#fadel's eyes were OPEN

[earthfluuke]

Kant & Style: *exist* Bison & Fadel: Idiots (Fond) THE HEART KILLERS (2024)

[secriden]

Just going to cry again (see: my previous post about the parallels between the storage room scene and the abandoned factory scene) about parallels and juxtapositions in the store room scene vs the one in Styles bedroom:

Both these scenes have such a tone of desperation and are characterised by an overflowing of emotions, but in drastically opposite directions.

(Note, some of what I say in this post directly relates to concepts and themes I talked about here, so it may not wholly make sense without that context.)

The scene in the storeroom is filled with frustrated desire. Fadel kisses Style because he wants Style's body and also wants to take his frustrations at Style out on his body. He doesn't need to look Style in the eye (and in fact very intentionally only does so only in small snatches) because this isn't about a connection as much as it is about a release. Fadel's kisses come fast, hard, and are intended to bruise more than to adore.

But episode 5's scene is filled with much more quiet and tender sort of desire. Style is kissing Fadel so much more slowly and purposefully. He keeps looking back at Fadel, checking in to see how he feels and whether Fadel is enjoying it. Everything Style wanted in Episode 3, he now gives to Fadel here, pours the secrets of his knowing and choosing Fadel anyway into the way he presses his lips onto Fadel's skin. His kisses linger, they carry a weight but are somehow infinitely gentle still; Style's kisses contain a purpose that Fadel's kisses couldn't in Episode 3 because in all honesty they were relative strangers back then.

There's also the way there's such a ferocity and carelessness in the way Fadel starts the encounter in episode 3 that is juxtaposed beautifully by the slow, tender, almost hesitant way Style slides his lips onto Fadel's. Both of them are in such different headspaces, between these episodes and its especially evident in the way they care so much more about the other person's comfort and how intentionally they showed that to the audience.

There's hunger present in both scenes but what this hunger is focused on is so drastically different. In the storeroom, they're both mainly focused on a physical release; its primal and visceral but lacked emotional resonance. Fadel gives Style what he knows Style wants (that hint of danger, with the hand on his neck), but its not because he really cares about what Style wants on anything more than a physical level. In Style's bedroom, however, Fadel is drunk (intentionally and by his own design) and desperate to open himself up to Style on an emotional level. Meanwhile, Style wants that desperately too, but knows that Fadel shouldn't because of his own terrible secret. So this kiss is what they both will allow themselves - an honesty and a hunger for this deeper connection they can only share in act but not in words.

In the storeroom, Style wants Fadel to want more than his body but knows (or thinks) he can't push for it yet, so he remains passive, lets Fadel do whatever he wants, lets him turn and shove and place Style how he wants because at this point, this is all Fadel will give him. Here, Style is passive in spite of what he wants. But in the bedroom, Fadel is passive because it's what he wants; he wants to let Style do whatever he desires to and with Fadel's body. He wants to lay himself as bare as he possibly can, which is only physical, and so he does.

And because the encounter in Episode 3 lacked that emotional connection, the focus is merely their respective releases. There's a sense of two people trying to find pleasure and 'finish' while remaining emotionally disconnected despite actively having sex with each other. Because in some ways, they didn't really need each other in that moment to get there (there's actually a lot of truth in what Fadel says about it being easier to just jerk off alone). In sharp contrast, the scene in Episode 5 isn't focused on the destination but on the journey. Style is taking his time and Fadel is letting him - Style is choosing to worship Fadel's body, with his fingers, with his lips, to respond to his vulnerability with gentleness and tenderness and adoration. The goal has stopped being about finding a release, it's about allowing both these men to revel in the giving and receiving of pleasure.

The point of these scenes is to show to us the ways in which Fadel and Style have grown to care for and, dare I say it, love each other in ways that are so purposefully portrayed by showing the nature of their physical connection. Because the ways in which these scenes are the same and yet so wholly different showcases how their touches are now no longer merely tied to their senses any longer, but also to their hearts as well.

[florbexter]

Anything with FadelStyle ❤️

a study in patience [AO3]

Style found Fadel in the kitchen. Bent over the worktable, his hands pressed onto the shiny surface. If Style didn’t know him better, he would think he was sleeping while standing.

Style observed him for a moment. The vibes were off, but not in a dangerous way. More in an ‘I can’t believe this is my life' way. He quickly searched through his memories, but he hadn’t done anything the last couple of days that would make Fadel behave like that.

Had he gotten a one-star Google review?

“What’s up?”, he asked and stole a pickle.

Fadel moved slowly. Just his head. The frown between his eyes was there again and Style knew it was the Bison frown. That man had a wrinkle for every one of his loved ones. Not that Style would count himself as one of them. Not yet anyway. But he worked hard for his very own line on Fadel’s face.

“Just,” Fadel started and then straightened and looked up. Was he thinking about not telling Style? Style leaned his back onto the worktable. Now he was curious.

Wait. If it was about Bison and Fadel looked like he had been forced to eat a lemon that could only mean one thing.

“What did they do?”

Fadel sighed, and then his face twisted.

“Ooooh,” Style cooed. “Did you catch them again?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “In flagranti?”

Fadel made a disgusted sound.

“What are you angry about? You know they’re together? What? Do you think they only hold hands?”

Style had no siblings. He wouldn’t know how he would react if one of them suddenly became a fully formed human with desires. He liked to imagine himself as the cooler older brother. He would buy them condoms and shit.  

“No. It’s just…” Fadel sighed again. “They…” He moved his hands around and Style was delighted about this turn of events. He didn’t think Fadel could be so flustered. He was normally very matter-of-fact about sex.

“They had toys,” Fadel said, and it sounded like someone had forced those words out of him via torture. He sounded like Style wanted to make him talk about his feelings. Again.

Style frowned. “And? Like we did that one time—”

Fadel stopped him with his raised hand. “No. Specific toys. For a specific type of… you know.”

“Sex?” Oh, this was golden, Style thought. But what kind of toys was Fadel implying? That one time Kant and he had hooked up it had been pretty vanilla.

“Oh wait,” Style moved, a huge grin on his face, “like kinky toys?”

Fadel looked like Style had shot him. His expression said it all and Style had to laugh.

“No way. Kant and Bison? Wow. I mean… now that I think about it. Bison looks like he would like to slice you open for schmexy sexy times.”

“Style…”

“But Kant?” Style pursed his lips. “I didn’t think he was the type. Good for him.”

“Please, shut up."

Style laughed even harder. Fadel sounded like he was in pain. Had he known how to get to him like that, his whole approach would have been way more fun for him. Fadel was open about sex or so Style got the feeling from the amount of sex they already had. From outdoor sex to… outdoor sex. They had a lot of sex outside of their beds, now that he thought of it.

“What got you so worked up about it? That they have sex? That it’s kinky? That Kant knows how to give up control?”

He chuckled. It was funny that he immediately thought Bison was the one in charge. Little gremlin.

“You think Bison is in charge?”

“Mhm? Yes.” Style munched on another pickle.

The frown on Fadel’s face disappeared, exchanged for a blank expression.

Oh.

Style was quick, but Fadel was quicker. He grabbed Style’s wrist, yanked and had him crowded against the stove in seconds.

“Hey.” Style was more upset about the pickle he had dropped than being all up and close with Fadel. That was always nice.

“You want to be in charge, too?” Fadel asked.

Style smiled, wide and bright.

“I’m always in charge.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Hell yeah.”

There was a thing Fadel did, that Style thought he wasn’t even aware of. First, he tried to hide a smile. Most of the time he was successful with that but at the same time, he didn’t seem to notice that his eyes got soft. He looked at Style through hooded eyes with no frown on his forehead or between his brows.

“You want to tie me up, mhm?”

Style couldn’t answer because someone cleared their throat in the general area of the door. They both moved, still standing close and Pearl, the temp Fadel had hired, looked at them annoyed.

“There are a bunch of customers waiting for their food,” she said, sternly.

“And we’re working very hard to cook it for them,” Style answered.

Pearl wasn’t moved by his smile. She squinted her eyes at him threateningly and maybe Fadel had found a long-lost sister.  

“Food will come right up,” Fadel said and turned away from Style with deep-red ears.

“Tonight then,” Style whispered, gave him a clap against his butt, winked at Pearl and then got the hell out of there because he had the feeling both of them carried knives to stab him with.

[massy2ly]

I SWEAR if this scene is just part of Fadel or Style’s imagination I will SOB and WAIL my wrath to the world.

So many questions. We know they’re in the middle of nowhere, they’re in danger, Fadel is injured and Style is handcuffed at some point. WHY ARE THEY DANCING AGAIN ????

Fadel dancing genuinely scares me a little since we’ve figured out that this motif brings back memories of heartbreak.

However, imagine they’re dancing again as a way to turn over a new leaf after coming clean with each other—Style confessing, being open, and dancing once more because he hadn’t been aware of Fadel’s distress in episode 6. Style wants to prove his love and show Fadel how genuinely happy he was when they danced in the restaurant.

I just love how they keep looking at each other here, as it’s so different from episode 6, where their emotions were hidden behind each other’s shoulder or closed eyes. In this second dance, everything is out in the open—they don’t break eye contact.

Style looks happy, satisfied, confident, and serene. Fadel’s expressions are a bit harder to read… I’m not sure if he’s feeling better about the whole mess, still plotting something, testing Style again, or if he’s feeling shy and a little unsure. AHHHHH, I don’t know… He’s looking at Style with so much intensity, but at the same time, his face seems closed off. Shyness or distrust?

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

Sneak peak of the Kidnapped Style fic I'm writing for @kaleidoskuls

Style wakes up slowly, which is probably a good thing, because it gives him time to adjust to the pain his body is in. 

He tries to stretch, to shake out his tingly limbs, but startles when he realizes that he can't. 

His eyes snap open, and he looks around in complete confusion. 

He's shirtless and tied to a chair in a cold, dark, cellar-like room. 

Where the fuck is he? 

And how did he get here? 

The last thing he remembers is leaving Kant at the pool…he was heading straight to the Diner but…obviously he never made it there. 

At first, he thinks that maybe this is just an amped up version of a role play. He and Fadel were kind of working their way through some fun scenes, but there's a few things about this situation that indicate that this is not a part of one of Fadel's kinky plans. 

One being the lack of a heads up, and two being that they'd agreed that drugs were off the table. And by the way his head feels like he'd downed a fifth of his Dad's special tequila and his mouth feels like it's been stuffed with cotton, he's pretty sure he's coming down from being drugged. 

But who the hell could have-

Do you think the police are just going to let them go if we find their boss? Stop trying to think your way out of this, Style. Even if we find out who they work for, this only ends in two ways. 

Kant's voice echoes in his head, and he realizes just who it is that has him. 

It's his boyfriend's boss. The one that hands out the hits.

He doesn't have much time to worry about that though, because as soon as he starts moving and making noise the door opens and a man with glasses and a smartly dressed middle aged woman come into the room. 

“Ah, is our guest finally awake?” The woman says, voice dripping fake sweetness as she approaches him.

Style shifts the best he can in order to gather enough confidence to reply, “Oh? Is this a hotel? If so, I'm definitely giving it 1 star. Your hospitality really needs work, and the accommodations are crap.” 

When the woman smiles, it's sharp. Lethal. It makes Style's skin crawl. 

She looks over at the man. “It looks like we have a funny one on our hands. I didn't think my son was into comedic acts.” 

He can't hold back his reaction. “You're Fadel's mom?”

That doesn't make sense because Fadel said his parents were murdered, and the look in his eyes when he said it….he wasn't lying. 

She doesn't respond, only rakes her eyes over him before glaring and turning away, walking back towards the door. 

“If you make him talk, I'll let you out on the field next time.” She says to the man, who just gives a deep wai and a muttered, Yes, Khun Mae, and then she's gone. 

That was definitely the boss. A boss that refers to her hitman as her fucking sons. 

Now he's alone in the room with the man who looks at him like he's dog shit oj the bottom of his shoe. When he strides closer, Style realizes that he recognizes him. 

“You came to the diner.” He says, “To see Fadel. Who the hell are you people?” 

The other man just frowns and takes off his glasses, tucking them away in his shirt pocket before rolling up the sleeves of his nice dress shirt. 

“I’m the one that asks the questions here." He says before grabbing a handful of Style’s hair. It hurts, but he's had worse. Fadel has pulled it harder. 

“Then ask your questions and get this over with.” He hisses. He knows he probably sounds like a spy. He probably sounds like a cocky asshole fitting the role they believe him to be in. 

But the truth is…he's absolutely terrified. 

He can handle some pain…but torture? He can't handle that. He'll do his best, but he knows himself. He will eventually fold if they hurt him enough. 

He just hopes Fadel goes looking for him before he rats out his best friend and lands him in a seat right next to him. 

“What are your plans with Fadel?” The man asks, digging his fingers into his jaw. 

If it had been Fadel doing it, he would be getting turned on, but since it isn't, Style is only irritated and a little afraid. “To love and cherish him.” He says, partially to be a smart ass, but also because it's the truth. 

But apparently, the man doesn't agree. He lets go, only to viciously backhand him across the face. 

“Why are you spying on him?” 

“I’m not.” He insists, “I like him. Why are you doing this? Are you his family or something?" 

He ignores his question and hits him again. “Who sent you?” 

His lip splits. He can taste the blood on his tongue. “No one. Why would anyone send me to spy on my boyfriend?” 

That's apparently not the right thing to say. 

He brings back his fist and lands a solid punch to his abdomen. Style immediately groans with the force and pain of it. He feels like he's going to vomit. 

“Who sent you to spy on him?” He asks again. 

“Nobody!" He repeats, trying and failing to prepare for the next hit to his stomach. 

“Who are you working for?!” 

“My Dad!! I’m a fucking mechanic!” 

It goes on and on. Style answering the questions with half truths. He keeps Kants name out of his mouth and tries to get this guy to understand that he loves Fadel. He's not whatever or whoever they think he is. 

But no matter what he says or doesn't say, the violence continues, until his right eye swells shut and blood drips down his chin from his nose and shredded lip. He's in so much pain he can hardly stay present. He wants to just float away in his head. 

But then the man puts his hands around his throat and everything comes back online. He is choking him hard, putting in the effort to bring him to unconsciousness, but before he can slip awwy, his body does something stupid. A moan slips out. 

And well, he's starving, tired, and only fucking human. 

The man looks shocked as he releases his hold on him, but then he grins.“Oh? Maybe you have been telling the truth. Maybe you are just Fadel's little slut-”

He spits blood on the man's face. “Fuck you. Only Fadel can call me that.” 

He only gets to see a glimpse of the fury on the guys face before he's hit so hard the chair falls backwards…

And he slips into blissful unconsciousness.

[hurlumerlu]

My belly and my knees, my hands rosy from love

a short THK fic (this one comes with a warning for general beach vacation torture session unpleasantness) (AO3)

They stumbled through the garden, Bison walking backward with his hands down Kant’s shorts, Kant hoisting him up over obstacles, letting out reproachful little moans anytime their bodies detached. They couldn’t stop kissing.

It shouldn’t have been such a giddy, joyful affair – not after everything, not while it was so fresh – and yet. Bison felt drunk, overcome by an all-powerful, all-encompassing relief, and didn’t want to think beyond Kant’s mouth on his, its ravenous warmth, how it gasped when Bison tightened his hold on Kant’s ass.

They could think later.

Bison’s back hit the door, and he had half a mind to stay there, turn them over, but he wanted Kant on a bed. He liberated one of his hands to turn the doorknob, pushed the door panel with his heel, and crossed the threshold. Kant froze.

Fight-or-flight at the ready, Bison twisted to follow his gaze – no one was there. Kant was looking at a perfectly empty spot a few feet away from the entrance, and Bison, brutally sober, knew why.

"Who told you you could come inside?"

Kant stops and closes his eyes, same way Fadel does when praying for patience, as if Bison’s the cause of his misery, as if he didn’t make his fucking bed. "Sorry. I just need –"

"You thought I would allow you into my parents’ house?" And let him flinch, let him, from Bison’s words or his rising tone, doesn’t matter as long as Kant flinches. When Bison prowls toward him, he doesn’t move, only stands there with an air of sadness and pity, and Bison should have put a bullet in his skull. "If you’re going to sully their home with your presence, you will do so on your hands and knees. Crawling."

Kant shuts his eyes again, jaw working madly. Aw. How cute. He’s trying not to cry. He opens them back, though, as he goes to his knees. They don’t leave Bison’s face for the whole descent. They don’t leave Bison’s face after.

"Like this?"

"I assume it’s the best you can do anyway." Come on, flinch. Flinch. Flinch, dammit. Bison walks back to the kitchen, throwing "Bathroom’s upstairs. You can stand up in there, I guess, if you must." over his shoulders, and listens to Kant’s pathetic journey over the tiles. He tries to find it vindicating, and fails.

Tries not to find it arousing, and –

"We can sleep outside."

A silly, feeble attempt at making it all better. Kant rightfully huffed out a laugh.

"I really need that shower," he said sheepishly, as if he hadn’t washed in days through his own carelessness and not – not –

"Of course I want you in my parents’ home, Kant. I wasn’t –" wasn’t what? He’d meant every word. "Kant. Please believe me."

"I do. I’m glad. I just… Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry again."

"You can cry. You’re allowed to cry." Bison lightly tugged at Kant’s hands. He didn’t follow. "Would it help if you closed your eyes? I could guide you."

"I –" A long exhale. Kant’s thumb was rubbing Bison’s knuckles in soothing little motions. Perhaps they were self-soothing too. "I think I need you to tell me again."

"I want you in my parent’s home." It was so easy to say, and like shrugging off a weight.

Another huffed laughter. "Thank you. Thank you, Bison. But that’s not what I meant."

"I don’t –"

"I can’t just walk in." Kant bent down slightly, and Bison obeyed the plea, stepping forward so their forehead could brush. "Bison. I don’t think I can walk in."

Understanding, fear and denial, Bison had found, were very close cousins. He wasn’t sure which one was currently constricting his throat.

"We can sleep outside." He repeated. "I could bring out a bucket, I know it’s not ideal but you could wash like that, and in the morning I’d pack some stuff, we could leave, we don’t have to stay. We don’t have to come here ever again."

Kant’s broad palm slotted against Bison’s jaw, gently familiar. "Are you that afraid?"

"That’s not –" but it was. He wanted it too much."Kant. What if it makes things worse?"

"Can we try?"

With a nod, Bison stepped back. He didn’t want to lose the thumb stroking his knuckles, or the touch on his face. He told himself it was only temporary.

He walked across the old tiles, each one a memory. He had read so much, and fantasized even more – he’d even tried a few things with a hook-up or two, mostly symbolic gestures that wouldn’t spook a stranger but had helped him get there. Nothing had prepared him for this. The theories hadn’t been written for them. The guidelines just said don’t.

There were no guidelines.

There was only Bison’s heartbeat, and Kant at the threshhold, and the sound of crashing waves.

Bison kneeled, hand outstretched.

"Crawl to me, love," he ordered.

[includedisco]

Title: Drunk On Love

Characters: Fadel, Style

Pairing: FadelStyle

Fandom: The Heart Killers

Tags: Plot-less Fluff, Boys in love, Established Relationship, Post canon, short one shot

warnings: none

Word Count: 1,277

SUMMARY: A night out ends with Fadel and Style tipsy, stumbling home, some off-key singing, and a visit from Style's dad wherein he offers some…candid advice. Amidst the chaos, tender moments shine through

-

Fadel and Style stumble into Style's house, both unsteady on their feet after a night out having drinks together. Fadel holds onto Style firmly, one arm around his slim waist. Style is drunker of the two of them, which is a surprise for Fadel. He recalls the time Style came to his restaurant in the past and downed several mugs of beer without getting drunk.

Style has assured Fadel that his dad isn’t home tonight, which is why Fadel isn’t shushing Style's loud, drunken singing right now.

In the entryway, Fadel struggles to take off both their shoes, a challenging task as Style keeps almost falling over. They manage to walk through the house without falling, Style giggling, kissing Fadel's cheek every chance he gets and doing some rather loud singing in between.

They finally make it to Style's bedroom, where they stumbled onto the bed. Fadel lands on top of Style with a groan, while Style giggles. Fadel slowly gets off Style and lies beside him on his back. They turn their heads to look at each other and smile.

“You’re very heavy to lag around.” Fadel points out.

You’re the one that just fell on top of me and almost crushed my ribcage.” Style counters. It’s a wild exaggeration but he wants to be petty.

After a short breather, Fadel sits up to take off Style's shoes and socks.

“I’m thirsty. Water.” Style demands

“Okay, okay.” Fadel kisses his forehead and steps out to find the kitchen. After a few wrong turns, he found it and gets a bottle of water from the fridge. Returning to the bedroom, he finds Style on his feet, looking a bit disoriented and undressing on gangly feet. He’s just taking off the last article of clothing and then he stands stark naked in front of Fadel.

Fadel freezes, utterly taken aback. "Why are you naked?" he asks, walking over to Style.

“It’s hot.” Style grumbles. “And I’m hot too.” He adds smugly with a cocky little smile. “We should…” he stops awkwardly, leaving the sentence hanging.

Fadel lifts an eyebrow, fighting back a smile, “Yes?” he encourages

Style blinks his eyes sluggishly, biting his lower lip in thought. He appears to organize his thoughts, and then, with a flirtatious glint in his eyes and a naughty smile on his face, he said, “It’s awkward that I’m the only one that’s naked. Get naked too, Fadel.”

Fadel hands Style the bottle of water instead after twisting the lid open for him. Style takes one sip and recoils, complaining that the water is too cold. “I expected room temperature water is a glass.”

Rolling his eyes, Fadel takes the bottle from Style and puts it down on the floor. 

Fadel gently holds Style by the waist and guides him towards the bathroom. "Let's take a shower," he suggests.

After getting Style into the shower, a knock sounds at the bedroom door. Fadel starts, not expecting anyone to be home since Style assured him his dad isn't there. Turning to Style, he asks, "Who could that be?"

Style shrugs, clueless, and offhandedly replies, "Maybe it's my dad."

Fadel gives his boyfriend a ‘what the hell’ look and ruffles his own hair in frustration. "Stay here," he orders Style, walking out of the bathroom. He winces as Style starts singing loudly again—a song that sounds vaguely familiar but unrecognizable in his drunken state. Fadel almost laughs.

Opening the door, he finds Style's dad standing there. Quickly rearranging himself into a respectful posture, he greet the man, who returns the greeting with a polite nod. Style's dad smiles slightly, peering past Fadel as he asks, "Is everything okay in there?"

Fadel hesitates, a bit embarrassed. “Style and I were out drinking and…” he trails off, not knowing what else to say.

"Ah," he murmurs, nodding slowly in understanding, as the realization settles in then he grins, “My boy is drunk?”

Fadel nods, “He’s in the shower. Sorry for the noise. He told me you wouldn’t be home.”

“I just got here.”

“We’ll do our best to be quiet.”

“It’s okay. Is everything okay though? Do you need help? I know Style can be a handful when he’s drunk.” The man chuckles

“I can manage.”

Style’s dad pats Fadel on the shoulder, “I’m glad he finally has a capable person to take care of him.” As if like an afterthought, the man adds, “Also, it’s better you than me. He can be such a big baby sometimes. Anyway, don’t forget to use condoms. Things happen when people are drunk. Stay hydrated and try to get some sleep as well. You'll need energy for work tomorrow. See you in the morning.” With that, Style’s dad walks away down the corridor, whistling softly.

Fadel closes the door slowly, mortified as fuck. He knows Style’s dad means well, but damn the man can really cause Fadel embarrassment each time they converse.

*****

Leaning back against the shower wall, still singing out of range of the spray, Style sees Fadel walk in and smiles lovingly at him. "Hi," he greets.

Fadel's heart warms, and he can't help but mirror Style's tender smile. "Your dad is home,"

Style presses a forefinger to his lips to shush Fadel. "We'll be quiet then," he whispers.

“He also said we should use condoms.”

“Do I have to move out of this house to live on my own so I can be allowed some sex without a condom?” Style grouses.

Fadel smiles at that, “Same rules apply at my house, so…”

Style snorts, “And I thought I was bringing you to the wild side.”

 Beckoning Fadel over with a curling finger, Style watches as Fadel take off his clothes and join him in the shower. Style resumes singing, softly this time as Fadel steps in and takes Style into his arms, pressing their naked bodies close as the warm water cascades down his back. He gently nuzzles Style's shoulder, feeling the warmth of Style's arms as they wrap around his neck.

They stand there in each other's arms, swaying gently as Style continues his singing, his voice even softer this time. Fadel smiles to himself, amused and touched. Suddenly, the singing stops, and Fadel hears sniffing. Concerned, he pulls back slightly to look at Style and finds him crying.

"Hey, what's wrong, baby?" he asks softly, lifting his hands from either side of Style's waist to cup his face and search his eyes.

Style shakes his head and tries to lower his gaze, but Fadel doesn't let him.

"I love you so much." Style murmurs

Fadel frowns at first, puzzled, then smiles gently. "Is that why you're crying?"

"What? No.’ Style frowns like it’s a preposterous question to ask, “I have such a beautiful voice. Doesn't it make you wanna cry?"

Fadel stares, stunned and speechless. In all honesty, he doesn't know why he still gets surprised anymore. Style is a riot, and drunk Style even more so with all his nonsense. But Fadel can’t resist playing and flirting with his boyfriend a bit. "Your voice is very nice. You sound like Chris Brown."

Style beams. "Really? I always knew I was gifted." He pouts then, his smile slipping a bit. "It's just that I'm better with my hands, and Dad needed my help in the garage, so I became a mechanic instead."

Fadel kisses Style's forehead. "You're an amazing son. I'm proud of you for helping your dad out. Also, you make a really pretty mechanic." Fadel's hands slide back to Style's slim waist, kneading it gently and reverently as he slowly, lingeringly kisses Style on the lips. “I love you too.”

-END-

Thank you for reading ❤️

If you liked this story, please visit my Ao3 for more.

[to-be-spared]

i wrote about fadel having a fever and style taking care of him because today's episode broke me happy holidays

also on AO3 if you prefer it

“You have a fever,” Bison says, matter of fact, bracelets clinking in Fadel’s aching brain as Bison shakes the thermometer to bring it back to cooler temperatures.

The edge of glee in Bison’s voice makes Fadel attempt a frown in his direction, but he’s not sure he manages it as he tries to protest: “It’s just a cold.”

Fadel imagines the sceptical expression on Bison’s face as he can’t quite keep his eyes open to see it.

“Stay here. Rest,” Bison says, no, orders, tone uncharacteristically unmovable, something Fadel secretly envies: Bison’s aloof, reckless carelessness that allows him to be terrifying when he feels like it.

But Fadel is the eldest and he knows Bison is scared of spiders. “You’ll burn down the restaurant.”

“I’ll turn on a water tap,” Bison says, dry.

Fadel hears him step away, and if he could move he knows he would do something as humiliating as reaching out. Asking him to stay.

He thinks he should tell Bison that clothes stay the fuck on in the kitchen, but he’s busy gritting his teeth against his own hypocrisy, against the unpleasant warmth climbing up his throat. And then it’s too late, and his bedroom door closes painfully behind his eyes.

*

Bison has always enjoyed getting mildly sick, seeing it as an incontrovertible chance to rest and demand his favourite soup of Fadel and lay in bed with his restored Game-boy Color.

Fadel has never seen the appeal.

When he was nine, it had taken Mother’s assistant three days to realise he hadn’t gotten out of bed because he was shaking too much, because every time he looked around his room his vision became grey and fuzzy, because his whole body ached, worse than what he was used to with their training.

It’s laughable, but if Fadel isn’t bone-deep exhausted when he gets to bed, he’ll spend a few hours wide awake and terrified that, if he falls asleep, he won’t wake up again.

*

Fadel wakes up gasping, heart trying to beat its way out of his mouth, but there is a cool hand on his arm before panic can wrap itself tight around his chest.

“Sorry, sorry, I tried not to wake you – shit.”

Fadel blinks, fighting against the pressure in his forehead and the low light coming from a phone’s screen. “Style?” The name is a confused amalgamate of heavy sounds on his lips.

“Yeah, who else,” Style says, forgetting for a moment to keep his voice low. Fadel winces. “Your degenerate brother’s mouth was attached to Kant’s before the words Fadel and fever were even out of it.”

Style sits on the bed, uncharacteristically gentle with the world around him as he lays down next to Fadel, cool hands moving on Fadel’s forehead, Fadel’s neck.

“But,” Style continues, and Fadel knows he’s biting his tongue, lips parted as he ponders, “he did tell me to come here, so. I guess I’ll let him live.”

Fadel lets the words wash over him – he knows he has no hope of holding onto any of them, so he lets them be relief for a moment, along with Style’s cool hands. He lets out a sigh.

Style is quiet, and things being amiss have always drawn Fadel’s sharp attention, so he opens his eyes in spite of himself. Style’s face is barely bathed in his phone’s cold light, brows drawn as he searches Fadel’s expression.

“Hi,” Style whispers.

Fadel’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. Some kind of fever. “You planning on killing Bison?”

Style frowns. “He shouldn’t have just left.”

There’s something for Fadel to solve about Style’s quick response, but it escapes him before he can get to it.

“Just sleep,” Style murmurs, soothing. His hand moves in Fadel’s hair slowly, like a silent lullaby that sends shivers down Fadel’s back. “Actually, no.” Style stretches over the side of the bed and the sound of rustling plastic fills the room. “I got you some medicine. Let’s give you that and some water and then you can sleep.”

Fadel moans a protest, squeezing his eyes shut as soon as the sound is out of his throat and past his lips, embarrassment warming his neck and face more than his fever has. Fucking hell. You’re not a fucking child.

A quiet chuckle escapes Style’s lungs in a gush of air. “Yeah, I know. But you’ll feel better.”

Fadel wants to nod, say yes and keep it at that, but he’s not a child except for all the ways in which he’s scared. “I hate being sick.”

Style pauses in his one-handed retrieving of the medicine from the plastic bag. The tips of his fingers find Fadel’s ear, the top of his cheekbone. “Being sick sucks,” he agrees.

“Don’t patronize me,” Fadel spits out, and he’s not sure that’s a more mature response but he can’t miss him already and he knows which regrets he can live with.

“I’m not,” Style responds, calmly, the outrage that usually accompanies his defensiveness absent. “I hate being sick, too.” And then he adds, even lower: “My mum hated being sick, too.” He clears his throat. “Nothing wrong with it. Being sick does suck.”

Fadel’s shame hesitates, shifting focus. “Sorry.”

“Shut up.” Style’s fingers keep moving on his cheek, in his hair. “It’s weird when you apologize. Just take your medicine.”

Fadel digs his elbows in the mattress, muscles aching as he pushes his back against the pillow – Style’s arm behind him, draped around his waist just in case.

The cold and the prospect of loneliness take a hold of Fadel’s core, making him shake so much that he almost drops the pill Style hands him. Fadel pushes it between his lips, quickly, and Style holds the bottle of water to his lips before Fadel can say I can do this.

“Good,” Style murmurs, and Fadel realizes they’re practised gestures, muscle memory, engraved gentleness.

The water is cool and harsh in his throat, and Fadel doesn’t manage more than a few sips.

Style helps him lay back down, and then he lies down too. He snakes his arm under Fadel’s head, pulling him close until Fadel’s hands are resting against Style’s stomach.

“You’ll get sick too,” Fadel protests, because he can’t say I’m already mourning this.

“You’ll have to take care of me, then,” Style says, reckless as he rests his cool palm on the side of Fadel’s warm neck.

A bitter smile curves Fadel’s lips. “I don’t think I’d be very good at it.”

Style doesn’t respond for a moment, his unusual silence allowing the flaw to be forgiven. He presses his lips against Fadel’s, then winks at him. “I’ll let you practise.”

Fadel lets the illusion close his eyes. He wants to ask what does that look like?, wants to know how Style is imagining it because he can’t bring himself to, self-preservation always his top priority, always facilitating his denial.

He opens his eyes.

Style is still looking at him, cool fingers moving on Fadel’s skin.

Fadel thinks keeping Style in bed while sick would be impossible. He’d probably need to physically pin him down.

“It’s easier if you close your eyes,” Style whispers.

He’s still real.

Fadel closes his eyes.

[queerespresso]

✨ Kant & Bison ✨

How I perceive their relationship so far. There’s for sure s*xual attraction..lots of it. That was apparent from the moment they interacted at the bowling alley. They were both very okay with it being a ONS. So I don’t perceive their night as a ‘love at first sight’ scenario.

Kant day dreaming about Bison felt like he was reminiscing on a very good night 😏 + maybe a bit of fondness for Bison’s personality. I was talking to a few mutuals about it and I shared in similar feelings that Kant is intrigued by the honesty and push back from Bison. Maybe he isn’t used to it?

♨️💭 The same can be said for in the bedroom. Kant may see Bison’s ability to put him in his place as an indicator that Bison may be capable of meeting that intimacy desire. I’m not sure how much experience Kant has had with his submissive side or if he’s consistently been relegated/more comfortable dominating or not partaking at all in SM with others (which fair if so, as you need trust).

Bison on the other hand, like I said in his personal post, he wants to be seen for himself. Not as an assassin. I think he’s probably lonely. When Kant gives him attention and is clear about wanting to be his boyfriend, that was appealing to Bison. He’s not clueless though. Kant is too smooth with some of his lines which is why Bison rolls his eyes or teases back. Kant is also consistently encouraging intimacy (maybe with multiple motives). It’s possible for Bison, he’s testing to see if Kant’s affection is real by holding off on more intimacy.

Now is Kant’s affection real? In my perception, sometimes. I feel like he’s a bit too smooth and thought out with the lines. I (personally) tend to trust people who fumble a bit more. It is entirely possible he really is just that smooth and confident without preconceived thought. But when he is quick to offer a relationship title to Bison without knowing him well, while having the police pressuring him to find information, it’s hard for me as the viewer to know what’s genuine or not.

For me, the moments where their foreheads are close to touching seem genuine (could be me being a romantic). Like they’re both overcome with their affection, even if it’s a crush or attraction at the moment.

While Bison IS having his “he likes me 🥹” moment right now, it could partially be a reaction to the attention or a crush. He doesn’t have consistent friends with their constant moves and is used to ONS after all. Bison also didn’t leave his phone number after the ONS and he was worried when Kant initially came to the dinner instead of simply happy so I think he’s not totally gone. He only started showing more openness once Kant made his intentions more clear. But of course that means the brat/teasing side came out to play.

I think Bison’s love will grow slowly as they build trust through moments where trust naturally grows: intimacy, trying to win over Fadel, persistently pursuing in spite of the obstacles, prolonged contact, revealing vulnerable information, etc.

I think it’ll be an internal struggle for Kant as he’ll sometimes forgets his mission and slip into his emotions. I truly think Kant will ‘fall’ in love and have oh sh*t 😳 moments. He’ll be very far in eventually and realize f*ck…I love him.

*Disclaimer: I am a bit of romantic but I tend to overthink various perspectives. No worries if you perceive their romance differently 🫶

[solariswrites]

“Which one of these things is the cream?” Kant couldn’t help but ask as he opened the fridge. He’d gotten some coffee on the way there and the barista forgot to give him his shot of vanilla cream. So that’s how he found himself in the kitchen. Which he knew was Fadel’s domain and the man was just as organized here as the restaurant. That also meant that the fridge had different decanters that weren't all milk.

“Right now there’s just the italian cream in the square shaped pitcher one in the door.” Style responded before letting out a heavy sigh. He’d just gotten back to his place to shower and get dressed for tonight's accidental double date because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was sure that Fadel hadn’t appreciated it but who could say no to Rain? If he didn’t want to make them late then he’d need to just go over to Fadel’s for his shower after he got his clothes. Speaking of clothes, it’d been stupid to check out Rain’s instagram only to find a fellow crop top lover.

“Where’s the Thistle one…”

“Thanks,” Kant was saved from having to figure out which one was which only to realize what had started their call. Style’s random anxiety about accidentally causing a double date. “And as your best friend, leave that crop top alone. You literally cried when you found it wear to Screamfest for Fadel. So not that one.”

“Well what else am I supposed to wear?” “Not that and you could be wearing your ratty Red Hot Chili Peppers sweater that should be burned from how it’s practically a rag.” Kant leaned his back against the counter, not realizing that his lovely boyfriend and brother were finally home standing in the doorway. “And he’d want you. We both know that. Fadel knows that. I know that…” He trailed off as he tried to push the memory of Style retelling him the story. He rolled his shoulders and shook his shoulders, starting to turn around. “So why don’t you wear the one you wanted to wear to…shit.” His eyes widened as he jumped, finally seeing his grinning boyfriend and Fadel watching him. - Snippet from Ch 3 of Eyes Wide Open

[ae-azile]

Emergence: Chapter 3 Preview

Read entire series here:

By the time 4 pm rolls around, Style wouldn’t say that Bison and Kant are good, but they are…co-existing. That is the best word Style has for it. But still, it's progress. He wants to be encouraging.

“Hey,” Style says quietly, pulling Bison to the side, “Things seem a little bit better, yeah? You played video games together while Fadel and I cleaned out the pool.”

Bison doesn't directly answer Style’s assumption and rolls his eyes, “I still don't see why we need to fill up the pool in the back. The beach is right there. My parents barely ever bothered.”

“We’re doing it because I said so,” Style says, stomping his foot.

“Just because I had scrub brushes and a working pool vacuum doesn't mean I have everything else,” Bison says, “I can’t believe you got Fadel to do most of the work on that when we don't even have the supplies to make sure the water is safe.”

Style shrugs at that, “Fadel and I found a place that sells pool supplies on the coast. They are open until 9. We’ll take care of everything. We should probably check on the jeep anyway. You know how he is about his jeep.”

“Still a risk,” Bison says, his eyes narrowing as he crosses his arms. Before Style can answer, Fadel walks up in an apron, looks between them, then stands next to Style before putting a gentle hand on his back.

“What's the problem?”

Bison sighs, then gestures at Style, “You are seriously letting him drag you to the mainland considering how we left Bangkok?”

“He gets cooped up.”

“That isn't an excuse!”

Style holds back a smile as Fadel pulls him closer, “The jeep has different plates. I changed the registration tags, and we parked it in a secure area anyway. That being said, I want to make sure it wasn't tampered with. We checked every time we stopped for trackers, so no one would have been able to follow us down here. We aren't on any wanted lists-”

“Which is confusing and doesn't make sense!” Bison says, “Considering what they have-”

“Is circumstantial.”

As both Fadel and Bison turn to him in bewilderment, Style clears his throat.

“My aunt is a lawyer!” Style says, “I worked for her one summer that I stayed with her. I know a lot!”

“What the fuck, Fadel?” Bison says, “He has connections to law enforcement-”

“Oh, please!” Style interrupts, “She is a defense attorney! She is an advocate for clients who were manipulated, abused, and controlled from a young age!”

Bison’s face screws up, “That doesn't describe us!”

Style opens his mouth to argue that point. He wants to, he truly does. But Bison clearly isn't at that level of awareness yet. Style doesn't even think Fadel is, although he is a lot closer. Style doesn't want to push Bison too hard or speak ill of “Mother”. Despite Bison’s attempt at speaking ill of his aunt, Style isn't going to do the same thing.

“Whatever,” Style says, “But you should take comfort in knowing that she would be willing to be held in contempt of court in order to help you if she ever became your lawyer! So don't speak ill of my aunt. She's a bad ass!”

“He is on our side, Bison,” Fadel says, “He just wants the pool for Kant’s sake. To help him get used to the water again.”

“He does okay in pools as long as it isn't too deep,” Style says, “We thought we would get more groceries as well. Mainly things that we can store in the freezer in case we stay for a while.”

Bison stares at Style in a scrutinizing manner before letting out a huff, “Give your lists to me. I’ll send the neighbor to get everything. He's worked for my family for a long time and is loyal.”

Unlike you. The words are left unsaid, but Style still hears them. Part of him wonders if Fadel feels the same-

“Style is loyal or he wouldn't even be here!” Fadel snaps, “He would have run off back when I told him to leave!”

Nevermind.

“I will never betray either of you ever again,” Style says solemnly before putting his arm around Fadel’s waist, “I’ve already made it clear that I am proposing to Fadel as soon as I clean this situation up for all of us and we can all live normal lives. We already talked about this, Bison. Remember the plan.”

Fadel glances at Style before sending a sharp look to Bison.

“Don't you dare encourage the plan Style is talking about.”

“You don't even know what I told your brother!”

Fadel turns back to Style, “I can guess, and it's still a no. You aren't putting yourself in a dangerous situation like that.”

At least Fadel isn't saying Style is doing it to cheat on him. And more than that, Bison isn't confirming that was the plan they discussed at all. In this regard, Bison is reasonable. He realizes it may be the one true path to victory. Style just has to get dicked down by some manipulative cop old enough to be his father one time.

Or a couple of times, depending on if he finds any dirt on him the first time. If he has to go back again, he definitely won't enjoy it, but he will go back to make sure the fucker completely discredited and sent away for decades. Style is willing to do that for Fadel, and Fadel isn't appreciative about it at all.

But he doesn't want to argue about it now. Despite Fadel’s frustrations with the current topic, he has been very clingy and has had a desperate need to be in Style’s space. Style doesn't mind, but he wishes Fadel would express why he is feeling so vulnerable right now. Style doesn't want to push because that could be asking for a push right back. So instead, Style just had him clean the pool out. Fadel didn't even glare at him. He did it without complaining once.

“Are you going to give me a list or not?”

Style snaps himself out of his thoughts and sees Bison waving a notepad in his face. Style takes it from his hands and lists down the pool chemicals and supplies before moving onto groceries and clothing requests.

Bison takes it once he is finished before giving Style a fed up look, “You said pool stuff.”

“Amongst other things,” Style says, then gestures down at himself, “Look at me, man. I'm wearing Fadel’s stuff. It is too big on me, and I need at least a few crop tops anyway.”

“You don't need crop tops.”

“He does.”

The stern words come from Fadel as he steps towards his brother menacingly, “If you don't find a way to get him some, I will prep the boat and head out myself.”

Bison steps forward as well, “Are you threatening me over crop tops? Your own brother?!”

“I didn't threaten you,” Fadel says, his voice a dead calm, “It’s just a fact.”

“You're so fucking weird now! Why?!”

While Bison’s concern and question are both valid, all Styles can do is stifle laughter into his palm. It's an easy question to answer. Style brought out Fadel’s weirdness. They match each other's freak. Bison should be aware of this by now.

“Fine,” Bison says, then points a finger at Fadel, “But you of all people should know this is still risky! You would normally be the first person to point that out!”

“There is barely any risk,” Style says before Fadel can answer, “Even less, now that you are sending the neighbor. But even if you or Fadel went, there isn't a warrant out for your arrest.”

Style looks at Fadel at that point and tilts his head, “See what I mean? If this cop wasn't dirty, he would have put something out. He has filthy, ulterior motives, I know it. Just let me prove it or put him in a position that makes him even dirtier.”

“Stop,” Fadel says, but then pulls Style in for an unexpected hug. Style lets out a surprised sound at the gesture but puts his arms around Fadel until Bison grumbles about them being weird before walking away.

“Seriously,” Fadel says, lifting Style’s head just enough until they meet each other’s eyes, “I'm not letting you put yourself in a situation like that.”

Style finds himself briefly transfixed by Fadel’s intense, furrowed, sexy eyebrows before remembering that his future fiancé spoke to him, “Hmm?”

“It's too risky, Style. It's dangerous. He could try to arrest you for something you didn't do-”

“I would like to see him try!”

“He might be more dangerous than you think.”

“I don't underestimate how dangerous he is,” Style counters, “That's why I need to incriminate him and make sure he is no longer a problem.”

Fadel shakes his head before pulling him a little closer, “He could take the bait-”

“That would be the goal.”

“And then he could really hurt you,” Fadel finishes, “I would be pissed off at you if you…seduced him and went home with him. Whatever you say you're going to do. But I wouldn’t be able to handle it if he really ends up hurting you. I…never want you to get hurt like that ag-”

Fadel cuts himself off, before looking a strange mixture of anxious, protective, apologetic, hurt, and still betrayed despite Style not actually going through with this plan yet. He is obsessing. Style thought he was the obsessive one in this relationship. But here Fadel is, getting all worked up not only over something that hasn't happened (yet), but over the worst possible outcomes and over what Style told him. That shit is old news. Style is really fine and he wishes Fadel would stop fucking thinking about it. Style needs to make it clear it doesn't matter to him.

“Whatever,” Style says, standing up straight, “If something like that would happen, that's all the more evidence we could use against him.”

Fadel stares at him in disbelief, as if he can't even understand what Style just said. It takes approximately seven seconds for his face to turn red as he shoves Style away from him before he walks towards the back door.

Great. Style meant to make a logical point, not piss Fadel off. He should probably think of a way to apologize. Maybe he can write a love song, make a beautiful landscape painting of the beach, or build a life size sculpture of Fadel out of trash washed onto the shore, seashells, and old fishing supplies-

“Come outside.”

Style scoffs and sees Fadel sulking at the open sliding door, “I thought you were mad at me!”

“I am.”

“Okay, so I should wait until you cool off a little and find a way to make it up to you before joining you,” Style says, “How do you feel about sculptures built with recycled materials?”

Going by his expression, Fadel doesn't feel much about sculptures built with recycled materials at all.

“You can make it up to me by coming outside with me,” Fadel says, before becoming more upset, “And by never saying something like that again!”

“Hm,” Style hums, then gestures at him, “You still seem mad-”

“I want you outside with me!”

Bison is right. Fadel did get weird. But since Style is the main reason for this, he takes responsibility by following Fadel outside in order to help him clean and prep the grill.

[spicyvampire]

from series and dramas you watch, which characters relate to you a lot or you feel close to most, if you don't mind me asking?

I usually relate to characters who you have to force open with a can opener emotionally because they feel too much too deeply, characters who do things because they think it's the right thing to do and end up sacrificing themselves over it, characters who are surviving more than they are actually living, and characters who do bad things for good reasons, so I do not think this is surprising anyone if I say this year the characters I've related the most to were Tharn, Tyme and Fadel

Tharn (The Sign 2023-2024)

This man got into that relation with Phaya kicking and screaming, before Phaya he truly wasn't living, he is a very melancholic character, and he is the very definition of sacrifying himself for every body else, but in the end we got there

Tyme (4MINUTES 2024)

Tyme is surviving more than he is living when we meet the real him in the show, he was living for a short amount of time when he decided to seek vengeance for his parents, he did a lot of bad things for good reasons, and he did end up paying for all of it very hardly, he is the quintessential moral grey character to me and even if he grew a lot as a person by the end of this show, his rage is still there & is still fighting for what he thinks is right, and honestly he was real fucking funny while doing all of this ngl which sounds like me a lot, also he wasn't just emotionally constipated that man was straight up emotionally unavailable for anything romantic, showing 404 Romance Not Found messages but somehow Great got to him which is insane

Fadel (The Heart Killers 2024-2025)

This man is also sacrifying himself for everyone else, that's why he doesn't have any relationship or doesn't have any goals of his own, he is keeping an eye on his brother because of his shady Mother but he is also trying to get his brother what he wants by leaving the business, he is doing bad thing because of good reasons aka Mother says the people they kill are bad, he is also the very definition of emotional constipation rn, and Style truly is doing some magic opening him up

[secriden]

I'm sorry, ya'll, but I fully cannot move on from this. What the fuck. The simple joy in Fadel's face here. The way he's just fixated on Style -- who is not even doing anything but catching his breath, eyes closed, attention not even on Fadel in this moment -- but just the fact that he's here, the fact that Fadel gets to be beside him like this, that there's no secrets between them and Fadel doesn't have to hide behind a mask of indifference or pretend to be disinterested anymore.

The way there's something anticipatory in Fadel's expression, like he just can't wait for Style to turn towards him, like he's learned to expect good things from Style when their eyes meet, the way it suggests he's become comfortable with finding happiness and an answer to his affection in Style's eyes.

(I think this scene is really standing out to me so much because Joong has been intentionally keeping Fadel a bit of a mystery in THK. And I do think it's been intentional because as Kluen in SIMM, Joong was very good at always letting the audience know what Kluen was feeling even if the other characters (Dao, especially) didn't seem to catch on. But for Fadel, it felt like we aren't supposed to be privy to Fadel's true thoughts and emotions beyond hints and glimpses.

So to suddenly get this kind of open fondness and unfiltered delight; to get such a clear communication of unspoken yet apparent affection from Fadel is SO FUCKING AMAZING?? Like I don't think Fadel's reached this level of blatant fondness yet in the series -- not in Episode 6 when they were in their honeymoon phase, and still not even now, at the end of episode 9, because the way Fadel's affection is being expressed still feels fragile and tender and new.

But these clips from the My Fuel MV feel like they come after they've had time to settle and BE together. Fadel is so open because he has learned that there is nothing to fear in his adoration of Style, like Style is the physical embodiment of Fadel's ability to experience true joy, and by GOD that makes me so fucking happy!!)

[crownedbydestiny]

Is that DEVRAN ERDEM? I heard the THIRTY-SIX year old is the LEADER of the KURTLAR. I’d stay away from them if I were you. I heard they were EGOTISTICAL, but they are also COURAGEOUS, so proceed at your own risk.

wc. pinterest.

Basics.

full name: Devran Fadel Sahin nickname(s): Dev age: Thirty-Six birthdate: July 26th star sign: Leo gender: Cismale pronouns: He/Him sexuality: Bisexual Birthplace: Ankara, Turkey current residence: Los Angeles, California languages: Turkish, English, Spanish, and some French.

Reflection.

face claim: berk cankat hair color: chestnut brown eye color: light brown height: 6’0” build: lean, athletic build tattoos: a large compass on his right shoulder scars: too many to keep track of

Personality.

characteristics: ambitious, fearless, confident, arrogant, stubborn, creative, sweet talker, pretentious, self-absorbed, selfish, energetic, persistent, supportive, demanding, socially active, egoistic, responsible, the perfectionist, ready to take challenges, possessive fears: failure and decaf coffee passions/hobbies: painting, drawing, baseball, lock picking, origami, collecting and restoring vintage cars, kickboxing, feeding the birds in the park, golf, tennis, and target practice character inspo: tony stark (iron man), bruce wayne (the dark knight), jordan belfort (wolf of wall street), logan huntzberger (gilmore girls), lando calrissian (star wars) drugs/ alcohol/ smoking: yes / yes / nocolors: a combination of classic neutrals, black, navy, charcoal, and rich jewel tones: emerald green, royal blue, and a deep burgundy. 

Backstory.

Devran Erdem was born to lead. From the day he first opened his eyes in Ankara, the weight of his legacy was thrust upon him. His father, Mikail Erdem, was the undisputed heads of the Kurtlar, one of Turkey’s most powerful and feared gangs. The Kurtlar had long established their dominance over Turkey's criminal underworld, a force that controlled everything from illicit trade routes to smuggling operations, but Mikail’s vision was even grander. He had set his eyes on the world beyond Turkey’s borders, a vision that would eventually become Devran’s responsibility. Mikail wasn’t a man who dabbled in emotions or sentiments. He loved Devran, but he loved him with an expectation that was as unyielding as the Turkish mountains. There was no room for softness, for deviation, or for anything less than total commitment to the Kurtlar cause. From an early age, Devran was taught that his life had no choices—his destiny had already been decided. There was no question that he would inherit the leadership of the gang. Mikail pushed his son relentlessly, grooming him to be the perfect heir to a criminal empire that operated with brutal precision.

Devran, while never subjected to the same physical violence that many of the gang’s lower-ranked members faced, was disciplined in a different way. Mikail's way of teaching was rooted in the harshest forms of responsibility. He didn’t coddle Devran. There were no distractions—no allowances for childhood whims or dreams outside the scope of the gang’s interests. The message was clear: Devran's life would revolve around taking over the Kurtlar, no matter the cost. If someone or something interfered with his role, they were to be removed. Even if it meant sending away someone Devran loved, or making a sacrifice, it was always justified as being for the “greater good”—the preservation of the Kurtlar and their empire.

Leila, Devran’s mother, was his only reprieve from this relentless structure. While Mikail’s world was one of control, power, and secrecy, Leila operated in a different realm. A shrewd businesswoman, deeply intelligent and cunning, she ran multiple high-profile cultural institutions, including museums that housed priceless works of art. Unlike Mikail, Leila never forced Devran to fit into the rigid mold of a criminal heir. She saw beyond the harsh demands of the gang life and nurtured Devran’s intellectual and creative side. Leila saw in him a mind capable of much more than just ruling a criminal empire—she saw a young man who could build something larger than the street-level violence Mikail demanded. Leila’s influence on Devran was profound. She introduced him to the arts, encouraging him to explore the world of history, culture, and beauty. The hours they spent together at her museums—surrounded by works from ancient civilizations and modern masterpieces—shaped Devran into someone who would grow to appreciate the power that came with knowledge and refinement. She also taught him the importance of business acumen, of navigating the world of high society, and how wealth and influence could be wielded without always resorting to violence. But while Leila’s vision for her son was based on a world of sophistication, Mikail’s vision was rooted in power. Devran’s upbringing was thus defined by an inner conflict—torn between his father’s world of ruthless ambition and his mother’s desire for him to embrace his intellectual and creative potential. This constant tug-of-war created a person who, on one hand, was capable of cold, calculated decision-making, but on the other, had a deep affection for the finer things in life.

When Devran turned 32, Mikail’s influence was stronger than ever, and it was clear that his father’s death would only occur when Mikail decided it was time for Devran to take the reins. But Devran had always known that the true shift would come when he was ready to make his own moves. Mikail’s power was deep, his control unshakeable, but Devran was already thinking beyond Turkey’s borders. He understood that the Kurtlar’s dominance could not remain confined to Ankara and the surrounding regions—it needed to be global. This drive led him to the United States.

For the past three years, Devran has been leading the Kurtlar’s expansion into America. He was methodical, meticulous, and ruthless in his approach, knowing that the United States presented new opportunities, but also new dangers. Devran understood that it wasn’t just about brute force; in America, power was just as much about influence and finesse as it was about violence. The Kurtlar had already been making inroads into smuggling, art trafficking, black market jewelry and diamonds, and forgery. Devran, with his blend of street-savvy cunning and refined business acumen, saw the opportunity to carve out a significant new territory. It's how he found himself in Los Angeles, running the Kurtlar division. Devran found himself in an inner struggle—he was torn between the empire his father had built and the world his mother had dreamed for him. But in the end, he knew that his fate was sealed. He would lead the Kurtlar, and he would make sure they became an unstoppable force in the U.S. and beyond. The only question was whether he could find any peace in the space between his two identities—the ruthless gang leader and the man who could have been something entirely different. And in the heart of his empire, amidst the luxury and violence, Devran Erdem would forever battle the question: Could he ever truly be both?

[fadelbison]

Yk, if you wanted proper incest. 😉 Twins to boot. (Honestly I have no info on how the pairing works but this felt on brand for you and for me, tbh.)

https://www.tumblr.com/mysterygrl20/768237278733778944/thailand-tontae-tinnakorn-alongside-taiwanese?source=share

I am truly living in the good timeline of fujoshi rights hahaha god i will certainly keep my eyes out for twincest cultural promotion.

this is probably a good time to come out as not an incest shipper AHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA in fact the one time I tried putting fadelbison that way it ended in failure - i just really like compelling stories and I have seen and read many incest stories that have fascinated me - they're really not that uncommon lol - but its not a genre i often enjoy. Jamie and Circe were like a BIG reason as to why I never continued GoT

i do love a good foster siblings i love a good siblings by marriage. i love understanding what they hide behind those societal imposed rules, so much of incest is also that - this quest of finding the self through another. the barriers that exist in seeing ourselves, the ones we put ourselves and the ones that we haven't. I'm really enjoying Lucien and Caroline in Cruel Intentions, just as I LOVE this dynamic between Fadel and Bison. They're assassins but they're brothers. Bison honestly does nothing but leech off Fadel and Fadel keeps himself totally locked up and away from him. There's so much distance in that relationship so much lack of intimacy but they love each other, you can see it in everything they do. why are they brothers? what makes them brothers?

If they were step siblings like bison claimed then suddenly the answer is simple, easy. blood. the only thing other than yourself you can claim on your own (agh but even then it pulls, no? at the heartstrings the intense desire to be known? to be claimable).

but god its worse when there's not even blood. i actually had to get @kattyangel who read the spoilers to confirm they are not - when there's not even blood then what are the scars that weave you together? whats festering beneath your love - oh thats where its at! thats where fadelbison got me in this chokehold.

and of course leaning into the incest has opened me up to another, much more uglier part of this fandom. human beings and their love for their image and their moral superiority are so fascinating. ive seen people say that joongkhao are okay but not fadelbison even if they aren't related 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

as a long time RPF shipper I can assure you that the ethical dilemmas behind shipping two real people in any capacity will always be a lot more salient and complex than any behind two fictional characters no matter how nasty a context you put them in. god i love the internet.

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

Need to Feel You

He can’t do this again. Not again. He can’t lose the love of his life a second time. He can’t lose Style, who has made him love in a way that even Tem hadn’t managed. He can’t lose the other half of his soul! He can’t!

“No, no. no. Please. Style! Don’t go! Don’t leave me here. I can’t do this without you! Please! Style!”

“Fadel?”

It’s his voice but his mouth isn’t moving. It’s still slightly open and bloody.

“Style?”

“Fadel, wake up.”

He wakes with a jerk, whole body shuddering to life as his hands search for his boyfriend in the dark.

“Hey, hey. It’s ok.” Style says, grabbing one of them and placing it on his chest, right over his heart. “I’m here. I’m ok. It was just a bad dream.”

“Style,” he breathes out, taking in the sight of his boyfriend, who is very much alive and well. “Fuck. I thought…”

“I know.” He replies quietly. “You were calling for me in your sleep. I’m going to assume it wasn’t pretty….”

He shakes his head and brushes the tears from his eyes. “You were-” he swallows and looks up at him,”…you were dead…Style…I lost you-”

“Hey.” Style says again, more sternly this time. “I’m not dead? Ok. I’m here.”

And Fadel can’t hold it in anymore. The dream had been so fucking vivid. It had felt so fucking real. It had felt like he had really lost Style. Like he’d lost him the same way he’d lost Tem but hadn’t known it.

His heart is still racing in his chest. It still feels like he lost him. Like maybe this is the dream. And the other one was reality. Fuck. He can’t. He needs….

He grabs Style and pulls on him, tugging him out of the warmth of the blankets and into his lap.

The other man goes willingly. “Oi, if you wanted to cuddle, you just needed to ask. No need to manhandle me.” He quips, voice light as Fadel shoves his nose into the crook of his neck.

He smells good. Like the shampoo and body wash they'd both used before they'd gone to bed. The Style in his dream had only smelled of blood.

Fuck.

He inhales again. It’s cedar, not iron that floods his senses.

He runs his hands up and down Style’s arms. They are warm. He’s warm. Not cold. Not like the dream.

“You’re real.” He whispers into his skin.