#juventus x reader

Kenan Yildiz x Reader

The rumors started because of one photo.

Just one.

A blurry airport picture of YN and Kenan Yıldız in Milan that somehow turned the entire internet insane overnight.

Usually, people were already used to them being affectionate.

Kenan always had a hand on her waist.

YN always stole his hoodies.

They kissed after matches, held hands everywhere, and acted so disgustingly in love that fans had accepted it as part of their brand at this point.

But lately?

It was worse.

Way worse.

And apparently the internet noticed before they did.

“Why is everyone saying I’m pregnant?” YN asked in disbelief.

Kenan looked up from his phone across the hotel bed.

“…What?”

She turned her screen around.

A TikTok edit already had two million views.

“THE WAY HE KEEPS TOUCHING HER STOMACH???”

Another comment read:

“Men act like this when their girl is pregnant idc.”

And another:

“He’s literally glowing.”

YN stared at the comments in horror.

Meanwhile Kenan started laughing.

Actually laughing.

“That’s funny.”

“No it’s not!”

“It kinda is.”

She threw a pillow at him immediately.

Unfortunately for her, the rumors only got worse after fashion week.

Because Kenan apparently forgot how to act normal in public.

It started at the show entrance.

Kenan arrived late because of training, still wearing all black and looking unfairly good while cameras immediately turned toward him.

The second he spotted YN?

It was over.

He walked straight to her without even greeting anyone properly first, hands instantly finding her waist while she smiled up at him.

And that alone would've been fine.

Except he kept touching her.

Her waist.

Her hip.

Her lower back.

His hand resting against her stomach absentmindedly while talking.

At one point during the show, YN leaned into his shoulder while laughing and Kenan kissed the top of her head without even thinking about it.

The cameras LOST their minds.

Clips spread everywhere within minutes.

“THE BABY RUMORS ARE REAL.”

“This is exactly how my husband acted when I was pregnant.”

“He’s so protective lately???”

Even worse?

Kenan started accidentally feeding into it.

Because once he noticed people pushing too close near YN outside events, he became insanely clingy.

Like holding her hand crossing tiny streets.

Pulling her into his chest during paparazzi crowds.

Adjusting her coat himself.

Constantly asking:

“You okay?”

“You tired?”

“Come here.”

And the internet interpreted every single thing as:

BABY CONFIRMED.

His teammates were absolutely useless.

“Congratulations,” one of them grinned during training.

Kenan blinked. “For what?”

“The baby.”

“There is no baby.”

“Sure.”

Kenan groaned loudly.

Even worse was when he walked into the locker room later and someone started playing lullaby music from their phone.

“I hate all of you.”

YN found the whole thing hilarious.

Mostly because Kenan genuinely did not understand why everyone thought she was pregnant.

Until one night.

They were leaving dinner together when paparazzi started shouting questions.

“YN ARE YOU EXPECTING?”

“KENAN IS IT TRUE?”

“IS THAT WHY YOU’RE SO PROTECTIVE?”

YN immediately froze.

Kenan, meanwhile, instinctively pulled her closer against him while guiding her into the car carefully.

Which only made the cameras go crazier.

The second the door shut, YN looked at him slowly.

“…You literally just proved their point.”

“What point?”

“You touched my stomach again.”

Kenan looked down.

His hand was, in fact, resting protectively over her stomach.

He blinked.

“Oh.”

YN burst into laughter.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed, “YOU are the reason for the rumors.”

“I don’t even notice I’m doing it.”

“That’s somehow worse.”

Kenan just shook his head smiling before leaning over the console to kiss her softly.

“Maybe I just like touching my girlfriend.”

“Sure,” she teased. “That’s definitely all it is.”

His eyes narrowed playfully.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“A little.”

He kissed her again, slower this time, smiling against her lips when she laughed quietly.

Outside, cameras were still flashing wildly through the windows.

And somewhere online, another theory thread was already being made.

Does He Melt?

Pairing: Kenan Yıldız x Reader

Word Count:1132

Request open!

Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II

Kenan is on the couch, one arm draped over the backrest like he owns the world, the other hand scrolling on his phone. He’s in sweatpants and a plain T-shirt, hair still slightly damp from a shower.

Comfortable. Safe. Distractingly pretty.

You sit beside him with a totally normal amount of calm.

Kenan glances up. “Why are you staring at me?”

“I’m not staring.”

“Yes you are,” he says, amused. “You look like you’re planning something.”

You shift closer. “I’m not planning.”

He sets his phone down slowly. “That’s exactly what someone planning would say.”

You bite your lip. “Okay, fine. I saw a TikTok trend.”

Kenan’s expression instantly becomes suspicious. “No.”

You laugh. “You don’t even know what it is!”

“I know enough,” he says. “TikTok trends are dangerous.”

“This one is harmless.”

“Harmless like the one where you tried to convince me to dance in the kitchen?”

“That was cute!”

“It was humiliating,” he corrects, but his smile gives him away.

You tuck your legs under you, turning toward him. “It’s called ‘seeing if he melts with a kiss.’”

Kenan stares. “That’s… a trend?”

“Yeah,” you say innocently. “Usually people record it.”

His eyes narrow. “Are we recording it?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Just between us.”

Kenan relaxes a fraction. “Okay. Then what’s the point?”

“The point,” you say, leaning in, “is science.”

Kenan snorts. “Science.”

“Yes.”

He crosses his arms. “And what exactly does ‘melts’ mean?”

You shrug. “You know. Like… you lose your composure. You get soft. You,”

“I am always composed,” he says firmly.

You stare at him. “Kenan, you once got flustered because I said your hands were nice.”

“They are nice,” he argues automatically, then pauses. “Wait,no, that’s not the point.”

You grin. “So you can melt.”

“I can’t,” he insists. “And you’re not going to make me.”

“Oh, I’m not?” you tease.

Kenan tilts his head. “No.”

“Okay,” you say, all sweetness. “Then let’s test it.”

Kenan’s lips twitch. “This is a trap.”

“Maybe.”

He scoots closer anyway, like his body betrays his mouth. “Fine. One kiss.”

“One kiss,” you agree.

You cup his cheek gently, thumb brushing his skin. His eyes flick to your mouth, then back to your eyes.

“Why are you doing that?” he asks quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Looking at me like that,” he murmurs.

“Like what?”

“Like…” He clears his throat. “Like you already won.”

You smile. “I did.”

Kenan’s eyes narrow again, but there’s no heat in it. Only anticipation. “Do it.”

You lean in and kiss him,slow and soft, just enough pressure to make him exhale through his nose like he’s trying not to react.

When you pull back, you watch his face carefully.

Kenan blinks once. Then again. “That didn’t count.”

You laugh. “Why not?”

“Too gentle,” he says quickly. “It was a warm-up.”

“A warm-up?” you repeat, incredulous.

Kenan nods like he’s giving a post-match interview. “Yes. You’re trying to trick me. I need a fair test.”

You bite back a smile. “Fine. Mr. Fair Test. What’s a ‘real’ test?”

He leans forward slightly. “Do it again. But… properly.”

Your eyebrows lift. “Properly?”

Kenan’s ears go faintly pink. “Just,kiss me like you mean it.”

You soften. “Kenan, I always mean it.”

He swallows, gaze dropping to your lips again. “Then prove it.”

So you do.

This time, you kiss him with intent,hand sliding to the back of his neck, fingers threading into his hair. His breath catches. You feel it, the tiny hitch that gives him away.

Kenan’s hand moves to your waist, pulling you closer without thinking.

You pull back just enough to tease, “Are you melting?”

“No,” he breathes, but his voice is lower now.

You grin. “Liar.”

Kenan’s eyes flash. “I’m not a liar.”

“Then you’re not melting?” you challenge.

He stares at you like you just declared war. “Do it again.”

You laugh. “Kenan,”

“Again,” he insists, and there’s something needy in the way he says it that makes your stomach flip.

You cup his face and kiss him again. This time he responds immediately,shoulders loosening, posture collapsing into you like his body finally decided it doesn’t need to be strong every second of the day.

When you pull away, he follows for a second, chasing your mouth like he forgot you were the one running the experiment.

You whisper, “That looked like melting.”

Kenan exhales, forehead dropping toward yours. “I’m not melting. I’m… reacting.”

“Reacting,” you repeat, delighted.

“Yes,” he says stubbornly. “Normal reaction.”

“Normal reaction to what?”

He squeezes your waist. “To you kissing me.”

You tilt your head. “So you’re saying… I have that effect on you?”

Kenan closes his eyes for a moment, like he’s collecting himself. “Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” you gasp dramatically.

He opens one eye. “It’s inconvenient.”

“Because you’re trying to be composed?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m ruining it?”

He nods. “Yes.”

You smile, softer now. “Kenan, you don’t have to be composed with me.”

His expression shifts,less playful, more real. “I know,” he says quietly. “But it’s hard to turn off.”

You brush your thumb over his cheek again. “Then let me help.”

Kenan’s voice drops. “How?”

You kiss the corner of his mouth, then pull back just to speak. “Like that.”

His grip tightens a little. “That’s cheating.”

You laugh. “There are no rules in this trend.”

Kenan stares at you, and you can practically see him trying to fight a smile.

It fails.

He smiles anyway,wide, boyish, a little shy. “Okay,” he admits. “Maybe I melt.”

You gasp again. “He admits it!”

Kenan groans and hides his face against your shoulder. “Don’t say it like that.”

You wrap your arms around him, delighted by how easily he folds into you. “You’re cute when you melt.”

He lifts his head, eyes warm. “I’m not cute.”

“You’re adorable,” you correct.

Kenan huffs. “I’m a professional athlete.”

“Professional melter,” you say.

He laughs,an actual laugh,and it rumbles through his chest into yours. “You’re impossible.”

“And you,” you say, leaning closer, “are very, very meltable.”

Kenan’s eyes soften. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He pulls you closer, lips hovering near yours. “Because if you kiss me again…”

“Yes?” you whisper.

Kenan’s voice turns quiet, honest. “I won’t stop.”

Your stomach flips. The teasing fades into something tender and heavy.

You nod once. “Okay.”

Kenan studies your face like he’s making sure. Then he kisses you,slow at first, then deeper, like he’s finally letting himself sink.

When you pull away, you’re both breathing a little harder.

You whisper, triumphant, “Confirmed. He melts.”

Kenan rests his forehead against yours. “Only for you.”

And the way he says it,soft, certain,makes you realize the trend was never really about testing him.

It was about seeing how safe he feels in your hands.

a/n: idk if the moodboard turned out that good, but i needed to post this because it’s been sitting in my notes for so long and i thought it was kinda cute lol. it’s been in my head forever, and i liked imagining it hahaha hope you guys like it too

pov: you

i can’t believe I let myself get into this. how am i supposed to explain to my friends that the guy i hate, or at least hated, gave me the best kiss I’ve ever had? and worse: it wasn’t just the kiss. it was everything that came after. the slow way we kept falling into each other, crossing lines i swore I’d never cross. now the sun is barely rising, soft light slipping through the curtains and painting the sheets gold. and here i am, awake before the world, lying beside you. watching the way your hair falls over your forehead. The quiet rise and fall of your chest. the sleepy crease on your cheek from the pillow. the room smells like morning air and coffee waiting somewhere far away, but I can’t move. because looking at you feels dangerous. because sometime between all the fighting, all the denial, all the almosts… I fell. and judging by the way my heart is racing before you’ve even opened your eyes. i’m completely doomed.

Can you please write something for kenan, something a bit spicy maybe but mixed with angst

It could he him being jealous then wanting to prove to her he is the best

Or his trying something new in the bedroom

Or finally after bad timing starting to date officialy and then not having the opportunity to sleep together for the first time

Just throwing ideas out there haha

☆ Hello, how are you? Thank you so much for the affection! I didn’t quite understand the last suggestion you gave, haha (sorry). But I wrote something new and tried to mix the first and second requests. I hope you like it. Enjoy reading and don’t forget to like. xoxo! ♡

___________________________________________

Say The Words

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: Neither of them had ever talked about making it official, but there was never any doubt about what they felt. Until an unexpected argument pushes Chloe to finally put into words what had always been there. Kenan may not be one for grand declarations, but some things he insists on making crystal clear—and not just with words.

𝙀𝙣𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙢𝙮 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙨𝙤 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙞𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙮 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨.

___________________________________________

The Allianz Stadium was buzzing with energy. Juventus had secured a convincing victory, and their number ten had been one of the standout players of the match. He had scored a goal, provided an assist, and was clearly pleased with his performance.

After the final whistle, the players wandered across the field, greeting fans and teammates. That’s when a kid in the stands caught Kenan’s attention, holding up a handmade sign: "Kenan, your jersey?"

It was a simple request, and Kenan never said no to things like that. Without a second thought, he pulled off his sweat-drenched jersey and walked over to the edge of the pitch to hand it to the boy. The kid’s face lit up, and the surrounding crowd erupted in cheers.

But as Kenan turned to walk back, murmurs rippled through the stands.

Scratches.

Multiple.

Red, fresh, and scattered across his broad, muscular back.

At first, it was just a few quiet remarks here and there. But within seconds, the cameras zoomed in. Photos were snapped, videos surfaced. Fans pointed, whispered, and before long, the speculation spread like wildfire.

Back in the locker room, Kenan had no idea what was happening. He had barely shut his locker when Federico Chiesa approached him, grinning.

— What the hell happened to you, Kenan?

He pointed at Kenan’s back, still chuckling.

The other players overheard and gathered around. Weston McKennie whistled as he took in the scratches.

— Damn, man. Was this a fight or just a wild night?

— More like an attack. — Miretti added, smirking. — Someone got their claws on you.

Kenan rolled his eyes and let out a breath.

— You guys are exaggerating.

— Exaggerating? — Chiesa grabbed his phone and opened Twitter. — Have you seen this?

On the screen, a video played: Kenan removing his jersey, handing it to the kid, and turning around. The slow-motion zoom captured the scratches in high definition. The caption?

"My God, what did they do to Kenan? 🔥"

The comments were already blowing up.

@JuventusFan99: He doesn’t have a girlfriend… or does he?

@SoccerQueen: Those scratches were made with passion. I need details!

@PaparazziItaly: Investigation underway. Who’s the mystery woman?

Kenan ran a hand down his face.

— Oh, great.

— Dude, who did this to you? — Chiesa nudged him, amused. — Because it sure as hell wasn’t a cat.

McKennie laughed.

— More like a tigress.

The whole locker room burst into laughter as Kenan shook his head.

— You guys need to find a hobby.

— This is our entertainment. — Miretti grinned. — Now, spill. Who is she?

Kenan didn’t answer. He just grabbed his phone and checked his notifications.

He already knew people were speculating. And it wouldn’t take long before someone connected the dots and figured out the truth.

It didn’t take long at all.

The internet worked fast. Online detectives pieced together photos, analyzed patterns, and reached the only logical conclusion: Kenan Yildiz was involved with Chloe Evans.

Chloe was a model and actress, one of the biggest names in fashion. Petite, curvy, and with a runway walk that turned heads everywhere she went. People wanted her. Magazines, designers, directors—everyone.

And now, apparently, Kenan had her.

The rumors snowballed into near scandal levels. They were spotted together more frequently—leaving restaurants, strolling through quiet streets, exchanging glances. Not exactly hiding, but not making it obvious either. Just enough to drive the media crazy.

Then came the moment that sealed it.

Chloe attended a Juventus game. She wore a loose-fitting sweater, but when the cameras focused on her, fans noticed the detail that set everything off: Kenan’s name and number were printed on the back.

The entire stadium let out a collective “ooooh,” and the commentators wasted no time:

— Well, looks like we have a special guest in the stands today.

— And she’s repping Kenan Yildiz. Can we make this official now?

The internet exploded. Memes flooded in, speculations doubled. Kenan and Chloe were officially the center of attention.

Then, during a vacation with friends, they were spotted at a party.

Chloe looked stunning, her dress hugging every curve perfectly. And Kenan? Completely mesmerized.

A video captured it all. Someone caught the exact moment he pulled her close, a firm arm wrapped around her waist. He leaned in, whispered something in her ear with a smirk, and she laughed, playfully tapping his arm before slipping away.

Kenan let her go—but his gaze didn’t.

The video was clear. He licked his lips as he watched her walk away, unapologetically, hungrily.

And the internet? Lost its mind.

@FutebolLovers: Kenan Yildiz is one lucky man. Or maybe just a man with needs?

@GossipItalia: He devoured her with his eyes. If this isn’t a couple, what is?

The world was obsessed.

But behind the flashing cameras and tabloid headlines, tension was brewing.

And it all boiled over in Chloe’s apartment.

Kenan stood in the kitchen, his jaw tight, fingers gripping her phone.

The screen still displayed the notification.

Carter. A British rapper, rising in fame, sliding into Chloe’s Instagram DMs.

Kenan had been annoyed about this for a while.

The guy had openly admitted in interviews that he was into Chloe. He liked all her pictures—something the media and fans were quick to pick up on.

But the DMs? That was new. That was something only Chloe saw.

Kenan took a slow breath, trying not to sound pissed off. But he was failing miserably.

— You’re not answering him, right?

Chloe, leaning against the kitchen island, crossed her arms. Her expression was unreadable.

— Of course not.

Kenan let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head.

— But he keeps texting you.

— And I keep ignoring him.

His eyes flicked back to the screen. Carter’s name, the notification flashing. Taunting him.

— Why does he still think he has a chance?

Chloe raised an eyebrow.

— Maybe you should ask him.

Kenan scoffed, sliding the phone back toward her.

— Want me to answer for you?

Her eyes narrowed.

— You’re overreacting.

— Am I? — He let out a humorless laugh. — We go out every week, spend almost every night together, and he still thinks he can text you?

Chloe sighed, tilting her head back.

— That’s not my problem, Kenan. I don’t give him attention.

— But you don’t shut it down, either.

— Do I really need to spell it out for someone I never reply to?

Kenan clenched his jaw.

— Blocking would work.

Chloe threw up her hands, exasperated.

— Oh, here we go. What’s really bothering you? Because it’s not just this stupid message.

He didn’t answer right away.

— Does it bother you? — she challenged.

Kenan exhaled a sharp breath.

— We’re not official. It shouldn’t, right?

Chloe studied him, her expression sharp.

— We’re not official?

The air between them grew heavy.

She took a step closer, eyes locked on his.

— If you wanted it to be official, you would’ve said something.

Kenan’s eyes darkened.

— And you would’ve agreed?

She shrugged, her voice razor-sharp.

— Who knows?

His jaw ticked.

— Then why didn’t you say anything?

Chloe let out a short, dry laugh.

— Because I don’t chase men who don’t know what they want.

Kenan stepped forward.

— You think I don’t know what I want? I’m right here. Every day. Every night. What’s unclear?

Chloe folded her arms, eyes locked on his.

— The real question is: for how long?

Kenan frowned.

— How so?

— How long is this phase going to last? How long are you going to keep us a secret? — Chloe crossed her arms again, staring him down. — You act like my boyfriend, but you never say the words. You’ve never made it official. You’ve never taken a real step.

Kenan fell silent.

Chloe leaned forward, her nails tapping against the counter.

— I’m waiting for you to do something, Kenan.

And that was when he held his breath, lost for words.

Chloe waited. She looked at him, expecting some kind of reaction, some kind of answer. But Kenan said nothing. He just stood there, jaw clenched, eyes locked on her, his breathing heavy.

She huffed, crossing her arms.

— Nothing? — she pushed, raising an eyebrow.— Not a single answer, Kenan?

Still, nothing.

Chloe let out a sharp laugh and took a step back.

— That’s what I thought.

Without another word, she turned on her heels and walked out of the kitchen, her steps echoing against the floor until they faded down the hallway.

Kenan didn’t move. His chest rose and fell heavily, fists clenched. He wanted to say something, to respond, but all he could think about was her. The way she challenged him, the sharpness in her eyes, the taunting edge in her voice.

Minutes passed before he finally moved. He dropped his phone on the counter, ran his hands down his face, and went after her.

When he reached the bedroom, Chloe was standing by the bed, running her fingers through her hair, her back to the door.

— Do you always walk away when you don’t like what you hear? — Kenan teased, leaning against the doorway.

She scoffed but didn’t turn around.

— You didn’t say anything, so there was no point in staying. I leave when I realize I’m wasting my time.

Kenan took a slow step forward, his movements deliberate.

— Wasting your time? — His voice was lower now, weighted with something else. Something heavier.

Chloe felt his presence behind her before he even touched her. Her body tensed when his hands found her waist, pulling her close.

— You think I don’t care — he murmured, his lips near her ear. — But you’re wrong. And it pisses me off that you think otherwise.

She turned her face to look at him, her eyes daring.

— Then prove it.

Kenan’s grip tightened on her skin, his jaw set. He needed her to understand. To leave no room for doubt.

— You’re mine, Chloe. And I’m going to make sure you don’t forget that.

And that was when the tension shifted into something else. Something hotter.

Chloe tried to hold onto her defiance, but her body had already betrayed her. It responded to his touch, to the weight of his breath against her skin.

— That sounds like a you problem, Kenan — she murmured, as if still clinging to some form of control.

He let out a dark, low chuckle.

— Me? No. That’s a you problem  — He slid a hand down her thigh before gripping it firmly.— Because now, I won’t let you forget.

And before she could protest, he crashed his lips against hers, consuming her completely.

Kenan’s kiss was demanding, possessive, and Chloe felt every inch of herself being claimed by him. His large hands explored her body without hesitation, pressing her against him, tracing every curve with raw hunger. She tried to hold on to some control, but it was impossible. His dominance was absolute.

Kenan pulled her even closer, his grip firm on her waist as he deepened the kiss. She had to stand on her tiptoes, and he bent down further to meet her mouth with more intensity. Instinctively, she lifted one leg to his waist, and he understood immediately.

— Fuck, you’re perfect — he murmured against her lips, his voice thick with need before gripping her ass and lifting her effortlessly.

He carried her to the bed with ease, pinning her beneath him, leaving no room for resistance. The heat of his body pressed against hers made every inch of her burn.

Their kisses grew more urgent as he trailed down her neck, sucking and nipping at her skin before reaching her chest. Kenan wasted no time pulling her shirt off, revealing the breasts he loved so much. A wicked smirk played on his lips before he took one into his mouth, alternating between licking, sucking, and grazing his teeth, while his other hand squeezed the other one roughly—just the way he knew drove her insane.

Chloe arched her back, her fingers clutching the sheets as she tried to hold back the moans threatening to escape.

— Look at you… already like this just from that? — Kenan taunted, biting the soft skin just below her breast before continuing downward.

He made his way down her stomach, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles, until he finally reached his destination. Without warning, he gripped her hips and pulled her closer, his dark eyes gleaming with pure lust before burying his face between her legs.

The first lick was slow, deliberate, and Chloe’s entire body jolted at the sensation. Kenan didn’t hold back. He licked, sucked, and teased every inch of her, skillfully drawing out every reaction he could get.

She couldn’t control herself. Her fingers tangled in his soft hair, pulling him closer, urging him on. Kenan groaned against her skin before landing a sharp slap on her ass, followed by another, alternating between spanking and gripping, making her even more sensitive.

— Fuck — he groaned, feeling her body tremble.

It only took seconds for her to lose herself completely, coming undone with a muffled moan. But Kenan didn’t stop. He stayed there, prolonging her pleasure until her body finally went limp.

When he finally pulled away, he crawled back up, a satisfied smirk on his lips, his eyes shining as he took in the tears of pleasure in hers.

— Mine — he whispered before stripping off his own clothes.

Chloe, still breathless, took a moment to admire him. No matter how many times she had seen him like this, his body never failed to leave her in awe.

Kenan grabbed a condom and positioned himself between her legs, wasting no time giving them both what they craved. The sounds that spilled from Chloe’s lips only spurred him on. The bed creaked beneath them, and Kenan murmured filthy words and praises in her ear, his voice deep and dripping with desire.

When he felt her nearing the edge again, Kenan flipped her onto her stomach, pulling her into the position he wanted.

— On all fours — he commanded, landing a sharp slap on her ass that echoed through the room.

Chloe moaned, the heat spreading even more through her body as he gripped her hair, forcing her torso up. He kept his hold firm, his fingers digging into her waist as he kept up his relentless pace.

She lost control again, unraveling intensely, but Kenan still wasn’t done. He turned her onto her back again, pulling her close.

— Your ass is all marked up — he murmured, running his fingers over the red imprints before smacking it again, making her whimper.

Chloe turned away from him, pressing her body against his.

— You want more? — he teased, sliding his hand down her thigh before hooking her leg over his, giving himself even more access.

She didn’t need to answer. Kenan picked up the rhythm again, this time from the side, knowing exactly how to drive her wild. One of his hands wrapped around her throat, and she felt the pleasure building even higher until they finally reached their peak together.

For a few moments, the room was silent, only their heavy breaths filling the air. Kenan pulled her even closer, pressing a soft kiss to her neck before whispering against her skin:

— You taste so good — he panted.— I’d keep you in this bed all day.

Chloe chuckled softly, her body melting into his. And later, as they lay there, she turned to him with a teasing smile.

— I’m still waiting for that boyfriend proposal.

Kenan sighed, covering his face with his hand.

— I’ll start thinking about it.

×

×

×

dusan vlahovic x reader

Baby?

You were currently laying on the floor with your two nephews that were playing like they were the avengers. Your sister asked you if you could watch over them for a couple of hours because she had some errands to do and of course you said yes. You loved spending time with your nephews, especially if Dusan was there with you helping you around. The two kids loved Dusan, mostly because he always plays football with them and teaches them some cool tricks. But right now you were playing the villain and your nephews were Thor and Iron Man, trapping you down to “save the city”. It’s been two hours you’ve been playing and they still had energy left.

Their eyes sparkled when Dusan got back home early from training. You told him your nephews were staying with you for a few hours and he was completely thrilled at the idea.

“Look who’s there” you said to the kids when they saw Dusan entering the apartment. Trying to get their attention to him instead of you.

“Uncle Du!” one of them screamed running towards him.

“Hey big boy” he said to the older while the youngest was slowly crawling to him. Dusan was faster than him so he picked him up in his arms and kissed him too.

“Why is aunt y/n laying on the floor?” Dusan asked, not being able to contain his laugh.

“No no aunt y/n…Loki!” the younger one said trying to form a phrase but Dusan was still having difficulty to understand him, mostly because you liked Marvel and he didn’t so he had no idea of who Loki was.

“Aunt y/n is Loki, the bad guy and I am Iron Man!” the oldest explained so Dusan could understand.

“Loki is not the bad guy…” you whispered, sure that your nephew didn’t hear because you didn’t want to ruin Avengers Infinity War for them, they were still too young for watching that movie.

“Okay okay, but I think aunt y/n should lay on the couch and not on the floor, she could get a cold and you don’t want her to be sick right?” Dusan asked them and they both nodded.

You stood up and mouthed a thank you to him.

“What do you want to do kids?” you asked them once you were back on your comfortable red couch.

“Football!!!” the youngest scream and you started laughing, thinking that now it was Dusan’s turn to suffer.

“Yes football!” the older agreed too.

“Yeah, I think it’s a perfect idea, right Dusan?” you teased him and he laughed.

“Okay okay…I’ll teach you something new” he said and both of the kids laughed.

You were still laying on the couch, watching how Dusan was being careful at every movement he was doing with the kids, trying to teach them some cool things but at the same time watching them in case they would fall or get hurt. He was always so attentive and caring when it came to kids, your mind started to wander what it would look like if you both had kids one day. You were still relatively young, only twenty two so you had all of your life in front of you to take that big decisions but seeing him so happy around your nephews had some effect on you.

After one hour of football they got tired so you and Dusan put them to sleep in your guest room while you ordered something to eat. Your sister texted you that she was coming in two hours and she couldn’t stop thanking you for taking care of the kids, knowing well that she needed a day to herself after being a full time mom, she deserved some time to relax.

“They have so much energy!” Dusan laughed sitting next to you on the couch.

“I know…they’ve been playing for more than five hours straight and they fell asleep just now!” you agreed with him.

“But I love spending time with them…” Dusan said and you nodded. They brought a light of energy into your life and you were happy with them.

“You’re so good with them” you said to Dusan.

“Kids make me happy…they’re so innocent, full of life, sometimes I think about us…and a kid in the future” Dusan confessed and you froze. Did he really say he wants a kid with you?

“Me too…” you said.

“Really?” he asked you a bit surprised of you.

“I mean…maybe not now, but I want a family with you Dusan…I love how you act around kids, you will be such an incredible father, I can guarantee that” you smiled and Dusan wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close.

His hands gently laid on your belly and you felt something you never felt before.

“I can already imagine you pregnant with my baby” he whispered “you would look so good…I would take such good care of you and our baby…” he kissed your neck “you would be an amazing mom, always making sure the kids are happy and safe…”

“Do you think we are ready? For a baby?” you asked him and he nodded.

“I think we are more than ready…I want this with you, a family, a baby…” he said straight to you and you nodded, feeling more confident.

“Let’s do it then” you whispered.

Dusan got so eager that put you in his lap and started kissing you but you stopped him.

“I meant when my sister comes to pick up the kids…” you laughed.

I Didn’t Mean It

Pairing:Kenan Yıldız x Reader

Word Count:2045

Request open!

Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II

Juventus Masterlist

The apartment was quiet in that soft, late-evening way that made everything feel slower than it really was. The city lights outside the windows painted the living room in gold and gray, and you sat curled into the corner of the couch with one hand resting over your belly, the other wrapped around a mug you had already forgotten to drink from.

Kenan had been pacing for the last ten minutes.

Not dramatically,he was never dramatic when he was angry. That was the worst part. He got quiet. Tight-jawed. Controlled. The kind of controlled that made the air feel heavy before he even said anything.

You watched him from the couch, trying to ignore the knot forming in your stomach.

“Kenan,” you said softly, “can you stop walking like that? You’re making me nervous.”

He stopped, turned to you, and sighed through his nose. “I’m not doing anything.”

You blinked. “You’ve been pacing since you got home.”

“I had a long day.”

“I know that.”

He ran a hand through his hair and looked away. “Then why are you picking a fight with me?”

Your brows pulled together. “I’m not picking a fight.”

Kenan’s jaw ticked. “You keep asking me questions when I’m clearly trying to think.”

You stared at him, disbelief slowly replacing the patience you had been trying so hard to keep.

“Trying to think about what?” you asked quietly.

His eyes flicked to your face, then away again. “About everything.”

“That is not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got right now.”

The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.

You set your mug down carefully on the table, though your hand trembled a little when you did it. Being pregnant had made your emotions feel closer to the surface lately, easier to touch and much harder to hide. You were used to that. What you were not used to was Kenan sounding like every word he said had to be dragged out of him.

You tried again, softer this time.

“Did something happen at training?”

He let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. “No.”

“Was it the meeting?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

Kenan looked at you then, really looked, and the expression on his face made your chest tighten. Not anger exactly. Frustration. Exhaustion. Something else underneath it that you couldn’t name.

“You’re making everything harder,” he said.

The words landed in the room like a dropped plate.

You went still.

“What?” you asked, so quietly you barely recognized your own voice.

Kenan seemed to realize it the second it left his mouth. His face changed instantly, the hard edge in his expression cracking, but it was too late.

You stared at him, waiting for the joke, the correction, the apology that would make it less real. But all Kenan did was stand there with his mouth slightly open, like he had said the thing out loud before his brain could stop him.

Your throat tightened. “What did you just say?”

He took a step toward you. “Y/N, I didn’t mean,”

“No,” you whispered, already feeling your eyes sting. “No, say it again. Go on.”

His face drained of color. “I was stressed.”

“That is not what I asked.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t mean what like what?” your voice rose before you could stop it. “That I’m making everything harder? That’s exactly what you said.”

Kenan’s expression turned desperate. “I was talking about the situation.”

“What situation?” you snapped, tears already building. “Being pregnant? Me being tired? Me needing you? Because if that’s the situation, Kenan, then yes, I guess I’m the problem.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?” you said, and now your voice was shaking. “React to the thing you said to me?”

He stepped closer, but you flinched back before he could touch you.

That made him stop immediately.

“Oh my God,” he whispered, horrified now. “Baby, don’t cry.”

The second he said it, your eyes spilled over.

You turned your face away, furious at how quickly it happened, furious at how much it hurt, furious that a few words could make you feel so small.

“I’m not trying to,” you choked out.

Kenan’s whole body changed. The anger, the tension, the sharpness,it all vanished so fast it was like watching him get hit by a wave. He looked panicked now, truly panicked, standing in front of you like a man who had just realized he had no idea how to undo what he had done.

“No, no, please don’t cry,” he said, voice rough. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

You shook your head and wiped at your face, but it didn’t help. The tears kept coming harder, faster, hot and humiliating. “I can’t,”

“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

He reached for you again, then stopped himself halfway when you turned your face away.

“I didn’t mean it,” he repeated, quieter now, almost broken. “I didn’t mean you. I didn’t mean this. I just,I had a bad day and I said the stupidest thing in the world.”

You laughed once, but it came out like a sob. “It sure sounded like you meant me.”

Kenan looked like he might actually panic. “No. No, no, please don’t think that. I swear I didn’t.”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to breathe through the tears, but once you started, it was like your body refused to stop. It was ridiculous,awful,how fast you had gone from calm to crying on the couch in your own apartment, but pregnancy had made every feeling bigger, and this one hurt too much to hold in.

Kenan crouched in front of you, close enough now that you could feel the warmth of him, but still careful not to touch you without permission.

“What do I do?” he asked, voice shaking with helplessness. “Tell me what to do.”

You looked at him through tears. “I don’t know.”

He dragged a hand over his face. “Okay. Okay, that’s fine. I can work with that.”

Another sob escaped you, and Kenan made a sound of pure distress.

“Oh, God.”

“Don’t say that like I’m dying,” you cried, even though the sentence broke apart halfway through.

“You’re not dying,” he said quickly. “I’m the one dying.”

That almost made you laugh, which only made you cry harder because now you were upset and laughing and crying and furious at the whole miserable situation.

Kenan looked like he didn’t know whether to sit down, stand up, leave, or disappear through the floor.

“Can I,” He held up both hands a little. “Can I touch you?”

You sniffed hard and nodded once.

He moved cautiously, like you might change your mind, and wrapped his arms around you with so much care it almost hurt in a different way. He tucked you against his chest and kissed the top of your head, then your temple, then just held you while you cried into his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered over and over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

You gripped his shirt in your fists. “You were mean.”

“I know.”

“You were really mean.”

“I know.”

“And I’m pregnant,” you said, voice muffled against him, like that was somehow the worst part.

He closed his eyes. “I know.”

You pulled back just enough to glare at him, tears still on your lashes. “Then why would you say that to me?”

Kenan looked wrecked. “Because I was frustrated and tired and being an idiot. That’s not an excuse. I know it’s not an excuse.” He swallowed hard. “You didn’t deserve that.”

You stared at him.

He looked so genuinely miserable that some of the heat in your anger started to fade, leaving behind only hurt and exhaustion.

“I hate when you get like this,” you whispered. “You go all cold and sharp and then act like I’m supposed to just know you still love me.”

His face crumpled.

“I do love you,” he said immediately. “More than anything. I swear to you, I do.”

You tried to breathe, but it came out shaky. “Then say that instead.”

“I should have.”

“Yes.”

“I know.”

You sniffled again, and he reached up carefully to wipe a tear from your cheek with his thumb. He looked at you like he was afraid even that small touch might be too much.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, but this time it sounded different. Not frantic. Honest. “I don’t want to make you feel like this.”

You swallowed hard. “You did.”

“I know.”

The room was quiet for a moment except for your breathing. Outside, a car passed below. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed. Life kept going on outside the apartment while you sat here on the couch with your heart still pounding.

Kenan stayed kneeling in front of you, hands loose and uncertain in his lap, as if he were trying very hard not to make another mistake.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly.

You shook your head.

He nodded once, accepting that as the truth.

“Can I get you water?”

You nodded.

“Blanket?”

Another nod.

“Anything else?”

You looked at him for a long moment, and the answer that came out surprised you a little.

“Don’t walk away.”

Kenan’s expression shifted immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He stood and brought you water, then the blanket from the back of the sofa, then sat beside you so carefully it was like he was asking permission with every movement. When you leaned against him, he let out a slow breath that sounded like relief.

He didn’t say much after that. Just stayed close. One hand on the blanket over your legs, the other resting near yours without pressing, waiting for you to choose if you wanted to hold it.

After a while, your crying slowed into hiccups, then into quiet sniffles. The anger felt softer now, but the hurt was still there, tucked behind your ribs.

Kenan seemed to notice when the tears stopped because he looked at you carefully and said, “Tell me how to fix it.”

You let out a tired breath. “You can’t fix it.”

His jaw tightened. “There has to be something.”

“There is,” you said.

He looked hopeful for the first time in an hour.

You turned to face him. “Next time you’re angry, talk to me without making me feel like a burden.”

Kenan nodded immediately. “Okay.”

“And no more saying mean things because you’re stressed.”

“Okay.”

“And if you mess up again, you apologize before I have to cry for twenty minutes first.”

That almost got a smile out of him. Almost.

“Yes,” he said softly. “Absolutely.”

You studied his face for a second, then finally let your head rest on his shoulder again.

He was still tense, but gentler now, like he was handling something fragile and knew it. He pressed a kiss to your hair.

“I really am sorry,” he murmured.

“I know,” you whispered.

His hand moved to your stomach then, palm spreading there carefully, reverently, like he was grounding himself in the life you were building together.

After a moment, he said quietly, “I was angry at the whole world. I shouldn’t have brought it home to you.”

Your eyes closed. “No, you shouldn’t have.”

“I won’t do it again.”

You didn’t answer right away, but you felt his thumb move in slow circles through the blanket.

“Kenan?”

“Yeah?”

“Next time you’re overwhelmed, just tell me you’re overwhelmed.”

He nodded against your hair. “Okay.”

“And if you need space, ask for space.”

“Okay.”

“Don’t make me guess.”

He kissed your temple. “I won’t.”

You sat like that for a while, wrapped in quiet and apology and the tired kind of love that survived mistakes. The tears were gone now, but the room still felt tender, like both of you had learned something painful and necessary.

Kenan held you a little tighter, and this time, when he spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“I love you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting the words settle where the hurt had been.

“Say it like that next time,” you murmured.

He exhaled, almost relieved to hear your voice softer again. “I will.”

The Language of Us

Pairing:Kenan Yıldız x Reader

Word Count:2126

Request open!

Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II

Juventus Masterlist

A/n:hii, my loves!! 🥹just a tiny note before you read—i had a little help from my dear friend Google Translate with the Turkish parts, so if you're fluent and notice anything, please be kind. 🤍also... this one made me tear up a little. maybe. maybe not. 😭

“Y/N, you’re overthinking again.”

You glance up from where you’re sitting in front of the mirror, one hand still clutching your bouquet like it might somehow keep you grounded. “I am not overthinking.”

Kenan, already in his suit and looking unfairly calm for someone who is about to get married in less than an hour, leans against the doorway with a slow smile.

“You’ve checked your veil three times,” he says. “And you’ve asked me if your lipstick is smudged six.”

You let out a breath that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. “That is called being careful.”

“That is called panicking.”

“I am not panicking.”

Kenan pushes off the doorway and walks over to you, his tie still not perfectly straight because, of course, he had tried to fix it himself and failed. He stops right in front of you, looking down at you with that soft, steady expression that still makes your stomach flip no matter how long you’ve been together.

“You’re marrying me,” he says gently. “You do not need to be careful anymore.”

You stare at him. “That is not comforting.”

He smiles. “It should be.”

You shake your head, trying not to grin too hard because if you do, you know you will start crying again, and you already cried twice that morning for reasons you could not fully explain to anyone. Once because your dress was beautiful. Once because Kenan’s mother hugged you and said, very quietly, that you looked like family already.

Now you are here, one hour from walking down the aisle, and your heart feels too big for your chest.

Kenan reaches out and takes your hands. “Breathe.”

You do, though it comes out shaky.

He watches your face carefully. “What is it?”

You hesitate. “I just… keep thinking about how long we’ve been together. How much has changed.”

His expression softens immediately.

“You mean Turkish lessons?” he asks, teasing lightly.

You groan, because of course he would bring that up now. “Do not start.”

Kenan laughs under his breath. “I’m only saying.”

You squeeze his hands. “I have tried so hard.”

“You have.”

“And I still mess it up.”

“You do,” he agrees, far too easily.

You glare at him. “Kenan.”

He raises both eyebrows, pretending innocence. “What? You do.”

“I know you’re not helping.”

“I know.” He steps closer and kisses your forehead, lingering just long enough to calm the storm in your chest. “But you have always been trying. That matters more.”

You look up at him, and for a second the nerves settle enough that all you can feel is him,warm, familiar, steady. The boy who had taught you how to say simple phrases in Turkish when you first started dating. The same boy who had laughed when you mixed up words, then kissed you on the nose and said it was cute. The same man who had sat across from you at dinner and patiently corrected your pronunciation with such gentle pride that it never felt like a lesson, only love.

“I still can’t roll my r’s properly,” you mutter.

Kenan grins. “I know.”

“That is so rude.”

“It is also true.”

You laugh despite yourself, and he smiles like he has just won the lottery.

A knock at the door interrupts you, and his mother pokes her head in.

“Kenan,” she says softly, “they’re ready.”

He nods immediately, then turns back to you. “You okay?”

You take one last breath and nod. “I think so.”

Kenan’s eyes search yours. “You don’t have to impress anyone.”

“I know.”

“You just have to get to me.”

That makes your throat tighten.

“I can do that,” you whisper.

His smile turns soft and almost unbearably sweet. “I know you can.”

Then, just before he leaves, he touches your cheek and says in a quiet voice, “Ne olursa olsun, seni seviyorum.” No matter what, I love you.

You blink, because you understand it perfectly.Your chest squeezes so hard you can barely answer.

“Ben de seni seviyorum,” you say back, carefully, softly.I love you too

He goes still for a second, clearly touched that you said it without stumbling.

Then his smile grows wider, and he looks at you like you’ve already won.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs, before stepping out of the room.

The ceremony is everything and nothing like you expected.

It’s beautiful, of course. Warm light. Soft music. Flowers everywhere. His family looking proud, your own heart threatening to burst every time you glance toward the aisle. And then there is Kenan at the front, handsome and steady, looking at you like he’s trying not to cry already.

You almost lose it right there.

Your father walks you down the aisle, but you barely hear anything except your pulse and the tiny, calming sound of your own breathing. When you reach Kenan, he takes your hands like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Hi,” he whispers.

You laugh under your breath. “Hi.”

He looks at you like you’re the only person in the entire garden. “You look unreal.”

You mouth, “So do you,” because if you actually say it, you might not make it through the vows.

The officiant begins speaking, and the words blur into something soft and beautiful in the background. You hear pieces of it. Your names. Promises. Love. A future. Every now and then you glance down at Kenan’s hands, warm around yours, and you realize you’re not nervous anymore.

You’re full.

Full of him. Full of the people around you. Full of all the years that brought you here.

Then it is time for the vows.

Your pulse jumps, but Kenan’s thumb brushes over your knuckles once, grounding you immediately.

The officiant gestures gently. “Kenan, you may begin.”

Kenan inhales and smiles at you like the whole world has disappeared except for the two of you.

“Y/N,” he says, voice clear and steady, “when I met you, I didn’t know that loving someone could feel so natural. I didn’t know that one person could become home.”

Your eyes sting immediately.

He keeps going, gaze locked on yours.

“You came into my life and made everything softer. You made me laugh when I didn’t want to. You made me patient when I was never patient. You made me want to be better, not for anyone else, just because you were there.”

You sniff quietly, and he smiles a little before continuing.

“I promise to love you honestly. To protect you. To choose you every day. Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days.”

Your heart aches in the sweetest way.

Kenan swallows, then finishes softly. “And I promise to keep learning you, because I think that is the best part. There is always more of you to love.”

By now, you are already fighting tears.

The officiant turns to you. “Y/N.”

You look down for one second, take a breath, then look back at Kenan.

He is smiling at you, but there is something in his eyes too. A quiet expectation. Not pressure. Just trust. He has no idea what you are about to do.

For months, he had taught you Turkish in tiny pieces. At breakfast. In the car. On the couch while one of you was half asleep and the other one was patiently repeating words. You had struggled with it more than you ever admitted. The grammar, the pronunciation, the little sounds that never came out the way you wanted. You had complained more than once that you would never get it right.

And Kenan had always told you the same thing.

“You don’t have to be perfect. Just keep trying.”

Now you are trying one last time.

You inhale shakily.

Then, before anyone can stop you, you start speaking.

“Kenan,” you say in Turkish, slowly but clearly, “seni sevdiğimde, hayatımın en güzel kararını verdiğimi biliyordum.”When I loved you, I knew I had made the best decision of my life.

Kenan freezes.

The entire area seems to go quiet.

You keep going, your voice trembling only a little now.

“Sen bana sabrı öğrettin. Güveni öğrettin. Ev demenin bir yer değil, bir insan olduğunu öğrettin.”You taught me patience. You taught me trust. You taught me that home isn't just a place, it's a person.

Kenan’s mouth parts slightly. His eyes are fixed on you, unblinking.

You swallow and continue.

“Seninle birlikte gülmek, seninle birlikte susmak, seninle birlikte yaşamak… bunların hepsi benim için büyük bir mutluluk oldu.” Laughing with you, being silent with you, living life with you… all of these have been a great joy for me.

His eyes are shining now.

You can hear a tiny gasp from somewhere in the front row, probably his mother, but you do not look away from Kenan.

He looks like he cannot breathe.

You keep speaking, voice softer now but steadier than you thought possible.

“Sana her zaman mükemmel olacağımı söz veremem. Ama sana her zaman dürüst olacağımı, seni her zaman seveceğimi ve her gün seni yeniden seçeceğimi söz verebilirim.” I can't promise you I'll always be perfect. But I can promise you I'll always be honest, I'll always love you, and I'll choose you again every day.

Kenan’s eyes fill completely, and that makes your own tears spill over too.

You take one last breath and finish, barely above a whisper.

“Sen benim kalbimsin. Ve bugün, tüm kalbimle, sana evet diyorum.” You are my heart. And today, with all my heart, I say yes to you.

There is a moment of perfect silence.

Then Kenan breaks.

It is not a dramatic sob, not at first. It is a stunned, emotional laugh that cracks halfway into a breath he clearly cannot control. He blinks hard, looking at you like he is trying to understand how you kept that from him for so long.

“Y/N,” he whispers, voice wrecked already.

You laugh through your own tears. “Yes?”

He shakes his head once, still staring at you. “You,” He stops, exhales, then tries again. “You did not tell me.”

You smile, crying now openly. “It was a surprise.”

His mother is definitely crying now. So is yours. And Kenan’s father looks like he is trying very hard not to, which means he absolutely is.

The officiant smiles softly, clearly moved, and continues the ceremony, but Kenan looks like he has only half a clue what is happening now because he is still staring at you like you have rewritten his entire life.

When it is finally time for the rings, his hand shakes just enough that you notice. You smile at him through tears.

“Breathe,” you whisper.

Kenan gives a tiny, broken laugh. “You stole my line.”

“I know.”

He slides the ring onto your finger carefully, then squeezes your hand like he needs to make sure you are real.

When it is your turn, you do the same, and when the rings are finally in place, the officiant announces the words you have both been waiting for.

“You may kiss the bride.”

Kenan does not hesitate.

He kisses you like he has been waiting his whole life to hear that sentence. Like the Turkish lessons, the years, the nerves, the secrets, the laughter, the mistakes, the trying,all of it has finally led here. His hands cradle your face, and when he pulls back, you are both smiling through tears.

“Did you just surprise me at our wedding?” he whispers, incredulous.

You laugh, breathless. “Maybe.”

He shakes his head, still smiling so hard it looks almost painful. “You are unbelievable.”

“You taught me Turkish for months,” you whisper back. “I wanted to use it properly.”

His eyes soften again, and he laughs once more, this time full and warm and completely wrecked.

“I am never surviving this.”

You touch his cheek gently. “Yes, you are.”

He leans into your hand, then murmurs in Turkish so softly only you can hear it.

“Hayatımın en güzel günü bu.”This is the most beautiful day of my life.

Your heart nearly melts on the spot.

You smile through tears. “Really?”

Kenan kisses your forehead. “You said my vows in Turkish in front of everyone. What do you think?”

You laugh, and he does too, still looking at you like he cannot believe this is real.

The guests cheer, the music starts up again, and somewhere behind you everyone begins clapping and crying and smiling at once.

But all you can feel is Kenan’s hand in yours and the way he is looking at you like you are still, somehow, the greatest surprise of his life.

And maybe that is what love has always been between you.

Not perfection.

Not ease.

Dad!Kenan Yildiz x Mom!Reader

The house was quiet — unusually quiet. The newborn boy had finally drifted to sleep in his bassinet, his tiny hands curled into fists beneath the soft white blanket. YN sat on the couch, sipping warm tea, exhausted but glowing. Across the room, Kenan hovered, arms crossed but eyes soft, watching their son like he was the most precious thing on earth.

The doorbell rang.

“Don’t wake him,” Kenan muttered automatically, padding barefoot to the door.

Outside stood Dušan Vlahović, Andrea Cambiaso, Nicolò Savona, Weston McKennie, Teun Koopmeiners, and Khéphren Thuram. Each held a gift bag or box, smiles wide but cautious, knowing the baby was still so small.

“Can we come in?” Cambiaso whispered dramatically.

Kenan smirked and waved them in. “Shoes off. And quiet — he’s sleeping.”

The moment they stepped inside, their eyes landed on the tiny baby. Silence fell even Vlahović, who stopped talking, just stared.

“No way…” McKennie murmured softly. “He’s so… small.”

Nicolò leaned down, hands on his knees. “And already looks like you, Kenan. Poor kid.”

Kenan rolled his eyes, but there was no hiding his grin. “He’s cuter than me. Admit it.”

“Way cuter,” McKennie teased, snapping a quick photo of the baby’s little foot sticking out of the blanket. “I’m not even posting his face — just this foot is about to break the internet.”

The baby stirred, letting out a tiny whimper. Instantly, Kenan was there — scooping him up with practiced ease, rocking gently. YN smiled from the couch, watching her usually confident husband transform into the softest version of himself.

“Hey, hey,” Kenan whispered in Turkish, pressing a kiss to the boy’s temple. “It’s okay, Baba’s here.”

Everyone froze at the tenderness in his voice.

“You’re a proper dad now,” Cambiaso teased quietly. “Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”

“Shut up,” Kenan muttered, though he couldn’t stop smiling.

“Can we hold him?” Vlahović asked carefully, eyes wide.

Kenan hesitated for a split second — the protective side of him still strong — but finally nodded. “Sit down. And support his head.”

One by one, the teammates took turns holding him. Thuram whispered something about “future captain,” while Teun swore the baby already had “striker legs.” The softest little giggle escaped the baby, and everyone froze.

“Did he just laugh?” Weah whispered.

“He doesn’t even laugh for us yet,” YN admitted, eyes wide.

Fifteen minutes in, the apartment was filled with soft chatter and quiet laughter. Cambiaso placed a tiny Juventus bib around the baby “for future matchdays.” Vlahović promised to teach him free kicks when he could walk.

“He’s gonna be spoiled,” YN laughed.

“That’s the plan,” Nicolò grinned. “Between all of us, he’s never touching the ground — someone will always be holding him.”

Kenan shook his head but couldn’t help the warmth in his chest. His teammates weren’t just teammates — they were family. And now, they loved his son too.

Before leaving, the boys gathered near the door for one last look. “We won’t post his face,” McKennie promised, gesturing to the baby sleeping against YN’s chest. “But can we share the back of the jersey? Just the name?”

Kenan hesitated, glancing at YN. She nodded softly. “Back is okay.”

Minutes later, Juventus fans would lose their minds over a simple photo: a baby wearing a tiny kit, “YILDIZ” across the back. Face hidden. Safe. But loved.

Kenan closed the door behind his teammates and turned back to his wife and son. For once, the world felt quiet. Just them.