#vegaspete

[veliseraptor]

Pete was hungry.

Of course he was hungry; he hadn’t had any blood for days. He wasn’t even sure exactly how long it had been, without the reference of regular sleep. All he knew was that it’d been a while, long enough that consciousness was starting to get blurry and he was having a hard time thinking of anything else past the need, the hunger. 

He hadn’t been this hungry in a long time. Definitely not since he’d started working for the Theerapanyakuls. It took him back, in a bad way. 

He was supposed to be dead. He’d expected to be dead. He didn’t understand why he wasn’t.

Pete’s eyesight was sharp enough to see the door move before it opened and he closed his eyes and went limp, hoping to look unconscious. Footsteps on the floor and he could sense it even from here: fresh blood. Living flesh. His mouth watered and his fangs lengthened involuntarily, all his thoughts washing out to a red, desperate haze of want. All his control burning away like he would in sunlight.

“Hello again,” said Vegas’s voice. “How’s my pet?”

Pete tried not to move. Tried not to twitch. He imagined getting free and sinking his fangs into Vegas’s neck and even now flinched away from the idea of hurting, biting, one of the family. 

“Stop pretending,” Vegas said. “I know you’re awake.”

Pete pressed his cracking lips together and opened his eyes a sliver. Vegas was lounging on the bed, leaning back on his hands. His shirt was unbuttoned as usual, and Pete’s gaze zeroed in on his exposed throat, the motion as his heart pumped hot blood through the artery there. He could hear Vegas’s heart beating, or maybe that was just the roaring of hunger in his own ears.

Vegas just looked at him, lips curling into a mocking smile. He didn’t seem scared, or concerned, or any of the things most humans might feel in a small room with a hungry vampire on the verge of losing control. 

Vegas stood and moved closer. Pete tensed, body bracing for pain even as it screamed at him to attack. 

Vegas clicked his tongue. “You’re thirsty, aren’t you,” he said. He leaned forward and Pete clamped his mouth shut before he could lick his lips. “Poor boy,” Vegas went on. “So deprived.”

Just kill me already, Pete thought, but he didn’t say it. He’d started to wonder if Vegas was planning on starving him to death. It would take a long time. 

That’d be a good thing if he’d been hoping for rescue, but nobody was coming for him. 

Vegas reached out (the fine veins in his wrist, right there) and caught Pete’s chin, grasping it almost gently and turning his head back and forth like he was trying to find his best angle. 

“I could fix that,” Vegas said. 

Please, howled the increasingly animal part of Pete, but he had enough of himself left to recognize that anything Vegas offered him was going to be poison somehow. It was just so hard to think, to remember that in the face of the wanting.

“Not interested?” Vegas said. “Let’s see if I can change your mind.”

He left the room again and came back with a glass, a towel, and a knife. He sat down on the floor leaning against the bed, set the glass down next to him, held out one arm, and clenched his hand into a fist a few times. 

Then he took the knife and sliced into his own arm at the elbow. 

Shallow, but the veins ran close enough to the surface that it started bleeding fast; Vegas grabbed for the glass and tipped his arm so the blood started to dribble into it. His eyes stayed on Pete and Pete’s eyes zeroed in on the blood. He could smell it from here, sharp and tantalizing, and Pete jerked involuntarily against his bonds.

“Oh,” Vegas said, smile filled with vicious satisfaction. “You are interested.”

Yes. Yes. Yes. Blood dripped into the glass, spattering the sides. It welled up bright, fresh red in the crook of Vegas’s arm. Pete was so hungry.

“Should I ask what you’ll give me for it?” Vegas asked. His voice was casual, just the slightest edge of mockery on it. 

“Nothing,” Pete croaked. 

“Mm,” Vegas said. “Stubborn.” There was a finger’s width of blood in the glass now. Vegas’s eyes were fixed on Pete, nailing him to the floor. 

“I don’t want it,” Pete lied. Vegas laughed.

“That’s weak,” he said. “You don’t really expect me to believe it, do you? I know you’re hungry. I can see it. If you got loose right now would you even be able to stop yourself from draining me?”

Maybe. Pete had good self control. It felt shaky right now, though. 

Vegas bent and straightened his arm, refreshing the flow of blood. The smell was stronger now, brighter. Pete wondered how it would taste. He’d never had blood like this, almost straight from the vein. And Vegas just watched him with that smug, vicious little smile. 

“Look at you,” he said. “Good Pete, Tankhun’s loyal little dog, and when it comes down to it you’re just another blood-addicted animal.”

Shame washed through Pete but it couldn’t get much of a purchase when it was set against the hunger, mindless and terrible. He could feel himself starting to tremble with it.

Vegas set down the glass and picked up the towel, pressing it to the wound he’d made. He held it there, eyes still on Pete. Pete’s hands curled into fists and he had to focus to relax them. 

When Vegas pulled the towel away the bleeding had slowed to a trickle. He picked up the glass and swirled the blood inside around like it was wine, then pushed himself to his feet and sauntered over to Pete. The smell of blood got even stronger and Pete just managed to keep himself from lunging toward it. 

“Here,” Vegas said, voice low. “Let me give you a taste.”

Pete should have said no. Should have tried to resist. It was almost a relief that there wasn’t much he could do to stop Vegas from putting the glass to his mouth and tipping it, blood lapping at his dry, cracked lips, still warm. Pete’s eyes rolled back in his head at the first taste, and he didn’t know if the intensity was for how long he’d gone without or because of how fresh the blood was. 

Then blood filled his mouth too fast and he was choking, his head jerking back so it spilled down his chin and over his chest, dripping onto the floor. The glass pulled away and Pete let out an involuntary sound of loss before he could bite it back, his mouth and nose still full of the smell of taste and smell. 

There was a strange mix of expressions on Vegas’s face: satisfaction and scorn and a touch of disgust. 

“What a mess,” he said. “Look at all that wasted blood.” Pete stared at him, dizzy and embarrassed and furious. And still hungry, appetite barely touched by the little he’d managed to swallow.

“Still,” Vegas said after a couple seconds of silence. “Maybe we’ll do this again later. If you’re good.”

Then Pete was alone again. The blood itched as it dried.

[gent-ly]

i have been chasing this idea around my own head of alpha pete, handcuffed and chained up in the safe house, who has been on a strict diet of meds (as per bodyguard protocol) suddenly coming off them because, you know, he’s being held by savage attention-starved omega vegas, and uh-oh here comes his rut.

but also, vegas’ father has kept him on all the suppressants/blockers/whatevers you can name because god forbid anyone know his son is an omega (everyone knows). except being that drugged up is not good for you. the bodyguards take that shit to regulate, to control - not in an attempt to stop ruts/heats. but no. vegas’ father doesn’t want him going into heat at all. how shameful. suppressants don’t stop heats though. just make them regular and more bearable…. but vegas has to keep taking the meds through them and that fucks with them, fucks with his health, too.

so pete’s maybe about to barrel headfirst into a rut. and that’s maybe gonna trigger vegas’ heat.

imagine: vegas keeps him handcuffed and chained up, stretched out on the bed and fucks himself on pete’s knot over and over and over. and pete is helpless and hungry but he can’t move - can only take whatever the omega gives him. over and over and over.

“Don’t,” Pete says, it’s a request. Not a demand. “Don’t take them. Vegas, it’s going to make you sick.”

Vegas is looking at the pills in his hand and back at Pete - a wild look in his eyes. “What does it matter to you? It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

“I’m giving you a choice.”

“Why?”

“Because… It’s the right thing to do. Let your heat come and I’ll help you through it.”

“Like I’ll help you through your rut?” Vegas sneers but he’s leering at Pete’s handcuffed wrists and cut chest.

Pete looks up at him from where he’s sat on the floor at the end of the bed. He’s burning beneath his skin and Vegas is right there - close enough to touch if he weren’t bound up. Pete’s teeth are on edge. The urge to bite is always unwelcome but to be bitten… If Vegas wanted to tear a chunk out of his shoulder he doesn’t think he’d mind.

He thinks Vegas might be the only omega who’d be willing to put him in his place. And he thinks he may be the only alpha willing to give Vegas what he wants: submission.

this idea is cooking in my head. non-traditional a/b/o dynamics, shitty fathers and rejection of secondary gender roles. yyeeeah.

[onstoryladders]

it's just so special to me when like a character is a massive loser and yet they get someone who falls head over heels for them. like yeah boy pull some bitches with your weak-ass game and cringefail demeanor

[northsonic]

[winvegas]

[iwantoceans]

yes & no by Natalie Wee

(inspired by @kissporsche saying these lines reminded them of vegaspete)

[fanfictionroxs]

Evil straight men in fiction are boring. I mean, there's nothing new about them. They're everywhere in real life too so like.. where's the fun in that? Evil gay men on the other hand? ohohoho chef's KISS. Let me see you with that homoerotic tension with your enemy. Watch me cheer as you try to kill him, but then turn around and murder anyone who lays a hand on him. Yeah you attic husband the shit out of him you crazy bastard you! Basically, watching men being toxic towards each other is far more fun than watching men being toxic towards women because the former is the perfect package of horny + true love + evil cat while the latter is just... reality. If I wanted reality, WHY would I even be here lol

[thisautistic]

for @vegasandhishedgehog

[answermywearyquery]

happy vegaspete day!

[mrs-apocalypse]

Please stop posting on AO3 with “I need help finding this fic…” works. I’m seeing this a worrying amount and I fear that it’s due to a very modernized social media view of how AO3 works. Archive of Our Own is an ARCHIVE, not a search engine. You can go on Tumblr, Instagram, TikTok, etc for help finding a fic, but AO3 is intended specifically for fanfiction and fanfiction ONLY. Not only is it against policy, but it is also frustrating to people searching through tags only to find several slots filled with fic searches.

[guzhufuren]

VegasPete + text posts (pt. 100/100)

bonus:

[laurenkmyers]

bl boys + bathed in bisexual lighting.

[porschesbabydaddy]

Vegaspete are the high school emo couple that are always nuzzling each other and sitting on each other’s laps. Pete wears a collar and barks at people.

Kinnporsche are the on again off again It Couple who have to be physically separated to keep from getting x rated in the hallways.

Kimchay are the couple that no one knew was dating until they announce their engagement like 2 years after graduation

[northsonic]

I love a good ship that has tried to kill each other at least once or have at least thought about it .

[winvegas]

[thitiponqs]

did you mean: your cuppycake snookum-wookums ↳ @pscentral event 24: team tools: camera raw & noise filters / gradient maps / channel mixer ↳ @pscentral​ anniversary event: take two 2.0: antagonists ↳ @asiandramanet bingo: character profile [inspo: ★ ☆ ★ ☆ ★] [cr: google + iphone templates by @cal-kestis | playlist template by @danesdehaan]