#bianconeri

[obvithe-bestsoph]

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. You’re used to the way his gaze always lingers on you like he’s trying to memorize every detail. But it’s different when it’s your lips. He stares with this quiet kind of intensity that makes it hard to keep a straight face.

You’re sitting on the couch in his apartment, tucked into the corner with a hoodie that definitely doesn’t belong to you. It’s one of his, oversized and worn soft at the sleeves, smelling like whatever cologne he spritzed on hours ago. You’ve got your legs pulled up, blanket over your lap, and you’re trying to focus on the movie playing on the TV.

Kenan is not helping.

At first, it’s 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.

“You’re doing it again,” you tease.

His lips curve up into a slow smile, like he’s not even gonna try denying it. “Can’t help it,” he says simply, voice low, a little amused. “You make it impossible.”

You roll your eyes, though your cheeks go warm. “It’s just a mouth.”

He shakes his head like you’ve offended him. “It’s your mouth.”

“Oh, well. That explains everything,” you say dryly, but he just leans in like you’ve laid down an open invitation.

The kiss is soft. He always starts soft, like he wants to take his time, like he’s trying to savor something. And even though he’s kissed you a thousand times by now, each one still feels kind of sacred. Like he’s reminding himself that you’re real.

He pulls back after a moment, resting his forehead against yours. “I missed you today.”

“You saw me this morning,” you say, laughing a little, even though your heart does this dumb fluttery thing.

“Too long ago,” he murmurs, kissing you again, barely a brush this time. “And you wore that stupid lip balm that makes me think about you all day.”

Your laugh catches in your throat. “So now it’s the lip balm’s fault?”

“Mhm,” he hums with zero hesitation, and you bury your face into his shoulder to hide the smile threatening to take over.

This isn’t a one-time thing, either. You’ve 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 he’s doing to come over and kiss you like it’s urgent, like you’re some kind of problem he needs to solve with his mouth.

Even in public, he doesn’t hold back. A quick kiss before he heads to training. A longer one when he gets back, barely through the door before he’s pulling you close again. It’s 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.

“You’ve got an actual addiction,” you mumble, voice still sleepy.

Kenan grins, lazy and smug. “I’d say obsession. Sounds more romantic.”

“You kiss me constantly.”

“Exactly,” he says. “Romantic.”

You poke his chest. “Do I even get a say?”

“Too late,” he replies, dipping his head to kiss your collarbone. “You’re already mine.”

It’s even worse when he’s 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. You’re sitting on the counter eating strawberries when he walks in and sees you. Something in him softens immediately.

He doesn’t even say hi. Just drops his bag, walks straight over, and stands between your knees.

“I love you,” he says, voice a little rough.

You blink. “I love you too. You okay?”

He nods, already leaning in. “I just missed you.”

You taste the faintest hint of mint when he kisses you. It’s slow, deep, like he’s pouring everything he didn’t say today into you now. You slide your hands into his hair and let him take his time. When he finally pulls back, there’s a slight dazed look in his eyes.

“You’re so soft,” he says quietly, brushing his thumb across your lower lip. “It drives me crazy.”

“You’re actually insane,” you whisper, laughing.

“For you? Completely,” he says, and you don’t doubt it for a second.

Sometimes it’s not about needing. It’s about comfort.

Like when you’re quiet, withdrawn, and overthinking something. Kenan always knows. He doesn’t 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 he’s saying, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You don’t know how he always knows when to do it. You’ve stopped questioning it.

One night, it’s pouring rain, and you’re both wide awake for no reason. You’re 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. “You’re beautiful.”

“You’re sappy.”

“You’re mine,” he says against your cheek.

You turn in his arms, eyebrows raised. “Are you ever gonna get tired of kissing me?”

He pretends to think about it for a second. “No.”

“Not even a little?”

“Not even if I tried,” he says, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I think I was built to kiss you.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s hopeless. Your stomach flips anyway.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he teases, lips brushing against yours again. “You’re the one who started this.”

“I didn’t start anything.”

“You looked at me once,” he says seriously. “And now I’m doomed.”

“Doomed to kiss me forever?”

He nods solemnly. “It’s a burden I’ll gladly bear.”

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. He’s never going to stop.

And honestly, you don’t want him to.

[artuski]

Oggi si fa la Juve.

[zibaldone-di-pensieri]

Praticamente devo dipingermi bianco e nero 👀

Come il newcastle👀🤍🖤

[frequentdeals]

⚫️⚪️🌸 Embrace the bold with the Juventus Away Pink Retro Jersey! ⚽️👕

👉 Celebrate the iconic style of the Bianconeri with this standout pink jersey. A must-have for every Juventus fan who loves a touch of unique football fashion!

🛒 Get yours now and wear it with pride! 🔗 https://frequentdeals.com/product/juventus-away-pink-retro-2015-16-soccer-jersey/

[pier-carlo-universe]

Juve esonera Thiago Motta, Tudor è il nuovo allenatore

Cambio in panchina per la Juventus: Thiago Motta esonerato, arriva Igor Tudor. La notizia, attesa e ora ufficiale, è stata confermata dalla stessa società bianconera tramite un comunicato pubblicato oggi. Dopo settimane di risultati altalenanti e tensioni interne, la dirigenza della Juventus ha deciso di voltare pagina. Thiago Motta, alla guida tecnica della squadra da inizio stagione, lascia…

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Gazzetta Dello Sport di Oggi lunedì, 26 agosto 2024

[fentybucky]

abbiamo vinto di corto musoooooo

[nounoustouzy]

JUVENTUS FC WALL CLOCK

Every second counts! An exciting and practical accent in any room, this unique high quality Wall Clock serves as a statement piece, creating a personalized environment.

.: Materials: 100% wood (frame), 100% plexiglass (face), 100% metal (mechanism) .: One size: 10" x 10" (25.4 x 25.4 cm) .: Pre-installed backside hook .: For indoor use .: Requires one AA battery (NOT included) .: Silent clock mechanism.

Get it now from here

[im-tryingtoloveyou]

Quando deve essere peggiorato de Ligt per far giocare de Vrij titolare per tutti i 90 minuti?

[obvithe-bestsoph]

not you.

masterlist requests word count: 1.4k

a/n: my first kenan fic! this has the possibility for another part, so let me know! genre: angsty? then not angsty but also not fluff so idk lol 😭 warnings: mentions of religion.

summary: kenan brings his new girlfriend to a team dinner and doesn't expect to feel wrecked when he sees how much it hurts you. later, he finally admits he never stopped wanting you and promises to make things right.

You’re not sure what stings more - the fact that he brought her, or the fact that he introduced her like he owed you some kind of explanation. 

“Hey. This is Elif,” Kenan says, resting his palm gently on the small of her back. “She’s… um… she’s my… girlfriend.”

You blink once. Twice. Then smile, because you’re not sure what else to do. 

“Oh. That’s cool. Hi.”

Elif is perfect, of course. Pretty in that polished, put-together way. Her smile is bright, her laugh is delicate, and she doesn’t hesitate to take Kenan’s hand in hers, as if it belongs there. 

You excuse yourself to the drinks table and pretend like you’re not about to cry. 

You’re here because you have to be. A part of the media team, photographer and videographer for the Instagram account. You were filming the arrivals in the hallways earlier, laughter, wine glasses, celebration for the end of the season. Kenan arrived with Elif, of course, and your lens dipped for hald a second. No one noticed. But you felt it. 

Your childhood best friend, the boy you’ve been in love with since you were seven, walking around with his arm around the waist of another girl, completely unaware. 

The dinner continues around you like nothing’s changed, because technically nothing has. You and Kenan are still the same people, the same inside jokes, same memories, same looks… expect now it feels like there’s a layer between the two of you. One you can’t name, but it feels like wearing an inescapable old cardigan, always there, rubbing a little too rough, squeezing a little too tight in all the wrong places.

He finds you again after dessert, weaving through players and staff until he’s beside you. No Elif in sight. 

“You good?” he asks, voice quiet. 

You nod, “Great.”

Kenan raises his slitted eyebrow at you, “You lie worse than Arda.” You snort, “Take that back.”

“No chance.” His smile falters slightly, his tone still light, but a little less joking, more worried. “You sure you’re okay?” You glance at him. His hair is a little messy, like he’s been running his hands through it all night. There’s a tiredness in his eyes that doesn’t match the joy on his Instagram post from earlier, it had been a photo of him and Elif, laughing on some balcony in Turin. Sunlight catching his eyes. Her arms around his neck. 

“I’m fine,” you say. “You don’t need to check on me all the time, you know.”

Kenan leans against the wall beside you, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “I’ll always check on you.”

You don’t answer. You don’t feel like you can. 

The days after that kind of all blur into a mess of overthinking, tears, edit-watching, and avoidance. Kenan still acts like normal, though. Memes, videos, half-thought-out voicenotes about random things he did, and training stories. You still reply. You still laugh. But something’s changed, and you both know it. 

Then comes the night that he invited you over. 

KENAN: do you want to come around for dinner tonight? just us. Promise.

You think about saying no. But you don’t. You never do. 

He opens the door in sweatpants and a hoodie that you’re pretty sure you got him for one of his birthdays. The apartment smells like chicken and vegetables, and there’s some random playlist playing softly from his speakers. 

“You cooked?” you tease, slipping off your shoes. 

Kenan grinned. “I reheated. I’m not trying to poison us.”

You eat on the couch, knees touching occasionally. The food is warm and familiar – homemade by his mother, delivered in Tupperware. You don’t comment on the fact that he always saves your favourites. 

“You didn’t invite Elif,” you say casually, halfway through dessert.

Kenan stills for a second before shrugging. “Didn’t feel like it.”

You take another mouthful of sütlaç, the rice pudding sweet and creamy. “You two okay?”

He’s quiet for a second, like he’s hesitating. 

“She’s great,” he says finally. “She really is.” You hum. “But?”

Kenan exhales slowly. “But sometimes it feels like I’m… showing her a version of myself that isn’t all the way real.”

That catches your attention. You glance at him. He’s not looking at you. 

“I try to be good,” he adds, voice softer. “I try to pray, to stay focused. And she respects it, but she it’s like she doesn’t get it. Not deep down.”

You nod slowly. “That’s hard.”

“Yeah.”

The silence continues for a moment. Thick and tense.

“Do you really love her?” Kenan doesn’t answer right away. Then, softly: “She isn’t you.”

You should say something. You should call him out. Say that he can’t just drop that and expect nothing to happen and you to just shrug your shoulders. But all that comes out is, “Then why are you with her?”

Kenan finally looks at you. His eyes are glassy, like he’s holding something in. 

“Because with you…” he trails off, shaking his head like he’s mentally scolding himself. “With you… it was always more. And I was scared I’d mess it up.”

You swallow. Hard. “So instead of just trying it with me, you decided to be safe with someone else?”

Kenan winces slightly. “I know it sounds bad.” “It is bad.”

He leans forward, elbows on knees, hands clasped like that’ll solve all his problems. “You were always there. Every game, every loss, every time I felt like I couldn’t help the pressure. You were there, making dua for me without even telling me. I felt it.”

Your chest tightens. “I didn’t want to risk losing that.” “So you decided not to have me at all?”

“I decided to keep you close.” He looks at you, eyes burning. “Even if I couldn’t call you mine.”

You’re quiet for a long time. The ache in your chest feel stronger than ever. It’s been growing for years, fueled by every almost-touch and unsent text. Every time he pulled you into a frame for a “team moment” that never made it to the socials. Every time he held would look over the camera at you when he scored a goal, instead of at the lens. 

“I would’ve stayed,” you whisper. “Even if we’d messed up. I would’ve tried.”

Kenan’s hands are shaking now as he plays with the clasp of his watch. 

“I still want to try,” he says. “But not like this. Not while I’m with someone else. Not without doing it right. 

Your breath catches. Kenan sits up straighter, like he’s making a promise. 

“I’ll end things. I won’t lead anyone on. And I’ll wait. For as long as you need. Because if it’s not halal, it’s not happening. But I want this, with you. Properly. Fully.”

You look at him again. The boy who memorised his du’as between bus rides. Who panics when you send him blurry photos of yourself and saves every single one anyway. Who has never kissed you, but makes you feel more cherished than anyone ever has.sütlaç

“I don’t want to be a maybe anymore,” you say, shaky, but firm.

Kenan reaches for your hand, just barely brushing his fingers against yours. “You never were,” he whispers. “I was just too much of a coward to admit it.”

You don’t kiss. You don’t need to. There’s more devotion in the way he touches your hand than there could be in anything else.

Instead, he offers to walk you to your car, hoodie still half-zipped, socks mismatched. You laugh as he throws on slippers like an old man and grabs your keys before you can protest. 

Outside, the air is crisply cold. Italian stars shimmer overhead. As you reach your car, Kenan stops. 

He opens the car door for you and hesitates as you step in. 

“I want to do better,” he says. “Not just with you, with everything. I’ve been hiding behind comfort, and I’m tired of it.” 

You study his face. It’s serious, but not heavy. There’s something clear in his eyes - like this time, he means it. 

“I want that too,” you say softly. “For both of us.”

You drive off, and a few minutes later, your phone buzzes with a message from him:

KENAN: i’m officially single. text me when you get home safe xx

You smile softly, going to sleep that night grinning at your ceiling like a teenage girl with a crush.

[vintagebiker43]

Bastava "Trump straparla" per rientrare nella normalità.

[frequentdeals]

🎉 Score big with the Juventus Home Soccer Player Version Jersey 2022/23! 🖤

🤍 Whether you're cheering from the stands or showing off your team spirit, this is the ultimate jersey for true Juventus fans.

Grab yours now and wear it with pride! ⚽💪: https://frequentdeals.com/product/buy-juventus-home-soccer-player-version-jersey-2022-23/

[iltorosiamonoi]

Buon Toro,Vlasic risponde ad Yildiz: 1-1

Torino e Juventus hanno pareggiato per 1-1 nel derby della Mole valido per la 20esima giornata di Serie A. Entrambe le reti sono arrivate nel primo tempo con le firme di Yildiz e Vlasic. Il primo tempo si apre subito con il vantaggio dei bianconeri all’8′: Yildiz supera Linetty e Sosa e sorprende Milinkovic dalla distanza. Un grande gol dell’attaccante turco che sblocca il match e mette la sua…

[primepaginequotidiani]

PRIMA PAGINA Tutto Sport di Oggi mercoledì, 31 luglio 2024

[tepasport]

Juventus - Como 1-1 Bettega porta in vantaggio i bianconeri C'ero anch'io… https://casatepa.it/ 🇮🇹 Made in Italy dal 1952

[thelightattheendofthistunnel]

"chiesa vuole andare in ritiro coi bianconeri e valutare il suo futuro con calma" chiesa si incatena al j-cancello piuttosto che andarsene