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catsandgoodbooks · 5 months

Text

Rating: Mature

Archive Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Category: M/M

Fandom: Dream SMP

Relationships: Alexis | Quackity/Clay | Dream, Alexis | Quackity & Clay | Dream

Characters: Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Alexis | Quackity

Oh wow I actually managed to write something. I came up with the Vegas Wedding AU how many months ago?

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TW/CWs: Forced marriage, implied/referenced torture, fear

Dream sat still and tried not to breathe. (Maybe if he didn’t make any sound, didn’t even breathe, then Quackity might not notice him, might not pay him attention, and maybe he might not get hurt) Quackity was doing his hair up and he wanted to make it as easy as possible for his soon-to-be-husband. (He didn’t want to get hurt or yelled at or anything else, because he knew Quackity wouldn't fucking hesitate) He didn’t want to have to do this again. (He just wanted to get this over with)

Dream kept his eyes on the mirror in front of him, watching the pale reflection staring back at him. Delicate white lace cocooned his thin frame and covered every inch of bare skin (hiding scars and bony wrists and skeletal arms). His once-golden hair, a crown of pale roses woven into the pale locks, had faded almost to the same white as the lace and the gown he wore. The only splash of color was the bright, vibrant green of his eyes and the occasional freckle dotted across his ashen face.

Well, that was stupid. Dream had no right to complain about his current circumstances because he’d chosen these. It was the better option, and he’d jumped at the chance. And why shouldn’t he? He’d taken the deal and now he wasn’t getting tortured anymore. It was fine. He was better. He was out, for Prime’s sake! (So why was he still so scared, flinching away from every movement, sudden or not, panicking constantly and always losing control? Why was he still so afraid?)

Dream was out and, even if it wasn’t due to the best circumstances, he still didn’t have to pay too high of a price for it. It was fine. Marriage was just another contract, and not a very binding one at that.

(He’d thought about marriage before, even considered it a couple times [even tried once, even got up there on the altar once], but it had never been a high priority for him. He’d always thought he could deal with that sort of stuff after this was all over and everything was taken care of. Well, apparently not. Apparently, it was just a way to make sure he made it long enough to take care of it all, to resolve everything. Keep your eyes on the prize, Dream reminded himself. Remember what [who] you’re fighting for, you’re living [surviving] for)

Dream didn’t realize he was being spoken to until his hair was pulled back in one sharp jab and set all his nerves on fire. His heart raced as he was forcefully deposited back into reality. (At least it wasn't any worse) Fuck fuck fuck. He couldn’t do that (not right now).

“Do I have your attention now?” Quackity hissed, his face contorted into an expression of annoyance (well, at least it wasn’t rage this time). Dream nodded jerkily - he didn’t trust himself to speak right now. (He didn’t trust himself to not get hurt) “Good. I just want to let you know that if you do a single thing wrong tonight, step out of line even the littlest, you are completely fucked. I’m the only reason you’re alive right now and you better act like it.”

Dream bit back the instinctive, reflexive response rising within him. Sam would never let you kill me. It wasn’t a good idea to get Quackity upset right now (it was never a good idea to bring up the Warden). Even if he wasn’t the only reason Dream was alive, he was the only reason Dream was out here enjoying the fresh air rather than being trapped in a tiny bloodstained cell. Now more than ever, Dream was only getting by Quackity’s twisted amusement (not mercy; he would choke on his own blood before ever calling Quackity merciful) and the desire to use him as a tool, a weapon, a trophy, a symbol of Quackity's power and influence and what he could do to people. Whatever. This wasn’t anything new. Just show them what they want to see.

(When the server wanted him to be the villain, the tyrant, the puppeteer, he played that role. When they wanted him to be a defeated supervillain, he gave them what they wanted. When they wanted him to be a scared, desperate prisoner, he played that up. He could play the role of the nervous bride, the quiet wife. It wasn’t any different. Just another way to survive. He could handle it)

“Got that?” Quackity's mouth was a hair's breadth away from Dream's ear; his voice echoed within the other man's mind. Quackity still hadn't let go of his hair.

Dream nodded again. Just keep your mouth shut and you won’t get hurt, he repeated over and over again in his mind, his own personal mantra. (That hadn’t been true in the past but it might be here)

“Then you better act like it tonight,” Quackity snapped. “I’m not letting you mess this up.”

“Got it,” Dream muttered. He had to say something sometime (to show that he was still there, still under the other man’s thumb, still conscious and paying attention and able to suffer), and this wasn’t a bad time to get rid of that obligation. (He’d never liked obligations very much, and he absolutely could not risk them now)

“Good. I have a couple things to take care of, so I’m going to trust you to stay here and not try anything. You and I both know there’s no way for you to get out of here in one piece.” Of course Dream remembered. The snug ring of dark metal around his neck, concealed by the lacy high-necked collar of his wedding dress, wouldn’t let him ever forget. “So don’t even try. It’d just be a giant waste of time for both of us.”

This wasn’t news to Dream. Apparently, some of that irritation managed to creep its way onto his face, because Quackity laughed and finally let go of Dream's hair, one hand shifting downward to rest forcefully on his shoulder. “Oh, you already know that one. Good. Hopefully, you won’t have to make me repeat it. Because, while that might be a bit fun for me, I like my pets to follow my rules without constantly having to be reminded.”

Dream stomped down the quick flash of anger (rage, really; rage and disgust and soft animal fear) and bit back a scoff. Shut the fuck up. (He wasn’t sure if he was talking to Quackity or himself) Do you want to get hurt? No? Then sit there and take it. Don’t say anything about it. (Don’t prove him right) Quackity was watching him, Dream knew, looking for any trace of a reaction. Dream wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. He smoothed his face into an indifferent porcelain mask, not so different from his signature mask (that had been stolen from him; he wasn't sure if Quackity had destroyed it [or at least tried to] or if he had just taken it and hidden it somewhere Dream couldn't reach or if he put it on display up as a trophy in Las Nevadas).

"Of course." He could be nice, he could be polite, if it would keep him safe. (And it would; it had to) He kept his eyes on the mirror (on the ghost of who he once was).

"Then we're on the same page." Dream watched Quackity's eyes narrow in the mirror. "Oh, and don't push yourself too much, darling." The word was a curse and a threat and a promise and a reminder of what was to come, salt rubbed in an open wound, sickeningly sweet and just as ugly, because he knew. "I don't need you bleeding all over the place."

Dream would also like to avoid that as well, even if just because he didn't want to tear his old wounds open again and deal with the pain (and because it wouldn't just be old injuries it would be new ones too because Quackity wouldn't appreciate it if that happened), so he nodded. "I'll try," he conceded.

"You better do good fucking job of it," Quackity muttered. "But that's enough, Dream. I have things to do, people to meet...I can't waste all of my time here with you, y'know. You understand, right." His hand released Dream's shoulder just to wrap around a lock of pale hair and pull it tight. It didn't hurt, not yet. Dream didn't even think Quackity was aware of it, but the threat was still there, even unconsciously. Nothing that Quackity ever did to him was accidental, of course, but he knew how easily Quackity could get carried away. That was never a good thing for anyone involved, especially not Dream.

"Yes, sir." The words slipped out of his mouth without him even noticing; the phrase was old (promising an escape from pain, if only for a moment, intermixed with desperate, animalistic fear and burning humiliation that he had learned to ignore), instinctive (drilled into him through pain and fear and threats and even more pain), and it took Dream a moment to realize that he had even spoken.

A gold tooth flashed in the light as Quackity laughed. He let go of Dream's hair, though. "Oh, so you do remember! I was worried you had forgotten, pet. But keep that to a minimum tonight, will you? Might not be the greatest look out in public. After we're out of the public eye though..." Quackity traced Dream's jawline with one finger and Dream tried not to flinch. He didn't dare to move (at least it wasn't the knife yet). "Go straight ahead."

Suddenly, Quackity let go of Dream and clapped his hands. "But that's enough of that. It's time for me to get going, and for you to be a good dog and stay put. Don't fucking touch anything, or I'll have your hide, wedding or no."

Quackity stood up and walked to the door, Dream's eyes following his reflection in the mirror. At the last second, he turned back towards Dream. "Just stay in this room and don't break anything. It won't get you anywhere, so why even try? I'll come get you later."

Quackity opened the door and stepped through, closing the door behind him. Dream heard the click of the door locking.

And, just like that, Dream was alone.

#dsmp #c!dream #c!quackity #loud duo #fanfiction #my writing #vegas wedding au #tw forced wedding

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