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Gravity_Falls_Dipper_Pines_
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Published:
2022-03-22
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1/1
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Smother

Summary:

This time, Dipper's attempt to thwart Bill's evil schemes does not go to plan. In fact, the hand wrapped around his neck means it has gone very wrong.

That is, until Bill's touch grazes a different part of him. And somehow, it spins even further out of control from there.

Notes:

If you've seen me posting a lot in that other fandom and were worried I'd left billdip - don't be! I'm still writing them! In fact I'm actively trying not to write a Re-Animator AU of them, but that's just because I'm insane over those movies right now. I've got other stuff in the works (especially those two werewolf aus!), so just be patient, I'll come back :)
Especially w/ more of my usual "no plot just OMFB's random kink in a oneshot" fics. Promise.

On this fic in particular... idk man, I just like threatening vibes + scent kink stuff. I've seen a couple things about omegas being subdued via pressure on their necks/glands, and it's always the shit

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

Dipper’s gone and done it this time. He’s really in the doghouse now. Mabel’s going to be so disappointed in him.

 

If she isn’t completely horrified, that is.

 

And at what? What is it that Dipper has done? Well, only the very simple and too, too easy thing to do: pissed one Bill Cipher off enough to get him to shove Dipper up against a wall, several strong fingers wrapped tightly around his neck.

 

Yeah, he’s in for it.

 

And why? Because Bill has always been the fucking nutjob around here, always up to something (usually corrupt, typically dangerous, and always malicious). Most of the time, Dipper is able to catch him before he can inflict it on many others and is able to stop it without a problem. This is not one of those times. This time, Bill caught him. Right by the throat.

 

“What did I tell you,” Bill hisses, edging his words just loud enough over Dipper’s panting wheezes and slight whines. Oh, god, the whines, that’s embarrassing. He hasn’t heard one of those out of his own mouth since he was a kid. The one eye that Bill doesn’t keep covered up flashes. Oh, he’s so pissed. “About following me around, huh?”

 

Dipper does his best to glare back up at him in defiance, but he’s pretty sure he just looks like a dude getting choked out. He scrabbles uselessly at Bill’s steady grip and coughs in answer. That had to be rhetorical. Surely Bill doesn’t actually think he can talk like this, right?

 

In response, Bill’s fingertips dig into the sensitive flesh of Dipper’s neck, more claw and nail than anything really, and that’s when Dipper really starts freaking out. He can feel the edges of something almost sharp, pushing into him in a rather uncomfortable pressure. He knows how this can go, and if it’s going there, Dipper knows that Bill really won’t hold back. Even if they’re still technically on public property, they’re still isolated and he would certainly be able to get away with it. Both in the act and the aftermath. Unfortunately – both to admit, and for Dipper’s life expectancy – Bill is intelligent enough for it to be as easy as pie.

 

So, knowing that the claws are poised to come out, right into the vulnerable parts, Dipper’s flight or fight response kicks in for real. He starts scrabbling much harder now against Bill’s hand. He tries to hook his own into Bill’s unflinching hand, clawing at the back of it when he cannot tug it away from his neck. He lifts himself onto his tiptoes for more leverage as well, but neither of them do him any good. Nor does any of the distress scent that begins to truly pour out of him.

 

Another sign that Bill is just fucking nuts? He doesn’t react to the smell. At all.

 

It should be acrid and thick in the back of his throat, something heavy and overwhelming, something he cannot stand this close for more than a few seconds. It’s the kind of scent that gets picked up on immediately, that draws in others in a rush, and clings to things and clothes for a period afterward. It’s supposed to be one thing an omega can use to keep themselves safe from a violent alpha.

 

And yet. Nothing.

 

Apparently it doesn’t work on broken alphas – or maybe alphas that like it.

 

Dipper lets out another sound, this time less embarrassed by it and more desperate. It gets the exact same response as before: nothing.

 

Instead, Bill only steps closer, slamming his other hand against the wall, just an inch from Dipper’s head. Dipper flinches, then cringes at how the movement causes Bill’s nails to dig even harsher into his flesh. As he steps in closer, Bill’s leg presses against Dipper, further pinning him to the wall. He leans into Dipper’s space to growl into Dipper ear, “I think, Pine Tree, that you need a reminder,” Bill’s teeth – outright fangs now – snap together in frustration before he continues, “Of what exactly… I am capable of doing to you if you don’t mind yourself and behave.”

 

And his nails do start to dig in, and Dipper’s whine pitches into a high keen, and then the nails move, slipping, and –

 

They graze against Dipper’s scent gland, sharp and fast. Definitely an accident, but –

 

Dipper still reacts to it. A quite noticeable reaction.

 

Out comes an even louder high pitched sound of sorts, practically a shriek or a cut short scream. One that he can’t even cover his mouth for, stuck as he is. It comes out of him and Dipper screws his eyes shut, lest the embarrassment and fear become tears that would otherwise threaten to spill over. He flails even more, pulling and tugging just as ineffectively as before, as hot and cold flood his veins in equal measure. This cannot be happening. No. No, no, no, this is worse than being clawed open. At least when he’s scared, he doesn’t have to feel that –

 

The really unfortunate thing, Dipper realizes all at once, is that his uptick in movement is countered with Bill’s sudden stillness. It’s clear that he wasn’t expecting that either.

 

And the most unfortunate part of that is that it’s just as clear that he knows exactly what kind of reaction Dipper just had to Bill’s touch on his scent gland.

 

“Well,” Bill says, because Dipper can’t say anything (and even if he could, he definitely wouldn’t). At first, he sounds… shocked, too. But it quickly shifts to amusement and dark, dark calculation. “Well, now what do we have here?”

 

Dipper makes some kind of garbled sound (some broken, unformed words that even he doesn’t know what were meant to become). He tries to claw again at Bill’s unmoving hand or shake his head. Neither work. Bill’s hold on him only… slides further down. Directly over Dipper’s scent gland.

 

No!

 

Dipper twitches, pushing onto the balls of his feet, but it does him no good. He cannot move away from the slight pressure on that spot on his neck, nor free himself from Bill’s grasp. He isn’t able to keep down the way he gasps, either. That and its subsequent exhale are both shivery, wet.

 

“Y’know, kid,” Bill drawls, slow and almost bored sounding if it weren’t for the gravity that weighs in the attention he has focused solely on Dipper. There’s a heaviness to it, an all-consuming black hole pulling from under the words. His hands, too, make transparent his interest, with how his thumb begins to draw uneven circles into the gland. Occasionally, he presses in harder for just a second, forcing little choked half-words from Dipper’s trembling lips.

 

Between these sounds, Bill continues. “You had quite the reaction just from a little graze there. You’re sensitive, aren’t you?” Maybe Dipper is, maybe he can’t even swear scarves or high collared shirts because of it, but that’s none of Bill’s business. “It gives me a better idea on how to get this through that thick head of yours.”

 

He presses in again, harder now than any moment before. Dipper’s voice cracks on the yelp he lets out. It makes Bill chuckle, and the breath of it makes Dipper’s hair flutter, and his skin crawl. He shudders, just as much as his toes curl and his fingers, still clinging to Bill’s hand, flex, twitchy.

 

As if that was all the answer he needed, Bill huffs. It sounds amused.

 

“Thought so. Makes sense, what with how high strung you are…” The hand that was previously beside Dipper’s head comes down to the other side of his neck. Gasping, Dipper reaches for this one as well, but he knows he’s too weak to fight it off either. He holds onto it like a lifeline, an anchor, instead. And now, with both hands, Bill rubs into each gland on either side of Dipper’s neck.

 

Out comes another keening whimper, but this time, the sound doesn’t sound so fearful.

 

Dipper’s knees shake and he realizes just how weak they feel. Alongside that realization is a strange sort of fog that begins to build up behind his eyes. His eyesight blurs and all his thoughts get develop a fuzz around the edges, softening. Like stepping into a warm bath, all that once everything gets… easier.

 

“That’s it, kid, melt into it…”

 

So, Dipper does.

 

It feels… kind of nice. Okay, it feels really nice. Bill’s fingers massage Dipper’s skin, strong pressure that has Dipper’s eyelids sliding shut. With the continued touch, Bill’s own scent is mixed into Dipper’s glands, triggering that soothing hormone or whatever it is that goes on with scent reactions. It has Dipper sagging against the wall, tension flooding out of him in a rush. There’s something about the feeling, something weird, off, but Dipper doesn’t know what it is. All he knows is he can’t really think, and it’s just so nice like this. He feels almost… safe.

 

Content.

 

Yet, it prods at the back of his mind, that something telling him that he shouldn’t be – not content, but wary, distrustful. But every time it threatens to crop up and disclose the why he should feel those things, Bill presses in especially firm and it disappears as Dipper loses himself to another wave of sheer bliss. It gets smaller with each one, until he forgets just what it was that was trying to distract him from the very second of this wonderful present.

 

What he does notice, however, is the vibrations he can feel on his throat. Like he’s making some sound. He thinks he might be making some kind of purring sound, but he couldn’t be certain. That’s probably wishful thinking anyway, because even though he feels really, really good right now, he’s only ever been able to do that a few times…

 

It's the ultimate omega sign of true pleasure. It’s a rather uncommon sight to behold. The safety and contentment he’s feeling right now would have to be at a pinnacle to mean he’s purring.

 

So, purring or no, he definitely finds himself pushing up and into Bill’s hands. Especially as his legs start to turn to jello and he needs the physical support to keep him up. Without words, Bill seems to understand what he’s looking for and nudges his leg between Dipper’s own. It further pins Dipper to the wall but allows him to fall onto Bill’s thigh and be held up. In response, Dipper’s own legs, weak as they are, cling around it happily.

 

Bill starts to talk again – or maybe has been this whole time, without Dipper registering it until this moment, “… can be a good boy. It just takes a firm hand with you, is all.” He snorts at his own comment and Dipper tries experimentally shifting downwards against Bill’s warm, solid leg. Oh, that feels good. Bill doesn’t notice, only carrying on with his own amusements, “The Pine Tree’s a brat! Shocker.”

 

Dipper doesn’t know if Bill’s talking to him or not – he heard his name, his alpha’s name for him, but he doesn’t know how much of that was specially aimed for him. It could have just been Bill talking aloud to himself, as he is known to do. Dipper only caught bits of it anyway.

 

Except, as if sensing Dipper’s apathy for his sass and sarcasm, Bill shifts his face so he now has his mouth pressed directly against Dipper’s ear. Dipper trembles, perhaps another high sound escaping from him at the touch, at the knowledge that he is being forced to hear these next words, that they were meant for him. Each syllable from them scrapes sharp, pointy teeth over the delicate skin there and Dipper is caught – stuck between freezing in place and wanting to squirm away from the feeling.

 

“I could do anything I wanted to you right now.”

 

The fingers on his neck rearrange into hands, circling tight around his windpipe rather than his scent glands. They squeeze and Dipper can’t breathe. “I could do this to you at any time I like. But now, with you like this, I could rip your throat out and you would let me.”

 

Somewhere, in his shaking, in his twisting, Dipper nods. He must. He feels his head move like he does. He doesn’t know if that was him, or if Bill has somehow moved his head for him. It doesn’t really matter, what with the end result.

 

“I bet you would even just lean back and ask me to bite you.”

 

And he does – bite Dipper.

 

Just on the ear. A quick nip before he’s pulling away. Completely. Before he completely pulls away, leaving Dipper bereft.

 

Dipper opens his eyes when he suddenly loses balance, having to grasp at the wall behind him before he falls. His chest heaves, every sudden breath feeling too big, too full. Over and over. In and out, and yet he gets no air. He still can’t breathe, even without Bill’s hands on him.

 

As for Bill himself, he just stares. There’s a long moment of him taking in Dipper’s scrambling and mused appearance like it’s some kind of joke to him. Like just funny and nothing else. When he catches Dipper looking his way, he smirks – something cruel and twisted to show off his teeth. Any amusement Dipper had assumed from him melts away in a flash to reveal distinct… irritation.

 

“Keep that in mind, wouldn’t ya, Pine Tree?” Bill may be trying to play the unaffected card, but something bitter carries his tone. He takes another step back and Dipper hates the way he already misses Bill’s body heat on him. “Wouldn’t want to have to remind you again.”

 

Dipper shivers, and he’s still loopy, out of it, but he feels somehow, like this… bad. Bad for him. For them both. Bad in a way more than how he just wants Bill back all over him. That voice in the back of his head is starting to speak up again and now he can almost make out the words.

 

Unable – and still fuzzy-brained enough to be unwilling – Dipper doesn’t reply. With one hand, he only reaches up to gingerly touch at one of the now swollen bumps at the base of his neck. He winces as it sends a pain-pleasure ripple sensation through him. Bill’s not-quite-grin opens wider, the fangs visible even more shiny and dangerous.

 

“Or next time, I’ll use my teeth.”

 

And with that, he turns and leaves. Presumably to go do whatever it was he was up to before Dipper got caught following him. Left behind, Dipper stands there for a long while as he waits for his senses to come back to him. At some point after his legs come back online, he shifts in place. His shorts feel kind of sticky. His hand absent-mindedly rubs at the gland again, seeking out the same comfort of before. His throat hurts.

 

Has this hallway always smelled so strongly of sex?

Notes:

We all know Bill just left to go jerk off. Cuz like... leave the kid foggybrained and forgetting what he was trying to stop you from doing > dealing with him after that post nut clarity

Also I thought three of these jokes and couldn't decide which was better:

Bill: leave me alone or I'll choke you out
Dipper: jokes on you, now I'm horny
OR
Bill: I'm going to strangle you
Dipper: that's okay I'm into it
Bill: ...wtf so am I
OR
Bill: (actively choking Dipper out)
Dipper: (moans)
Bill: what
Dipper: what