
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10010657.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/F
  Fandom:
      Gravity_Falls
  Relationship:
      Wendy_Corduroy/Pacifica_Northwest
  Character:
      Wendy_Corduroy, Pacifica_Northwest
  Additional Tags:
      Post-Canon, First_Time, Car_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-02-28 Words: 2216
****** She's a Rebel ******
by youjik33
Summary
     Of course Pacifica is going to be prom queen. That's a given. And
     it's what she wants... isn't it?
Notes
     Written for the Gravity_Falls_kinkmeme. It was supposed to be a quick
     and dirty PWP, but it ran away from me a little bit.
     Pacifica and Wendy are around 17 and 19, respectively, when this
     story takes place.
     Title shamelessly stolen from the Green Day song currently earworming
     me.
Pacifica waited until the heavy doors closed behind her. Then she took a deep
breath and screamed, as loud as long as she could, until her throat ached, the
sound echoing off the brick walls of the school and into the moonlit night.
“Whoa,” a voice said from beside her. “Are you like, turning into some kind of
were-beast, or is this just teen hormones?”
Pacifica wheeled to face the voice, wobbling slightly on her sky-high lavender
pumps. “Wendy Corduroy,” she said, then cleared her scratchy throat. “Didn’t
you graduate, like, two years ago?”
“Yup,” Wendy said. “I’m catering.”
That explained what she was wearing – a white dress shirt tucked into black
slacks, her red hair pulled back in a messy bun. It also explained the tray of
canapes she was currently stuffing in her face.
“Aren’t you supposed to be serving those in the gym?” Pacifica asked.
Wendy shrugged. “I’m taking a break. Aren’t you supposed to be getting crowned
prom queen?”
“I don’t want to be prom queen,” Pacifica said.
This wasn’t entirely true. There was a part of Pacifica that desperately needed
that validation. There was another part of her that hated herself for wanting
it. The latter half had been getting increasingly irritable – every moment
Pacifica spent picking out the perfect dress, getting her hair and nails done.
That other self had finally threated to come bursting out, and Pacifica had
just barely made it away from the dance in time to let out that scream.
“Don’t blame you,” said Wendy.
Wendy could have been prom queen herself her senior year, if she’d bothered to
actually run. She got a bunch of votes anyway, and didn’t even go to prom.
Pacifica didn’t think she’d ever met anyone who cared less about what other
people thought of her. She had never exactly been friendly with Wendy, but she
had a certain amount of respect for her.
Pacifica fidgeted with the silver bangles at her wrist and then asked, “Do you
ever feel like you just want to... run away?”
“Well, yeah,” Wendy said. “Why do you think I’m out here? I needed some alone
time with these salmon thingies.”
“No, I mean like... away away.”
Wendy licked salmon pate off her fingers thoughtfully. “When I was like 13, I
got mad at my brothers about something or other, and went and lived in the
woods for three weeks. It was pretty cool. Turned out I missed them, though.
Plus I really wanted a shower.”
“Really? Were your--” Pacifica remembered just in time to amend her question.
“Was your dad angry?”
“What? No.” Wendy laughed. “He kept going on about how proud he was that I’d
mastered the survival skills he taught us. And cried some manly tears.” She
held the nearly-empty tray out, and Pacifica gingerly lifted a canape off it.
It wasn’t exactly the highest quality fish, but Pacifica hadn’t eaten since
breakfast for fear of smudging her makeup, and it tasted pretty good. She ate
five of them.
“Want to grab some champagne?” Wendy asked. “I nabbed the keys to the catering
van.” She held up the keyring, and the jingling of the keys made Pacifica
freeze in place for a moment.
“...champagne?” she managed. “At a high school prom?”
“It’s in a cooler thingie, I guess they just keep it there all the time. C’mon,
nobody will notice one missing bottle.”
Wendy tucked the now-empty tray under her arm and started heading across the
parking lot to the van. Pacifica could dimly hear the pulsing beat of dance
music coming from the gym; it seemed so far away. She should go back. Everyone
would assume she had just ducked off to the bathroom for a minute. She could
claim her title and fake-smile and bat her painstakingly curled eyelashes, and
pretend the fawning of the crowd wasn’t tinged with jealousy and irritation.
Her parents would acknowledge her just long enough to nod in approval when she
came home with the sash and crown.
Wendy had unlocked the back doors of the van, and sat on the bumper. “Coming?”
she called.
Pacifica took a breath and went, lifting the hem of her dress and stepping
carefully around the puddles in the cracked pavement.
“C’mon up,” Wendy said, disappearing into the shadows in the back of the van.
Pacifica could hear the keys rattling. The van had a sickly sweet smell, like
old soda. Its floor was lined in textured rubber mats, and there was a metal
cage along the right wall, full of disposable plates and cups. It was not a
place she felt she belonged. Her prom dress, hand-beaded and layered with silk
tulle, probably cost as much as the van.
She had to do an awkward little jump to get her knees up on the bumper, and
heard a couple of beads pop off and hit the asphalt.
Pacifica crawled on her hands and knees across the weird rubber matting, trying
to ignore how sticky it was, and sat with her back against the wall. Wendy had
retreived a bottle, and was struggling to get the cork out with an opener she
must’ve found elsewhere in the van. It finally popped, sending a rivulet of
liquid down her arm. She seemed unconcerned, licking it off her wrist with a
laugh. Pacifica felt something deep inside her stomach go warm at the sight.
“Not bad,” Wendy said, taking a swig and then handing the bottle over. There
were literally hundreds of plastic cups behind the wires across from them, but
Pacifica took the bottle anyway.
“This is a domestic,” she said, squinting at the label.
“So what? Who even knows the difference?” Wendy said, rolling her eyes.
Northwests knew the difference. Pacifica’s father, back before they had lost
enough of their wealth that Pacifica was forced to attend public school, had
once paid $35,000 for a single bottle of burgundy. She wondered if his wine
collection was still gathering dust in their old cellar, or if that crazy hobo
who’d bought the house had fed it to the raccoons.
Cheap domestic or not, the wine was sweet and bubbly. She took a long pull, and
tried not to think about the fact that Wendy’s mouth had been on the bottle
just moments before.
“You know, you’re actually pretty cool when you loosen up a little bit,” Wendy
said.
“Thanks,” Pacifica said drily. “You know, it’s a lot of work looking this good.
Sometimes I actually like to put in some effort.”
“Sure,” Wendy said. “But don’t you ever, like, sit around in yoga pants eating
ice cream right out of the carton? Or just spend hours locked in your room with
your vibrator?”
Pacifica choked, coughed, and champagne dribbled down her chin and fizzed in
her nose. “Ew, no.”
“Not sure which of those things you’re saying ‘ew’ to.”
“Yoga pants are for doing yoga,” Pacifica said primly. Wendy shoved a stack of
paper napkins at her, and Pacifica wiped down her face and neck. “And I don’t
even own a... one of those.”
“What, seriously?”Wendy said. ”Oh, man. You need to get one. The absolute best
thing about getting my own apartment is that I can just get off whenever I
want. It’s awesome.” She leaned in, grinning as she studied Pacifica’s face.
“Dude, you’re totally blushing.”
“That’s your fault,” Pacifica snapped. Wendy was so close, Pacifica could feel
her body heat. The back of the van suddenly seemed very warm and very small.
She reached to smooth down the skirt of her dress and her hand brushed Wendy’s,
by accident. Their fingers twined together, on purpose. Pacifica drew a shaky
breath, and leaned in to press her lips to Wendy’s.
Wendy’s lips were soft, her mouth sweet from the wine. Her hand came up to cup
Pacifica’s chin. “Cool,” Wendy said. “I’ve never made out with the prom queen
before.”
“I think I might be forfeiting that particular title,” Pacifica said, leaning
in for another kiss.
“Got sick of the high school cliches?” Wendy’s teeth dragged down the curve of
Pacifica’s neck, making her gasp. “How about that whole losing your virginity
on prom night thing?”
“That could still happen,” Pacifica said, feeling bolder.
Wendy grinned up at her, mouth just above Pacifica’ s collarbone. “Yeah?”
“I mean,”Pacifica said. “I don’t have a boyfriend or anything.”
She had gone stag to prom, played it off with a big show of not being able to
choose between all the boys who had asked her, not wanting to hurt any
feelings. Truthfully, she just wasn’t that interested in any of them.
“Me neither,” Wendy said. “I think.”
Pacifica started to laugh at that, but then Wendy was snaking a hand up her
skirt, brushing against her inner thigh, and Pacifica tensed and grabbed at
Wendy’s shoulders.
“We probably don’t have a whole lot of time,” Wendy said. “They’re gonna start
loading the van before prom’s actually over. And everyone’s probably wondering
where you are.”
“Then you’d better get on with it.” Haughty confidence was such a familiar
state for Pacifica that it was easy to fake now. She leaned back against the
wall of the van, spreading her thighs under Wendy’s hands, heart pounding. She
had a suspicion that Wendy knew it was fake.
“Purple looks good on you,” Wendy said, hiking Pacifica’s dress up around her
waist and getting a good look at her lacy panties.
“I know.” She shuddered as Wendy’s lips brushed against the inside of her
thigh, a feather-light series of touches. Wendy’s fingers hooked into the band
of Pacifica’s panties, and she lifted her hips to help her get them down.
“Huh,” Wendy said. “You really are a natural blonde.”
“What’s that supposed to-” Pacifica began, the words catching in her throat as
Wendy ran one fingertip up the slick folds of her pussy.
“God, you’re drenched,” she said.
“That’s your fault, too. You better take some responsibility.”
Pacifica expected to feel that teasing finger push inside. Instead, Wendy’s
mouth replaced it, and her tongue gave one long, slow sweep.
“That better?” Wendy asked.
“Don’t stop,” Pacifica said. The words sounded a little too much like begging
for comfort, but they got the desired result. Pacifica had touched herself
before, but this was so different. The warm, wet pressure of that tongue inside
her was making her dizzy. She felt like she was coming out of her body,
anchored only by the building electric tingle between her legs. She wished she
could see more clearly over the bunched-up folds of her skirt, and dug her
fingers into the tulle, trying to hold it down. Wendy saw her looking, grinned
up at her even while her tongue just kept lapping into Pacifica’s pussy.
Pacifica would have been content to ride that slow wave to climax, but then
Wendy pressed her thumb against the nub of Pacifica’s clit, and it was like
she’d flipped a switch, sending a jolt through her whole body.
“Fuck,” she gasped. Wendy was laughing at her – she could feel the vibrations
of it against her skin. That thumb pressed against her clit again and that was
too much, she was gone, her hips wanting to both press into that touch and buck
away from the overstimulation. Her whole body was shaking, coming completely
undone, and she barely even noticed when she banged her head against the side
of the van.
Panting and dazed, she lifted her hips to help Wendy get her panties back up
her shaking legs.
“That was hot,” Wendy said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“I see what you were getting at with the vibrator thing,” Pacifica said. Her
voice was still a little wobbly. “I feel more relaxed already.”
“You look like a mess. A hot mess, but – wait, no, that means something else. I
mean you look like a mess but also hot.”
She felt like she should be annoyed, but Wendy had a point. Pacifica could tell
her hair was coming undone from its carefully pinned updo, sections of it
falling around her shoulders. Her makeup was certainly smudged. And there was a
tear in her dress, where the seam of the skirt met the bodice. Her parents were
going to kill her. Just now, she didn’t really care.
“You know,” Wendy continued. “You barely ate anything at the dance. My
apartment’s only a couple of blocks from here, we could go hang out, order a
pizza.”
“Yeah?”
“And maybe I could show you my vibrator. Just so you really know what you’re
missing.”
Pacifica almost thought she heard a bell ringing, somewhere in the distance. It
was easy enough to ignore. “Sure,” she said.
Wendy helped Pacifica climb out of the back of the van, and left the keys on
the driver’s seat. They left a few fallen beads between the textured rubber
mats. Pacifica wondered what the other caterers would make of them.
She looped her arm through Wendy’s, and let the other girl lead her down the
sidewalk, away from the school.
“If you don’t want to wear that fancy dress all night,” Wendy offered, “You can
even borrow a pair of my yoga pants.”
“Now you’ve gone too far,” Pacifica said, but she was smiling.
 
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