Kenan finally takes a break and got super clingy with his gf, all he wants its to be layied on the couch with his head on her chest while she caress his hair
summary: kenan just wants to be close to you after a long day.
The second he walks in the door, you know.
Itâs in the way his shoulders slump, in the way his bag hits the floor instead of the hook, in the way he kicks off his sneakers like theyâve offended him personally. He doesnât even bother greeting you with his usual cheeky smile or half-muttered âmissed you.â No teasing. No jokes. He just drops everything and beelines straight for you.
âHey,â you say gently, standing up from the couch like youâre preparing for impact.
Kenan wraps his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck like youâre home and heâs been homesick for days. You donât even try to tease him, he feels heavy. Not sad exactly, just⊠exhausted.
âTough week?â you whisper, hands sliding up his back.
He hums, nodding against your skin. âToo much. Too loud. Too many people.â
You nod, lips brushing the shell of his ear. âYou want to talk about it?â
âNo,â he says, then quickly amends, âNot yet.â
You press a kiss into his hair, already moving back toward the couch and tugging him with you. He follows without resistance, like heâs on autopilot now that heâs in your orbit.
When you sink into the cushions, Kenan doesnât even ask, he just crawls onto the couch beside you, shuffling until his head is resting on your chest, one arm draped lazily over your stomach, legs tangled up with yours like he physically canât get close enough.
You settle your hand in his hair, nails lightly grazing his scalp, and he melts.
Thereâs this tiny sound he makes when you do that, like a relieved little sigh, muffled against your hoodie. Heâs not really saying anything, but you feel the tension unravel from his body like thread slipping loose.
âI needed this,â he mumbles after a minute, voice muffled against you.
You smile, soft and small, and tilt your head so your chin rests against his curls. âI kinda figured.â
Kenan turns his face into your chest, nosing at the fabric like heâs trying to disappear into you. âCan we stay like this all day?â
You glance at the clock, itâs 3:42 PM on a rainy Thursday, and honestly? The world can wait. âI donât have anywhere else to be.â
âGood,â he murmurs, and itâs so soft you barely catch it. âYouâre the only person I wanna be around right now.â
He sounds half-asleep already, like just being next to you is enough to start resetting his system. His fingers are doing that thing again, too, lightly tracing patterns on your side. Absentminded. Thoughtless. Intimate.
You keep running your hand through his hair, twirling a piece around your finger just to watch it fall back into place. âI thought you said you hated being clingy.â
âI do,â he says into your chest. âJust not with you.â
Your heart does this little thing where it flutters and aches at the same time. Because heâs so closed off around the world. So polished and professional and composed. Always the perfect version of himself. But with you? He lets go. He doesnât have to be perfect. He just gets to be.
âBabe,â you say, teasing lightly, âYouâre so clingy right now itâs actually concerning.â
He groans. âShut up. You love it.â
You laugh and nod, even though he canât see. âYeah. I kinda do.â
Silence falls again, but itâs the warm kind. The kind that wraps itself around you and lets you breathe slower. Outside, the rain taps against the windows, and inside, Kenanâs breathing deepens as your fingers move through his hair, slow and steady.
Eventually, you feel his grip loosen, just slightly, like sleep is finally dragging him under.
âAre you falling asleep on me?â you whisper, pretending to be scandalized.
Kenan doesnât even lift his head. âMmhmm.â
âYouâre so dramatic.â
âIâm tired. Let me be in love and sleepy in peace.â
You blink. The words hang in the air a second longer than they need to. You know he means it, heâs always meant it, but still. That was probably the most casual love confession youâve ever received.
âOkay,â you whisper, smiling like a fool. âIâll allow it.â
âMmm. Thanks.â
Heâs gone after that. Fully relaxed. Out cold. You shift just enough to grab the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over both of you, careful not to disturb the boy sprawled across you like a weighted blanket.
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Can you write one for Kenan Yildiz where he's obssessed with reader lips and always kiss her every time he can
obsessed.
masterlist requests word count: 1080
a/n: this is like kinda cringe but also kinda cute so we're just going with it lol
genre: fluff
warnings: i mean, they kiss a lot, but nothing graphic.
summary: kenan is obsessed with your lips.
You can feel him watching you again.
It's not new, not even surprising anymore. Youâre used to the way his gaze always lingers on you like heâs trying to memorize every detail. But itâs different when itâs your lips. He stares with this quiet kind of intensity that makes it hard to keep a straight face.
Youâre sitting on the couch in his apartment, tucked into the corner with a hoodie that definitely doesnât belong to you. Itâs one of his, oversized and worn soft at the sleeves, smelling like whatever cologne he spritzed on hours ago. Youâve got your legs pulled up, blanket over your lap, and youâre trying to focus on the movie playing on the TV.
Kenan is not helping.
At first, itâs subtle. His thumb traces along your hand, then your wrist, until his fingers are grazing your jaw. You glance at him, catching his eyes drop to your mouth again, and you let out a breathy laugh.
âYouâre doing it again,â you tease.
His lips curve up into a slow smile, like heâs not even gonna try denying it. âCanât help it,â he says simply, voice low, a little amused. âYou make it impossible.â
You roll your eyes, though your cheeks go warm. âItâs just a mouth.â
He shakes his head like youâve offended him. âItâs your mouth.â
âOh, well. That explains everything,â you say dryly, but he just leans in like youâve laid down an open invitation.
The kiss is soft. He always starts soft, like he wants to take his time, like heâs trying to savor something. And even though heâs kissed you a thousand times by now, each one still feels kind of sacred. Like heâs reminding himself that youâre real.
He pulls back after a moment, resting his forehead against yours. âI missed you today.â
âYou saw me this morning,â you say, laughing a little, even though your heart does this dumb fluttery thing.
âToo long ago,â he murmurs, kissing you again, barely a brush this time. âAnd you wore that stupid lip balm that makes me think about you all day.â
Your laugh catches in your throat. âSo now itâs the lip balmâs fault?â
âMhm,â he hums with zero hesitation, and you bury your face into his shoulder to hide the smile threatening to take over.
This isnât a one-time thing, either. Youâve caught onto his pattern.
Every time you talk too long, he ends up distracted, zoning out mid-conversation because your mouth moved a certain way. Every time you wear gloss, he kisses it off before you even leave the house. If you bite your lip out of habit, he stops whatever heâs doing to come over and kiss you like itâs urgent, like youâre some kind of problem he needs to solve with his mouth.
Even in public, he doesnât hold back. A quick kiss before he heads to training. A longer one when he gets back, barely through the door before heâs pulling you close again. Itâs like his lips have a magnetic field, and yours are the center of gravity.
You mention it one afternoon, curled up with him after he got home, legs tangled under the sheets and sunlight filtering in through the blinds.
âYouâve got an actual addiction,â you mumble, voice still sleepy.
Kenan grins, lazy and smug. âIâd say obsession. Sounds more romantic.â
âYou kiss me constantly.â
âExactly,â he says. âRomantic.â
You poke his chest. âDo I even get a say?â
âToo late,â he replies, dipping his head to kiss your collarbone. âYouâre already mine.â
Itâs even worse when heâs in a mood. After a good match, or a rough day, or any day that ends in y, really.
One evening, he comes back from a media event, looking exhausted, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly tousled from running his fingers through it too much. Youâre sitting on the counter eating strawberries when he walks in and sees you. Something in him softens immediately.
He doesnât even say hi. Just drops his bag, walks straight over, and stands between your knees.
âI love you,â he says, voice a little rough.
You blink. âI love you too. You okay?â
He nods, already leaning in. âI just missed you.â
You taste the faintest hint of mint when he kisses you. Itâs slow, deep, like heâs pouring everything he didnât say today into you now. You slide your hands into his hair and let him take his time. When he finally pulls back, thereâs a slight dazed look in his eyes.
âYouâre so soft,â he says quietly, brushing his thumb across your lower lip. âIt drives me crazy.â
âYouâre actually insane,â you whisper, laughing.
âFor you? Completely,â he says, and you donât doubt it for a second.
Sometimes itâs not about needing. Itâs about comfort.
Like when youâre quiet, withdrawn, and overthinking something. Kenan always knows. He doesnât push. He just sits beside you, holds your hand, and waits.
And then, without fail, he kisses you.
A grounding one. Not heated or needy. Just lips pressed to yours, slow and reassuring. Like heâs saying, âIâm here. Iâve got you.â
You donât know how he always knows when to do it. Youâve stopped questioning it.
One night, itâs pouring rain, and youâre both wide awake for no reason. Youâre standing by the window, watching droplets race down the glass, hoodie pulled over your head, your socks half-slipping off your feet.
Kenan walks up behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and kisses your temple. âYouâre beautiful.â
âYouâre sappy.â
âYouâre mine,â he says against your cheek.
You turn in his arms, eyebrows raised. âAre you ever gonna get tired of kissing me?â
He pretends to think about it for a second. âNo.â
âNot even a little?â
âNot even if I tried,â he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. âI think I was built to kiss you.â
You roll your eyes, but itâs hopeless. Your stomach flips anyway.
âDonât look at me like that,â he teases, lips brushing against yours again. âYouâre the one who started this.â
âI didnât start anything.â
âYou looked at me once,â he says seriously. âAnd now Iâm doomed.â
âDoomed to kiss me forever?â
He nods solemnly. âItâs a burden Iâll gladly bear.â
You laugh into his mouth as he kisses you again, rain still tapping gently against the window, the world outside forgotten.
Let him kiss you all he wants. Heâs never going to stop.
Hi! I know this is super cringe but could you do a reader x Kenan where she prank him by cleaning the fork after he eats (they sharing food) and when he get confused she says that she's cleaning his saliva, then he get annoyed and kiss her to prove that they already share
Obs: sorry for the writting, english its not my language
saliva.
masterlist requests word count: 700
a/n: this is like kinda cringe but oh well lol
genre: fluff/kinda suggestive
warnings: they kiss lol
summary: kenan gets annoyed by a prank you pull on him.
Youâre curled up on the couch beside Kenan, both of you halfway through the pasta you made together, which mostly means you cooked while he stood behind you with his arms around your waist, pretending to help and stealing bites the entire time.
The plate is balanced between you two. One fork. Thatâs all you need.
Or so he thinks.
Kenan stabs another mouthful, twirls it around with way too much skill, and lifts it to his mouth. His focus is completely on the TV. You wait until heâs done chewing, grab the fork casually, and give it a long, dramatic wipe with a napkin.
He glances at you.
You wipe it again.
And then again.
He blinks, confused. âDid I get sauce on it?â
You sigh like youâre already tired of this conversation. âNo, Iâm cleaning it.â
Kenan raises an eyebrow. âWhy?â
âBecause you just had your mouth on it.â
He stares at you like youâve personally offended him. âYeah? And?â
âI donât want your saliva on my fork,â you say sweetly, giving it one last, completely unnecessary polish.
âYouâre joking.â
You shake your head.
Kenan turns toward you fully, mouth open. âWe just kissed like twenty minutes ago.â
âExactly,â you say, nodding seriously. âSo Iâve had enough exposure for the day.â
âYou literally kissed me before I brushed my teeth this morning.â
âThat was love. This is hygiene.â
He blinks twice. âLove.â
âWhat?â
âWe share food. All the time.â
âBut now Iâm thinking about your spit. Itâs gross.â
He looks so deeply betrayed it almost breaks you. Almost.
âYou know what?â he mutters, setting the plate down on the table. âFine.â
You grin. Victory is sweet.
Or that is, until he suddenly shifts forward, grabs your face, and kisses you full on the mouth before you can even make a noise.
Itâs not a soft kiss. Itâs like heâs on a mission. A dramatic, petty, over-the-top mission. Heâs kissing you like heâs trying to win something.
You shove at his shoulder, laughing into his mouth. âKenan!â
He pulls back just enough to speak. âIf weâre sharing saliva, weâre doing it properly.â
You try to squirm away, still giggling, but he holds you firm. âIâm proving a point,â he says, brushing his nose against yours.
âWhatâs the point? That youâre gross?â
He kisses you again. âThat youâre mine. So fork rules donât apply.â
âYouâre so dramatic,â you mumble, slightly breathless.
He grins. âOnly for you.â
You roll your eyes and flop back against the cushions, arms crossed, trying to hold your ground. âFine. But now youâve contaminated me.â
Kenan raises both eyebrows. âContaminated?â
âIâve been kissed by a mouth that was just eating garlic.â
He shrugs. âAnd you liked it.â
You cover your face with your hands. âYouâre out to get me.â
âNo,â he says, tugging your hands away gently. âThis is your payback for making me feel like a walking biohazard.â
You pout up at him, dramatic as ever. âI was just teasing.â
âYou wiped the fork three times,â he says, laughing now.
âIt was funny.â
âIt was disrespectful.â
You grin. âYou kissed me about it.â
âAnd Iâll do it again.â
âThreat or promise?â
Kenan leans in until your noses touch. âPromise.â
You kiss him this time, soft and slow, letting the joke fade into something warm and familiar. His hands settle on your waist, steady and safe, and you both exhale at the same time like youâre exactly where youâre meant to be.
When you finally pull away, he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear and says, âIâm still offended, though.â
âWant me to make it up to you?â
He smiles. âYou can start by giving me the fork back so I can eat the rest of that pasta.â
You snort. âYou want me to hand-feed you the food you just made me disinfect?â
âObviously.â
âYouâre such a diva, Kenan.â
You roll your eyes and grab the fork, twirling up a bite before holding it out to him like youâre feeding royalty. He leans forward and takes it happily, eyes locked on yours the whole time.
A Kenan yildiz one where his gf rage bait him by asking what sport would he play if he were athletic
"if you were athletic, what sport would you play?"
masterlist requests word count: 875
a/n: lowk love writing prank fics they're fun lol
genre: fluff.
warnings: none.
summary: you ragebait kenan with a trend you see on tiktok.
You were curled up on the couch scrolling through TikTok when you stumbled across the trend again. Girls filming their boyfriends, casually dropping the line: âIf you were athletic, what sport would you play?â The reactions ranged from confusion to outrage, and you could already imagine Kenanâs face if you tried it on him.
A mischievous grin spread across your lips. You didnât even think twice. This was too good to pass up.
Kenan walked in a few minutes later, fresh out of training, his hair still damp from the shower at the facility. He dropped his bag near the door and shot you a warm smile, the kind that always made your chest feel lighter.
âHey,â he said, leaning down to kiss your temple. âWhat are you up to?â
âNothing, just scrolling,â you said, trying to keep your tone casual as you quickly opened the camera app on your phone and pressed record.
He raised an eyebrow, catching the sly little spark in your eyes. âWhatâs that look?â
âNothing,â you repeated, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. You angled the camera toward him, pretending to be all innocent. âSo, babe⊠serious question.â
Kenan kicked off his sneakers and sat on the couch next to you, throwing his arm over the backrest. âAlright, shoot.â
You looked at him with your most genuine expression. âIf you were athletic, what sport do you think youâd play?â
For a moment, the words didnât even register. He just blinked, tilting his head like youâd spoken another language. âWhat?â
You bit your lip, pretending to wait patiently for an answer. âLike, you know⊠if you were athletic.â
Thatâs when it hit him. His jaw dropped and his eyebrows shot up. âIf I was athletic?â His voice cracked in disbelief as he pointed to himself. âYouâre joking, right?â
You shook your head, lips twitching as you tried to keep a straight face.
âAre you being serious right now?â he asked, completely scandalized. He gestured toward himself again, even glancing down at his Juventus training kit like it was supposed to prove the point. âI literally play football for a living!â
âI know,â you said sweetly, fighting back a giggle. âBut like⊠if you were athletic. Just imagine.â
Kenanâs mouth fell open, and he stared at you like you had personally insulted his ancestors. âIf I was athletic?â he repeated, his voice growing louder. âDo you know how many hours I spend training every single day? Do you know how many goals I scored this season?!â
You couldnât hold it in anymore. You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach as tears pricked the corners of your eyes. The camera caught every bit of it, from his offended expression to his dramatic hand gestures.
âWait, wait, wait,â he said, grabbing a pillow and lightly smacking it against your shoulder. âThis is some TikTok thing, isnât it?â
Your laughter gave you away instantly. You nodded, gasping for breath between fits of giggles. âItâs a prank! Thereâs this trend where girlfriends say that to their boyfriends just to get them mad. And you⊠you-â You broke into another round of laughter. âYour reaction was perfect.â
Kenan shook his head, muttering something under his breath in Turkish as he flopped back against the couch. He covered his face with both hands, groaning dramatically. âI cannot believe you did that to me.â
âYou looked so betrayed,â you teased, nudging him with your shoulder. âLike I just told you football wasnât even a sport.â
âBecause thatâs exactly what it felt like,â he said, peeking at you through his fingers. âYou basically said Iâm not athletic. Me! The most athletic person you know.â
You leaned in and kissed his cheek, still grinning. âThe most athletic, the most handsome, the most everything. I promise.â
He gave you a side eye, pretending to still be offended, but his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. âIâm going to get you back for this,â he warned, lowering his voice like it was a serious threat. âYou wonât even see it coming.â
âSure you will,â you said, smug.
Kenan snatched your phone from your hand, instantly replaying the video you had just filmed. He watched himself go from confused to outraged in a matter of seconds, and that finally broke him. He laughed so hard he doubled over, clutching his stomach.
âOkay,â he admitted between wheezes. âThat was funny. But youâre not posting this. No way.â
âKenanâŠâ you dragged out his name in a whine, reaching for your phone.
He held it out of reach, grinning like a devil. âNope. Not happening. My teammates would never let me live this down.â
âYouâre no fun,â you said, crossing your arms dramatically.
Kenan leaned over, kissed your cheek, and whispered, âYou still think Iâm not athletic?â
You laughed softly, turning your face toward him. âYouâre literally the most athletic man alive. Happy now?â
âVery,â he said, pulling you into his arms and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. âBut still, Iâm plotting my revenge.â
You snuggled against him, still giggling. âCanât wait to see it.â
And even though he pretended to pout, you knew he secretly loved every second of it.
Can you write something with Kenan? Reader is pregnant and there are still about 4 weeks until birth. But one night or day ( you can choose:) ) the baby is coming. And then both go through birth + choose baby name :)
small cries, big love.
masterlist requests word count: 3.9k
a/n: i love writing dad kenan yay
genre: fluff/comfort
warnings: having a kid ig?
summary: you and kenan welcomed your baby boy after a night of labor, and now youâre falling in love all over again as a new little family.
Kenanâs got your feet in his lap again.
Not that youâre complaining. Youâve been carrying your whole body like a sack of wet laundry all week and your ankles are starting to look like overinflated balloons. So when he sits you down on the couch with a snack bowl and a water bottle and props your feet up like a man on a mission, you donât argue.
Heâs sitting sideways, one hand lazily rubbing circles into your swollen foot while the other scrolls through something on his phone. Probably more baby gear. Or transfer news. Either one, really.
âYouâre literally glowing,â he says suddenly, looking up at you with that dumb smile heâs been pulling a lot more lately. The one thatâs not even flirtatious, just pure admiration like he canât believe youâre real.
You squint at him. âIâm sweaty.â
âExactly. Glowing.â
âYouâre such a liar.â
âLying is a sin. And my girl? A vision.â
You laugh, loud and a little wheezy, the way you always do when he gets into his full dramatic-boyfriend mode. âYou know if you keep sweet-talking me like that, Iâm gonna start crying again.â
He grins. âYou cried because the baby kicked when you were watching a TikTok of a golden retriever.â
âIn my defense, that dog was very polite.â
Kenan shifts your feet so he can lean in closer, curling his arms around your middle like he can hug both you and the bump at the same time. âHeâs gonna be polite too. Just like his mama.â
You hum, brushing your fingers through his hair. Itâs gotten longer lately, curling at the ends, soft and always warm from the sun. He rests his cheek against your belly like heâs listening for a reply.
âSay something,â he murmurs to your bump. âKick me if you think your dadâs the coolest.â
The baby does absolutely nothing.
Kenan laughs. âYou trained him against me.â
âI didnât do anything.â
âI knew it. Youâve been whispering to him at night. Telling him Iâm cringy.â
âWellâŠâ
Kenan stands up and snorts, âDisrespect in my own home.â
Your laughter fades into a smile, something quieter settling between you both. You watch him as he moves toward the kitchen, opening the fridge and making some mental assessment of what he could bring you next.
Thereâs something about this version of Kenan that still catches you off guard. Youâve seen him loud. Cocky. Shy. Sleepy. But this? This soft, domestic, obsessed-with-you Kenan? Heâs a dream.
He comes back with strawberries and a can of whipped cream. âHungry?â
You raise an eyebrow. âI could be.â
âThen here you go, Prinzessinâ
He plops down next to you again, sprays a very questionable amount of whipped cream onto one and holds it out.
You bite it from his fingers and he watches you, waiting for your reaction. âGood?â
âVery good.â
Kenan eats one too and immediately drops half the whipped cream on his shirt. You hand him a napkin without saying a word.
âYouâre judging me.â
âCorrect.â
âI deserve it.â
You rest your head against his shoulder after the snack attack is over, letting yourself just... melt. The TV plays something neither of you are paying attention to. His arm is wrapped around you, hand absentmindedly tracing little patterns into your side. You feel heavy in the best way. Grounded. Loved.
âI still canât believe weâre going to be parents,â you mumble.
Kenan doesnât speak right away. Just kisses the top of your head and lets out a quiet hum.
âYouâre gonna be the best mama,â he says eventually, voice low and certain.
You donât answer at first. Your throat gets a little tight. Youâve had your doubts. Youâve laid awake wondering if youâll be patient enough, soft enough, strong enough.
But Kenan looks at you like you already are. Like the job was yours from the beginning.
âAnd you?â you ask, tilting your head to look up at him. âYou think youâre ready?â
He nods slowly, thumb brushing your arm. âIâve been ready since the first time I saw the ultrasound. That little blob with the fast heartbeat? I was hooked.â
You smile. âYou cried.â
âI didnât cry.â
âYou sobbed.â
Kenan groans, slouching back into the cushions. âHe had a spine! I wasnât emotionally prepared for the spine.â
You laugh again, but thereâs something about the memory that sticks in your chest. That day was when everything really clicked for you both. Not just that you were having a baby, but that you were doing it together.
He nudges you. âWanna do names?â
âYouâre not gonna bring up Del Piero again, are you?â
Kenan laughs. âNo, but I was thinking maybe... something Turkish?â
You look at him, surprised, but not in a bad way.
âI mean, itâs part of him too,â he adds, a little shy now. âWould be cool to pass that on.â
You nod. âI love that idea.â
He pulls out his phone, opening the notes app where youâve been throwing names around for weeks. âOkay. Weâre narrowing it down tonight. No sleep until we agree on at least a top three.â
You fake-yawn dramatically. âOops. Too late.â
Kenan gently pulls you upright, determined now. âNope. Youâre not getting out of this. You already vetoed Kaan, which Iâm still mad about, by the way.â
âIt sounded like âcon.â I donât want our baby associated with crime.â
He grins. âYouâre so dramatic.â
âTakes one to know one.â
And just like that, the evening melts into the kind of memory you know youâll come back to later. One of the last nights before everything changes. Before diapers and cries and sleepless hours. Before heâs here.
But for now, itâs just you, Kenan, the bump between you, and a growing list of baby names that all somehow feel too small for the love you already feel.
You wake up already uncomfortable.
Your body feels like itâs been carrying a bowling ball on a tightrope for days, and this morning is no different. The babyâs low. Lower than yesterday. You can feel it in your hips when you stand up. Thereâs a weird pressure, and your back feels like itâs been grinding gears all night.
But you ignore it.
Youâve ignored plenty by now. Cramps. False alarms. The occasional sharp jolt of pain that had you clutching the kitchen counter like it meant something - until it didnât.
So when Kenan comes in with your usual glass of ice water and sees the way youâre leaning against the couch, you brush it off with a smile.
âBackâs just tight,â you mumble, easing down into the cushions.
He doesnât buy it.
He never buys it.
Kenan lowers himself in front of you, one knee on the rug, hands warm and steady as they slide over your calves, your thighs, the round curve of your belly. His eyes are still soft with sleep, but his focus is all on you.
âTell me where it hurts.â
âIt doesnât,â you say too quickly. âI just feel heavy today. Heâs dropping, thatâs all.â
Kenan raises one eyebrow. âDropping like ânormal end-of-pregnancyâ dropping, or âheâs coming to visit soonâ dropping?â
You narrow your eyes at him. âDonât.â
He grins. âIâm just saying. Youâre glowing. And waddling more than usual.â
âDonât call it waddling.â
âI meant that lovingly.â
You swat at him half-heartedly. He leans up and kisses your knee, then your belly. You feel the baby shift slightly, a little foot or elbow pressing outward, and you groan at the sensation.
Kenan rests his forehead against your bump. âBro, at least pretend to give your mom a break.â
âHeâs running out of room. Heâs probably just trying to escape.â
Kenan looks up at you, smile crooked. âThink heâs antsy?â
You shrug. âI donât know. I just⊠I donât want to get my hopes up.â
Thatâs the truth of it. Youâve been stuck in this in-between for days now. Close enough that the hospital bagâs packed, but far enough that the idea of him actually coming still feels surreal. Like youâll be pregnant forever. Unmoving. Unchanging.
Kenan doesnât push. Just stands up and stretches, stealing your water and taking a sip before handing it back.
âWeâre not panicking until your water breaks.â
âOr until Iâm crying from contractions.â
âOr both.â
You roll your eyes but nod.
The day drifts by in slow pieces. You try to distract yourself with stupid shows. Kenan folds laundry and reorganizes the babyâs dresser for the fourth time this week. You catch him reading the car seat manual again around lunch, squinting at the little diagrams like they personally offended him.
Thereâs a tension in the air, but neither of you name it. Instead, you move through the hours like theyâre just another Saturday, like this dull ache in your hips and the slow pull in your lower belly donât mean anything.
You nap in the afternoon. Kenan makes pasta for dinner. You eat three bites and then push the plate away because you suddenly feel way too full.
Kenan watches you over the rim of his glass. âYou okay?â
âYeah. Just⊠weird. Heâs really low. I swear heâs about to fall out.â
Kenan goes pale. âDonât say that while Iâm holding hot sauce.â
You give him a look.
He raises both hands in surrender and hands you a piece of bread instead.
Itâs dark by the time you both crawl into bed. The sheets are cool, the room is quiet, and Kenan curls behind you the way he always does, arm draped over your waist, hand resting protectively over your bump. You breathe in slowly, letting the air settle heavy in your lungs.
Your whole body feels restless. Not in a frantic way, just unsettled. Like somethingâs coming, but not quite yet.
You shift, trying to find a comfortable spot for your knees, then your back. The pressureâs still there. Low. Annoying. Nothing sharp, just constant.
Kenanâs lips brush the back of your shoulder. âStill hurting?â
You shake your head. âItâs not pain. Just weird.â
âWeird like...?â
You sigh. âI donât know. Donât ask follow-up questions.â
He laughs quietly and pulls you a little closer. âOkay. Just say the word if you need anything. Ice chips. Back rub. Emotional support Spotify playlist.â
You close your eyes.
And then-
A pop.
Not audible. Just a sudden, internal shift. And a warm, quick gush of fluid that makes you go completely still.
Kenan feels it. The way your body freezes.
âSchatz?â
You donât move. Just whisper, âI think my water just broke.â
Thereâs a beat of silence. Then Kenan sits bolt upright behind you.
âWait. What? Are you serious?â
You nod, heart suddenly thudding against your ribs. âYeah. Like⊠Iâm soaked. Itâs real.â
Kenan is already halfway out of bed, flipping on the light, wide-eyed but laser focused. âOkay. Okay. Cool. Weâre good. We practiced for this. Iâm gonna grab the bag. You go pee. Or change. Or both.â
You manage to swing your legs over the bed and stand, still a little shocked. âI donât feel any contractions yet.â
Kenanâs pulling on sweatpants as he talks. âMaybe itâs early. Or maybe theyâll start soon. Either way, weâre going.â
You nod again, still not quite processing. Heâs moving quickly but gently, making sure you have socks, your charger, the folder of papers from your midwife.
He helps you to the bathroom first, pressing a kiss to your forehead. âWeâre good. Youâre good. Letâs go meet our kid.â
And somewhere between that kiss and the next contraction, which starts as youâre getting into the car, low and tight and definitely not fake, it hits you.
This is really happening.
The car ride was only supposed to take fifteen minutes. Thatâs what Kenan had said when he shoved the last of the hospital bag into the boot and helped you into the passenger seat, like he hadnât just witnessed you curl over the kitchen counter mid-contraction, white-knuckling the marble and yelling at him to stop panicking.
But now? It felt like every traffic light in Turin was conspiring against him.
You gripped the edge of the seat with one hand and his hoodie sleeve with the other, teeth clenched as another contraction tightened through your stomach.
âOkay, okay, breathe with me,â Kenan said, eyes darting between the road and you. âOne, two, three-â
âI am breathing,â you snapped, dragging in a shaky inhale through your nose. âYouâre the one hyperventilating.â
Kenan muttered something under his breath in German, slapping his blinker on so aggressively it nearly broke off.
You caught your breath again as the contraction eased. âDonât crash the car.â
He scoffed. âAt this point Iâll park the car in the emergency room.â
You let out a pained laugh, then immediately regretted it when another wave crept in too soon. This one made your eyes well up, fingers curling in on themselves. You couldnât stop shaking your head. âThis oneâs bad. Kenan- Kenan, itâs really bad.â
âI know, Schatz. I know. Almost there.â His voice cracked slightly. âIâm right here.â
You were already sweating. Every time he glanced over, he looked more pale. You werenât even sure if he was blinking anymore.
âYouâre freaking out,â you whispered hoarsely, trying to stay focused through the pain.
âOf course Iâm freaking out. Youâre in labour in my passenger seat and thereâs some old man in a Fiat doing twenty in a seventy zone like I wonât commit murder with my bare hands-â
The way his voice pitched up sent another ridiculous laugh through you, though it cut off when the contraction squeezed again.
You gasped through gritted teeth. âI hate you.â
âYou love me,â he said automatically, flipping the wheel and turning sharply into the hospital lot.
âYou did this to me.â
âIâd do it again.â
You turned your head to glare at him. He was already parking. And as soon as the car was off, he was halfway out the door and coming around to your side. You didnât even have to reach for the handle, Kenan opened it for you, gently looping an arm around your waist.
âOkay. Okay. One foot at a time,â he breathed, steadying you as you got up on trembling legs. âWeâve got this.â
The automatic doors swished open as the two of you stepped into the maternity ward.
Kenan flagged down the nearest nurse while still holding you up. âHi. Yes. My wifeâs in labour. We- she needs to be checked in. Please.â
You squeezed his hand through another wave of pain.
He didn't let go.
It starts like a quiet panic.
Not yours. Youâre too focused on the waves of pain crashing in your spine, the pressure building low in your stomach, the tremble of your knees as another contraction hits.
But Kenan? He is absolutely spiraling.
Heâs pacing. Then crouching beside you. Then standing again. Then calling the nurse for the third time in five minutes. Heâs trying to hold it together and you can see the effort in every line of his face, the way he presses his knuckles into his jaw like heâs physically holding himself in place.
âOkay,â he says, voice pitching up slightly, âokay, youâre good, weâre good, the nurse said theyâre setting up the room right now, youâre so close, baby, youâre doing amazing.â
You grunt. Loudly. âKenan, if you donât stop talking, Iâm going to rip the IV out and stab you with it.â
He pauses. Visibly recalibrates. âNoted,â he nods, hands up, mouth shut.
But even when he quiets, heâs still buzzing with nervous energy, sitting at the edge of the hospital bed with his leg bouncing and his thumb rubbing tight circles into your wrist. He watches you like heâs expecting you to break apart in front of him, like heâs trying to memorize every wince and breath and sound you make so he can somehow take it from you.
When another contraction hits, this one sharp enough to have you clutching the bed rail with one hand and Kenanâs arm with the other, he swears under his breath in Turkish and gets up again, pulling the call button with more force than necessary.
âSheâs in pain,â he tells the nurse, even though she can clearly see that herself. âSheâs in real pain now. Isnât it time? Can she get the epidural? Please?â
âLetâs check how far along she is,â the nurse says calmly, unfazed by Kenanâs wide, frantic eyes.
He steps back, lets them do what they need to do, and then the nurse turns to you with a smile.
âYouâre at nine centimeters. Almost there.â
You nod weakly, trying to center your breathing. Kenan does it with you, quietly counting to four as you inhale, to six as you exhale. Itâs the first thing he gets right in hours.
The next hour blurs.
Itâs noise. Movement. Pressure. Sweat.
Youâre moved into the delivery room. People buzz around you. Instructions are given. Somewhere in the chaos, Kenan slips his hand into yours and doesnât let go.
âYouâve got this,â he murmurs against your forehead. âYouâve done all the hard parts. I swear, Iâve never been more proud of anyone.â
You cry. Just a little. From exhaustion or pain or maybe just the sight of him in surgical scrubs, hair tucked under a cap, looking like he might pass out from stress but trying to stay strong anyway.
Itâs all surreal, until itâs not.
Until the push comes.
Until itâs real.
You scream, clutching Kenanâs hand like itâs the only thing keeping you tethered to earth. He doesnât flinch. Just kisses your knuckles, mutters prayers and reassurances in Turkish and German and Italian and English, like if he speaks every language he knows, the baby will come faster.
And then he does.
One loud, perfect cry and everything stops.
Kenan freezes.
Youâre panting, soaked in sweat, too dazed to process the nurseâs voice saying âItâs a boyâ until Kenan finally reacts.
âOh my God,â he whispers, eyes wide. âHeâs- heâs here.â
You watch him as they clean him off. Heâs not even looking at you anymore, which should annoy you, but doesnât. Heâs fixated on him. Spellbound. Like his whole world just narrowed to one tiny, pink, screaming miracle.
When they place him on your chest, Kenanâs eyes go glassy.
He leans over, pressing a kiss to your forehead, then your temple, then your lips.
âYou did it,â he breathes. âYou gave us the world.â
You cradle your son with shaky arms, overwhelmed, sore, exhausted beyond anything youâve ever felt. But when Kenan leans closer, brushing his fingers gently over the babyâs soft cheek, all of it melts away.
âHeâs so perfect,â he says softly.
âHe is,â you murmur.
Kenan sits beside you, pulling both of you into his arms. âHeâs going to be so loved.â
The hospital room was dimly lit, just the soft overhead light above the babyâs bassinet casting a warm glow across the room. You were tucked into the bed, propped up with pillows, your hands gently cradling the small, warm bundle nestled against your chest. Your body was aching and heavy, but none of it mattered. Not really. Not with him here.
Kenan was perched beside you, legs pulled up onto the edge of the mattress, his shoulder brushing yours. His hair was a mess and he had been wearing the same hoodie since yesterday, but you didnât think youâd ever seen him look softer. His eyes kept drifting down to your son, like he couldnât help but keep checking that he was real.
âStill doesnât feel like this actually happened,â he said quietly, resting his chin on your shoulder for a moment before sitting up again. âYouâre incredible. You know that, right?â
You laughed, hoarse and tired. âI think I just survived. Barely.â
âNo. You did that,â he insisted, brushing a kiss to your temple. âYou brought him into the world.â
The baby stirred a little at the sound of his voice, and Kenan immediately reached out with one hand to touch his back, steady and careful. The moment the tiny newborn settled again, he let out a small breath of relief.
âHe already likes you more,â you teased.
Kenan turned his head sharply. âThat is absolutely not true. Heâs obsessed with you. I canât even compete.â
âHe kicked me in the ribs for like three weeks straight. Thatâs not obsession. Thatâs terrorism.â
âSame thing,â Kenan muttered, but he was grinning now. His thumb moved to trace slow, lazy circles on the babyâs back through the thin swaddle.
You fell into a quiet stretch then, both of you just watching him sleep. His cheeks were impossibly round, skin pink and soft, with the faintest frown tugging at his tiny forehead. He had a head full of dark hair, slightly messy, sticking out in random directions no matter how many times a nurse tried to smooth it down.
Kenan blinked slowly. âHe kinda looks like me. Donât you think?â
âI was hoping youâd say that first,â you admitted, âbecause I didnât want to sound vain, but yeah. Same brows. Same pout.â
âHeâs gonna be dangerous when heâs older,â Kenan mumbled proudly. âLook at this face.â
You gave him a look. âHe literally canât see past his nose.â
âThatâs still a power move.â
Another pause. Then Kenan leaned back slightly and tilted his head toward you. âSo⊠are we still going with the names we talked about? Or has that all gone out the window now that heâs real?â
You exhaled softly. âI donât know. Seeing him in person kind of changes things. Heâs got this whole little personality already.â
âHeâs four hours old.â
âYeah. And he already gives attitude.â
Kenan laughed, then grew a little more serious. âOkay, but⊠do you still like Arda?â
You looked down at the baby again, feeling his tiny body rise and fall with his breaths. âYeah. I think I do. It feels right. Doesnât it?â
He nodded. âIt does. Itâs strong, but sweet too. Like him.â
âYou mean like you,â you murmured, but you didnât give him time to deflect it. âArda Yıldız. That sounds really good.â
âArda Yıldız,â Kenan repeated quietly, testing it out again. He smiled like it tasted good on his tongue. âItâs official, then.â
He leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to your sonâs forehead. âHi, Arda.â
You felt your heart swell. This was your little family. You, Kenan, and the boy youâd waited so long to meet.
Kenan looked back at you again. âThank you,â he said. âFor trusting me. For letting me do this with you.â
âYouâre his dad,â you said simply. âAnd I wouldnât want to do this with anyone else.â
You shifted slightly, careful not to wake Arda, and rested your head against Kenanâs shoulder. He wrapped an arm around you and let out a long, shaky breath.
âIâm never gonna stop trying to deserve this,â he whispered.
You squeezed his hand. âYou already do.â
The room faded into quiet again, but this time it was a calm sort of silence. Just the three of you, tucked in safely for the night. No chaos. No crowd. Just you, Kenan, and baby Arda.
a/n: guys the baby is NOT named after arda guler i just like the name arda and i would never name a baby after a madrid player anyway ââđđ
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Can you do one with kenan but him and reader arenât friends they know each other because of his friends but sheâs closed off sheâs the only one who doesnât put in the effort to talk like the rest of the girls and guys and kenan ovb has something for her but she doesnât trust him bec of his playboy appearance so sheâs not impressed by him and reader one day shows up with a guy sheâs been talking too and heâs like jealous and is like to his other friends âwhy did she even invite him?â And the rest can be up to you
summary: youâve always kept your guard up around kenan, convinced his charming act is just that - an act. but when you show up to a group dinner with another guy and kenan gets jealous, his carefully cool exterior finally cracks.
Youâre not really part of the group. Not like that, anyway.
You hang around because of Lina. Sheâs your flatmate, your best friend, and unfortunately for your peace of mind, sheâs dating one of Kenanâs teammates. Which means youâre dragged into match nights, post-training hangouts, and too many group dinners where half the guys donât even know how to pronounce your name right.
Kenan Yıldız, though? He gets it right every single time.
Not that it matters.
Heâs been trying since the beginning. At first, it was subtle. Just polite nods and too-long glances. Then came the little jokes and the casual teasing, stuff that wouldâve made every other girl in the room melt. You, however, are titanium. You donât play nice. You donât give into charm just because itâs handed to you in a pretty package.
Especially not when that package is wrapped in expensive cologne and whispered rumors of flings with influencers you couldnât care less about.
âMorning,â he says one day at Linaâs kitchen island, where youâre hunched over your coffee in a hoodie three sizes too big.
You donât even look up. âItâs literally two in the afternoon.â
He laughs anyway. You hate how nice it sounds. Like heâs always half a second from turning everything into a joke.
âStill counts,â he shrugs. âYou sleep through daylight a lot?â
âOnly when I know youâll be around,â you mutter under your breath.
And yet, he stays. You donât get it. There are six other people in the room who practically orbit around him like heâs the sun. He could have their attention anytime he wanted.
But no, itâs you he looks at like heâs trying to solve a puzzle heâs not allowed to touch.
Youâre not interested.
Except⊠you kind of are. Not enough to act on it. Just enough to notice the shift in the air every time he walks into a room. And itâs not his fault, maybe, not completely, that he looks like that. All perfect posture and effortless cool, like he was designed in a lab to make you distrust him.
Which is why, when you finally bring someone around - someone solid, kind, a guy who texts back and works in finance and has a boring-but-safe vibe - you expect everyone to mind their business.
Lina raises her brows but doesnât say anything.
Kenan, however, clocks him immediately.
âWhoâs that?â he mutters under his breath as your maybe-boyfriend sits beside you at the outdoor dinner table, laughing softly at something you said.
Malik, the midfielder sitting beside Kenan, doesnât even look up. âHer guy. Sheâs been seeing him for a few weeks.â
Kenanâs jaw tightens. âWhy did she even invite him?â
âWhy wouldnât she?â Malik replies, amused. âItâs not like you ever had a shot.â
He doesnât answer. Just sits there, watching you smile across the table like itâs a weapon. And it is, honestly. Itâs the first time Kenanâs ever seen you like this. At ease. Loose-limbed and glowing in the late sun, laughing at some finance-guy story thatâs probably so dull it could be used as a sleep aid.
He hates how smug the guy looks. Like he thinks he won.
The worst part? Youâre letting him.
You even lean in when he whispers something in your ear, and Kenan watches you with the same kind of devastation he plays with when a shot skims just over the bar. So close. So pointless.
Later, after dessert, when everyoneâs clearing plates and Malikâs putting on music from his phone, you duck into the kitchen to help Lina with drinks. Kenan follows without thinking. His feet move before his brain does.
âSeriously?â you sigh, catching him leaning against the doorway like this is some indie rom-com and heâs about to deliver the final line that makes you fall for him.
âWhat?â he asks, shrugging. âJust wanted water.â
âThereâs like four bottles on the table already.â
âYeah. But none of them handed to me by you.â
You raise a brow. âDo you say things like that and expect people to swoon?â
He smirks, but it fades when he steps closer. âHeâs not it. You know that, right?â
You freeze for a second, then scoff, turning your back to grab glasses from the cupboard. âWow. That was subtle.â
âIâm serious.â
âYou donât get to be serious,â you snap, spinning around now. âYou donât get to come in here with your half-smirks and flirty little jabs and act like youâre entitled to an opinion about my life.â
âIâm not entitled to anything. I just-â He runs a hand through his hair. âIâve been trying.â
âNo. Youâve been playing. Thatâs what you do, right?â
Kenanâs expression shifts. Just barely. But enough.
You expect him to make a joke. Or flirt. Or walk away like itâs beneath him to try harder.
But instead, he just looks⊠hurt. And it throws you off completely.
âIâve been showing up,â he says quietly. âIâve been patient. Iâve been real with you. Even when you acted like I wasnât worth your time.â
You open your mouth, then close it again. Because you didnât expect that. And honestly, you donât have a defense.
You swallow hard. âIâve seen you with girls. On Instagram. In interviews. Youâre always charming, always flirty. Itâs all a show.â
âMaybe it used to be,â he admits. âBut you kind of ruined that for me.â
You blink. âWhat?â
âYouâre the only person who didnât fall for it. And now I donât want anyone else to either.â
Itâs too much. Too honest. And it breaks through that little shell youâve built around yourself since the first time he smiled at you like you mattered.
You donât say anything. You canât.
So instead, you push a glass of water into his hand and mumble, âThen prove it.â
can you write something about being on a family event with kenan and you don't feel good at all but don't want to ruin his evening. but he directly noticed and is the cutest bf ever
schatz.
masterlist requests word count: 1k
a/n: i love being able to use my german speaking abilities because kenan fics are the only place they get practiced.
genre: comfort/fluff.
warnings: none.
summary: you go with kenan to an afternoon tea so you can meet his mama's side of the family, only to be hit with cramps and have kenan take care of you.
The house is buzzing with energy - Kenanâs cousins are laughing in the living room, his uncles are telling increasingly dramatic stories over beers on the patio, and his mama is flitting between rooms making sure everyoneâs been offered cake at least three times.
Itâs warm and bright and very German.
You smile, or try to, but your stomach is tying itself into uncomfortable knots, and every movement feels like your insides are being wrung out like a towel. Youâd known it was coming, cramps always hit this time of month, but youâd hoped theyâd stay away for one more evening. Just one.
Kenan had been so excited to bring you here. His whole face had lit up when he told you his mamaâs side of the family was hosting a garden party, that they all wanted to meet you.
âEveryone speaks English,â heâd promised. âAnd if they get too German, Iâll translate. Promise. Youâll love them.â
And you do, or you would, if your uterus wasnât staging a full-scale rebellion right now.
So you sit at the edge of the patio, quietly nursing your glass of Apfelschorle, trying to smile and nod at his Omaâs questions. Youâre a little hunched over, and every now and then, you shift in your seat like thatâll make it better. You donât want to complain. You refuse to be the girlfriend who ruins the vibe.
You catch Kenan across the garden, laughing with his papa and an older cousin. Heâs in a crisp white linen shirt that makes his tan skin glow, a few top buttons undone, hair a little mussed from the breeze. He looks so good itâs unfair.
You quickly look away when he glances back at you.
Too late.
A few seconds later, his hand lands gently on your back.
âSchatz?â he murmurs near your ear. âEverything okay?â
You force a smile and nod, hoping thatâs enough to convince him.
But he crouches down in front of you, brow scrunching. âYouâre pale,â he says softly. âAnd youâre sitting like someone kicked you in the stomach.â
âIâm fine,â you say automatically. âReally.â
His look says liar.
âI didnât want to bother you,â you admit under your breath, eyes darting toward his family. âYou were having fun.â
Kenan frowns, gently taking your hand. âYou are not a bother. Not ever.â
He stands up and holds a hand out. âCome. Five minutes.â
You hesitate. âKenan-â
âNur fĂŒnf Minuten,â he insists. Just five minutes. âLet me take care of you, liebling.â
The pet name and the sincerity in his voice make your chest tighten, in a good way. You slip your hand into his and let him lead you through the house, past the cheerful chaos of the kitchen, and up the stairs to a quiet guest bedroom.
He closes the door softly behind you.
The second you sit on the bed, you sigh in relief. Kenan kneels in front of you again, pushing your hair back from your face with careful fingers.
âCramps?â he asks gently.
You flush and look away. âMaybe. I just... itâs embarrassing.â
âWarum?â he asks with a tilted head. âYou think Iâm scared of a little blood?â
You snort at that, despite yourself.
âBabe,â he says with a small grin, âyou could puke on my shoes right now and Iâd still think youâre cute.â
âPlease donât say that while Iâm nauseous.â
He laughs and presses a kiss to your knuckles. âWait here. Iâll be right back.â
You donât protest this time.
A few minutes later, he returns with a hot water bottle wrapped in a soft towel, a glass of water, and a small plate with two slices of his mamaâs apple cake.
âYouâre literally the best boyfriend ever,â you mumble as he helps you lie down, carefully sliding the hot water bottle against your stomach.
âI know,â he says smugly, tucking the blanket around your legs. âMama said we could stay in here as long as we want.â
You raise an eyebrow. âYou told her?â
He shrugs. âSheâs a woman. I guess she gets it.â
You groan into the pillow and he laughs again, then climbs onto the bed next to you. You curl into his side almost immediately, the warmth of him and the water bottle starting to work their magic.
Kenan strokes your back in slow, soothing circles. âYou shouldâve told me earlier, schatz. I wouldâve brought you here right away.â
âI didnât want to ruin anything.â
He tilts your chin up so youâre looking at him. âYou never ruin anything. If youâre not feeling good, thatâs all I care about. Not cake. Not soccer talk with Onkel Rudi. Just you.â
You blink. âYou talked soccer with Onkel Rudi?â
Kenan winces. âIt was... intense. He thinks Dortmundâs gonna win the league next season.â
You grin. âAnd you didnât storm off?â
âNot with you watching. Gotta keep the boyfriend rep intact.â He gives you a cheeky little wink, then leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead. âBut really. Next time, tell me, okay? You donât have to be shy with me.â
You nod, already feeling sleepy. The painâs still there, but itâs dulled by the warmth and the weight of Kenanâs arm around you.
His voice is a low murmur in your ear. âIch liebe dich.â
Your heart flips, like it always does when he says it in German.
âIch liebe dich auch,â you whisper.
âEven when I eavesdrop on your pain and steal you away from my own party?â
âEspecially then.â
Kenan grins and presses his cheek against your hair. âGood. Then Iâll keep doing it.â
You rest together in the quiet for a while, the sounds of laughter and music muffled through the walls. Eventually, he nudges the plate of cake toward you.
âYou gotta eat something, baby.â
You eye the cake. âYou want to share?â
He nods. âOnly if I get the bigger slice.â
You groan. âFine. But only because youâre being very cute right now.â
âJetzt?â he teases. âOnly now?â
âShut up and eat your cake.â
He laughs and kisses your cheek again. âJawohl, meine Liebe.â
And somehow, despite the cramps and the awkwardness and the chaos downstairs, you feel completely okay. Safe, even. Because Kenanâs here, and he knows exactly what you need before you even say a word.
Can you write a fic of reader being very sick but not wanting to disturb Kenan (even tho he text her to see if she wanted help) bc he was tired after training, then less than an hour pass and he show up in her apartament to take care of her
"i didn't want to disturb you."
masterlist requests word count: 900
a/n: fluffy kenan yay
genre: comfort.
warnings: reader has the flu.
summary: kenan takes care of you while you're sick after you originally tell him you're 'fine'.
You had been curled up on the couch all day, wrapped in a blanket that somehow felt both too warm and not warm enough. Your head pounded, your throat was sore, and even lifting your phone to scroll felt like too much effort. The flu had knocked you out harder than you expected, leaving you shivering despite the heating humming in the background.
You had stared at the screen for a long minute, torn between the overwhelming desire to see him and the guilty knowledge that he had just come back from training. He had been exhausted when you talked yesterday, practically dragging himself through the door of his own apartment. The last thing you wanted was to disturb him again. So you typed out a quick lie. Iâm okay. Just resting. Donât worry, get some sleep.
You pressed send before you could change your mind.
Less than an hour later, there was a knock at your door.
At first, you thought maybe you had imagined it, that your fever was making you hear things. But then it came again, firm but not impatient. Groaning, you shuffled off the couch, blanket still clutched around your shoulders, and padded to the door.
When you opened it, there he was. Kenan stood in the hallway, hoodie pulled over his messy hair, a bag dangling from one hand. His eyes swept over you immediately, taking in your pale face, the heavy slump of your shoulders, the way you had not even bothered with socks.
âSchatz,â he breathed, stepping inside without waiting for you to invite him. âYouâre worse than you said.â
âI didnât want to bother you,â you rasped, already embarrassed.
Kenan set the bag down on the kitchen counter and turned back to you. âBother me? Do you really think I care about being tired when youâre like this?â His voice was soft, almost chiding, but there was no anger in it. Only concern.
You tried to protest, to tell him he should be resting too, but he was already guiding you back toward the couch with a hand on your back. He moved carefully, like he thought you might collapse at any second.
Once you were settled, he crouched down in front of you, leveling his gaze with yours. âIâm here, okay? Let me take care of you.â
Your throat tightened, and not from the illness. You nodded, too worn out to argue further.
âYou thought of everything,â you whispered, voice cracking.
âOf course I did,â he said simply.
He warmed the soup in your kitchen, humming under his breath while he waited for the microwave to beep. You dozed off for a few minutes, lulled by the sound of him moving around, only to wake when he nudged you softly.
âIss es,â he said, holding out the bowl.
Your appetite had been gone all day, but with him sitting beside you, watching expectantly, you forced yourself to take small spoonfuls. He looked pleased each time you swallowed, like you had scored a goal instead of just managing to keep soup down.
When you could not finish, he set the bowl aside and pressed a glass of water into your hands. Then, without hesitation, he shifted closer and opened his arms.
âCome here.â
You leaned against him instantly, tucking yourself under his chin. His hoodie smelled like fresh laundry and a trace of his cologne. He tightened his arms around you, one hand rubbing slow circles on your back.
âYou should be asleep,â you murmured.
âSo should you,â he countered. âBut Iâll stay awake as long as you need me to.â
Your chest ached at his words. âYouâre too good to me.â
Kenan chuckled softly. âYou deserve it.â
Time blurred after that. He held you while you drifted in and out of light sleep, adjusting the blanket when it slipped and making sure you had water within reach. At one point you woke to find him scrolling quietly on his phone, your head still on his shoulder. He noticed immediately, locking the screen and looking down at you.
âDo you need anything?â he asked.
âJust you,â you admitted, voice small.
Something tender flickered across his face. He pressed a kiss to your damp forehead, not caring about the risk of catching whatever you had. âThen thatâs easy,â he whispered. âBecause Iâm not going anywhere.â
The room fell silent again except for your uneven breathing. His presence steadied you, anchored you. Even as the fever burned hot and the shivers kept coming, you felt safe.
Eventually he shifted so that he was lying with you, pulling you fully into his arms. His hoodie became your pillow, his heartbeat the rhythm you fell asleep to. For the first time all day, you let yourself relax completely.
The last thing you heard before sleep dragged you under was his voice, quiet and full of love.
âNext time, donât hide how bad it is. I want to be here. Always.â