#I know rhis is the end of their game but bear with me just a liiiiitttleeee longer

[millenniumdueled]

Endgame

Yugi can only stare, confused, exasperated, doubtful, as Bakura leans over the table, rubbing his chin and humming to himself as he assesses the board.

"Hmm, I see... Well the odds are a bit against you. But that doesn't mean you've lost yet," Bakura says to Yugi. Yugi just stares. "Do you hear me, Duke? In just a few more turns, Yugi will be the one to win this little game of yours."

"I don't know how you got in here, but there's no way Ryuji can lose!!" shouts the clown.

Duke just laughs. "You two are both crazy!! But. Don't you go helping him. This is our game, Bakura."

"Oh I wouldn't dream of it! Yugi solved the Millennium Puzzle, he doesn't need my help to see the one, obvious path to victory."

But he doesn't see it. Yugi directs his attention back to the board game, but he just can't see a way to win. The next turn has him on the run, and the next sees him down to his last life point. He squeezes his eyes shut, clenches a fist against the table.

The sound of metal against metal draws his attention, and Yugi opens his eyes to see that clown take the Puzzle from its place on the table to hand to his son. Duke smirks.

"One more turn, Yugi. One more turn, and this is mine."

"Solve it! Solve it Ryuji, show him who the true King of Games is!!!" the clown laughs hysterically.

Click. Clack. The first few pieces go together smoothly, fitting and locking together under Duke's fingers. Bakura crosses his arms, but his own sinister grin shows no sign of wavering.

"Haven't we been through this? You haven't won. And only Yugi can solve that Puzzle," he warns.

Yugi turns to Bakura, once again wearing a look of shock. Returns his attention to the game. But how? How can he possibly win? What is this glaringly obvious solution Bakura keeps babbling on about?

As he scours the board and his dice pool for an answer, he hears a frustrated growl from Duke. Glances up to see the man beginning to struggle, popping a piece back out and turning it over to try again.

"I'm beginning to feel like a broken record. Only Yugi can make those pieces fit and solve the Puzzle."

Yugi looks down at the board again. Puzzle.  Like pieces of a Puzzle, fitting together...

He gasps when he sees it. A small, abnormally shaped space with just enough room to unfold one last dice, to summon one last monster. He has no choice but to try it.

A pair of summoning crests, and the dice unfolds, perfectly filling the available space.

And just like that, it's over. The monster seems weak, but its special ability brings the game to an end in Yugi's next turn. Duke can only stare in disbelief as Yugi's dungeon master, armed with his new monster as a sword, strikes his final life point. His hands go still, gently setting down the Puzzle piece they had been worrying with.

Bakura laughs wickedly as the clown lets out a cry of despair.

Is it really over? Even as the light fades from Duke's remaining life point, Yugi can't quite relax. He watches the realization spread across his opponent's face, but there's no victory cry, no celebration quite yet.

"I was so close. The Millennium Puzzle was supposed to be mine," Duke utters.

"duke... i didn't win because i want the power of the puzzle. i didn't win because i want some title."

"Then what?! What were you fighting for?!"

"i just... want to see my other me again. that's what i wished for. just to be with him again..."

Duke looks away. He can't understand what "Other Self" Yugi is talking about. But he can understand that he's lost. And there's no use in being a sore loser. "Okay..." he sighs. "Okay. Yeah. A promise is a promise, the Puzzle is yours."

Yugi starts to get up, but he's stopped by Bakura's hand on his shoulder. "You must be tired, stay there. I'll get your treasure for you." He's doubtful, but Yugi doesn't argue as Bakura walks over to scoop up the pieces from in front of Duke. He does, however, watch him carefully.

Once the Puzzle and all its pieces are in hand, Yugi is finally able to release some of the tension wound tight in his muscles. But he knows he can't fully relax until it's assembled again, until his Other Self is back where he belongs, inside his heart.

It took him eight years to solve before.

He doesn't care if it takes another eight.

(( once again Y. Bakura written with the help and blessing of @ryouterring he is not my blorbo I'm just borrowing him ))

#ooc #plot #DDM #part 5 #/7 #I know rhis is the end of their game but bear with me just a liiiiitttleeee longer #the next parts are #v good #especially the last one #we're almost there fam #this**

[disaster-dan]

For Your Sake

Happy gift to @sticklerforstarker, I hope you enjoy this Rhi!! I barely posted this do not worry it is here!! This was for the @starkersecretsanta and wow this was a joy to be part of <3 Await a moodboard because I say so <3

Warnings: violence, implied non-con, age difference, underage Peter

Words: 3k

Things were just better- by a cinch. Peter no longer struggled as much. He fussed, whined, but it all leads to one thing: his submission.

Peter stopped struggling not because he had finally fallen or grown to willingly submit to the man. God, never. Peter stopped struggling when he accepted the fact that his fights and protests  were useless. Fighting always ended up with bruises, too hard bites, hands tied, face pushed into the mattress as Tony roughly fucked his ass and the stinging pain lasted days. So he gave up struggling. That way Tony was sweeter on him, took his time (or didn’t) when preparing him, actually using lube, touching him and forcing him to at least go through an orgasm.

Peter know what to do when he found himself on the man’s bed. Undress, lay back and spread his legs and jerk himself in the process. Or when Tony wanted him on fours- on his knees, ass in the air, face and shoulders on the mattress and beautifully arched. Tony liked that better.

Peter was past the phase of trying to escape. It was no use just like struggling was. It led him nowhere. It led him somewhere worse. Peter was already surrounded by enough dangers in the claws of Tony Stark. Getting a gun shot right next to his temple as a lesson from his last attempt to escape, Peter swore to never be the cause of his own death.

“P-papi?” One of the few (not few) rules Peter had to comply when he was with Tony, calling him those names. ‘Daddy’ was one of them, ‘Tony’ if the billionaire was in a good mood. ‘Papi’ was common.

“Yes, baby?” Tony responded, a voice so soothing. A voice that belonged to a man with a corrupted heart and mind. A man that had no soul. A damn monster.

Peter breathed in deeply and closed his eyes. He was held by Tony in a spooning position, Peter’s slimmer frame was well held over by the older man. He prayed he didn’t upset Tony. Because upsetting Tony was bad. And Peter didn’t want to be bad when he knew what that entailed.

“Baby, what do you want to say?” Tony asked, demanding his words.

Peter didn’t shift to look at him. He stared ahead, eyes on the edge of the bed.

“Are you going to do it?”

“What, baby?”

“It.”

“I don’t like playing these games, Peter.” Tony suddenly tightened his hold around Peter’s waist, making the boy gasp. “What?”

“Ar-are you going to k-kill me?” Peter whispered, trying to remember how to breathe and feeling his heart on his throat.

Tony stopped breathing for a moment. His mind went blank at the question and froze.

Are you going to kill me?

The words buzzed inside Tony’s head like a mantra, chanting and echoing. He had almost forgotten. The promise he had made Peter, before he made Peter his he had already put a death brand on him. It was a threat, a threat that Tony’s lips spilled as a promise. A swearing. An oath.

You’re nobody’s but mine. And if you think you can go cry out for help, just know that you’re already dead.

‘After I’m done with you, I’m going to dump your whore body in a river. Just like I did with your uncle.’

Peter nervously awaited a response and he didn’t feel the goosebumps roam along his skin. His brows knitted deeply worried, because Tony might kill him right there and then like he said but the thought of it just shook the sanity Peter was just barely grasping. Maybe Tony was waiting for Peter to lose it? It’s been a few well months since Peter had been slept without a nightmare chasing him, and every time they just got worse. And he had fallen to accept his fate, sane people kept fighting. Right?

When was the last time he saw his school grades?

Tony doesn’t have to say anything before he feels Peter tremble under his arm and comes to realize the boy is crying. Tony can tell he’s trying to keep himself quiet and it hurts him to hear the sobs that choke end at his throat. The way they lay, Peter is pressed against Tony’s chest, facing away. Tony could just barely see his eyes red and the heavy sad tears flowing down from his eyes. Too pretty eyes. Eyes they shouldn’t be crying. Eyes Tony has made cry many times before. It feels different this time, seeing those tears. And it isn’t a good different.

Peter’s pale shoulders linger with hickies and bite marks, his arms bruised by the man’s strong hand grips. And Tony likes looking at what he leaves behind.

Tony doesn’t say anything as he raised a hand and runs his fingers along the marked skin, making Peter further coil into himself, trying to suppress his wrenched cries. They’re swallowed sobs and sniffing now, but it still hurts.

Peter ultimately falls asleep, his face is red, the pillow under his head has a small damp spot from his tears and Tony loves watching him breathe soundly. He hates himself knowing he got to that point in the first place. Tony wasn’t supposed to care or feel anything for his boy. That was not at all what he intended. Peter wasn’t supposed to somebody, he was supposed to be a bait, a hostage, a toy. And not even Happy, Tony’s best worker, was able to warn him about a potential catch.

Tony Stark didn’t feel anything, feelings in his type of field was only a threat. Men in the field had their own things to watch after, Tony specially bore down on no families, no lovers, no special people, having someone with that type of importance could be used against the person, leverage. Tony had not intended to suddenly care for the boy he only used to fuck down on and occasionally show him off.

He sat Peter on his lap during meetings, often he cooed him at the other man, booming on the skills of his perfect body and mouth. Peter just sat quietly, patient, tried not to flinch when Tony suddenly gripped his jaw or gripped his groin to play with. He behaved. Tony enjoyed.

Tony didn’t do anything with Peter’s sleeping form but admire for a few moments longer, pale smooth skin, marked, beautiful, delicate. Tony was well aware of his youth, that only drew him closer. Happy snapped at him about not the fact of Peter being a hostage (he could care less), but on the fact that Peter was a fucking minor. The search for him would be berserk for months. Tony didn’t give a flying shit, Peter was his, he owned Peter, no witty-ill cop would be able to even go near them. Tony Stark was who Tony Stark was, everyone knew that.

It was well past ten, Tony had to run a few check ups that day, it would be packed. Usually he left Peter in his room. Even alone Peter couldn’t escape, he proved it himself. But a few hours alone in that room he would not mind, just as long as he didn’t have to bear with Stark’s claws on him for a while. Just a while. Food was brought to him, he had the TV with every streaming service he could think of, a nice bathroom within the room, a window that no way in hell opened. He didn’t mind being inside that room. He minded it once Stark stepped inside.

Tony didn’t wake Peter. He carefully pulled himself from the expensive covers and bed and went ahead to get dressed. Expensive suit, expensive ties and shoes, entirely finished with his shades, Jarvis offering him a British robotic Good Morning, Sir.

Tony through the day couldn’t buzz off Peter’s question. Would he kill him? When would he kill him? How would he kill him? Would he even kill him?

“These two were seen contacting outside dealers from our circle, Sir.”

“Send the Red Squad to see what that was about. Contact Barnes, make their bodies disappear.”

Tony had a way or two of going about things.

“Romanoff’s report is here.”

“Results?”

“Pictures of dismembered bodies, she’s left in a hard drive and-” the man slightly flinched back and Happy rolled his eyes. “She left you the ring finger, Sir. With the ring.”

“Send the woman a gift, I don’t care what.”

It was hours of that, in different locations. His phone vibrates with his butler sending him updates on Peter, Tony too had a recording cam in there. He liked rewatching certain nights. The angle was spectacular.

But his butler called and Tony sighed.

“We talked about Peter acting up.” He snarled to the air, his glasses technically were a phone.

“Yes, Mr. Stark. I’m aware. But that is not the issue. He is not acting up.”

“What is this call for?”

“He is not eating, Sir.”

“Why isn’t he?”

“Not sure, Sir. He has not been doing much.”

Tony waved away a worker and his eyebrows bore down. “Has he picked up the phone?”

“Had not even looked at it.”

Tony hung up and again a heavy feeling settled on his chest. Fuck not again. Tony breathed in deeply and sat back on his seat. This kid was waiting to get killed, or kill himself. And Tony didn’t like that it bothered him.

Before Happy could draw him from his thoughts, Tony snapped his fingers and everyone drew their attention.

“Okay. Put this on hold. Everyone else do what does not need my assistance and the roles I gave.”

“Tony?”

“Take me home, Happy I have to do something.”

Tony might be regretting what he was going to do. But it might just be the trick. He was not surprised when he found Peter curled into himself, seemingly showered and changed, eyes on the door nervously. He probably didn’t expect tony him to arrive that early. It was still two in the afternoon. Tony usually got home by nine, earliest.

Tony settled on the doorway, composed patiently and threatening as ever it made Peter rigid and mouth drain. He hated the past few months. He had seen hell. He had seen it all. And that face had burned into his mind.

“Get ready.”

“Is there a meeting?” Peter asked, as tony expected him to dress in certain attire for those meetings. He hated it.

“Just pull on a jacket, come on.” He walked over and Peter by then learned how to not react and Tony kissed him. He was pliant and didn’t pull away until Tony had done so first. “We got things to do, Happy’s waiting.”

In the car, Peter forced his muscles to relax when Tony pulled him close next to him, a strong arm around him and weapon hidden under the treasure of clothes. Tony didn’t seem upset, he wasn’t unbuckling his pants for Peter to please him while they arrived to their destination. It was the worst thing, specially when Tony was on the phone as if Peter wasn’t there or when Tony had those very important guests. He still remembers the satisfaction both men, Tony and Steve Rogers, shared as they watched Peter nearly choke on the thick member and chin dripping with spit and release. Tony’s glasses were also recording to make it worse.

Tony chattered, Peter had to fill in conversation and not upset him. Because that was bad.

“So that is taken care of. What do you think Romanoff would like?”

“I don’t know. Maybe like a nice necklace?”

“Probably something that's been in an exhibit would be nice. That woman is the definition of mystery.” To which Peter quietly nodded in agreement. His eyes downcast. Maybe that was the day Tony pressed a gun to his head. “Steve and Bucky are invited to dinner next week and you’ll meet their own boy, did I mention they have their own now?”

Great. Another missing person.

“I didn’t know.”

Minutes later, Happy is pulling up to a sign Peter had not seen for what felt like years. It was a fucking McDonald’s.

Peter looked back and forth from McDonald’s, Happy and Tony, all the way around. Happy was no help and Tony wasn’t giving him any clue. Was Tony really going to shoot up a McDonald’s? Business? There?

“We’re here.” He said. And the face that beamed on Peter’s sorrow face Tony wishes he could see it all the time. Actual color came to his face and genuine expression made his brown bright eyes go wide. God, he looked like when Tony was younger and excited over his father’s tricks. Peter just looked like a literal child excited over fucking McDonald’s. Peter hardly felt his legs as Tony and him walked to the doors. And the warm air that hit his face and the scent of grease and nuggets and fries was what Peter felt was heaven in hell.

There were people around Peter, kids, women, men, teens, all of which Peter could run to for help and watch as Tony’s men wipe them all out of their lives. He instinctively closed into Tony’s side. In line his eyes scanned the top menu like it was treasure and his mouth just couldn’t stay closed. Tony’s mouth quirked a small smirk at Peter and then he came up to the counter.

“Cheeseburger meal. Pull the onions.” He said very straight forward. His stature didn’t fail to make someone’s hands tremble. The young lady at the counter nodded without a word and clicked into the screen with shaky fingers. Peter didn’t even notice his turn until Tony’s gentle hand nudged him . The room spun.

“I uh...twenty piece meal.” he said quickly. “And...and a…” Peter looked at Tony astonished and filled with wonder. “Daddy?” he whispered quietly enough for only Tony’s ears. Was Tony really letting him?

“Go on. I don’t order your meals.”

Peter quickly nodded and lowered his eyes from the girl. “A big mac.”

Suddenly Peter didn’t feel trapped in that moment. And Tony noticed by the small shine in his eyes as they sat down and waited for their order. It was a long time since Tony had seen that look. It lessened the weight in his chest.

Tony actually got him McDonald’s. And Peter was outside. What happened? Whatever it was, Peter was extremely glad for that. Maybe Tony killed someone important and was in a good mood. Right? Peter thanked whoever or whatever it was which was a horrible thing to be grateful for. Peter munched down on his meal with delight, responding to Tony’s chat with the utmost respect he could offer that day.

“How are the fries?”

“Amazing.” Muttered with food Peter, nearly making Tony roll his eyes because his chefs cooked things a thousand times more delicious than fries. Tony grinned with pleasure regardless. But Peter slowly raised his eyes and spoke shyly. “Did you like your cheeseburger, D-daddy?”

“Cheeseburger a cheeseburger. I enjoyed it, baby. Thank you for asking.”

A moment later, Peter had finished the last nugget, sharing thoughtfully with his captor and both downed their drinks. It was time well spent and Peter couldn't help but be grateful for once. He forgot the question that nailed the sane nerve in his mind. A moment later, Tony was directing them into the car and Peter sighed sadly when he slipped back into his seat. It was a good hour while it lasted. Now home to please Tony in ways he didn’t want to please him. Damn.

“Happy I’ve got another location.” Tony’s voice boomed, and Peter settled himself back under Tony’s arm. He looked with longing at the restaurant, again an invisible rope around his neck and fuck he really did not want to cry.

“Where to, Boss?”

“Central Park.” To which Peter and Happy both looked at him with shock. Happy through the rearview mirror and Peter turning to face him. Tony shrugged at both of them. “Drive.”

“Boss.”

“I didn’t stutter, Happy.”

“You’ve got an entire hostage in the car.”

“And I’m a billionaire mafia king. Drive.”

Fifteen minutes and the beautiful social park came into the car’s windows and Peter wanted to scream in delight. He wanted to cry. To laugh. The park.

“Happy you got my back.”

“Always.” Tony opened the door and slid himself out. Peter stayed in place, staring at the view beyond the car. Wow.  “We don’t have all day. Get out.”

“Yes, Papi.” Peter hurried and without ease slid himself out and right close to Tony, as taught. Tony slipped his shades on and waved at Happy. And then they walked. And oh god Peter was stepping on grass. Grass. And the sun was hitting his face and it wasn’t the warmest season yet there was still leaves falling but what the hell the free wind blew his curls and made him inhale deeply. There were people with dogs, their kids, lovers, there were squirrels damn it. Squirrels.

“Oh my god.” Peter breathed and Tony looked at him, muscles pulling a slight smile on his handsome face.

“Wanna go play in the leaves, bambino?”

Peter looked at him, nearly tripping over his own feet.

“Can I?”

Tony kissed him again and Peter pressed himself close.

Anything you want. “Of course.”

They walked a bit longer until they found a place far enough from the public eye and with leaves of different shades everywhere. Tony was a grown man, he didn’t have time or energy to roll around in the damn leaves. He sat by a bench, the silent gun pressing into his thigh and Peter followed as well, uneasy and excited.

“Daddy-”

“Go play.” Tony said, sitting back carelessly. “We’ll be here a while and chef’s got a disciple meal going we need the appetite for.”

Peter nodded and to Tony’s nod, he made his way to the grass and laughed to himself.

He picked the leaves with his hands and let them fall. He picked them up again and he admires the lines and creases and their colors before throwing them in the air. He felt - nice. Tony watched calmly, watched the blush in Peter’s face heat up and the unconscious grin on his face. His hair managed to catch a leaf or two, his eyes nearly glowed. If Tony didn’t know any better, Peter looked ...happy.

He smiled and giggled to himself as he continued to pick up the leaves and fly them about.

Tony didn’t like feeling. He shouldn’t be feeling in the first place. Now here was, heart picked by thorns and about to explode. This feeling he wished he could stop, even if it meant for a wide metal rod protecting the entirety of his heart. Fuck. For Peter. He had entirely forgotten he was going to kill him and the deed sounded despicable and impossible now. He couldn’t just kill Peter. He wouldn’t either. If he had meant it, Peter’s body would be somewhere and gone for good. But Peter was not gone, Peter was alive and well and every night on his bed and served to his every need.

He almost regret having even captured Peter in the first place. Peter free was all shy bright smiles and blushed cheeks.

Peter’s audible laugh ripped Tony from his crisis and the man smiled warmly.

Peter. Peter was alive and well. Nobody else had to know that.

Peter was his, and that was all that mattered. 

@sticklerforstarker <3

#starker #tony stark #peter parker #mafia au #starker secret santa