steal me with a kiss

by cosmicpeonies

Summary:

Pacifica's parents have done the unimaginable. Insane. Impossible.

...they're letting her bring Dipper to one of their galas.

Pacifica is over the moon at the thought of a romantic evening with her best friend/partner in crime/maybe-sort-of-kind-of-okay-definitely crush, but nothing is simple when you're eighteen, and the road to Happily Ever After proves to be laced with nerves, jealousy, misunderstanding and a whole lot of agonizing over how unfair it is that he looks, like, that freaking good in a suit.

(Complete.)

Chapter 1: prologue

Pacifica sits at the long, mahogany dinner table, turning over the thick, deep purple envelope the butler left arranged on her place setting.

 

“What’s this?” she asks.

 

“An invitation for next Friday,” responds her mother, delicately picking at the salad in front of her.

 

“You’re giving me an invitation for our own party?”

 

“No, dear. It’s for your little friend.” Her mother waves her hand dismissively.

 

In all her eighteen years of life her parents have never once given her an invitation to bring a friend to one of their parties. At least not for her own benefit-- she doesn't think the invitations they gave her as leverage for the lumberjack ghost eviction really count. Sure, there would be other kids present. People she probably once would have called friends. But really they were just the children of her mother’s tennis club or her father’s business associates. And the relationships always fell apart as quickly as the company deals.

 

“Wha— who?” Pacifica asks.

 

“The Pines boy you’re always running around with,” replies her mother, still more interested in her salad than the conversation.

 

“You’re letting me invite Dipper?” Pacifica gapes, mouth hanging open.

 

Her dad looks just as astounded.

 

“Priscilla? What’s the meaning of this?” He drops the newspaper he’s had his nose stuck in since the family sat down to the meal. “We cant let her be seen with that little ruffian.”

 

“For heavens sake, Preston, they’re together constantly. Everyone is town has already seen them together.”

 

Her father turns to Pacifica, but her mother keeps talking.

 

“Besides, he’s actually quite a handsome young man,” she says. “When he combs his hair.” A pause. “And showers.” She wrinkles her nose.

 

Her father ignores her mother and addresses Pacifica, points his scotch glass toward her.

 

“Pacifica, is this true?”

 

“I mean he cleans up okay.”

 

“Pacif—“ her father starts before letting out an exasperated huff. “You know what I mean. Is it true that you’ve been cavorting with this boy?”

 

“He’s my friend!”

 

“Preston,” her mother interrupts. “She’s going to do what she’s going to do. We might as well keep an eye on her and the boy. Besides, maybe some class will rub off on him.”

 

Pacifica snorts at this, but quickly stifles it. Her mom’s making a point that could be used in her favor.

 

“This isn’t Pygmalion, Priscilla. We don’t need her bringing home little street rats to clean up.”

 

Again, Pacifica open her mouth to defend Dipper, but once more her mother interjects.

 

“It’s teenage rebellion,” her mother says, exasperated and bored. “She’s not going to marry the boy. But push her too much and next thing we’ll hear is that they’ve run off together.” She pulls a compact mirror seemingly from nowhere, studies her features. “And I am not yet at the age where being a grandmother is glamorous.”

 

Pacifica feels her face heat and she begins to remind her parents that they are just friends, but she stops short because something incredible is happening.

 

Her dad is being quiet. His eyes are narrowed, and his mouth twitches, but he isn’t arguing.

 

He’s thinking about it, Pacifica marvels, astounded.

 

He studies his scotch for a long time, gently swirling the amber liquid in the crystal snifter.

 

“Okay Pacifica,” be says finally. “The charity case can come. Just make sure your little Eliza Doolittle’s presentable.”

 

Pacifica feels a protest at the insult rising to her lips but quickly shoves it back down. She’s just gotten the thing she’s been hoping for for years. There will be a time and place for righteous indignation later. Right now she feels like she’s won something delicate.

 

And, let’s be honest, she really wants to take him.

 

“Of course, dad.” She pauses. “I’ll… make sure he showers,” she adds with an understanding nod directed at her mom.

 

“God help us,” her father mutters into his drink.

Notes:

title and upcoming chap. titles are references to Marina lyrics for no reason other than I love her and think Pacifica would too. :)

Chapter 2: oh dear diary, I met a boy

 

“Order up!”

 

Pacifica bustles around the diner, collecting empty plates and wiping down tables. It’s a busy day, and she runs to a wash station to scrub her hands before grabbing the plate of waffles the cook has practically thrown on the delivery window.

 

Despite the hectic atmosphere, Pacifica’s eyes flit to the entrance every few minutes. It’s Friday, and Dipper nearly always comes in for coffee on Fridays.

 

She had thought about texting him last night, checking to see if he would keep his normal schedule, but something about it felt too… needy? Normally she has no problem making plans, checking up on him, asking about his day. He’s one of her best friends after all, their text thread is active and full of inside jokes and small, inconsequential updates. But as she tucked herself in bed last night, glancing at the glossy purple envelope on her desk, she found her heart was beating just a little bit faster than it normally would. And she didn’t like it.

 

The feeling is uncomfortable. New. Sure, she’s known for awhile that she has a crush on him. But they have such an easy rhythm between the two of them that it’s not difficult to tuck her feelings to the side and just enjoy their friendship. But asking him to be her date… that requires a good bit of initiative on her part, and it forces her to face her feelings head on. And it’s just… it’s hard, okay? Being vulnerable isn’t something she’s great at.

 

So instead of texting him, she put her phone on her nightstand face-down and turned off her lamp, willing her mind to think on other things before drifting to sleep.

 

When morning rolled around she dressed in her pink uniform, pulled her long hair up into a high pony, and tied her crisp white apron around her waist, just like nearly every day. But this time she also tucked the envelope into the front pocket, where it’s rested securely all morning. Every time she moves she’s actively aware of its presence, reminding her of the task she’s committed herself to completing, reminding her that she has no idea what she’ll say, reminding her that he might say no, that there’s nothing she could do about that, and that he might not show up today at all.

 

And wouldn’t that be rich? She’s not sure which she would prefer. If he doesn’t come in she can take some more time to figure out what to say, but she also might completely lose her will altogether. No, no he has to come in. She has the adrenaline now, the excitement. But good heavens where is the jerk—

 

“Morning Cif!”

 

Pacifica swings around, and nearly jumps out of her skin because there he stands—in all his glory in flannel and cargo shorts— as if she conjured him.

 

She straightens herself. Flips her hair over her shoulder and she sends him a smile in greeting.

 

“Morning, dork. I didn’t know you were coming in today.”

 

Pfft. Liar.

 

“It’s Friday,” Dipper says, shrugging with a smile, as though no further explanation is necessary.

 

He takes his normal place at the end of the counter. Pacifica arranges a mug in front of him and reaches behind her to pull the coffee pot from the burner. She’d just made a fresh pot. For no reason in particular.

 

Leaning over the counter, she pours the coffee carefully, then stirs in a dash of sugar. Just how he likes it.

 

Normally customers doctor up their coffees themselves, but Pacifica always does Dipper’s for him. She usually doesn’t let herself think too deep about why, but does nevertheless enjoys the warm swell in her heart as she gently circles the teaspoon in front of him before placing it directly in his waiting hands. Today his hands cover hers for the briefest of seconds as he takes the mug from her, and her skin feels electric where they touch. She smiles to herself.

 

“Thanks, doll face.” Dipper says with a bad transatlantic accent and goofy wink. It’s a little thing he’s started doing when he comes to the diner. She assumes he’s trying to channel some sort of 1920s noir detective. Probably saw it in a movie. Nerd.

 

She used to roll her eyes, but now it makes her laugh.

 

As she twists to put the coffee pot back on the burner, she can feel the envelope poking against her thigh. She swallows.

 

“So, Dipper…” she starts as she straightens up. Her hands tuck into her apron pocket and she rubs her finger tips along the edge of the envelope. Her heartbeat elevates quickly, much to her annoyance.

 

He looks up with a curious head tilt.

 

Now or never.

 

“My parents are hosting this big fancy party for the chamber of commerce next Friday,” she continues, still fingering the envelope. “It’s gonna be, like, so lame. But, they said I could bring someone…” Not someone, she thinks. You. She recalls the embarrassing conversation with her mom and dad. But he doesn’t need to know about that. “And, like, I dunno. It could be cool… if we went, you know, together?”

 

She pulls the envelope out and extends it to him, held between her index and middle fingers, attempting nonchalance.

 

Dipper’s eyes widen as he reaches for the envelope.

 

“Oh, really?” he asks, fingers grasping around it.

 

“Like it’s no big deal though.”

 

Dipper doesn’t say anything, but turns the invitation over in his hand, eyeing it like he would a surprising artifact. His cheeks tinge pink, she notices.

 

Oh god, she thinks. He’s embarrassed. He’s going to say no.

 

“But, it could be fun,” she adds. “To, like, make fun of everyone, you know?”

 

“Yeah… yeah, totally,” he says, face still focused on the envelope, a little unreadable.

 

Her heart leaps into her throat.

 

He looks up. His face is definitely pink.

 

“But wait,” he continues. “They’re okay with me coming? They don’t want you to invite, like, Tiffany or someone?”

 

“It’s fine,” she says, shaking her head quickly.

 

“Okay… well yeah!” He grins broadly, eyes sparkling as they finally meets her, but his face falls just as fast. “Oh but— crap! I don’t have anything to wear. I have a suit at home… but, it might be too small, and I don’t know if my mom would be able to send—”

 

“I’ll buy you one!” Pacifica blurts out. She inwardly cringes at her enthusiasm. And also at the way even after all these years, the instinct to throw money at a problem still comes so quickly.

 

“I couldn’t let you do that,” Dipper says, shaking his head. “It’s too much.”

 

“Call it an early birthday present.”

 

“Pacifica.”

 

“We’ll go to the same shop my dad uses. He’ll never even notice it on the credit card statement.”

 

“Cif, no…”

 

“Dipper… please.” She looks down, playing with the hem of her apron. She swallows. “I… I really want you to come.”

 

Dipper studies her for a long beat and she she feels so terribly scrutinized under his gaze, but it's also exciting, like she's watching him solve a puzzle she can't wait for him to find the answer to, even if she's terrified of what he'll do when he does. Eventually, he exhales a long breath and she notices his smile quirk.

 

“Okay,” he says, tone returning to playfulness. “Call it my birthday and Christmas present, and next time we go to the movies it’s on me.”

 

Pacifica blushes at how Dipper paying for her at the movies would look to bystanders. Well she’s not gonna argue with him.

 

“Deal.” She smiles, meeting his eyes.

 

The two share a look that lasts a heartbeat too long. Pacifica feels her face heat under his stare, and Dipper looks like he’s running some calculation in his mind, but before he can say anything the front door to the diner opens and Wendy breezes in, backpack slung casually over her shoulder. She spots the two of them and makes her way over, smiling good-naturedly.

 

“Hey punks! How’s it hanging?” She says, clapping Dipper on the back and dropping onto the empty barstool next to him.

 

Pacifica smiles in greeting and distracts herself with wiping the counter, willing her face to return to a normal temperature.

 

Dipper clears his throat before saying, “Oh hey, Wen.” Pacifica doesn’t miss that he doesn’t sounds quite as excited to see her as he normally would. “Just, you know, getting some coffee.”

 

Wendy doesn’t respond, but her eyes light up when she spots the purple envelope next to Dipper’s mug.

 

“Oh!” She says excitedly. “Hey are you going to this shin dig?”

 

Pacifica stiffens.

 

“Yeah, Pacifica just invited me. Wait, are you?”

 

“Dad’s a member of the chamber of commerce. I wasn’t gonna… no offense” —she nods at Pacifica, who shrugs graciously—“but if you’re going to be there it might be a good time!”

 

Pacifica works to keep a neutral smile on her face, but inside her stomach is twisting. She knows Dipper doesn’t have a crush on Wendy anymore, and she’s pretty sure Wendy is dating that girl from the community college that she’s always hanging out with, but still… she’s not too proud too proud to admit, at least inwardly, that she was kind of hoping to have Dipper to herself that night.

 

Pacifica watches Dipper’s face return to that same unreadable expression he had when she first gave him the invitation, but Wendy doesn’t seem to notice. She turns to Pacifica with a broad grin that is unmistakably excited.

 

“Cool!” Pacifica forces herself to grit out, but she knows her smile doesn’t reach her eyes.

 

Wendy’s eyebrows quirk up and Pacifica watches in agony as realization blooms on the other girl’s face, her own grin fading just so.

 

Fate—surely playing a cruel trick—steps in and causes Dipper’s phone to choose this exact moment to ring. A loud trill of BABBA fills the room, and he turns away with a quiet "sorry" to answer it.

 

Wendy leans forward over the counter toward Pacifica, her eyes open and apologetic.

 

“Dude,” she whispers. “I am so sorry… was this supposed to be like a…? I don’t want get in the middle of—“ Wendy motions vaguely with her hand. She looks sincere, and Pacifica can’t stand being on the receiving end of her pity.

 

“Nope!” Pacifica chirps. “Nope it’s fine! The more the merrier!” Even she can hear how false it sounds. 

 

Wendy smiles sympathetically but doesn’t push it. “Well… I’m glad you think so because, uh, I might have heard some rumors about Mabel and her friends hatching a plan to crash…”

 

Pacifica sends Wendy another forced smile before turning away to pick up an order from the kitchen window.

 

Well isn’t that just peachy.

 

As she runs the plate of sky-high pancakes to a booth across the diner, she contemplates her options. There really doesn’t seem to be any path forward other than grinning and bearing it. She won’t admit her feelings— not to Wendy of all people, especially. She has her pride. And deep down she knows Mabel will have a blast at this party, and she can’t really bring herself to take that from her.

 

Make the most of it, girl. You’re a Northwest. There’s a lot of bad that could be said for Northwests, but one thing they have in their favor is tenacity.

 

What would a Northwest do?

 

Turning back to the counter, she studies the back of the curly mop of hair that invades so many of her daydreams. Her eyes move down. Down to take in the way his legs have lengthened and toned, the way his back muscles can be seen beneath the stretch of his flannel--which is definitely too small on him these days, the way his forearm flexes as he brings the coffee she so attentively poured for him to his lips.

 

Pacifica swallows, shifts her weight. There’s still one thing she can do.

 

Get a really great dress.

Chapter 3: what I love can't be bought or sold

“Hm, I still like the first one more,” Pacifica says, running her hands down the sleeves of Dipper’s suit jacket. It’s the fifth style he’s tried on, and that’s after spending twenty minutes standing on a small stand as the tailor took his measurements. He’s being a good sport about it, but she can tell his patience with the suit shop is beginning to wear thin.

 

“Really? But this one has these cool like shoulder padding things. It makes me look tough.”

 

Pacifica laughs.

 

“Those have been out of style since the 1980s. And trust me, it does not make people look tough. Besides, you don’t need any help with your…” She pauses, turning red as she looks for the right word. “Physique.”

 

It’s true. Dipper might never be a big guy, but over the last year his shoulders filled out nicely and his lean muscles gained a bit of definition that can’t help but stare at when he’s pulling himself up into a tree to get a better vantage point, pushing a boulder out of the way to gain access to some hidden cave, heck even just gripping the wheel on his dusty old pick up truck, turning into her drive to drop her off after a long day spent adventuring together.

 

Ahem. Anyway.

 

“I like the slim cut more,” she continues, before boldly adding: “It shows you off.”

 

Dipper blushes under the compliment and turns back to the dressing room.

 

“Slim cut it is then,” he says over his shoulder. And is her mind playing tricks on her or is the smile he sends with the words just a little flirtatious?

 

Pacifica shakes her head and turns to a folded pile of button downs on display, humming dreamily as she runs her hands over the soft, fine fabric of the shirts.

 

The door to the shop dings and she jumps a little, just like she always still does, but any alarm she feels at the sound of the bell is quickly overtaken by irritation at the voice that follows it.

 

“Well fancy meeting you here,” drawls an affected, posh male voice.

 

Eustace Befufftlefumpter. Sorry, Eustace Befufftlefumpter the Fourth as he is so fond of correcting people. He’s the great-grandson of former mayor of Gravity Falls Eustace Befufftlefumpter the First, and is, to put it lightly, a complete piece of shit.

 

“Get lost, asshat.”

 

Eustace tosses the preppy pullover sweater he was holding over one shoulder, holding it casually as he saunters up to Pacifica.

 

“Not very lady-like language, Ms. Northwest. What would mommy and daddy say to you speaking to me like that?”

 

Pacifica moves so the display table acts as a barrier between them.

 

“Like I give a shit,” she sneers in response.

 

Eustace ignores her.

 

“You know,” he begins, leaning on the display table. ”You weren’t very polite to me last time we met either. But I’m sure you can make it up to me at your parents' party.” His eyes scan up and down her figure and she suppresses the urge to deck him— right here and now in the middle of this fancy boutique.

 

“In your dreams.”

 

“Oh trust me, you’re much nicer to me in my—“

 

“Is there a problem here?” Dipper’s voice is cold, and his tone suggests it’s less of an honest question as much as it is a warning.

 

Eustace startles a bit when Dipper comes to stand next to Pacifica, and it’s clear he hadn’t taken the time to consider just why she might be in a men’s clothing store. His eyebrows raise as he takes in Dipper’s navy hoodie, blue jeans and worn-in boots.

 

“Huh, what do we have here, taking your proletariat boyfriend to the groomers?”

 

Pacifica can tell that Eustace is just trying to get a rise out of her, and she knows better than to play into it. But she also has Dipper standing right there next to her. She’s more worried about what he will think of Eustace’s suggestion, of what he will think if she doesn’t correct him. She takes in a breath, not really sure what is about to come out of her mouth. But it turns out she doesn’t need to worry.

 

Dipper’s arm wraps snugly around her waist, pulling her flush against his side. His fingers dig into her hip as he bites out, “so? What’s it to you?”

 

Eustace clearly wasn’t expecting this, and his surprise is betrayed by the way his smile falters and his eyebrows shoot up. He recovers quickly though, and adopts what is clearly meant to look like smug amusement.

 

“Seriously, Northwest? I was joking.”

 

Pacifica ignores the slight. She plows forward, hoping to get the conversation wrapped up as quickly as possible.

 

“This is Dipper Pines. Dipper, this is—“ She’s about to say something rude, but the he cuts her off.

 

“Eustace Befufftlefumpter the Fourth,” Eustace says without extending his hand. “Dipper was it?”

 

“To my friends.” Dipper’s eyes are laser-focused on Eustace, his face pulled into a firm grimace. “You can call me Mason.”

 

“As you wish.” Eustace turns back to Pacifica. “My dear, I must say I’m surprised. I didn’t take you as the type to be satisfied with such”—he eyes Dipper up and down—“common company.”

 

Pacifica looks between Dipper and Eustace. She’s not sure how to navigate this situation. She could give a rat’s ass about what Eustace thinks, but the way Dipper’s fingers curl possessively around her waist has her confused. It’s a variable in this social situation that she doesn’t know what to do with.

 

“Satisfied,” Dipper repeats, voice low and suggestive.

 

Oh good lord.

 

“That’s right,” Eustace sniffs.

 

Dipper’s fingers squeeze at her waist again, urging her to play along. Dipper, bless him, can’t help but take the bait. Let no one say he’s immune to a taunt.

 

“I dunno, I think she’s pretty satisfied.” Dipper says, moving his hand up her waist to wrap around her shoulder. “What do you say, sweetheart? Are you satisfied? Or do I leave you wanting?”

 

Pacifica feels her cheeks color at the implication, and pushes down a nervous laugh the threatens to rise to the surface. What on earth has come over him?

 

Not that she’s complaining…

 

“Very,” Pacifica chokes out, trying to play into the ruse. She leans slightly into Dipper’s grasp as she locks her eyes on his.

 

Eustace pales at the turn in conversation, and it’s clear he’s feeling outnumbered and off-balance. He takes half a step back before composing himself again.

 

“Whatever you say, Pacifica.” And she wants to slap her name off his lips. “I’m looking forward to your parents party. I’m assuming you’ll be there, Mason?”

 

“Obviously.”

 

“Until then,” he tosses at the pair, and then he’s gone, exiting the shop without even looking at any items.

 

So what, he just came in here to harass her? What an—

 

“Asshole!” Besides her, Dipper voice finishes her thought for her.

 

“I’m sorry, about him,” she beings. “You didn’t need to—“

 

Dipper releases his grip on her, and Pacifica hates how her heart drops the second he’s not touching her. His face twists up in what looks like worry.

 

“No,” he cuts her off. “Shit, I’m sorry. Really, I don’t know what came over me. I mean, I do, but I shouldn’t have insinuated that I— that we…”

 

“It’s fine!” She blushes, glancing at the ceiling. “It’s fine. It was… kind of fun. Did you see his face?”

 

She watches Dipper’s features relax, and feels relief course though her own system as well.

 

“Yeah,” he laughs, before rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “So, I heard a little bit of the, uh, conversation… before. Sorry, I didn’t meant to eavesdrop.”

 

“No, no its okay.”

 

“So you guys have some sort of, what—history?” he continues.

 

Pacifica snorts, and she moves to the cashier to complete their purchase. “Barely. My parents and his parents tried to set us up once. His family is in politics. They wanted the connection, all that. It didn’t go well. From my perspective at least. He’s a truly heinous person.”

 

Dipper looks pensive. “When was this?”

 

“Around Christmas maybe? Late last year I think.” She takes the receipt from the cashier. Glances down. The suit’ll be ready by Wednesday. Perfect.

 

“How come you didn’t tell me about it?”

 

Pacifica pauses at his tone. “I guess I just… didn’t think much of it. It sucked, but wasn’t worth discussing.”

 

“Did he… you know, try anything?” Dipper asks, holding the front door to the shop open for her slowly. The bell doesn’t chime.

 

“Oh… well, no. Not really anyway,” she says, passing through the doorway and back on the sidewalk. The sun sits heavy on the horizon and streetlights are just beginning to flicker on. “Like, he wasn’t making his… appreciation… of me a secret or anything. I caught him looking… well, yeah, places I didn’t like, but he didn’t really try to make a pass or anything. I didn’t really give him the opportunity to try, honestly. As soon as I figure out what our parents were up to I pretty much bailed right away.”

 

“But he made you feel uncomfortable?” Dipper asks.

 

“Well, duh. He’s a creep. But, Dip, don’t worry about it. It was fine.”

 

“I don’t think it was fine,” Dipper says, straightening his back. “He shouldn’t make you feel that way.”

 

“Well, I know, but like… it’s no worse than the boys at school, you know? It’s just kind of part of being a girl. Sometimes you get attention you don’t want.”

 

Dipper stiffens further but doesn’t say anything. They’re approaching his rusty pickup, parked at a meter a few blocks away before he finally breaks the silence.

 

“I think I should pretend to be your boyfriend at this party.”

 

Pacifica freezes. What.

 

“Because of Eustace?”

 

Dipper leans his back against the passenger side door of the truck, crosses his arms. The glow of the street lamp dances on his shoulders, forearms, and the top of his curls.

 

“Yeah, I mean he already thinks we’re together. And he’s obviously not respectful of you, but he backed off a bit once I showed up. And like I know that’s super sexist but—“

 

“Dip, I don’t need you to go all white knight on me. I can handle the likes of him.”

 

“I know, but—“

 

“Dipper, I know you’re better than this, but by implying that I would only be safe, like, on your arm, you’re sort of playing into similar antiquated ideas that he was.”

 

Dipper groans and pushes himself off the truck, pacing as he runs a hand through his hair. “I know, I know you’re right. But I just— I don’t like the guy. I get bad vibes. And I know you can fend for yourself…” He pauses. “I didn’t know you had to do it so often…,” he mutters. “But I know you can do it. Just, let me take some of that from you. For one night. Please.”

 

Pacifica meets his gaze.

 

“Also like come on he freaking sucks!” Dipper cries.

 

“Are you sure?” she asks, trepidation lacing her voice.

 

“Duh— did you see the tiny sailboats on his tie?”

 

Pacifica groans. “No, Dipshit, I mean are you sure about pretending to be together? Just to get him off my back? You don’t have to do that.”

 

“I’m absolutely sure," Dipper says, facing her head on. "It’d be my pleasure. I mean— to help. You know. Come on, Cif, just let me do this.” He raises both his hands to grip her shoulders lightly, eyes focused on hers. “Please.”

 

There’s obviously a huge part of her heart that is absolutely leaping at the idea, but she’s also not entirely, absolutely sure where his feelings for her stand. And the last thing she wants is for him to take care of her out of some sense of obligation. For all her growth, Pacifica Northwest still struggles with accepting help. On the other hand, she’d really been hoping for a romantic evening with Dipper, one that might encourage any amorous feelings on his part to the surface. And pretending to date surely can only push that along, right?

 

“Okay…” she says, slowly. “But no macho showboating. You have to be a nice, respectable fake boyfriend. Good manners, no picking fights. Can you promise that?”

 

Dipper’s face explodes into a grin and he releases his hold on her.

 

“I can promise I can try.”

 

“Dipper!”

 

“I promise I’ll try really hard.”

 

She glares at him.

 

“Come on, Cif, I’m but a mere commoner.” He smirks, pulling the passenger side door open and gesturing dramatically for her to take his hand so he can guide her in. “How well-behaved can you expect?”

Notes:

*slaps roof of fic* this bad boy can fit so many f-ing tropes in it

--

edit: *jedi mind trick wave* if you noticed I changed the chapter title like a week after I posted, no you didnt. *further jedi mind trick wave* also if you recognize the previous title in a future chapter because I reassigned it, no you didnt again.

Chapter 4: the cat who got the cream

Despite teasing threats to the contrary, Dipper does show up to McGucket Manor at precisely 5:00 PM on the dot on the day of the event, new suit still in its garment bag slung over his shoulder. The valet eyes his dirty keys curiously when Dipper plops them into his hand with a good-natured smile and a shrug.

 

“Take care of her, will ya?" Dipper asks, gesturing back to his old pickup, which looks like it barely made the journey up the hill.

 

The valet grimaces but walks down the drive to the truck. Dipper turns to Pacifica, smiling.

 

Pacifica feels strange welcoming him into her old home. It’s almost like playing with a dollhouse she used to own, and she supposes in some ways it is.

 

“Weird being back?” Dipper asks as she leads him through the maze of corridors toward her old bedroom.

 

“A bit, yeah,” she admits. “Mr. McGucket’s been really gracious, of course, letting them have the gala here. But yes—it’s strange.” They pass a long mirror mounted above a large oak credenza. She stops in front of it, studies her own reflection. “I keep thinking how older me looks out of place here. It’s like stepping into a different timeline or something.”

 

Dipper meets her eyes in the mirror, shoving his free hand in his pocket. “Any regrets?”

 

She takes in their shared reflections.

 

“Nope.” She turns to face him. “C’mon. Just a little further.”

 

Pacifica leads him up to her former bedroom. Pushing open the heavy door, she flips a switch and the three dazzling chandeliers flicker to life. It must have been awhile since McGucket thought to change the bulbs though, because many of them are burnt out. The effect is that the room is softly lit in a manner Pacifica clocks as fortuitously flattering.

 

When McGucket bought the mansion from the Northwests most of the furnishings and decor were included in the purchase. Her mother claimed it was because they were “bespoke”—made custom for the home. That’s probably true at least in part, but Pacifica knows the main reason was to line her parent’s pockets with as much cash as possible. McGucket is classy enough not to bring it up.

 

Either way, the consequence is that Pacifica’s childhood bedroom is much the same as it was when she moved out at age 12. Personal items are long gone of course—hauled across town to the Northwests’ still stunning but far less stately new home—but her bed, dresser, nightstands, bookshelf, and desk remain right where she left them. Most items are empty but the room must have been used for a guest at some point, because the bed is made in plush, unfamiliar bedding, and the en suite bathroom’s counter displays a small collection of hotel-sized toiletries. She’s thankful for it. It makes it feel less like she’s getting ready in a long-forgotten museum.

 

She eyes where the tapestry of Bill once hung above her writing desk, and smiles to herself recalling how she and Dipper snuck aboard her family’s yacht 6 years prior to unceremoniously send it to the bottom of Lake Gravity Falls.

 

“So this is where Little ‘Ciffy grew up, huh?” Dipper asks, breaking her train of thought. His eyes roam as he takes in the room.

 

Pacifica wrinkles her nose. “Little ‘Ciffy?”

 

“Sure, it’s cute.” He drops off his garment bag on her bed, then turns and walks toward her. “Didn’t you ever have a nickname as a kid?”

 

She hums thoughtfully. “Not really my parents’ style.”

 

“I thought old money types were all about nicknames. Muffy from the country club, Bunny from the debutant ball.” He grabs her hand and twirls her playfully in place in a pretense of a dance.

 

Pacifica giggles. “Yeah, they can be,” she says, letting him spin her into his arms in a light hold. She looks over her shoulder at him. “But my parents always erred on the side of formality. Can’t let your only daughter get too comfortable!” She grins, trying for self-deprecating humor, but Dipper only blinks at her and gives her a sad smile. He squeezes her hand as he lets her out of his grip.

 

“It’s strange thinking of you as a little kid,” he says, walking to a window. “Growing up here in this giant house, I mean. Did you ever get lonely?”

 

She plays with her shirt sleeves as she thinks.

 

“Kind of, but not in the way you’re probably thinking. There was always someone around, you know? Tutors, trainers, business partners. The hard part was just not really feeling seen by any of them.”

 

“Yeah, I bet.” Dipper studies her in that intense, sympathetic way he has.

 

Pacifica hates feeling pitied. She stiffens a little.

 

“Yeah, but like, oodles of cash, fabulous wardrobe, caviar on tap— hard to feel too sad with all that.” She waves her hand dismissively. “Besides, ‘poor little rich girl’ isn’t a great look on anyone.”

 

Dipper looks away, frowning. He turns to look out the window, down at the grounds below where staff are busy setting up what looks like a stupidly grandiose petting zoo. “You’re sure you don’t miss it? The… house, ponies, all that?”

 

“I miss my ponies,” she admits. “But I keep up with their new owners.”

 

“So no regrets?” He rests his palms on the windowsill and leans down to get a better look at the sprawling estate.

 

She tilts her head at him, curious. “You already asked me that.”

 

“I mean, I dunno, I’m just making sure,” he says, not looking at her. Pacifica notices that the tips of his ears have gone pink.

 

This matters to him, she realizes. She walks a little closer.

 

“Look… I mean, I was pretty young when we were that rich. Sure, it could be fun. But no, the life that my parents had all sorted out for me— that old life— it wasn’t mine.” She moves next to him, stands shoulder-to-shoulder as he keeps his eyes trained on the lawn below. Feeling gutsy, she moves to put her hands on the windowsill too, right next to his. “I much prefer this one.”

 

Through their faint reflection in the window, she can see Dipper’s eyes move down to their hands, and her breath catches when she notices his pinky sneak just barely a centimeter toward hers.

 

A moment later she’s worried she’s imagined it though, as something seems to have caught Dipper’s attention on the lawn below.

 

He lets out a low snort, and she hums inquisitively.

 

“They brought in a llama,” he notes, amused. She follows his gaze to the petting zoo. “You think they remember?”

 

Pacifica lets out a laugh. “Not a chance. My mom still thinks llamas are a type of Mexican food dish.”

 

“Still, maybe it’s a sign.”

 

“Of what?”

 

He shrugs, watching the llama sniff a pair of sheep also being released into the picket-fenced enclosure. “I dunno. It’s your life now, like you said. Maybe signs can mean whatever you want them to.” He tilts his head to look at her, and the intensity in his stare startles her. 

 

Pacifica struggles under his gaze. It’s one of the things she loves about him—wait, love? No, likes about him—the fact that he kind of just cuts past her pretenses and demands honesty from her, but it can also be a lot.

 

Just then her phone pings loudly. Pacifica isn’t sure if it’s a blessing or a curse. Either way, her hand bolts to her pocket and she flips it open to read the interruptive text.

 

Mabel: go 2 bck gate. tp scrt.

 

Mabel: ps. message is in code.

 

Pacifica furrows her brows and shows the text to Dipper, who laughs.

 

“I don’t think Mabel quite understands that just putting words into shorthand doesn’t mean they’re encoded.”

 

“Clearly,” Pacifica laughs, a little bit grateful for the way it released the tension in the room, despite how delicious might have been. “Well I better go see what chaos she’s up to. If you want to get ready in the meantime you can use the en suite.”

 

“En suite?” Dipper raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think my peasant brain comprehends.”

 

Pacifica rolls her eyes.

 

“The bathroom, doofus.”

 

“I know,” he laughs, poking her on the forehead with his pointer finger, and then he’s headed for the door to the attached room, stopping only to sling the garment bag from the bed up and over his arm. “Good luck with my sister.”

 

As soon he disappears behind the bathroom door, Pacifica lets out a full-body shake.

 

Get it together, girl.

 

She makes her way down the familiar hallways and out a seldom-use side exit, beginning the trek across the grounds and gardens to the ornate, rusted back gate. It’s hidden in brush and ivy, and she vaguely wonders how Mabel even knew it was here before deciding it doesn’t matter. The Pines twins are nothing if not… exploratory.

 

“Nosy” was the first word that came to mind, but she’s spent the last few years trying to find nicer synonyms for most of her internal thoughts.

 

There stand Mabel and Candy, each dressed in a wildly oversized jumpsuit, hair tucked up into newsboy caps and fake mustaches affixed to their faces. Candy’s is a shade of red that is strikingly unharmonious with her jet black hair. Waddles sits next to Mabel, affixed to a leash and looking miserable, and Candy grasps a beleaguered-looking chicken in her arms. Pacifica wonders who they think they are fooling, but decides to play along for the fun of it.

 

She puts her hand on her waist and juts out her hip.

 

“And who might you two fine gentlemen be?”

 

“Well hello there, little lady,” Mabel says, voice low and dripping in over the top flirtatiousness. She tips her cap gallantly. “Might you be able to let us two blue-collar farm-animal-renting gentlemen in to deliver these lovely animals to these here festivities’ petting zoo?”

 

“Well I don’t know, are your critters as handsome as you two are?” She bats her eyelashes exaggeratedly.

 

“Paz! It’s me! Mabel!”

 

“And Candy!” Candy pipes up.

 

“No!” Pacifica says, raising her hand to her mouth in a mimicry of shock.

 

“Yes!” Mabel beams. “Now let us in. Waddles and Clucks here are our tickets in to this party.”

 

Pacifica rolls her eyes but smiles, swinging open the gate and gesturing for them to enter.

 

“Where’s Grenda?” She asks as she leads them through the grounds. She forgot what a maze of gardens this place is.

 

“Psh, she gets to go in the front door with her fancy fiancé.” Mabel rolls her eyes. “But hey where’s the fun in that, eh, Candy?”

 

Candy, who it struggling to keep her hold on her poor chicken, smiles weakly. “Deception is far more exciting!”

 

“See?” Mabel grins.

 

The girls finally make their way across the back lawn to where the petting zoo has been set up. A few convincing lines and smiles later, and Waddles and Clucks have been safely deposited with the other animals, much to their apparent chagrin.

 

“Do you want to come inside to get ready?” Pacifica asks. “Dipper’s changing in my old room right now.”

 

Mabel’s eyes widen, and Pacifica reels back just slightly at the maniacal gleam that develops in them.

 

“Oh no way, Paz. We wouldn’t want to crowd the place.”

 

“We would not dream of it,” Candy adds.

 

“You two have fun.”

 

“But not too much fun.”

 

“Or yes too much fun, if you want.”

 

Pacifica knows all too well that Mabel thinks she and Dipper should have gotten together long ago, and while she would never admit her feelings because are you kidding me, admitting feelings for a boy when you’re not sure how he feels back? How embarrassing! …she secretly appreciates her friend’s enthusiasm. And while she’s not surprised by their their declinations, she is nevertheless grateful.

 

“Okay well…” she tries. “Did you want another room?”

 

“No need!” Mabel chirps.

 

In unison, she and Candy tear away their mustaches, whip off their caps and pull down the zippers on their jumpsuits. Defying all laws of space and matter, somehow they have both managed to stuff giant, poofy ballgowns into their jumpsuits. Candy’s is a becoming shade of plum while Mabel’s feathered monstrosity contains perhaps every color known to man. They each step out of the legs of their jumpsuits and toss the full disguises into a nearby bush. Mabel strikes a dramatic pose as Candy performs a polite curtsy.

 

Pacifica raises her eyebrows and applauds appreciatively.

 

“We’re going to go get a lay of the land,” Mabel declares. “Scope out the best places for sneaking away with cuties.”

 

“And bringing down capitalism!” Candy supplies.

 

“Have fun with my brother!” Mabel calls out as she and Candy saunter off. “Tell him…” She pauses briefly, strokes her chin. “Tell him Mabel says to stop being a weenie!”

 

“About what?” Pacifica shouts.

 

“Oh he’ll know!” Mabel yells back.

 

Pacifica scrunches up her face as the two girls walk off to cause trouble, no doubt. She turns back to the mansion, weaving between caterers setting up an enormous table of cakes and candies, a pair of men hauling a wheelbarrow full of fireworks to the far corner of the back lawn, and at least six dozen cases of champagne being wheeled in on a dolly.

 

Mom and Dad have gone all out for this thing, she thinks. They must really be trying to win back the town’s favor.

 

Pacifica makes her way back upstairs, stopping only briefly to give her thanks to McGucket, who she runs into looking surprisingly dapper in a corduroy, bell-bottomed, three-piece suit.

 

Good for him, she thinks gaily.

 

When she reaches and enters her room, however, her mood shifts as she immediately knows she’s in trouble.

 

Dipper stands at the window, his back to her, and he hasn’t even turned around yet but she knows she’s going to have to to write a personal thank you letter to the tailor for the gift he bestowed upon her eyes.

 

The suit is crisp, clean and slim, accentuating his swimmer’s build and tapering in at all the right places. He’s leaning forward on the windowsill a little, looking out again. One hand rests on the ledge while the other is tucked into his pocket. His right leg is bent just so in a way that pulls the fabric taught at his… well, Pacifica has to drag her eyes back up from the spot where the fabric hugs. His jacket remains tossed on the bed and she’s going to have to explain to him later how easily it can wrinkle, but it doesn’t matter at all right now because he’s straightening up and turning around and smiling and oh god she’s about to die.

 

The only thing left unfinished is the bow tie, which hangs loosely around around a few undone buttons at the neckline of his shirt. Good, she thinks, absently.

 

“Welcome back,” he says, approaching her and running his hand through his hair.

 

She can tell he tried to do something with it, probably just with water, but the effect is that his curls are still tousled and messy, but in a way that looks slightly more intentional.

 

She’s absolutely going to die.

 

“You—.” She coughs. “You look good.”

 

He shrugs. “I have a good stylist.”

 

Pacifica can’t stop herself from staring, and she apparently also can’t make her brain come up with anything else to say. Awesome.

 

“So what’s Mabel up to?” Dipper asks, saving her.

 

“Oh,” she laughs, and forces herself to snap back to the present. “Just the usual. Fraud, unlawful entry, maybe something to do with livestock permits…”

 

Dipper laughs. “Sounds about right. Well, I can’t blame her.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks forward on his feet, giving her a crooked smile. “Not everyone gets the privilege of being able to attend on the arm of the belle of the ball.”

 

One of the most irritating thing she’s come to realize as she’s gotten older is the regrettable fact that Dipper Pines kind of, impossibly, inexplicably, has game.

 

Well, on second thought, she’s not so sure he does, but whatever it is that he does have works disastrously well on her. His stupid quips and one-liners unfailingly make her blush, and even the ones that she rolls her eyes at resurface in her mind later in the day, making her walk around with a dopey smile that is humiliating to get called out on.

 

(It’s one of Mabel’s favorite pastimes, unfortunately.)

 

Pacifica knows her face is heating, which just won’t do. She beelines for her own garment bag, hung carefully from her old four-poster bed.

 

Only one path forward.

 

Time to get gorgeous.

 

“I’ll be right back,” she says, tossing him what she hopes is a coy look as she ducks into the bathroom.

 

She’d taken care of her hair and makeup (simple, elegant soft curls) before Dipper arrived, so all she has to do now to get ready is put on the dress she picked up earlier in the week. Slipping into it, she takes in her reflection in the full-length mirror that lines one wall of the embarrassingly opulent bathroom.

 

Thin silk straps hold up pale blue fabric that hugs in all the right places, and the the small crystals sewn into the fabric catch the light as she moves, giving her the illusion of luminescence. It’s relatively modest in the front— this is a public function after all— but only comes up to the small of her back in the rear. Pulling up her hair, Pacifica takes a moment to admire this particular feature. Not bad at all, she thinks, feeling a little smug. It’s a show-stopper of a dress, to say the least, and is sure to stand out in the crowd.

 

(Mabel had nearly fallen off the stool in the fitting room waiting area when Pacifica emerged from behind the curtain to model it. “Hot damn, Pazzy! You tryin’ to break every heart in the room?”

 

All but one, Pacifica had thought.)

 

She nearly has it all the way on—just needs to finish zipping up the low back above her hips—when an idea comes to her.

 

She could reach around a little further, contort her arm backwards to finish zipping it up… or she could have a little fun.

 

She opts for the fun.

 

Pacifica delicately opens the bathroom door and makes her way across to Dipper, who sits rocked back in her old desk chair, studying his palms.

 

“Hey Dip? Can you help me here?”

 

To say Dipper is affected, when he looks up at her, would be an understatement. His eyes widen and cheeks flush a deep crimson. His mouth gapes a little and she can tell he’s trying so hard not to ogle, but failing miserably. She feels a warm flush of pleasurable pride.

 

It doesn’t feel anything like it did when Eustace leered at her in the shop. This is welcome. A small thrill run down her back as he drags his eyes from her hips back up to her face.

 

He clears his throat before speaking, voice low. “Wow. Y-you look… really good.”

 

“Thanks,” Pacifica says, sending him her most winning smile. “But, like I said, I need a little help.”

 

She turns her back to him, pulls up her hair again, revealing her bare back, and points to the zipper hovering a few inches above her tailbone. She hears a loud clud as the chair Dipper was teetering in firmly falls forward on the solid wood flooring. In a second she feels his heavy footsteps cross the room and can sense him behind her, but it takes an agonizingly long time for his warm fingers to grasp at the zipper. When they do, his left hand spreads to hold the fabric of her dress taut, putting lovely pressure on her skin, as the right takes the small zipper and slowly, agonizingly pulls it up. She curves her back (for easier access! Even though that’s nonsensical) and she swears she can feel his fingers trembling.

 

When the zipper reaches the top of the whole six-inches she asked him to help her with, his right hand mirrors his left in spreading out along her hips, palms pressing flat against her body for a flash of a second. She feels a zing of excitement that runs right to her core.

 

Time to bring this baby home, she thinks.

 

She looks over her shoulder at him, giving him her best mix of sultry and playful. Slowly, she twists in place, his hands remaining lightly grazing her waist as she moves. She lifts her own hands to his bowtie and ties it with deft fingers, letting her hands linger on his collar a second longer than necessary. Its’s a familiar practice, and one she’s come to think of as their thing. Soos’s wedding, a school dance she just happened to be down in Piedmont for, a different school dance he just happened to be in Gravity Falls for… Dipper apparently still doesn’t know how to tie a bowtie and she’s not eager for him to learn.

 

She looks up at him through her lashes.

 

“Ready to do this thing?”

 

He stares back at her, cheeks flushed but eyes focused.

 

“Absolutely.”

Notes:

eeeeeeek!!

Chapter 5: la dolce vita

Notes:

bear with me folks, lots of describing actions and movements in this one, but you will see why :)
yes still T rating only.

Pulling open her heavy door with one arm, Dipper holds his other out to Pacifica at an angle. She giggles at the dorky attempt at chivalry, but her heart flutters still as she tucks her arm into the crook of his. She luxuriates in the close proximity as they wander down the hallway toward the center of the mansion. She can feel where his thigh brushes her hip, and it’s not difficult to fall into the same rhythm as they walk.

 

"Too bad we won't be able to get dirty enough tonight to mess up your folks' favorite carpets again, huh?" Dipper jokes. 

 

"The night is young, Pines." Pacifica quips. "You never know."

 

She smiles and brings her free hand up to grasp at the same arm her other is tucked though, her fingers curling around his forearm. She feels the muscles there twitch minutely, and then his free hand raises to rest on top of hers too. She can feel the warmth of his palm against the back of her hand, and she works very hard to it oh so very still so as to not scare him off and lose the lovely pressure.

 

They reach the top of the grand staircase leading down to the party, and Dipper pauses at the top to glance over at her. His eyes ask a question (“you sure about this?”) and in response she tugs down the arm both her hands are currently wrapped around, pulling it between their bodies, then trails one hand down until they are palm-to-palm. Eyes locked on his, she smiles as she cups her hand and tucks it into his to lead him down the stairs.

 

She decides right then and there that she’s going to do all she can to keep a mental catalogue of the places Dipper touches her tonight. No matter the outcome of the evening, she knows she’s going to want to return to the sensations— and hopefully also to the memories.

 

—

 

Later, after the finishing touches have all been put into place and the the guests have arrived, her hand is again snug in his as they approach the drinks table and each grab a small flute of cider. Pacifica notes that he doesn’t even seem to consider letting go of her hand as he reaches with his free, non-dominant left, leaving her free to grab one with her right.

 

“You think this might be hard cider?” he asks, nodding to the fizzing liquid.

 

“God I hope so,” Pacifica says. “These people are so boring.”

 

“I hate to remind you—well, actually, no I don’t,” he laughs, squeezing her hand. “But you kind of used to be these people.”

 

Pacifica rolls her eyes. “I was never these people. I mean, like, yes I guess I was snobby, rich and mean like these people, but I was never boring.”

 

“You got me there, Northwest.”

 

“Come on, there’s at least six girls here that totally hate me after that stunt I pulled at the last Daughters of the American Expansion charity gala. I might’ve told the butler to refill the water carafes with tap instead of Icelandic sparkling.”

 

“Wow, scandalous.”

 

“It was,” Pacifica says somberly. “So I need do some bridge-mending, unfortunately.”

 

He smirks, then squeezes her hand again before ever so slightly releasing his hold on it. Pacifica’s heart drops but rights itself immediately when instead of pulling away, he lines up their fingertips, pad-to-pad. He plays with her fingers, pushing against them like piano keys for a moment. Goof, she thinks, but then he’s shifting his fingers slightly to lace them with hers. She cedes entry immediately and he gives her a warm smile as he closes his hand around hers once more.

 

“You got this, Cif,” he says, warm brown eyes meeting hers as he squeezes her hand one more time, not letting go even a fraction.

 

—

 

Talking to the girls turns out to not be nearly as unpleasant as Pacifica had feared.

 

“Mhm, so you see now, Oregon water is actually much more refined and rare than Icelandic water. It’s way more elite. Just a big misunderstanding.”

 

The girls, whether from sincerely believing Pacifica’s bullshit or fearing her or fearing her family’s influence on their families, nod along.

 

“Totally.”

 

“Ohmigod, of course.”

 

“You were doing us all a favor.”

 

But the real reason it’s not too bad has nothing to do with them and everything to do with the way Dipper’s right hand rests comfortably around her waist, pulling her close to him. Pacifica nearly chokes when his thumb brushes her hip bone and a spike of electricity runs up her back.

 

“So how’d you guys meet again, anyway?” one of the girls—Penelope, Pacifica reminds herself—asks, eyeing Dipper’s messy curls with a slightly bemused expression. The girl honestly does seem nice enough though, and the question seems sincerely curious. Pacifica feels the faintest feeling of… what is that?… remorse, for thinking these girls sucked. Maybe they could be real friends even. But then the girl’s eyes move downward and linger on Dipper’s chest and shoulders. It's nothing obscene, truthfully, but still longer than Pacifica would prefer. Penelope quirks up an eyebrow appreciatively, and Pacifica’s eyes narrow. 

 

“Childhood friends!” Pacifica coos, voice sugary-sweet, as she twists to bring her arms up and around Dipper’s neck. She hangs there for a moment and smiles when she feels Dipper’s heartbeat quicken.

 

“Aw, so cute!” one of the other girls squeals.

 

“Soulmates!” says a third.

 

“Yeah, something like that.” She grins, releasing his neck and letting her hands drift down his chest. Nothing wrong with marking her territory a little. “Wouldn’t you say so, babe?” The question is directed at Dipper, but she keeps her eyes on pretty Penelope.

 

Penelope, to her credit, seems completely ignorant of the small battle she's been roped into. But hey, Pacifica hasn’t ever pretended she’s not a tad bit possessive.

 

Dipper hmms as he pretends to think, but she also feels him sneak his hand from her waist to the small of her back as he does so. Goosebumps raise where his fingertips have left their path on her bare skin. She feels his hand shift, and then his knuckles rub slowly up and down her spine at the curve of her lower back. There’s nothing she can do to stop the pleasurable shiver that runs through her body.

 

Pacifica risks the embarrassment of whatever hue of red her face has turned to look at him, arching an eyebrow in a challenge. She’s satisfied to see that that his cheeks are flushed as well, and his lips twitch in a way that could be nerves. His eyes are wide but stay focused on her.  There’s a game of chicken here that she’s absolutely determined not to lose.

 

“Yeah, I think I would,” he says. He flips the hand at her lower back so his whole palm rests flush against it and tugs her in to him so that their stomaches hover barely half an inch apart. Her whole body clenches.

 

Okay, well, maybe he can win this round.

 

—

 

It’s really hard to choose which of these small touches is her favorite because each comes with its own unique little thrill— but the one that makes her knees go wobbly and threatens to make her turn into a puddle of goo, which she is tempted to label her favorite, comes up during the most unwelcome and unpleasant of encounters.

 

She’s expected to do the social rounds with everyone at these things, of course. And through she is a proud alumna of Gravity Falls High (much to her parents' displeasure) she still has to spend a decent amount of time with the kids from the private school her father still sits on the board for, many of whom also happen to be the children of Northwest business partners, and one of whom regrettably, annoyingly, is Eustace Befufftlefumpter the Fourth.

 

Dipper barely attempts the hide the scowl from his face as they chat with the circle of preppy assholes. One of the boys—Adam? Andrew? Oh who cares— eyes Dipper up and down as he sips from his champagne.

 

“Where did you say you’re from, again?”

 

“I didn’t,” Dipper says, cooly. “But Piedmont.”

 

The boy stares blankly.

 

“Bay Area,” says Eustace, like the words alone nauseate him. 

 

“Piedmont is really nice,” Pacifica interjects, even though she knows better than to engage in these passive-aggressive social dick measuring contests.

 

“Oh undoubtedly,” Eustace says, tone still suggesting the opposite. “Right next to UC Berkeley, right? I imagine that’s an option for you, isn’t it, Mason? Public school seems more your style than Stanford, I’d imagine.”

 

Dipper’s hand, which had moved up and around Pacifica’s shoulders the second the group of boys had approached them, tightens slightly.

 

“Actually I’m going to West Coast Tech.” Dipper responds evenly.

 

“Some sort of trade school?” Adam-Andrew-Miscellaneous-Asshole asks.

 

“It’s a research university,” Pacifica snaps. “It has the highest admissions standards in the country. The acceptance rate is three percent.”

 

“Hm, never heard of it. Bay Area, too, I assume?” he asks.

 

“Pasadena,” Dipper corrects.

 

Eustace lights up at this.

 

“Oh,” he says. “Well my, Southern California is a long way from Oregon though, isn’t it? And what’s our little Pacifica’s plan for while you're away?”

 

Truthfully, Pacific isn’t really sure what her plan is. She knows she’s taking a gap year. She’s going to work and save up money— enough so that when she goes off to college the following year, wherever that might be, she can hopefully get by on scholarships and her savings and get out from under the thumb of her parents.

Dipper must sense her tense, because his hand moves from her shoulder to lightly hold the back of her neck, under her hair, right where it meets her shoulder blades and upper back. The light, but steady pressure stokes something primal in her. And she knows she’s a smart, independent, modern woman, but for a second she just wants to let her knees give away and collapse into his arms. Its soothing, electrifying… dammit its sexy as all hell.

 

“I go where he goes,” she says, and even she’s surprised by how true the lie sounds.

 

“Not very feminist of you, Miss Northwest.” Eustace raises an eyebrow.

 

“I think I’ll decide what’s feminist or not, thank you,” she shoots back.

 

Dipper’s thumb rubs once at her neck. It feels like praise, and she actually does feel her knees wobble.

 

—

 

It’s a ball, so of course at some point they have to dance.

 

They try for a classy, slow waltz at first. Pacifica shows Dipper where to put his hands and walks him through the motions, but neither of them seem to want to let the other lead, and Dipper’s no good at it when he does anyway, and he keeps stepping on her toes and—

 

“Ugh!” Pacifica stops him with a palm on his chest. “Okay I think that’s enough of that.”

 

“Sorry not all of us grew up going to finishing school,” Dipper says, cheeks reddening.

 

“It’s fine,” she says, aiming for easy-going. “We can just slow dance.”

 

Dipper freezes for half a second but quickly recovers, opening his arms so she can step into them. She rests one hand on his chest, places the other in one of his hands, and snuggles forward as his free arm wraps around her back. They begin to sway to the soft music, and soon enough they’ve found their rhythm. It’s a vast improvement, Pacifica thinks, both in terms of style and intimacy.

 

“I think we’re attracting an audience,” Dipper murmurs after a minute.

 

Pacifica raises her head slightly to look, and sure enough three groups of young adults have zeroed in on them. In the far corner, the DAE girls are watching with rapt attention, hands clasped to their chests as they smile and lean their heads on one another’s shoulders. Eustace and his cronies aren’t far off from the girls. Eustace bears his signature sneer, while his friends all just look bored. Just beyond the prep-school crew are Mabel, Candy and Grenda, each in various stages exaltation. Mabel looks like she’s about to vibrate right off the floor, and Pacifica notices that the only thing that seems to be holding her back from taking off into space (or toward them) is Grenda’s grip on her shoulder. Bless her.

 

“Well, time to play the part, I think,” Pacifica says, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

 

“Y-yeah,” Dipper replies, voice a little uneven. But when the hand at her back presses her flush into him it’s solid. And when it moves up her back to gently encourage her to lean her head on his chest, it’s steady. She sighs as she rests her cheek where he directs, one hand still on his chest and the other held in his hand snugly between their torsos. She can feel him lower his lips to her forehead, and when they make contact in a long, lingering kiss, she worries he can feel her smiling into his chest. Her bangs get in the way of direct contact, but it's lovely nonetheless.

 

“Is this… okay?” he whispers, lips still light on her forehead.

 

“Mhm,” she hums, eyes closing.

 

And then he’s pulling his lips from her forehead, raising the hand he holds in his, and bringing them to the back of her fingers instead. The warmth from his lips travels from her fingers, down her arm, and right to the heart of her.

 

Oh god, she thinks as her heartbeat skips and core melts.

 

She’s so fucked if this is all in her head.

Notes:

This was only supposed to be like 50% this length and only the first half of the whole chapter, but then I just kept writing more and more of them being hot for each other and so now it’s just its own thirst-laden standalone chapter oh darn. Plot will happen soon I promise lol.

 

also trade schools are amazing and lots of trades are way more intellectually challenging and financially lucrative than fine arts degrees anyway so dont listen to those snotty jerks

Chapter 6: your home is now your prison

Notes:

an update literally less than a day after the last one? rip to my 9-5

 

“Whoa-ho-ho! What have we here?”

 

Mabel has apparently finally escaped Grenda’s grasp, because a few songs later she’s popping up over behind Pacifica and resting her chin on her shoulder to look at her brother.

 

“Chill out, Mabel,” Dipper says, rolling his eyes. “It’s like I told you. We’re just—“

 

“Pretending, yeah yeah. To stop some jabroni from bugging Paz. Like that’s not contrived as heck.” Mabel rolls her eyes and passes Pacifica one of the drinks she was holding as Dipper releases her from his arms. “Who is this jerk anyway?”

 

Pacifica nods in the direction of the group that looks like they just stepped out of a formal-wear issue of Better Families Than Yours.

 

Mabel spins, lacking all subtlety, and pulls a face. “Bleh. I was thinking maybe I would make him fall in love with me, only to break his heart, only to have him discover how to be a better person, only for me to move on, only for him to realize I was the best thing that ever happened to him, only for me to realize how much he had grown, and then we’d live happily ever after in his mansion and turn it into a bed and breakfast and raise adorable hippie children. But I dunno, he looks kind of greasy.”

 

“Not worth it, trust me,” Dipper says.

 

“Where’s Candy?” Pacifica asks.

 

“Oh she’s off trying to convince some business magnate about the benefits of alternative economic structures. Yawn. Hey Paz, you wanna come show me where the bathroom is in this castle?”

 

“Um, sure.”

 

Pacifica hands her drink to Dipper and gives him a beseeching look over her shoulder as Mabel drags her away, a bit too confident in her direction for a girl who claims to have no idea where they’re going.

 

When they reach the bathroom, Mabel swings open the wide door and gestures for Pacifica to enter, broad grin on her face.

 

“Usually this is a one person kind of situation,” Pacifica says.

 

“Psh, we’re not here to use the bathroom, silly, we’re here to gossip!” Mabel finishes the sentence with an elaborate wiggling of her fingers. Pacifica notices nearly every one of them is adorned with a gaudy costume jewelry ring. Where does she even find things this tacky?

 

The whole thing just spells trouble. Pacifica tries to keep herself looking unbothered as she follows Mabel into the spacious guest bathroom. It’s so large that there’s a loveseat nestled in one corner, which is where Mabel plops herself. Pacifica perches on the small ottoman placed in front of it.

 

“Okay, shoot.” she says.

 

Mabel just grins.

 

“What,” Pacifica snaps.

 

“You know what,” Mabels says, mischievous.

 

“I really don’t.”

 

“Sure you don’t.”

 

“Mabel, spit it out.”

 

“You are totally into my brother!”

 

“Oh my god we have so been over this!”

 

“That’s not a denial!” Mabel leans over and barrages Pacifica with pokes to her belly. “And you totally picked out this smoking hot dress specifically for him. Don’t deny it. I was there.”

 

“I picked the dress out for me.” Pacifica knows Mabel can see right through her.

 

“You guys are totally banging.”

 

“Mabel!”

 

“Okay, okay,” Mabel raises her hands, placating. “Maybe not that—yet, but you’re together aren’t you? Like for real?”

 

“We’re really not, Mabel.”

 

“Well that’s just stupid.” Mabel crosses her arms and sits back on the loveseat.

 

Pacifica doesn’t let herself respond. What would she even say to that? It’s not like she disagrees.

 

“I’m just saying,” Mabel goes on. “Like, if you’re not together already, it’s kind of a matter of when else does it happen, you know?”

 

That strike a chord somewhere deep, trips a wire in her brain.

 

“What do you mean?” she asks, wary.

 

“Well you know, Dipper’s going to college next month. It’s a long way. It’s kind of now or never, right?”

 

“Well, I don’t…” Pacifica trails off, her mind turning. Now or never… is it?

 

“Life is short, Paz.”

 

Is Mabel right? Is it… too late for them? Did she drag her feet and miss her opportunity?

 

Mabel keeps talking, something about taking risks and a convoluted metaphor invovling a rodeo, but Pacifica’s not really listening, because her mind is going a little static as a barrage of anxieties flood her brain.

 

It’s true. They only have a month. A month to establish something strong enough to endure long distance. Wait, even if they do date now, there's no guarantee he’d even want to do long distance. College is full of new opportunities, new people. Her heart races. He might want to explore his options. Plenty of pretty, smart girls at WCT, probably. Girls who aren’t scared of vulnerability, or get jealous of total strangers, or think mean thoughts about his sister’s sense of style. Girls who aren’t a thousand miles away.

 

Or they could try long distance and fail. That might be worse, because then what? She gets a taste of heaven and then just has to go back to seeing him as a friend? Or nothing at all? They could even up end just going their separate ways and never seeing one another again. The thought is so abhorrent she feels her stomach twist.

 

Wait, wait, wait, this is all assuming he even has feelings for her at all! He could have made a move earlier too, but he didn’t. One month left. Surely he would have done something by now. Is that what Mabel’s saying? Should she just let it all go?

 

Pacifica’s breathing feels shallow, and it doesn’t feel like there’s enough oxygen in the room.

 

“…and that’s why its better to just get on the damn horse. Or cowboy, as it were,” Mabel says, wrapping up whatever she was going on about.

 

“I gotta go. I gotta get some air.” Pacifica rises abruptly, unsteady on her feet.

 

“Hey, wha— are you okay?” Mabel asks, rising too and attempting to steady Pacifica.

 

“I’m fine,” Pacifica lies, beelining for the door. “I just need a minute. I’ll see you back downstairs.”

 

Pacifica knows Mabel will try to follow her, so she runs to the only place she knows Mabel won’t be able to find her.

 

Pacifica swings back the painting that obscures the entrance to the old hidden storage room and promptly finds a corner to sit in. Knees hugged to her chest, she tries to calm her beating heart and will the tears threatening to spill over to her cheeks and ruin her makeup to reverse course.

 

Maybe it’s for the best. He’ll still be her friend this way. And hadn’t she been okay with that before? Or was she only okay with it because she always sort of suspected deep down that they would eventually become more?

 

But what can she offer him? Without her family wealth, she’ll be just a girl from the middle of nowhere Oregon who works at a diner and looks good in an evening gown.

 

Her eyes take in the dusty room, lingering on boxes and paintings that she hasn’t seen in years. The ghosts of memories past—figurative ghosts, thankfully—begin to surface in her mind.

 

A hand reaching out. A warm smile. “It’s not too late.”

 

The memory drifts up, and she could laugh at the horrible irony of the words. Not too late. Except when it is.

 

But she’s a Northwest, and Northwests persevere—for better or for worse. She rises, taking a deep breath and brushing off the bits of dust that cling to her pretty dress.  If she’s gone too long everyone will start to worry, and she’s not about to add the insult of their concern to the injury of her own insecurities.

 

She takes a circuitous route through the house, stalling for time as she attempts to regain her composure, and ends up outside on the long terrace that runs nearly the entire length of the back of the mansion. Approaching a door that leads back in to the ballroom, she stops when she hears two voices arguing from behind a large stone planter. Two very familiar voices.

 

“I mean it, Dipper, spill. What’s going on with you and Paz?”

 

“Mabel, shh!”

 

“Oh my god you guys are totally hooking up! I knew it!”

 

“We’re not. Not for real. It’s like we told you.”

 

Just then a back door opens up and the sound of the music from inside drowns out the conversation momentarily. Pacifica can hear that they’re still talking, but isn’t able to distinguish the words until the door closes again.

 

“Just— I’m working on it, okay?!” Dipper’s voice cuts through the night air.

 

“You better, she’s really upset!”

 

“What? Why? What did you say?”

 

“Nothing! I just—”

 

He’s working on—what—talking to her about her feelings? Letting her down easy?

 

Pacifica can’t stand this. Can’t stand being talked about like she's some sad little puppy. She turns and bolts back into the ballroom, positioning herself near the perimeter where she won’t be bothered but can keep an eye on everyone else who might approach her. She watches the dancers, the happy couples, and resents the fact that just half an hour ago she was one of them, far off in ignorant bliss. She feels so stupid.

 

“Hey, you all good there?” Dipper’s voice cuts off her spiral as his hand, now cool from being outside, takes it’s familiar place on her shoulder.

 

She jumps, but recovers quickly. “Mhm.” She gives her shoulder a little twitch, and he lets go. How did he even sneak up on her like that so fast? She looks over her shoulder and sees another door leading out to the terrance directly behind her. Stupid impracticably large mansion not giving her a place to protect her back.

 

“You, uh, want me to go get us another drink? I think I could sneak a real champagne if you wanted—“

 

“The cider’s fine.”

 

“O-okay.”

 

Dipper frowns and makes his way across the room toward one of the extravagant refreshment tables. She watches his back as he walks away (stupid, gorgeous suit) and then senses someone else approach her from behind.

 

“You seem a little shaken, Northwest. Trouble in paradise?”

 

Seriously, again?

 

Eustace’s slimy posh accent snaps her out of her malaise in an instant. She might be sad, but she’s sure as heck not going to let him see that.

 

“You wish,” she sneers, spinning to him.

 

“Just a matter of time then.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“Oh, just that it’s best if you face the inevitable conclusion of this little affair, where he enjoys the ride for now and then ditches you for California and someone he’s actually interested in.”

 

Pacifica feels a pang low in her stomach as Eustace verbalizes the fears ricocheting in her brain.

 

“Dipper isn’t interested in anyone else,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady and failing miserably.

 

“You sure about that?” Eustace asks, tipping his glass toward something on the other side of the room.

 

Despite her better judgment, Pacifica follows his gaze to the far corner. Near the cider she sees Dipper standing with a crystal flute in either hand, laughing. Across from him stands Wendy.

 

Right, Wendy. Pacifica had forgotten she was going to be here.

 

She’s looking radiant in a simple emerald pantsuit, and Pacifica feels the blood drain from her face as she watches the two share in a joke. Wendy gestures across the room, in Pacifica’s direction, and gives Dipper a light punch on the shoulder. Dipper shakes his head and looks at his feet.

 

She’s teasing him about me. And he’s denying it. Of course.

 

Wendy’s saying something else, and Dipper’s head pulls back up to attention. Then her eyes shift from Dipper’s face to his bowtie, which has loosened over the course of the evening. Suddenly, horribly, like some sort of terrible train crash that she is helpless to stop or look away from, Pacifica watches as Wendy puts her own drink on the sidebar and reaches toward Dipper’s collar with both hands. Dipper freezes as Wendy tugs on the ends of the bow, tightening and straightening it out. Pacifica looks away, eyes brimming with sudden tears.

 

That’s their thing. It’s been their thing for six years. Her heart feels like it might beat right out of her chest.

 

She knows she’s being irrational, deep down. Wendy doesn’t know it carries meaning for her. Heck, neither does Dipper. But she’s eighteen and her prefrontal cortex isn’t developed yet and yes fine she’s jealous and goddammit it’s Their. Damn. Thing. It’s not even that she’s jealous of Wendy specifically. But the bowtie— she’d thought of it as a symbol that there was something different between them, something special and intimate. But here he is just letting any girl participate in their ritual.

 

It crystalizes the fears in her mind. He’s not looking for anything with her. He’s friendly, and flirty, and her best friend, but nothing more. She’s not special, not like that.

 

“Uh-oh, darling, looks like you might have competition,” Eustace smirks out.

 

Pacifica shoves him roughly out of her way as her feet propel her from the ballroom, fleeing into the crisp night air. She doesn’t know where she’s going, but she knows she needs out. Away from Eustace, from the party, and from Dipper.

Notes:

:( cant have the cathartic resolution without the angst

Chapter 7: count on me to misbehave

Pacifica bursts through the ornate glass doors and onto the rear veranda where a small group of guests have begun eyeing the extensive arrangement of desserts. Her feet pound down the sweeping stone steps of her ancestral home, gown whipping around her knees. She knows she’s going to ruin her shoes running on the lawn as she is, but she can’t find it in herself to care. Approaching a plateau just before the spot where the lawn curves down into a mildly sloping slant, she stops to catch her breath and wipe errant tears away from her cheeks.

 

Behind her, a voice calls out.

 

“Pacifica!”

 

But it’s not the one she was hoping for.

 

“Pacifica,” Eustace repeats, catching up to her and grabbing her shoulder to spin her to him.

 

She shakes his hand off. “Leave me alone.”

 

“I’m trying to help you face the facts.”

 

“What facts?”

 

“Well, the fact that his closest family in Gravity Falls is a con-artist, the fact that he spends his summers living in a literal shack, the fact that his parents barely make an upper-middle class living—“

 

“Wait,” Pacifica cuts him off. “Did you research him?”

 

“I like to know my competition, Pacifica.”

 

“There is no competition, you absolute freak.”

 

“He’s with you for your money.”

 

“He’s not!”

 

“He is. Everyone people like you and I date are with us for our money.”

 

“That’s not true. Dipper cares about me.”

 

“He cares about parts of you, I’m sure.” His eyes dip down to her breasts.

 

She doesn’t hesitate. She slaps him right across the face. “Fuck you.”

 

Eustace recoils at the impact her of palm, but only for a second. He looks back up and smiles grimly. He steps closer, eyes focused on hers like a predator.

 

“How do you actually know? How do you know he’s not with you for your money, or your ass? How do you know he’s not like every other opportunistic joker out there who date people like us to get leg up and then leave us high and dry when they find a better option?”

 

It slips out before she can stop herself. She’s so emotional, so tired, and now so caught up in wanting to defend Dipper’s integrity.

 

“Because we’re not actually dating!”

 

Eustace’s face freezes.

 

Pacifica’s hands clamp over her mouth.

 

In the moonlight, she watches Eustace’s face as his mouth slowly stretches into a wide grin. He lets out a bark of laughter.

 

“Is that so?” He looks absolutely tickled. “Well what a fun game that has been! So, what? Were you playing hard to get? Was that your angle? Make it seem like you were spoken for so I’d get jealous?”

 

Oh my god, like, who does this guy think he is?

 

“Yeah right,” she spits out.

 

Eustace ignores her. “Well it’s been fun and I must say you gave an impressive performance, but I think it’s time we put the theater to the side and get down to business. I’m sure both our parents will be thrilled to know we’re finally seeing our potential for what it is.”

 

He takes a step toward Pacifica and she takes a step back, heartbeat increasing as she notices her heels are beginning to sink in the wet grass.

 

“Stay away from me you loser.”

 

He takes another step toward her and she frantically tugs at her shoe, but all she manages to do is unbalance herself. She can feel herself tripping backward, but before she falls Eustace has grabbed her by the upper arm to hold her upright.

 

“Darling, you don’t mean that. Look how you’re falling for me already.”

 

Pacifica can’t help it. She laughs right in his face. “Please, with a line like that?”

 

Eustace’s confident smirk drops from his face in a flash. His eyes darken. He leans in close, and Pacifica can smell the champagne on his breath.

 

“Listen here, Northwest, the sooner you get it through your pretty little head that—“

 

She’ll never know what it was he was going to say, because that’s when a very familiar, very welcome voice interrupts from behind Eustace. Looking around his shoulder, Pacifica can see Dipper’s outline running down from the terrace, illuminated from behind by the party lights.

 

“HEY!” he bellows, and she doesn’t think she’s ever heard him so angry, not since Weirdmageddon. “GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF HER!”

 

Eustace does release his hold, but only enough to twist to face the approaching interruption. Dipper pulls up to the pair, fists clenched and chest heaving. His face is drawn into an intensity Pacifica has never seen before, or at least not in many years.

 

“Oh hello, Dipper. Can I call you Dipper? I feel we’re so well-acquainted now. Pacifica here was just telling me all about the clever little ruse you two pulled tonight. Very crafty. I’m sure you gave her parents a heart attack. But if you’d be so gracious as to leave us, we have some private matters to attend to.” Eustace turns on his heel back to Pacifica and grabs her shoulder again. Pacifica tugs it back toward her and struggles to wiggle free, but his grip is tight and she’s still a little off-balance.

 

“Oh like hell you do!” Dipper yells, reaching forward to roughly spin Eustace back to him.

 

It happens so, so fast. She barely has time to see Dipper’s arm swinging, fist curled and barreling toward Eustace’s face. In an instant Eustace’s grip on her arm releases and he’s kneeling on the ground, hunched over and grasping his nose. Pacifica’s eyes widen as she notices the pool of blood collecting in his hands.

 

“Pacifica!” Dipper races to her, eyes wide and worried. “Are you okay?”

 

He stops in front of her, raising his hands to hold her but stopping short, as though he’s not sure if it’s the right thing to do at the moment.

 

“I’m fine,” she says, not really sure she means it. She reaches for his hand.

 

She doesn’t make it though, because Eustace apparently has regained his footing faster than either expected, and in a flash he’s flying back into Pacifica’s field of vision, slamming his body into Dipper’s torso and sending them both careening down the hill in a pile of limbs and designer menswear.

 

Pacifica screams as she watches the boys tumble, and behind her she hears the sound of footsteps running toward the scene. Mabel pulls up next to Pacifica, a trail of multi-colored feathers in her wake, with Candy, Wendy, and Grenda hot on her tail.

 

“Dipper!” Mabel shouts.

 

Pacifica’s still frozen in shock. Mabel grabs her hand and begins to tug her down the hill toward the scuffling boys, but both are stopped by Grenda’s firm grasp.

 

“DON’T! You’ll just get hurt.”

 

Pacifica struggles against Grenda’s grip for a few seconds, but it’s no use.

 

The girls watch in vain as the boys alternate swings and insults in equal measure.

 

“Pompous ass!”

 

“Self-righteous peasant!”

 

Pacifica’s pleased to see that Dipper seems to mostly be coming out on top, but Eustace gets what looks like a few solid hits in too. She cringes when Eustace lands a particularly rough looking right hook to Dipper’s left cheek, and Mabel whoops when Dipper responds by full-body tackling him to the ground.

 

"Beat his ass, Dipper!" Wendy cheers.

 

But Pacifica also has to be honest here. Mostly it’s them just sort of… rolling around. She’s worried for Dipper, of course, but she can’t help but think vaguely that fights look a lot cooler in the movies.

 

“Oh no…” Pacifica hears Mabel say after another minute or so of haphazard pushing and sloppy swings. It’s a complete shift in tone, and Pacifica peels her eyes away from Dipper for a second to see what’s brought on Mabel’s change.

 

But Mabel isn’t looking at the boys at all. Pacifica follows her gaze off to the right, to the petting zoo.

 

There’s Waddles—sweet, loyal, 150-pound Waddles—squealing in distress and ramming himself against the picket fence of the enclosure repeatedly. His body is aimed exactly in the direction of Dipper and Eustace.

 

Of course the pig would want to save the day.

 

All five girls watch, mouths agape, as Waddles lets out a final, blood-curdling wail and head-butts the fence with all his weight and power. The entire thing comes crashing down, and from then on out— chaos.

 

The zebra is first to escape, before the pig even, and makes a beeline for the desert table, sending the giant layered chocolate cake flying.

 

The pair of sheep bleat and run directly into a waiter, whose silver tray of champagne flutes twists in the air before crashing down on the head of a dignitary.

 

Three goats flee the yard and run into the ballroom. Pacifica hears the muffled shriek of party guests as the band’s music comes to a screeching, dissonant halt.

 

The llama, for its part, runs in circles, clearly at a loss for what to do.

 

So much for nature’s greatest warrior, Pacifica thinks, recalling something Mabel once told her.

 

Waddles is a pig on a mission, of course. He’s stampeding as fast as his little hooves will take him in the direction of the boys.

 

“Waddles, no!” Pacifica shouts, as Mabel screams “Yes, Waddles, yes!”

 

Dipper manages to look up in time to see the swine approach and roll out of the way. It wouldn’t have mattered, of course, because Waddles’ focus is Eustace. Yards away from the boys, Waddles lowers his head.

 

The wail that Eustace lets out as Waddles collides with his rear-end is a noise Pacifica doesn’t think she will soon forget. Simply put: it's beautiful.

 

Dipper collects himself and starts limping his way up the hill toward the girls, and Grenda mercifully decides it’s safe enough to let them go. Both Pacifica and Mabel jump from her hold to run toward Dipper, but before they can reach him an enormous crash erupts from their far right. Pacifica squints in the darkness, and she can just make out the shape of the anxiety-ridden llama. It’s still running in circles, but there’s something attached to its leg by a rope now— something illuminated. A lantern, she realizes.

 

The entire group of teens watch as the llama widens its circle, leaving the broken enclosure, and heading right toward the pile of fireworks at the far end of the grand yard.

 

“Oh,” Mabel says, beside her. “Oh nooo…”

 

Dipper scrambles up the final few feet to reach the girls and puts an arm around Mabel and Pacifica each.

 

“Duck!” he shouts, pulling them both to the ground.

 

The explosion is enormous. Pacifica doesn’t see it though, because Dipper has his right hand firmly holding her almost face-down in the grass, but she can feel it reverberating around her, and the noise is deafening. She stays hugging the ground for what feels like several minutes, hands clutching her ears as an endless chorus of POP, BANG, and WEEE fills the night.

 

The explosions do begin the die down after awhile of course, and she tentatively opens her eyes to watch the last few fireworks shoot successfully off into the night sky. Glancing to her left, she sees that Dipper’s eyes are watching the explosive colors as well. That is until they shift to focus on her. She’s content to watch him, watching her, as the light and color play off his muddy, sweaty, and yeah, a little bloody face.

 

He sends her a crooked smile, a little bashful.

 

“You said I couldn’t pick a fight,” he shouts over the fading noise. “He was asking for it.”

 

Pacifica can’t help herself. The adrenaline, the relief, and the absurdity of this stupid boy she’s completely head over heels for all catches up to her. She bursts into laughter.

Notes:

waddles would be a pretty big pig in a few years, you guys
also the llama is fine because I said so

Chapter 8: stars collide as the planets turn

Tucked in a dim corner of the expansive, professional-grade kitchen, Pacifica stands between Dipper’s legs as he sits perched on the cool steel counter. She’s dabbing a damp towel gently on a cut right above his left brow. It’s not deep but will probably leave a faint scar, she realizes regrettably.

 

Dipper’s suit jacket is slung on the counter behind him, and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. Pacifica tries very hard not to get distracted by his forearms as she works on patching him up.

 

“Sorry about the suit,” Dipper apologizes, looking down at his scuffed up knuckles.

 

“Nothing a dry cleaner and a tailor can’t fix,” Pacifica says, shrugging. She stays focused on the cut. “He really got you good here,” she observes.

 

“It was one of those stupid signet rings he was wearing. Who does he think he is? Prince Charles?”

 

Pacifica snorts. “Maybe.” She drops the towel in a sink and reaches for a band-aid from the open first-aid kit next to him on the counter, peels back the paper backing.

 

“I totally won though,” Dipper says, smug.

 

She smirks as she carefully presses the bandage to his brow.

 

“Yes, you did,” Pacifica agrees, nodding once indulgently before letting her fingers smooth lightly down the sides of his face. She enjoys how Dipper shudders at her touch. “That first hit you got in was something else. Where’d you learn to do that?”

 

Dipper chuckles. “Where do you think? Stan taught both me and Mabel how to punch on day one of our second summer here. He said as official teens it was required learning.”

 

Pacifica laughs, but there’s something nagging at her. She pulls her hands away from Dipper and looks down at them.

 

“Dipper, I don’t need to you to come in and fight my battles for me, you know.”

 

“He was hurting you,” Dipper replies, a little argumentative. “I saw him going after you.”

 

“But I could have handled it.”

 

She’s actually not so sure that’s true. Even she has to admit that she was a little shaken by how forceful Eustace was getting there toward the end. It was like as soon as he learned Pacifica wasn’t “taken” by another guy, she was fair game or something. She shudders a little at the memory.

 

“Cif…” Dipper sighs. “Why won’t you let me help you? I want to… I want to be able to be there for you.” He swallows, and looks off to the side at nothing in particular. “To protect you.”

 

Pacifica feels her face flush as a warm sensation settles deep in her belly. Would it really be so bad? To let herself accept someone’s help? Especially if that someone was the young man she, frankly speaking, trusts more than anyone else in the world?

 

“Okay,” she begins. “Well… you can protect me, so long as I get to protect you too.”

 

Dipper smiles at this. “You always do. You saved my life here six years ago, remember?”

 

“And then you saved mine just a few weeks after that.”

 

“But not before you saved mine again a few days prior to that, down in the that black market, remember?”

 

Pacifica laughs. “I guess you’re right. I sort of am ahead of you as far as rescuing one another goes.”

 

Dipper pauses at this, looking a little pensive.

 

“But I don’t… I don’t want to be keeping score though, you know?” he says eventually. “You’re important to me, Cif. I just… I would do anything for you.”

 

Pacifica’s heartbeat picks up, and she finds once again she’s at a loss for what to say. She wants to tell him how much he means to her too, but how do you articulate that? How do you admit that the little girl who had everything but no one, has grown up into a young woman who would give up everything for one particular person? It’s terrifying, admitting to both herself and him how much power he has over her. How much he could hurt her, if he wanted to.

 

But she knows she has to. Even if it’s just in increments, for now.

 

She reaches out to play with one of his hands. “Me too,” she admits after a long beat.

 

He spends a moment watching her rub small circles into his palm. “Why’d you run off from the party, anyway?” he asks after awhile.

 

“Oh, um.” She can feel the heat rising to her cheeks. “I was just in my own head about something, and then…” She trails off.

 

“Then?” he pushes.

 

“It’s stupid.”

 

“I’m sure it’s not. Tell me.”

 

“I saw…” she cringes, and then let the words spill out. Just be brave, girl. “I saw Wendy adjusting your bowtie, and I dunno… I felt… “ she spends an embarrassingly long time struggling to find the right word. “…sad.”

 

She feels so stupid the minute it comes out of her mouth. What a silly, small thing to get upset about. He’s totally going to laugh at her and she’s already looking for the words to take it back when—

 

“Yeah, that felt weird for me too. I mean, that’s your job, right?” He chuckles awkwardly.

 

She looks up at him.

 

“My job?”

 

“Yeah…” he says, slowly. “I mean, I always thought of it that way… maybe that’s dumb.”

 

“No.” Feeling suddenly brave, she places a hand on his forearm. “I did too. I just didn’t know that you felt that way.”

 

He looks at her for a prolonged moment, eyes focused on hers, studying her, then takes a deep breath.

 

She thinks he's about to say something, but instead he takes both her hands in his and brings them up to his lips, pressing a long, warm kiss to the backs of her fingers, eyes closing while he does so. Pacifica holds her breath as she watches, and her head feels dizzy. Slowly, like he doesn’t want to let go, he pulls them from his lips, but instead of releasing them he brings them down just a few inches to rest on his collar. He leaves his hands on hers, holding them in place for a few beats so she gets the message.

 

The bow at his neck is crooked and loose, barely hanging on. She knows he means for her to fix it for him, but it’s late in the evening and there’s no need to him uncomfortable. Besides, she has a different idea. Instead, she brings her fingers to the knot, loosening it even more, before slowly, carefully tugging on either end, undoing it entirely and letting the ends fall down.

 

Eyes half-lidded, she presses her palms to his chest only a second, and then boldly brings her fingers back up, letting her fingertips run along his collar bones. Dipper’s own hands move to grip the edge of the counter and he shifts on it slightly. His breathing turns heavy and his eyes focus on her face. She decides to take things a step further, bringing her hands back together and running them both halfway down the middle of his chest, right down the length of his sternum. He closes his eyes and moans out a soft “fuck, Pacifica.”

 

He sits like that for a moment, just breathing slow, measured breaths, before swallowing thickly and opening his eyes. He looks at her, a little pleadingly. “Yeah, so, I’ve… sort of felt that way for a long time.”

 

She lets her eyes leave his chest to make contact with his own. “Me too,” she whispers.

 

They stare at one another for a prolonged beat, and then Dipper apparently can’t stand the tension any more, because clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair before settling both in is lap.

 

He looks at the ceiling, face beet red. “So, uh… do you want it to be your job, like… officially?”

 

Pacifica smiles and rolls her eyes. He’s totally killing the mood, but she can appreciate the want for confirmation. And it’s just… so Dipper that she really can’t be mad. “Are we still just talking about the bowtie, here?” she asks, raising an eyebrow and stepping into him closer.

 

“No,” he laughs. He drops his gaze back down to her, and his mouth twists into a dopey smile.

 

And that’s it. That stupid smile. In an instant, she knows with absolute fact that she’s in love.

 

She looks around their sterile, decidedly unromantic surroundings, thinking, then brings both her hands down to grasp his. “Let’s go somewhere else,” she says.

 

“Where?”

 

“You’ll see.”

 

---

 

Pacifica takes Dipper’s hand in hers, fingers laced, and guides him out the back entrance from the kitchen and onto the grounds of the estate.

 

On their way they pass several scenes of recovery underway. The petting zoo attendants have managed to gather most of the animals into their trailers safe and sound, while various staff work to clean up the remnants of broken champagne glasses, firework casings and smeared cake.

 

Pacifica feels a little bad. It wasn’t their fault the mess happened. She makes a mental note to find out the name of the catering company and make sure their tips are increased appropriately.

 

Most of the guests appear to have left after the fireworks threatened to set the whole place on fire, but there are stragglers—mostly younger people and locals, who remain behind enjoying what’s left of the dessert and the dregs of cider and wine.

 

Unfortunately, it seems Eustace and his crew have opted to linger as well, because Pacifica notices them lurking in a corner of the grand terrace, clutching a few bottles of champagne. Eustace looks like shit, Pacifica notes proudly. His suit is far more torn up than Dipper’s, his previously slicked hair is in total disarray, and his face is swollen with streaks of dried blood still painting it. Dipper apparently notices him too. He hands Pacifica his suit jacket.

 

“Stay here,” he says, voice low.

 

Pacifica watches as Dipper strides right up to Eustace, carelessly pushing past the two boys he stands with, who seem to be acting as de facto, if useless, bodyguards. Dipper grabs Eustace by the collar and brings his face close. Pacifica can’t hear what’s said, or even see Dipper’s face, but the expression on Eustace’s— paling cheeks and widening eyes—says it all. Dipper releases him roughly and there’s a cocky smirk on his face as he crosses back to Pacifica.

 

“What did you say?” She asks after Dipper has laced his fingers through her own again.

 

“Nothing much, just warned him about how us common folk watch out for the people we love.”

 

There’s nothing Pacifica can do about the stupid smile that plasters itself on her face.

 

---

 

She guides him into their destination— a corner of a small garden, secluded on two sides by a thick stone wall. The cozy corner contains a sparkling pond and large willow tree, and is lit from above by a twinkling string of lights. It’s all set below an ornate stained glass window, repaired many years ago, sitting next to a small balcony.

 

“Know where we are?” Pacifica teases, walking backwards as she pulls Dipper forward with both of her hands holding one of his.

 

Dipper chuckles. “Of course. This is where you hugged me and then tried to pay me to forget about it.” He pokes her in the shoulder, playful. "Fat chance of that happening, by the way."

 

A slight breeze skims over the water, and Pacifica shivers. Dipper swings his jacket around her shoulders, bringing her in close to him. The proximity immediately ratchets the tension back up to 100.

 

He meets her eyes, cheeks turning crimson, but he doesn’t let go of the jacket’s lapels.

 

“So… you, uh, wanted to talk?” he asks.

 

Pacifica breathes in once. The adrenaline from the rest of the night is still coursing through her body, and the sexual tension between them has the words spilling from her mouth before she can do anything to stop it.

 

“I don’t remember saying anything about talking.” She meets his gaze.

 

Dipper looks at her perplexed for half a second before registration dawns and that same lovestruck smile from the kitchen blooms on his face. His eyes dip down to her lips, and she barely has a second for her brain to think ‘yes’ before his lips are blessedly, blissfully, finally on hers.

 

His hands come up to cup her face, and her own wrap around his neck.

 

His lips are warm and a little chapped, and the slightly rough texture of them make her shiver. The kiss is deep and unhurried, filled with years of emotions left unsaid. Pacifica thinks that if she could have this, just this, for the rest of her life, she couldn’t possibly want for anything else.

 

The do eventually need air though, so slowly, painfully, with a few small kisses dotted in-between, they part. Dipper lets out a long exhale and lets his forehead rest against hers.

 

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long.”

 

“Me too.” Pacifica smiles as she leans in to steal just one more peck.

 

Dipper laughs and wraps his arms around her to pull her into a tight embrace. His chin rests on the top of her head.

 

“You make me so happy, Pacifica.”

 

Her heart clenches and her hands involuntarily grasp at his shirt, as if to hold onto the moment for as long as possible. Though right now her heart is full and light, there is that small creeping insecurity of their imminent separation that tugs at her mind. She doesn’t want to bring it up, but she knows if she doesn’t it’s going to haunt her. The worries might weave their way into their dynamic, and she can’t have that. Her heart pounds, but she knows she needs to be brave.

 

“What about next month?” she asks, voice small and muffled against his chest.

 

He pulls back to look down at her.

 

“What about it?”

 

“Well, you’re leaving,” she says, looking off to the side.

 

“Yeah, so?”

 

“Well, I mean, how are we gonna…” She brings her eyes back up to his, hoping he can read the rest of the question in them.

 

“Cif, phones exist. I’ll have breaks. You’ve been my best friend for six years and that’s mostly been through long-distance. We’ll be okay.” He bring a hand to her cheek, cupping it. “That is… if you want to do this. Do you want to do this?”

 

Is that even a question?

 

“Yeah, I do. Like, a lot.” She laughs a little as her pounding heart settles and relief courses through her veins.

 

Dipper’s shoulders relax a little too, but then before she knows it he’s taking a deep breath and is off to the races, talking a mile a minute.

 

“Good, me too. Besides, I mean… and like no pressure, I know you don’t really know what you want to do yet, but like, there is this community college just a few blocks from West Coast Tech. It’s rated really highly. I mean, eventually, if you wanted… maybe you could take some classes there while you figure things out. Like, not right away, I mean… but, someday.” He tugs at his collar. ”Or right away… If you wanted. But their enrollment deadline is pretty soon so—”

 

Pacifica giggles. She should have known that Dipper wouldn’t have been able to help getting ahead go himself. She brings a finger to his mouth, silencing him.

 

“As wonderful as that sounds, I’m not sure my parents are going to let me out of the house for the next year after tonight,” she jokes, before adding seriously, “and really, I’d want to save some money up before leaving.”

 

“I’m sure there are diners in Southern California that would love to have you, too.”

 

Pacifica smiles and kisses him lightly on the cheek. This stupid, incredible boy. How could have ever doubted him?

 

“Someday.”

 

He pulls her back into his arms and kisses the top of her head. “Someday soon, I hope.”

 

She grins into his shirt. “Someday soon,” she confirms.

 

He gives her a squeeze.

 

“Though I have to say,” she adds, not able to resist. “I’m not exactly looking to be a diner waitress for the rest of my life. I don't think I'm really all that... suited to customer service, really.”

 

“Aw,” Dipper pouts. “But you look so cute in your uniform.”

 

Pacifica laughs and buries her face further into his chest. She wishes she could just live here, breathing in his scent—which has improved markedly over the years—with the weight of his arms around her.

 

After another long couple minutes spent simply embracing and enjoying the feel of one another, Pacifica decides to bring up another thing that has been bothering her. “So…” she says, trying to sound casual. “What was it you and Wendy were talking about? Back in the ballroom?”

 

He pulls back to look at her, an eyebrow raised and a small smirk on his lips. “Oh? Jealous?”

 

“Pfft. I don’t get jealous.”

 

“Of course not.” He rolls his eyes and smiles, then looks down to reach for her hands. He flips one so it’s palm-up, and traces a line along the inside of her wrist. “She was asking me about how ‘Project NorthStar’ was going.”

 

“NorthStar?”

 

“Yep. North—“ He bops her on her forehead lightly. “—Star.” He pokes his own forehead, right on his birthmark. “It’s Mabel’s shipping name for us.”

 

“Oh, so Mabel ships us?” Pacifica teases.

 

Dipper gives her a look. “Obviously. And… she might have also known for awhile that I’ve had a thing for you.”

 

Pacifica giggles. “Oh? Did she figure it out?”

 

Dipper snorts. “Read my journal is more like it.”

 

“I’m surprised she was able to keep it a secret. She did a good job,” Pacifica muses. But then she thinks back to the evening’s earlier interactions, as well as… well, many before that. “Or, well maybe not that good of a job.”

 

“She’s gonna totally lose her shit you know, when she finds out.”

 

Pacifica smiles. “Maybe… so maybe we just keep tonight for ourselves then.”

 

“I like the sound of that,” Dipper replies, ducking in for another kiss.

 

---

 

Keeping the night for themselves turns out to include a lot more than just their feelings secret, Pacifica thinks blissfully as Dipper peppers a trail of kisses from her neck and down to her shoulder. The thin strap of her dress falls to the side, but neither make a move to put it back.

 

She’s pinned against the large willow tree, hidden from the prying eyes of the lingering partygoers, Dipper’s jacket still slung around her shoulders protecting her back from the bark.

 

His body is pressed flush against hers. One hand tangles in her hair, holding the back of her head as a cushion from the tree, while the other frantically roams up and down the side of her body, tracing lines and squeezing in equal measure.

 

Pacifica giggles and pushes on his chest lightly. “Careful there, cowboy. This garden isn’t exactly private.”

 

Dipper pulls back, smirking down at her.

 

“Cowboy?”

 

“Um, yeah,” Pacifica says, confused herself. “Actually I don’t really know where that came from.”

 

“Well you know what they say. Save a horse, ride a—.”

 

“Oh my god, don’t.” Pacifica rolls her eyes and bats him playfully on the chest. She doesn’t put any force behind it though, and is embarrassingly aware that she’s still grinning.

 

Dipper takes the opportunity to grab her two hands with one of his and raise them above her head, pressing them to the bark. His other hand immediately goes back to her hip as he resumes his assault on her neck. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot she moans and throws her head back, gasping, and his hips grind into hers.

 

It makes her brain ask dangerous questions. Questions like what what if she just reached down and—

 

Nope. Nope. This is not the place.

 

“Dipper!” She gasps out. “Garden. Not— ah—private.”

 

He pushes off her quickly and shakes out his shoulders, letting out a low breath.

 

“Sorry, sorry” he exhales. “It’s just— ugh. I really like that dress.” He leans in again, keeping their lower bodies conspicuously separate but bringing his forehead to hers.

 

She laughs and brings her hands back down, stroking them both down the front of his chest, playing with the lapels of his shirt where a few buttons have come undone. “Wanna know a secret?” she asks, voice teasing.

 

“If it’s one of yours, always,” he ducks in to kiss her ear.

 

She hums contentedly, then take his hands in hers, guiding them to her hips. “I picked it out just for you.”

 

Dipper groans and then their bodies are right back where they were, pressed against one another, his mouth on hers. One of his hands moves to her leg, hitching it up higher around his waist, the slit of her skirt riding up. Her skin burns where his hand grips her bare thigh. “I can’t believe I get to…” he trails off as he moves to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss on her neck, right on the pulse point.

 

He babbles as he continues his exploration of her neck and décolletage. “You have no idea how long… ugh. How much I wanted to—to… back in your old room. The bed. Fuck. I mean— no, I mean ‘fuck’ like ‘oh shit’, not like I wanted to— well I did, but—shit.” He winces and hides his face in her hair.

 

Pacifica giggles pulls his face back up to hers, tugging him in by the lapels and locking her lips on his once again. They continue like that for the next few minutes, each pushing the other a little further, but keeping it a smidge less hot-and-heavy than the levels they had previously been approaching. Her hands tangle in his hair, and his remain roaming up and down the sides of her body.

 

It’s languid, intimate and absolutely lovely.

 

At least it is until a loud shriek punctures the air.

 

“AAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIEEEEEEEE!! I KNEW IT! YOU LIARS!”

 

Dipper and Pacifica jump apart and turn to see Mabel standing on a forgotten balcony above them, entirely in plain view, accusing finger pointing down at the couple. Behind her, Candy stands with her hands over her mouth, hiding a smile, while Wendy openly grins.

 

“Mabel! What the fuck!?” Dipper yells back as he quickly turns his back to her, adjusting the front of his pants.

 

“I knew you two were lying abut the fake dating! Fake-fake dating is what this was! My own brother and one of my best friends—deceiving me!” She throws the back of her hand to her forehead dramatically.

 

“Mabel, we weren’t lying!” Pacifica chimes in. “This, like, just happened.”

 

“Oh yeah right, like I haven’t seen the way you two have been acting around one another. So how long’s it been? Months? Years?”

 

“Minutes!” Dipper yells. “And if you didn’t notice, we were kind of in the middle of those minutes and I would like to continue them please!”

 

“Pfft, whatever! Smile for the camera!” Before either can react Mabel has pulled up a camera from out of literally nowhere and snapped it with a blinding flash.

 

Dipper and Pacifica both squint at the bright light, shielding their eyes with their hands. It’s going to be a terrible photo.

 

“Mabel!” Pacifica yells. “What gives? Like literally an hour ago you were trying to convince me to let this go!”

 

“You what?!” Dipper roars, spinning to his sister.

 

“WHAT!?” Mabel shouts, affronted. “I was not! I was trying to get you to get off your damn butt about it! If you hadn’t already I mean. Which I’m still not convinced you hadn’t!”

 

Dipper groans.

 

“I’ve wanted you two together for years!” Mabel continues, apparently insulted. “I already have your kids’ scrapbook pages ready!”

 

“It’s true,” chimes in Candy. “You are having triplets.”

 

Pacifica’s face could not get any hotter if she were standing on the face of the sun itself.

 

“Oh my god,” Dipper groans. “Mabel, shut up! I literally just got with her— do you want to scare her off for me already?!”

 

“Not a chance, Dip!” Wendy chimes in. “Look at her face, man, girl’s crazy about you.”

 

This. Is. The. Worst.

 

“That’s it! We’re leaving!” Pacifica screams, grabbing Dipper by the wrist. “Come on!”

 

“Wait, where are we going?” Dipper asks, face twisted up in confusion and the lingering traces of lust.

 

Pacifica stops, then turns back around to face him head-on. She gives him her best, most confident smile.

 

“To find a more private garden, obviously.”

 

The grin that spreads across Dipper’s face could probably light up the whole of Oregon given the chance.

 

---

 

Half an hour later, hair and clothes slightly more rumpled but overall looking presentable, Dipper and Pacifica stroll back into the mansion hand-in-hand. Across the room, Pacifica sees her parents sending off some of the last guests to leave. Her dad’s suit has managed to remain relatively unscathed, but the small train on her mom’s dress bears the unmistakable marks of hoof prints.

 

It’s honestly a miracle she hasn’t run into them by now. But then again her parents tend to keep to only the richest of their associates, whom happen to be the same ones Pacifica goes out of her way to avoid, so she supposes in some ways it makes sense. And, like, it is a pretty big mansion, after all.

 

Preston and Priscilla seem to notice Dipper and Pacifica at the same time, and the matching frowns that cross their faces as their eyes lower to the teens’ joined hands is an image Pacifica wants framed and mounted on her wall.

 

“What’s that about?” Dipper nods at her parents. “They seem, uh, more annoyed by my presence than usual. I mean, even given…” Dipper gestures back at the yard, still in disarray.

 

“Oh,” she laughs. “Uh, they think we’re going to run off and elope. Mom’s afraid of being a grandmother before any of her friends.” Pacifica hip checks him playfully.

 

Dipper blushes lightly but smirks at her.

 

“Hey, you wanna mess with them a bit?”

 

She meets his gaze, equally mischievous.

 

“Always.”

 

A few moments and a quick detour later Dipper crosses the great hall in confident strides, Pacifica pulled along tucked closely to his side.

 

Her father eyes them stonily while her mother’s expression turns wary.

 

“Great party, Mr. and Mrs. Northwest,” Dipper starts, voice lofty and smug. He shoots them a grin. “Or should I say…” He holds Pacifica’s left hand out, where one of Mabel’s many costume rings now sits proudly, gleaming on Pacifica’s ring finger. “…Mom and Dad.”

 

End.

Notes:

“Mooom, it was a joke!” Pacifica wails Monday morning as her mother drags her into the doctor’s office to get on the pill asap.

--

well that's all folks! This was super fun. :) thank you so much for all the love and comments. I'm seriously so blown away. It keeps me motivated to write more, so I really appreciate it!!

--

ps. I didn't come up with NorthStar as a name! that's all owed to this tumblr post. (edit: ooh and its since come to my attention that back in the day this was also a ship name some people used for mabcifica which makes a lot of sense too. def did not know that, oops. nothing but respect for them!)