#(looking at you vegaspete)

[gewdmorning]

There are some fictional ships so sweet and simple, where you can read any ao3 fic on them and even if you don’t really read the tags, you’ll make it out with your heart intact

Then there are some fictional ships so beautifully fucked up with so many interpretations of the that magnificent mess possible that before reading the fics it’s imperative that you go through all the tags to make sure you can deal with it all that day, or if you’d like to bookmark the fic for some other day where you’d be better equipped to handle your heart being crushed to smithereens.

It’s great, I love it.

[yujeong]

Pete's fever wasn't going down. It wasn't really Pete's fault. He had started eating more regularly, even if slowly to not upset his stomach. (He didn't want to vomit his insides all over the duvet again. It hadn't been a pleasant experience.) He had started sleeping more, too, and even though it had mostly been accompanied by disturbing dreams and could be described as anything but nourishing, at least it was something. This wasn't really Vegas' fault, either. Well. It was. It was difficult to explain, and Pete didn't quite have the mental capacity or the patience to make Vegas understand why he hadn't magically healed in a day thanks to a bowl of noodles, a couple of pills and some bandages wrapped around his torso. In all honesty, that was a lie. Despite Pete's reluctance to admit it, he had been way more patient that he should have. More than he could sustain. Today, his patience seemed to be at its limit. Pete didn't let it show - he never did, he couldn't afford to, not even now - but he could feel it brewing under his skin. The urge to snap at an anxious Vegas hovering above him with blood-shot eyes and trembling limbs was big and tempting, but Pete knew better than to succumb to it. He simply closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose, trying to forget about it. Vegas, of course, wouldn't allow that. "Pete," he heard Vegas whisper. When he didn't respond, Vegas said it again, louder. "Pete. Hey, look at me." Pete did. "Do you not hate me?" Pete didn't answer. "Don't you want to kill me?" Pete sighed. He refused. H wouldn't give Vegas the satisfaction. "How would you do it?" This was starting to get irritating. "Vegas-" "Tell me, Pete. What would you do? Would you use your hands or a weapon?" Pete couldn't escape this. He realized when he looked at the pure desperation in Vegas' eyes. "I'm a bodyguard, aren't I?" he foolishly said, his voice breaking slightly. He lifted his head and stared at the ceiling. He could picture it; him wearing his uniform, blowing Vegas' brains out with his gun. The image brought him no satisfaction. Only a faint sense of dread he couldn't rationalize. Vegas' humming snapped him out of it. "Yes, I can see that. I can't imagine you using a knife, though." Pete felt slightly offended by that comment for some reason. "Why? Don't you think I have the guts?" "It's too... emotional a choice for you. You wouldn't use it to kill me." Right. Pete huffed in amusement. "I guess you're right. I'm not like you." This did the trick. Pete could feel the effect of his words, the hostility Vegas was emitting. It gave him goosebumps, despite the temperature of the room. The sound of the door closing harshly made him flinch, a racing heartbeat remaining for a while afterwards. It didn't bother him. He was finally left alone. It didn't matter if he'd manage to get better or not. If only Vegas could see that.

(A snippet inspired by a scene in the movie "Eileen")

[iamfujoshiwe]

Vegas : Helpful grammar tip: “farther” is for physical distance, “further” is for methaphorical distance. Pete, taking notes: *Nod nod* Vegas : And “father” is for emotional distance! Pete, tearing up : English is Beautiful!

[agendratum]

i'm sorry / i love you, pete

[setevulpo]

feeling very green and yellow light in this dungeon tonight

angústia, florbela espanca (translated by me)

interview with the vampire, s02e05: "don't be afraid, just start the tape"

i lock you in an american sonnet that is part prison, terrance hayes

island of the sequined love nun, christopher moore

beautiful short loser, ocean vuong

kinnporsche, s01e11

red doc>, anne carson

[tinycowboybro]

I miss Bad Buddy.

(I miss the specific fantasy of waikorn I have crafted in my mind)

[forkaround]

I will always be amazed when writers manage to make a convincing love story between two characters in a short amount of time. Long live Daisy Sousa and VegasPete.

[saturnskyline]

fic authors self rec! when you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. spread the self-love~<333333

🥰🥰🥰 thank you babs!! i really appreciate it <333

this is actually very easy for me, since i only have five fics on ao3 lol. that being said, i can now advertise them all hehe

you're everything, my perception of love

kinnporsche the series, vegas/pete, oneshot, rated t, 3.8k

simple summary: pete doesn't safeword when he should have and drops, but vegas is able to help him and they work through things together <3 featuring shibari as a calming mechanism, mild angst, and post-canon hurt/comfort

this was my first fic on ao3 and the first time i'd written for a long time, and it's still one that i'm really proud of 🥹 i was pretty nervous to post it but i actually think it's pretty good. also fairly self-indulgent if we're being real lol

i'll water you carefree, i'll rise you up high as the sun

kinnporsche the series, vegas/pete, oneshot, rated t, 2.8k

simple summary: post-canon vegas grows a garden and has feelings about it. featuring food as a metaphor for love and vegas mom lore (sorely needed)

pure brainrot that i tried my best to work into a character study lol. can't take credit for the concept whatsoever but i wanted to write my own take on the gardener vegas agenda and this was it!

just a ghost in your eye

dexter, dexter & brian, oneshot, rated m, 1.8k

simple summary: just dexter being introspective about his brother and his future. we love a vibes-based fic in this household!

shocked myself by not only writing more than two fics, but writing one for a separate fandom haha. just goes to show that murderous brothers with a complicated bond will always have my heart

in your dreams (i'm all you see)

kinnporsche the series, vegas/pete, multichapter, rated e, 8.5k

simple summary: vegas suggests somno stuff one day, pete agrees, and then it escalates from there, aka sleep deprivation leading to more somno stuff

i wrote this for nevertheless/nev_longbottom, my beloved bestie, as part of the hedgehog server winter exchange of 2023 :) definitely my biggest fic accomplishment yet, since i had neither attempted smut nor a multichaptered work before, but i am very proud of how it turned out! also just very fun to let these two be as unhinged as possible lol

found my place in a twisted rib cage

kinnporsche the series, vegas/pete/macau, oneshot, rated e, 9.9k

simple summary: macau gets home one night and walks in on vegas and pete having a Moment, with pete in subspace...... and then it all goes down (figuratively and literally)

shared most of this via bursts of 2am inspiration with my dear discord besties and was beyond taken aback that it became fully realized 😭 but yet another work that i am proud of! hopped aboard the smut express and promptly crashed into the incest ravine. if you will. might even become a series?? who knowssss

[peachym00]

A crack of thunder interrupted Pete’s thoughts, making him jump out of his skin.

“Fuck me, that was loud,” Pete flinched, his heart nearly beating out of his ribcage.

“Not out here; the pavement will be far too uncomfortable,” Vegas quipped, getting up from the floor and holding out a hand for Pete to take.

“You’re hilarious, you know that,” Pete said sarcastically, holding onto Vegas’s hand, which helped him up with far more force than Pete expected, pulling him straight into his chest.

“So I’ve been told.”

Vegas looked at Pete like he wanted to crack him open and see what was inside. It made him feel good and wanted. Brave.

“Why do you keep looking at me like that?” Pete questioned quietly, not wanting to disturb the charged atmosphere that had built up around them.

“I don’t know, there’s just something about you, Pete,” Vegas says unhurriedly, his eyes gazing all over Pete’s face like he’s searching for something, anything that will give him an answer, “every time I think I’ve figured you out, you do something else to surprise me.”

Vegas brings his hand up to the side of Pete’s cheek, the tips of his fingers grazing it just so, not bearing any weight but somehow burning their mark onto Pete’s skin.  

It was then, as he was wondering what it would be like to feel Vegas’s lips upon his own, that an extraordinarily untimely and out-of-place thought came to mind, blurting out of his mouth as he couldn’t believe he didn’t catch on at the time.

“Oh my god,” Pete exclaims, horrified, “Porsche and Kinn are fucking; they’re one hundred per cent fucking.”

That would explain everything that Pete had been so far confused about. The reason Porsche was so coy about answering questions about working for the main family, the reason he had nothing wrong to say about him. It would also explain the reason why Porsche wasn’t shot onsite for injuring Macau, why out of every single gun pointed at him, Kinn chose to choke Porsche into unconsciousness instead.

“You’ve only just figured it out?” Vegas asks incredulously, dropping his hand from Pete’s face.

“He didn’t tell me anything!” Pete was slightly miffed that he had been interrogated so brutally on life at the minor compound when they could have talked about how Porsche was hooking up with his boss.

Unbelievable.

“Is that really what you’re thinking about right now, Pete, about Kinn and Porsche and their sex life?”

“Yes, it is,” Pete says, his thoughts coming to a standstill as he realises the moment he has deprived himself of, the sinking feeling of coming to the realisation that he is his own cock-block, “why, what should I be thinking about?”

Vegas’s gaze darkens, the corners of his mouth turning up into a brilliantly evil smile, the sharp edges of it leaving no room for mercy. They’re still standing close together, yet he tries to bring Pete even closer, their proximity giving him no choice but to rest his hand on Vegas’s chest. His other hand is still enclosed in Vegas’s own, getting increasingly sweaty the more nervous he gets.

“Me,” he whispers, turning his head to the side to speak directly into Pete’s ear, his voice hot and tingly, “You should be thinking about me.”

Pete gulps.

They didn’t cover this in training.

[canyourscienceexplainthis]

the inherent sexiness of the incompetent rich person who has had everything they’ve ever wanted simply handed to them at the snap of a finger falling in love with the hypercompetent every day normal guy and consequently having to learn how to do basic tasks like cooking and laundry and making a bed

[tumsa]

thrown into your tide

you know that "kitten i'll be completely honest, daddy is a fucking mess" meme? that's me, i have been a fucking mess for the past three days, and apparently, when i am a mess, i take it out on my blorbos.

have some ken/big stuff

summary: He wonders how it would feel to look at Big and not feel like his heart was slowly carved hollow, one glance at a time. warnings: canon-typical stuff, pining, feeling untethered inspired by @aikinn tags, specifically this one: #the Ken who loves Big who loves Kinn line of unrequited pain and suffering is something that can be so personal (and @snarkspawn‘s lovely art accordingly)

- - -

Sometimes Ken misses the time when Big hated him, looked at him with sharp annoyance, a slight snarl on his lips, and rolled his eyes when Ken spoke. He misses looking at Big and thinking: I want to punch you, you fucker. Feeling furious was much easier than feeling invisible. Feeling not enough, never enough.

He wonders how it would feel to look at Big and not feel like his heart was slowly carved hollow, one glance at a time. How would it feel not to hear Big laughing and have the barbed wire wrapped around his insides tighten. Ken knows he is a sore loser, never mastered the art of being okay with not being first, and so it eats at him; the void in him grows and grows, and it hungers, and it wants, and Ken doesn't know how to soothe it. 

"Do you ever wish," he asks, rubbing a bite mark he left on Big's shoulder gently, as if he could erase it with his fingertips, "that you felt differently?"

"No," Big says, and if there was a light on, Ken thinks he could see the small, gentle smile on Big's face that nobody outside of their room ever sees. "I am happy just to be near him, to protect him."

Ken hums. He wishes it was enough for him.

- - -

It begins with Chan yelling at both of them for breaking the sacred rules of peace, "no fights between bodyguards", and being childish. It's Ken's second week on the job, and he has finally lost it and punched Big in the face. The pained whimper that Big had made before pulling a gun and aiming it at Ken's chest had been glorious.

"I will not have this," Chan's voice is snappy and cold, as his eyes throw daggers at both Big and Ken, "this is not a playground. I am giving you one last chance to fix this."

He walks them to Big's room, opens the door and waits for them to get inside, pushing Ken when he is too slow to move. 

"You have until Monday," Chan says, closes the door and then locks it. He adds through the now-closed door: "If you break the lock, I will know. If either of you dies, I'll kill the other too."

"But-" Big protests pointlessly, then shuts his mouth and turns to face Ken, scowling. There's a red mark on his face where Ken's knuckles met his skin, and it makes Ken gleeful. 

"Nice one," Ken says because Big does not know how not to show emotions on his face, and right now, he looks like one of those small, angry dogs that old ladies put in their handbags. 

"Fucking great," Big says, kicking the door, "it's all your fault."

"No, mate, that's all you for being such a dick."

It's funny to watch Big reaching for his gun, only to realize that it's not there, that Chan didn't give it back. 

"Well," Ken says, because he doesn't actually want to die, and he can see Big eyeing a collection of knives on his wall, "give me a tour. Are we sharing a bed?" 

He winks, changing his mind because getting stabbed might be worth seeing Big all flustered. And then, because Big is no fun at all, he sits down on the sofa, turning away from Ken.

- - -

By Saturday, Ken thinks getting shot by Chan might be a relief. It's not the multiple fights they have had in the past two days (although Ken's ribs feel bruised and sore, and his split lip burns). It is boredom. Someone, probably Arm by Chan's request, has turned off their access to the internet so they cannot watch anything on the TV, and they are not allowed to have phones or computers, and Big has nothing else in his room that is even remotely entertaining, so Ken is dying. He can feel the time moving agonizingly slowly. Every minute feels like an eternity, and Ken might just kill Big so Chan can end the misery.

"Shoot me," he says, from where he is lying on the carpet and staring at the ceiling.

"I wish," Big unexpectedly replies, and his voice has no heat in it. They have not talked to each other outside of insults. 

"How did humans survive without the internet," Ken wonders, not for the first time. "What did they do all day?"

"Fuck if I know," apparently, they are talking now. 

Except Ken doesn't know what to say, they are not friends and have nothing in common. None of Chan's bodyguard lessons or videos included the "How to talk with your annoying coworker" tutorial.

"My grandparents play board games," Big breaks the silence. "Not that I have any."

Ken sighs, his eyes travelling down the shelf across him, full of Big's stuff. They stop at a bottle of whiskey.

"Or," he says, grinning, "we could get drunk."

- - -

"I love you, man," Ken is wheezing with laughter hours, days, or weeks later when they have emptied two bottles of whiskey and popped open a random champagne bottle.

Big is grinning on the sofa next to him. He's wearing a stupid "I <3 New York" shirt that makes Ken giggle even more. 

"That's it," Big finally slurs, looking pleased, "that's how I got the job."

"Fucking legend," Ken says, and he would clap Big on the shoulder if his arms cooperated a bit better. "If I were you, I'd sleep with my eyes open."

Big makes an agreeing noise. "I did, for like a year. He still might kill me."

From what Ken has heard about Khun Vegas in the two weeks he has been in the main family's house, he really might. 

"You'll die a hero," Ken says, looking at Big and bursting into laughter again. 

Big is fucking awesome.

- - -

Ken doesn't know who is more surprised that they both make it out alive by Monday morning, them or Chan. Or maybe it's that Ken is teaching Big how to do a backflip, and they are laughing when he opens the door. The eyebrow rise speaks volumes. 

Ken moves in with Big on Wednesday.

- - -

Ken doesn't know when things change again; there is no whiskey this time. He's used to having Big by his side, used to having Big's back during the missions; within a year, he has learned every Big's strength and weakness, he knows where to cover for him, where to let Big balance out Ken's shortcomings. They quickly go from "Big" and "Ken" to "Big and Ken". Chan takes them on missions together or not at all, and they quickly become Khun Kinn's favourites, trailing him every step he takes outside the mansion. Ken is used to it, even to the ugly parts of it, the parts where Big gets hurt and Ken worries, or parts where Ken gets injured and feels ashamed of not doing better.

It shifts, and it's a sudden, terrifying realization, and the implication of it creeps up Ken's spine like a poison ivy. It's the moment when Big enters their room, eyes wet, face bruised, red, angry finger marks on his cheek, right after he has told Ken he must tell Kinn about his suspicions of Tawan. It's the moment when Big swallows a sob as he slides down the wall, shaking and trying not to cry openly, and Ken thinks I will fucking kill Kinn that it hits him right in the solar plexus and takes his breath away.

"Big," Ken says, and his voice trembles; he feels a little untethered and a lot like the ground beneath him is moving, shifting, falling open.

"He," Big whispers, and the despair in his voice makes Ken sick, "he didn't believe me."

Ken wants to say something, anything, but his voice is drowning; he is drowning. I'm in love with you, he thinks, and the thought is like a match, setting his insides on fire, blazing its way into Ken's stomach, settling in his bones, burning.

"Fuck," he finally says, mumbles, desperate to regain some control.

"What if he dies?" Big asks as he starts weeping, trying to hold his sobs, pressing the back of his palm against his mouth, and Ken feels like someone is slicing his chest open.

"It will be okay," he says because he wants Big to stop crying and fix this somehow; he wants Big to smile and laugh about Ken's dumb jokes. "We will figure it out. I have your back, remember?"

Big nods and tries to smile through tears. Ken reaches an arm out, and Big takes it and lets Ken pull him up. Ken's skin burns under his touch.

- - -

The first time it happens, they are drunk again. They are celebrating a mission gone well. Big cannot stop grinning because Kinn had praised and promoted him to the head of his bodyguards. He looks so happy. Something ugly warms its way into Ken's bones, and yet he cannot stop grinning back.

Big leans and kisses him. It's soft and warm and nothing like kissing anyone Ken has kissed before. The gentle nip on Ken's bottom lip feels like salvation.

Big pulls away and gets up, then reaches for Ken's hand, still smiling. Their fingers lock together, and Ken thinks that for someone more used to holding a gun than anyone's hand, he could get used to it. 

He doesn't care that Big turns off the light, the soft and sweaty heat of his body, the tiny whimpers, squirming, twisting and writhing, all of it outweighs the way Big murmurs and pleads Kinn's name, between the shaky breaths, it almost sounds like Ken's. 

- - -

It happens again and again and again. It messes with Ken's head; he gets more irritable and sulky; something inside him wants to claw its way out, and it scares him. He looks at Kinn sometimes and forgets his job. He looks at Kinn and wonders how it would feel to tear him apart and have Kinn's blood on his hands, slimy and thick. 

He knows it would kill Big, so he stands between Kinn and a knife, between Kinn and a bullet, and between Kinn and the world trying to kill him. He smiles when Big hugs him after another well-done mission and swallows bitter bile when Big's eyes still follow Kinn. 

- - -

"He will never belong to you," Vegas whispers, tempting, "while Kinn is alive."

Ken gives in.

[roxannes-love-letters]

If I had a coin for every time I have overfixated on something that had neon lights, guns, and characters in open shirts with striking patterns willing to commit murder for the person they love I’d have two coins. Which is not much, but also not weird that it happened twice once you understand that I love characters committing murders in open shirts with striking patterns under neon lights.

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[chaotic-aro-incarnate]

Nathaniel Wesninski & Vegas Theerapanyakul: A Guide on Ways to React to Your Mafia Uncle Killing Your Abusive Mafia Dad

The King's Men by Nora Sakavic & Kinnporsche: The Series (2022)

[agendratum]

jeff satur - dum dum

for @guzhu-furen

[davsoldart]