Pairing: Kenan Yıldız x Reader
Kenan Yildiz Masterlist | Football Masterlist | Football Masterlist II
a/n: heyy !! so quick note — ik some ppl might say “he wouldn’t celebrate christmas,” and yeah, i get it 🤍 but i just wanted to write something soft n special, and the idea felt really warm to me. i saw a couple tiktoks that gave me major kenan vibes and suddenly my brain said “okay but what if he reacted like THIS??” so yeah… this happened. hope u enjoy the fluff, the vibes, and soft boyfriend kenan <3
You don’t even hear the door open over the sound of Mariah Carey screaming from your speakers.
You’re halfway through fluffing a tangle of gold tinsel when a familiar voice cuts in behind you.
“So this is what Christmas looks like in real life.”
You jump, whirl around, and almost drop the tinsel. Kenan is leaning in the doorway, hands in his pockets, watching you with that soft little half-smile that always makes your knees feel unreliable.
“Kenan!” you gasp. “You scared me.”
He raises his hands in surrender, stepping inside and nudging the door shut with his foot. “I knocked. You just love this song too much.”
You stick your tongue out at him and go back to the tree, trying to hide your smile. “Well, yeah. It’s the law. You don’t hear Mariah, she hears you.”
He chuckles and walks closer, taking in your living room,the boxes of decorations, the fake pine needles on the carpet, the half-decorated tree standing proudly in the corner.
“Wow,” he breathes, looking up at it. “It’s… big.”
“Compensating for my emotional damage,” you say casually.
He snorts. “Very festive of you.”
You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You don’t have to stay, you know. I know you don’t celebrate, so,”
“I know I don’t,” he cuts in gently. “But you do.”
The way he says it makes you go quiet for a second.
He steps closer, eyes warm. “I told you, remember? I don’t celebrate Christmas as a religious holiday. But being here with you, helping… that’s not haram,” he adds, a tiny teasing smile tugging at his lips. “It’s just… us.”
You feel your chest soften. “Just us,” you repeat, a little shy. “Okay, then. Help me before this tree decides to fall on me.”
Ten minutes later, you’re standing on the couch, trying to reach a high branch, and Kenan is standing right behind you, hands hovering around your waist like a safety net.
“I’ve got you,” he murmurs.
“You always say that,” you reply, stretching on your tiptoes to hang a glittery ornament. “One day you won’t and I’ll sue.”
“You can’t sue me,” he says. “I’m your boyfriend.”
“That’s exactly why I can sue you,” you argue.
He laughs, and the sound vibrates through his chest into your back. You feel his fingers steady on your hips as you wobble slightly, trying to reach higher.
“You said you’ve got me.”
“I do, but I’d like my girlfriend in one piece, please.”
You finally manage to hook the ornament on and drop back onto your heels with a triumphant sigh. Kenan’s hands don’t leave your waist, even though you’re stable now.
You glance down at him over your shoulder. “You know, I could’ve done that alone.”
He quirks a brow. “I know. But then I’d miss an opportunity to make sure you don’t break your neck in the name of Christmas.”
“So dramatic,” you mutter, but you’re smiling as you step down carefully. He automatically reaches to help you, fingers slipping through yours until you’re planted firmly on the floor.
“Okay,” he says, looking at the tree. “What’s next?”
You follow his gaze. The tree is starting to look like something from a postcard,lights half strung, ornaments twinkling softly, tinsel not entirely tangled. You nudge him with your shoulder.
“Lights,” you say. “Prepare to suffer.”
Within five minutes, Kenan is standing in the middle of the room with a long snake of fairy lights wrapped around his arms, a look of genuine betrayal on his face.
“I thought this would be easy,” he mutters.
You grab your phone and snap a picture before he can move. “You look like a very festive hostage.”
“Don’t post that,” he warns, but there’s a smile twitching at his mouth.
“I’m sending it to your teammates.”
He narrows his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
He sighs dramatically and looks down at the lights. “Why is this so complicated? Why does it keep knotting itself?”
“Because Christmas hates you,” you say seriously.
“Rude,” he says. “I brought you coffee.”
That makes you pause. “You did?”
He nods toward the kitchen counter, where two takeout cups sit. “One with caramel. How you like it.”
Your heart does that annoying little flip. “Okay, Christmas doesn’t hate you,” you correct. “Christmas tolerates you.”
Kenan smirks. “Progress.”
You step closer, carefully untangling a stubborn knot near his wrist. “Here,” you murmur. “Hold this part and walk slowly around the tree.”
He obeys without question, circling the tree as you feed the lights around the branches. Every now and then, he glances at you, like he’s more focused on your concentration than the actual task.
When you plug them in and the tree bursts into warm light, he goes quiet.
You look at him. His face is illuminated by the tiny bulbs, eyes reflecting the gold glow. For a second, he looks… younger. Softer.
He nods slowly, still staring at the tree. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “It’s… cozy.”
You bump your shoulder against his. “That’s the point.”
He turns his head to look at you then, and there’s something in his eyes that makes your stomach swoop.
“I get why you love this,” he says quietly.
Your family dinner is loud in the way only your family can be.
You bring Kenan into the dining room and immediately, your mother swoops in with a smile.
“Kenan! Look at you!” she exclaims, pulling him into a hug he’s clearly not expecting.
He stumbles, then hugs her back, trying not to spill the dessert he brought. “Merhaba” he says politely.
She beams. “Ahh, good boy,” she says, patting his cheek. “You brought something?”
“Baklava,” he says, holding up the box. “My mom sent it.”
“Your mom is an angel,” your mother announces, already taking it away. “Sit, sit. You must be hungry.”
He gives you a helpless look as he’s herded to the table, and you fight a laugh.
“You’ll survive,” you whisper, taking the seat next to him.
Your father grills him (kindly) about football, your sibling teases him, your grandmother keeps pressing more food onto his plate.
“I can’t eat that much,” he whispers to you at one point, staring at the extra serving of mashed potatoes.
“You can,” you whisper back. “You’re an athlete.”
“I’m a human being,” he corrects.
You squeeze his knee under the table. “Just say no, babe. They like you already.”
He glances at your mother, who is watching him fondly, and then at you. There’s something like gratitude in his eyes.
Between questions, he always circles back to you,asking if you’re okay, if you’ve had enough to eat, if you want the last roll. He refills your glass without you noticing, pulls your chair a little closer when someone squeezes past, leans over to quietly explain when a relative talks too fast and you miss a word.
At one point, your grandmother leans in and says, in a stage whisper, “You chose well, dear.”
You glance at Kenan, who is laughing softly at something your father said.
“Yeah,” you breathe. “I know.”
Later that night, back at your apartment, you’re sitting on the couch in the glow of the tree, a blanket over your legs. Kenan disappears into the hallway without a word, then returns and sits beside you, a little too carefully.
You narrow your eyes. “What did you break?”
“Nothing,” he says quickly. “Why do you assume I broke something?”
“Because you have that guilty puppy look.”
He huffs. “I do not look like a puppy.”
You simply stare at him until he sighs and reaches into his pocket.
“Okay,” he mutters. “I was going to do this earlier, but your mom gave me another plate of food and I lost all my brain cells.”
Your heart stutters. “Do what?”
He looks… nervous. Genuinely. Hands slightly fidgety, eyes flicking to yours then away.
“I know this is your holiday,” he says slowly. “And I know it means a lot to you. And I didn’t want to make it about me or about something big like,” He stops himself, jaw flexing like he just swallowed a word. “I just wanted to give you something that… feels like us.”
You blink. “Kenan, you’re scaring me.”
He lets out a small, breathy laugh. “Don’t be scared, aşkım.” He swallows. “It’s not… that.”
There, sitting in his hand, is a small ring.
Not flashy. Not overly expensive-looking. Just a simple, delicate band with a tiny stone and a small engraving on the inside,you can’t read it from this angle, but just seeing it knocks the breath out of you.
“It’s not an engagement ring,” he says quickly, eyes locking onto yours, needing you to understand. “I don’t want you to think I’m proposing like this. Not without your family there, not without doing it properly, not without talking about it ten times first.”
You let out a shaky laugh. “Okay, okay,” you say. “Then what is it?”
He exhales slowly, shoulders relaxing a fraction.
“It’s a… promise, I guess,” he says. “I wanted you to have something from me that you can wear every day if you want. Something that says I’m serious about you. About us. That I’m not going anywhere.”
“I know our cultures are different,” he continues softly. “Our holidays, our traditions… sometimes it’s like we speak two languages at once. But this,” He lifts the ring slightly. “This is me saying, no matter how different they are, I’m choosing you. Again and again.”
You stare at him, at the ring, at the way his fingers tremble almost imperceptibly.
“Kenan,” you say again, but this time your voice cracks.
He gives you a small, nervous smile. “If you don’t like it, I can,”
“Shut up,” you whisper, tears gathering in your eyes. “I love it.”
Relief floods his face so fast he actually laughs, a real, bright sound. “Yeah?”
“Yes,” you say fiercely. “God, yes. Can I see it?”
He nods, placing it gently in your open palm. Up close, you can see the engraving inside the band: a tiny crescent moon and, next to it, your initials intertwined with his.
You bite your lip. “Kenan…”
He watches you like you’re the only thing that matters in the room. “Can I put it on you?” he asks quietly.
You nod, unable to speak.
He takes the ring back, carefully takes your left hand,not your ring finger, but the one next to it,and slides the band on. It settles there like it’s always belonged.
“Not that one,” he murmurs, thumb brushing the base of your ring finger. “That one is for later.”
Your breath catches. “Later?”
“When we’re both ready,” he says softly. “Properly. With both our families, with the things that matter to us. With Allah’s blessing. Not just because it’s Christmas and I got emotional over your tree.”
You laugh through your tears. “You did get emotional over my tree.”
He smiles, eyes crinkling. “Your tree is very powerful.”
You look down at your hand, then back at him. “So this is…?”
His gaze is steady, warm. “This is me saying you’re my person,” he says simply. “Not my fiancée. Not yet. But… my choice.”
The tears spill over before you can stop them. He panics immediately.
“Hey, hey,” he says, cupping your face gently. “I’m sorry, did I,”
“I’m happy, you idiot,” you whisper, laughing wetly. “These are happy tears.”
He exhales hard, closing his eyes for a second like he’s thanking God for that answer.
“Don’t scare me like that,” he mutters, thumbs brushing your cheeks.
“You’re the one dropping symbolic rings on Christmas,” you argue, sniffing.
He huffs a small laugh. “Fair.”
You lean into his touch. “Thank you,” you whisper. “For this. For… everything. For trying with my traditions even when they’re not yours.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not trying with Christmas,” he says softly. “I’m trying with you. That’s different.”
“I love you,” you say quietly.
His eyes soften in that way that makes you feel like the world has narrowed to just the two of you.
“I love you more,” he murmurs. “Ring or no ring. Holiday or no holiday. Always.”
You smile, cheeks still damp, and tug him closer by the front of his hoodie.
“Come here, then,” you say. “Let me kiss my very dramatic, very perfect boyfriend.”
He grins, and as he leans in, the lights of the tree glow softly behind him,the symbol of your holiday, your tradition.
The ring warms against your skin,the symbol of his promise, his way of loving you between two worlds.
And in that moment, wrapped up in his arms, you realize something:
