『 R E Q U E S T S , C L O S E D 』AnimeCharacters x Reader

35. Karma Akabane x Reader x Manami Okuda | Bless Her Heart, Poor Miss Victim

→ characters : Karma Akabane, Manami Okuda | Assassination Classroom/Ansatsu Kyoushitsu

→ requested by : Aya7_Nee

→ 05192017

→ an AU wherein an older karma akabane likes expensive cars, cheap cigarettes, black suits, and playing with the heartstrings of the prettiest women at the most crowded parties;  karma's known for his charming looks and the naughty ventures of his hands, among other things.

[a/n]: okay but i am so sorry this came out later than what i had wanted, it's just i haven't really gotten a decent amount of sleep and it just completely messed up my productivity whoops, anyway enjoy ^^!

xx

Karma Akabane was popular, he greeted his friends with gentle claps on the back, a little to closely to the shoulder and he greeted strangers with polite smiles and the gift of his name. He could drink six glasses of wine before he would start giggling a bit too childishly and he liked bow ties more than neckties. He had nice hair, and a nicer smile and he didn't need any alcohol to unravel the women's tongues and get their staggering feet into the bedroom and their giggling mouths sucking the bitterness of intoxication out of each other.

"I love you," she says, with enough passion in her voice it could have been a love song. All Karma gives her back is a hum, barely audible and residing in the same boring note. He tangles the obscenity of his index finger around a weave of her hair until a simple tug of his leashed finger strains against the roots and pulls her lips down. Though from the way the emotions play on her face like a projector against a colorless wall, and Karma decides she's frowning for a different reason.

"Akabane, why don't you ever say it back?" she asks him with a sad glint to her eyes. Something glints the easiness of Karma's eyes too, because something as valuable as his first name was only deserving of something genuinely intimate, not this back and forth toss of moans against the wall and the emptiness when she cuddles up to him, undressed and breathing.

Karma doesn't have anything to say anything to her, because everything's already spoken in the centimeters between his skin and her skin. It speaks whenever she smiles at him with substance, and he's made to return his own, carved upwards enough to deceive her. It speaks in the way he doesn't take her by the wrist when she slides farther and farther away from him.

There's only the ruffle of sheets between them, hands too bound to try and reach for the comfort of the other, her double-edged attachment taking her by the throat and choking her until she's forced to recognize the way Karma looks at her, listless, untroubled.

Karma rests his chin on his palm; there's no change in his expression, but hers is sifting through thousands in the grueling stretch of short moments. Karma remains indifferent even as the brokenness of her heart reaches and touches her eyes, and she's close to crying, and Karma's hands only move to scratch an itch right below his rib.

Karma's too well-trained, evolved into obedience, responding only to a reward and remaining still, ears pointed up, at everything else. Just like a leashed hound pumping the blood of different kinds of breeds. His reward was the nakedness of a woman to let his fingers shape and their cries for the few seconds of euphoria when Karma would maneuver his hips just right; he's learned to deny infatuation, deny fondness, because one broken heart was difficult enough to repair and keep beating- he's learned to steel his eyes, keep his tongue behind his lips, blink and smile and hum his hum when they told him they loved him.

And Karma's become rather adept at it, because all he feels for the girl who's crumpled her hands and wet her cheeks is a pity that any passing stranger would feel; no underlying thump of his heart that makes him want to stay this night, and maybe others.