꒰ ݁ ꫂ᭪ ꒱ 𓂃 Lavender Lips 𑣲 𝒫 erfume
˚₊‧꒰ა lavender marriage.ᐟ satosho ﾉ f. reader ໒꒱ ‧₊˚
you start to realise that you are beginning to look at the clanhead and clan lady in a way your heart shouldn't allow. to remind yourself of your position as their advisor, you flee a clan event to finish off some paperwork. but shoko has other plans for you.
broadcast ᝰ.ᐟ✧ arranged marriage au, lowk clanhead.ᐟtoru, attendant.ᐟreader, mutual pining, smut, psuedo cheating ( reader thinks shoko is ), breast play, fingering 𓂃 wc ⌇ 2.5k
sweetheart host ᝰ.ᐟ✧ oh this was such a delight. art cred ⌇ tekla135 & syrnrr
₊‧꒰ა series m.list ☆ part 01 ໒꒱ ‧₊
A citadel of oak and shoji. Your sanctuary. Tucked away in a corner of the grand Gojo Estate. Your office lulled to you with the smell of fresh paper and ink already beneath your nose. You'd rather black stains over red. Over heart smudges and blurred lines.
Professionalism, both your pen and sword. Now a twig in your uncertain hand. Was there anything professional about the way you looked at them?
Curse your eyes and bide your tongue. Paperwork would be your punishment. You were an advisor first and foremost. You would do well to remind yourself that.
The event droned just out of earshot. The Gojo clan held only the best. Your determination dampens at the prospect of missing a night of party. Only to perk when chatter and music fade into a creak. The floorboard.
You look to your feet. Perhaps—
"Now, what is my dearest advisor doing near her office at this hour?"
Perhaps not.
Heart smudges burst into beats. If it weren't for a fleshy barrier, it might have clawed away at your ribcage and jumped right into those delicate hands. Her delicate hands.
You spun on heel. First mistake. Admiring her from afar was easier than up close. Shoko was a spectacle best enjoyed from a distance. Like how the gardenia adored the moon.
Which was she? The moon in its splendour, glowing like her pin-straight hair curving down her back? Or the beautiful gardenia, adorned in black silk rather than white? A cheeky little dress cut that hung by thin straps over her shoulders and clung around her thighs and still dared to have a slit on the left.
Everything about that outfit went against clan tradition and your sanity. But really, who would tell the Strongest's wife anything? Not that you were complaining.
"I wondered where you ran off to." She smiled. Were gardenias poisonous? You braced the doorknob to your office as if it could save you.
"Apologies, my lady," your head bowed. Both in respect and to keep your eyes off of her. "Do you require anything from this humble servant?"
The wooden floor became a set of heels. You stiffled a gulp as her closeness pricked goosebumps and perked your head. Bad move. You thought her silk dress dripped with poison? Her brown eyes coated with honey. Sweet like her perfume that embraced you. Trapped you. The same way her presence did.
She smiled. You mimicked. "Some company. If you don't mind." You didn't. But did you have a choice? There went your heart again. Ready to burst out your chest and straight into her arms.
"Of course." And with that invitation, you couldn't help but feel that you sold your soul. The door opened. Perhaps your office could still save you.
As the attendant and advisor, your office was something to boast about. Recently refurbished by none other than the clanhead himself. You insistsed the comfortable seating arrangement in front of a grand window was unnecessary. He didn't listen and instead ensured you had an added tea station. A desk of only the finest wood, more shelves than you needed and a sakura bonsai he heard you loved in passing.
"He really did this place up," she hummed.
"He spoils me too much." You huffed.
Then dampened. Facepalmed even. Really? Telling the clan lady that her husband spoils you? Another woman? And still, all she did was smile. You coined her darkening eyes as your own paranoia.
You reached for the door, but Shoko already closed it. You gulped with the thud. Smiled. "I'm curious. Why run off back to your office?" She asked. "Such a waste of a pretty dress."
At least your lavender halter dress upheld professionalism. Apart from the tease of a slit. You ignored the compliment. "I remembered some extra paperwork. Thought now would be the perfect opportunity to finish it off."
As she turned to you, your heart knocked into your throat. Professionalism was damned in each fold of her dress as she approached you. Slowly. In the way that the moon crept on petals.
"So devoted to this clan," she mused. You hadn't realised that with every step she took, you exchanged two back. Until the desk caught your cower. Her perfume caressed you once more. Confection. Close.
"How devoted, I wonder?"
Too close. Maybe she could hear your heart. Her voice certainly lulled for it. Shoko was a renowned sorcerer, but in this moment, those were the eyes of a siren.
You mulled her question. What was devotion? Dedication, determination. Only one of those remained while the latter melted into a pool of shame. One you drowned in. Lured by the siren's song.
That dress of hers wasn't cheeky. It was dangerous. Nothing in comparison to her touch. Softer than petals, sharper than steel. A quiet caress over your knuckles braced on the desk's edge. Her fingers slipped between the gaps of yours, as if she could weed the last threads of your sanity from them.
Your lady was always beautiful. One thing all the big three clans could agree on. Satoru boasted, the others envied. Deep down, you knew their strife. Envy was a hidden flower blooming bright in your garden.
And there, the moon shone down upon you again. With brown eyes smouldered like the night and a sly smile that put the stars to shame. Her smooth neck and collarbone teased you as she leaned closer. You noticed just how high that slit in her dress was. A galaxy— no, a black hole. That's what she was. Consuming. Grand.
"I saw your stare earlier, you know." There she goes. Trying to pull you in and ruin you at your very core.
"I was. . . only admiring." You gulped. Looking anywhere but her eyes was surely your death sentence. Alas, they too held a blade to your throat and ever-eager heart.
Shoko's smile slithered. She leaned further and you still confusingly, cosmically, reeled your mind to see it as friendly. "Oh?" Professional.
"So even someone like you can admire your clan lady."
Oh, but what was professionalism in the midst of that sweet perfume?
"I have eyes, Madam."
Her shoulders bounced with laughter. Your eyes fell. Strike two. The fabric thrummed over her chest and you shot your gaze back up. Frantic and faltered. Praying to Tengen that your little slip went unnoticed.
But like any black hole, Shoko consumed all matter. The matter of your devotion and shame alike. Her head crooked and silky brown brushed back to reveal more of her milky skin. Oh god.
"It's not every day I get compliments from woman," she said, carefully. "Tell me, might I be so bold as to ask what you fancy?"
You spluttered. "Pardon?"
"Men or women, doll?"
Looking past her was impossible. Holding her stare was ruinous. The question swam around your drowning mind and your fingers clawed at the desk. Searching for a lifeline. Her hand became it.
"I'm. . . I suppose I don't mind either."
"More for you then, hmm?"
If you gulped any more you might rasp your voice. Not that you'd need it with how small it'd gotten. This dance of words and sway of seduction broke you down into the palm of her delicate, deadly hand.
Another chip off your resolve. Shoko pressed closer and finally— you crumbled. A hand shot to her shoulder. Felt her smooth skin. Strike three. Fuck.
"My lady," you quivered. "Are— are you intoxicated?"
With her face so close you'd smell it immediately. Yet all that consumed your senses, your being, your entire soul; was that sweet, lavender perfume.
She laughed again. You wondered if you should quit your job for a comedy. Might be useful. You're sure to lose position if the clanhead walked in. "Not that I'm aware of."
Warmth crept beneath your slit. You barely process her nails dragging behind your thigh before warmth encased you entirely with a singular yank. Your heart stuttered against hers. Ears burned red against her lipstick. "I might be soon, though."
You didn't smell the alcohol, but you tasted it. On her lips. Or was that poison? So sweet, so sultry— your mouths brush in a secret. One you weren't willing to keep.
Jerking back, frightful and flustered, you quivered. "This. . . This is wrong. Your husband—"
"Isn't here."
You thought you could run from the moon? Her pale hand proves otherwise. Cupped behind your head and jerking you back.
Back into her celestial mouth. Two stars colliding. Fervid, furious. She consumed you in all of your matter. Hesitation and devotion alike. Want— no, need.
You needed to kiss her. You needed to be hers. Even for just a moment. So, voiding each voice in your head pleading for you to rip away from her and her warmth, you melted. A pool of stars in her beautiful hands.
Her fingers threaded on your scalp and clung to your thigh. Tender. Like her lips. They graced yours with an ease that ruined your every resolve. When last had you kissed someone?
It didn't matter. Not here. Not with her. Your clan lady was all you knew. And you were one devoted servant.
"You're hesitating." Your heart skipped a beat. Her lips parted to brush yours, then kissed again. Slow and soothing. "Don't think."
How could you with her devastating kisses trailing down your neck? "Just feel."
And feel you did. You felt hot. Felt wrecked. Felt like the stars aligned as her lips caressed the curve of your neck. Her hand crept further up your thigh and you gasped. All those lingering touches. Those longing stares. Every interaction you swept under the rug.
Shoko wanted you. And you miserably, shamefully, wanted her too.
"Tell me to stop, and I will." She yanked your leg over her hip, straining the lavender fabric of your dress together with the rest of her sanity. Her smile curled against your pulse and mocked your racing heart.
"But you won't, right?"
God no. Not her. Not now. Not after wanting this for so long. Fire trailed the feel of her lips. Down your throat and nestled into your collarbone. Your touch aches for her too, but you only have the strength to curl your fingers on her shoulder. Oh, the shame.
You're here. Leaned up against your desk. Her hand on your thigh, her lips on your collarbone. Her, the clan lady. The wife of Gojo Satoru. And you still knew shame?
She didn't. Her mouth even less so. Kisses traced from your soft skin and onto the smooth fabric. She paused, almost disappointed at the lack of contact, only to spark with determination and press her lips down further. Peppered atop your breasts.
At last, your hand found her hair. She stilled. You wavered.
"I'm s—"
"Don't be."
She cupped below your breast and teased a thumb around the centre. You shivered. She smiled.
"You said you're attracted to women," her lips follow the circle her thumb did. "Have you ever been with one before?"
You quaked. "No, my lady."
"Shoko."
Confusion swirled with heat in your head. The realisation that she wanted her name on your lips, her birth name, stunned you. Hesitation weighed on your throat again, no matter how much devotion crept to your tongue.
Heat burst through your nerves. You gasped as those tender, dangerous fingers pinched your tit and rubbed your resolve away. She crooned.
"Say it."
"Shoko."
You broke. Perhaps splintered was a better term. The same way that the moon broke into the sky. A graceful shatter. Stunning, timid.
"So shy." Her hand squeezed your soft mound, eager for a string of your sweet sounds. "Perhaps I have to break you in a bit, hmm?"
Hadn't she already broken you enough? Her palm sought for more. It slithered over your skin, nestled between the heat of your thighs, and just when you bit back a tremble— it cupped snug over your panties.
"Come on doll, say it for me again, won't you? Louder."
Hesitation? You didn't know her name. Only Shoko's. Only desperation. The heel of her palm flushed into your clothed clit and ground up. How could something so delicate be so diresome?
Sparks shot up your spine. You coiled your hand in her hair and bucked into her. "Shoko," you whined. Something desperate. Something devastated. Her touch matched both.
Her laugh mused your ear. You burned up and willed every fibre to stop your jerking hips. Her fingers weeded out that same desire. Pinched on your hardening nipples and slot between your clothed folds.
"Look at you," she laughed. For once, shame drained from every nerve. Your head spun. You couldn't think, let alone feel embarrassed. Her touch washed away every doubt. Rose fluster and shot down falter.
Those brown eyes slithered from beneath her heavy lashes. She crowded you. Consumed you. Lips brushing yours as she kissed your shaky moans.
"If only my husband could see you now." Long fingers worked with her palm. Stroking over your dampening slit and grinding on your poor clit until you whimpered.
"Wonder what he would think?"
"That you're both desperate as hell."
You jerked away from her kiss, from her beauty— but she wouldn't allow your escape. Your squirm was met with a firm hand shoving your hips back into the table.
Only your eyes escaped the dream before you and instead found the nightmare dressed in a white haori. Leaned up against the doorway with his arms folded and blues narrowed.
Gojo Satoru. The clan leader.
Her husband.
"I— G-Gojo-Sama—" you spluttered and squirmed against Shoko's hold. For once denying your devotion.
Your ears rung. Heart battered. Heat throbbed, still, under her touch. She barely broke away.
"I—" you pushed your hands to her shoulders. Eyes already glossy. Fear squeezed your lungs and left you breathless. "I-It's not. . ."
You shot a frantic stare back to the woman that held you in her arms. No fluster nor fright met you. Only warm, amused eyes, that she threw back at her husband as she glanced over her shoulder.
"Look what the cat dragged in."
Satoru huffed. He shoved off of the doorway. The ground buzzed with his approach. Your thighs clenched around Shoko's insistent hand.
"Guess she beat me to it."
The darkness in his gaze stopped your heart. Then squeezed it. Anger? No— irritation. Something else. It's only then that you take Shoko's response into account. No fear, no shame, not even an apology for being caught by her husband with her hand flushed against her advisor's panties.
A second cold touch caressed your shoulder. More calloused. His thumb traced a lipstick stain over your collarbone.
Your eyes struggled to meet his, but his presence demanded it. Once you caught his stare, you knew the darkness in his gaze.
It was the same in hers.
"Is she sweet?" Satoru murmured.
"The sweetest." Shoko mused.
Your attention batted between them like your fluttering lashes and speeding heart. Realisation came with her palm stroking up once more and ruining all your resolve. A second ruin came. His lips. Traced down your neck.
"Since my wife had her fill," Satoru breathed into your stuttered pulse.
"It's only fair, isn't it?"
© 𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒊𝒔𝒎. no plagiarism or ai training authorised.
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