Mizuki Sayeko had never been fond of the whole 'soulmates' concept, not when her past warned her of the side-effects of falling too deep into the lucid, hypnotising trap. With piercing gazes, a stone-cold heart, would her soulmates ever get through...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
LABOURED BREATHS RESOUNDED across the large bedroom, the air heating up slowly, intoxicatingly. Like wisps of silver waltzing with a puff of smoke, twisting and curving, merging, becoming one with the toxic vapour. Intoxicatingly addictive— both the sight and the sound. The feeling, too. Sat on the bed were five soulmates. Five flushed faces, five increasing heartbeats, five people with tremendous excitement and horniness running through their veins, synapses buzzing with life, invigoratingly pleasing.
Kuroo hovered over his female soulmate, palms pressed flat against the fresh linen sheets, on either side of her head. His muscles strained under his weight, lips glistening with their mixed saliva, slightly bruised from the pressure of the sweet, not so gentle kiss they shared.
"Daddy."
"I'm not calling you that," Mizuki deadpanned.
"Why not?" he whined, jutting his bottom lip out, widening his eyes and giving his best puppy dog face (nobody could do it better than Bokuto, though).
"Because I said so."
Kuroo pouted before a title popped up into his mind, and a grin spread across his face mischievously. "Well, how about master? If I recall, a certain butler once said that to us."
Mizuki blushed furiously.
"Come on, Mizuki," he purred, rolling his hips forward, his clothed erection rubbing against her. He felt, more than saw, her shiver, and revelled in the feeling only he and his soulmates could accomplish. She was his. He was hers. That was all there is to this story. And nothing would ever change that. "Say it."
Mizuki averted her gaze to the side, and Kuroo thought he would have to provoke her more to get the title out when her lips parted, soft and rosy, barricading words of intelligence, sounds of heaven's own ringing bells.
"...master."
Kuroo couldn't help but goran, dropping his head to the curve of her shoulder. "Fuck," he cursed, though it sounded more like a guttarl moan. He pressed a kiss to the hickey he made earlier, a sign of his eternal, evermore possessiveness. "Call me that again."
"Master," she said, a little louder, face washed over with red. Sparks fluttered across her skin, her heart racing in her chest, furiously pumping blood around her body to get oxygen to her brain lest she pass out with the anxiety buzzing inside her.
"God."
"Now, now, you two," called Keiji, walking up to the bed with a box in his hands. "Don't get started without us."
Mizuki swallowed thickly, pulling away from Kuroo's hypnotising gaze, a pool of addicting hazel with flecks of gold floating around his blown pupils. She turned her head with furrowed brows, eyes landing on the object in Akaashi's hands. "What's that?" she asked.
