voice.
Instead of arguing further he simply shifted, sliding closer until his chest was pressed directly against my back. His large, warm hands came up naturally, settling on my stomach underneath the hem of my tank top, his thumbs tracing lazy, soothing circles against my skin. The familiar, intoxicating scent of his clean cologne completely clouded my judgment as he leaned down, burying his face into the crook of my neck.
He pressed a soft, lingering kiss right against my collarbone, making a quiet, involuntary shiver run straight down my spine.
"Stop," I laughed, swatting weakly at his arm though I leaned back into his chest anyway, completely melting into his hold. "We've been on this same section for two hours. You're supposed to be a professional athlete with immense focus."
"I am focusing," he murmured against my skin, his lips moving up to press another warm kiss just beneath my jawline, completely breaking whatever internal discipline I had left. "I am focusing on the only thing in this room that matters."
"You are so annoying," I whispered, turning my head around to glare at him, but the distance between us was already gone.
Kenan didn't hesitate. He leaned in, closing the remaining fraction of an inch, his lips meeting mine in a lazy, soft kiss that tasted like the cappuccino he had made me an hour ago. His hand slid from my stomach up to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling gently into the roots of my braids, deepening the kiss with a slow, possessive sweetness that made my heart past a hundred all over again.
There was no hyper-vigilance flaring up in my brain this time. The fears of being a rebound and the protective walls I had built to guard my peace had completely evaporated into the dark corners of the Allianz Stadium lounge the night before. Behind these closed doors, there was no persona. It was just us.
Us. Entirely locked in.
When he finally pulled back after lingering pecks, his green eyes stared down at me. A soft, incredibly beautiful dimpled smile broke across his face, his thumb gently dabbing a bit of lingering gloss from my bottom lip.
"I could get used to this, Yn," he whispered, echoing his words from last night, his voice thick with that deep, grounded sincerity that always stripped away my armor. "I told management my muscle tightness is still lingering, so I am staying on this floor all day."
"Wow, a literal fraud," I teased, reaching up to gently tug at a stray hair on his forehead. "Using club resources to skip recovery just to lose a fight against plastic Lego blocks."
"I am winning the fight though," he chuckled, his hands sliding back down to rest securely on my hips, pulling me firmly against his lap. "And it is not a fraud. It is a mental recovery session. My mind is very relaxed right now." he murmured, but instead of reaching for a plastic block, he let out a quiet exhale, his fingers wrapping tightly around mine.
He went a little quiet, his thumb tracing the back of my hand with a rare, lingering hesitation. "Actually... there is something I have to tell you. I have to leave Turin for a few days at the end of the week.”
I blinked, my internal radar instantly flaring up. Because I secretly believed love was something that had to be earned through struggle, my mind immediately jumped to a defensive conclusion. I hid the sudden spike of vulnerability behind a quick, dry chuckle. "Oh, wow. One kiss and you're already fleeing the country? I didn't think my Lego skills were that traumatic.”
Kenan stopped, eyes locking onto mine with a sharp, piercing intensity. Because he had spent the last months memorizing my patterns, he saw right through the ironic shield. He didn't let me slip into emotional distance.
"Yn. Look at me," he said softly, his voice grounded and entirely serious. He squeezed my hand until I finally stopped inspecting the floor. "I am not fleeing. My management team finalized a major contract this morning. I accepted an offer to do a cover shoot for Vogue Turkey.”
My jaw practically hit the floor. The defensive armor dissolved instantly, replaced entirely by my hyper-analytical creative brain.
"Vogue Turkey??!! Kenan, that’s massive. That’s a literal global crossover. Who is creative directing it? What’s the mood board?”
He let out a genuine, rumbling laugh, completely relieved by the sudden shift in my energy as he pulled me back against his chest. "I don't know the specifics yet, Miss Consultant. That is why I need you to look over the brief with me before I fly out. They want a high-fashion editorial look, without really leaving out my passion for what I do.”
"They better style you correctly," I muttered, my mind already spinning with aesthetic concepts, lighting angles, and wardrobe pulls. I was the type to turn achievements into a whole visual story in my head within seconds. "If they try to put you in a basic corporate suit, I will call their chief editor myself. You need structural cuts. Modern tailoring.”
"See? This is why I cannot leave without your approval," he smiled softly, leaning down to press a warm, lingering kiss to the corner of my mouth. His arms tightened around my waist, anchoring me so securely against him that the lingering insecurities about never fully feeling 'chosen' completely faded into the background.
Before I could fire back, the silence of the apartment was broken by a frantic, high-pitched FaceTime ringtone echoing from the kitchen counter.
I groaned, ready to ignore it, but Kenan sighed against my shoulder. "It’s my phone. It’s probably the dogsitter."
He reached across the coffee table, grabbing his phone and answering it without moving an inch away from me. The moment the screen connected, the loud, chaotic panting of ramos filled the quiet living room. A tiny, furry face was pressed directly against the camera lens, a pink tongue lolling out in absolute excitement.
"Ramos!" Kenan’s voice instantly pitched up into that high, ridiculous tone he only used for his dog, his tough athlete persona completely disintegrating. "Wie geht’s dir, mein Junge?” (How are you, my boy?)
Ramos let out a sharp, happy bark through the speaker, his tail visibly thumping against the floorboards of Kenan’s house in the background. The dogsitter’s voice laughed from off-screen, “He’s been sitting by the front door for an hour, he knows your car isn't in the driveway."
"Tell him I am busy doing important tactical work," Kenan said, shifting the camera angle so Ramos could see the screen clearly. He leaned his chin back onto my shoulder, pointing the camera at both of our faces. "Look, Ramos. Look who is keeping me hostage."
The dog blinked at the screen, tilting his head in that universal sign of confusion before letting out a soft, whining sound the moment he recognized my face.
"Hi, Ramos!" I laughed, leaning into the frame and waving at the screen. "Don't let him lie to you, he’s the one refusing to leave my floor."
Kenan let out a genuine, rumbling chuckle against my back, pressing a quick kiss to the side of my head before looking back at the screen. "Don't worry, I'll bring her home tomorrow to give you your treats. She has been arguing with me about whether she has time to take care of a dog, so you need to convince her."
"Oh, she's definitely getting a dog after this,"* the dogsitter joked before hanging up, leaving the room quiet once more.
Kenan dropped the phone back onto the coffee table, his arms wrapping tightly around my waist as he pulled me back down onto the rug with him, our bodies tangled together in the warm morning light. I looked down at the finished foundation of our Lego skyline, realizing that while the Italian press and the global internet were still waiting outside our fortress, the foundation we had built right here on this floor was completely unbreakable.
Title: Off the record
Pairing: Kenan yildiz and wife!reader
Summary: Kenan is supposed to be celebrating his fresh Vogue Turkey shoot at a quiet, intimate dinner, but the high-tension public eye contact and stolen under-the-table touches follow you both straight back home. The sleek exterior of your silk halter dress completely melts away as a breathless, desperate trail of clothes moves you from the kitchen counter all the way to the bedroom sheets.
Warnings: Smut, please do not interact if you are under 🔞. Language, sexual content, praise kink, overstimulation, kitchen counter sex, cowgirl/riding, doggy style, oral sex (both receiving), deep kissing, marking skin, manhandling, public/semi-public PDA risk, and short aftercare.
Word count: 2.1k
REQUEST OPENED!!!
The flashing cameras from the “Vogue Turkey” afterparty were still practically burned into your retinas, but the second the heavy oak door of you and your husband's house clicked shut, the suffocating atmosphere of public life completely vanished.
Kenan let out a long, low groan of relief, immediately pulling at the collar of his shirt. He wore a simple suit for the small, intimate celebratory dinner, but he had still managed to walk away with the custom houndstooth blazer from the set simply because he liked it too much to leave it behind. Right now, it was draped over the entryway chair, a sharp contrast to the dimly lit, warm hallway where you two were finally alone.
The dinner itself had been a beautiful, high-tension blur of PDA risk. Sitting in that quiet, hidden corner booth of the restaurant, Kenan’s hands had been absolutely everywhere, completely reckless about who might see. His large palms had continuously found your lap under the table, his fingers sliding over your hands, tracing your knuckles with a desperate, heavy need that made your chest tight. Sometimes you’d playfully swat his hand away with a soft whisper to behave, but within seconds, his fingers would always slide right back, tangling securely with yours against your thigh.
There were quick, mini open mouth kisses stolen whenever you thought nobody was looking, short and demanding enough to leave your lips swollen before the main course even arrived. He would lean in under the pretense of a whisper, his lips brushing yours in deep, heavy presses that tasted faintly of wine.
You both knew it would probably be all over the internet by tomorrow morning. Some blurred paparazzi shot through a restaurant window capturing the golden boy completely consumed by his wife, but neither of you cared.
The public was used at this point with the young married couple.
He stopped in the hallway now, his dark eyes instantly mapping the way your cream silk halter dress clung to every single curve of your body, the fabric catching the low amber light of the apartment.
“Give me five minutes, aṣkim,” he murmured, his voice already dropping into that raspy, post-event exhaustion as he pressed a quick, lingering kiss to your temple. “I need to take a quick shower.”
You watched him disappear into the master bathroom before padding quietly down the hallway and into the dimly lit kitchen, opening the fridge to look for a late-night drink or snack. You were standing there in the quiet glow, completely oblivious, when a low, sudden intake of breath sounded from the doorway.
Kenan was leaning against the frame, his hair slightly wet, wearing nothing but a pair of low-slung gray sweatpants. His dark eyes were fixed entirely on the smooth expanse of your bare back exposed by the halter dress. The silence in the kitchen instantly turned heavy and loud.
He pushed off the doorframe, his slow, deliberate steps toward you completely predatory, his frame commanding the space until he was standing directly in your personal bubble. The heat radiating off his bare chest was dizzying.
“Seeing my wife look like this in our kitchen,” he growled softly, his large hands coming up to grip your waist, his thumbs digging into the silk of your dress, “makes me want to put a mini yildiz in her right here on the counter.”
You giggled at the thought, turning around to say something, but before you could, Kenan closed the remaining distance, his mouth right down onto yours with a sudden, needy hunger that completely erased the quiet domesticity of the room.
It was a deep, bruising instance of deep kissing, his tongue sliding past your lips to claim you thoroughly, marking skin as his teeth nipped at your bottom lip.
He didn't waste a single second. His large hands slid down the silk, his warm, rough palms meeting the bare skin of your thighs and ass. With a sudden, possessive surge of strength, he manhandled you effortlessly, his large hands locking under your thighs to hoist you completely off your feet, shoving your back firmly against the cool upper cabinets.
You let out a sharp gasp at the rough manhandling, your legs automatically wrapping tightly around his waist to pull him close.
Kenan groaned deep in his throat at the friction, his hands sliding up under your dress to grip your waist, his thumbs digging bruisingly into your hips to pin you to the stone. He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, his breath hitching as his eyes mapped your flushed face.
With a rough tug, he shifted your position, forcing your knees wider apart on the marble before moving down until he was kneeling on the floor right between your thighs, while keeping eye contact.
He didn't ask, his large hands clamped onto your knees, moving your legs back until you were completely open to him. He reached up, hooked his fingers into the thin strap of your underwear, and ripped it completely to the side. You let out a ragged cry of anticipation as his face dipped between your thighs.
He started off with slow licks and kisses in your inner thighs, then his tongue made contact.
It was a heavy, unhurried stroke that had your lower stomach instantly clenching. Kenan didn't hold back, he pinned your thighs down with the weight of his forearms, keeping you entirely exposed as he buried his face in you.
His tongue worked you with a relentless, wet precision, tracing the entire length of your slit before focusing entirely on your clit. He sucked it into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the hyper sensitive bundle of nerves until you were sobbing into the empty kitchen, experiencing total overstimulation as your hands desperately clawed at his broad shoulders and hair.
The wet, echoing sounds of his mouth devouring you filled the quiet room, a dirty, dripping rhythm that had you helplessly lifting your hips off the marble to beg for relief. He drank you down greedily, capturing your frantic twitches against his mouth until your body completely gave out, a sharp, full-body orgasm ripping through you that had you shaking violently under his hands.
Kenan took every drop of your release, his jaw slick with you as he finally crawled back up your body, his eyes absolutely blown out with hunger, offering you a boyish dimpled smile as if he isn't about or didn't just break you.
He quickly hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his sweatpants, shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers until his thick, fully erect length sprang free,veins pulsing against his hot skin.
You watched his breathing falter, but before he could move in, you slid off the edge of the counter, dropping to your knees right between his legs on the kitchen floor to return the favor. Kenan let out a low, ragged gasp, his fingers instantly tangling into your hair as your lips closed around his length.
You took him deep, your tongue swirling around the head of his shaft, drawing out a deep, guttural moan from his chest. The raw sound of his pleasure echoed in the quiet room as you worked him, your hands sliding up his thighs until he couldn't take the friction anymore, roughly pulling you back up by your neck.
He grabbed your hips, lifting your lower body effortlessly back onto the counter to align you perfectly with him, his thick head rubbing directly against your soaking wet slit, smearing your release all over his shaft until he was glistening.
“Shit baby look at me,” Kenan demanded softly, his voice thick with a raw dominance as his hands securely anchored your thighs wide apart. “Tell me who get's to fuck you like this huh”
The cheesy, intense breeding kink mentions hit your chest like a wave, your heart hammering against your ribs. “you kenan, oh my- fuuck, only you.”
A dark satisfaction washed over his features before he gripped your neck with both hands and drove his entire length deep inside you in one smooth, unyielding thrust. A loud, breathless sob caught in your throat at the sheer, stretching fullness of him, your eyes rolling back as your walls immediately clamped down tightly around him.
Kenan let out a low, guttural curse at how tight you were, holding himself completely still inside you for a few heavy seconds as his chest heaved against yours. Then, he began to move, his pace fast and unrelenting.
But the counter wasn't enough. Driven by a sudden, restless need to completely fuck you crazy he grunted, hands locking under your arms as he pulled you off the counter entirely.
He didn't even break the connection, keeping himself buried deep inside you as he carefully manhandled you backward out of the kitchen, his strong legs guiding your trembling frame down the dimly lit staircase. Every stumbling step you took backward forced him even deeper inside you, eliciting wet, breathless gasps from your lips until your heels finally hit the plush carpet of the master bedroom.
He shoved you down onto the rumpled mattress, but before he could pin you down, you hooked your legs around his waist, using his own momentum to flip your positions.
Kenan let out a heavy groan as you straddled his lap, as your cream dress rode up around your waist and you slowly sank all the way down onto his thick length. You rode him with a slow, agonizing rhythm, your hips rolling in heavy circles that had his head tossing back against the pillows. His large hands came up to grip your waist, guiding your movements, his thumbs stroking your nipples, digging into your skin as he thrust upward to meet every downward drop of your hips.
You grabbed him by his face guiding him to your breast, he immediately opened his mouth sucking the shit out of you. You arched your back, crying out as he bottomed out inside you over and over, the friction bringing you both dangerously close to the edge.
Before you could completely unravel, his hands tightened on your hips again, roughly shifting your weight.
“On all fours, come on” he ordered loudly smacking your ass, his voice completely broken and dripping with authority.
He slowly lowered your chest into the sheets, till and your hips were thrust high into the air. Kenan didn't wait a single second. Standing over you on the edge of the bed, he gripped your waist so tightly his knuckles turned white, before driving his entire length back inside you from behind with an unrelenting, deafening slam.
A loud, broken sob caught in your throat as he established a brutal, punishing pace. The heavy, wet friction of his balls snapping against your skin filled the quiet bedroom, the raw sound of backshots echoing in the dark. He reached around, putting his fingers in your mouth to help muffle your sounds, the other hand keeping you securely anchored as he hammered into your sweet spot with terrifying godspeed.
“I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that babyyy” you dragged out the last word, completely fucked out
“Good, thats the point- god you take me so well,” he said chuckling, and spewing something else in a breathless German.
He bottomed out inside you with every single thrust, driving himself into you until he reached his absolute limit. With one final, desperate push, he buried himself as deep as physically possible, his entire body going completely rigid as he filled his wife entirely, a low, shuddering growl vibrating straight through your bones as his hot seed flooded deep inside you.
For a long, quiet minute, the only sound in the bedroom was the ragged pattern of your shared breathing. Kenan slowly pulled back with a wet, heavy slide, collapsing onto the mattress right beside you.
He didn't give your trembling body a chance to drift away, pulling you close for aftercare. His large, warm hands instantly hooked around your waist, pulling you backward against his chest until you were curled perfectly into his side under the heavy duvet.
The dominance from a moment ago completely melted away, replaced by the heavy, needy clinginess that always took over when he was exhausted. His large palm slid down under the covers, flattening over your lower stomach right where he’d just filled you, his thumb drawing slow, soothing circles over your skin.
“You did so good for me aşkim,” he whispered into the dark room, his lips pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the back of your neck before your eyes fluttered shut, completely satisfied.
Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
Söz (The Promise)
☆°°° Summary: Yn navigates the sharp contrast between global digital praise and the quiet sanctuary of her house. When an unsettling encounter with the local press highlights the isolating reality of her identity in Italy, her carefully built defenses begin to waver. Slipping into the Allianz Stadium completely undercover to keep Kenan grounded, she witnesses his world on fire—leading to a breathless post-match confrontation in an empty lounge where their three months of slow-burn boundaries finally collapse.
☆°°° Author's note: The slow-burn payoff in this chapter is just top tierrr. Seeing Yn face the reality of the Italian tabloids, only for Kenan to completely anchor her when she’s hiding in the crowd... and that lounge scene?! I’ve never written a first kiss so y'all better be nice😭🙏🏾♥️.
☆°°° Warnings: Heavy slow-burn payoff, microaggressions, paparazzi intrusion, internal anxiety, intense romantic tension, and domestic fluff.
☆°°° Song playing: Those Eyes - New West
☆°°° Pairing: Kenan yildiz and blackfem!reader
☆°°° Word count: 4.4k
<<Previous chapter: The Glass House Breakdown
The notification sound on my phone had officially turned into a form of psychological warfare.
I sat cross-legged on the plush rug in the center of my living room, my skin freshly prepped with a vanilla-scented body oil that caught the sharp morning light filtering through the floor to ceiling windows. On the glass coffee table, my phone screen lit up every three seconds with a fresh batch of digital whiplash.
The Call Her Daddy episode had been out for exactly forty-eight hours, and the internet had collectively lost its mind. TikTok was completely overrun by loops of my lopsided smirk during the final question, and the phrase "You don't have to hate her to love me" was currently being printed onto unofficial graphic tees by independent brands on Instagram. Happy for them.
From the outside, the narrative was that I had completely won the plot. I was the untouched, unbothered girl who had successfully cleared her narrative on a global stage.
But inside the apartment, the air felt thick with a very different kind of weight.
My phone vibrated with a WhatsApp notification, breaking the endless cycle of edit tags. I picked it up, expecting another frantic text from my social media consultant, but the contact name made my stomach do a familiar, uninvited flip.
kennyyy⚽️: Guten Morgen!! [Good morning), please tell me you’ve seen what the sports-bros are cooking on Twitter. I am being publicly slandered.*
A second later, a screenshot popped up. It was a viral tweet from a Juventus fan page featuring a high-definition photo of Kenan on the pitch looking absolutely feral, veins popping in his neck as he screamed after his goal in the Turin Derby. The caption read: “The media thinks he’s locked into tactical formations, but he’s actually just trying to figure out how to build Legos with @ynnn.osei without crashing out.”
I let out a genuine laugh, the tight knot of anxiety in my chest loosening instantly as I typed back.
Me: hahahahah stop, it's literally the truth though. You are incredibly sassy when the blocks don't fit. 🤷🏽♀️😅
kennyyy⚽️: liarrr! I'm am a professional athlete, I have immense patience. Open the door anyway, I’m downstairs. Ho portato la colazione 😁 (I brought breakfast.)
I blinked at the screen, a sudden rush of heat hitting my cheeks. Before I could even stand up to check my reflection in the mirror, the faint buzz of the apartment intercom echoed through the hallway.
Stepping out of my bedroom in a pair of oversized grey sweatpants and a matching cropped tank top, my hair pinned up in a loose claw clip, I opened the front door just as the elevator doors chimed open.
Kenan stepped into the hallway, looking effortlessly put together in a black Nike tracksuit, his perfectly parted hair slightly damp from a shower, and a white paper bag from our favorite local pasticceria (bakery) gripped in his hand. The sharp, clean scent of his cologne mixed with the unmistakable aroma of fresh espresso, cappuccino and warm brioche (croissants) instantly filled my space.
"Ciao, bella!” (hi, beautiful) he murmured, a slow, dimpled smile spreading across his face the second his green eyes locked onto mine, going in for a side hug. He kicked his sneakers off at the door, tracking inside with the familiar ease of someone who spent more time in my apartment than his own over the last few weeks. He has.
"You didn't tell me you were coming over," I said, leaning against the kitchen counter as he set the bag down. "Aren't you supposed to be at Allianz for a media brief today?"
" I knew that you would be hiding out today, so I told management I had a minor muscle tightness," he said, his voice dropping into that low, slightly raspy register as he pulled two porcelain cups from my cupboard. He didn't look at me as he poured the hot drinks, but there was a distinct, playful tilt to his shoulders. "Plus, I had to come check on you, the internet is in shambles because of you."
"Taci," (shut it) I laughed, taking the warm cup from his hands, our fingers brushing for a fraction of a second. A familiar electricity shot up my arm, and I quickly took a sip to hide the way my hands had started to trace the rim. "I just said what needed to be said. The timeline was messy, and people were doing too much in her comments."
Kenan’s expression softened, the playful edge vanishing as he leaned his elbows against the marble island, looking at me with an intensity that made the room feel suddenly very small. "Thanks, truly. You didn't have to protect my history like that, Yn. Especially when the internet was already handing you a crown."
"I wasn't doing it for a crown, kenny," I said softly, looking down at my cup. "I did it because I don't play those weird, manufactured games where women are pitted against each other. It's cheap."
"I know," he whispered, his gaze dropping to my lips for a heavy, breathless beat.
The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable; we had been hanging out constantly for nearly three months now. We cooked together, went on walks with ramos, argued about if i have the time to take care of a dog since i want one, and we fell asleep on opposite sides of the couch watching late-night movies. To the rest of the world, we were the most viral young couple in Europe. To our friends, we were locked in.
But physically? We hadn't crossed the line.
There were moments like right now, with him leaning over,eyes dark and completely focused on me, where the space between us seemed to evaporate. He shifted slightly, his hand reaching out to gently tuck a stray curl behind my ear, his thumb grazing the warm skin of my jawline. My breath hitched, my heart rate spiking past a hundred just like Alex had asked on the podcast. He leaned in, just a fraction of an inch, his scent completely clouding my nostrils, his lips parting slightly as he waited for me to close the gap.
My internal radar the one built on years of family instability and emotional hyper-vigilance, instantly flared a warning. ‘He just got out of a long, public relationship. Don't be the rebound. Don't let someone have that much power over your peace yet.’
“Sorry i can't..” I whispered, almost like I'm afraid to admit it.
With a quiet, shaky exhale, I leaned back just enough to break the spell, offering him a small, apologetic smile as I reached into the pastry bag. "So... what kind of brioche did you get?"
Kenan didn't pull away immediately. His hand lingered in the air for a split second before he dropped it back to the counter. A brief flicker of frustration or maybe just raw longing crossed his features, but he masked it instantly with a gentle, understanding nod.
“No it's fine, i always forget” he murmured.
He knew exactly why I retreated. He knew I was protecting the person behind the persona, and despite being a 21 year old athlete used to getting whatever he wanted, he never pushed.
"Alla crema (with cream)" he cleared his throat, his sassy edge returning to shield the vulnerability. "Because I know you have the palate of a child. If I brought you the dark chocolate one, you would complain it is too bitter."
"Wow, grazie mille (thank you so much) for the attitude," I teased, taking a bite and instantly getting a bit of powdered sugar on my top lip.
Kenan chuckled, reaching across the counter with a piece of paper towel to gently dab it off for me.
"You are lucky you are cute” he said smiling softly at me.
“yeah yeah whatever” I retreated back in a bratty tone.
We moved to the living room, the atmosphere shifting back into that comfortable domestic rhythm that defined us behind closed doors. We spent the next two hours completely ignoring our phones, sitting on the floor with a half-finished Lego sets between us. Kenan was entirely in his element, muttering curses in German whenever a tiny gray piece fell under the couch, while I strategically sorted the blocks by color because I physically couldn't help myself. Probably my ADHD.
"This is fundamentally incorrect," he argued, holding up a tiny plastic pillar. "The instructions say the black piece goes inside the foundation. Why are you hiding it?"
"Because it ruins the color flow, Kenan," I said, swatting his hand away. "Trust the vision, I think I know how to direct a lego set."
"Righttt, the only thing you're directing us into is a structural collapse," he groaned, though the fond look completely betrayed his complaints.
As the afternoon began to fade into a soft, golden twilight, Kenan suddenly went quiet. He stopped reaching for the blocks, his fingers tracing the edge of the Lego instruction booklet instead. He cleared his throat, a rare wave of nervousness settling over his posture.
"Yn," he began, his voice shifting back to that serious, grounded tone.
"Hmm?" I didn't look up from trying to force a piece into place.
"The next match is this weekend. It’s a home game at the Allianz," he said slowly. He reached into his tracksuit pocket and pulled out a sleek, matte black envelope, setting it gently on the coffee table right in front of me. "I want you there. Not on a facetime call, and not watching a delayed stream in your living room."
I stopped what I was doing, my eyes dropping to the envelope. The weight of his world suddenly crashed back into our quiet, isolated sanctuary. Going to the stadium wasn't just a casual weekend activity; it was stepping directly into the lion's den.
"Kenan..." I started, a sudden wave of anxiety tightening my throat as I thought about the aggressive Italian paparazzi, the headlines, and the hyper-conservative sports media that already looked at me like an exotic anomaly. "You know what the press is like right now. If I sit in the VIP box, the cameras won't even look at the pitch. They'll just be analyzing every time I breathe. And the fans... it’s a lot."
"I know," he interrupted gently, his hand coming down over mine, pinning my fingers against the cool floor. His palm was warm, solid, and completely grounding. "I am not asking you to sit in the directors' box or play the WAG for the photographers. I don't care about that."
I carefully pulled the card from the envelope. It wasn't a standard luxury hospitality pass with my name printed on the front. It was a single, generic ticket for the standard grandstand section—right in the middle of thousands of regular fans.
"You can go incognito," Kenan explained, his thumb tracing the back of my hand. "Blend into the crowd. No one expects the 'Yn' to be sitting in sector 218 eating a cold panino (sandwich). But I need to know you are in the building, Yn. When I look up, I don't want to think about the millions of people watching on screen. I want to know ‘You’ are there. In the stands. Keeping my feet on the grass."
I looked from the ticket up to his face. The sincerity in those eyes were completely overwhelming, stripping away every ounce of my standard, defensive armor: he was asking me to be his anchor in a stadium of forty thousand screaming people.
I swallowed hard, the fear of the chaotic Italian crowds and the sharp reality of my identity in that space still lingering at the edge of my mind, but looking at him, I knew I couldn't say no.
"Okay," I whispered, a small, tentative smile breaking through my hesitation. "I'll be there."
Kenan’s smile was instantaneous, bright enough to light up the darkening room. He squeezed my hand tightly, pulling me just a bit closer across the rug. "Söz mu?” (Is it a promise?)
"Söz!” (Promise), I repeated, the foreign word feeling strangely comfortable on my tongue.
He leaned in then, his forehead resting gently against mine for a long, quiet moment, his breath warm against my skin. It was another one of those spaces where a kiss was entirely written in the air between us but as I held my breath, waiting, he simply closed his eyes, content to just hold me in the quiet fortress we had built, completely unaware of the storm waiting for us at the stadium gates.
The transition from the quiet of my living room to the historic streets always felt like crossing an invisible border, but today, the air felt distinctly heavier.
Kenan had left an hour ago for his evening tactical briefing, leaving behind a half finished Lego skyline and a lingering scent of expensive woodsmoke and mint. I had a quick styling pull to finalize at a luxury boutique near Via Roma—a strategic wardrobe curation for my upcoming project, and I figured a brisk fifteen minute walk would help clear my brain.
I dressed down intentionally. I threw on a pair of wideleg dark denim, a black sweatshirt, with a cap alongside my dark prada sunglasses. It was my standard uniform for disappearing.
But the moment I stepped onto the cobblestone pavement of the piazza, I realized the rules of engagement had completely changed.
In Los Angeles, the paparazzi were a loud, predictable machine. They yelled your name from across the street, flashed their giant lenses, and moved on to the next reality star. In Italy, it was different. It was a slow, creeping surveillance.
As I walked past a row of historic outdoor cafés, I could feel the microscopic shift in the atmosphere. It started with the sharp clink of an espresso cup hitting a saucer too quickly. Then, the subtle turning of heads. Two middle-aged men sitting under a canopy reading ‘La Gazzetta dello Sport’ stopped mid sentence, their eyes tracking my movement with a heavy, unblinking intensity.
I kept my head down, adjusting the strap of my Bottega bag, but my internal radar was screaming. It wasn't just the standard curiosity aimed at a girl who looked like she belonged on a billboard. It was the specific, isolating gaze of a traditional, conservative european city trying to categorize a young Black woman who refused to fit into any of their neat little boxes.
Passing a local edicola (newsstand), my footsteps faltered.
Hanging from the wire racks, right next to the political dailies, was the latest issue of "Chi ", one of Italy’s biggest weekly gossip magazines. Front and center was a grainy, telephoto paparazzi shot of me and Kenan from last week. We were laughing outside a pandora shop, Kenan holding a paper bag and me pointing at something on my phone.
The headline printed across our faces made my stomach drop into a cold, familiar knot:
> "LA MUSA NERA DI YILDIZ: IL NUOVO AMORE SEGRETO DEL NUMERO 10"> (Yildiz's Black Muse: The Number 10's New Secret Love)
I stared at the bold letters, a bitter taste rising in my mouth. ‘La musa nera.’ The Black Muse.
They couldn't just use my name, or refer to the global campaign I had just fronted. To the traditional Italian press, my identity was strictly an exotic accessory to a golden boy’s football career. The article preview below went on to describe my "exotic charm" and "atypical style," completely minimizing my business equity and my independent success into a safe, easily digestible stereotype.
"Scusa... sei tu?” (Excuse me... is that you?)
A sharp, accented voice broke my internal spiral. I snapped my head up to see a man in a leather jacket standing a few feet away, a professional DSLR camera already raised to his eye. Before I could even raise a hand to shield my face, the aggressive, rhythmic click of his shutter echoed through the quiet street. *Click-click-click-click.*
"Yn!” Guarda qui! Un sorriso per l'Italia! (Look here! A smile for Italy!)" he shouted, stepping closer, completely invading my personal space.
Another photographer seemed to materialize from around the corner, his lens flashing in the gray afternoon light. The sudden ambush felt like a physical claustrophobia. A few locals stopped to watch, whispering among themselves, their expressions detached and curious, offering zero intervention. To them, this was just the price of admission for entering their world.
A wave of intense, defensive anger flared beneath my ribs, ‘If you show emotion, you're aggressive. If you crash out, you're the villain.’ The margin for error for a girl who looked like me in this country was zero.
"No, grazie” (No, thank you)," I said, my voice dropping into that cold, iron-clad authority.
I didn't run. I didn't hide my face. I simply straightened my spine, pulled my oversized hoodie tighter around my shoulders, and walked right past them, keeping my stride long and deliberate. The photographers followed me for another half-block, their lenses clicking relentlessly against the quiet backdrop of the city, before they finally gave up, muttering something under their breath about me being "fredda" (cold).
By the time I pushed open the heavy glass doors of the boutique, my hands were faintly shaking. The air-conditioned, quiet interior smelled of expensive dresses and fig trees, but the safety felt entirely artificial.
I walked over to the velvet couch in the back of the showroom, sinking into the cushions as I pulled out my phone. My notifications were still screaming with American fans calling me an “Icon." The disconnect was staggering. On the internet, I was a queen. On the streets of Turin, I was an anomaly to be inspected, categorized, and chased down.
My screen buzzed with a text from Kenan, sent right as his tactical meeting wrapped.
kennyyy⚽️: just finished film study. The manager is crazy, he wants us pressing high for 90 minutes. *Verdammt* [Dammit]. Are you back at the apartment? Do you want me to pick up dinner?
I stared at the message, the warm, uncomplicated safety of his domestic reality pulling at me. He had no idea. He grew up in Germany and Turkey as a celebrated athletic prodigy; he's now moving in these Turin streets completely unchecked, shielded by his status and his privilege. He didn't know what it felt like to have your entire identity reduced to a racialized headline at a newsstand.
I began to type a response, ready to vent, but my thumb hovered over the keyboard.
‘Don't be a burden’, the old, hyper-vigilant voice whispered in the back of my mind. ‘You built your own armor for a reason. Handle it.’
I deleted the paragraph, replacing it with a curated, unbothered shield.
Me: yeah, back at the apartment soon. Get the stracciatella and kinder bueno ice cream from Michelangelo' pleaseee.
I locked my phone, looking at my reflection in the dark glass screen. The ticket for the Allianz Stadium was sitting securely in my wallet, a generic piece of paper that would drop me right into the belly of the beast this weekend. The disguise wasn't just a fun "It Girl" aesthetic anymore. It was a literal survival strategy.
The roar of forty thousand people inside the Allianz Stadium wasn't just a sound; it was a physical vibration that rattled in my chest.
Sitting in Sector 218, sandwiched between an elderly Italian man smoking and a group of teenagers draped in white and black striped scarves, I felt entirely invisible. My armor had worked perfectly. The oversized hoodie pulled up over my head, alongside my dark sunglasses coupled with the stadium's shadows kept the paparazzi completely blind. To the world, hopefully i wasn't nowhere near the pitch.
But my eyes never left him. Lui.
Seeing Kenan on the field was like watching a completely different person. A lethal, hyper focused predator. When he scored the match-winner in the 82nd minute a brilliant, curling strike into the top corner the stadium erupted into absolute madness. People around me were screaming, hugging strangers, throwing beer into the air.
Amidst the stadium-wide chaos, Kenan didn't join the massive pile-up at the corner flag immediately. He broke away for a split second, jogging back toward the center circle, and his eyes scanned the massive wall of Sector 218. He couldn't see my face, but he knew exactly where the generic ticket landed. He did his famous star hand celebration but then he raised a subtle, closed fist to his chest, tapping it twice right over his heart, pointing a single finger directly toward my row.
A collective wave of goosebumps broke out across my arms. The teenagers next to me screamed, thinking he was pointing at the general section. I just bit my lip beneath my oversized collar. He's going to be the death of me.
An hour after the final whistle blew, the stadium had emptied into a cavernous, hauntingly quiet concrete shell. Following the precise text instructions Kenan had smuggled to me before the game, I slipped past the main security checkpoints using a specialized private player-guest lanyard I kept tucked deep inside my jacket pocket.
I navigated the labyrinth of the stadium interior until I reached a secluded, dimly lit lounge area reserved for players and family after hours. The bar was closed, the modern couches were empty, and the only illumination came from the soft, ambient LED lights running along the glass floor panels.
The heavy glass door clicked open behind me.
I turned around just as Kenan stepped into the lounge. He had changed out of his kit into a simple grey Juventus track-set, his hair still damp from the showering, smelling intensely of that familiar, clean mint-and-cedar cologne. The raw, electric adrenaline of a massive stadium victory was still radiating off him ; his jaw was set, his green eyes incredibly bright and piercing in the dim light.
"You actually came" he murmured, his voice low and slightly breathless as he closed the distance between us. He didn't stop until he was standing directly in my personal space, his chest rising and falling as he looked down at me.
"I told you I would," I said, my voice suddenly sounding much softer than I intended. I reached up, pulling off my hood and glasses away and letting my braids fall around my shoulders, finally shedding the heavy disguise. "You were incredible out there, Kenan. Seriously. The whole stadium was chanting your name."
"I didn't care about the stadium," he said instantly, his gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made the surrounding concrete walls completely vanish. He stepped closer, his steps squeaking softly against the polished floor. "Only you, you promised and you stayed."
"Always," I whispered.
The energy we shared in my apartment suddenly felt charged with a heavy, magnetic current. The boundaries I had spent three months carefully maintaining and protecting myself from being a rebound, from giving away too much power suddenly felt incredibly fragile under his unblinking gaze.
Kenan reached out, his large hands coming up to gently grip the lapels of my heavy jacket. He didn't pull me in; he just held me there, anchoring me to the floor. His fingers were warm, slightly trembling from the lingering post-match high.
"Yn," he breathed, his voice dropping into a rough, vulnerable register that completely tore through my defenses. "Non ce la faccio più" (I can’t do this anymore). I am tired of pretending, tired of leaving the internet to wonder."
"Kenan—" My breath hitched, my hands instinctively rising to rest against his chest. I could feel the rapid, heavy thud of his heartbeat beneath the fabric of his sweatshirt. "You just... your past, it was so public. I can't be a temporary space for someone."
"You are not a temporary space," he interrupted fiercely, his thumb moving up to tilt my jaw up, forcing my eyes to meet his. The sincerity in his eyes were completely consuming, stripping away the last remaining pieces of my armor. "Ich schwöre (I swear), there is no one else. There hasn't been since the moment I saw you. I don't want the persona, yn. I want you. Let me protect your peace."
The final wall in my fortress didn't just crack; it completely collapsed.
"Mmh," I whispered, the word barely leaving my lips before Kenan closed the remaining distance.
When his lips finally met mine, the entire world went completely silent.
It wasn't a tentative, hesitant first kiss. It was a breathless, crashing release of three months of unspoken longing and heavy slow-burn tension. Kenan’s hands slid from my jacket up into my hair, his fingers tangling gently into my braids as he pulled me flush against his chest. He tasted like faint mint and pure, intoxicating adrenaline. The kiss deepened naturally, his lips moving against mine with an overwhelming sweetness that made my knees feel entirely hollow. Slowly asking for entrance which I immediately provided.
I melted into him, my hands gripping the fabric of his shoulders and his hair, completely pulling him into my space. For the first time in my nineteen years of life, the hyper-vigilance completely turned off. I wasn't thinking about the Italian press, the racialized headlines, or the millions of eyes waiting for me to fail. But in a space with that person whom I'm finally letting scale my walls.
When he finally pulled back a fraction of an inch, he pecked the tip of my nose and forehead resting against it, both of us breathing heavily in the quiet dark of the lounge. His eyes were closed, a soft, beautiful dimpled smile breaking across his face as his thumbs gently stroked my hips underneath the hoodie.
" You're not getting rid of me anymore” he whispered chucking against my lips, his voice thick with emotion. "You are so stubborn, jeez I thought I would have to win a championship before you let me do this."
I let out a genuine, breathless laugh, my fingers tracing the nape of his neck. "Don't get arrogant, Yildiz. You still haven't finished the Lego skyline at the apartment."
" Tamam (alright), we'll finish it now," he murmured, leaning down to press one more soft, lingering kiss to the corner of my mouth before gripping my hand tightly, locking his fingers with mine. "Let's go home, meine Liebe” (my love).
Can you make one with K.Y and there not dating just talking but she’s an gorgeous actress and she’s younger then him and she has ppl obsessed because her new film gave Megan fox very sexy vibes when it’s not meant to be and he saw and he even saw a guy flirting with her when she came to Italy (like he was going to her hotel to surprise her because she had just hit in and this guy gave her a rose and was clearly flirting) the rest can be up to you but can we add a steamy kiss
Title: Internal flare
Pairing: Kenan yildiz and fem!reader
Summary: Your new psychological thriller just dropped, leaving the entire internet completely obsessed with you. When your international press tour finally hits Milan, Kenan drives out from Turin to surprise you at your hotel, only to arrive just in time to see a an interviewer trying to flirt with you on camera. Kenan though, knows exactly how to handle the media smoothly.🎬🌃✨️
Warnings: Fluff to heavy spice, "almost" dating but fiercely mutual pining, protective but polite!Kenan, celebrity AU, media frenzy, very suggestive themes (heavy making out, pinning against doors, clothing removal).
Word count: 1.8k
REQUESTS OPENED!!!
If you looked up the definition of an overnight cultural reset, your face would probably be right next to it. The indie psychological thriller you’d filmed last year had just premiered, and to say the internet was losing its mind was an understatement.
You were only nineteen, 2 years younger than Kenan, but the media was already framing you as the next big thing. Specific edits of you from the movie looking darkly glamorous, rain-soaked, and fiercely confident were viral on every platform. The reviews were calling it "the return of the Megan fox 'jennifer’s body' effect, cementing you as the internet's latest ultimate fixation.
You thought the whole thing was slightly ridiculous. Kenan, however, was losing sleep over it.
You two had been in that agonizing, "talking stage" for four months. You weren't official, mostly due to your insane filming schedules and his grueling season with Juventus, but the late-night facetimes and constant texting told a completely different story. He was naturally a quiet, respectful guy, but watching the entire world suddenly realize how breathtaking you were was quietly testing his patience.
Every time he opened tiktok, there you were. Every time he scrolled twitter, guys were tweeting about wanting to risk it all for you.
So when your international press tour finally brought you to Milan, Kenan didn't even hesitate. He managed to get a free evening, grabbed his car keys, and drove straight from Turin to surprise you at your hotel. He knew you’d just touched down, and he wanted to be the first thing you saw before the chaos of the press day started.
Except, he wasn't the first.
Kenan pulled up near the entrance of the luxury hotel, turning the engine off. He pulled his cap down, looking through the tinted window just in time to see a sleek black car pull up. Your car.
The hotel staff immediately moved to open the door, and there you were. You looked effortless, oversized sunglasses, a leather trench coat, and your hair a little messy from the flight. you looked gorgeous. too gorgeous.
Before you could even take three steps toward the lobby, a guy, some local influencer or young tv host who had clearly tracked your arrival stepped into your path. He had a camera crew filming a few feet back, holding a single deep red rose.
From the car, Kenan’s posture stiffened.
He watched the guy say something smoothly, flashing a dazzling smile as he handed you the rose. You, being polite and utterly exhausted, took it with a flattered smile, laughing at whatever charm tactic he was trying to pull.
The guy took it as a green light, stepping closer, his hand subtly reaching out to brush against your arm as he tried to keep the conversation going, clearly trying to score content for his page.
Kenan didn't slam his door or stomp over. Instead, he unbuckled his seatbelt, adjusted his cap, and stepped out of the car with a calm, effortless confidence.
He walked up smoothly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. His tall, athletic frame easily commanded space as he stepped right up next to you. He didn't interrupt rudely; he just placed a gentle, warm hand on the small of your back, a quiet undeniable statement of presence.
"Scusami" (excuse me) Kenan said to the interviewer, giving a small, perfectly polite nod. He offered a charming, easy smile that completely masked the tension in his jaw. "we're actually running a bit late for an appointment. If you don't mind?"
The guy with the camera blinked, immediately recognizing the Juventus starboy. Realising he was entirely outmatched, the interviewer cleared his throat and nodded quickly. "oh ummm si, sure! naturally."
You looked up at Kenan, your eyes wide with surprise. "Kenan? what are you doing here?"
"Surprising you." he murmured, his voice dipping lower, meant only for your ears. He gave your back a gentle, guiding press toward the sliding doors. "Let's get you inside."
He didn't throw the flower away. Instead, as you walked into the lobby, he casually and slowly took the rose from your hands, giving it to the front desk receptionist with a quick, bilingual "grazie" (thank you) before steering you toward the private elevators smooth and subtle.
The elevator ride up to your penthouse suite was where the mask began to slip. The doors closed, cutting off the public eye, and the silence between you became instantly heavy. Kenan stood close to you, his eyes fixed on the numbers ticking upward, but his hand hadn't left your waist.
The moment the hotel door clicked shut behind you, you dropped your bag onto the floor. You turned to him, a small, knowing smirk playing on your lips as you took off your sunglasses.
"Smooth exit back there, Yıldız. Are you going to tell me what that was, or should I guess?" you said, in a mischievous tone.
Kenan let out a breath that was half-laugh, half-sigh. He ripped his cap off, tossing it onto the console table, and ran a hand through his messy but somehow still making him look even more fine hair. When he turned to face you, the easy, polite smile from the lobby was completely gone, replaced by an intense gaze.
"I'm trying to be patient yn," Kenan admitted, as he stepped closer, looming over you in the warm light of the suite. "I really am. But I open my phone, and millions of people are talking about how sexy you are in this movie. I come here to surprise you, and some guy is trying to flirt with you on camera before you even get your bags. Like what the heck?!"
Your heart hammered against your ribs. "We aren't dating, Kenan," you whispered, though your voice lacked any real conviction.
"Yet," he corrected instantly. He didn't say it aggressively; he said it softly, like a promise, as his hands came up to gently cup your face. His thumbs wiped across your cheekbones, his touch incredibly tender despite the tension in the air.
"We aren't dating yet, but watching everyone look at you like they have a chance... It's driving me crazy. I wanted to be the only one giving you flowers today."
Your breath hitched at the vulnerability in his voice. "it's only you," you gasped out. "Kenan, it's always been you."
That was all the reassurance he needed.
Kenan closed the remaining distance, his mouth finding yours in a kiss that knocked the wind right out of you. It wasn't harsh, but it was deep, consuming, and desperate. His tongue slipped past your lips the moment you parted them, tasting you thoroughly, erasing every bit of the noise outside.
You let out a soft, ruined sound against his lips, your hands flying up to grip his shoulders, pulling him down into you.
Kenan groaned, his hands sliding from your face down to your waist, his strong fingers digging into your hips, lifting you slightly until your toes were barely touching the ground.
He walked you backward until your back hit the heavy wood of the bedroom door with a soft thud.
He didn't break the kiss for a single breath. His lips were hot, demanding, and utterly intoxicating, but there was a sweetness to the way his fingers tangled in your hair, making sure you were completely taken care of.
He shifted his weight, pressing himself flush against you until you could feel the solid warmth of his chest against yours.
When he finally pulled back just a fraction of an inch, his forehead rested against yours, both of you panting for air. His lips were swollen, his eyes blown out as he looked down at you.
"Good," Kenan whispered, his thumb gently tracing your lower lip, a soft, boyish smile finally breaking through the intensity. "because I don't think I could handle sharing you.”
Kenan’s boyish smile faded just as quickly as it came, replaced by that quiet, heavy focus that usually only showed up when he was standing in the tunnel before a massive match.
His hands slid slowly down your waist, unknotting the belt of your leather trench coat with practiced patience. He didn't rush. He was a naturally chill guy, but the way his fingers brushed against your bare skin where your top had ridden up slightly made your heart do a violent flip.
"You're still wearing your jacket," he murmured against your lips, making your knees feel weak. "Let's get you out of it."
You nodded breathlessly, shrugging out of the heavy leather. It dropped to the hardwood floor with a soft thud.
The moment your hands were free, you slid them up under his shirt, your palms meeting the solid, burning warmth of his chest. Kenan let out a low groan, his eyes fluttering shut for a fraction of a second as your fingers met his skin. He loved it when you were the one to pull him closer, it was the ultimate reassurance that you wanted him just as badly as he wanted you.
"Kenan," you whispered, your thumb tracing the sharp line of his abs. "The premiere is tomorrow. There are going to be so many cameras."
"I know," he mumbled, his head dropping back down to the crook of your neck. He pressed a soft, lingering kiss right below your jaw, his breathing still ragged. "I'll be watching from the back. I'll let them take their photos.”
He trailed his lips lower, finding the exact spot that made a quiet gasp catch in your throat. He hovered there, his hot breath fanning across your skin before he nipped at it, just hard enough to make you whine and tighten your grip on his hips.
He pressed a single, dark mark there, right where he knew your collar would barely hide it. "But tonight," Kenan whispered, his thumbs hooking into the waist of your trousers, pulling your hips flush against his until there wasn't a single inch of space left between you, "tonight nobody else gets to look. Just me."
He lifted you effortlessly, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist as he carried you the few steps toward the massive king-sized bed. When your back hit the mattress, the cool sheets were a sharp contrast to the absolute heat radiating off his body.
He loomed over you, shadowing you completely. He pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it blindly to the floor,he looked almost unreal, the sharp definition of his shoulders, the intense devotion in his eyes.
He leaned down, boxing you in with his forearms on either side of your head, his gaze dropping to your lips.
"Tell me again," he murmured, his thumb gently smoothing over your cheek, his touch so incredibly tender it made your chest ache. "Tell me I'm the only one."
"It's only you, Kenan," you breathed, reaching up to cup the back of his neck, pulling him down to meet you. "Always.”
A soft, breathless laugh escaped him against your mouth right before he kissed you again, this time taking his sweet time, fully losing himself in the quiet safety of the hotel room, completely forgetting about the rest of the world outside the door.

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Just read your imagine and its so good!!! I wanted to request one that Kenan gets jealous bc readers colleague is clearly onto her, she think its funny and don't gives a fuck abt the guy but finds cute that Kenan's caring that much, then she make up to him (sugestive, things don't need to go too far if you don't want them to)
Title: Just for show
Pairing: Kenan yildiz x fem!reader
Summary: Kenan gets fiercely jealous of your annoying desk neighbor at a club gala, leading to a very tense drive home and an even more intense confrontation against his apartment door.
Tropes: jealous!kenan, oblivious (but secretly amused) reader, fluff to spice, teammates/colleagues being pests.
Warnings: Suggestive themes, heavy making out, overprotective Kenan, dynamic shift from soft to not-so-soft.
Word count: 4.6k
REQUESTS OPENED!!!
You always thought it was funny how a guy like him, who faces down 6'3 defenders for a living, could be completely undone by a mid-tier marketing associate named Marco.
It started at the club’s end-of-season gala. You work in the media department, which means you spent half the night coordinating interviews and the other half trying not to spill champagne on your dress.
Marco, your desk neighbor who has the personality of unflavored gelatin but the confidence of a god, had been hovering around you all evening.
"I'm just saying, the click-through rate on the last campaign was mostly due to your copy," he droned, leaning a little too close, his hand resting on the back of your chair.
"We make a good team, maybe we should discuss the next project over dinner? just the two of us?"
You let out a soft laugh, swirling your drink. you knew exactly what he was doing, you also knew he was completely harmless and entirely out of his depth. "Marco, I think the analytics show that Kenan’s face on the thumbnail did ninety percent of the heavy lifting, but sure, keep dreaming."
From across the room, a pair of sharp, green eyes locked onto the interaction.
Kenan had been nodding along to something his coach was saying, but the moment he saw those hands lingering near your shoulder, his entire demeanor shifted, jaw clenched, the easy smile vanishing instantly.
He excused himself mid-sentence, cutting through the crowded room like a man on a mission.
Before Marco could pitch his dinner plans again, a heavy, warm arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you back against a broad chest, the scent of expensive cologne and familiar warmth washed over you.
"Everything okay here?" Kenan asked, his voice a pitch lower than usual, thick with his accent. He didn't look at you; his eyes were pinned entirely on your colleague.
"Kenan! hi," you smiled, leaning into his side. "Marco was just pitching some... ‘creative’ ideas for the next campaign."
"Is that so?" Kenan’s grip on your waist tightened, his thumb rubbing a possessive circle into your hip right through the fabric of your dress. He raised an eyebrow at marco, his posture screaming back the fuck off.
"We're actually just about to leave. She's had a long night." He blurted out without even looking at the poor guy.
Marco took one look at the sheer size of the twenty-one-years-old, swallowed hard and nodded. "Right. yeah. see you Monday!"
As he practically bolted toward the bar, you burst out laughing, hiding your face in Kenan’s shoulder. "Did you really have to scare him like that? he’s just a dork."
Kenan didn't laugh. He grumbled something in German under his breath, steering you toward the exit. "He was looking at you like you were some sort of dessert. I don't like it."
“Oh.” your heart did a little flutter. It was rare to see Kenan like this. Usually, he was all boyish grins and playful teasing. Seeing him this protective, this intensely focused on 'keeping' you were doing things to your stomach. It was incredibly cute, and if you were being honest, a little thrilling.
The silence in the car on the way back to his apartment was thick, but not angry. Kenan kept one hand on the steering wheel and the other wrapped tightly around yours, his thumb tracing your knuckles over and over like he was reassuring himself you were still there.
The second the front door to his apartment clicked shut, he didn't even wait for the lights to turn on.
He caught your wrist, harshly spinning you around and firmly pinning you front against the door. His chest rose and fell heavily as he looked down at you in the dim light of the hallway.
"You think that was funny?" he mumbled, his voice heavy. He tilts your head, nose brushing against yours. "You were laughing at me."
"I was laughing because you're cute when you're jealous," you whispered, turning around, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his soft locks. "You have absolutely nothing to worry about, you know that right? Marco is a nobody. you're... you."
"I don't care who he is," Kenan growled softly, the last of his patience snapping. "I don't want him looking at you. I don't want anyone looking at you when you look like this."
And then his mouth was on yours.
It wasn't the usual sweet, slow kiss he gave you before leaving for training. This was demanding, possessive, and heavy. Kenan tasted like the sweet wine from the gala and pure desire. You let out a soft sigh into the kiss, parting your lips instantly, which only made him groan, his hands moving from your wrists to cup your face, angling your head to take you deeper.
His thighs crowded between yours, pressing your hips flush against the door. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the solid weight of him anchoring you.
"Kenan," you gasped out when he broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, only to bury his face into the crook of your neck. his lips attached to the sensitive skin right under your jaw, sucking softly until you knew a mark would be there by morning, a mark Marco and everyone else at the office would definitely see. Ugh.
You whined, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him closer. "Are you marking your territory, Yıldız,? ahh~~." you moaned softly.
Kenan chuckled against your skin, a low, vibration that sent a shiver straight down your spine. He lifted his head, his eyes blown out, gazing down at you with a look that made your knees go weak.
"Damn right," he whispered, his hands sliding down to the zipper of your dress, his touch burning hot. "Come on, I want you to start walking to the bedroom” he says spinning you around while smacking your ass. He will definitely be showing you who you belong to.
Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
The Glass House Breakdown
☆°°° Summary: Yn sits down for a raw, unfiltered interview on the Call Her Daddy podcast, tp address her rapid rise to fame and unstable childhood. She breaks down the sweet reality of her private life with before tackling the toxic online feud with his ex, Natalia Shadle. handling it with maturity and razor-sharp boundaries.
☆°°° Author's note: I am crying over how raw this interview turned out! 😭💀🤌🏾. Seeing Yn transition from her deep family history to casually roasting Kenan about his car and his Lego meltdowns is everything to me. Also, the Natalia section was so necessary to clear the air. Let me know your favorite comment at the end! Mwah! 🔥🍀🧿
☆°°° Warnings: Angst, public scrutiny, deep discussions of unstable childhoods/family issues, mentions of online harassment, brief strong language.
☆°°° Song playing: Skinny - Billie Eilish
☆°°° Paring: Kenan yildiz and blackfem!reader
☆°°° Word count: 4.4k (sorry too long, let me know if you guys prefer longer or shorter writings).
The studio was smaller than it looked on screen, which somehow made the stakes feel ten times higher. It was just me, Alex, and the soft cream glow of the "Call Her Daddy" neon sign reflecting off the glass table. The air was crisp, smelling faintly of expensive vanilla and the ozone of high-end recording equipment. I adjusted the heavy vintage leather jacket on my shoulders, this wasn't a curated three-minute vlog; there was nowhere to hide the jump cuts.
Alex leaned in, her eyes sharp and locked onto mine, that signature "Father Cooper" energy filling the room.
"So, I’m sitting here with the girl who literally broke the internet literally in less than a year," Alex stated, her voice dropping into that low, conspiratorial tone that makes you feel like you're the only two people in the world. "Yn, you’re nineteen. You just fronted a global campaign, you moved to Turin on a whim, and your vlogs get more views than some network TV shows. But before we get into the 'who' and the 'how'... how are you actually feeling? Is your heart rate ever below a hundred, or are you just vibrating on pure adrenaline at this point?"
I took a slow breath, the weight of these last few months finally pressing down on me. I thought about the silent 7:00 AM airport runs, the way my skin felt like parchment paper under studio lights, and the surreal moment I saw my own eyes staring back at me from a billboard on Sunset Boulevard.
"Honestly? It’s a complete out-of-body experience," I admitted, my voice steadier than I expected. "It feels like I’m living in a 4K simulation. You know, one day you're managing everything, the next day you're being whisked away in a black car to a set where everyone is calling you 'the talent’, and literally fulfilling your needs. It’s a lot of achievements in a very short window—like, we're talking months, not years. Sometimes I feel like I’m still waiting for the 'real' version of my life to start, like I'm just playing a character in a very high-budget movie. It's crazy and yeah"
Alex nodded, her expression softening into something more genuine. "Do you feel like you've had a second to actually process it? Or is this ‘persona’ a shield you put on to keep from spiraling? You know like the cool, yet clean and collected lifestyle?"
"I think the persona is a survival tactic yeah for sure," I said, leaning closer to the mic. "If I stopped to think about the fact that millions of people are analyzing background noises in my videos, my every step or judging questionable post I've liked in the past when i was younger, I’d probably never leave my apartment. I’m proud, sometimes obviously. But it’s isolating, but for me in a good way. Growing up i feel like I've been better off alone, in sense that I love being on my own and having my space. Don't get me wrong, I love my friends and loved ones but i need to be on my own without having people tell me what to do every second.” I said, noticing my eyes starting to get slightly watery, but I brushed it off by chucking.
“I totally get it, you've talked about how you've never really had personal space, so automatically it was like this sacred thing for you.” Alex said lowkey pushing the tissues towards me.
“Yeah i mean, you achieve these things all of a sudden though so young, and suddenly you're 'the boss,' and it's like people your age are suddenly looking up to you and it's like this huge responsibility. But then it's like this weird thing because most of them are worried about i don't know like midterms while you're worried about brand equity and perfect lighting. It’s a weird, lonely kind of success, but you get used to it cause like it it's fun till a certain point"
Alex tilted her head, capturing that exact "deep dive" vibe. "So, is it worth it? The 'it girl' title, the billboards... does it feel like enough?"
I paused, thinking of a specific FaceTime call from a boy with a green-eyed stare that made the billboards feel small. "It’s enough for the career. But it's not enough for the person. I’m learning that the achievements are just the background music—you still need someone to actually dance to it with, and keep your feet on the grass. Always." Alex slightly smirked making me laugh hard.
“okok, i got you miss osei” she said dragging my last name, and laughing with me.
Alex leaned in even closer, her elbows resting on the couch as she shifted gears. "You mentioned that isolating success, but let’s be real—you aren't just 'taking photos.' You are the product. You’re an influencer, a content creator, and now a global face for brands. Every time you post a four-picture shopping slideshow or a 'get ready with me,' you’re essentially running a multi-media company. Do you ever feel like people diminish that? Like they think you just 'got lucky'?"
I sighed, a small, knowing smile playing on my lips. "Every single day. People see a sixty-second tiktok video or 20 minutes video and think it took those exact seconds or minutes to make. They don't see the hours of color-grading to get that specific 'aesthetic' look, or the strategic planning behind what brand I can and can't have in frame. They think 'influencer' is just a girl with a ring light, but it’s a twenty-four-hour job. I’m the director, the editor, the stylist, and the talent. Yes it's not a job that requires me to have that fixed routine, or standing under the sun comin home with backpain, I know what that lools like, my father is in his 50s and still doing that, I've watched him so I'm and never will be one of those creators who will turn on the camera and blurt out that their life is hard. Yes I will have my bad days, but i won't be demanding people to sympathize or understand to that certain level for me the way they would for someone else, and no I'm not degrading myself, just being realistic like that. " I finished stating, happy with how she wasn't interrupting and looking genuinely interested in my yapping and story.
"And the pressure to stay relevant? How is it?" Alex asked. "Because the internet moves fast."
"It’s relentless," I admitted. "If I don't post, the algorithm forgets me. If I don't have a new 'swag' outfit or a new braiding style to show, the engagement drops. I moved to Turin to find my inner peace and voice, but sometimes I feel like I'm just feeding a machine that’s never full. Like why am i already worried about my 'brand longevity' because I know how quickly the world moves on to the next 'it girl?.' I had to become that person because I realized early on that if I didn't own my narrative, someone else would."
Alex nodded slowly, scribbling something on her pad. "You’re building a kingdom while most kids at this point in their life are just trying to figure out their college majors. That kind of drive... it doesn't just come from nowhere."
“I know, it takes a lot of character development to get here babes hahhahhh” I blurted out.
Alex shifted her weight, looking at me with a mix of respect and curiosity. "It’s interesting you use the word 'machine.' Because from the outside, your life looks so put together, the outfits, the skincare, the perfect angle to capture things. But you’re describing a grind that sounds almost industrial. Girl like you're too young to be talking about brand equity like a CEO in a boardroom."
I laughed, though there was a tired edge to it. "Because I have to be. As a creator, if I’m not the CEO, I’m just the product. And products are replaceable. I’ve spent so much time perfecting my 'world', the specific way I line up my products, or how an outfit is worn, because that visual language is my power. It’s how I communicate that I’m in control of my space, even when I feel like I’m spiraling."
"But what happens when you want to just... be messy?" Alex pushed, leaning her chin on her hand. "You’re also a dancer, God when do you rest? Hahhha, you’ve done video performances that were gritty, like that campaign. Dance is physical, it’s sweaty, it’s imperfect. How do you square that with the 'Pinterest-perfect' image you have to maintain for the millions watching?"
"That’s the hardest part," I said, leaning back and exhaling. "Dance is the only place where I feel like I’m allowed to make mistakes. But even then, there’s a camera in the corner of the studio. I’m always thinking, ‘Is this a good angle for a transition? Will this look good in a four-picture slideshow?'. I’ve turned my passion into my paycheck, and while I’m incredibly lucky, it means I never truly 'clock out.' My life is my content, and my content is my life. The line between 'Yn' and '@Yn' has become so thin I can barely see it anymore."
Alex nodded, her expression uncharacteristically quiet for a second. "It’s a high price for a global billboard. You’re essentially living in a glass house where you’re also the architect, the decorator, and the person cleaning the windows."
"Exactly," I whispered. "And I'm terrified that if I stop cleaning for one day, people will start to see the cracks and dust."
Alex let the silence sit for a moment, the kind of heavy beat that usually means the "fun" part of the interview is over and the real work is beginning. She adjusted her headset, her eyes locking onto mine with a look that was less "podcaster" and more "big sister."
"We’ve talked about the glass house," Alex said softly. "But houses need foundations. And usually, at nineteen, that foundation is family. But you’ve hinted in your vlogs and even in the way you talk about moving to Turin with nothing but two suitcases that yours wasn't exactly a safety net. You’re this 'Mogul' because you ‘had’ to be, right? There was no one else coming to save you."
I felt a lump form in my throat, one I hadn't expected. I looked away from the camera, focusing on the way the dim lights hit the floor. "Yeah. I think people see the success and think I’m doing this for the 'aesthetic' or the fame. But the truth is, I’m doing this for security. Growing up, things were... unstable. There were a lot of family issues, a lot of moments where I realized that if I wanted a future that didn't feel like a constant crisis, I had to build it with my own hands. I want to create a solid foundation for my kids, i don't want them for example to worry every two years that the place they calm home could not be theirs anymore. "
"Was there a specific moment?" Alex pushed gently. "A moment where you realized, 'I’m on my own'?"
"It wasn't one moment; it was a slow burn," I replied, my voice sounding a little thinner. "It was the silence when I needed support for my dance performances. It was the feeling of being an afterthought in my own home. I started creating content because it was the only space where I felt I had a voice. I moved not just for the career, but for the distance. I needed to be in a place where I wasn't just 'the daughter' or 'the problem.' I needed to be the person who pays the bills, the person who makes the decisions. I became who I am today because being a kid was too precarious."
Alex leaned back, exhaling a long breath. "So, ‘all this' isn't just a brand. It’s your armor."
"It’s my armor and my exit strategy," I admitted. "I love what I do, but the drive comes from a place of never wanting to be dependent on anyone who could let me down again. I built this empire so I’d never have to ask for permission to be okay."
Alex stayed quiet for a beat, letting that sink in. The "Mogul" mask had slipped, and for the first time in an interview, the girl from the aesthetic slideshows was gone, replaced by someone who had fought for every inch of her peace.
"That’s a heavy burden for a teenager," Alex said, her voice filled with genuine empathy. "To feel like you have to be your own bank, your own home, and emotional support system. Does that make it hard to trust people now? Especially now that you’re 'The Yn' and everyone wants a piece of the brand?"
"It makes it nearly impossible," I admitted, finally looking back at her. "I have a very small circle. I started from zero because I wanted to see who would show up when there was no 'clout' involved. When you grow up with that kind of instability at home, you develop this internal radar. You can smell inauthenticity from a mile away. It’s why I’m so picky about who I collaborate with, and it’s why I’m even pickier about who I let into my actual, off-camera life."
"So when people see you in Turin, living this 'Pinterest-perfect' life in your apartment with your custom rugs and Lana Del Rey posters, they’re seeing a sanctuary you built to keep the chaos out?"
"Exactly," I said, a small, sad smile returning. "That vanity setup isn't just for 'Get Ready With Me' videos. It’s the first space that is entirely mine. No one can take it away, and no one can tell me I don't belong there. Every luxury beauty product I buy, every piece of art I hang, it’s me proving to myself that I created a life that’s stable. I’m not just another influencer; I’m a girl who finally found a home, even if I had to build it myself."
Alex nodded, leaning back and exhaling. "Well, I think a lot of people just realized why you're so untouchable. You aren't playing a character. You're protecting a person."
Alex took a deliberate sip of her drink, the ice clinking against the glass—a sharp, refreshing sound that signaled a shift in the room's energy. She gave me a look that was half-impressed, half-mischievous.
"Okay, so we’ve established that you are the architect of your own life," Alex said, leaning forward. "You’ve built this incredible fortress. But let’s talk about the people trying to scale the walls. Because since that Gap campaign dropped and especially since the 'Slide 9' mystery, your DMs have to be a literal war zone. I’ve heard whispers. Actors, rappers, and definitely some very recognizable athletes. Are we entertained by the 'Dream Boys' hitting us up, or is it just more noise?"
I laughed, the tension from the family talk finally dissipating. "It’s definitely entertaining for about five minutes. But honestly? It’s mostly noise. It’s funny because I’ve never actually had a boyfriend. Not in high school, not during my dance team days, literally like never. I was so locked into my career and trying to get out of my situation that I just didn't have the emotional bandwidth for a guy. Yes there were moments where i realized that literally everyone had a significant other by their side and i wish i had someone too, but then that thought quickly goes away, you see the thing is it honestly would've been unfair to be in a relationship, because i feel like emotionally i wasn't there, I'm recently trying to learn. Like even with stuff like hugging, ugh can't stand them, i would almost physically punch you if you try."
Alex’s jaw practically hit the table. "Wait, wait. Rewind. The 'It Girl' of the year, the girl everyone is making edits of, has NEVER had a boyfriend? You’re telling me you’re nineteen and you’ve never done the whole teenage romance thing?"
"Never," I said, shaking my head. "I think because I grew up seeing so much instability, I was terrified of giving someone else that much power over my happiness. So now, when these guys hit me up, I’m not really interested. They’re hitting up the '@Yn' persona. They want the girl from the billboards and Instagram page, not the girl who spends four hours color-grading a vlog or gets excited about a new pair of shoes. I’m not looking to be a 'viral moment' for someone else's ego. I won't lie i know it sounds crazy, but some of these guys back then the things i would do to have their attention, but now I'm like ‘ehh ok’. "
"So you're saying the 'Dream Boys' are basically just background characters," Alex teased, her eyes sparkling. "Which brings me to the only person who doesn't seem to be in the background. The internet calls it the '12:45 Theory.' Tell me about him. Is he just another athlete in the DMs, or is he actually inside the fortress?"
I felt that familiar heat rise to my cheeks. "He's... different. It’s not just an athlete thing. Over these last few weeks, we’ve gotten really, really close. It’s obvious to both of us that there’s something growing there, and it’s honestly the first time I’ve felt like I can let someone see the 'Yn' side of me without the filters."
Alex grinned, leaning into her mic. "The ineffective girl has a soft spot. I fricking knew it.”
Alex leaned in, her eyes dancing with the kind of excitement only a professional matchmaker (or a top-tier podcaster) could have. "Okay, so he’s inside the fortress. But I need to know, how? You just told me you have this internal radar for inauthenticity. I mean you’ve never had a boyfriend, and you’re currently the most sought-after creator in the world. What did he do that the rappers and the A-listers in your DMs failed to do?"
I took a slow sip of my water, trying to find the words that wouldn't sound too "vlog-coded." "It was the lack of an 'angle.' When I first met Kenan, he didn't treat me like a 'Mogul' or some ‘anonymous' person, yeah he was respectful and treated me like honestly a football colleague. He’s incredibly grounded, which I feel like when he's on the pitch he looks like the classic arrogant and ‘thinks their the shit’ young famous person. He’s dealing with his own massive pressure wearing that number and being the 'next big thing' for Turkey, but when we’re together, we’re just two young adults trying to figure out how to make legos without crashing out. Which by the way, he's so sassy when he's annoyed. Y'all have to see him hahahahahah."
Alex laughed, a genuine, loud sound. "So it’s the domesticity? The most viral couple on the planet is just at home making legos?"
"In a way, yeah," I said, a smile breaking through. "He doesn't want to be in every tiktok, in fact people joke about the fact that i probably bribed him when he makes full body appearances in my videos. And you know, he's in fact the one who tells me to put the phone down when he sees I’m getting stressed about the comments. He’s the first person who has ever protected my peace instead of trying to profit from it. Almost 3 months has passed since the campaign and other amazing collabs, and while the rest of the world is getting louder, he’s the only one who has gotten closer. He's working his way up there.”
"I think the internet just collectively melted," Alex said, shaking her head. "But I have to ask now that since you've found someone who can actually scale the walls, are you scared? Is it terrifying to finally let someone in after building that 'exit strategy' you mentioned earlier?"
I paused, the weight of the question hitting me. "Terrifying? Absolutely. Every day I wake up and my first instinct is still to check my armor. But then I’ll get a text from him, something stupid, like him complaining about a micro scratch i created on his car when i took it out for a ride during my driving lessons, blah blah, hahaha and I realize that maybe I don't have to build the empire alone. Maybe it’s okay to have someone, not anyone on your team."
Alex smiled, clicking her pen. "Yn, I think you just gave every 'unreachable' girl out there a reason to hope. And Kenan? If you're listening... don't mess this up. You have the Mogul's heart."
Alex's face then shifted, her gaze narrowing slightly as she transitioned into the one topic that had been dominating the internet for weeks. The Selena and Hailey comparison had been made a million times on TikTok slideshows, but hearing Alex bring it up in the room made the air turn completely still.
"Speaking of his world," Alex began, leaning forward on her elbows. "We have to address the elephant in the room. The internet has been locked in a massive brutal debate. They have constantly pitted you against his ex, Natalia Shadle. It’s reached this feral level where TikTok is completely team-Yn. They prefer you, they praise your style, your success, your independence—but in the same breath, they use you as a weapon to completely bully and tear her down. They call her a placeholder, they flood her comments. What is your side of this? Because the timeline rumors have been messy.”
I took a long, steadying breath, my fingers tracing the silver zipper of my jacket. I needed to be completely real, but I wasn't going to play the internet's game.
"First of all, the timeline is completely clean," I said, so there would be zero room for edit-manipulation. "There was absolutely no overlap. When Kenan and I started talking, he was single, we talked about it of course and I made sure he was. Period. I am not the type of girl to ever slide into a situation that isn't entirely settled. The internet loves a messy narrative where there's a villain and a victim because it drives engagement, but the truth is just that people grow apart, relationships end, and life moves forward."
"But how does it feel being the 'preferred' one while she gets slammed?" Alex pressed gently.
"It’s a very bittersweet, uncomfortable feeling," I admitted, a small frown tugging at my lips. "Like, I’m human. I see the love, and obviously I appreciate the people who support me and ride for me. But I never asked for a throne built on another girl’s harassment. I’m not going to sit here and pretend she and I are best friends, like I don't know her, we don't have a relationship, and I’m not going to coddle her or speak on their past because that's their history, not mine. But the level of vitriol people throw at her just for being an ex and or having beliefs she says are not true? It's exhausting."
I leaned closer to the microphone, my voice hardening slightly, reclaiming that sharp authority. "If you think you're uplifting me by going into her comments and leaving nasty things, you're actually just embarrassing me. I don't need a cheerleader who has to bully someone else to make me look good. Kenan and I are happy, we're building our own thing, and that should be enough. You don't have to hate her to love me. It's not a competition, and I refuse to let the internet manufacture one.”
Alex watched me for a silent, heavy beat, nodding with a deep look of respect. "That is an incredibly classy way to shut it down. Let the girl live, people!!.”
Alex leaned back, a mischievous glint in her eye as she prepared for the final segment. "Okay, we’re at the end, but I can’t let you go without the classic CHD rapid-fire. I ask every guest these, and given that you’re the ‘it girl’ with the most mysterious love life in sports-fashion history, the Daddy Gang needs to know."
Alex: "First one. What is the most ‘wth’ thing you’ve done this week?"
Yn: "Honestly? Turning down a six-figure contract because the brand’s 'aesthetic' didn't match the vision I have. If it doesn't fit it’s a no-go sorry not sorry 😬”
Alex:"I love that. Quality over everything. Next: What is your biggest 'ick' in a guy?"
Yn: "Arrogance or when they're too nonchalant, like i love me a lil mysterious guy, but not all the fooking time. Blocked immediately.”
Alex: "Final question. It’s a CHD staple. Yn, who is the best sex you've ever had?"
Yn: (There was a long, silent pause. I looked at the camera, sideeyeing it)."Well, since I’ve never had a boyfriend and I'm very selective about my circle... I’m going to have to leave the internet wondering."
Alex clapped her hands together, a massive grin on her face. "And on that bombshell! Yn, thank you for being here. You are officially the smartest nineteen-year-old I’ve ever met."
-—--------—--*comment section*--------------------
@shannf677: Honestly, respect to Yn for this. She didn't coddle the ex, but she explicitly told people to stop bullying her. It's so refreshing when she clocks people lol.
@kenan_y10 fans: Not people actively searching photos of Kenan's car to find the micro-scratch from her driving lessons 💀💀 Y'all are psychotic.
@juve_bro99: Kenan at home screaming at Legos and crying over a micro-scratch on his car 😭😭 I cannot unsee this when he's on the pitch in a few weeks.
@italy_fashion_: "If you're leaving nasty things, you're actually just embarrassing me." Oof. She cleared her own fandom real quick. That's a real boss mindset right there.
User9821: The silence after the sex question was louder than the actual interview LMFAOOOO The way she side-eyed the camera had me screaming.
User821: You can tell she built her own armor because her childhood was unstable. This isn't an 'aesthetic' for her, it’s her survival strategy. She earned every single bit of this lifestyle.
@calcio_insider: "He looked like the classic arrogant young famous person." She read him like a book lmaoo. But the fact that he tells her to put the phone down to protect her peace? He's a keeper.
@popcultureshark: The maturity to say "You don't have to hate her to love me" but still completely hold her ground and make it clear she isn't fake-defending her? Masterclass in how to handle a manufactured internet feud.
User3319: genz be like for work: "turning down a six-figure contract because the brand's vision didn't match mine." 🤣🙏🏾
@ynsource: She literally looked dead into the lens and said "The timeline is completely clean. No overlap." The TikTok detectives can finally delete their 40-part conspiracy theory slideshows.
KENAN YILDIZ
- "Does he melt?"
- "Just for show"
- "Internal flare"
- "Off the record"
Title: Does he melt?
Pairing: Kenan yildiz x blackreader
Summary: Yn doing the tiktok trend to see if Kenan melts when she unexpectedly kisses him.🤭✨️🔥
Warnings: Fluff, established relationship, chaotic Gen-Z bantering, mild suggestive themes (hands going south, implied shower trip at the end), brief usage of German endearments (Schatz).
Word count: 869 words
REQUEST OPENED!!!
The camera is propped up on the kitchen counter, hidden slightly behind a coffee machine to make it look candid. The lighting is soft and natural, filtering through the apartment windows. You’re in the frame wearing an oversized gray juventus hoodie (definitely stolen from kenan’s closet) and your hair in a slickback, showing off your nose piercing.
“So Kenan is gone for a morning training session, i got a notification on the location app saying he's around the vicinity, therefore he has to arrive at any moment.” You said in a mischievous tone while looking behind as if he's standing there.
After a while Kenan enters the kitchen a moment later still sweating, wearing his workout sweatpants and a hoodie and looking completely focused as he opens the fridge to grab a protein shake. He doesn't even notice the phone. He’s halfway through unscrewing the cap, completely locked into his own head.
You casually walk over, stepping right into his space.
"Schatz, where are you?!" you shouted.
"In the kitchen!" he screamed back, not looking up yet as he set the duffel bag on the counter right next to the hidden camera.
You arrived, already with a knowing smile on your face making him raise a brow.
“What is it yn?” he asked already exhausted.
“Nothing!” you responded quickly and defensive.
“Right…” he murmurs under his breath while side-eyeing you, still sipping from the bottle.
“How was it this morning?” you asked him while going in for a hug he immediately responded to.
“Good but exhausting.. i missed you” he said into your neck and you can already feel the pout on his lips.
"Did your knee bother you?" I asked knowing how he's been complaining about it.
"It's annoying, but -",
before he can finish the sentence, you pull him, cup both of your hands gently around his jawline, and initiate a deep, slow, deliberate kiss.
For the first half-second, his body freezes in pure surprise. His athlete reflexes don't know how to process the sudden ambush. But then, the trend plays out exactly how the internet said it would.
His hands wrapping slowly around your waist, shoulders dropping, sharp breaths...
The protein shake bottle drops right out of his hand while he was trying to place it on the counter, clattering against it, (luckily the cap was on). His hands, which were tense a second ago, completely lose their grip.
He smiled against your lips laughing slightly, “what's this about?” he asked but didn't get an answer back.
He doesn't just kiss you back; his entire weight melts into you. His forehead rests heavily against yours as his eyes flutter shut, a soft, defeated sigh escaping his lips.
You let him breath for half a sec before leaning in again, his large hands blindly find your waist under the oversized hoodie, pulling you flush against his chest like he needs you to keep him standing upright. The serious, nonchalant guy came crashing down, replaced by someone who is entirely defenseless against you.
His hands were going south (you'll probably cut this part out) but that realization hit you about the video so you slowly break the kiss, leaning back on your heels with a triumphant smile. Kenan looks so surprised, with his mouth a little open for a second longer, and eyes dark and heavy with affection.
"What was that for?" he asks, his voice deep, raspy, and completely ruined. He tries to sound casual, but his hand is still trembling slightly on your hip.
You can't hold in your laugh anymore. You point past his shoulder toward the coffee machine. "As if i don't kiss you like this on a daily basis but anyways it's a trend. I wanted to see if you'd melt."
“Melt?” he asked, three imaginary questions marks hanging above his head while trying to stay focused.
“hahahah, it's a trend to see how quickly you'd loose your composer by me kissing you” you said ‘innocently’ shrugging your shoulders.
Kenan blinks, looks at the hidden phone, and then looks back down at you. The dazed expression instantly turns into a playful, dangerous grin as he realizes he’s been set up.
"Oh, so you're finishing what you started right?" he mutters, a lopsided smile breaking across his face, showing off that damn dimple.
He steps forward, completely trapping you against the kitchen counter. "You think you can just sabotage my morning and walk away? Come here."
"Kenan, no, the video is still going!" you shriek, laughing as he easily scoops you up off your feet, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you completely out of the camera's frame.
The video stays on the empty kitchen counter for three seconds, the sound of your combined laughter echoing in the background, before the screen cuts to black.
**The Comments Section**
User16732: "THE WAY HE DROPPED THE BOTTLE. HE WAS READY TO LOOSE 😭🧎♀️"
User4682: "damn, bro didn't even stand a chance.🤣💀"
User82100: "His voice dropping an octave when he realized it was a trend... yeah, I am screaming."
User433562: "The fact that he just carried her away at the end?? 💀 Bye TikTok, they forgot the camera existed.”
User338900: "We all know that 'melting' turned into a shower together five minutes later. Don't leave out the best part, ynnn”
Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
The pivot
☆°°° Summary: The "12:45 Theory" goes nuclear, but amidst the digital firestorm, she heads to L.A. for a career-defining moment with Gapxjungle. While she’s conquering Hollywood sets and dodging red-carpet rumors, Kenan is facing his own "distraction" back in Turin, literally seeing her face towering over the Allianz Stadium.
☆°°° Author's note: The way he supports her while she's forty feet tall on a billboard is the definition of a power couple. They aren't just trending; they're endgame. 😭🙏🏾🤌🏾✨️
☆°°° Warnings: Viral fame/parasocial madness, high stakes career pressure, extreme teammate teasing, long-distance yearning, and high-voltage chemistry (FaceTime edition).
☆°°° Song playing: Unforgettable - French montana ft. Swae Lee
☆°°° Pairing: Kenan yildiz and blackfem!reader
☆°°° Word count: 13.8k
The first week after posting the vlog started with a slow, steady burn. I watched as the view count ticked up, ten thousand, fifty thousand, a hundred thousand. But then, the YouTube algorithm caught the "12:45" timestamp, and the fire turned into a forest blaze.
The video was no longer just a "Day in the Life"; it was a global investigation. Every social media platform was flooded with side-by-side audio comparisons of the male voice in the background and Kenan’s distinct, soft laugh from his post-match interviews, or Arda and Casey's videos.
I woke up to a phone that was vibrating so violently it was nearly buzzing its way off my nightstand. Usually, my notifications were a manageable stream of likes and professional emails, but this morning, it was a digital avalanche. I didn't even have to open the YouTube app to know what had happened.
"Esther, it’s 7:00 AM," I groaned into the phone, finally picking up her fourth call of the morning.
"Yn, check TikTok. Actually, don't check TikTok if you want to keep your sanity," her voice was high pitched, vibrating with that frantic energy she got whenever I went viral.
"The fans... they’re like FBI agents. Someone isolated the audio from the park walk. They filtered out the wind, boosted the vocal frequency of that 'random guy' laughing overlaid it with a clip of Kenan’s interview after the Frosinone game. It’s a 99% match, Yn. The comments are losing it."
I rubbed my eyes, sitting up in bed. My room was still dark, and the cool morning air seeped through the window, but my screen was a literal firestorm. The vlog had jumped from a few hundred thousand views to three million overnight. The top comment, with fifty thousand likes, simply read: *12:45... the laugh. We know 🇹🇷✨*
The least thing that I feel like everyone wouldn't except me to be doing right now is posting another video, but here we are.
I had officially titled it, “My First Huge Campaign in L.A” light title, nothing too crazy. It was my most ambitious vlog yet, and as I set up the ring light in my bedroom, the reality of the situation finally started to sink in.
"Good morning, guys," I whispered to the camera, my voice a bit raspy from the 7:00 AM wake-up call. I was wearing a simple oversized grey hoodie, my new cornroll braids for the shoot in a bonnet. "It’s currently pitch black outside, I have a flight to LAX in exactly six hours, and I am roughly forty percent packed. Sooo help me pack and come along with me!.”
The vlog cut to a time lapse of me clearing the floor and laying out the clothes in categories. Following the "ultimate guide" I’d watched three times the night before, I wasn't just throwing clothes in a bag; I was architecting a wardrobe. I laid out every outfit on the hardwood floor, a couple of jeans,comfy clothes for practice, and some white new balance 500, snapping a photo of each on my phone. This was just the beginning.
"Tip number one for my fellow over-packers," I said, pointing a pair of rolled-up socks at the lens. "Plan the outfits down to the jewelry, take the photos, and put them in a dedicated album. It saves you from that 'I have nothing to wear' breakdown when you're jet-lagged in a hotel room."
The prep continued with a "glow-up" montage. I filmed myself in the bathroom, double-cleansing my skin and applying a thick, hydrating sleep mask.
"Airplanes are where skin goes to die," I told the camera, looking like a shiny swamp monster.
"We’re going for maximum hydration. If I don't look like a glazed donut by the time I board, I’ve failed." I even filmed myself during a nail appointment, since I couldn't decide, I went with an almond French coffee brown tip.
"If you live in Turin, or I don't know you can come all the way here, definitely recommend coming here, the prizes are totally worth it. I'll link their Instagram in the comment section, AND not sponsored, art needs to have recognition".
----------
By the time the black car arrived to take me to the airport, the sun was finally peeking over the Turin skyline. I filmed the suitcases being loaded into the trunk, and the "carry-on" that held my camera gear and laptop.
The ride to the airport was the first time I felt the silence. I didn't film this part. I just watched the city of Turin blur into the distance, my heart doing a nervous little dance every time we passed a billboard. I kept thinking about the FaceTime call with Kenan, the way his eyes lit up when I told him I had accepted the collab, he sounded happier than me I swear. But I won't forget how he said he was proud of me and these achievements.
At the terminal, i realized there was too many people so i put on a mask, not getting sick. I filmed a quick segment in the lounge, showing off my travel essentials: melatonin gummies for the eleven-hour stretch, a serum mist, and my iPad loaded with movies.
"Hand sanitizer is non-negotiable," I told the lens, holding up a small bottle. "Traveling is nasty, and I have a billboard to shoot. We do not have time for a cold."
Boarding the plane felt like crossing a threshold. I was tucked into my seat, the hum of the engines beginning to vibrate through the floor. As we taxied down the runway, I took one last shot of the wing against the Italian sky.
The flight itself was a blur of hazy sleep and mid-air skincare. I woke up somewhere over the Atlantic, my skin feeling like parchment paper. I reached into my bag for my "survival kit", the moisturizer, and the lip balm filming a whispered update. "Current status: 30,000 feet up, i think i might order something to munch on, but soo far it's been pretty good, I'll be sleeping definitely later on."
When the wheels finally touched down at LAX, the sunlight was different,sharper, whiter, and smelling of salt. I grabbed my phone, the "Welcome to the USA" notification popping up instantly.
We made it," I whispered to the camera as I walked through the terminal, I felt a buzz in my pocket. A text from Kenny ⚽️.
“The flight tracker says you’ve landed. Hope the ride was comfortable and don't let the palm trees distract you too much. 😂
I didn't answer. I just smiled, turned off the camera, and walked out into the California heat.
Time skip
The moment I swiped my key card and the heavy oak door swung open, the skyline hit me through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I didn't even put my bags down; I reached for my camera, flipped the screen, and started recording.
"Okay guys, quick room tour. Welcome to the home base for the next like 3 days" I said, panning the lens across the room. "Can we talk about the architecture because I am obsessed.”
The room was a masterclass in minimalist luxury dusty rose velvet accents, gold hardware, and a view that stretched all the way to the Hollywood sign. I walked over to the massive, king-sized bed topped with crisp white linens that looked like a cloud.
"The first thing I check in every hotel: the lighting," I narrated, moving into the bathroom. I gasped as the marble tiles and Art Deco mirrors came into view. I turned the camera on myself, the warm, diffused vanity lights making my skin look airbrushed even after a fifteen-hour flight.
"Gap really said 'give the girl a glow-up.' Look at this vanity! I could spend five hours just doing my skincare here.”
I panned over the "Welcome Kit" the brand had left on the desk: a bouquet of white peonies, a bottle of chilled alkaline water, and a personalized note on heavy cardstock and some snacks.
"They even have a dedicated espresso station," I pointed out, showing the sleek silver machine. "Which is lucky, because your girl is currently in L.A., but my stomach thinks it’s 2:00 AM in Turin. I’m about to order some room service, do a heavy-duty face mask, and try to pretend I’m not terrified for the fitting tomorrow.”
I set the camera down on the dresser, capturing a wide shot of me collapsing onto the bed, I pulled my phone out of my pocket, and for a split second, the vlog captured the genuine, soft smile that touched my face as I saw a fresh notification.
"Alright," I told the camera, reaching over to shut it off. "I’m going to go eat my body weight in avocado toast and facetime with a friend or something. See you guys in the morning for the fitting!"
I hit stop, the red light blinking out. The room was silent, light beginning to fade into a purple haze, and for the first time since I’d landed, I let out a breath that wasn't for the cameras. I was here.
The flight to Los Angeles felt like a fever dream. One day I was in my apartment, and the next, I was standing in a massive, sun-drenched studio in Hollywood, surrounded by the team from Jungle and a sea of cream-colored linen.
The following morning, the sun was relentless, pouring through the windows of a massive industrial studio in Culver City, this was the moment where I had to fully clock in. I arrived at the fitting wearing a comfy yet put together outfit, some parachute pants and a tight long sleeve paired with my NB 500, but the second I stepped inside, I was greeted by a sea of cream, tan, and white linen.
"Yn! You’re here," the creative director called out, gesturing toward a rack of clothes that looked like they had been plucked straight from a dream. "We’ve been playing the track all morning. The guys are in the back, want to meet the heartbeat of the project?”
I followed her toward the sound of a deep, rhythmic bass line. Standing near the monitors were the guys from Jungle. The energy was immediate; they weren't just amazing dancers, but bringing movements to life.
"OMG FINALLY MEETING THE DIVA!" one of them said, grinning as he extended a hand. "We saw the dance clips from your old dance school, totally different vibe but it's totally fine. You’ve got that movement, Yn. We need that for the 'Linen Moves' drop. The clothes are light, so the dance needs to feel heavy, you know?”
“yeah i totally get it, oh my god this is already so exciting I'm sweating” I said excitingly fanning myself.
The concept was simple but electric: movement, rhythm but most importantly, LIBERTÀ (freedom), I was the centerpiece, I felt soo light during the dance practice.
Finally after what seems like infinity hours we nailed the simple routine. I was quickly rushed in my trailer to get ready and dress.
I was dressed in low-slung tan cargo trousers and a cropped tan color linen top, my cornrolls swaying with every turn.
--------
"Okay, Yn, from the top!" the director shouted. "Give us that lighthearted jazz rhythm energy. Theree you goo!!!."
The music, a heavy soulful track, thumped through the studio floor, vibrating in my feet. I let go, moved with a fluid, liquid precision, my body hitting the beats with a sharpness that had the crew cheering behind the monitors. Every time I caught my reflection in the lens, I felt that "it girl" power solidified.
During a break, I sat in my trailer, the L.A. heat shimmering outside. My phone buzzed. A video call from Kenan.
"You look different," he said the moment I answered. He was in his kitchen, wearing a simple white tee, looking incredibly grounded compared to my high-fashion glamour. His green eyes were soft as he took in my braids and the heavy studio makeup.
"Is that a good different or a 'you've-become-a-diva' different?" I teased, leaning back into the vanity chair.
"A 'you're-exactly-where-you-belong' different," he replied, his voice low. "The photos from the set are already leaking. You look... incredible, Yn."
"I have you to remind me, don't I?" I said softly.
"Always," he promised. "Ramos and I are counting the days until you're back. Turin is too quiet without your rants."
“hahahah, i miss him already ” I said slightly sad, can't wait to meet them.
I bit back a smile, trying to remain still for the pins.
"Who’s the guy?" the lead stylist asked, catching my expression in a mirror. "You’ve got that glow."
"Just a friend," I lied, though the word 'friend' felt smaller and more inadequate with every passing hour.
“Right..” she said before shaking her head jokingly, clearly not satisfied with my response.
Time skip
“Annnnd that's a wrap! Good job everyone!!!” The head director screamed, and with that came a row of applause.
I immediately dropped on the floor as soon as I heard, I was sooo tired I could feel my feet needing a good massage at my return home. Ugh, can't wait.
While I was on the other side of the Atlantic, the ground in northwest Italy was already shaking. It happened during a warm up session at the Allianz Stadium before a match. The massive screens, usually reserved for replays or sponsor loops, flickered to life to test the new "Linen Moves" digital rollout.
Suddenly, my face was towering over the pitch. The heavy bass of the Jungle track echoed through the empty stands as the footage of me moving with fluid, rhythmic precision played for the entire stadium to see.
Kenan, who had been mid-drill, froze. He didn't just look; he stared. And of course, the media cameras were rolling.
Within seconds, his teammates were on him. I saw the leaked clip later that night: McKennie and Vlahović practically tackling him, pointing at the screen, and tugging at his jersey while Kenan tried and failed to hide a massive, glowing grin. His parents and best friends will be grilling him for days, but that stadium moment was the final nail in the coffin of his "single" status.
The world was officially in a frenzy.
Following the shoot, Gap hosted an intimate dinner in West Hollywood to celebrate the campaign’s success.
During a press junket on the red carpet, a reporter leaned in with a knowing smirk. "Yn, the internet is obsessed with your latest vlog. There's a certain voice that sounds suspiciously like a certain Turkish Number 10. Care to comment on it?"
I didn't blink. I’d practiced this. I leaned into the mic, a playful, cryptic smile on my lips. "I think the most beautiful thing about a private life is that it stays exactly that private you know?. And i was saying, I've always worn Gap clothing, so making this project with them is truly beyond my imagination."
------
Back in my hotel room, I collapsed onto the bed, in some comfy tracksuit, i have an early flight to catch.
*Calling kennyyy ⚽ *
"I saw the video," I teased the moment his face appeared on the screen. "You looked very focused on your training, Kenny. Very professional."
Kenan groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, his eyes glinting with embarrassment and affection.
"I’m going to kill them. I couldn't even finish the drill. Every time I looked up, you were... everywhere. It’s hard to play football when the girl you’re thinking about is forty feet tall and dancing right in front of you."
“Mh, you were thinking about me?” I asked faking a surprised reaction
“Natürlich (ofcoure), you have no idea” he said, his voice dropping. He's been teaching me a little bit of german. It's so cute how he would drop some simple words during a conversation.
"So, the boyfriend clause is getting expensive?" I asked, acting like bro didn't just say he was seeing me in his dreams at night.
"Worth every penny," he replied. "Now, did you eat anything at that fancy dinner, or was it just for the aesthetics? I’m serious, Yn. Don't make me postmate you food right now."
I laughed, feeling that familiar skip in my heart. No matter how big the billboards got, I was still the girl who needed to be reminded to eat breakfast, and he was still the observer who made the chaos feel like home.
------
The "Linen Moves" campaign dropped on a Thursday. It was a global takeover. My face was on billboards from Sunset Boulevard to the Milan Duomo. The video of me dancing gracefully went nuclear.
But it was the Instagram post I made afterward that really set the world on fire.
It was a simple "dump" from my time in L.A. The ninth slide was a blurry, grainy photo of a laptop screen during a FaceTime call. You couldn't see the person's face just a sliver of a jawline and a very familiar eyebrow slit.
The caption: *L.A. was a dream. Thanks @gap_official for this opportunity. 🥂✨*
The comments section was a battlefield.
*@user67: THAT EYEBROW. THE SLIT. IT’S HIM Y'ALL. *
*@juve_updates: Kenan liked the post in 30 seconds. They aren't even hiding it anymore.👀*
*@gap_official: 🔥🎥*
I was sitting in the back of a car, heading home from the airport, watching the city lights begin to appear. My phone buzzed in my hand.
Kenny ⚽️: Slide 9 is a bold move, my agent is asking if he needs to negotiate a "boyfriend" clause now.
My heart hammered against my ribs. I typed back, a playful smirk on my face.
yn: Depends. Does the boyfriend clause come with a pizza kebab and a cute little doggy?🤔
Kenny ⚽️: Check your front door in ten minutes. I’m already there.
I looked up at the driver, my breath catching. The pivot wasn't just about my career anymore. It was about the fact that no matter how high and far I flew, I finally had a place to land.
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Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
The green eyed visionary
☆°°° Summary: A glimpse into yn’s high-speed Friday: from a 6:00 AM vlog start and Pilates to "Business Yn" navigating meetings and contracts. After a long-awaited park date with Kenan and his dog Ramos, the "It-Girl" facade slips. Kenan sees right through, offering real support in a world of complex contracts, leaving her with a giddy glow that even her YouTube subscribers can't help but notice.
☆°°° Author's note: This chapter is so cozy! I love that we finally see the girl behind the camera. Kenan listening to her rants about everything with total heart-eyes is everything. They are the perfect balance: her chaos and his calm. 💚🐕🧥
☆°°° Warnings: Mild "I-have-nothing-to-wear" panic, excessive cuteness from a dog in a bandana.
☆°°°Song playing: Futile devices (Doveman Remix) - Sufjan stevens
☆°°° Pairing: Kenan yildiz and blackfem!reader
☆°°° Word count: 2.1k
If my life was a movie, the montage for Friday would have been set to a high-BPM house track. I had officially launched my youTube channel, it's always been something that I've dreamt about, and the "Day in the Life of a 19-Year-Old " as a starter could not go wrong. The day started at 6:15 AM with the harsh buzz of my alarm and a lens pointed at my sleep muddled face.
"Good morning, guys," I whispered to the camera, propping it up on the bathroom counter. "It is way too early for anyone to be functional, but we have Pilates at seven, and if I’m late, my instructor will actually end me."
Short mortgage of me doing my skincare, brushing my teeth, and putting my hai in a bun.
The vlog cut through the morning mist, me walking to the studio, sharing a random story about how I once tried to cut my own bangs at 16 and ended up looking like a medieval peasant because the wind messed it up 5 seconds after stepping out of the house, and then the grueling footage of me shaking on a reformer and the instructor saying something about finding my core strength, “ma che cazzo vuol dire? (what the fuck does that mean?)” i thought. By 9:00 AM, I was back home, showering and transitioning into "Business Yn."
“I have to leave you guys for now, i have a pretty exciting meeting and can't wait to share that soon!”
I said turning the camera off for the meeting with Gap; I wasn't ready to leak that potential collab yet, but the energy in the room had been electric. We were deciding on the concept and,
“since i used to dance up until a couple months ago, i think that concept could involve some dancing, like the vibe for the new line”. I uttered amd the directors seemed to like it, I think we will be cooking up something pretty soon.
I just included shots of the meeting and that was it.
—---
By 11:00 AM, I was finally eating.
“i have this bad habit that i don't eat breakfast early you guys, I'm trying to improve ‘cause I've already been scolded”. And that certain someone has been kenan, ofcourse it's him, he's the perfect athlete with the perfect diet plan.
I filmed my breakfast, two slices of toasted whole-wheat bread topped with soft-scrambled eggs, paired with a massive mug of lemon and ginger tea.
"If you don't put enough lemon in your tea to make your eyes water, are you even living?" I joked to the lens, feeling the first real surge of energy for the day after taking a sip.
The afternoon was spent at the offices of “MP Management”. They handled some of the most influential creators in Europe, and Chiara’s vouch had opened the door. The meeting went better than I’d hoped, they understood that I didn't want to be just another "influencer."
I celebrated with a light lunch of bresaola and arugula salad before the "secret" part of my day began.
I kept the camera rolling as I got ready for the park, but I was vague.
"Just heading out for a walk to clear my head, but still want to look good you know? Imagine I meet some random classmate, gotta look good" I said chucking a little bit at how ridiculous i sounded.
"Turin is beautiful at that hour, and I need to touch some grass lately, my mom said that the other ‘cause we were talking about something the other day and she said i was being too casual about it, sooo who am i to not listen to my mammina of mine?”
The relationship with her is kinda ehh, because she was never really there when I was younger, but now I literally will call her crying if I'm having a moment, she would quietly listen to me and after that comfort me, and that's how I know she's the only parent who truly cares about me.
“I'm struggling to find an outfit!! Everyone wants to have full closets, until you spend hours infront of it because you want to wear everything” I sighed slightly frustrated.
The final choice was a sharp departure I’d considered. It was darker and heavier. I pulled on a pair of jet-black leather trousers, and paired them with a coordinating leather trench coat, the matrix-length cut falling past my knees. Underneath, a simple black structured bodysuit added a clean line, while the Pulse Mint Gazelles provided the only shock of color, grounding the intimidating look in streetwear. A black structured baseball cap on my new boho braids.
“Minimum he better fall in love with me, I mean look at meeee” I said standing in front of my mirror hyping myself up, with Travis in the background, just perfect combo.
I didn't vlog the meeting with Kenan. I couldn't. The moment I saw him sitting there with Ramos, the camera felt like a barrier I didn't want. I only took a few aesthetic "B-roll" shots of the trees and the golden light hitting the path. At one point, a group of teenage girls walked past us, and I saw them double-take.
I froze, but Kenan just pulled his hat lower, his attention entirely on me as I rambled on about how I was pretty sure pigeons have a secret government hierarchy.
We were deep in the woods now, the city noise muffled by the thick canopy of sycamores. Ramos was trotting ahead, his tiny bandana around his neck flickering like a white flag in the grass.
"So, the driving school guy," I said, waving my half empty cappuccino cup around for emphasis. "He has this mustache like perfectly symmetrical. I spent half the lesson wondering if he uses a spirit level to trim it. I almost hit a bollard because I was staring at his upper lip."
Kenan let out a soft, huffed laugh, but he didn't look away. I noticed it then, really noticed it. While I was a whirlwind of words and gestures, Kenan was the stillness. He walked with a relaxed, athletic grace, his hands shoved into his track jacket pockets. He wasn't checking his phone. He wasn't looking around to see if he was being recognized.
He was just looking at me.
It wasn't a "polite" look. It was the way someone looks at a masterpiece they’re trying to memorize, or how a sailor looks at the moon to find their way home. There was a quiet awe in his green eyes, which when they are hit by the sun, makes him more gorgeous, a softness that makes the air between us feel thick and warm. It was a look that said he found my rant about driving school and mustaches the most interesting thing in the world.
"What?" I asked, stopping mid stride, suddenly feeling hot but not from the walk. "Do I have foam on my face?"
Kenan stopped, too. He tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "No. I just... I like the way you see things, Yn. Most people talk about their 'brand' or their 'stats.' You are complaining about how this cappuccino tastes like it had diarrhea, whatever that means hahahah."
"I'm a visionary, Kenan. Get used to it," I teased, though my heart was doing a frantic little dance.
"I think I already am," he replied, his voice dropping an octave.
We kept walking, but the dynamic had shifted. I realized then that we were the perfect, weird balance. I was the loud, funny, "cool girl" who filled the silence with chaos, and he was the quiet observer who made that chaos feel like it was worth something.
---
We reached a stone overlook that faced the valley, the city beginning to twinkle like a fallen constellation below us. I leaned against the cold stone railing.
"You've been quiet for a whole sixty seconds yn, should i be scared?" Kenan said, leaning back against the railing next to me. He was still holding Ramos, who had finally fallen asleep against his chest. " Is your pretty brain overheating?"
I let out a long breath, watching the mist rise from the Po river in the distance. "I think I’m just realizing that I have no idea how to be two people at once. On camera, I’m the girl who has it all figured out. But then I sit in those meetings, and they start talking about 'global usage rights' and 'exclusivity clauses' for years terms... and I just want to hide in my closet."
I looked over at him, the bravado finally slipping. "I’m terrified I’m going to sign something that ruins my life before it even starts. At this age, I'm supposed to be making mistakes, but it feels like my mistakes are going to be public and permanent."
Kenan turned toward me fully then, the space immediately tighten even though he wasn't that close.
"You're not doing this alone," he said, his voice dropping into a low, steady register that acted like an anchor for my spiraling thoughts.
"The noise... it never stops. Trust me, I know. One day you’re a kid playing in Germany, the next thing you know everyone has an opinion on your life. But you have to protect your work.
He shifted Ramos to one arm and reached out with his free hand, his fingers briefly brushing the sleeve of my jacket. " if you need help, my agent is one of the best. They don't only do football; they understand the 'brand' world. I already talked to them about you, not as a favor, but because I know you have a lot to offer. "
I blinked, the intensity of his green eyes making it hard to breathe. "You talked to your agent about me?"
"I told them you were a visionary," he said with a small, lopsided smile. "And that you’re too stubborn to ask for help on your own. Let them look at the Gap contract. No strings, no fees. Just someone to make sure you don't get cheated on."
The weight that had been sitting on my chest finally began to lift. It wasn't just the offer of help; it was the fact that he’d been thinking about my life when I wasn't around. He’d seen the struggle behind the "cool" posts.
"Why are you being so nice to me, Kenan?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper. "We barely know each other."
He looked back out at the city, his eyes darkening as the sun finally slipped behind the mountains. "I think we know each other better than the people who have known us for years, Yn. We’re both just trying to keep our heads above water in a city that expects us to be perfect."
He turned back to me, the dimples making a faint, final appearance. "Plus, ramos likes you. And he’s a very good judge of character."
The walk back to the taxi was slower, the silence between us now comfortable and heavy with things we didn't need to say. When the car arrived, Kenan held the door open for me.
"See you soon, *nickname*," he said.
"See you soon, kenny," I countered. We are already using nicknames, hopefully we aren't moving too fast.
As the taxi pulled away, I looked back through the rear window. He was still standing there, a tall shadow in a track jacket with a tiny dog in his arms, watching until I was out of sight. I sat back against the leather seat and realized that while the world was watching Kenan Yıldız, he was only watching me.
---
When I finally got back to my apartment that night to film the "outro" for the vlog, I couldn't stop the giddy, stupid smile from breaking through. I sat on my bed, still in my coat, looking tired but inexplicably bright.
I checked my phone. The group chat was already pinging.
estyy🍀🙏🏾: Did you die? What did he smell likeee? GIVE US THE VIBE CHECK!!
I typed back a single sentence, my heart finally finding its rhythm.
Yn: He has green eyes, and I think I’m in trouble.
—----
"Anyway, that was my Friday," I told the camera, my voice a little higher than usual. "I'm exhausted, I'm probably going to dream about running in a grass, and I'm very ready for bed. Hope you guys enjoyed the chaos. Bye!"
I blew a kiss to the lens and shut it off. Later, when the video went live, the comments would be flooded.
*@user1: Wait... at 12:45, is that a male voice in the background? It sounds exactly like Kenan.*
*@juvefan99: No way, he's at training. Probably just a random guy. But why is she glowing like that??*
Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
A change in exposure
☆°°° Summary: The morning after the gala brings a reality check: needing professional management, a flooded inbox and the internet’s new obsession. While Yn tries to stay grounded with homemade gelato and banters with Esther, a surprise follow shifts everything. A casual DM about sneakers turns into a low-stakes invitation, no cameras, just a dog and a cappuccinos that has the group chat in a total spiral.
☆°°° Author's note: This chapter is the ultimate "glow-up" reality check. Kenan using Ramos as a wingman is such a green flag. It’s the start of something genuine. 🍦🐕✨
☆°°° Warnings: Digital overstimulation, group chat chaos.
☆°°°:Song playing: telepatìa - Kali Uchis
☆°°°: Pairing: Kenan yildiz and blackfem!reader
☆°°°: Word count: 1.8k
The morning after the gala felt like the quiet after a storm, but a luxurious one. The apartment smelled like expensive cherry and the faint, sweet scent of the honey we’d prepped for the Ninja Cream.
I was hunched over the kitchen counter in my oversized silk pajamas, a gift from a brand I hadn't even had time to thank yet, squinting at the digital manual for the machine.
Beside me, Esther was draped over a stool, her hair still in a perfect slickback from the night before. She was scrolling through her phone with a look of pure chaos on her face.
"yn," she said, her voice dropping into that tone she only used when something was about to go nuclear.
"I hope you like being the center of the universe because the internet has officially decided you and Kenan are 'endgame'.” I didn't look up from the machine.
"We spoke for three minutes, Es. He congratulated me on a dress and my achievements, that’s it.”
"Bene (good), tell that to the 50,000 people who shared a zoomed-in video of his dimples while talking to you," she countered, sliding her phone across the marble countertop.
I finally looked. It was a grainy TikTok, slowed down to a crawl. It captured the exact moment he’d smiled at me, the moment those dimples had made an appearance. The caption read: "The way he looks at her????!!! I'm starting a rumor.”
"For fucks sake," I breathed, finally feeling the weight of it. My phone, sitting face-down near the sink, vibrated so hard it skated an inch to the left.
"It’s not just fans," Esther added, her eyes gleaming. "Loro Piana re-posted your photo. Vogue Italia commented. And... oh, look at that. Juventus just posted a highlight reel of the gala, and guess who’s in the opening frame?”
I ignored the phone and focused on the Creami. I needed something cold. I pressed the 'Lite Ice Cream' button, and the loud, mechanical roar of the blades filled the kitchen, drowning out the imaginary noise of millions of strangers. It was a grounding sound. Definitely need that right now.
"I'm not checking it," I said over the noise. "I'm making this gelato, and then we're going to sit down and pretend the world didn't just see that, d'accordo? (okay?)”
"You can pretend," Esther laughed, reaching for a spoon as the machine finished its cycle. "But your DMs are currently a graveyard of 'Who is she?' and 'Invite us to the wedding.' You’re not just some random girl anymore yn."
I pulled the pint out of the machine. It was perfectly smooth, pale, and exactly what I needed. I took a bite, the cold sweetness hitting my tongue, and for a second, the last 24 hours faded, except-
Then, my phone screen lit up.
New Notification: @kenanyildiz started following you.
I almost dropped the spoon.
I set the pint of vanilla-honey gelato down on the counter with a soft thud, the "new follower" notification still glowing on my lock screen like a tiny, digital sun.
"Esther," I whispered, not taking my eyes off the phone.
"Don't tell me. Let me guess." She leaned over, squinting at the screen. She didn't scream, but the way she inhaled sharply through her teeth was enough. " Okay. So, we’re officially past the 'respectful colleague' phase and into the 'social media breadcrumbs' phase."
"It’s just a follow," I said, though my heart was doing a weird, rhythmic drum-roll against my ribs. "He’s probably just being polite. Following back a guest of the club.”
"He doesn't follow 'guests,' you idiot sandwich (got the reference? 😅). He follows teammates, ex workers for the team and listens to taylor swift." Esther countered, her voice turning serious as she pulled her stool closer.
She took a scoop of the gelato, pointed the spoon at me, and shifted into 'Bestie Mode.
"Listen. This follow right here, it’s going to trigger another wave. Look at your notifications they're already jumping by the thousands every time I refresh."
I looked at the counter, which was currently a mess of god knows what. My inbox was a graveyard of 450+ unread emails.
"I can't do this by myself anymore, Es," I admitted, finally sitting down. This was becoming a permanent state of being. "I'm literally still trying to figure out how to descale a coffee machine and suddenly I’m supposed to negotiate contracts with Nike and Rhode? I don't even know what a 'usage right' is."
"Exactly," Esther said, her expression softening.
"You're a creative, not a lawyer. You’ve got the Juventus seal of approval and jealous ex classmates who wouldn't even accept a follow request back then, therefore if you keep answering these emails yourself, these brands are going to low ball you thinking you’re just a kid who’s happy for free lipliners and skin care."
She grabbed a notepad from my "junk drawer", now filled with stationery and started scribbling.
"I'll call Chiara," I said, the realization settling in. "She mentioned a boutique agency that handles 'cultural voices.' Not just people who do dance trends, but people who actually... have something to say."
"Good," Esther nodded, taking another bite of the gelato. "Because once you reply to whatever Kenan eventually sends you and ohh~~ boy he will send something, you won't have time to worry about whether a beauty brand is paying you enough for a Reel.”
I picked up my phone, finally swiping the notification away. I didn't follow him back immediately. I’d learned that much from the "Physics of Seeing." Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can do is let the frame stay empty for a little while longer.
2 days later…
Dropping Esther off at Porta Nuova felt like losing my anchor. We’d spent the last forty-eight hours in a bubble and survival strategies, but as her train pulled away, the reality of my quiet, high-ceilinged apartment waited for me.
I walked back through the city, the evening air turning crisp. I walked with my head up, noticing the way the streetlights caught the storefronts I used to only see in magazines. Feeling like you officially belong somewhere is something that could never be explained with words.
When I finally kicked off my shoes and let the silence of the apartment settle over me, the blue light of my phone was the only thing cutting through the dimness of the hallway. I hadn't checked it since the station.
Time skip...
I cleaned a little bit around the apartment, after that I took a seat to check my notifications.
I ended up posting quick photos on my story and went to wash my face.
I figured I’d wake up to a few thousand likes and maybe a comment from a bot. I didn’t expect a reply from a certain someone.
There, sitting at the top of my notifications, was a name that made my breath hitch, not out of fan-girl shock, but because of the simple, human directness of it.
Direct Messages: @kenanyildiz: That colorway is impossible to find here right now. Did you have to bribe someone on vinted or you just have better connections than me?😂
I froze, towel in hand, staring at the screen. It was so... normal. The message felt like we were friends, he made it feel so chill.
Me: hahahh, well let's just say I've got my ways. I swear I didn't bribe anyone, just someone I know who resold them to me.
Kenan: It’s good to see someone actually has a taste for the classics.
Me: u a sneakerhead like me?
Kenan: It helps with the footwork. Honestly, it’s one of the few things that keeps me sane. That and walking my dog.
Me: omggg, that's soo cute!🥹
Kenan: I actually wanted to say i really liked your video from a few days ago. The one about the fog over the Po river. It reminded me of moving here from Germany. Everything felt a bit blurry at first, but beautiful. You captured that feeling perfectly.
Me: I didn't think you’d have time to scroll that far back. But yeah... it’s a beautiful city to be lost in.
Kenan: It is. I’m taking my dog ramos, to the park near the hills on Friday late afternoon. I'd like you to come with us, he could make a new friend 😅. Only if you’re not too busy becoming a mogul, of course.
Me: I LOVE DOGS AND WOULD LOVE TO MEET HIM!!! I’m definitely wearing the Gazelles just to flex on you though. 😎
Kenan: Deal! I’ll bring cappuccinos and try not to be too distracted by your 'superior' taste. ✌🏼
Me: I’ll check my ‘mogul’ schedule. But I think I can make time for a cute dog and decent cappuccino.
Kenan: I’ll hold you to it. See you Friday.
*you liked this message*
I stared at the screen long after liking his last message. I set the phone face down on my duvet, taking a deep breath, my heart wasn't just racing; it was doing a full sprint.
I didn't have time to be "cool" for long. I grabbed the phone back and swiped over to the group chat.
GROUP CHAT: Gesù, Maria e Giuseppe 🕊️✨
(yn, chiara, esther)
Yn: *Screenshots of the DM*
Yn: GUYS.
Yn: HOLY CRAP. WHAT IS HAPPENINGGG??!!
estyy🍀🙏🏾: I LITERALLY JUST STEPPED OUT OF THE GYM. CAN I HAVE FIVE MINUTES OF PEACE BEFORE YOU BECOME THE FIRST LADY OF JUVENTUS??
estyy🍀🙏🏾: Wait... "he could make a new friend"?? That is the smoothest way to ask for a date without calling it a date. Un genio puro🤌 (pure genius)
chiaa🥐✨️: ODDIO!! (OHMYGODD) yn!!
chiaa🥐✨️: I told you! That event was just the beginning. And he mentioned Ramos???? That’s his baby. If he’s inviting you to meet the dog, he’s not looking for a PR stunt. He’s looking for a person, his person👀👀.
Yn: Calm down, dante alighieri kids, it's just a park “date”, And I don’t even know what to wear. Do I wear the Gazelles? Is that too "try-hard" since we just talked about them??
estyy🍀🙏🏾: Wear the Gazelles. Own them. Period point blank.
chiaa🥐✨️: Friday at 4 is the "Golden Hour" at Parco della Rimembranza. The light is literally perfect. He knows exactly what he’s doing gyal 😉.
yn: I'm going to pass out now. BYE.
I tossed the phone toward the pillows and finally let out the scream I’d been holding in. I walked over to the window, looking out at the Turin skyline. The city didn't feel like a cold, industrial maze anymore. It felt like an invitation.
I went to sleep that night with a smile so wide it actually hurt. The "Physics of Seeing" had finally shown me something I never saw coming: a future that wasn't just successful, but happy.
you followed @kenayildiz back. You are now friends!
👤Liked by camilla.de.pandis and others
ynnn.osei few days with estyyy 💣🤌🏾✨️
Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
The real link
☆°°° Summary: The noise of going viral turns into a career as Yn accepts an invitation from Loro Piana for the Juventus Black & White Gala. Between a luxury fitting and a weekend with Esther, she finally embraces her independence and success. The night ends at the OGR with a brief, respectful encounter with Kenan, an acknowledgment between two people who finally see each other past the headlines.
☆°°° Author's note: This chapter is all about the "Level Up." I wanted yn to stop feeling like an outsider and start owning her space in Turin. No drama, just pure silk and mutual respect.🥂✨
☆°°° Warnings: Sensory overload (flashing lights/crowds), minor social anxiety.
☆°°° Song playing: Golden - Harry Styles
☆°°° Pairing: Kenan yildiz and blackfem!reader
☆°°° Word count: 10.3k
The transition from “eating cup noodles to survive ” to "brands want to style you" happened so fast I barely had time to process the whiplash. Within forty-eight hours of that first video hitting a million views, which by the way it's at 15M views and it's been a lil over 3 months, my building’s narrow staircase was constantly echoing with the footsteps of delivery couriers. I'm honestly contemplating whether or not to take down my email address from my socials. At first it was fun, answering emails from kikomilano, rhodebeauty, fentybeauty and many more for pr packages and to review them, but I'm realizing that I might need a bigger place and it hasn't even been a year since I moved in.
Tiktok: 1.3M followers
Instagram: 542k followers
Boxes started piling up in my living room real ones this time, not the brown cardboard ones from a random shop I got from back home. These were sleek, matte black, or cream-colored, embossed with silver logos I used to only see in the windows of shops I was too intimidated to enter. It was surreal. Opening a package to find a pair of shoes that cost three months of my old job salary felt less like a gift and more like a strange heavy responsibility.
“If you don't stop looking at that blazer like it’s a bomb, I’m going to wear it myself,” Esther’s voice cut through the silence. My bestie Esty came to visit since something exciting came up and I need help, she's gonna stay for the weekend and I for sure know it's gonna be a blast.
She had arrived on Friday late afternoon, her suitcase rattling over the Turin cobblestones as she marched into my life like a one woman rescue mission. Having her here was the only thing stopping me from vibrating out of my own skin. While the rest of the world saw the “girl who got lucky and blew up overnight", Esther saw the pile of laundry I hadn't folded and the way I bit my nails when I was stressed. I'm growing them now though this time for real. It's been a struggle but I'm trying.
“It’s not a bomb, Es. It’s just... Why me?” I gestured to the room, which was currently a chaotic mix of half-eaten snacks and high end makeup and clothes. “I posted one video about being lonely and nobody giving half a fuckery about me and now I’m supposed to show up at the OGR for a Juventus gala? I don't even know the offside rule. Like brooo, what do I do esty?! Porca miseriaa.”
“Allora innanzitutto (first of all) calm your fine ass down, you don’t need to know the offside rule to look expensive,” Esther countered, pulling a structured black dress out of a garment bag. “And you got this opportunity because you’re real. People are tired of the polished stuff. They like that you look like you’re actually living, not just posing in it.”
The email didn't come with any fanfare. There was no sparkly notification or "congratulations" banner. It just slid into my inbox at 2:14 AM, sandwiched between a spam filter and a receipt for the lightbulbs I’d ordered at ikea.
Flashback
I sat up on my mattress, the white light of the laptop screen washing out the dark corners of the room. I read it once. Then twice. Then a third time, my thumb hovering over the official Juventus crest at the bottom of the digital card.
Subject: Invitation: Juventus Black & White Gala – OGR Torino
"...in recognition of your growing influence and
unique perspective on the city’s contemporary
culture, we would be honored to have you join us
for an evening of…"
"Unique perspective," I whispered to the empty walls. A bitter laugh bubbled up in my chest. They made it sound so sophisticated, like I was some curated art critic and not just a girl who had recorded a video in a pile of trash bags because she had nowhere else to go.
It felt like a trap.l
My first instinct was to delete it. To hit 'Archive' and pretend I never saw it, staying safe in my little bubble of chaos and anonymous walks through the park. But then I looked at the date. Monday.
It was all sinking in, the way I always refuse good things ‘cause I've always felt like I'm not worth it or that I don't deserve anything good.
If I didn't go, I was basically telling the world and myself that I still belonged in the shadows. That I was still "the girl" behind the closed door.
I didn't reply right away. I couldn't. I just stared at the name "Juventus" until the letters blurred. It was a world that felt a million miles away from mine, even though I had a feeling that my dreams would become reality.
End of flashback
We walked through the Quadrilatero, grabbing cheap al taglio pizza and sitting on the steps of a random church, watching the crowd drift by.
“It’s beautiful here, Y/N,” Esther said, leaning her head on my shoulder as the sun dipped behind the Alps. “But don’t let it swallow you. You’re not a guest in your own life anymore. You pay the rent. You made the move. You belong here.
I wanted to believe her. But as Monday night approached—the night of the Black & White Gala approached, DM requests felt like a tide coming in, threatening to wash away the girl who had just wanted a quiet place to breathe.
By the time we got back to the apartment on Sunday evening, my phone was a graveyard of notifications. I ignored them all, except for a brief text from one of the workers for Lora Piano confirming my name was on their guest list.
The email wasn't a question; it was an arrival. When Loro Piana reached out, they didn't just send a dress in a box, they invited me to the showroom for a private fitting. It was a clear sign that the "viral moment" had solidified into a career.
Esther sat on my new velvet armchair—one of the first real furniture pieces I’d bought with my own money scrolling through her phone while I stood behind the kitchen counter closing some pr boxes. The apartment was finally coming together; the echo was gone, replaced by the scent of vanilla and some “expensive scent” I don't remember candles, and the soft hum of a life being built on my own terms.
Fitting Day
Today me and Esther are going to try on the dress for the first time.
Some pics of the dress were sent to me but right now standing in front of a mirror with it on, it was a masterpiece of silk and cashmere blend, a deep midnight black that felt like liquid against my skin. To honor the Bianconeri theme without looking like a literal flag, the tailors had added a subtle, hand-stitched white silk piping along the dramatic open back. It was a thin, sharp line of contrast that followed the curve of my spine, meeting a delicate white silk sash at the base that trailed just slightly behind me.
It was sophisticated. It was 1200€ a yard. It was mine.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't looking at a price tag and calculating how many shifts I’d need to cover for it. I was just looking at the girl in the mirror, and almost saw the younger version of me, finally having some joy in her life.
City stroll
Later that afternoon, we walked through the city. I didn't feel like a guest anymore. When we passed the shops on Via Roma, I didn't just look at the displays; I recognized the people inside. I knew the rhythm of the city because I was finally part of the beat.
"Let's grab a drink before the car comes," I suggested, gesturing toward a high-end aperitivo spot near the Piazza.
"My treat?" Esther joked.
"Please," I laughed, pulling out my card. "I’ve got it. I actually don't get a jumpscare or lower my phone brightness in public while looking at the balance for once."
The sunset hit the buildings, turning the stone into a warm, glowing gold. I took out my Canon, framing a shot of Esther against the architecture. I didn't need a caption or a deep quote about belonging. The photo spoke for itself.
As we drove back to prepare for the gala, I felt a strange sense of calm, I was just waiting for the night to start.
I looked at the black-and-white gala invite on the counter. It felt like a ticket to a different planet.
“You’re ready,” Esther said, catching my reflection in the mirror. She reached over and squeezed my hand. “Go in there, take your photos, and come home. It’s just a room full of people, yn. Most of them are probably just as bored as you are.”
I didn't tell her that the only thing I was actually looking forward to was seeing a certain dark-haired Middlefielder looking as exhausted by the lights as I did.
Paparazzi time
The event was a titan of red brick and industrial steel, illuminated tonight by sharp, white floodlights that made the building look like a cathedral of modern power. As the black car pulled up to the entrance, I didn’t feel that old urge to shrink into the upholstery. I adjusted the white silk sash at the base of my spine, felt the cool weight of the fabric, and stepped out into the flurry of flashes.
I didn’t rush. I’d learned that in Turin, elegance is measured in how much space you’re willing to take up.
"Eyes over here, (Y/N)!"
"One shot for Gazzetta!”
“Signora Osei qui!” (Miss Osei here!)
I gave them a controlled smile—the kind that didn't reveal too much but let them know I was present.
Inside, the gala was a sea of monochrome. The "Black & White" theme was executed with lethal precision. Towering floral arrangements of white hydrangeas sat atop black marble tables, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive oud and the low hum of deals being made in the corners.
"You're killing them," Esther whispered as we glided toward the bar. She was my plus one, staying close, but her eyes were darting around, taking in the players, the models, and the dynasty families of Turin. "Look at the board members' wives. They’re literally trying to figure out if you're a new signing or a secret heiress.”
"Let them wonder," I replied, taking a glass of sparkling water from a silver tray.
I scanned the room. It was a who’s who of Italian excellence. I saw Dušan Vlahović laughing with a group near the stage, and several other players looking polished and sharp in their club suits. But my eyes were looking for someone specific.
And there, I found him, Lui.
I found him near the back of the hall, standing by a massive photography installation. Kenan.
The space between us felt different than the space in the rest of the room. Out there, people were loud, desperate to be noticed, or busy performing.
Kenan didn’t approach me like a fan or guy trying to make a move. He approached me like a colleague. He stood a respectful distance away, his posture relaxed but professional, holding a small bottle of mineral water. He looked me in the eye not at the dress, not at the silhouette, but at me.
"I wanted to say congratulations," he said, his voice steady and sincere. "I saw the news about the Loro Piana partnership. It’s a big step. You’ve handled the noise of the last few weeks with a lot of grace.” he said softly in his broken English, almost as if, if he raised his voice he would've caused a commotion.
"Omg thank you so much, really it means a lot coming from someone who knows how loud the noise can get" I replied, tilting my head slightly and offering him a genuine smile.
He gave a small, dignified nod. "It never really stops, but you learn how to tune the frequency. You’re doing well. Torino is a tough city to impress, but you’ve made it look easy."
There was no lingering stare, no forced small talk. He checked his watch, a simple movement that signaled he was staying on schedule. "I have to head back to the team for the presentation, but it was nice to officially meet you, Yn. I hope you enjoy your time here tonight. You earned your place."
He said smiling, making me notice his dimples, deeper in real life. He slowly started turning around to leave.
"Good luck with the match on Saturday," I added as he started walking.
He stopped, offering one last small, genuine smile. "Thank you. I’ll see you around.”
I took a sip of my water, feeling a strange sense of peace. I didn't need a scandalous headline or a dramatic escape in a dress that made me feel like the shit and a future that was finally starting to look like mine.
I looked at Esther and nodded toward the exit. "Let's go. I think I've had enough of the spotlight for one night. I want to go home and actually try making gelato with the ninja creami machine that arrived yesterday."
"Lead the way," she laughed.
The night was cool, the air was fresh, and for the first time, I wasn't running away from anything. I was just going home.
Liked by Juventus, kenanyildiz and others
ynnn.osei: A night to remember, thanks @Juventus for the invite and @LoroPiano for my gorgeous dress. Really, it was a pleasure.
@LoroPiana: Having you in our creation was truly a dream come true. It was a pleasure to have you. 🥂
Reply ⤵️
ynnn.osei: The pleasure was mine. Thank you again.
@Juventus: Glad you could join us! ⚪️⚫️
@Esther_V: "I’m tired" she says, while looking like a literal goddess. I’m filing a complaint, non m'importa (i don't care)
Reply⤵️
ynnn.osei: stop glazinggg😭🤝🏾
@User_889: WAIT. DID ANYONE ELSE SEE KENAN LIKE THIS?
@User_099: First the viral video, now Loro Piana and the Gala? Her trajectory is insane. 📈
Giugno 9
Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
Hiding in plain sight
☆°°° Summary: As her follower count explodes, Yn struggles to reconcile her "It-Girl" digital image with her reality. Throughout a day of errands in the city, she repeatedly crosses paths with his face, Kenan Yıldız everywhere, and eventually a glimpse in the street. Without even meeting, they realize they share the same exhaustion of being "on" for a world that only sees their surface.
☆°°° Author's note: I really wanted to show the 'un-glamorous' side of going viral in this chapter. It’s not just about the likes; it’s about the pressure of being what others want while still navigating your true side. Yn and Kenan haven't even spoken yet, but they’re already more similar than they know. Also, shoutout to everyone who is following this story, interacting and liking! I see you.🤭🍀⭐️
☆°°° Warnings: Discussions of the overwhelming nature of sudden fame and hate comments. Brief mentions of emotional neglect and past toxic household dynamics. Themes of loneliness and feeling like a "fraud."
☆°°° Song playing: Stargirl Interlude – The Weeknd ft. Lana Del Rey
☆°°° Pairing: Kenan yildiz and blackfem!reader
☆°°° Word count: 10.9k
I woke up to the sound of my phone vibrating against the hardwood floor. It wasn’t the usual rhythmic buzz of an alarm; it was a frantic, continuous shudder, like the device was having a panic attack. For a second, I just laid there on the mattress, the one that cost me a month’s rent and still felt like cardboard, staring at the ceiling.
The lights in here are different from Parma. It’s sharper, colder, cutting through the thin curtains in a way that makes every speck of dust in the air look like a tiny, drifting star.
I reached for the phone, expecting a frantic text from Luna or maybe a "Where are you?" from a debt collector. Instead, my lock screen was a solid wall of white.
*TikTok: @user8392 liked your video.*
*TikTok: @martina_vss commented: 'This is the most relatable thing I’ve ever seen.'*
*Instagram: 432 new followers.*
*TikTok: 1.2k new followers.*
I blinked, rubbing my eyes. My thumb hovered over the screen, hesitant to unlock it, as if the phone might explode if I touched it. When I finally swiped up, the app didn't even load at first. It just froze. My video, the raw, unfiltered one, was at 400,000 views.
"Porca puttana, (holy shit) What the hell??," I whispered, my voice sounding small in the empty room.
The comments were a blur. People were arguing about my braids, outfit, and some were trauma-dumping in the replies, a huge portion of them were just tagging their friends with *'Look at her aesthetic.'* Aesthetic. That word again. I felt a sick twist in my stomach. They were romanticizing the moment I felt most pathetic. They didn't see the way my hands shook when I recorded it.
I threw the phone toward the foot of the mattress and stood up, pacing the small kitchen. I had to lock in. I needed to be a person, not some " pinterest inspo black girl." I couldn't let this get in my head.
I showerd, brushed my teeth and did my skincare. I quickly pulled on an oversized black blazer and some loose jeans. I spent 10 minutes doing my makeup and put my braids up in a ponytail, something simple yet sharp and cute, making sure it looked "effortless", the irony wasn't lost on me. If I was going to be the girl everyone was looking at, I couldn't look like the girl who’d been kicked out three weeks ago. I had to be the version of me that deserved 400,000 views. The “It girl”.
Walking down to my favorite caffetteria, the one near Piazza Castello, felt different today. Usually, I felt invisible, a dark shadow blending into the city. But today, I felt like I was walking under a spotlight. Every time someone checked their phone as I passed, I wondered: "Are they looking at me? Am I on their screen right now?"
I ordered a cold matcha, it's like 30C° out there and it's only 9:30 in the morning. As I waited, I finally worked up the courage to check my "New Followers" on Instagram. I scrolled past the "fan" accounts and bots, my heart hammering against my ribs.
I sat at a small table in the corner, I felt like a fraud. I felt like I was playing a character in a movie that I hadn't auditioned for. My phone buzzed again. A DM from an unknown account, a local photographer.
“Hey, love the vibe of your last video. Are you represented? I would love to shoot you this weekend.”
I didn't reply. I couldn't. I just stared at my reflection in the caffetteria window. The girl in the glass looked polished, chic, and "expensive." But the girl inside was still still wondering if she’d ever actually belong to a place or if she was just a temporary guest in her own life.
I finally took a sip of my drink. It's bitter, or maybe it's just my mouth. Now I'm at almost a million views. I didn't even realize that it's almost mid-day.
So I decided to go grocery shopping for the next few days. But as I walked out of the place, my eyes caught on something, a newspaper on the old man's table near his caffè.
It was “Tuttosport”. The front page was a massive photo of a boy in a black-and-white striped jersey, his hair a bit messy, eyes fixed on a ball I couldn't see properly, bro is also blind in all this.
"IL FUTURO È QUI," the headline screamed. The future is here.
I recognized him. Everyone in Italy knew the face of Kenan Yıldız. He was the golden boy of Juventus, the one the fans at the stadium chanted for until their throats were raw.
I looked at the photo for a second too long. He looked young, barely older than me but he had a look in his eyes that I recognized. It wasn't the look of someone who was just playing a game. It was the look of someone who was trying to prove he belonged there.
I felt a weird, brief flicker of kinship. Two foreigners in a city of stone, she thought.
I shook my head walking away to the nearest supermarket.
Time skip~~~
As I walked home, the heavy grocery bags digging into my palms, I passed a news stand. Turin was a city that lived and breathed for its two football clubs, but Juventus was the titan. Posters of the players were everywhere, stuck to the windows of tobacco shops, plastered on the sides of buses, and spray-painted on alley walls. When i lifted my eyes, “Dayuum, is this destiny or something?”. I murmured to myself ‘cause I saw him again.
And there he was again. Kenan.
This time it was a massive Adidas billboard near the Porta Nuova station. He was mid-stride, sweat glistening on his forehead, looking intense and untouchable. A group of teenage boys were standing under the billboard, arguing loudly about his last goal and whether he’d play the match on Saturday.
I felt a little uneasy seeing him everywhere, I mean, I get it. He's the star, but I feel like I've seen more posters of him than street signs.
I finally arrived home, washed my hands and put the groceries away. I decided to make a simple caesar salad since I didn't wanna cook too much.
It turned out pretty good actually.
Around 4:00 PM, I took a break. I didn't want to do anything, but I knew I had to post something to keep the algorithm happy. Therefore I set up my phone and hit record, filming a little “clean my apartment with me”.
In the meantime I was watching my viral video,
2.8M views. My follower count had ticked up by five thousand in a single day. It was a rush of dopamine and anxiety all at once. I was used to people liking my outfits, but this was different. People were liking me, for Me.
I saw a few blue checkmarks in the notification feed, other influencers, and a few minor Italian celebrities, but I cleared them without looking closely. I was too overwhelmed to care about who was watching.
I just turned off the phone, crawled into bed, which was still just a mattress on the floor and pulled the duvet over my head for a quick nap.
Across the city, from the stadium, Kenan was finishing late-night drills, the sound of the ball hitting the net the only thing keeping him grounded. He was tired, too. He was also playing a character, the "Golden Boy," the "Star," the "Hope."
They were both exhausted by the versions of themselves the world demanded to see.
18:02 p.m.
I finally woke up, because I've been holding that pee in for way too long.
The sunset was starting to bleed through the window, turning the white walls of the kitchen a dusty orange. It was the "Golden Hour," the time of day where it was perfect for capturing content.
She didn't want to. She wanted to stay in her pajamas and watch a mindless reality show. But she could see the "Active" status on her profile, the little green dot telling the world she was there. It felt like a leash.
After preparing a quick snack, I sat behind my counter scrolling through the comment section and DMS with a blank expression. It was a strange mix of people who treated me like a character in a show and people who used me as a mirror for their own lives.
@martina_v: Obsessed with your aesthetic!! Where did you get the rug behind you??
@lucaaa.torino: Welcome to the city. If you need a guide, let me know. I know all the spots the tourists miss.
*Blocked*
"I don't have the energy for "guides."
@user99283766: I don't get the hype. She’s just another influencer who moved to another city to take photos of coffee. Is she even working?
@gh_diaspora_queens: Representation! 🇬🇭 We see you girl, keep shining!.⭐️
I put the phone face down on the marble.
The negative comments didn't hurt as much as they used to, when you go through certain experiences it thickens your skin for whatever negativity is out there.
But the positive ones felt like a weight. They didn't know she spent half her day wondering if she’d remembered to pay her electric bill or if she was going to have to call her brothers for money.
She'd rather starve than call them.
I stepped out onto the narrow iron balcony that overlooked the street with my canon camera. Below, Turin was coming to life for the evening. People were heading to aperitivo, the sound of laughter and clinking glasses drifting up from the bar on the corner.
I framed a shot of the streetlights flickering on against the deep blue sky.
*Click.*
I looked at the preview on the small screen. It was perfect. It looked like I was having the time of my life in the most romantic city in the world.
I leaned over the railing, watching a car pull up to the curb a few houses down. It was a matte black Mercedes, sleek and quiet. A guy stepped out, wearing a simple white tee and joggers. Even from the fifth floor, I could tell he moved differently, fast, coordinated, like he was used to people watching him. Immediately, he was swamped by a group of people.
He didn't look up. He just grabbed a gym bag from the passenger seat while taking pictures with the people, and headed into the building across the street.
I didn't think much about it, but for a split second, I felt that same weird prickle earlier today while looking at the newspaper. That feeling of being "on" even when you were just trying to get home.
I went back inside and closed the glass door, locking it.
I sat on my bed and opened Instagram again, uploading pictures of the sunset.
Caption: Turin evening. 🌙
Within seconds, the likes started pouring in. Hearts, fire emojis, "Goal" comments.
I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and shoved it under my pillow, closing my eyes, trying to drown out the sound of the city, waiting for the morning where I'd have to wake up and do it all over again.
She didn't know that three blocks away, Kenan was staring at that same sunset from a much larger balcony, feeling the exact same itch under his skin, looking at the sky, wondering if there was anyone in this city who didn't want something from him.
In a city full of thousands of people, they were the only two who felt like they were hiding in plain sight.
Philoxenia "(Φιλοξενία" ),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
A journey from the quiet shadows of northern to the loud lights of the northwest Italy. This is for the observers, the romantics, and the girls who built their own dreams.
☆ Chapter 1° : Architecture of a guest
☆Chapter 2° : Hiding in plain sight
☆Chapter 3° : The real link
☆Chapter 4° : A change in exposure
☆Chapter 5° : The green eyed visionary
☆Chapter 6° : The pivot
☆Chapter 7° : The Glass House Breakdown
☆Chapter 8 : Soz (The Promise)
☆Chapter 9 : Blueprint of us
Lei , Restraint and dreams captured in a lens
Lui, Talent and the firm intention of not letting her

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Philoxenia (Φιλοξενία),
the act of making a stranger feel like they
belong—treating a "guest" with the same warmth
and protection as family.
Architecture of a Guest
☆°°° Summary: After years of being the black sheep in her family, Yn harshly decided to turn things around, some might say she's running away from her problems but to her, it was the beginning of her living freely without anyone buzzing in her ears every second telling her what to do.
☆°°° Author's note: HIII! Omg you guys, first of all some parts of this story is extracted from personal experience and also this is my first time writing this and so i hope I don't disappoint you guys, I promise I'll be as active as I can with writing. Keep in mind that I know English and Italian so pls don't judge too much on the language switching 😭🙏🏾.
☆°°° Warnings: angst, curse words, feelings of isolation/displacement, parental neglect (referenced), but mostly just vibes, slow burn, and excessive sarcasm consumption.
☆°°° Pairing: Kenan yildiz and blackfem!reader
☆°°°: Song playing: Cigarettes after sex - Stop waiting
☆°°° Word count: 9.7k
The apartment in Torino was still too quiet, the type of quietness that you could literally hear your own breathing, or maybe it's just my clogged nose from the seasonal allergy, i sat on the floor of my now living room, surrounded by half-taped cardboard boxes and a single ring light that cast a sterile, white glow against the walls. It was 11:00 PM. I was tired, the kind of tired that sleep doesn’t really fix, mentally thanking the moving guys for helping me with the boxes and mattress, and yet i couldn't stop moving. If i stopped, I'd have to think about the fact that I'm nineteen and entirely alone in a city that felt like a giant, cold museum. Realization is starting to hit now, literally that i just moved to a whole new big ass city, just like that.
The night grew colder even though summer is around the corner, therefore i pulled a sweater out of the many boxes.
“Meno male (thank god) that I named these boxes, pheww ”.
I sighed to myself before laying flat for a second on the mattress, which, by the way, why do they cost so much like damn. I tucked my hands in the pockets when i felt something in them, lowkey hoping it was a 20€ bill, which in this economy it's quite hard, so I immediately shook that thought away.
It was a wrinkled receipt from my favorite caffetteria, “Ponte Romano” back Home.
Just seeing the word Parma at the bottom of the receipt made my chest tighten, but I don't regret my decision, not yet.
Living with my father hadn’t been some dramatic movie scene with screaming matches and breaking glass. It was worse than that. The total absence of emotional intelligence, affection and communication was just a mess… . It was the way he’d look at me when I was around, as if he was trying to remember why I was there, not the kitchen but in his life.. It was the way he called me "the girl" when talking to close ones on the phone.
"Yes, the girl is fine. She is somewhere around the house, I don't know, let's just carry on with our conversation". He says while smacking his teeth like I'm not one room away from him, or as if these walls aren't thin.
He didn’t hate her. He just didn't have a slot for her in his schedule.
One Saturday, a few months before I left, I had spent all afternoon cleaning the house. Mopped the floors, doing the laundry, organising the pantry and cleaning his bedroom, thinking maybe, if the house looked perfect, he’d actually appreciate my doings instead i received a:
“you're a girl, it's your duty”.
Needless to say that whenever I hear this sentence a rush of disturbance and annoyance rush through my veins, if I had fair skin it would be acknowledged from how red my face becomes.
That was the vibe. I was allowed to exist, as long as I stayed behind a closed door and didn't leave a footprint. I learned to cry silently, learned to do the laundry when I was just 10 years old, learned to lie, like sporadically, learned the sound of their footsteps or to wash my dishes immediately so there was no proof I had eaten. I think in some ways it was my unconscious way of protesting against how everybody made me feel in my own body and mind.
I became an observer because being a participant was too risky.
A tear slipped from my eyes while reminiscing these moments, it made the whole room feel heavy even though there was barely anything in there if not the boxes and suit cases full of clothes and my belongings.
The day I finally left wasn't some grand escape, either. I had saved every cent from my job working as a clerk in a sports shop the whole summer. Obviously, my father knew I was working, I was so happy to help around the house when my paycheck came in. All I gotta say is that I thank god I lied about my paycheck, I was getting about 1200€ monthly but I lied and told him I was only getting almost half of that, because I know how most of Ghanaian parents are, the culture and totally different ways of raising their kids, sometimes lying is not that bad, it actually saves you.
I had to, I had no choice, I had to put myself first and stop hoping and giving this man a chance to change.
At this point I have started posting a few videos on tiktok, nothing crazy just the normal trends, the view count stopping for whatever reason at 300.
The more i grow, the more i realizes how expensive i am, therefore i had to do something about it, and posting content has always been something i had dreamed of, watching my favorite youtubers and tiktokers, but for God knows whatever reason i thought I could only do that if i had the newest iPhone and the most Aesthetic room. But it all came crashing down that day.
I'll never forget that day, the fight I had with my dad about something stupid. I overslept and didn't cook in time for him and my brothers since I'm the Woman in the house. I don't know what came over me, I finally spoke back at him screaming where the only things being exchanged were screams and tears, for the lather it's me as everyone can imagine.
“Esther non so che fare”(esther, I don't know what to do)”. I said to my best friend, being eerily calm for someone who risks sleeping under a bridge that night.
“wth bro!!!??? yn what happened this time?” She asked, sounding so exasperated.
“I had an argument with my dad earlier this morning, later on i went out to cool off, i just entered the house and saw that my things had been all put in literally trash bags ”.
They had packed my life away into fucking trash bags like some animal, while being away.
“Dayum, I'm really sorry girl, unfortunately I can't have you at my place because I'm away for university, and you know my mom is really sick so unfortunately she can't have constant movements through the house.”
“fuck. Yeah i know it's fine” I said with slouched shoulders, I'm so over life.
“But I can call my dad, we can store your stuff for you while we search for someone who can at least give you a place to sleep for tonight ” she said, sounding like she hopefully hopes she's helping in some way.
“Giura?! Grazie tantissimo Es, non saprei che fare senza di te.”(swear?! thank you so much es, i wouldn't know what I'd do without you).” I said, finally seeing some fucking light in this fuckery.
“It's fine, I'll let you know when my dad replies to my messages” Esther said before hanging up.
An angel, a literal fricking angel that's how I'd describe her, she's one of those people that you don't gotta call all the time, yet when you catch up it seems as though the vibe and bond just keeps growing.
I tried calling another friend, Luna.
“Pronto luna? Mi senti?” (Hello Luna? Can you hear me?)”, I said, finally she responded to my calls.
“Oi yn, scusami stavo dormendo, mi stavo un'attimo riposando dopo lavoro dimmi tutto, ma veramente tuo padre ti ha mandato fuori di casa??" (sorry yn i was resting a lil after work, what's up? Did your dad really kick you out?)” She asked me, I tried responding, but I felt a burning and tight sensation in my throat.
“yes lu, he really did. Listen, I need a place to stay for a while to figure shit out, can I come to your place?”, if she says no it's over for me, her and Esther are literally my only friends.
“Ma certo!!” (of course!) , let me talk to my parents and we'll come pick you up immediately.”
I couldn't believe my years, after something that felt like eternity Esther's dad came to pick up my things, shortly after, Luna's parents also came. Obviously I had to explain my situation to them, which was draining but considering they had me at their place for a whole week, it was the bare minimum.
During the stay, I moved to this emergency kind of place for females. I stayed there for about a month and during that time, I personally feel like I had grown so much, my life went on, I kept seeing faces I didn't wanna see, hence my move to Torino.
Nobody knew about it, except Luna who was heartbroken but understood the situation and Esther who was so crazy supportive.
I owe everything to them, a Loro.
Torino: Present Day
It's been a little over a week.
Now, sitting on the floor yn grabbed her camera. She felt like a bit of a fraud. On her Tiktok and Instagram, her life looked like a dream, moody shots of espresso, (it's just for the aesthetics, she can't stand the taste but the scent of caffè), gold jewelry against dark skin, "Main Character" energy.
In reality, she was eating cold leftovers and wondering if she’d made the right choice.
She opened TikTok, her thumb hovering over the 'Plus' button. She’d recorded a video earlier—a "Get Ready With Me" where she actually talked about the move and what led up to that.
"I think the hardest part of moving," she looked deeply through the camera, as if it was some professional therapist, (“they cost like crazy”, she usually says), her voice low and a bit husky, "is realizing that you aren't actually leaving a home. You're just moving your things from one temporary spot to another, which in my case it doesn't and never felt like one where I used to be so i ain't that guilty, I'm only sad cause that's where i grew up you know?, I hope you guys support this new chapter of my life. And yeah, I'm really happy to bring you guys along the journey. "
She hesitated. It was too raw. It didn't fit the "cool girl" aesthetic.
Whatever, she thought. Nobody’s watching that closely anyway. Them views will be stuck at 300 anyways, or that's what she thought…
She hit Post.
She tossed her phone onto the pile of jeans and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. She didn't check the app. She didn't see the views climbing. She didn't see that a certain Turkish-German striker, currently sitting in a recovery tub at the Juventus training center, had just scrolled onto her video.
Kenan was used to girls posting “lipsyncs” that's anything but syncing or "Day in the Life" videos of shopping trips or extravagant lifestyles. He wasn't used to a girl with eyes that looked like they’d seen and heard too much , talking about not belonging.
He didn’t think much about it but that video, that video definitely stuck with him.
👤 Liked by lu.lunaa and others
ynnn.osei First few days in thee apartment.🏡
Aprile 1
Sidney Sheldon, “Rage of Angels”