Chicken
Rosa Diaz x afab!Reader
Rosa is supposed to be your friend, so you have no idea why she would involve you in a prank war you specifically requested (demanded) to be left out of and completely humiliate you. Guess there’s only one way to get revenge and show her who’s boss…
CIS MEN AND MINORS DNI//Cw: both are such switches it’s crazy, reader stealing Rosa’s panties as revenge and wearing them (oops, spoilers 🤭), highlighters used as nipple clamps (lmao), body writing, slight humiliation, sex in the precinct after hours, reader wears a skirt, “friends” to lovers, name calling (pervert, slut, etc. reader and Rosa receiving), edging, light choking
Serves you right for trying to stay out of a 99th precinct prank war.
Maybe if you weren’t such a buzzkill, trying to get through your mountain of paperwork before the weekend, you wouldn’t have ended up covered in shaving cream and feathers. “Chicken” Rosa had called you for backing out. Well, now you really look like one.
Laughter pours throughout the precinct like smoke that fills your ears, heats your face, and leaks right back out your nostrils. You spit, and a chunk of shaving cream flies from your lip and lands onto the floor in front of you.
Your chest is tight. The thought of speaking or even yelling brings you close to retching. The thought of someone else doing so was even more nausea-inducing. And, as if the author of your life was a big fan of irony, a taunting call of your name catches your, and everyone else’s, attention.
“Why’d the detective cross the road?” Jake jeers.
More laughter.
“You know, I had this great bowl of chicken noodle soup the other day. Maybe you knew him?” Charles, ever the loyal follower, chimes in. You’ll kill him.
“Come on, guys,” begins Terry, much to your relief. Finally, a voice of reason— “don’t get too plucky!”
Another eruption of laughter.
These fuckin’ assholes.
“What is the meaning of this?” All laughter dies down as soon as Captain Holt steps one of his pristinely shined shoes into the bullpen. He looks to you, scanning you up and down as if trying to distinguish you from the mascot for the chicken shack down the street. He says your name, slow and unsure.
“Sir.” Is all you are able to muster, alongside a dignified nod that sends more shaving cream splatting onto the Captain’s pant leg.
“Right.“ The Captain turns, addressing the entire precinct. “Who is responsible for this?”
You don’t think you’ve ever heard the precinct so silent. Not even when Rosa’s dog had surgery and everyone was too scared to use the printer let alone let a pen drop.
Rosa…
She’s been…awfully quiet. Never once has she let you off the hook with something like this. After you spilled your microwave lasagna on your lap at lunch, she laughed in your face and called you “Lasagna Pants” for two months straight. When you tripped and sprained your ankle, was she the one to take care of you? Of course. Did she call you ‘Clutz McGee of Fallsville’ the whole time? Absolutely. Rosa Diaz has never been one for holding her tongue around you.
Your gaze shifts to her desk, and her eyes are already glued to you. Not the captain’s, like everyone else’s are. Yours. Chills prickle down your spine. Your brow creases.
If she did this she is so. Dead.
She looks up at you through dark lashes, knees tilting outward as she swivels slightly left and right in her chair. Her elbow is planted on her desk, fingers skillfully twirling a pen around them in a swift pattern like you’ve seen her do with a dagger. She showed you how. She teased you for not doing it right. You loved it.
“Peralta, who pulled this inane prank?”
“Oh no, Captain, I see what you’re doing here. You’re asking me because you think I’m stupid enough to slip up and give it all away. Well, you’re wrong. Because a prank war involves a strict alliance between pranksters. And nothing will ever change that! Right, Rosa?”
“Oh, bud…” Charles winces.
Amy shakes her head in pity.
Rosa’s bemused expression is wiped clean off her face which, admittedly, sparks satisfaction within you.
It takes a solid ten seconds for Jake to realize what he’d done. “Oh, god dammit!”
“Diaz?” Captain Holt says steadily. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
Her eyes dart left. Right. In her usual hard monotone, she offers, “It was funny?”
The Captain glances back at your sorry state and, to your surprise and humiliation, chuckles. “Yes. This is…outrageously hilarious. But as you know my top focus is productivity and your prank has, unfortunately, lowered it,” he says matter of factly. “I think a night of staying late and digitizing old files downstairs is punishment enough.”
You break into laughter. Even covered head to toe in white foam, you find immense joy in Rosa’s scowl. “Karma works fast, huh, Rosa? Tough break.”
“Not so fast, detective,” The Captain holds up his hand, the weight in his tone sinking in your chest. “I feel that in the light of this ‘prank war’ it is important to crack down on any possible retaliations. I think it would be best for you to join Detective Diaz tonight. Hopefully it will give you a taste of what’s to come if you even think of getting her back. Dismissed.”
A shaving cream soaked feather splats onto your shoe.
“Wow,” Rosa’s chair squeaks as she rolls it away from her desk. “Tough break.”
She stands and turns on her heel, and your eyes follow her until all that’s left are her black curls disappearing behind the break room door.
The others snap their gaze away from you and begrudgingly resume their paperwork. The very same work that you now have absolutely no time to complete before the weekend thanks to your unjust punishment. Thanks to Rosa.
She is SO dead.
…
Hot water pours down your back, pooling cloudy at your feet until the drain sucks it all down. You comb your fingers through your hair, clumps of shaving cream catching in them and dissolving in the stream of water. You almost feel normal again. The embarrassment is washed away on the outside, but inside your chest remains heavy. Your brow is still creased as your brain works hard on how to get Rosa back…without the Captain finding out, that is.
You could replace her desk swords with pool noodles? But you don’t want to rat her out for having desk swords…
…What if you bedazzled her entire desk?! No, the Captain would definitely know that was you.
Shit…you suck at this.
The shower handle squeaks as you pull it down, the water shrinking to a weak drip. You grab the towel you’d left hanging outside the shower stall and run it up and down your legs, arms, neck. Just as you start wrapping it around your body you hear the locker room door swing open.
Footsteps echo off the tiled walls — sharp, like they belong to heeled boots. Rosa. Her locker opens with a metallic clang and you hear the rustling of clothes. What is she doing here? Does she know it’s you in the shower?
For whatever reason, you decide now’s the time to pull back the curtain — ripping the bandage off, if you will. The metal hooks scraping against the rod calls all attention to where you stand, tucking your towel securely just above your bust.
“Hey.” Rosa addresses you, even though her eyes meet somewhere south of yours.
All you give her in response is a roll of your eyes.
Your shower shoes, which are really just an old pair of flip flops with one broken strap, smack the floor as you cross the room to get to your locker. Which is, of course, right next to Rosa’s. You rummage around the pile of clothes you’d discarded on the top shelf, not really looking at what you’re pulling out, instead daring to glance at Rosa in the corner of your eye. She seemed to have the same idea. “What?” You spit.
“Nothing,” lips pursed, Rosa leans down to unzip her boots. She steps out of them and places them at the bottom of her locker, asking nonchalantly, “So, what’s the matter with you? Find a cockroach in the shower again?”
Was she suffering from amnesia!?
“What’s the—“ you pause your rustling, fists curling in a ball around your skirt. A deep breath refuses to calm you. “What’s the matter with me? Rosa, what you did was a dick move. I said I wanted to be left out of that whole thing.”
“Yeah, because you never let yourself have any fun.”
“That wasn’t fun! You embarrassed me in front of everyone! You always do this- it’s like you get some sick enjoyment out of tormenting me! I thought we were friends!” By now your clothes lie at the bottom of your locker, forgotten and still tangled. You’ve thrown subtlety to the wind, probably looking insane in nothing but a towel, hair still dripping, ready to pounce. You’re thrown off kilter, though, when your gaze travels inches downward.
Rosa releases the top, second, and third buttons on her blouse. The straps of her holster are long gone. You must have missed her discarding it. “I’m sorry, okay?”
The bra she’s wearing is black. Obviously. Nothing too fancy or needlessly elaborate. It’s very Rosa. You blink, realizing she’d said something.
“You- you’re…well, thank you for that, but—“
“And as for tormenting you, sometimes I just can’t help myself.” When Rosa makes her way towards you, you can’t help but shrink in on yourself. Your hands fasten themselves to your towel, making sure nothing slips. Your thighs brush together underneath the rough fabric. You wonder how much space there is between your very bare assets and the edge of the towel. You feel increasingly exposed. Put under a microscope. Rosa’s always had the ability to make you feel like that. Like every move you made was being carefully documented. Not necessarily judged. Just…noted. It always confused you. Excited you, at times. Maybe the nerves you felt about her noticing every little action of yours were part of the reason it took so long for you to realize you had such a huge crush on her. That your nerves weren’t all because of how intimidating she was. “Your reactions are just too good to pass up.”
She’s so close you can smell the perfume she uses. A little forest-y with a dash of leather. A scent that seems to clog your airways when you try to speak. You don’t know if you should feel insulted, flattered, or horny. Or all three. “I…you…”
“Like that.” Rosa’s blouse slips down her shoulders. She bunches it up, unbothered by all your mumbling, and stuffs it back into her locker. “You get this…constipated look.”
“Oh my god, Rosa!”
“What? It’s true. And hilarious.”
She reaches for her belt, metal clanking as her manicured fingers work it open. Your throat runs dryer than a desert, but still you manage, “You’re such a jerk.”
Her hips wiggle out of her jeans. “And you act like you don’t like it.” Her gaze locks with yours, as if daring you to look down. “Now, I’m gonna take a shower.” She says, as casually as if she were announcing a grocery store run. She pulls a towel from her locker and closes the door with a metallic clang. “See you during our shared hell.”
And just like that she turns, leaving you seething, face steaming. You turn back to your own locker, staring aimlessly at the pile of clothes you now had to pull over your dewy skin. You shiver with discomfort at the thought.
Just then the shower sputters to life. The curtain rustles, Rosa’s hand disappearing behind it.
Her towel hangs on the hook just outside the shower. Right above it, her bra and underwear.
The blood drains from your head. This feels like a dream.
It would be so wrong, you think. And yet, no one’s here to stop me.
Captain Holt said not to retaliate. You’d be punished. Even more than you already are.
But would Rosa tattle about this? She doesn’t let people know where she lives, that she makes jewelry, that she used to do gymnastics — would she tell people that she’s going commando because someone stole her underwear? That feels way too personal and embarrassing to shout out to the whole precinct.
Rosa made you a literal chicken in front of everyone for no purpose other than to embarrass you. This is for revenge. This is for your honor.
Dear lord, you are so going to hell for this…
…
Ever since Rosa got out of the shower, she’s been quiet. Which is arguably much scarier than if she were to yell.
You thought for sure when you ran into her in the break room that she would bite your head off, confront you, anything. But even though she slammed the fridge door a bit harder than necessary and there was a visible rose-colored dusting across her nose and cheeks…her lips remained sealed.
Dare you say your plan was working perfectly?
The only thing that was less than ideal was the method of which you were concealing your wrongdoing. And…the toll it was taking on you.
After you’d taken Rosa’s underwear right from the hook, you’d giggled about it in the bathroom before realizing you would have to find a solid place to hide them, or else you were dead. Rosa would search everywhere for them, you knew it. Where wouldn’t she find them…?
Cut to you sliding your own underwear down your thighs and replacing them with Rosa’s black thong.
You shoved your own underwear into your locker and told yourself that if anyone asked, you’d just say they were a spare pair.
At the time you commended yourself for your quick thinking. But now, as you sit at your desk, unable to think about anything but the fact that Rosa Diaz’s used underwear is rubbing against your folds every time you shift in your chair…you wonder if there was, perhaps, a better way to handle the situation. A way that didn’t make Rosa’s thong become damp and sticky under you.
You watch as the clock hands tick painfully slow towards five O’clock, leg bouncing under your desk. The only thing bringing you solace is Rosa.
She avoids your desk like you carry the plague when, usually, she would stop by to chat with you or make fun of you every time she got up (which was a lot). Meanwhile, everyone else is now a victim to her silent wrath.
Shards of the printer fly every which way when it jams on her. Coffee now stains the ceiling from how hard it was knocked out of Scully’s hand. Even the Captain is avoiding her. You assume he attributes her outbursts to being caught red handed earlier. But she’s doing her work all the while, so he keeps quiet. For his safety.
When the clock strikes five, everyone in the precinct practically runs home. You can’t exactly blame them. The tension between you and Rosa has been…palpable, to say the very least. Especially now that the two of you are the only ones remaining in the office.
“So…you think we should head to the file room? Y’know, ‘shared hell’ and all?”
Rosa looks at you as if furious you even dared break the silence.
“What’s wrong? Find a cockroach in the shower?” You parrot her own taunts back at her, head cocking to one side as if you asked out of genuine curiosity.
She stands, tense. She looks like she could slap the shit out of you right now. Her jaw is set, neck muscles taught and twitching with unspoken rage. Upon glancing down, you notice her hips shifting with discomfort. Ever so slightly.
You gesture at her movement with a nod of your head. “Got a little problem there?”
“I don’t like being humiliated.”
“Oh, you don’t?” You put a hand to your chest, feigning surprise. “Well, neither do I.”
“This is different,” she insists, speaking through clenched teeth. “This is…fuck, this is… I could get you written up for this.”
“Will you?” You have no idea where any of this confidence is coming from. You just know it’s the only thing carrying you right now. “Will you tell Captain Holt that I stole your little black thong?”
You wonder for a moment when exactly Rosa had started walking closer to you. A second later, you realize it had been you that approached her. “Will you tell everyone how you’ve been wearing absolutely nothing under your jeans this whole time? And how the scraping of that uncomfortable denim against your poor pussy is what’s been making you so explosive today?” By the end of your diatribe your voice has lowered into a mere whisper.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut the fuck up while you still can.”
“Clearly, I don—mmmh-“
Before you can damn yourself even further, your words are swallowed by Rosa’s lips. Her teeth mash into yours, scraping, pulling at your bottom lip. Kissing her is every bit as violent as she is. “You’re- mmn-you’re a fucking pervert,” is what you understand to be the mangle of syllables being whispered feverishly into your mouth.
You nod as best as you can against her, tongue darting out only to get nipped and bitten. “I know…I know.” Your palm plants itself onto the desk behind Rosa’s hips, trying to stabilize yourself while raking your fingers through her curls.
“Where’d you put them?” She asks, mouth finally free to do so as your swollen lips kiss messily along her jaw. “I looked everywhere.”
You smile against her skin, snickering and making her shiver into you as your breath tickles her neck. “Everywhere…?”
Rosa freezes just as her nails dig into your now tangled, frizzy hair. As if you were a tick sucking the blood from her neck, she rips you off and pushes you into the desk adjacent to hers by your shoulders. Her hands find the bottom of your skirt and tug it up your hips, exposing your dirty secret.
“You fucking bitch…”
You can’t help it as a gush of fresh, warm arousal soaks into the thin band of fabric at the way her eyes linger despite the venom coating her words.
A laugh bubbles like tar in your throat, deep and taunting. “Well? You gonna take ‘em back, Rosie?”
“You got them all wet, you perv,”
“I know…I’m gross, aren’t I?” You pull her back to you by the lapels of her signature leather jacket, sitting on the desk behind you as you slot your thigh between hers. “I’m so disgusting, you probably don’t wanna touch me, huh? That's okay…”
Rosa’s breath hitches when you rock your thigh against the seam of her jeans.
She stutters slightly, something you never would have expected to hear, but it sends a warm feeling straight to your head, as if steam from the shower was trapped inside. “What are…what are you doing?”
“Helping you out…what’s it been like?”
“What has…huh?”
Never once had you seen Rosa so…dazed. Perhaps it hadn’t been only you who was being tortured by the sorry state beneath your clothes. Maybe she too had been shifting, adjusting, leaking all day. The way she grinds her hips down onto your prodding thigh certainly points that way.
“What was it like? Going half the day going commando? Uncomfy, probably. But, y’know, I bet you knew I had something to do with this—“ At the inflection of your tone you raise your thigh, which welcomes a crease between Rosa’s brows. “Did you like it? Did it make it hard not to grind your clit against your jeans, rocking back and forth in your chair, masturbating in front of the whole office—?”
Before you can wonder where the air in your lungs went, Rosa’s spit makes contact with your cheek. “Shut the fuck up.”
Her hand grips your throat harder. She humps your leg with all the love and care of a rabid dog. You can still breathe, but it gets her point across. She wants silence, and that’s what she’s going to get. Her teeth gnaw at your shoulder, her laborious breathing making the skin dewy. The friction of her jeans against your bare thigh rubs your skin raw. You can feel it, too, growing damp.
Every so often, Rosa releases your skin in favor of kissing your neck — a tenderness that surprises you before you realize the moans in your ear were her calling you a “fucking freak”, “gross bitch,” and, your personal favorite, “disgusting slut.”
You choke out a laugh, “Says the one humping her pathetic clit on my leg, yeah? You’re such a hypocrite.” Her eyes roll back, and you can’t tell if it’s from pleasure or good old fashioned annoyance. “If you were a little nicer to me, I’d consider helping you out,” you drawl, fingers ghosting over the hard nipples poking through her shirt.
“Do it,” she demands, seemingly realizing her fault a moment later and correcting herself, “Touch them…please.”
“Oh, wow, I even got a please?”
She rolls her eyes again. This time, it is quite obviously from annoyance.
“That’s very sweet but I’m gonna need a little more than that. You’ve been kinda mean, Rosie.”
With all the petulance in her spirit, Rosa groans deep in her throat and releases yours. “Fucking please touch them, please. I need you. I have needed you for…just- please?”
Deciding to dig at that grave later, you slide her leather jacket off and onto the floor, working the buttons of her blouse open until her bare tits spill out, causing your mouth to water. You smirk, looking up at her through half-lidded eyes.
“What? I was already going commando down there, what’s the point of a bra?”
You laugh, tucking her still slightly damp curls behind her shoulder, out of the way of her breasts. And there it is: the sweetest look she’s given you all day.
Rosa opens her lips…and closes them. She clears her throat. “Just…don’t think too much about what I said. I…haven’t wanted you for that long. I’m not desperate, I’m normal—“
Rosa cuts herself off with a noise you’ve never heard from her before when your fingers pinch around her swollen nipples. Her hips jut forward, pressing the stained crotch of her jeans back against your thigh. You coo at the sight, sure that if she were a bit less stimulated she would have given you hell for doing so.
As if she were possessed to keep doing so, Rosa rubs herself on your leg. Her hair falls from her shoulders and into her face with the motions. Her eyes, usually so sharp, are now glossy and unfocused. Like she’s looking past you rather than at you. Her tongue traces the bottoms of her teeth as she humps you and the desk beneath you begins to shake. Her hands, planted on either side of you now, force it backwards a centimeter every second. One of her hands shoots to the button of her jeans. You pick up on what she’s trying to do and cage her hips with your other leg to keep her from dismounting you. She shoots you a questioning look, fighting your hold lightly as if to test your intention.
“You asshole, just let me…c’mon…”
“Kiss me,” you say, not necessarily an order but Rosa must have known you wouldn’t loosen your hold on her if she didn’t. Either that or she really wanted to kiss you.
Her hands shoot up and into your hair, tugging you forward. Her lips are soft and malleable against your own, feverishly licking you up like you’re a fast-melting popsicle. Her teeth scrape against your own, taking out her anger on your lips and tongue as she nips them, breathing heavier when you whine at the pain.
Still, you courteously slide your leg out of her way. She notices immediately, dropping a hand back down to the button of her jeans while the other holds you still by the base of your neck. Her thumb digs into your muscle, prods your tendons.
“Fuck,” Rosa mutters, unable to slide her pants down farther than her hips before your fingers bully their way between her thighs. She grabs your wrist, not pushing you away but again holding you where she wants you. You wonder if she worries you’ll slip away from her if she doesn’t.
A wet, clear string connects Rosa’s pussy to her jeans. Your fingers break it and spread it around her clit, all warm, swollen and sensitive from rubbing the poor thing against the denim. She damn near folds in half when your soft fingers finally make contact, and it doesn’t take long after that for her to spray your hand with squirt. You gasp as it drips down your wrist and stains the denim under her hips dark.
With the suddenness of a bear trap, she clamps her arms around you and sinks her nails into your skin, using the crook of your neck to muffle her moans and bite your collarbone. If there was one thing you learned about Rosa tonight, it was that she was more than happy to make you bleed.
With no chance at all to get a snarky word in after she finished, you were shoved down to the desk, Rosa’s forearm splayed across your chest, heavy as a fallen tree trunk on top of a car. You couldn’t get up even if you wanted to.
Rosa lifts your leg onto whoever poor sap’s desk this is, the stitches holding your skirt together straining and snapping as the fabric stretches. You look down. She huffs out a laugh, staring right down at her own thong barely covering your soaked pussy. The air is cold against it. You shiver.
“Not a bad hiding place,” she compliments. “Bet you hoped I’d look here, huh? Pervert slut.” Her finger traces the bulge of your swollen clit. Up and down, then suddenly she flicks it, laughing when you flinch, “Not yet, dummy. I don’t think you’ve learned your lesson yet.”
She leans over you, reaching past you for something that you can hardly direct your attention to when her breasts brush your chin. You flick out your tongue, and Rosa makes a noise of surprise. Her hard expression comes back into view and she smacks your nose with something hard. A highlighter.
Before you can wonder what on earth she needs to be highlighting at a time like this, she unbuttons the first and second buttons of your shirt. Impatient as always, the rest of the buttons fly off when she rakes one hand down the front of it. They all hit the floor in light patters like rain. When your hard nipples come into view (the captain insists on having the office thermostat set to sixty degrees to increase work ethic) she runs the cap of the highlighter over them in turns.
“I’ve always wanted to see these,” she muses, as if she had finally ventured to a museum to see the works of art she had always pondered about. “It’s hard taking showers after work when you’re there too. You have no idea how many times I’ve wanted to do this,” she flicks one nipple with the highlighter still and pinches the other. You whimper, daring not to say anything so she won’t be scared off like a bird. You wanted her to keep talking. You wanted to hear this. “Just pull back the curtain and watch you get all shy, then angry like you always do.” Her lips move lightly along your neck, strands of her curls tickling your chin and nose. You don’t push them away. “See your tits, slippery with soap, and play with them in my hands…sometimes I’d play with mine, next to you, imagining they were yours.”
You dare to counter, “Who’s the pervert now?” with a breathy laugh.
She gives your neck a kiss before pulling back to look you in the eye. “I hate to break it to you, but we’re both perverts here.” She smiles. Like, genuinely. Then she’s glancing down at your tits and asking, mouth watering, "Speaking of, how do you feel about some mild pain?”
And you must have nodded or whined or begged or something because before you know it the highlighters are dangling off of your nipples by the clips, the plastic pinching and stinging perfectly as your skirt gets hiked further up your hips. Rosa moves the thong back and forth, flicking your clit annoyingly with the seam and pressing on it with her thumb when it bulges wetly. The clips turning your nipples raw send spurts of dampness into the poor, ruined thong. Your hands are bunched up around the edge of your skirt, almost feigning embarrassment, but really you’re doing your absolute best not to shove the thong off yourself and grind against her hand like a madwoman. You don’t think she would take kindly to that. Although she can be quite the impatient person, it seems like now she wishes to take her time with you, with these circumstances, with this view.
You start to leak around the thong, Rosa’s movements painting it around your skin and making it shine in the faint fluorescent lights that still remain on at night. The smell of it wafts into your nose. You should have known this incessant teasing would be a part of her punishment for you.
The other part seems to take both of you by surprise. You cry out when the blue highlighter is suddenly yanked from its cap, which still chokes your nipple.
“What’re you- h-ohmygod—“
A cold, ticklish sensation starts at your hip and makes its way toward the other. The blue ink spells something out that you cannot quite make out with it being upside down. Curiosity taking over, you lean up on your elbows and peer below your skirt.
Of course she would.
Written on your lower tummy in Rosa’s swirly script are the words “ROSA’S PROPERTY,” accompanied by two arrows pointing down.
“How mature of you.”
“I’m a mature gal.” She shrugs. It’s the first time you’ve heard her use ‘gal’ in a sentence. You let a laugh slip, and her eyebrows pinch together. Has she traveled lower down your body? “What’s the matter, idiot?”
“You’re just,” you look up toward the ceiling, trying to debate whether or not you want to open this can of worms. The…emotional kind. However, you’ve gotten this far. It would probably take a lot to scare her off now. “You’re just cute, Rosa.”
Her eyes get larger for a moment, and your chest tightens with anxiousness. But not a second later, her lips curl into her signature mischievous grin. “It’s a little hard to take you seriously with highlighters hanging from your nipples.”
You push her lightly by the shoulder, laughing, “Fuck you!”
“Fuck you too. And…you’re cute too. I…yeah. You’re real cute.”
“Rosa,” you whine. “Say it. Please?”
“Ohh, now I got you beggin’?” She calls back to your taunt from earlier.
“You’re impossible!”
“I love you.”
You stare her down. Surely you heard wrong. Surely you’re just dreaming again.
“What?”
“You heard me the first time.” And it could have been a dream. It could have been your own wishes making you hear something incorrectly but ultimately you wouldn’t know right then and there. Rosa’s good at that. At making sure people don’t know any more than she wants them to.
“I don’t- I- oh fuck…Rosa…”
She cuts your thoughts short, snapping them like a spindly string that stood no chance to her distractions. Her finger had slipped under the thong, brushing against your aching clit and pulling the fabric to the side, finally uncovering you. Your pussy, absolutely soaked and probably all red and puffy from how much torture and teasing it had endured for the entire latter half of the day. You can deduce as much from her reaction: a low groan, and her eyebrows creasing upwards, as if she had just been offered the best meal she has ever seen. Hopefully that’s not too far off from the truth.
Pulling up a chair so she’s sitting at the end of the desk, her face is perfectly lined up with your pussy. You feel her breath on your slick skin just before she teases your clit with the point of her tongue. You can’t help the violent jolt that follows. God, it had just been so long and you’d been so worked up all day…
She laughs at you. “Keep still. Or I’ll have to hold you down.” Before you can say ‘yes please’ she’s flicking her tongue up and down your swollen clit. Your legs relax, spreading wider for her access and one knee hits the computer. Still, Rosa’s hand pushes your thighs, urging them apart and against your stomach. As a reward for allowing her to contort you, she gives your clit a suck.
You’re a whining, soaking mess. Completely sure the desk underneath you is being splattered with a mix of your arousal and Rosa’s spit, you can hardly care.
Rosa looks up at you, eyes dark and lidded. She reaches up and flicks the highlighters on your nipples, sending shocks of pain down your spine and you arch into her. Smiling around you, her lips and tongue squelch against your burning cunt.
She’s sliding a finger into you now, allowing her mouth a break to cruelly exclaim how messy you are down there. “Should we leave this mess? Let everyone know what you did and how I punished you? Making you wait so long ‘til you’re gushing on some poor fuck’s desk?” You can’t muster a response when her fingers curl up against your spot, making your tummy flutter and your clit pulse. “Can’t even talk when I hit your little spot? Pathetic.”
Whatever sweetness she let slip to the surface, it’s gone now. You wouldn’t have even known it was there.
But now, when you’ve been made to wait for so long, the finish line comes faster than you’d expected. It’s all just so much. So much friction, so much mess, so, so much-
“No no no no! No, Rosa, don’t stop! Don’t!”
She laughs at your meltdown. At the bucks of your hips to find her mouth once more, at the way your hands grip her hair to pull her closer. At the way your chest heaves up and down like the waiting exhausts you. But she won’t touch you again, not when she knows you’re so, so close. Even the slightest warm breath against your clit could send you over the edge. She wants to watch your relief leave you, to watch the need settle back in.
Rosa mocks your pleas for more in a low, controlled tone that doesn’t quite match up to your higher-pitched meandering but certainly succeeds in embarrassing you. “Now you wanna act all sweet?”
You nod, smiling playfully.
“Well too bad. I should just pull your skirt back down and send you home.”
How pathetic do you have to be that the notion actually scares you? You press your legs together, the slick Rosa had smeared all over you squishing between your folds. “You’re so mean, Rosa. A real friend would let me cum.”
She can’t seem to quell her grin. “Oh, so we’re just friends?”
“We’re whatever you want us to be.”
She stalks further up your body like a panther, her lips brushing yours and you can smell yourself painted on her. She wears you like her favorite lipgloss, there’s no way you’re just some cheap drugstore lip balm to her. “I want you to be mine, if you’ll have me as yours.”
You’re a victim to the utterly goofy smile that spreads your lips wide. “I think I can manage that.” You lunge forward, capturing her lips and Rosa melts into what you give her, almost in relief. As if, like you, she’s played out that scenario a million times in her head never dreaming it would find its way into reality. But surely not…Rosa’s too cool for that.
Your lips glide along Rosa’s, the kiss messy and wet. All holding back has been completely thrown to the wind by now. It’s about damn time. The exact thing you expect Gina to say when she notices you and Rosa all over each other tomorrow. She’s been betting on you guys getting together for a good year now. You predict her string of prying questions — how it happened, how long you’d been hooking up, how good the sex was, and you think about how you’ll tell her about the confession, about how Rosa made out with you on some random desk in the office, and then made you cum hard with two of her fingers stuffed inside your pussy as she stifled your moans with her mouth. Well…maybe you wouldn’t divulge that much.
…
The next day was like any other. Gina texting away at her desk, Terry parading through the bullpen announcing his new yogurt shipment to anyone who would look up from their desks, Charles yammering to Jake about the benefits of beef tallow while simultaneously writing a report. How does he do that?
All was normal, all was quiet. That is, until Rosa arrived. She greets those she respects with a nod of her head and those she doesn’t with her usual scorching side eye. She places her motorcycle helmet on her desk and keeps walking…over to you. She lifts your chin with the knuckle of her pointer finger, mutters a soft ‘morning’ and kisses you. You smile against her lips like some giddy teenager, but manage to keep your cool after breaking away. That’s more you can say for the rest of your co-workers.
Gina started taking pictures as soon as the lip-locking began, some of them being selfies of her looking shocked with you and Rosa in the background. Terry had crushed a cup of yogurt in his fist out of shock and is now yelling at the two of you for ruining his ‘Tuesday shirt’. Charles and Amy’s commotion is by far the worst.
“How long has this been going on!? Where was your first kiss? Have you Frenched yet? Have you shampooed each other’s hair — that one’s important so don’t even think about lying to me!”
“You are getting none of that information, Charles,” Rosa asserts.
“We’ll have you at least told—“
“Captain!” You squeak.
Holt nods in your direction. “Good morning. I see my punishment for you two helped to quell your petty squabbling and weed out the truth. You’re welcome.”
The room is silent for a moment while you compute his words.
Before you can say anything, Gina speaks up, “Captain, are you saying you played matchmaker with these Gaybos?”
“Just call me Cupid. Dismissed.”
