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“Just sit on her lap.”
Veronica pauses mid-writing her notes, looking up and staring dead ahead at the camera.
“What?” JD asks, shrugging, not at all bothered by Veronica’s unamused expression. “It’s what she did.”
Veronica glares at him for a few more seconds, before sighing exasperatedly. “Okay, fine. That’s exactly what she did. But it was during a dumb party game, JD. A party game. I want to catch her off-guard too.”
JD seems to mull this over. He has his thinking face on. Distant gaze, thumb and forefinger to his chin, eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly. His lips are jutting out, just a little bit—The Dean-Scheme PoutTM, as Martha likes to call it.
Which meant he was going to come up with something brilliantly disastrous or something terribly genius. It's a very fine line he enjoys wobbling on, but at least he produced results.
While JD’s quiet, Veronica returns to her philosophy notes, taking care to keep her handwriting clean. Callahan spoke too quickly for anyone to make something vaguely coherent or legible. Veronica resorted to covertly recording him because recording me during lectures is theft of my intellectual property and I don’t want your electronic devices to be a distraction, and writing things down will help you remember things better anyway.
As if scrambling to jot down notes while trying to process whatever he’s teaching isn’t a distracting enough as it is.
If he took just half a second longer to enunciate properly the world would be a better, less stressful place. But nooooooo. Veronica shakes her head, trying to swallow down her growing frustration.
(In the background, she hears JD humming and tapping his fingers on his desk.)
Callahan's previous students called him "legendary" — he'll give you the best kind of existential crisis every lecture, or so they said. Truly a place for mutually satisfying, intellectual masturbation. Whatever that meant. Veronica cringes.
Only crisis she was currently in danger of experiencing was figuring out why even technology can’t make him sound any more coherent. Zero satisfaction too, as far as she's concerned.
Veronica only took him because Heather had him the previous semester and Heather took meticulous notes. She passed his class with a 3.60 GPA, a definitely way more than flying colors for a professor infamous for being "barely an easy C-plus."
Not that Heather's generous with her notes.
I don't want you relying on what I've already written. You might end up not paying attention. After you're done revising, cross-reference what you have with mine. I'll quiz you so I know you're not just mindlessly memorizing things.
To Heather's very, very, very grudging credit. Her methods work. Veronica's current class standing is a surprising 3.25, and philosophy isn't even her forte. Reading philosophy and studying it in an academic setting are two very different things. One of them is fun, the other one just makes her wanna rip her hair out.
(Like her current frustrations with trying to catch Heather off-balance is making her want to rip her hair out.)
Sighing, she adds a note in the margins of her notebook:
If power is an omnipresent force in our reality, so too is resistance inherent to us. Power, as it tries to control, obviously needs knowledge. It necessitates ideas to make sense of the world, of identities. Knowledge, on the one hand, plays a role in the very subjectivities that control you, and on the other, informs you of what to do, who you are, what you’re capable of.1
And Veronica Sawyer is capable of many, many things.
She's far from the self-deprecating girl she used to be in high school. It's just that... Heather is... so... put together. All of Heather's sharp angles and harsh points have been honed into fine precision. Her arrogance has softened into this magnetic confidence, a comforting self-assurance. She's unapologetic, driven, and oh so hard to fluster. Veronica feels like an absolute mush around her and it's not fair!
“Oi, Ronnie.” JD's tone suggests he's been trying to get her attention for a while.
“Don’t oi me.”
“Don’t roll your eyes at me.”
“Sure thing, dad,” Veronica snorts, though she does put her pen down. She looks at JD. “Okay, so I’m assuming you have an idea and you’re not just about to suggest I climb onto her lap again.
“Ye of little faith, Veronica Sawyer, ye of little faith.” JD tsk tsk-ed exaggeratedly, complete with a very theatric look of mock offense distorting his features. He looked like, Veronica muses, he's about to grow an asymmetrical haircut with a bad bleach job and ask for the manager. But, then, he grins brightly, mischievously, and he's all JD again (10% Endearing and 90% Scheming).
“You guys still doing that no sex during hell week thing?”
Upon hearing the question, Veronica is immediately bombarded with the mental image of a hammer crashing down on her head and burying her on the spot.
No way she coulda dodged that one.
“I’ll take that grimace as a yes.”
Instead of responding, Veronica buries her face in her arms. She screams out her frustrations, followed by a stream of grumbling that was likewise muffled.
JD manages to make out the phrase it’s such a dumb rule in the middle of all the incoherent blabbering, but only because it’s a staple sentence tacked onto her complaints about the No Sex During Hell Week Rule. He's heard it enough times he can copy Veronica word-per-word while she's venting.
Eventually, JD takes pity on Veronica. With a teasing drawl, he tries to get her attention, “Rrrronica, I do have an idea."
She lifts her head ever so slightly, enough just to peer at him. “Go on.”
“Flirt with her throughout hell week. Just, lay it on very thiccc, ya get what I’m trying to say?” JD waves at the camera like Veronica isn’t currently scowling at him. “Did you hear all the Cs there, Sawyer? Make sure it’s thicccccccccc flirting.”
Veronica doesn’t respond, just keeps glaring at JD, who’s now giving her his best devil-may-care smile. He raises an eyebrow at her. “You do know how to flirt with your girlfriend, right?”
Veronica straightens in her seat, more than decidedly offended by the question. After a beat though she pouts, entire aura turning woefully glum, “On a normal day, sure.”
JD tries and fails to smother his bubbling laughter. He snorts inelegantly and attempts to look sympathetic. “I am truly sorry.”
“Seriously, JD, her commitment to that dumb rule is so—“ Veronica starts flailing her hands every which way in an attempt to explain, making garbled sounds of distress in place of using actual words.
“Her laser sharp focus truly is a marvel.” JD nods sagely, trying not to smirk at his obviously suffering friend. At Veronica’s exasperation, he shrugs and doubles down, “Still, I stand by my suggestion. Just flirt the shit outta her, make yourself irresistible, ooze appeal and confidence, flirt like the gods appointed you successor of Eros in the modern age, like you were the muse that gave life to the Venus de—“
“Okay, okay!” Veronica cuts it, voice turning into an embarrassed squeak. “I get it, JD. Oh my god, shut up already.”
But JD doesn’t stop, he grins at her, eyebrows waggling. Then he holds himself up, straighter and puffing his chest, like he’s about to make an announcement that would put the most pompous court herald to shame. When he speaks, he‘s slowly, increasingly becoming more theatrical, “In the supposed words of the Legendary Chaotic Gay Oscar Wilde, and definitely uttered by the Goddess Herself, Keeper of My Heart, My Pansexual Queen Janelle Monáe—everything is sex, except sex, which is power. Go forth, dearest Veronica of the Ohio Sawyers, and use that power to—”
“GOODBYE JD!” Veronica half-screams, face beet red as she disconnects the video call. She buries her face in her hands and groans. She loves JD, she really does, but holy fuck he was ridiculous and annoying and just unbearable. And, dear goddess almighty, how has she sunk so low she's asking him for advice.
Barely a minute later, JD is already calling back. Veronica answers it. The screen is black, taking a bit to buffer. Still, she can clearly hear JD’s uproarious laughter and wheezes in the background. She drags her palm down her face, embarrassed and doubly frustrated by his antics. When he finally pops up on the screen, his face is a shade of pink and there are tears in his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” JD tries to force out in between wheezing and giggling. “I’ll be serious now, I promise.”
Veronica stares at him, expression a perfect blend of incredulous and deadpan. She can see JD struggling to keep a straight face, jaw clenching, lips twitching and pursing, until finally he explodes into another fit of laughter. Veronica can’t decide if he sounded like a dying whale or an overly excited seal.
Veronica waits.
And waits.
And waits.
“Are you finished?”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, I’m done this time.” He replies, nodding erratically and wiping his tears. He takes a few deep breaths and says, as evenly as he can, “Seriously, how hard can it be?”
A beat passes.
“Veronica, stop pouting.”
“Fine.” Veronica, albeit pouting just a tad bit more, concedes grumpily. “But I’m doing it now.”
“What?”
JD is a bad influence and Veronica is equal parts impatient and impulsive. What else is new? Why wait till Satan’s sucked up their souls via overlapping deadlines when she can just sit on Heather’s lap now?
“Heather’s downstairs.” Veronica says by way of explanation, grabbing her phone and standing up. “She’s compiling sources for a presentation or something.”
“Okay?”
“So, I’m going to do it now.”
“Okay.” Veronica can tell JD is completely unconvinced. He's trying so hard to look neutral but she can easily read the skepticism on his face. She rolls her eyes out of camera view. Who has little faith now?
“I’m going to put my phone in my pocket. Stay on.” Veronica looks at her screen long enough to see JD give her two thumbs up before she's turning the volume down to zero and stuffing the phone in her hoodie’s pocket.
Veronica takes a deep breath, steeling herself... then promptly feels ridiculous because, really, all she’ll be doing is sitting on Heather’s lap and—why does that feel so daunting?
She shakes her head, as if it might physically rearrange her thoughts into something more sensical. Then, with one final sigh, Veronica opens the door and tiptoes out of her bedroom, making her way downstairs as quietly as she can. The closer she gets to the click-clickity-clack of Heather's laptop, the giddier she's feeling.
As expected, she spots Heather in the kitchen with her laptop on the counter in front of her.
Veronica lingers by the doorway, content, for a moment, to simply watch Heather as she studies. It might just be Veronica’s hopelessly gay ass or the fact that she’s terribly in love with Heather, but
Wow.
A wide and dazed grin forms on Veronica lips, stretching across her face until her cheeks are aching. She's overcome with that familiar rush of affection only Heather's capable of inspiring. It's a wonderful feeling, and it comes barreling in and filling her chest, stumbling over her already barely contained excitement, and spilling from her lips in a poorly concealed, happy little squeak.
Heather hears her and turns. “Ronnie? I thought you were studying for your philo orals?”
“I was.” Veronica nods, an awful and bubbly grin is plastered on her lips.
Today on am I gay or does-Heather-look-really-hot-with-her-glasses-on?
Heather stares at her, visibly confused. After a while, she simply shrugs. As if deciding yeah, this is my girlfriend and she’s kinda weird sometimes. Seemingly satisfied that nothing's too out of the ordinary, Heather returns to whatever she was reading before.
Meanwhile, Veronica is still hung up on Heather + glasses = cute (a sight she has seen a hundred times) and belatedly wonders if Miss Honey sliding her glasses down the bridge of her nose was her actual gay awakening and not Stacy Carmichael from summer camp when she was 13.
Then she remembers the thing she was supposed to do and just about skips towards Heather. Veronica, very giddily, throws one leg over Heather’s seated form. She locks her arms around the other girl’s neck, in part to balance herself but mostly to press closer to Heather.
Veronica is completely caught up in the excitement of annoying her (intimidatingly smart, very lovely, really hot) girlfriend, or flustering her, or both. Except
Except Heather doesn't struggle the way Veronica anticipated she would when someone suddenly, randomly plops themself on her lap. Besides a tiny noise of disgruntlement that she makes, Heather doesn't protest or try to push Veronica off. She doesn't even ask what the fuck has gotten into her—something Veronica is very much wondering at the moment.
The exhilaration hasn’t quite left her, but it's certainly being compounded by a creeping feeling of embarrassment and a growing sense of dubiousness.
So.
Veronica's just... straddling her girlfriend. In the kitchen. While they’re both supposed to be studying.
And Heather seems perfectly content with the whole thing.
Why does Heather seem perfectly content with this whole thing?
Veronica is only mildly horrified by the dawning realization that she has absolutely no idea how to proceed.
Should she kiss Heather? Grind down on her lap like she did during the party? Silently climb off, say Ha ha gotcha with accompanying finger guns, before awkwardly shuffling away never to be seen again? Try again later with that thiccccccccccccccc flirting JD so helpfully suggested she do?
Heather moves first, seemingly thinking for both of them. Her left arm snakes around Veronica's waist, hand landing on and resting against her side. Even through Veronica’s thick hoodie, Heather’s palm feels hot. Heather shifts, trying to adjust the way she’s sitting to better balance her dumb of ass girlfriend.
(And, that’s really the only thing happening, Veronica knows, but she can feel Heather between her legs.)
Then, apparently deciding she’s content with their position, Heather leans forward, letting her chin rest on Veronica’s shoulder.
Heather hums contentedly. Veronica releases a shaky sigh of not quite relief as tries not to choke on her own spit.
There's only enough space between them to breathe, and Veronica finds herself distinctly aware of the rise and fall of Heather’s chest. She tries to follow it, to match her breathing to the steady rhythm, but her body feels live-wire.
She’s sure Heather can feel how hard her heart’s thudding against her ribcage. Or she can hear it. Or both.
But Heather doesn’t say anything.
There’s no teasing, no flirting, no smug comments. She simply continues working on her project. The periodic click-clacking of her keyboard is loud, filling the room, joining whatever off-beat chorus Veronica’s frenetic heartbeats and Heather’s soft breaths are making.
Heather barely moves at all. Her arm remains where it is, completely still and deceptively relaxed. Veronica can’t help but feel like she’s being held in place.
She’s caught in the mundanity of the scene she has inserted herself into, the seeming absurdity of what she’s done, and the hyper-awareness of each and every point of contact between her and Heather.
It’s a disconcerting and heady mixture that Veronica has no idea what to do with.
You do know how to flirt with your girlfriend, right?
It’s not a normal day, okay? Shut up.
Heather makes a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle. “Relax, Ronnie, you’re going to give yourself an aneurysm.”
Relax? If anything, Heather’s words – low and throaty and smirky as it sounded, with her breath hot against Veronica’s cheek – only makes her tense up something worse.
When Heather starts absentmindedly drawing circles against her side, Veronica has to fight every instinct not to shudder or squeeze her legs together.
Eternity stretches and curls around all of the three minutes it took for Heather to finally do something besides read. She pulls away so they’re looking at each other. Heather's hand stills and her arm remains locked around the brunette's waist.
Veronica is definitely being held in place.
She tries not to squirm under Heather's piercing scrutiny. “Are you and JD satisfied with… whatever this is?”
Right. JD. Veronica forgot about him. “No– we— How did you...?”
Heather tilts her head, her glasses slide down ever so slightly. She looks up at Veronica, eyebrow ever so slightly raised, all at once looking imperious and dubious. She doesn’t say anything.
Yeah. Okay. Stacy Carmichael ain’t shit. It was definitely Miss Honey.
“Okay. Fine. Yes.” The response is staccato-like, punctuated by Veronica’s over enthusiastic nods.
Heather doesn’t quite smile. But her eyes are sparkling, dangerous and pleased and entirely too entrancing for Veronica's overworked gay heart.
Her mouth feels dry. She tightens her jaw and swallows. There's a half smile curling at the edges of Heather's lips.
“Are you going to be a good girl and let me finish my work now?”
Veronica opens her mouth but no sound comes out. She clamps her mouth shut, face turning hotter by the second as good girl ricochets unforgivingly in her skull, echoing in a deafening crescendo.
Suddenly the hoodie felt far too hot, and far too stifling.
“Well?” Heather prompts again, squeezing Veronica’s side ever so slightly.
Veronica nods, gulping. All at once at a loss for words and feeling like if she opens her mouth everything she’s feeling is going to come spilling out like a wave. So Veronica presses her lips together, her eyes are slightly wide as she stares, too enraptured by the way Heather is drinking up whatever flushed expression she has on her face.
Heather finally smiles in earnest. It’s slow and calculated, deceptively calm in the same way her arm had been as it rested on Veronica's waist. Which is to say: laced with something positively ravishing and ravening.
The dizzying heat around them settles, the world seems to crawl into a standstill as Heather relishes the moment just looking at her girlfriend. Her smile softens into something more gentle, more loving, and Veronica wants to melt at the sight of it all.
Her heart clenches at the way Heather’s entire expression changes, brightening and blooming into affection and endearment. Veronica can’t tear her eyes away even if she wanted to (she doesn’t).
Heather leans forward, until their foreheads are touching. And Veronica is lost, lost, lost in Heather’s heat, her scent (old books, roses, cherry, and laundry detergent).
Veronica feels her grin returning, gleeful, just a touch awed, and still wholly giddy.
Heather closes the remaining distance and kisses Veronica, it’s barely a peck, the ghost of a touch that Veronica chases after. Heather smiles into the kiss, her shoulders shaking as she starts to laugh
When they break apart Veronica feels infinitely more relaxed.
“What do you say about letting me finish this reading?” Heather whispers, still smiling. Her eyes are bright and her cheeks are tinged pink. “You finish studying for your orals, and if you get, say,” Heather pauses, humming thoughtfully. “Ninety-five percent down pat, after I quiz you, we can have some fun.”
Heather punctuates the suggestion by letting her hand move lower and unabashedly squeezing Veronica’s ass.
Veronica smirks at this. “Ninety-five’s pretty high.”
“Callahan’s midterms aren’t easy.” Heather shrugs, tone a subtle issue of challenge. Veronica might describe her smile as casual except both of Heather’s hands are now resting on her ass so, really, it’s just cheeky (pun not intended).
“I can do that.” Veronica nods. She leans forward and kisses Heather again, for good measure. Slower this time, deeper and more heated. Veronica is utterly aware of the way Heather’s grip tightens, of the fact that she’s more than kind of grinding against Heather.
Veronica wants to just stay there. But Heather ends the kiss soon after, biting as if to warn, and gently pulling at Veronica’s lower lip.
“Behave, Ronnie.” Heather’s is a touch growly, it makes Veronica grin. “We do actually need to study, you know?”
“Fine, fine.”
Veronica is not pouting as she climbs off Heather’s lap. She does make a show of sighing very dejectedly, however.
Heather rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning at the display affectionately.
“Now, go.” Heather shoos her, but not before reaching out and delivering a light but sharp slap to Veronica’s butt as she’s walking away.
“Heather!” Comes the surprised squeak, Veronica scowls at a now cackling Heather. She sticks her tongue out, which only serves to make Heather laugh harder.
"Don't worry, darling, I promise we'll find better use for your tongue later."
Veronica groans, trying unsuccessfully to fight down her rising blush. "Thanks," she mutters sarcastically. "I'm sure focusing wouldn't be hard."
Veronica leaves the still laughing Heather in the kitchen, trudging upstairs back to her unfinished philosophy notes.
A few seconds after she’s thrown herself onto her chair, she realizes she completely forgot about JD. Veronica nearly (accidentally) throws her phone in her haste to get it out of her pocket.
To her relief, the call seemed to have dropped sometime when she was on Heather’s lap.
She calls JD, who answers at the third ring.
“Worry not, I yeeted myself out of there the moment I heard Heather say ‘good girl’.” JD declares the moment their call connects, he has his right hand up as if to swear, with his left placed squarely against his chest.
Veronica brings her hand to her forehead, trying to hid her reddening face. Through gritted teeth, she mutters a “Thank you.”
“Okay but that quickie was way too quick did you—”
“JD!” She whisper-screeches, suddenly leaping from her chair and shutting the door to her room. “If we did, do you actually want to know?”
JD waggles his eyebrows, impish grin in place. Then he laughs. “Nah. I just wanted to tease you.”
Veronica scowls at her phone. “Of course you did.” She drags her gaze from JD’s smug face to her open notebook, sighing glumly. “I actually do have to study now.”
“That’s what you said before you started complaining about Heather being too hot for your little gay butt.”
“Yeah, well my little gay butt got additional incentive.” Veronica shrugs, poker-face rendered completely useless by her still red cheeks.
A beat passes.
“Awwww! Did I help you get laid?”
Veronica groans, puts her phone screen-down so she doesn’t have to look at JD’s expression. He starts howling with laughter, boisterous and entirely self-satisfied.
It goes on for half a minute before JD tries to be a good friend. Laughter winding down and nearly out of breath, he offers, “I’ll help you study if you help me with my presentation.”
Veronica takes a few deep breaths and picks up her phone. She tries to school her expression into something more neutral and less irked. “This for your Lit Drama class?”
“Yep.” JD nods, p popping with enthusiasm. “It’s just research for now, to make notes and an outline. Churchill’s Top Girls.”
“You mean you’re not already a well-versed in that?”
He stares at her, lost. “What?”
“Top girls?” Veronica over enunciates, this time she’s the one waggling her eyebrows and smirking.
JD splutters and actually turns a shade of red visible enough even through a video call. “Like you’re any better with Heather?”
“Heather and I are flexible in bed.” Veronica says with a lilting tone, barely keeping her laughter at bay. “In more ways than one. But I’m sure you already knew that. Right, JD?”
If JD was blushing before, he’s turned absolutely beet red now. “You said we were never going to talk about that ever again!”
“Well, aren’t you easily flustered.” Veronica mutters sardonically, shaking her head a little bit at JD’s fumbling.
“I’m fragile!”
At this, she grins. “We both know you’re not.”
JD groans loudly and disappears offscreen as he buries his face in his arms. There's a muffled scream that Veronica can't help but laugh at. After a few agonizing seconds on JD’s part, he finally lifts his head up, expression so dejected you could see the white flags waving in his eyes.
“If I promise not to tease you for the rest of the week, do you promise not to mention the thing either?”
Veronica pretends to think about it.
“Two weeks.”
“Fine.”
“Then it's a free for all afterwards.”
JD narrows his eyes at her. “Likewise.”
They nod at each other. They’d probably shake hands too if they weren’t a few hundred miles apart.
“Alright!” JD declares, seeming to have gotten his footing back. “Let’s be productive students and help you get laid!”
“JD.”
His answering grin is nowhere near apologetic. “I know, I know. Just send me the thesis statements, dork.”