#if I ever work on my fic some more again | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

tswwwit · 11 months

Text

I had a dumb idea based on this ask, and then I wrote it!

Short Reincarnation thing where Bill gets his stupid body killed before meeting Dipper, and years later DIpper stumbles across him anyway.

When Dipper sees the faint golden glow in the distance, he staggers up to his feet.

Finally, after endless gray and black and white. After aimless wandering, with nobody to see or hear, nobody to call -

There’s a light.

Dipper walks towards the light slowly. Cautiously. Then faster. Soon he’s running, eager to see what’s in front of him for the first time in the last probably-four-hours.

Who cares what’s ahead of him? It’s different from everything else around; it has color.

Maybe it’s a way out of here.

He never should have gone to Gravity Falls. Not even with his semi-new confidence with his still-new magic, hoping he would find answers, not even to look for The Thing. Leaving Seattle to explore the infamously magical, dangerous, and nearly impenetrable woods here has to be the dumbest idea he’s ever had.

The glow in the clearing stays steady as he approaches, a steady unflickering light. A beacon.

Dipper stumbles into the patch of grass between the trees. Nearly trips, before he stands still, chest heaving.

What is it? He doesn’t see anything around. There’s a fallen log, and plants, an old shove leaning against a nearby tree, and.

There.

The bright gold light is coming from the ground.

Dipper takes a few, slow steps closer. Arching his neck, leaning into see what might be emitting that light, in the patch of soft bare ground underneath the grass. There’s -

A triangle.

Dipper frowns at it.

Whatever happened to send him into weird gray not-time, it was obviously magic, These woods are magic, this entire thing is because of magic. Obviously this thing is magic, too.

That can’t be great.

But while Dipper doesn’t know what this thing is, it’s the only thing around that’s not monochrome besides himself. That has to be a sign. Good or bad, he’s not sure.

He crouches down nearby. Not getting too close, yet.

Yeah. Definitely super magical. This close, it’s a bright light even in Dipper’s magical senses, and he’s pretty shit at those even for an amateur.

The object’s made of… gold? Maybe. At least it looks metallic now that he’s close enough to get an idea of the texture. Larger than Dipper thought at first glance, but small enough to theoretically pick up if he dared. And for some reason there’s a miniature top hat rolled off to the side, which is like. What.

Also, it’s chained to the ground.

A very thick yellow metal chain - gold again? Maybe - that’s linked to one of the corners. It’s long enough to meander around the clearing and pile in a neat coil near the fallen log, then back to the center before abruptly delving into the soil.

Hesitantly, Dipper edges a little closer. Nothing happens.

He waves a hand, and gives it a vague magical poke. Looking for movement, or like, big flashy stuff, or a reaction.

Nothing.

Okay. Big magic inside, but not reactive. Possibly inert. Dipper’s filing that under ‘good’ in terms of signs, but he’s ready to revise at a moment’s notice.

Since the triangle isn’t doing anything, it’s up to Dipper to take action. Fumbling at his side, he keeps his eye on the shape. Just in case it - he doesn’t know, explodes or catches fire or something.

Dipper finds what he’s searching for, and grips it tight. Nodding, once.

When in doubt, poke it with a stick.

He pokes it.

In a flash, the shape leaps from the ground, opens one huge, slit-pupiled eye and gets right in his face with a huge noise that Dipper will later remember is ‘BLARG’.

Despite himself, Dipper screams. The thing screams back at him, thin black arms flailing wildly, inches away. Dipper screams even louder, making a failed leap backward to hit the ground on his butt.

“AHHHH - HA! Ah ha ha ha ha!” The yelling devolves into wild, delighted laughter. The triangle crosses an arm over its front as it cackles, smacking a hand against one of its legs. “Whoo! Oh man! You shoulda seen the look on your face!”

Dipper stares. His heart is pounding, he’s trying to catch his breath. He lets go of his shirt, patting vaguely on the ground for the stick.

“You were all like ‘Aaaugh’!’” The triangle flails dramatically again, then starts laughing harder. It wipes under its eye. It looks, as much as any shape can, both totally thrilled and completely unrepentant. “Totally worth it.”

“You asshole.” Dipper sits up, trying to calm down. Unfortunately he truly has lost track of the stick, because he wants to throw something at this jerk.

“Ah, c’mon! You made that way too easy.” The triangle shrugs, lifting up two hands. It flaps a hand in Dipper’s direction. “Some guy all alone in the woods? No backup? No idea what he’s doing?” Its lower eyelid turns up. “You’re a tempting little opportunity, kid!”

Dipper says nothing. He simply glares, and flips it off.

And okay, that is a point, if you look at the situation in a totally twisted way. Dipper is kind of stranded and ignorant and -

Wait, shit, he is.all of those things, and if this kind of thing is around, then what else is.

Dipper pushes himself to his feet, and glances around quickly - but, no. Besides the jerk in front of him, nothing’s changed. Nobody and nothing around. Still very… still.

There’s a tap on his shoulder and he jumps -

But it’s the jerk. Again. One noodly arm extending unnaturally, just to bother Dipper with a poke or two.

“Easy, sapling, there’s nobody here but us.” It says, tugging Dipper closer with one hand, and flapping the other in a semi-reassuring way.. “You can tone down the jumpiness for the moment! Believe it or not, I ain’t got any plans to hurt ya.”

Dipper shrugs, still examining the woods. It’s as silent and unmoving as always, so. Maybe they are alone here. One point in that thing’s favor.

For lack of anything to say, Dipper flips it off for a second time. It starts laughing again, clasping its surface.

Weirdly enough, Dipper kind of does believe it. That it doesn’t want to hurt him. Hell knows It had the jump on him, he had no defenses and didn’t expect anything to defend against. And it used that to be annoying, instead of harmful.

He looks it over anyway, still skeptical. It waves back, looking oddly cheerful and glowing slightly brighter.

Alright. No creature Dipper knows about fits this description. There’s magic, sure, but he doesn’t have enough experience to get a gist of it there. All he can tell is that it feels a lot more powerful than it looks, and that makes him vaguely uneasy.

Since he can’t get a read on it, and doesn’t know what to do with it -

Fuck it. Dipper just asks. “What are you?”

“Usually it’s ‘who’, not ‘what’, kid. Way to make a guy feel appreciated.” It - he - chides, sounding annoyed. One of this creature’s arms goes down in a curve to grab the hat on the ground, setting it on his top point. “But since you insist, I’m the local demon in these parts.”

Demon. Great.

And an even greater sign for where Dipper somehow ended up, if this is the type of creature he’s running into.

Where the hell is he, anyway? How the hell did he get here. What does he do with this thing? And most importantly -

How quickly can he get the fuck out.

“What, chupacabra got your tongue? Introductions are in order!” The demon shoves his other arm at Dipper, palm up. Like he’s offering a handshake. “Name’s Bill.”

Dipper nearly shakes its hand - the first stupid move - and nearly speaks his own name, then stops. Glaring at this creature with suspicion.

Which is when the rest of the information hits home like an arrow.

Dipper drops his arms, holding them stiff at his sides. “Wait. Bill, like. Bill Cipher?” He shrinks back in alarm.

“Wow. Really?” ‘Bill’ says, looking grumpy now. “Now that’s rich. I don’t go around assuming every human named ‘John’ is the same guy, now do I?” He floats away a bit, slightly turned to the side. Eyeing Dipper with clear disapproval. “Real classy of ya, kid.”

“Okay, okay, sorry.” Dipper grimaces. He pats the air a bit, awkward. Bill turns slightly back towards him. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

He guesses that was a bit dumb, anyway. Bill Cipher has a totally different MO.

That guy’s powerful demon who can wander around reality. Arson and murder and mayhem are his favorite hobbies. He travels around wearing a handsome human form, adding chaos to the life of whichever mortal he’s picked that time around, with terrible delight.

Not exactly the same level as this Bill, who’s stuck in the middle of nowhere, pulling prank-level jumpscares.

If a demon like Cipher could be chained up in some weird gray pocket dimension, one of his mortals would have done it ages ago.

“Hey, no biggie!” Bill brightens up, facing Dipper again. He must not have taken the assumption too harshly; he almost looks pleased. “Not a bad guy to be compared to, all things considered.”

Dipper can’t help but make a mental note. Kind of interesting, that Cipher’s well known even outside of reality. That being compared to him is flattering, too, he didn’t expect that. Aren’t there books about this sort of thing? Dipper kind of wishes he’d studied more about demons, even though he never thought he’d need to -

But this isn’t the time to get sidetracked. No matter how interesting it is.

“Uh, I’m Dipper.” He gives Bill a little wave, instead of taking the again-offered hand to shake. He knows better. Bill drops his hand, thwarted for the moment. “It’s. Interesting to see you.”

Which is true. In that Dipper, finally, has met another… ‘person’ in the place he’s ended up, and that means…

Time to get information.

“Where am I?”

“First time visiting, huh?” Bill floats over, the chain making a strange tinkling sound as it drags behind him. He slings an arm over Dipper’s shoulder in a companionable way, and Dipper tenses. “Lemme introduce you!

“Welcome to the liminal space between dreams and waking! The infinite realm of thought! The Nightmare Realm - or Mindscape, if ya like.” Bill waves over the woods in a broad gesture - then sighs, letting his arm drop. “Though since we’re in the extra liminal bit near your place, it’s not nearly as fun.”

That… makes precisely zero sense. Dipper waits, but Bill’s started glaring at their surroundings instead. Hardly helpful.

Dipper tries to squirm out from under his arm, but it’s oddly difficult to shake off. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It means we’re stuck in the outskirts, kid. The blendy-in part! Specifically the bit where it’s real solid, cause it’s closest to your usual digs.” Bill flaps a hand over the monochrome scenery, looking annoyed at the scene. “The reality-adjacent burnt edge of pie crust, instead of the golden-brown, juicy, gory middle. Not the best part by miles..”

One bit of information, then. Dipper’s not quite in a different realm, or outside of reality. No, that would be too simple.

Instead, he’s wound up in the spot where reality bleeds into another dimension. Where things aren’t one place or another, not one thing or another, and there’s probably a lot of magical theory that has a ton to explain all of it, except he hasn’t finished reading those books.

In theory, Dipper would take his time, and try to figure it out. Piece together the bits he’s learned. Maybe even ask Bill for input, since he seems to know about all of this stuff -

In practice, he keeps running over the words Bill used earlier.

‘We’re,’ Bill said. Including himself in the previous term, even though he’s an actual, literal demon.

And, ‘Stuck’. Bill said.

“So….” Dipper lets the word trail for a while, palms sweating. He rubs them on his jeans, trying for a smile. “Is there a way out of these… edges?”

“Unless you’re an advanced expert in interdimensional dynamics? Probably not!” Bill shrugs, sounding cheerful despite the horrible news he imparts, or maybe because of it. “Hope you enjoy silence and stillness, Pine Tree.” He pats his surface, eye shut with pride. “But if ya don’t, you’re welcome to hang with yours truly!”

Two horrible options. Dipper stares at Bill for a long moment, not sure what to say.

He’s not an expert, not at all. He has magic, a lot, apparently, but he barely knows what he’s doing with it, doesn’t know how he has it, and mostly it just makes stuff explode. He can barely light a candle without consequences, much less escape the borderlands of a realm of freakin’ thought.

“Oh,” He says instead. All the air seems like it’s come out of his lungs. “Have a seat, kid.” Bill darts over towards the log, gesturing Dipper closer. He pats the wood invitingly. “After all, misery loves company!”

Feeling numb, Dipper walks over. He turns around, and sits down.

After a moment, he rests his face in his hands.

“So! I already know you’re not from around Gravity Falls,” Bill says, floating a few inches over the log and right next to Dipper. Patting thigh, which would almost be reassuring except for everything, ever, and the way he gives it a weird squeeze. “I woulda seen it!”

“Yeah.” Dipper glances over, briefly. Then looks forward again..

“Boy, you’re turning out to be a great conversationalist! How lucky for me.” Bill says, very dry. He throws his arms in the air. “Figures. You’d have to be brain-damaged to wander these woods for no reason.”

“I had a reason,” Dipper protests. One he didn’t understand, sure. But he had one.

“Oh yeah? What?”

“I just - I had to.” Dipper folds his arms, looking away. Somehow it makes even less sense when he says it out loud.

Bill shrugs, and says nothing. For a while, actually. Dipper does the same, mouth shut.

Maybe Bill’s planning something, or maybe he’s hoping to hear about Dipper’s vulnerabilities - but Dipper wasn’t born yesterday. He might not have had magic until a few years ago, but he’s still not an idiot. He’s not blabbing about his life to a demon of all creatures -

For about five seconds.

He can’t help it. The silence feels so deeply wrong that he has to break it. “I don’t know. I just felt-”

Like he was being drawn here. Like there was an invisible thread, tugging gently at him until he couldn’t ignore it. Whispering, in quiet words, that he might find what he wanted.

A subtle, but effective temptation. Dipper did the stupid thing. He came here on that idiotic whim, and now look what’s happened.

Maybe he should have known better. But.

For the longest time, Dipper has felt like something’s missing. Nothing he could ever really explain, or make sense of. When he lets himself think about it, which is rarely, it’s The Thing; a feeling so vague he can’t even put a name to it.

All he knows is that something’s gone and it sucks. Like a piece is missing in his own personal puzzle, maybe dropped off the table or skimmed across the floor, and now he can’t find the stupid thing for the life of him. Doubly infuriating because it was the one last piece he needed, right before it went and fucked off.

When he got his magic, that helped with The Thing, a little. When he started actively looking for The Thing, that helped, too.

But he still doesn’t know what it is, much less where it is, and he might never find the answer.

Not that he’s telling Bill any of that.

“I had an impulse, and a stupid idea.” Dipper shrugs. “You know how it is.” Hopefully he does. If not, Bill will find out how annoying getting no explanation is.

“Bet you have a lot of those.” Bill says, amused. He stalks over the log, prodding Dipper in the side. “Probably famous for it!”

“Shut up.” Now Dipper flicks Bill on the side, annoyed. He’s not the only one included in that terrible adjective. “What about you? What brought you here?”

“None of your beeswax.” Bill sets his fists on his edges, looking proud. “I’m doing exactly what I wanna be doing.”

Dipper casts a long, deliberate glance over the chain, and raises an eyebrow. Bill glares at him.

“Yeah, yeah, things could be a little more lively, whatever.” Another dismissive wave. Bill hops from the log onto Dipper’s leg, and drops down with a surprisingly heavy feel. He shrugs. “But hey, you’re gonna be with me for the foreseeable future! I can work with that.”

So Bill is trapped. He’s come as close to admitting it as Dipper’s likely to get.

On an impulse, he pats Bill on his weird, metal back. If it’s a back; Dipper’s guessing because it’s the surface that doesn’t have his eye on it. Bill makes a pleased sound, so it must not be too weird.

“I’m guessing your whole deal is, what, mystery hunting? You don’t seem the monster hunter type.” Bill prods his arm, squeezing his bicep with a narrowed eye. “Or hey! Maybe you were just dumb enough to poke around for no reason!” Oh for - Dipper just said he had one. Bill knows that, he’s just being a dick. “I’m not dumb.” He sits up a little straighter, jabbing a thumb at his chest. Lifting his chin in defiance. “At least I’ve never been chained up.”

“Ah, a real vanilla guy.” Bill rubs under his eye thoughtfully. Dipper feels his face warm with embarrassment, waving his hands. That’s not what he meant - and Bill brightens up.. “Guess ‘adventurous’ only goes so far, huh?”

Dipper splutters, not sure how to respond. Bill waggles his upper eyelid, nudging him in the side - and Dipper can’t not respond to this asshole.

Unfortunately, Bill’s ready with a retort for every protest. Dipper can’t let that lie, so he has to accuse him of his own stupidity back, and forth, and back again.

They actually keep at it, for… longer than Dipper expected. More easily than expected.

He kind of thought that being trapped here, trying to keep up conversation with Bill, would trail off into awkward silence more often than not. Dipper’s never been great with small talk, he has to plan, like, half of his conversations in his head before they happen.

Turns out it’s hard to feel awkward when you really want to make the other guy shut up first.

Bill’s still a jerk, sure. Dipper's known that from moment one. He starts arguments without a purpose, delighting himself with stupid puns, and it turns out he finds it hard to resist a double entendre. That’s a weak point; Dipper can use it. He has to think on his feet to keep up with him, there’s no time to get mired down.

It’s all pointless, stupid bickering. Bill prodding at him, Dipper responding and prodding back. Bill’s pretty cagey; Dipper doesn’t get much from him.

Bill, though. Gets a lot. Probably more than he wanted, because Dipper finds once he starts talking about some things, he has a lot more to say about them than he thought.

He’s not sure why he’s doing it. Or how he started. He knows Bill hasn’t used magic on him, he can feel that much, it’s just….

Bill keeps asking pointed questions, so he’s asking for it. Dipper hasn’t been able to talk about some of this before, and Bill’s a literally captive audience. Possibly because Bill couldn’t tell anyone else Dipper knows, and partly… because he’s a terrible listener, which kind of helps. Like it doesn’t matter what Dipper says, because Bill won’t care enough to use it against him.

“Not to mention going through magical puberty, like a decade too late.” Dipper finishes, after going over a long, long list of complaints. About his shitty life. About how much things suck. He waves over the air for emphasis. Bill, sitting on his thigh, leans back so his hat isn’t knocked off. “Do you know what that’s like?”

“Likely hilarious! But so what?” Bill sits back up, kicking his legs idly. Which also means he’s lightly kicking Dipper’s other leg. “What’s wrong with more power?”

Dipper opens his mouth to argue. Then stops.

It makes sense that a demon wouldn’t get it, due to, well. Being a demon. They’re all power hungry. To Bill, this could only seem like a good thing. He wouldn’t understand how-

“More power means solving some problems, alright.” Dipper changes tactics, rubbing at his eyes. There’s a headache coming on, he can feel it. “But now I have different problems. Bigger ones.”

“Aha! Inexperience.” Bill brightens up a bit more, waving off the rest of Dipper’s concerns. “Easy, kid, that’s all temporary. Once you get used to blasting things to pieces, you’d be amazed how many problems are flammable!”

Dipper feels his mouth draw into a thin line. He doesn’t know what he expected.

He drops back onto the log, resting his chin in his hand. Bill pats his lower back, and starts rambling on about optimal targeting techniques, but Dipper’s not paying attention.

Different experiences, and different problems. He’s in a different place, which has totally eclipsed the Thing problem. Bill’s here too, but he doesn’t seem like the major issue.

The big one, right now, is going home, and how the hell Dipper’s going to do that.

“There has to be a way out of here.”. He’s not going to give up. Not now.

“Well,” Bill draws out the word, slow and with a detectable hint of smugness. “There might be one way to get your butt back to reality.”

Dipper tenses up.

Right. He should have seen this coming, because Bill’s a demon. He hadn’t forgotten that fact, but he’d put it out of the front of his mind.

“I see where this is going.” Dipper folds his arms, and gives Bill an unimpressed look. “Let me guess. You’re an expert in interdimensional dynamics.”

“Never said I wasn’t!” Bill’s lower eyelid is raised in amusement. “To tell the truth, sapling, I’m one of the best in the biz.” He throws in a wink, even with one eye. “You really lucked out meeting me.”

Another thing Dipper should have expected. Bill might be stuck, but he never said the why, only implied it. The chain should have been a clue. A demon would know how to handle dimensions, too, since they can be summoned and dismissed. And trapped.

Demons are also notorious for another thing. Dipper’s not looking forward to it.

Escape isn’t going to come without a cost.

“What do you want,” He says, flat.

“Make a deal with me!” Bill floats up and in front of Dipper, arms spread invitingly. “I’ll show you how to get out of here in seconds, no problem.”

“What’s the cost.” Dipper remains stern. Glaring, now. Bill hasn’t gotten to it yet, but there’s going to be a catch.

“Yeesh, way to rush things.” Bill wags a finger, almost chiding. “A jaunt back home can’t be all you want! Think about what you’d really want out of life. ‘Cause I’ve got more magic to work with than you could comprehend!”

Bill waves his arm, and this time -

Okay. Dipper has to admit it’s impressive.

Wherever Bill gestures, a small scene plays out, like a movie. Bright and colorful, standing out against the bland background.

“You could ask for fame!” A brief shot of Dipper, being lauded by a crowd. Bill snaps his fingers. “For riches!” Piles of gold tumble around fake-Dipper’s feet, burying him to the ankles - another snap. “Or hell, even True Love!”

And a shadowy figure sneaks up on fake-Dipper, then seizes him by the waist, lifting him up. Fake-Dipper looks surprised, then annoyed. He struggles, kicking out helplessly, right before he’s dragged off into nothingness.

Dipper stares at the lingering void left until the ‘screen’ vanishes. Then, incredulously, at Bill.

Bill pops up in front of him again, fists set on his sides with pride. “Name it, kid, and it’s on offer. I could get you all that crap that humans like and more!”

“I’ll pass.” Dipper flips Bill off, much to his amusement.

“What, too intimidating?” Bill leans in, nudging Dipper with an elbow-adjacent bend of his arm. “Be reasonable, Pine Tree. You’re gonna make a deal anyway. Why not get something cool while you’re at it?”

Okay, fair point. If Dipper’s risking his soul, he might as well get something else while he’s at it.

But it’s also dangerous. Bill’s going to cheat, and lie, and according to what he showed Dipper has a totally different view of what’s actually appealing to humans. Making this deal too complicated could only end poorly.

Everything he’s offering probably comes with a catch, anyway. Fame would probably be for, like, accidentally exploding a building, money from a murder or whatever. Bill’s idea of ‘love’ is just. Yeah, Dipper’s going to pass. And even if there weren’t a huge pitfall waiting for him - Bill certainly couldn’t give Dipper what he’s really looking for, especially when even Dipper’s not sure what it is.

For a moment, then, Dipper lingers on the image of his shitty apartment. How cold it’s going to be when fall turns into winter, and how his car is starting to make unnerving sounds when -

He shakes his head to clear it.

“Just get me out of here.”

Bill groans, clearly disappointed. “Yeah yeah, stubbornness. But ya gotta sweeten the deal for me, too.” He rubs his fingers together, eye narrowed. “Make it worth my while.”

Of freaking course there’s a minimum buy-in. Dipper groans, rubbing at his eyes. If he has to add onto this -

“Alright, fine.” He throws his hands in the air.. “Like, enough gas money to get home.” That shouldn’t cost too much. Hopefully.

Bill remains undeterred. He narrows his eye, skeptical. “That’s it? I get skipping over the ‘fame’ one, alright, that can be a pain. When everyone knows who you are, they get all up in your business! But you’re not gonna ask for any affection?” He blinks for a moment, spreading his hands and somewhat incredulous himself. “‘Cause I got-”

“Some really bad ideas.” Dipper says. Bill looks miffed, crossing his arms over his golden front. “Are we doing this deal or not?”

“Hmph. You got no idea what you’re missing out on.” Bill sniffs, which is weird because he doesn’t have a nose - “Fine, we’ll do it your way. Spoilsport.”

Dipper straightens up, feeling a sudden burst of pride. Bill’s bothered, which means Dipper avoided a trap. He’s in a little less danger.

“Now, about getting you back to reality. That’s some tricky business there, but I got ideas.” Bill taps under his eye, thoughtful. He stares off into space, pupil changing shape and size, flickering for a moment before it snaps back to ‘normal’. “You’re gonna need a life spell.”

“What?”

Dipper’s experience is pretty limited, in that he’s only had magic for a few years, but he’s not stupid. To change back dimensions, and get home, life magic doesn’t fit. All it deals with is flesh and blood and a bit with spirit, but that can’t apply here. He thinks..

“What do you mean, what? Who’s the expert here, anyway?” Brightening up, Bill swings an arm around DIpper’s shoulder again, half-guiding and half-dragging him into the middle of the clearing. “You got the magic for it, you got the talent for it. You lack the education for it, but I can walk you through the basics, and we can cram everything into the same spell! One and done, easy.”

“That’s… convenient.” And concerning. Dipper stares at the bare earth under his feet, shifting under Bill’s arm. “So how do I-”

“Ahem.” Bill clears his nonexistent throat, tapping a fist against his surface. He gives Dipper a meaningful look, though what it’s trying to convey is impossible to parse.

Dipper glares at him. Another catch, probably. “What now.”

“You called it earlier, kid! Before we start rifling through the guts of it,” Bill drifts closer, until his eye is right up near Dipper’s face. He pokes him on the cheek with amusement. “We gotta discuss my price.”

Right. There was always going to be one, wasn’t there.

Dealing with a demon. The stupidest thing possible.

“How much?” Dipper asks, voice flat. Adding, before Bill can speak up - “I don’t really have much, uh. To me.”

It won’t be cash. Even inexperienced, Dipper knows that much. Whatever Bill asks for, Dipper’s soul’s not going to be on the table; he’d rather be trapped than do that. Maybe Bill will request a demonic thing, but Dipper doesn’t have any connections to other magical beings, any cool relics, or any secret knowledge.

He really hopes this isn’t going to be painful, or traumatic. Or anything physical, for that matter. Dying in the process of escaping kind of defeats the point.

“Hm. Lemme think.” Bill hums for a moment, eye narrowed. “One spell, complete with escape from the realm you accidentally stumbled your ignorant ass into, and one dose of obscene wealth-” Dipper clears his throat, loud. “Alright, minor wealth, loser. That should run ya…”

Dipper stuffs his hands in his pockets, waiting with growing unease. Bill’s rubbing under his eye in thought, like he’s trying to see how much he can gouge Dipper for. Hopefully it’s not flesh.

Then Bill stops, and holds up a finger. “One kiss. Seems fair to me!”

Dipper stares at this… thing for a moment. “What.”

Bill glows brighter, seemingly pleased with himself. “Pretty great deal, am I right?”

“Very funny.” Dipper gives him a derisive look. “What do you actually want?”

“A kiss, kid. With tongue.” Bill says, very seriously. He shuts his eye and wags a finger in the air.. “We’re talking a real tonsil-tickler here, none of that chaste peck crap.”

“With who?” Dipper has a dreadful suspicion. Which isn’t helped by the way Bill gleefully points two thumbs at himself. “You can’t be serious.”

“Dead serious, sapling.” Bill spreads his arms wide, lower eyelid rises in a simulacrum of a smile. “One frenching for one freedom. You couldn’t find a better bargain even if you did have options!”

The worst part is that’s probably right. What Bill’s asking for sounds like it’s the cheapest thing on offer. Most demons would put the price point so much higher - flesh, souls, family, mass slaughter - that it wouldn’t be worth considering.

Dipper can’t believe he’s considering this.

“And it’s not going to like, burn my mouth with acid, or suck out all my organs, or-”

“Boy, are you paranoid. Typical,” Bill says, sounding exasperated. He rolls his eye in its socket, around and around, before settling back on Dipper. “You can’t kiss back if you pass away, kid! I want active participation, and you’re only up for some lip action right now.”

Dipper remains skeptical. He leans back a bit, making a face.

But the request’s bizarre enough to feel honest, and technically it’s better than the other things Dipper was imagining. All in all, a quick kiss actually does seem like a bargain.

Which means Dipper shouldn’t trust it one bit.

Thinking about it, Bill’s been stuck here, for who knows how long, without access to much. No hanging out with other demons, no manipulating humans. Lacking anyone to talk to, or - have other mouth actions with, or anything. He’s not operating on standard demon motivations. Likely this has a different angle. Something else he can use to exploit.

Why would Bill want this?

Dipper looks him up and down slowly, lips drawn tight. Trying to figure him out.

Bill clearly takes his attention as interest, because he straightens his hat, and adjusts his tie with obvious pride. He wipes at his surface, hums a little tune, and there’s a squeaking sound as he rubs a wrist against his side. Like he’s polishing it.

Or…. maybe it’s a bargain because Bill actually wants to make out. The primping can’t be anything but alarmingly sincere.

“Okay.” Dipper gives in, and lets his shoulders drop. Being trapped has obviously tanked Bill’s standards - or his uses for pounds of flesh. Either way, it’s worked out in his favor. “Let’s do this.”

“Glad to hear it!” Bill floats closer, cupping Dipper’s face in his weird hands. They're oddly soft for a guy who’s mostly made of metal. “Now pucker up, buttercup, and we’ll seal the deal.”

“Don’t call me that,” Dipper says. Bill squishes his cheeks a few times, until Dipper smacks his front.

“Eh, I got other nicknames to use,” Bill says, and draws Dipper in.

Dipper shuts his eyes. He doesn’t want to see this. Whatever’s about to touch his face, it’s probably terrifying.

For a moment he’s tempted to call it off, but then Bill will protest and maybe cut the deal off, leaving him right back at square one and with less bargaining power. Too late to back out.

Sterning himself, Dipper lets it happen.

There’s… a mouth? Against his mouth. Something, anyway, and it’s not soft but not sharp or stinging, and for the moment his face isn’t melting off. Dipper can work with that.

There’s a tug on his shirt, and Bill makes an insistent ‘mmh!’. Right, he has to participate. Damn it.

Kissing Bill back isn’t hard, if he pretends he’s not holding onto the edges of a demonic shape. And forgets the fact that he’s buying his freedom with a makeout session. When a few seconds pass and Dipper hasn’t exploded or turned into a monster, he even manages to relax.

Yeah. He can get through this. It’s not too bad. Honestly, Bill’s handling this pretty well, all things considered. It’s not slimy or sloppy, or particularly rough.Their teeth haven’t clicked together once, if Bill even has any - and he doesn’t smell bad. Or like anything, really.

So, surprisingly, it’s not the worst kiss Dipper’s ever had. Bill, apparently, has some experience in this area. That raises so many questions.

Something wet flickers against his lips, and very reluctantly, Dipper lets them part. This could be -

Huh. Bill tastes like…. basil? Of all the things Dipper was expecting, that wasn’t even on the list. And while he’s made of metal and sharp corners, he’s warm, too, and his hand cupping the back of Dipper’s neck runs up and down in a way that’s almost. Nice. Tonsils remain uninvolved, too. If Bill’s forgotten that part, then Dipper’s not going to bring it up.

He’s not sure how long they spend like that, because - well, after a while it’s kind of interesting? That Bill can do this at all. That needs investigating. If Dipper needs to take a weird route to study it, well, that’s acceptable losses. He can deal.

Until there’s a slow slide up his thigh, and a hand squeezes Dipper’s butt.

Dipper shoves this jerk away, grimacing. That wasn’t part of the deal. “Hey! Hands off.”

“What hands? They’re right here!” Bill blinks innocently, and offers them up for Dipper’s inspection.

Now that’s just bullshit. DIpper reaches behind himself, seizes the offending limb, and shoves it right at Bill’s surface. “What about this?”

“Oh wow, what a surprise!” While Bill’s third arm gives Dipper a jaunty wave, he shrugs with the other two. A fourth one pops out and smacks against his edge in mock surprise. “Where’d that come from?”

Yep. Still, absolutely, one hundred percent asshole. He doesn’t know what he expected.

Dipper flips him off. Again. He wishes he knew more obscene gestures, because this one just makes Bill laugh.

“I’ll call that a deal fulfilled, sapling. Very nice, by the way! You really went for it!” Bill’s glowing bright, unperturbed. Glossing over the fact that he’s been caught being a pervert. “Even I can’t claim you didn’t pay up.”

Dipper wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and shrugs. “Just show me the spell.”

“Aw, but it was a fun time, am I right?” Bill tickles Dipper under the chin, lower eyelid raised. He gives Dipper double finger guns, beaming.. ”Next one’s on the house.”

Dipper rubs at his eyes. Honestly. It’s a good reminder.

If it weren’t for Bill’s sheer dickishness, he might have said something nearly positive, and that would have been a huge mistake.

A deal, done. A payment, made.

Now, to actually get Dipper’s portion.

Though it takes some arguing. Or rather, a lot of arguing, and a relative armload of innuendoes, only half of which make sense - Dipper, eventually, steers Bill back onto the right track.

Turns out the trick is questioning whether or not he can actually do it. Questioning Bill’s competence, or knowledge, lights a fire under his nonexistent ass.

Pride, Dipper notes, is a weak point for Bill. Though he’s not likely to ever need it again, it’s still nice to know.

Bill’s also surprisingly okay to work with. Kind of like the kiss, Dipper expected it to be painful, but Bill actually, amazingly, knows what he’s doing. Albeit without making Dipper have questions he’s not sure he wants the answers to.

Bill projects an outline of the circle that needs to be drawn, Dipper can easily trace it. His knowledge truly is deep, too; Bill has an encyclopedic knowledge of sigils and runes, and only minorly goes on tangents about destructive and chaotic energy.

And, though it sucks to admit - he was right again.

The spell Dipper needs to cast truly is simple. At least on Dipper’s end. All he needs to do is power the thing, and channel it with some theory that Bill described in gory yet helpful terms.

But the spell *is* life magic. Magic’s not enough; it needs a little more, as Bill put it, ‘oomph’ to get it going.

Dipper flicks the pocketknife open, ready to draw it across his palm. He steadies himself with a deep breath.

Blood is connected to it, magically. A few drops is all it should take. Then it’s over. He’ll be done here.

He’ll get to go home.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Bill grabs Dipper’s wrist before he makes the cut. “Piss poor placing, kid. You want the back of the arm or a leg or something.” He wags a chiding finger. “More blood, and more convenient if you wanna grab anything later.”

Dipper honestly hadn’t thought of that. In movies and stuff, everyone goes for - but. Yeah.

Yet again, Bill’s been oddly helpful.

In fact, this entire time he’s been oddly, annoyingly helpful. When Dipper was stuck. When he wanted to complain, and the deal really could have been worse. Maybe it’s only because Bill’s been bored, and he doesn’t have anyone else to mess with. Or because he kind of thinks Dipper’s… worth kissing.

In any case. It’s the sort of thing he should probably mention.

“Uh. Thanks.” Dipper says, feeling awkward. “You’ve been kind of cool. For a demon.”

“Ha! Now that’s rare!” Bill drifts upwards, fists on his edges. He looks supremely amused. “Glad you spoke up, sapling.” Somehow, he winks with only one eye. “I won’t ever let you forget it.”

Back to ominous, then. Dipper’s going to try and ignore it

“Okay, well. See you… hopefully never again.” He states, and draws the knife over the back of his arm. Just a nick, but enough to draw a few drops.

As Bill starts laughing, Dipper shuts his eyes for a second time, kneeling on the ground, and muttering the chant. He’s already memorized it, no need to listen to Bill anymore.

Goodbye, demon, goodbye, awful grey realm -

He draws on the magic, that deep and infinite pool inside him, and pushes.

There’s a strange, clinking sound. A rush of magic out of him,more than he’s used before, it almost leaves him dizzy, and the spell itself clicks into place, complete.

That’s it. He’s done. He’s -

Dipper looks up.

Everything’s still monochrome, so. That’s not good.

He gets to his feet slowly, checking - but no, no change. Still stuck, in this impossible liminal realm.

With a start, he realizes that nothing’s glowing in the clearing, either.

Dipper looks around, suddenly alert, but he doesn’t hear anything. Not a laugh, or a mocking comment. No matter how he looks, there’s no chain. No gold. No freaking Bill around, completely vanished from sight -

“That son of a bitch.” Dipper clenches his fists at his sides.

Goddamn it, he should have realized. That entire thing was incredibly, recklessly stupid. It was a trick, Bill’s been freed - and Dipper’s still trapped.

But you know what? Fuck Bill. Dipper doesn’t need him.

He’s smart. He got here to begin with, and he didn’t need some asshole to help him with that; he can get out as well. He’s going to figure this out, learn a hell a lot more about demons, get really great at magic, and - and all sorts of other things, too, all out of sheer spite. He’s going to get out of here-

As he clenches his fists, jaw tightening, color washes over the scene.

Dipper blinks again. Then waves his arms, suddenly confused.

That was fast. Almost as fast as thought.

There’s a breeze on his skin, the smell of the forest in the air. The sky is less dark, though it’s nearly sunset. Dipper spends a long tense minute, watching the sun relative to the horizon, tension tight in his chest. Feeling a huge shudder of relief, as it does, in fact, move. Time’s moving. Time’s normal, and the world is normal, and real.

The spell did work. On a delay that Bill never mentioned.

Dipper taps his foot on the loose earth beneath him, folding his arms.

Great. Now he can’t be mad at Bill. He was as good as his word.

All in all, Dipper could have made a worse deal, if he doesn’t think too hard about Bill and what he might be up to. The trade, such as it was, did end up fair.

A freedom for a freedom. That’s about as fair as a demon can be, and all for the low, low cost of. Some lip action.

For some reason, Dipper’s still really annoyed.

If he knew Bill was going to get out too, well. A heads up would have been nice. Not to mention that Bill just went and fucked off somewhere without so much as a ‘see ya’, or a ‘goodbye’, or -

But it’s good, really. That they won’t meet again. Better for both of them.

Because If they did, Dipper would have to tell him he’s a jerk, and a bastard. Bill seems like he needs that reminder every once in a while. Or every few days. Or hours.

So again, good that he’s gone; Dipper’d probably lose his voice if he had to be around him too long. Good riddance.

Dipper stands in the clearing for a while, watching the light fade as evening sets in. Alone in the forest again. Safe in reality.

After a while, it’s starting to get chilly; he wraps an arm over himself, squeezing the opposite bicep. .

It’s been a very long day.

He takes a deep breath, and slowly lets it out.

Then the soft earth shifts under his feet, and something grabs his ankle.

For the second time in a day, Dipper screams.

A sudden yank makes Dipper lose his balance, but he catches himself before he hits the ground, braced on his elbows. He swears, pulling his leg away on impulse, kicking at the tight grasp on his leg -

And stares in horror as a dirty yet well-manicured hand pulls him closer, impossibly strong. Dragging him down into the earth it burst out from. A few more urgent kicks gets the thing off him, and Dipper scrambles back.

The hand pats around for him, searching, then pushes against the ground. Bringing out an arm, then a chest, a full head that shakes off the dirt. An eye rolls around in one socket, while the other is missing or covered with dirt, and it wears a wide, rictus grin. With very sharp, very white teeth.

Dipper struggles to his knees. Sweat is breaking out on his forehead, as whole human man - thing pulls itself out of a shallow grave right in front of him. There’s no time to react; it’s up on its feet before he can gain his own. Too steady, and way too fast for the living dead.

Shit. Life magic, of course.

So It wasn’t a trick after all. It was a trap.

Dipper not only set BIll free but raised, like, a zombie, or something, to take care of the rest. It’s going to finish him off and leave no evidence but a bloody smear on the grass. He tries to leap back but it's already got him by the shirt in a tight grip, dragging him in.

Okay, no time. Last resort. DIpper hates to do this, but. He tenses up, holding his arms out and reaching for his magic. Pulling on it, hard.

The fire rages, it lights up the whole clearing as it spreads. Dipper can feel it engulf himself, spread around the clearing, and engulf his assailant -

To absolutely zero effect. Not even a sizzle, what the hell.

Dipper spends a moment to be indignant as the creature lifts him up, and up, until his feet don’t even touch the ground. What the hell. He’s always been able to explode stuff, and the one time he actually wanted to, it doesn’t work?

“Trying to heat things up, huh? Nice try, sapling, but it won’t work.” Says the man holding him, sounding delightedly amused. “As a guy once said - I’m extremely cool!”

Dipper snaps his gaze downwards, towards that voice. “That’s not what I-”

He stops. Stares.

Then glares.

A golden eye winks back at him. Some of the dirt has dried from the fire; now it flakes off in patches, revealing an eyepatch instead of an empty socket, and a suit instead of the yellow of lividity. Dipper’s idly tempted to insult his fashion, before he remembers he still can’t touch the freakin’ ground.

While the other shape didn’t have a literal smile, if you plastered it on a human face it would be a one-to-one match.

“You’re kidding me.” Dipper says. Somehow he’s not surprised.

He gets an eyebrow wiggle, and a brighter smile. The man lifts him up like a carnival prize; his suit really is tacky, Dipper should tell him that. And that his voice is so annoying, and he has a very handsome, very awful face.

Bill cackles. Clearly thrilled.

“Really? Dipper says. Then, feeling tired. “Oh, come on, Bill. That was a dick move.” He lets his arms drop to his sides.

So obvious, when you think about it. So clear, when you know what’s up.

There were so many chances to spot it, and Dipper was so dumb.

Bill Cipher, dream demon. Infamous for a lot of things, power and insanity and all of that - but mostly for wandering reality, tied to a mortal. While wearing a human shape. Obviously he has another form, being a demon and all, but it’s not like there are many depictions. Bill Cipher doesn’t stride around Earth without wearing his skin suit.

Well. Guess who just went and made him one.

Dipper should be more upset. He should be furious. But mostly?

He’s thinking about how he’ll get Bill back for this.

“What’s with the long face?” Bill Cipher asks, looking absurdly pleased with himself. A huge grin as he bounces Dipper in his grip, sharp teeth bared. “Everything went according to plan!”

“I’m an idiot,” Dipper states, before kicking Bill once. It doesn’t work, but it was mostly a gesture, anyway. “And you’re an asshole.”

“Sure am! But you’re my idiot now, sapling.” Bill says, cheerful as anything. He swings Dipper around, then over his shoulder like he weighs nothing. Throwing in a pat on the back, presumably for insult. “Good to see ya again!”

#Another advancement in my nefarious triangle makeouts agenda #It'll be short I told myself #Probably only 2k I told myself #Why do I ever listen to myself?#Have some ridiculous fic and I hope it entertains #Feels good to be writing again but I must make BETTER and MORE #Time to work on that lamb wolf thing; it was almost done before I went on a tear writing this silly thing #I'd say Dipper's somewhere between twenty two and twenty five here #Bill's been SO BORED for YEARS #Of course he took the opportunity to mess with his husband #And it worked out Beautifully

137 notes · View notes

saetoru · 10 months

Text

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。i know you still think about the times we had

synopsis. satoru will always comes when you call him, he just never thought you’d stop calling

— word count. 5.2k (where did i go wrong)

— contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, break ups and make ups <3, it’s the cliche trope where the rich guy’s parent forces you to leave him aka gojo’s father is the villain, angst with a happy ending—i don’t want my cause of death to be angry rb! gojo stans, emo gojo ft. marvin’s room (iykyk), cliche rain scene—this fic is so cliche i’m sorry, reader is gn! but gojo is mentioned to like pics of girls on instagram (he was being petty)

— notes. well, it finally happened. the long awaited break up. this one’s for you niku 🤞🏽 AND DABITEE ANON

you open the door when satoru knocks—just barely, though. it’s just enough to hand him the bag with the remaining things he’s left at your apartment. it feels familiar, being here, but it feels so different too. it’s always been happy knocking on your door—he never thought he’d dread letting his knuckles meet the cool wood. it’s like taking the last bite of something sweet when you’re too full. when the sugar is too decadent on your tongue and your head spins and your stomach twists and it’s too much even though it used to be so good.

it’s too much being here. it’s too much trying to meet your gaze and get nothing in return. it’s too much being handed back that sweater he basically let you keep. and yet, it’s good to see you. he wants nothing more than to be here with you, wherever you are, even if you don’t want him to stay.

“that should be everything,” you murmur, still looking down. “let me know if there’s anything missing.”

satoru would never tell you if there’s something missing. he’d never come back and demand back something he gave you, he doesn’t think he could ever take back something he gave you—being handed back his heart after pressing it to your palms is hard enough. but then again, maybe he should look for small things you probably missed. just so he can come back. just so he can see you—how else will he see you now?

“no, it’s alright,” he says quietly. he doesn’t miss the way you quickly let go as soon as his hands grab the bag, almost like you’re being careful enough not to let your fingers meet each other. “you can uh…you can just keep them. or…throw them out if you don’t want them,” he mumbles.

you nod, standing there silently. it’s quiet, and then it’s quiet some more. and finally, you look up at him for the first time since he got here, staring at him a little expectantly. oh, right. now would be the part where he leaves.

“can i…can i just know why?” he croaks. fuck. he’s not supposed to cry. you ripped his heart out and threw it at his feet, you didn’t even care to hand it to him even after you tore every artery apart. but he sniffles anyway, lips wobbling as he stares at you. “why are you leaving me?”

your fingers twitch, like you itch to reach over and wipe that tear that rolls down his cheek. in the end, you cross your arms instead. “i already told you, satoru—”

“that’s bullshit,” he clicks his teeth, shaking his head as he stares at you frustratedly, “you gave me some bullshit reason.”

satoru has worked so hard to be here—to be with you. hadn’t he done enough? hadn’t he told you about himself, things he didn’t want to? hadn’t he tried to become something, someone more than just a guy swimming in trust funds? hadn’t he worked for your attention, waited outside classes and walked opposite directions in the hall with you just to seem dedicated? fuck, he even burned his hand trying to learn how to make pancakes to impress you, let the maids laugh at him as he twisted the stove the wrong way to try and turn it on.

why wasn’t it enough? what more could he give you than everything? how can the guy who has everything not have enough to give? he doesn’t understand.

“satoru, we weren’t gonna work,” you pinch your nose—it’s like you’re the one who doesn’t understand why he’s being like this. “the sooner you accept that the more hurt you’re saving the both of us—”

“we were working just fine,” he says exasperatedly. it’s like you insist he’s crazy when he’s nothing but sane. like he’s trying to tell you the sky is blue, and you’re refusing to believe it’s anything other than green. it’s clear. it’s practically a fact. you were doing just fine—why don’t you see that? “we were happy,” he takes a step forward and cups your cheeks, pressing his forehead to yours, “was it someone? did they tell you something? just tell me who, baby—i’ll fix it. i’ll put them in their place, okay? no one can bother you if i get them to leave you alone—”

“then you leave me alone,” you whisper. he stills. you pull away from his hands. “sator—gojo. please just leave me alone. it’s better that way.”

you close the door, and he stands there. numb. maybe a little shocked. entirely ruined.

gojo. he laughs quietly after a moment at that—it’s a laugh meant for men who’ve lost the last thread to sanity. gojo. it’s like a slap in the face, being called the name he worked so hard to get you to drop. it took him weeks—months, even, to convince you to call him satoru. then he upgraded to toru. then it was baby. sometimes you teased him and called him pumpkin—he called you peaches in return. when you introduced him, you called him your boyfriend.

not anymore. now he’s back to gojo—that god-forsaken name with everything but what he really wants attached to it. his grandfather’s legacy. his future. business deals. fancy invites. more money than he knows what to do with. the name gojo comes with everything but you.

but he had you for a bit, didn’t he? when he was just satoru—but now he’s gojo again, and you’re gone. the only sign of you left is in the faint traces of your perfume in the sweaters you’ve returned.

and satoru still isn’t sure what brought the break up on. he thinks it’s the part that stings the most—when everything seems perfect one second, and then it’s not. had he not tried enough? maybe he was too much. maybe he didn’t understand you the way you needed him to. maybe he was too overbearing. maybe he asked for too much too fast.

he’s not sure. he tried asking when you broke it off—you only shook your head and said it wasn’t going to work out between the two of you, that it was a mistake to try at all. mistake? how could you call this a mistake? things were so perfect, weren’t they?

satoru doesn’t think there was even one second he wasn’t smiling when he was with you, and he used to think the same was true for you too. had you been faking it this long? or was it real at one point—had he really failed you so badly, seen past you so blindly that he didn’t notice when your smiles stopped reaching your eyes?

it’s too late, he figures. you and satoru are broken up.

you ask him to come over one morning, and he does—because he always comes when you call. he brings your coffee order from that cafe you like, the one you don’t go to often because the coffee is more overpriced than any other coffee shop you’ve ever seen. he’s grinning when you open the door, leans in to kiss your lips excitedly. you turn your head then, and his lips meet your cheeks instead—he supposes he should’ve known it at that moment. he should’ve seen that your lips weren’t smiling. your eyes were tired, a little red. you were hugging yourself in that way you do when you’re nervous. you didn’t let him kiss your lips, you made him kiss your cheek.

and then you sat him down on that worn-down couch of yours, took off that bracelet his mother gave him to gift you on your anniversary, and pressed it to his palm as you said we should break up. break up. you wanted to leave him—and satoru didn’t understand, still doesn’t understand.

he’s tried for so long, replayed the last month of your relationship in his head over and over and fucking over. you always smiled. you kissed him first. you held his hand, and even squeezed. you asked to see him. you laughed when he was around. you said i love you. you were happy. but then you weren’t—when did you stop being happy? and how could you have stopped feeling it with him?

—————

breaking up with satoru is the hardest thing you’ve ever done. how long can people live without the sun? you think not longer than a few minutes—that’s what it feels like without satoru’s warmth, anyway.

gojo satoru has always smiled as long as he’s been with you. he smiled smugly on your first meet, smiled bitterly after every rejection, smiled in pure glee when you finally said yes, and smiled like his fingertips could touch the sky every time he saw you after that.

satoru has never looked sad for long in your presence—you have that effect on him, you make his lips curl and his eyes brighten in that way that they deserve to shine. but for the first time ever, his eyes dim with you around, his lips curl into a frown at your words, and he cries for you. his eyes glisten with tears instead of wonder, and you think for a moment that you might be making a mistake.

but then you remember that this is for the best—that if you really love gojo satoru, you’ll let him go instead of clipping his wings.

“he’s picked up his things,” you speak quietly into the phone. you don’t sniffle even as you desperately need to—it’s the last bit of control you have left, and you intend to keep it. “i won’t be seeing him again.”

“good,” his father speaks, “that’s good to hear.”

satoru’s father is a cold man, you learn that on the first meet. he doesn’t look at his wife with a soft look that tells you there’s any love built between the decades of marriage, and he doesn’t look at his only son with any affection for the boy he raised. instead, he stares at satoru like any businessman would an opportunity—with a calculating gaze that tries to work out the best course of action for the most profit.

satoru is young, but he’s charming and conniving and knows how to get what he wants when he wants—he’s quick on his feet and rarely lets himself get cornered into a wall. in the last three generations of the family business, no heir has shown as much promise as gojo satoru. that’s what his father tells you, anyway. you believe him—satoru is smart and knows how to play his cards right, you won’t deny that. his future is set to be comfortable, and he’s never known anything outside of that, never built any other plans for himself.

you can’t rip that away from him—not for your own sake, not for your own happiness.

“you promised you wouldn’t freeze his trust funds once i ended things,” you remind him, “and that he’d keep his inheritance.” somehow, because the world grants you this one favor, your voice doesn’t shake—it’s steady and firm as it reminds the stone-cold man at the end of the line of your agreement—and he offers a slow chuckle that makes your jaw clench.

“yes, i do recall,” he hums, “i’m glad we could come to agree. you understand, don’t you? it is my job as his father to do what’s best for him.”

you know what he’s saying—what that means. you’re not what’s best for him. maybe he’s right—maybe satoru needs someone who’s equally as promising to build a successful company into even more success. maybe he needs someone who can take him out for a change to those fancy places he takes you every few weeks. maybe he needs someone who’s heard of half the brands he wears and doesn’t scold him to turn the lights off so the electricity bill isn’t high. maybe he needs someone who can keep up with everything that gojo satoru is—and that someone is not you, no matter how deeply you love him.

“—the offer still stands, should you change your mind. i’m willing to compensate you for the trouble this must all be.”

your lips curl into a scowl at his words. that’s the thing about rich people, you think—money is always enough to sugarcoat everything. why worry about the dead grass in your lawn when you can paint it green? but you don’t leave satoru for extra cash on your hands—nothing can be worth auctioning off the only man who’s ever made you feel anything. you leave satoru because he deserves to continue living comfortably, to make a name for himself that isn’t just a ghost of his father’s. if that means being cut from the corner of the picture, you’re willing to pick up the scissors yourself.

“no thanks,” you hiss, “i don’t need the money.”

“i would disagree,” his father sneers, “but suit yourself.”

the line ends, and for good this time, satoru is no longer yours. was he ever to begin with?

—————

you try to forget your ex-boyfriend—keyword, try. every hour of your life consists of you using your burner account to refresh his instagram page to see if he’s posted anything new. you unfollow satoru from every social media platform the same day he picks up his belongings—you know he’s noticed within the first thirty minutes because all of his pictures with you are gone, just like all your pictures with him.

in what you assume is an attempt to be petty, he likes every picture of every girl he sees, and he even blocks you on twitter—you know he picks twitter because twitter is the only social media that blatantly states you’re blocked. but then you’re unblocked in two days, and you know he must be missing you now that the initial anger is faded.

it makes you laugh a little, even through your tears. satoru is not satoru without petty fits of emotion, and you can’t bring yourself to be mad, not when it’s your fault he’s hurting like this. he’s extra sad today, you gather—if the way marvin’s room is posted to his instagram story on a blank screen is of any hint. it makes you scoff in amusement that in true gojo satoru fashion, he’s effectively told all eight-thousand-something of his followers he’s pathetically in his feelings.

you scroll through suguru’s story, too—he didn’t unfollow you even after satoru temporarily blocked you, but you figure suguru is the only person satoru really has. you shouldn’t keep yourself close to him, not when it could hurt satoru more, so you remove him too.

suguru is, as always, drinking at some fancy party with obnoxiously rich college students who have not a care in the world for midterms around the corner. who needs to pass when you’re swimming in money whether or not you have a degree? the first thing you learn about the rich is that most of them are only at college for the experience—they don’t see college as the stepping stone to better opportunities, there’s nothing education could offer that trust funds already don’t. but satoru attends college for himself—he enjoys business classes, you learn, and especially finance ones. for someone who spends money so carelessly, he understands it particularly well.

there’s no sign of satoru at whatever party it is suguru is at, there’s no trace of strikingly bright white strands anywhere in any corners—you do see naoya in a corner, though, and you crinkle your nose in distaste. if satoru were here, he’d say something bitterly under his breath about the asshole, and you would giggle. but satoru is not here, and even naoya the women-hating jackass makes you miss your obnoxiously whiny ex-boyfriend.

everything reminds you of satoru. that bear he won you at the fair (after maybe six tries) by your pillows, those polaroids at your desk that you can’t bring yourself to take down, that sticky note on your fridge he left promising to replace the creamer he finished (he’s replaced it more times than he’s needed to by now), that extra big blanket you keep on the couch because the old one barely covered his legs, that pair of silly matching mugs you both had for coffee in the mornings.

every corner of your apartment has something that reminds you that satoru was here, that he was yours, that for a short while, he was the best thing you ever had. it’s your fault, you think—that satoru and you are here in this mess in the first place. he’s always looked at life through a hopeful lens. having everything does that to you, makes you ignorant to the misfortunes of the world, makes you think everything is within the realm of your reach. you, on the other hand, knew this was bound to happen. the two of you together is like hot oil and cool water—what feels like sparks is just the oil shooting out to burn you. you should’ve known this would have never lasted.

in a way, you think you did. it’s why you hated him so fiercely at first—maybe deep down, you always knew you wanted him, that he would never be yours. maybe that’s why you were so adamant about rejecting him, that even when he was clearly trying, it would never be enough. satoru has always been enough, has always been what everyone has wanted—you’re not so sure you can say the same for yourself.

you love gojo satoru. he loves you too—he falls first, and you think maybe, he might have fallen harder too. no one loves like satoru. they say if you press coal hard enough, it turns to diamonds—you think if you gave satoru coal, he would hand you back the sun and all of her stars. it’s just the kind of guy he is, the one that turns everything dull into something bright and warm and worth it. you wish you didn’t have to break his heart, you wish you could’ve walked out of this the only one hurt. but maybe, at the very least, if you break him good enough that he hates you, he’ll move on quicker, maybe have something to look forward to while you continue to work your way up and cheer him on.

before you can refresh suguru’s page one more time to stalk his story, you’re pulled from your thoughts as someone knocks on your door—correction: pounds on your door. you jolt on your couch, standing up and making your way to the front door quickly and looking through the peephole.

satoru. of course.

he’s soaked to the bone—it’s raining outside, and of course, just as on brand as always, he must’ve rushed here without an umbrella.

you shouldn’t open it.

but you can’t just leave him in the rain, can you? but he’s not your problem anymore, you agreed to leave him, didn’t you? but how could he not be your problem when he’s all you think about? but this could cause him trouble if his father found out he was here, right? but can you really leave someone, ex-boyfriend or not, in the pouring rain? you can’t be that cruel can you?

before you can make up your mind, he speaks up, “i know you’re standing there. open the door,” he demands.

“satoru, go home,” you sigh, head pressing against the surface that separates you, “don’t make this anymore difficult than it has to be.”

“if it’s difficult, that means you don’t really want to do this,” he argues. he’s still as good as ever at sweet talk, still as persistent and charming as ever at getting what he wants. “please,” he croaks, “just let me in.”

you know it means more than one thing. you know it means more than just your home. but you shouldn’t, you can’t let him know why you did all this—how can you protect someone from something if they don’t let you? satoru would never let you if he knew, and that’s why you can’t let him know.

“satoru, if you don’t leave…i’ll…i’ll call the cops,” you warn.

“no you won’t,” he says instantly. “i’m not leaving until you open the door. and if i get sick, i’ll send you my bill for the emergency room visit.”

“you’re not going to the emergency room for a common cold, you idiot,” you scoff.

the rain doesn’t slow—in fact, you can hear thunder. satoru is still stubbornly outside, knocking away.

“i’ll start screaming,” he insists, “your neighbors will complain for noise again. do you want to be kicked out of this apartment? just let your cold, wet, heartbroken ex-boyfriend in if you have a heart.”

and because you are, and always will be, weak to the charms of gojo satoru, you open that damned door—even though you shouldn’t, even though you can’t, even though you said you would never again. but you do. because it’s satoru, and he always comes when you call, and you’ll always let him in when he’s here.

“you don’t come to your ex’s house less than one week after the break up,” you sigh once you open the door. he takes a step in, shutting the door behind him.

“why did you leave me?” he asks.

“satoru, you can’t keep bringing this up—”

“why? just tell me why.”

“i don’t have to—”

“tell me why and i’ll stop bothering you. i just need to know why,” he insists.

and then you break.

you’re only human. you’ve lost the man you’ve given everything to for over a year in the span of one week. you’ll never see his lovely mother again who spoiled you rotten, you’ll never hang out out with his funny best friend who treats you like family, and you’ll never be enough for gojo satoru, the rich, loud, sheltered, obnoxious, handsome jackass you met and had to do a project with and accidentally fucked over and over again until you fell in love.

so you shove his chest, once, then twice, then a third time, each time getting weaker and weaker than the last as tears slip down your cheeks as you simply break down. “just leave, satoru,” you sob, “why can’t you just leave? why do you keep coming back?”

you hate seeing him here. you want him gone. you never want to see him again. you hope he never leaves. you’re glad to see him. you hope this isn’t the last time. you hate that he seems to not be getting enough sleep. his eyes are hollow. he must not be eating properly. he probably hasn’t attended class. he has a quiz next week. he most likely forgot about that. his clothes are wrinkly. he definitely hasn’t showered in days.

“last month you said i was it for you,” he glares at you, his eyes red and swollen and every shade of heartbreak. you miss when they were blue—that beautiful, bright, perfect shade of blue. “last week you said we were a mistake. what the fuck do you mean, huh? what are you playing at?”

“you can realize a lot in a month—”

“not enough to erase over a year,” his voice booms. it makes you flinch and hug yourself tightly. tears slide down your cheeks, your vision is blurry. this might be the last time you see satoru, and even if he’s angry, you want to remember the curves of his features. so you wipe them away. they keep coming back. “so tell me,” he clenches his jaw, “did you string me along for a year or did something happen last week that you’re not telling me?”

“i realized you were bad for me,” you say quietly.

satoru stares at you. it’s a piercing gaze—his eyes are electrically blue and his lashes are unfairly long and every time he stares at you, you think he almost sees into your soul. they’re tired—there are purplish bags under them on that pale skin of his, and the whites of his eyes are concerningly bloodshot. he stares, and stares, and for a second, you think you’ll die like this. watching him stare at you as your heart bleeds out.

“i spent weeks,” his voice shakes, “i waited outside your class. i followed you to the next one. i memorized your fucking schedule.”

“satoru, you need to leave—”

“and then you fucked me and left every morning like i was nothing,” he glares, sniffling. you don’t know where the rain drops on his face start and where the teardrops end. “and then i begged you for a chance—begged. i burned my hand, got laughed at by the maids to learn how to make those stupid fucking pancakes for you.”

“i didn’t ask you to—”

“it took you two months to call me baby for the first time. did you know that? i waited two months to hear that. i thought it was the best two months i ever waited.”

“satoru,” you plead.

you’ve given up on trying to wipe away the tears—he’s given up on crying altogether. you’ve never seen him so hollow, so dead in the eyes and so, so tired.

satoru has never gotten tired—not when he’s fighting for you.

“and then you kept pushing me away, acting like i was some shallow guy who wanted to get in your pants and leave cause i had some money to my name. i took you everywhere, introduced you proudly, let everyone say what they wanted to say about me because i loved you, and…and i thought you loved me too,” he shakes his head.

his voice breaks, and god, so does your heart right along with it.

“i do love you,” you admit it before you realize what you’re saying.

“then why did you fucking leave me?” his voice is loud.

satoru never yells, not at you. his voice is always gentle, patient, like he worships the ground you walk on, like he’ll get on his knees if you ask him too. satoru never yells—but he does tonight.

“because i had to,” you sob, fingers digging into your temples as you shake. the words spill from your lips faster than the tears, like a swarm of angry bees, one following after the other. “or you’d lose everything. the trust funds, the inheritance, the company. i couldn’t let that happen to you—not for me,” you whisper.

it feels like defeat—in the end, you couldn’t keep satoru, and you couldn’t leave him either. you couldn’t love him like you wanted, and you couldn’t let him go like you should have. what else is there left to fuck up? what more can you ruin in less than a week? the bees feel like maggots in your mouth, swarming a dead carcass.

“so you left me because my old man threatened you with my trust funds?” he asks in disbelief. you think something in satoru dies at that—something in his shoulders falls and his eyes almost seem gray.

satoru gets his blue eyes from his mother—they’re bright and kind and deeper than the ocean. but unlike the ocean, they’re not scary to fall into, to lose yourself in no matter how far you are from shore. his father’s eyes are gray—cold and blank and not laced with a single hint of emotion.

you can’t help but think that blue suits satoru so much better than gray ever could.

“it wasn’t just that,” you shake your head, “that’s not fair, satoru. what was i supposed to do? know you were about to lose everything and stay?”

“you could have talked to me before you decided for me,” he hisses, “what do you want me to say? thank you? thank you for breaking my heart? thank you for making me feel like a worthless piece of shit who wasted a year for someone who didn’t seem to care? thank you for walking out on me?”

“you know i’d have stayed if i could,” you argue, voice breaking.

“then why didn’t you? why the fuck didn’t you?”

“because i couldn’t!”

“you could!” he screams—you realize, for the first time in your life, you hate when satoru screams. he never screams. “all my life, that old man has been making decisions for me. satoru, wear this. satoru, go here. satoru, don’t do that. satoru, put that away. satoru, stay away from them. satoru, come with me. that’s all he’s ever fucking done—make every choice for me. and now…now you’re just like him,” he breathes, lips wobbling as he stares at you with hurt.

it’s like that for a bit—you stare at him as he crumbles, and he stares at you like he doesn't know you anymore. you don’t know who leans in first, if it’s your hand or his face, but one second you’re feet apart, and the next second his face is cradled in your hands, thumbs swiping away at his tears. you catch them, one by one, waiting to wipe them away no matter how fast they come. because satoru always comes when you call, and you’ll always be there for him to find you.

“i don’t want to leave,” you mumble, “i never do. you are it for me, i meant that, you know. who else will melt extra chocolate in my hot chocolate?”

“then don’t leave,” he begs, voice cracking, “i don’t want you to. i’ll handle that old geezer—my grandfather will knock some sense into him. fuck, suguru and i can even hide his body, it’s fine. just don’t leave, okay?”

you let out a watery chuckle, pinching his cheek as you shake your head. “i don’t know if i’m worth homicide, satoru.”

“i think you’re wrong,” he huffs, “you’re wrong about a lot of things, you know. so wrong.”

“i never said i was perfect,” you pout.

he buries his head into your neck, clinging to you tightly—you cling back, because nothing is as safe as satoru’s arms. you’d melt into his skin if you could, live in that spot right where his heart is so you can make sure it’s always beating.

“you’re still perfect,” he mumbles, “but you’re always mean to me. this was the worst you’ve ever been.”

“i’m sorry,” you murmur, slipping your fingers into his hair—it’s still wet, you realize. he’s soaked, and he could catch a cold but you don’t care. satoru is back. he’s here in your run-down apartment with the mugs and the blanket and that toothbrush you forgot to return and that pair of socks you found in your drawer. satoru is finally home. “i’ll never leave you again.”

“promise?”

“yeah. as long as you don’t block me on twitter again.”

“you deserved that.”

“and for the love of god, toru, delete that marvin’s room story. that was so dumb.”

“are you stalking me?” he pulls away with a grin, making you glare with a huff. he chuckles, kisses your forehead as he murmurs, “missed me that bad, huh? yeah, i would too.”

“well, obviously not enough to post marvin’s room on my story.”

“you can’t be mean to me after you broke my heart!” he whines.

yeah, you think, satoru is home. he’s still that loud, obnoxious, pestering brat that he always was—and he’s still the only love you’ve ever known.

“i love you,” you press your forehead to his, kissing him slowly. you want to kiss him harder, you want to kiss him desperately like you’ll never kiss him again. like you lost him and miraculously got him back. like you’ll never see the sun again without him.

but there’s time for that—lots of it, in fact. because satoru is home.

“i love you too,” he whispers, “wanna shower with me? if you really love me, you would.”

read the makeup sex sequel ;) MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

if this fic was a person i would want it dead.

#teepods.writings #fics.#rich boy! au #gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo angst #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jujutsu kaisen angst #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru angst

14K notes · View notes