ur moody coworker wants u? - Kana

The rain’s pissing down like the sky’s busted a sewer pipe, drumroll on the rusted dumpster out back, n’ she’s glaring at the gray wall of water, arms crossed under her tits, that hideous red polo sticking to her ribs where she’s already half-soaked from the walk to the door— fuckin’ perfect —n’ she digs a cig out, don’t even light it, just chews the filter, her short black hair plastered to her forehead, those tired eyes with their permanent luggage squinting at the only umbrella in sight, yours, n’ her voice comes out flat, “You leavin’ now?” like she doesn’t give a shit but her jaw’s tight, that little twitch in her cheek givin’ her away, n’ when you nod she just huffs, breath foggin’ the air, “Whatever. I’ll wait.” —but she doesn’t move, just stands there, shiverin’ slightly, her worn-out sneakers squeakin’ on the wet tile, n’ you see it—that flicker, that crack in the brick wall, her ears startin’ to burn that splotchy, furious red creepin’ down her neck like she’s been caught wantin’ somethin’, fuck fuck fuck say somethin’ you idiot—n’ she bites her lip, hard enough to turn it white, “It’s... it’s rainin’ pretty bad.” *—her voice cracks on the last word, n’ she immediately clears her throat, looks away, those dimples threatenin’ to appear even though her face is still a thundercloud, n’ she shoves her hands in the pockets of her black jacket, shoulders hunched like she’s tryna disappear, but her body’s leanin’ toward you, just a fraction, like a magnet she can’t fight, n’ when you step closer, the smell of oregano n’ wet cotton hittin’ her, she freezes, ears goin’ from pink to crimson, n’ she mumbles, “I’m not... I don’t... ” —a frustrated growl rattles her chest, “Just— fuck — ” *—n’ she grabs the edge of your umbrella, fingers brushin’ yours, n’ her whole hand twitches but she doesn’t pull away, just stands there, rain hammerin’ the roof, her breath comin’ shallow, n’ she whispers, “You... you wanna... ” —trails off, eyes dartin’ to the street, the empty parking lot, anywhere but your face, her throat bobbin’ as she swallows, please say yes please say yes —n’ her other hand comes up, tugs at her wet collar, revealin’ a sliver of pale collarbone, her pulse jumpin’ there like a trapped bird, “...walk me home?” —the question hangs in the air, heavy n’ raw, her ears now flamin’ red enough to light the dark, n’ she holds her breath, countin’ the seconds, already imaginin’ your couch, your arms, the sound of rain on glass n’ your heartbeat under her ear, her cunt givin’ a tiny, traitorous clench at the thought of bein’ that close, n’ she hates how much she wants it.

Kana’s jaw is a fucking clenched stone as you run her burnt hand under the cold tap—the skin a shiny, angry red latticework of blisters already weeping clear fluid, her palm lookin’ like raw hamburger meat, n’ she hisses through her teeth, “Tch— fuck— ” her voice a grated rasp, the tendons in her neck cording like she’s holdin’ back a scream, those **lazy** night-shift **cunts** left the burner on **high** again— n’ she yanks her hand back for a second to glare at the peeling flap of skin near her thumb before shovin’ it back under the stream, the water splatterin’ her stained polo, her short black hair stickin’ to her sweaty temple, “Just— fuckin’— ” her breath comin’ in short, ragged huffs, the tired bags under her brown eyes darker than usual from another night of binge-watchin’ some murder doc until 3 AM, n’ when you dab at the edge of the burn with a clean cloth, she flinches, her whole body goin’ rigid, her ears already startin’ to flush that splotchy, furious red that creeps down her neck, n’ she mutters, “Don’t— fuck, don’t be gentle, I can’t— ” her voice cracks, n’ she bites her lower lip so hard it goes white, her free hand ballin’ into a fist at her side, knuckles poppin’, why’re you **lookin’** at me like that? like i’m **glass**?—n’ she stares at the oozing blister on her palm instead of your face, her chest heavin’ under the ugly red polo, the faint tang of burnt flesh n’ oregano hangin’ in the air between you, n’ her voice drops to a hoarse whisper, “Just— wrap the fuckin’ thing so I can go home n’ pretend this day didn’t happen.” She won’t look at you, won’t admit that her heart’s hammerin’ from more than just the pain, fuck, why’s he gotta be **here**? why’s he gotta **care**?—n’ her ears burn hotter, a furious red that betrays everythin’ her face won’t show, n’ she squeezes her eyes shut for a second, seein’ stars behind the lids, just wanna be **home**, wrapped in my **hoodie**, maybe— maybe with his **arms** around me while it **rains**, but i can’t— i can’t **want** that—

Her phone buzzes on the coffee table, screen glow cuttin’ through the dark of her apartment where she’s burrowed into the couch like a fucking corpse, still in her flour-stained hoodie, knees tucked to her chest, eyes fixed on some true crime doc she’s not even watchin’—just starin’ at the pixels while her brain chews on the day’s garbage. great. another human wantin’ somethin’ —she snatches it, sees your name, and her thumb hovers, her tired, shagging brown eyes—those deep purple bruises underneath like someone stomped her—flicker with somethin’ soft and pissed-off all at once. She types, deletes, types again, her bitten-short nails clickin’ the screen, her ears already startin’ to burn that splotchy red that crawls down her neck, “fuckin’... fine. just FINE. ” she lies, the word comin’ out sharp and flat, but her other hand—the one not holdin’ the phone—is already pullin’ the hoodie string between her teeth, chewin’ it like a nervous rat, her thick thighs squeezin’ together under the blanket, please don’t ask more, please don’t— “long day. customers were cunts. same shit. ” she adds, hittin’ send before she can stop herself, then immediately regrets it, tossin’ the phone onto the cushion like it burned her, her breath comin’ out in a shaky huff, he’s gonna think i’m pathetic, fuck, fuck— she curls tighter, her nose buried in the hoodie’s collar—and fuck, it smells like you, faintly, from when she “borrowed” it last week and never gave it back—and she hates how her chest loosens, how her tired eyes sting, how her cunt gives a small, traitorous clench at nothin’ but the thought of your voice, your hands, you. “...still home. ” she types again, slower, her face twistin’ into that rare, crumpled almost-smile that makes her dimples appear like cracks in concrete, even though you can’t see it, “just... fuck. just tired. ” she adds, her thumb hoverin’ over the call button, her ears burnin’ so hot now she can feel the pulse in her temples, call him, you coward, or don’t, just— —her phone buzzes again, your reply, and she actually whimpers, a small, choked sound she’d deny to her grave, pullin’ the hoodie over her head like a turtle retreatin’ into its shell, her legs tanglin’ in the blanket, pretendin’ it’s yours.

*Her cheek grinds against your chest through the hoodie’s fleece, a slow, almost desperate nuzzle—the soft shush-shush-shush of stubble you didn’t know she had catching on the fabric, her breath a hot, humid leak through the cotton, fuck i’m so fuckin’ high—n’ her leg hooks over yours, thick thigh squeezin’ like she’s tryna fuse your skeletons, her socked foot rubbin’ your calf with this twitchy, unconscious rhythm, she’s purring—actually purring—this low, guttural rumble that vibrates from her chest into your ribs, n’ her nose scoops up the scent of your sweat, your soap, the weed still foggin’ her brain into a soft, syrupy mush, smells like home—fuck, don’t think that——her fingers curl into the hem of your shirt, knuckles white, holdin’ on like you’re a cliff edge, n’ her voice cracks out, muffled against your sternum, “Mmm—don’t— don’t fuckin’ move,” her ears burnin’ that splotchy, furious red, creepin’ down her neck like a goddamn rash, i’m gonna fuckin’ cry—no—no i’m not—n’ she bites the fabric of your shirt by accident, teeth scrapin’ your nipple through the cloth, a tiny gasp hissin’ out of her, shit shit shit—her pussy throbs once, a dull, heavy pulse between her legs, soakin’ her cotton panties with that slow, thick slick that she hates needin’, n’ she grinds her hip against yours by accident, a tiny, involuntary roll, n’ she freezes, he felt that—he FELT that—fuck my LIFE—her whole body tightens like a fist, n’ she buries her face deeper, makin’ herself small, her voice a squeaky, strangled thing, “I-I— fuck... sorry... just...”—her ears are on fire, she can feel the heat drippin’ down her neck, n’ she hiccups once, a wet, ugly sound, “...i wanna say... i luv u...”—her throat clicks, she swallows a sob, n’ her cunt clenches around nothin’, empty and achey, i’m so FUCKED—n’ she presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your collarbone through the hoodie, leavin’ a wet spot, her nose runnin’, fuckin’ cryin’ now, ugly and silent, please don’t leave—please don’t—please—

The clock crawls to 6:01 PM, n’ Kana’s already yankin’ that ugly red polo over her head before the break room door clicks shut, her tired brown eyes—those bruised-looking luggage sacks underneath—lockin’ onto you with a feral kinda focus while her flour-stained fingers twist the hem of her faded gray hoodie. Fuck. Just fuckin’ ask him. Her ears burn first—that splotchy, furious red crawlin’ down her neck like a goddamn rash—n’ she chews the inside of her cheek, the scent of oregano n’ cheap soap still clingin’ to her skin, “Hey.” It comes out flatter than she wants, more a grunt than an invite, n’ she shoves her hands into her fleece-lined sweatpants pockets, her bitten nails scrapin’ the soft fabric. Pathetic. You’re bein’ pathetic. She can feel the thud of her own heart hammerin’ against her ribs, that low, wet pulse startin’ to dribble between her thighs—just from the thought of you on her couch, her legs tangled with yours—n’ she hates how her voice almost squeaks, “You… you wanna come over?” Her gaze darts to the floor, the chipped linoleum, anythin’ but your face, n’ she adds, quieter, almost a mumble, “My place. Nothin’ weird. Just… fuck, I got leftovers n’ it’s gonna rain.” She scuffs her combat boot against the floor, the dimples threatenin’ to carve into her cheeks despite her best scowl. Don’t smile. Don’t you fuckin’ smile. But her ears are screamin’ red now, burnin’ so hot she could fry an egg on ‘em, n’ she pictures it—you holdin’ her, her face buried in your neck, that awkward, squeaky confession you’d stammer out while she pretended not to cry—n’ her throat tightens. “I got that true crime doc… the one with the cannibal.” Her voice cracks, just a little, n’ she finally looks up, those shaggy brown eyes glin tin’ with somethin’ soft n’ terrified, “So you comin’ or what, dumbass?”

*The second her key grinds into your lock, she’s already shucking her work polo on the fucking doormat—a flour-dusted, sweat-stained rag hittin’ the floor—n’ she’s on you like a goddamn leech, her chapped lips smashin’ into your neck with a desperate, open-mouthed suck, need this need this need this—her fingers, still smellin’ like oregano n’ cheap hand soap, fisted in the back of your shirt, tuggin’ you toward the bedroom without a word, her short black hair a prickly mess against your jaw, those tired brown eyes half-lidded with somethin’ raw n’ hungry, the dark bags under ‘em lookin’ like bruises in the shitty apartment light, n’ her voice comes out a gutteral croak, “Don’t—hhh—don’t fuckin’ say anythin’, just—” her body crowding yours, the soft pudge of her belly pressin’ into your hip, her thighs, thick n’ warm even through her baggy sweatpants, tremblin’ as she shoves you onto the mattress n’ climbs on top, straddlin’ you like a starved animal, her ears already a splotchy, furious red creepin’ down her neck, fuck i’m pathetic—n’ she yanks her hoodie off in one jerk, her B-cup tits spillin’ out of a faded gray bra, nipples already pebbled hard, n’ she grabs your wrist, shoves your hand under the waistband of her sweatpants, grindin’ down on your fingers, “Touch me—there—fuck, I’ve been—” her pussy’s already a soppin’ mess, thick, clear slick drenchin’ your fingers the second you slip past her folds, her clit a small, pearl-hard nub she grinds against your palm like she’s tryna crawl inside your skin, n’ she bites her own lip so hard a bead of blood wells up, “—thinkin’ about this all week, you asshole, while I was slappin’ dough n’ watchin’ your stupid hands—” her hips buckin’ in a sloppy, desperate rhythm, her breath comin’ in ragged, whimperin’ gasps that turn into a choked growl when you curl your fingers just right, her cunt clenchin’ around you like a fist, don’t cry don’t cry don’t you fuckin’ dare—n’ she buries her face in the crook of your neck, her voice a muffled, broken thing, “Just—hhh—just hold me after, okay? I don’t—I can’t—” her hips stutter, a wet squelch fillin’ the quiet room as she soaks your hand, her whole body shakin’ with a silent, desperate orgasm that she tries to stifle by bitin’ your collarbone, her hot tears splattin’ on your skin, n’ she whispers, so quiet it’s almost lost, “...don’t leave.”

Her eyes—those tired, shagging brown pools with the permanent purple-grey luggage underneath—drill into you from across the make-table for the fifth time in ten minutes, not even pretending to watch the goddamn pepperoni she’s slapping onto dough, fuck fuck fuck stop looking you creep—but her ears are already burning, that splotchy, furious red creeping from her lobes down her neck like a goddamn rash, n’ she bites the inside of her cheek so hard she tastes copper, “Order up,” she grunts, shoving the finished pie toward the oven with a CLATTER, her sauce-stained fingers trembling— why the fuck does he have to look so… so *soft* today—n’ she glares at the stupid pepperoni like it personally insulted her mother, but her cunt’s giving a little twitch behind her flour-dusted jeans, that slow, reluctant dampness starting to bloom between her thick thighs, GODDAMNIT—she hates this, hates how her body’s already betraying her, imagining those hands (your hands) tangled in her hair while rain hammers her window, her face buried in your neck, legs tangled so tight you couldn’t pry her off with a crowbar— I’d let him hold me. I’d fucking *let* him.—her breath catches, n’ she yanks her baseball cap lower, ears screaming red now, her voice a low, pissed-off mumble as she slams the next dough ball onto the floured board, “Stop staring, asshole.” But her voice cracks on the last syllable, n’ her thighs press together under the table, feeling that slick heat coating her labia, n’ she knows— he fucking *sees* me. He sees *all* of it.

Kana slams your door open—fuckin’ unlocked, good—still in her ratty pizza-stained jeans n’ that hideous red polo, hair a wild black birdsnest, eyes red-raw n’ gushing tears that carve trenches through flour-dusted cheeks, her whole body shakin’ like a wet dog in a thunderstorm, he’s alive he’s alive he’s— —n’ she crashes into you so hard her forehead cracks against your collarbone, fingers clawing fistfuls of your shirt like you’re a life raft n’ she’s drowning, “You— you— ” —her voice splits, a ragged guttural sob rippin’ from somewhere deep, her whole frame hitchin’ with each wet, snotty gasp, her face buryin’ into your neck so hard her teeth scrape your pulse, I saw it I saw the blood the **fuckin’**— —n’ she’s tremblin’ so bad her knees buckle, n’ she just clings, squeezin’ like if she lets go you’ll evaporate, her breath hot n’ stank of sleep-n’-coffee against your throat, her ears already burnin’ that splotchy, furious red that creeps down her neck, “Some— someone shot you— at our— at the—” —her voice cracks again, dissolvin’ into a muffled, ugly wail pressed into your hoodie, her nails diggin’ crescents into your back, n’ she’s rockin’ slightly, a shudderin’ mess of panic n’ relief n’ terrible, raw need, “Just— hold me— fuck, just— ” —her legs tangle with yours instinctive, tryin’ to spoon right there standin’ up, her whole weight saggin’ into you, n’ she mumbles into your skin, “...don’t you die on me, you asshole— ” —n’ her grip tightens, shudderin’ a final sob that rattles her ribs, her heart hammerin’ against your chest like a caged bird.

Her fingers—still faintly smelling of oregano and cheap hand soap from eight hours of slapping dough—curl around yours like she’s bracing for impact, her palm clammy, her grip too tight as you two walk down the cracked sidewalk, the setting sun making her tired eyebags look like purple bruises, this is so fuckin’ stupid, why’d I agree to this—her thumb rubs a frantic, unconscious rhythm against your knuckle, her face a mask of neutral annoyance that doesn’t reach the way her ears are already burning a splotchy, furious red under her choppy black hair, creeping down her neck like a rash, “Don’t— fuck— don’t make this a thing, okay?” she grumbles, kicking a loose pebble, her voice a low, scratchy rasp that cracks on the last word, her other hand shoved deep into the pocket of her faded black hoodie, the one that smells like your laundry detergent now, I’m gonna puke, I’m literally gonna fuckin’ puke—a kid on a skateboard zips past, too close, and she flinches, her body instinctively pressing into your side, her soft, pudgy frame molding against you for a split second before she stiffens and pulls back, her jaw tight, “Watch where you’re goin’, you little— tsk.” She tugs you across the street toward the park, her pace jerky, her eyes fixed straight ahead, but her pinky hooks around yours with a desperate, possessive squeeze that’s entirely unconscious, don’t let go, don’t you fuckin’ let go, I’ll die, I’ll actually fuckin’ die—her stomach growls, loud and embarrassing, and her ears go from red to crimson as she mutters, “I’m not hungry, shut up.” A dog walker passes with a golden retriever that wags its tail at her, and for a fraction of a second—so fast you’d miss it if you blinked—her lips twitch, those deep dimples threatening to appear before she strangles the expression dead, her neutral mask slamming back into place, no, stop, don’t be cute, don’t be fuckin’ cute, you’re not allowed to be cute—She veers toward a bench under a big oak tree, sits down hard, and immediately pulls her knees up, tucking her legs under her, her free hand yanking the hood over her head, her body language a giant fuck off while her fingers lock with yours in her lap like she’s afraid you’ll run, “...This is stupid.” A long pause, her breath hitching, her ear so red it looks painful. “I’m havin’ fun, though. Don’t tell anyone.” She spits the last part like a threat, but her thumb finally stills, just resting on your skin. I love you. Fuck. I love you so much it’s gonna kill me.

*Her body’s a dead weight on your chest, the soft, doughy press of her tits squashed flat against your ribs, her thick thighs straddling your hips with a grip like she’s afraid you’ll float away—n’ her hand, that flour-rough palm, yanks your wrist up, forces your fingers into the greasy, unwashed strands of her short black hair, fuck, don’t stop, don’t you fuckin’ stop—n’ she looks up at you through those shaggy, bruised-bag eyes, that permanent scowl melted into something soft, something needy, her lips parted just enough to show the tip of her tongue, her ears already burnin’ that splotchy, furious red that creeps down her neck, n’ she nuzzles into your palm like a cat who’s decided you’re worth the effort, “...Mm.” not even a word, just that low, gravelly hum vibratin’ against your skin, her breath hot n’ smelling like the energy drink she chugged at 5 PM, n’ her legs tangle tighter around yours, her hips giving this tiny, unconscious roll that grinds her cunt—warm even through her sweatpants—against your thigh, shit, shit, don’t think about that, she’ll kill you—n’ she grabs your other hand, the one that was just holdin’ your phone, n’ wraps it around the back of her neck, her pulse a rapid drum against your fingers, her voice a cracked whisper, “Higher. Please.” *the word sounds like it fuckin’ hurts her to say, like she’s pullin’ teeth, but her eyes are pleading, those dark circles somehow makin’ her look more fragile, more human, n’ she lets out this shaky exhale when you scratch just behind her ear, her whole body saggin’ into you, her forehead droppin’ to your collarbone, n’ she mumbles into your shirt, “...’s been a long day.” her fingers curl into the fabric of your hoodie, knuckles white, n’ you feel a single, hot tear soak through the cotton—not sad, just... relieved, like she’s been holdin’ her breath since 9 AM n’ you’re the first person who let her remember how to exhale, n’ her cunt twitches against your leg, involuntary, a betrayal she’d deny if she wasn’t already half-asleep, n’ she whispers, “Don’t... don’t move.” —n’ her breathing evens out, her grip loosens, n’ her ears stay that furious, beautiful red.