I Found Out Before You Did
Pairing: Kenan Yıldız x Reader
Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist
You don’t notice it at first.
You just think you’re tired.
Training schedules, travel, weird time zones because of away games… it makes sense to feel exhausted sometimes. You yawn, rub your eyes, stretch out on the couch with a blanket and tell yourself it’s normal.
Kenan, apparently, does not think it’s normal.
“Bebek,” he calls from the kitchen, “you fell asleep again?”
You blink your eyes open, not realizing you’d even closed them. “I did not,” you mumble, voice raspy.
He walks in, leaning on the doorway with a glass of water in his hand, one eyebrow raised, curls messy from his own training. “You literally snored.”
He grins. “You kind of do.”
You roll your eyes and sit up, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders like a cape. “I’m just tired.”
“You’ve been ‘just tired’ for like… two weeks,” he says, crossing the room and handing you the glass. “Drink.”
You take it anyway. “Yes, coach.”
He sits beside you, watching you too closely. You know that look , the one he gets before a free-kick, analyzing angles and distance. Except now, you’re the tactic board.
He shrugs, pretending to focus on the TV. “You’ve also been eating pickles with… what was it? Chocolate spread?”
You freeze for half a second, then lift your chin. “It was good.”
You nudge his thigh with your foot. “Shut up.”
“You cried during a commercial yesterday,” he continues, ticking off points on his fingers. “You yelled at the kettle. You told my shampoo it smells like ‘childhood trauma.’ You,”
“I am emotional and sensitive and your shampoo does smell like trauma,” you protest. “Have you smelled it? It’s like a locker room and regret.”
He chuckles, but his eyes soften.
“I’m serious,” he says quietly. “You’re not like this usually.”
You force a playful smile. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
“Maybe,” he says slowly, searching your face, “or maybe…”
His gaze drops for a second to your stomach , flat, but… you’ve been bloated. A little nauseous in the mornings. You've blamed it on bad sleep and stress. You feel your heart pick up.
“Or maybe what?” you say, pretending not to notice where he's looking.
He swallows. “Bebek… I think you might be pregnant.”
The words hover in the air between you, soft and careful and absolutely shattering.
Your fingers tighten around the glass. “What?”
He doesn’t rush to repeat himself. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he’s lining up the most important shot of his life.
“I’m not saying for sure,” he says, voice gentle. “But you’re exhausted all the time, you’re nauseous, you can’t stand coffee all of a sudden,”
“That proves nothing,” you cut in, but your voice is weaker.
“You love coffee,” he insists. “You told me you’d leave me for coffee once.”
“It hurt my feelings,” he says softly, lips twitching, then sobers. “Your body is different, aşkım. I notice. I always notice you.”
Your heart squeezes at that, even as your chest tightens with something like panic.
The word feels too big to fit inside the apartment.
“I’m on the pill,” you whisper.
His thumb runs over the back of your hand. “It’s not 100%.”
You stare at his fingers, at his nails still a little dirty from training, at the faint bruise on his knuckle from a tackle last match. This is Kenan. Your Kenan. The boy who loses his phone three times a day but somehow remembers the exact way you like your tea.
You don’t even realize you’re breathing faster until he notices and leans closer.
“Hey, hey,” he murmurs. “Breathe with me, tamam? In… out…”
You try, chest stuttering. You manage a shaky inhale, then a long exhale, eyes stinging.
“What if I’m not?” you ask.
“Then we’ll know,” he says calmly. “And we stop worrying.”
He pauses, eyes meeting yours. There’s fear there, yes, but beneath it, something steady, something that looks a lot like resolve.
“Then we’ll know,” he repeats. “And we figure it out together.”
He frowns like the word offended him. “Of course we. You think I’m going anywhere?”
You laugh wetly. “You don’t even like leaving the bed on your days off, so no.”
“Exactly,” he says. “Very committed.”
He slides closer until his thigh is pressed against yours and gently takes the glass from your hand, placing it on the table. Then he cups your cheeks, warm palms grounding you.
“I’m scared too,” he admits, forehead touching yours. “But I promise you something, okay?”
You look up at him, throat tight. “What?”
His eyes are so serious now, all the joking gone.
“I won’t let you go through it alone,” he says. “Whatever happens, whatever you choose, I’m here. Always.”
Tears spill over before you can stop them. You hate crying. You hate being vulnerable. But with him, it feels… safe.
He presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “We can get a test tomorrow morning.”
You sniff. “Why tomorrow?”
He hesitates, then gives you a guilty smile. “Because if I go out now, fans will see me in the pharmacy buying pregnancy tests and then everyone will know before we do.”
You huff out a laugh, wiping your cheeks. “Right. Fair point.”
“Tomorrow,” he repeats. “We’ll know tomorrow.”
You lean into his touch, and for the first time since the word “pregnant” left his lips, a tiny spark of something warm pushes through the fear.
Maybe it won’t be the end of the world.
You wake up to an empty bed, the smell of toast and something sweet drifting down the hallway. Your stomach flips , with nerves, with nausea, with both.
“Kenan?” your voice cracks.
“In here!” he calls from the kitchen.
You drag yourself up, pad over, and stop in the doorway.
He’s in sweatpants and a hoodie, curls messy, barefoot, staring very seriously at… three boxes of pregnancy tests lined up on the counter like trophies.
You blink. “Why are there so many?”
“Different brands,” he says, as if it’s obvious. “I researched.”
You stare. “You… researched pregnancy tests?”
He bristles. “I’m responsible sometimes.”
“You’re the same man who once lost his passport in the fridge.”
“That was one time,” he insists. “Also, you put it there.”
You bite back a smile. “You ready?”
His bravado falters. “I thought I was. Now I feel like I’m about to take an exam.”
“You’re not even the one peeing on a stick,” you mumble.
“Emotional exam,” he clarifies, placing a hand over his heart. “Very difficult.”
Despite everything, you laugh. The tension eases a fraction.
He hands you one of the tests, fingers slightly shaky. “I’ll be right outside the door, tamam?”
You nod. “Don’t eavesdrop.”
“I would never,” he says, clearly lying.
You roll your eyes and head to the bathroom.
Your hands tremble a little as you follow the instructions. It feels surreal, like this is someone else’s life. Someone else’s test. You set it on the sink, face-down, like it might explode, then wash your hands slowly just to do something.
There’s a soft knock on the door.
You stare at your reflection , wide eyes, hair a mess, his hoodie hanging off your shoulders.
“I don’t know,” you admit.
“I’m sitting on the floor outside like a sad dog,” he says. “In case that helps.”
You set a timer on your phone. Two minutes. Longest of your life.
“Kenan?” you say quietly.
“What if I’m… not a good mom?”
There’s no pause this time, no hesitation.
“You will be,” he says immediately. “I know it.”
“Because you take care of everyone,” he says. “You remember my vitamins more than I do. You send my mom pictures of me when she misses me. You make sure I sleep, eat, breathe. If anyone can love a tiny human properly, it’s you.”
Your eyes water again. “You’re biased.”
“Extremely,” he agrees. “But also right.”
The timer goes off with a shrill beep that makes you jump.
Your heart slams. You just stand there, staring at the phone like if you ignore it, time might reverse.
You open the door instead.
Kenan scrambles up from the floor, hair sticking up on one side. “Is it time?”
“Do you want me to look?” he asks softly. “Or do you want to?”
You think about it. About your heart, already pounding too hard.
He squeezes your hand. “Okay. Come.”
You stand together in front of the sink. The little plastic stick lies there, face-down, stupidly small for something that could change everything.
He looks at you one more time. “Ready?”
“Me neither,” he murmurs. “But we’ll look anyway.”
Very clear. Very positive.
You don’t react at first. Your brain goes blank, like it can’t process the information. The world narrows down to white plastic and pink lines.
Kenan catches you instantly, arms around your waist.
“Hey,” he whispers, voice thick. “Hey, breathe. Look at me, aşkım. Look at me.”
You drag your gaze from the test to his face.
His eyes are shiny, lips parted like he’s forgotten how to breathe too. He laughs,just a small, broken sound.
“We’re… we’re having a baby,” he whispers.
The word hits differently now , not abstract, not a possibility. Reality.
You press your forehead to his chest, fists clutching his hoodie, and finally let go. Tears stream down your face , fear, shock, something else blooming under it like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds.
“I’m so scared,” you choke out.
His arms tighten around you, almost protective, one hand already instinctively sliding to your lower stomach.
“I know,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m scared too.”
You feel him take a deep breath, chest rising under your cheek.
Then, softly but with a firmness that makes your heart stutter, he says:
“I promise I’ll be the best baba. For both of you.”
You sniff against him. “You can’t even water the plants on time.”
“I’ll set reminders,” he says quickly. “I’ll water the baby.”
You pull back, horrified and laughing at the same time. “You’re not watering the baby.”
“You know what I mean,” he says, smiling through his own tears. “I’ll learn. I’ll try. I’ll… I’ll do whatever it takes. Diapers, late nights, singing stupid songs, whatever. I’m in. I’m all in.”
His honesty, his vulnerability, hits you harder than the test result.
“You really want this?” you ask quietly.
He looks down at your stomach, then back at you, as if the answer is obvious.
“I want you,” he says. “And now… apparently we come with a tiny roommate.”
You laugh wetly. “That tiny roommate is going to scream a lot.”
“I’ve played in stadiums with fifty thousand people chanting insults at me,” he says. “I can handle one screaming potato.”
You swat his shoulder. “Our baby is not a potato.”
“Our baby is a star,” he corrects, thumb drawing little circles on your skin just below your navel. His voice softens, fills with awe. “My little yıldız.”
The word , star , makes something in your chest glow.
That night, you lie in bed facing each other. The apartment is quiet, the city humming softly outside the window. His hand rests over your still-flat stomach, thumb moving absently.
“You know they can’t hear you yet,” you mumble sleepily when he starts talking.
“I don’t care,” he whispers. “I’m practicing.”
You open one eye to watch him.
He inches closer, lips a breath away from your hoodie-covered belly, and speaks in a soft, almost shy voice.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s me. I’m your baba.”
You bite your lip to hold back a smile, heart swelling.
“I’m kind of an idiot sometimes,” he continues. “But I run fast and I’ll protect you and your mama with everything I have, tamam?”
“I’m going to teach you football,” he whispers. “Unless you hate it. Then I’ll pretend to like whatever you like. Even if it’s chess. Or… I don’t know, accounting.”
You giggle quietly. “You don’t even know what accounting really is.”
“Exactly,” he says. “That’s how much I’d suffer for them.”
He kisses your stomach, so tenderly it makes your throat burn.
“I love you,” he says so quietly you almost miss it. “Both of you. So much.”
You reach down, threading your fingers through his hair.
“They’re the size of, like… a sesame seed right now,” you say, half laughing, half crying. “You’re already obsessed.”
“Of course I am,” he says simply, resting his cheek against you. “Have you met their mother?”
You roll your eyes. “Cheesy.”
Silence settles, warm and safe. You stare at the ceiling and let the reality wash over you in gentle waves rather than crushing ones.
You’re still scared. You’re still unsure. But there’s a new feeling, too , growing, steady, bright.
“Kenan?” you whisper into the dark.
“Thank you. For… not freaking out. For staying.”
He shifts, reaching up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek lightly.
“I told you,” he says. “I notice everything about you. I saw this before you did, maybe. But we’ll live it together. Every step, tamam?”
He smiles, then leans in to kiss you, slow and sweet.
“Sleep now, anne,” he murmurs against your lips.
You freeze. “Did you just call me,”
“Yep,” he says proudly. “That’s your new nickname.”
You groan, burying your face in his chest. “You’re impossible.”
“Maybe,” he laughs softly, wrapping himself around you, hand firm over your lower belly again, like a promise. “But I’m yours. And I’m theirs too.”
You fall asleep like that , his heart beating steadily under your ear, his fingers tracing lazy circles over the tiny life you’re only just beginning to believe is real.
And even through the fear, through the unknown, you already know one thing for certain:
You’re not doing this alone.
