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fadelstyle headcanons bc why tf not

Style has already apologized (wholeheartedly and with tears) for ambushing Fadel’s support group sessions.

Every Saturday, they make breakfast together, trying new recipes, flavors, etc. They also almost always fuck it all up because Style is too distracting in an apron.

Style listens to heavy metal now.

Fadel often naps with his head on Style’s lap, and Style plays with his hair while he sleeps.

Fadel and Style’s dad watch 70s/80s shows together, leaving Style completely left out. They actually have nearly identical 80s rock CD collections too.

Style asks Fadel about his ex often. His personality, their time together, what Fadel loved about him. He’s even suggested they take flowers and visit his grave together. When you’re ready.

Fadel has yet to win an argument.

Saying no to Style is literally impossible for him. He’ll frown, sulk, look pissed, but never actually say no.

Fadel has bad days, lows that become debilitating. His past crashes down on him, but Style is always there. Gentle. Quiet. Giving him space, but also taking care of him. Helps him in the shower. Brings him food. Takes it away when Fadel refuses to eat. Brings it back. Holds him while he sleeps.

They love shopping together. Fadel loves the way Style glows when he tries on new clothes.

Yes, they’re both freaks. Yes, it excites them to do it in public, grabbing at each other’s necks, indulging in chest play, roleplay, you name it. But their biggest turn-on, especially for Fadel, is actually being domestic. Being soft and vanilla, even. No, because think about it— Style has probably had his fair share of sleeping around, experimenting, partying, going wild. Fadel, on the other hand, has always felt burdened by his body and its needs. His teenage years, his early adulthood, none of it was normal. He never got to experience sweetness. Never got to take his time, to feel wanted, to feel loved. To him, sex was always transactional, until his ex, who 'left' the moment Fadel showed vulnerability. So yeah, they love being wild. But what they love more is being at home—lazy morning sex, showering together, taking it slow, looking into each other’s eyes. It’s actually so sweet and heartbreaking.

After months of nagging, Fadel finally folds and teaches Style how to use a gun.

Style knows how to use a knife very well. (Don’t ask how they found out.)

Fadel practically lives at Style’s house, spends 80% of his time there.

Style’s dad is teaching Fadel how to fix his car. “What do you mean you’re marrying into our family without knowing these basics???”

Fadel whimpers. :)

Style has proudly stolen and cut up at least ten of Fadel’s t-shirts, including a vintage 1970s Led Zeppelin Rules America tee that he spent half his savings on when he was 16.

Style loves taking Fadel’s fingers into his mouth when they have sex, because it drives Fadel insane. :)

One time, while they were just hanging out in Fadel’s room, Style asked, “So when did you start finding me attractive?” Fadel’s face went beet red. Style, being the menace that he is, kept pushing, until Fadel finally blurted: “Yes, I found you attractive the moment I saw you. Yes, I thought about you while I was alone. Yes, of course I fucking did. And yes, it happened here—where else would it happen?” A smirk. “So you liked it when I lay on my stomach for you in the sauna… like this?” Style rolls onto his stomach, looks up at Fadel exactly like he did that day. “Tell me, what did you think about? Did you imagine my face?” “Shut up." “Did you imagine they were my hands or mouth?” “Style.” “Did you call my name?”

They both smell amazing. Fadel wears deep, earthy colognes. Style wears fruity, flowery ones. He also goes crazy for lip balms so Fadel buys him a new one every time he goes to the grocery store.

“Hey, you really need to stop being so trusting.” “He said his cat was dying.” “Style, he was literally trying to steal your wallet.” “But he showed me a photo. :( He had one leg missing.” “…Jesus fucking christ.”

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In the night, Style fought cold sweats and shivers. His body was regulating after the shock of it all—the bullet wound that tore through muscle and tendon, the loss of blood made worse by their hours-long route to the island, the pain, the unnecessary dip in the water. Style had his back turned to him, but Fadel could hear the labored breaths, the muted clicking of teeth, and quiet groans. It was so uncharacteristic of Style to keep to himself, but Fadel understood now, after seeing him put his life on the line and take a bullet like it was nothing, that he was doing this so as not to burden him. Style’s selflessness was his crowning glory. Fadel could sit and marvel at it for the rest of his life, but in this moment, it broke him. You’re in so much pain. Show me that you’re my 100% in this too. I’m here, aren’t I?

He wanted to reach out, to touch Style’s shoulder—the want playing at his fingertips like needles—but he feared this was a line Style wasn’t ready to cross. That it was too soon for him to love unfiltered.

An hour passed. Just as Fadel began to doze off to the sounds of the night—

“Hold me.”

It was a whisper, barely a breath, but it tore right through Fadel’s gut. He swallowed down the tightness in his throat and quickly but carefully, gently shifted behind Style, pressing his chest and hips against his body. He slid an arm around Style’s waist, took his hand in his, and held him. Style was freezing cold.

“Here,” he whispered into Style’s ear. He tucked his chin over his shoulder and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

Style let out a quiet noise, and Fadel pulled him closer. “Don’t cry, hey. Hold onto me. I’m here,” he said and kissed where he could—the corner of Style’s jaw, his cheek, the side of his mouth. Style’s skin was pale and damp, his pretty black hair plastered to the back of his neck. Fadel buried his face there. Their hearts beat in tandem, fast, anxious, terrified. You look so pale. Fadel’s clothes grew damp too.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry,” he found himself saying.

“Fadel,” Style said back. His fingers clutched weakly at Fadel’s wrist, seeking something solid, something real. It was instinct, not thought—he was too far gone for thought.

Fadel tightened his hold, lips to Style’s temple. “I’m here,” he whispered again, voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “I’ve got you.”

Style trembled harder, but this time, it wasn’t just the cold. Fadel felt it—something breaking open, raw and unguarded. The tears burned where they dropped from Style’s lashes to Fadel’s skin. Fadel wanted to pull him even closer, to chase away every shiver, every lingering shadow of pain.

“It’s okay. Here, let’s think about our day tomorrow,” he said quietly, running his thumb over the back of Style’s hand. “You’ll wake me up with another one of your loud surprises. We’ll dress your wound together and see that it’s so much better. We’ll lie down on the beach, put our feet in the water, pace it out. I’ll make you the best breakfast you’ve ever had, teach you how to steer Bison’s boat. I’ll kiss you every minute, okay?”

A faint, “Okay.” Fadel wanted to fucking kill himself.

“Okay. You’re already doing so well,” he whispered. “It’s just this one night, I promise.”

He went on to describe how he intended to take Style on a tour of the island, just the two of them, to tell him secrets no one else knew, not even Bison, about his childhood. There were moments when Style apologized for getting Fadel’s shirt or hands wet, or for keeping him awake through the night, but Fadel kissed him when he did and kept talking about tomorrow.

And finally, after what felt like a thousand heartbreaks, Style’s body went still. He turned, melted into Fadel’s chest, his breath still rough but steadier now, as if—just maybe—he believed him.

For @clemelntine

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This was after the hug, Fadel’s tears, the slow dance, the I have fallen for you, the kiss. Fadel had made up his mind. He would take what he could get—Style’s smell, the shape of his mouth, the taste of his skin—one last time. He knew it was over, could feel it seething between his lungs, the anger a quiet whir in the back of his head. He looked into Style’s eyes for a moment after they broke apart, and he thought of collapsing the facade, of grabbing his shoulders and shaking a confession out of those beautiful, lying lips. But Style simply looked back, smiling, unwavering, clueless. Did you really think I would not find out?

They were to spend the night in Fadel’s room. Style was tired. He went quiet at times in the night—a part of him Fadel was sure no one else knew. It was as if he gave out his spark in constant bouts, leaving little to himself in the final hours of the day. The loudest people can be the loneliest, Fadel thought, fleetingly.

“Fadel,” Style whispered. He was sitting on the foot of Fadel’s bed, the smile, though tired, reaching his eyes. His hair was wet. He had just showered, and was in grey sweats and a black band tshirt that Fadel swore wasn’t cropped a few weeks back. Style raised both arms up, asking for a hug, asking Fadel to kill the space between them. “Why are you so far?”

Fadel didn’t say anything. He watched Style; the droplets lining his neck, one by one, pooling in the milky collarbones; those wild pretty brows that were surprisingly relaxed, not challenging him like they always did. He looked so good, so harmless. Fadel wanted to jump out of his own fucking skin. He walked, measured, towards him. Style’s shoulders perked up, a light in his face. He wrapped his arms around Fadel’s neck when Fadel bowed to let him, and they held each other’s eyes. Fadel stayed there. Say it. Say something. His mind was a jumble. Why won’t you say anything? But Style sat there, expectant. Fadel tightened his brows and quickly, like reflex, grabbed Style’s jaw. Maybe he’d scare a confession out of him, he thought. Maybe that’ll get him to explain himself, to swear to Fadel that Bison was wrong and that he didn’t betray him, that he wasn’t lying when he said he loved and wanted him. Fadel’s fingers left white prints where they pushed the skin. But Style stayed as he was, trusting. Fadel searched his face, searched for a silver of a clue, but found none. It pissed him off. Why was Style’s guard down? Why was he so fucking calm? Why wasn’t he afraid, still smiling, still ready to give his body, down to the bone, to Fadel? Fadel dug his nails into the skin, knuckles white, and Style titled his head ever so slightly to kiss the part of Fadel’s hand he could reach. “I miss you,” he said. “I was so worried that your shop was closed. I thought I was going insane.”

Fadel didn’t understand this. He didn’t know how to react. He was angry. He wanted him. He wanted him so much. He wanted to say goodbye. He didn’t want to kill him. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want this to end.

“Why?” He said, a breath.

It was Style’s turn to frown. He looked confused. “What?”

Fadel snapped out of it. Immediately. His fingers relaxed around Style’s jaw. He took a breath, grounded himself. “Nothing.” An exhale. “Come here.”

The kiss was slow, deep. Fadel couldn’t close his eyes. He kissed him, watched when he could. It felt wrong, but he needed to do this, one final time.

Style slipped out of his shirt. It came off beautifully, his hair crowned with a shimmer. He looked up in quiet excitement at Fadel, who was standing now, taking his own shirt and pants off.

Style pushed himself to lie on the bed then wrapped his arms around Fadel’s back as Fadel climbed over him. They looked at each other. It was never like this between them. Fadel was suddenly aware of it all. Of the sounds their bodies were making against his sheets. Of the difference between them, in size and mannerism, the pace of their breaths, how Style’s gentle thrill was getting the better of him, how Fadel’s limbs were stiffening up in response, his trust in Style completely shattered.

Style raised his head up and kissed him again. Fadel tasted peppermint, fruit candy and sweetness. He wanted this. He wanted lifetimes of this.

“Fadel,” Style whispered against his mouth and stroked the back of his neck. “Did you think about me while you were gone—“

Fadel slipped his tongue in to shut him up. He didn’t want to admit the answer. I did. Every night.

They kissed, again, and again, shed off the rest of their clothes. It was different this time, the silence a creature in its own right. Fadel kissed Style’s body carefully. He left no part untouched. Style’s breaths came in quiet moans as he held onto Fadel tightly, always following his gaze, always trying to show him it felt good. And it did. It felt so fucking good, like fire, like martyrdom. But Fadel avoided Style’s eyes when he was inside, his face turned as he moved, slowly, carefully, awkwardly. His heart hurt. It shouldn’t be like this. It was never like this. He kissed Style’s neck when it became unbearable. And Style kissed him back, wherever he could, his jaw, his chin, his cheek, holding on tighter with each motion. Why? Fadel’s tears burned.

“Fadel,” Style closed his eyes and whispered as his head fell back. He bit hard onto his lips. Fadel went deeper, and watched, detached. “Fadel.”

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you're lying to yourself if you don't think Style is the best character GMMTV has ever written you freak

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style is so sweet YALL (∩˃o˂∩)♡