heyo

So, despite the praises, despite the offers of promotions, despite the opportunities to rise higher in the outer courts, you kept your head low and chose to stay at the office managing administrative duties. An office that was tucked away from the public eye. An office that should have kept you safe and hidden.

Little did you know, the emperor’s attention wasn’t the only one you should’ve been wary of.

The guards bow as they open the doors for you. Stepping into the office, you make your way towards your new boss.

“Good morning, Lahan-sama. I have the report on the wheat harvest from the northern district,” you say, placing the documents on top of his desk.

“Ever straight to the point, Y/n-san,” he huffs out, amused, putting down his brush and dismissing the servants in the room. Folding his hands underneath his chin, his lips curl into a cheeky smile. “It wouldn’t be the end of the world to have some small talk before diving into business, you know?”

“I said good morning, didn’t I?” you bite back cooly, fighting your urge to roll your eyes. “I wouldn’t want to waste your oh so important time,” you continue sardonically as your attention turns to the report on top of your desk. You want to sigh as you make your way to see what new problems awaits you.

Your desk was situated perpendicular to his. It was far enough so that he wasn't breathing down your neck, but close enough that he didn't need to raise his voice for you to hear him. It was unconventional to say the least, but he argued that it was necessary so he could reach you at any time’s notice. Although, you had a sinking suspicion that he did so to keep an eye on you.

Lahan sighs long and dramatically. “You could waste all of my time if you wished,” he mumbles incoherently to himself with a pout. “What’s your take on the report?” he asks, nodding towards the new report in your hands.

You quickly flip through the pages, scanning each page carefully. You hum in contemplation. “I believe the yield is promising. Not only can we survive through the winter, but we can make a profit by selling the extra yields…hmm.” Your sentence goes unfinished as something catches your eye.

The numbers weren’t matching up.

You quickly go through the stacks of reports on your desk to see if you were missing any information that would explain the mismatch. You’re so engrossed in your task that you don’t notice Lahan leaving his seat and making his way towards you. It’s not until you feel the heat of his body hover over yours that you snap back into reality. He’s leaning over your body, his arm to the side of you, trapping you between him and the desk. His chest is mere centimeters away. If you chose to, you could lean back and be fully within his embrace. His head is bent down beside yours, reading the document in front of you. 

You freeze. You feel your heart jump to your throat and your pulse quicken.

What was that?

“What is it that’s got you so captivated that you’re ignoring me?” he murmurs gruffly. His voice tickles your ear and shakes your core. You squirm at the feeling, and your body goes inexplicably hot. “Well? What seems to be the issue?” he asks, oblivious to his effect on you.

“I-I, well-“ your mouth is dry, and you can’t seem to get the words out. Your fingers are shaking ever so slightly as they rest at the corners of the pages.

“Hmm?” His hum feels more like a purr as it rumbles in his chest. It sends something through your body, and you’re fighting every urge to lean into him. What is wrong with you? It’s too much for you, and you abruptly pull yourself apart from him, pushing away from the desk and standing up. “Y/n-san?”

Your words are caught in your throat as you look at him, trying to come up with some sort of excuse. “Sorry, I- I have forgotten something, please excuse me,” you say with embarrassment.

You quickly leave the room, matching your steps to the beat of your rapid heart.

You were sick. You had to be.

If anything, since that day, your symptoms have been getting worse.

Your blood runs hot when you’re near him, and it feels like your heart is about to burst.

Your parents raised you by making sure you were educated on every possible subject. You’ve read every book on business, war, art, and medicine, and yet this new phenomenon is beyond your comprehension.

Your strategic mind was your pride. You only ever acted after considerable deliberation. And yet, with him, your body seems to move before your mind can follow. Your feet turn to run away at the mere sight of him, your heart thundering in your rib cage.

It was simply contradictory and baffling! Because why do you also want to call out to him? To say his name? To taste it on your tongue and breathe it out as if it were trapped in your lungs.

Why? Why do your fingers itch to touch him? To pull him closer to you. Was it because you were cold? No, you always burned when you were near him, and yet you wanted to be smothered even more. It was paradoxical, undeterminable, and completely ludicrous!

Driven to the edge by these newfound symptoms, you decide to go to the doctor to seek help or at least an explanation.

Pushing the medical building’s door open, you look around for the gentle doctor. However, you're met instead with a green-haired girl crushing herbs.

Your shoulders relax, and you sigh in relief. “Maomao!”

She looks up at you, attentive like a cat. “Y/n-sama, what brings you in today?” she asks, not bothering to stop her application.

“I believe there is something wrong with me,” you answer her honest and tired, plopping down in the seat beside her. “I believe I might be ill.”

Maomao glances down at her herbs again as she ponders. A smile falls on your face as you watch her brows scrunch in deliberation. Whether she was deliberating on your statement or the thought of abandoning her ministrations, well, that wasn't something for you to know.

“Can you tell me more about your symptoms?” she says, seemingly settling to do both.

“Well,” you start, recalling your symptoms. “I have a quick pulse every once in a while.”

“Hmmm,” Maomao says almost dismissively, but you knew that she was thinking about your words carefully. “Any shortness of breath?"

"Yes."

"Any chest pain?" She asks, slowly putting down her mortar and pestle to focus on you.

"...yes," you respond nervously.

Concern clouds her face as she scoots closer to you. Her eyes become more serious. "Do you feel light-headed or dizzy?"

"Yes! Oh my god, Maomao, am I going to die?!"

Her full attention is on you. "Please describe to me in detail when you experience these symptoms."

"Ah, it's well... I think I know the source."

"Is it work? I knew they were overworking you. I don't know why they wasted you as the personal assistant for my brother," she snides as if she was cursing at some sort of invisible authority.

Your heart skips a beat. "Oh my god, like right now, I felt my heart jump."

"Huh? Because I talked about work? Maybe I can talk to Jinshi-sama, and he can get an order to lessen your workload."

"No, not that."

There is a pregnant pause before Maomao’s eyes narrow.

"....was it when I talked about my brother?"

"Yes! He's the source!"

After another small bout of silence, Maomao completely deflates from her alert stance. "For a second, I thought you had heart problems,” she says, shaking her head. “No wonder my dad said never jump to conclusions," she mumbles to herself.

"Huh?"

"Let me guess, when you see him, your heart beats faster. When he goes near you, it goes into a frenzy, and you often lose your breath."

"Yes, that's exactly what happens! Does that mean you've seen this before? Is it some sort of allergic reaction to something?"

She pinches her chin and looks upwards thoughtfully. “Yes, I guess I have seen this before.”

“Really?”

Maomao tirelessly sighs. “Yes, at the brothel, many girls would have these, ah, symptoms…” she trails off. “It's not something that's curable with medicine.”

Your face pales at the idea that this was your new reality. “Is it incurable? No, there has to be a way," you panic. "What if I separate myself from the source?”

“It may make your symptoms worse,” Maomao’s eyes flicker towards your face, as if searching for something that you can’t put a finger on. “Perhaps if you separate for long enough, your reactions might fade, but that is only a maybe," she sighs, giving up and picking back up her mortar and pestle. "And also, who knows how long that'll take.”

She considers her next words carefully before speaking again. “For some people, they never recover.”

Your heart drops at this. “Then what should I do? Maomao, please help me,” you ask, desperation tinting your voice.

“I don't know,” she responds. “I also don't like seeing my brother happy...” she adds on, disgruntled.

Huh? “What does his happiness have to do with this?” you ask, confused.

She stares at you for a moment before letting out another sigh for the umpteenth time.

“Sorry, slip of the tongue, don’t worry about it.” She gets up from her spot and opens one of the medicine drawers. You watch her helplessly, feeling more uneasy after this visit than before.

“Here, take these chamomile flowers, it'll help you relax if you steep them in hot water,” she hands you a paper envelope of dried flowers. “That's the best that I can do to help you.”

You sigh, but take her offering, nonetheless. “Thank you, Maomao,” you say, defeated but now with a sense of what to do. “I'm going to try self-isolating for a bit. Remove myself from the source. Maybe it'll be different for me.”

Maomao gives you a ‘that's a bad idea’ look but doesn't say anything. "Alright, y/n-sama, I wish you luck."

So that’s what you do. You avoid Lahan like the sun avoiding the moon.

Despite being his personal assistant, it wasn’t that difficult. You busied yourself by personally travelling to retrieve documents or to investigate issues. When you did have to interact with him, you made sure to keep it as short and curt as possible.

He seemed a mix of perplexed and annoyed, but he never commented on your actions. He only watched, most likely hoping that you'll come to your senses in your own time.

You should be glad that he's giving you space. But for some reason, your chest stings from his apathy.

"I'll leave your documents on your table," you say softly, shaking away your thoughts.

The sun has long set, and now moonlight floods the dimly lit office. You and Lahan have been absorbed in preparing for his meeting at the palace. So much so that it's not until you place your documents onto his desk that you realize how much time has passed. You can't tell if the warmth on your cheeks is from being alone with Lahan at this time or if it's from the candlelight.

Clasping your hands together, you curtsy. "It won't be good for you to stay up too late, Lahan-sama."

When you rise from your bow, your eyes meet his. You can see the dark circles underneath his eyes from his endless nights of working. And yet, they do nothing to dim the intensity of his piercing gaze. 

You snap your eyes away from his, pink flushing your neck. "Well, I will return to my chambers. Have a good night, Lahan-sama." Your heart thuds in your chest. "I will see you when you return."

You turn to exit the room when the sound of rustling catches your ears. You turn in the direction of the sound, and you come face to face with the object of your confusion and desire.

"At least look at me when you bid me farewell," Lahan's commanding voice rings out. A deep mix of soft and firm, his voice alone speeds up the beat of your heart. "Have I done something so horrible that you can't even look at me anymore?" He asks, a hint of desperation seeping through the heat of his voice.

"I-"

You step back to put some space, but he meets you with every step. You feel the sharpness of the desk dig into the back of your thigh, but the sensation is numbed by the heat radiating off the man in front of you. With your hand to his chest, you try to push the immovable wall in front of you.

His eyes narrow ever so slightly. "Why have you been ignoring me?" He asks, pressing closer to you, grasping the hand that lies flat against his chest.

"Lahan-sama!" You choke out, scandalized. "D-don't get too close to me, Lahan-sama," you try to explain, "or I might pass the sickness on to you too."

The look he returns you is perplexed. "Sickness? You look fine to me..." he trails off, scanning your face. "I'm also pretty strong, so it should be fine," he adds with a slight flush of embarrassment. After a beat of silence, his eyes soften, and they bear into your conflicted soul. "I don't like it when you're gone for too long," he says soft and earnest.

The warmth that envelops you is scathing. Your fingers twitch and dig into the fabric of his tunic. Something raw and hot is burning in your throat, and it becomes too much and not enough at the same time.

"It's happening again," you almost pant. You use your free hand to clutch your chest, to still your beating heart.

His eyes dart widely at you. "What is? What's wrong?" Concern coaxes his words, and his grip on you eases. His other hand comes to rest against the juncture between your jaw and neck. Your eyes almost start to water at his gentleness.

You couldn't stop the words that spilled out of you, even if you had tried. "My heart, it's beating so frantically, and I can't stop it. I feel so hot, yet I want to be smothered more. My head is spinning, and I can't think straight. And this only happens when I'm with you!"

His eyes widen at your words. "L-lady y/n-"

"-a-and I went to Maomao, and she couldn't say what was wrong with me. So, I've been trying to separate myself from you to see if I can return to normal." You finish the vomit of words, out of breath. When you realize what you have done, you look at him, and there's a fondness to his eyes you've never seen before.

Oh, how you burn in his gaze.

"I see..." He says thoughtfully, as if he was tossing and turning the words in his mind. He seemed to be contemplating your confession carefully. Well, that's what you would think if you couldn’t see him fighting back a grin.

Your brows narrow at him. "Hey," you say, watching his hand go to smother the lop-sided smile that breaks free on his lips.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm not laughing at you, my Lady, I promise." He apologizes, but the lilt in his voice says otherwise. "It's just that your condition is very...perplexing to say the least."

"Well?" You raise an eyebrow, annoyed at his amusement. "What do you think of it?"

"Hmm," he starts, his movements slow and calculative as he places his hands on the desk, trapping you between them. "I think the results from isolation haven't proven very promising."

The tips of your ears burn and nearly go deaf at his words when he leans closer to you. You can feel his words caress your face. "How about we try a different method?"

Your face contorts in a way that you can’t even tell if it’s a scowl or embarrassment. "L-like what?"

The gleam in his eyes is almost teasing and it is accompanied by an equally mischievous grin. "How about exposure therapy?"

"Exposure therapy?"

"Yes, you said your heart races when you're near me?" He tilts his head, looking down at you. "Well, eventually it'll calm down, wouldn't it? Just as if you take small doses of poison, you can eventually become immune."

Suddenly, his hand grabs at your wrist, resting on your pulse. The other loops around your waist, pulling you in. Your gasp catches in your throat.

He speaks with half-lidded eyes. "Hmm, yes, your pulse is quite high."

Oh no, my head is so light

"Your face is also so red."

It's too much.

"Tell me what you are feelin-"

"Lahan," you whimper. You clutch at the fabric on his chest, clutching as if he were your lifeline.

That seems to stop the mathematician in his place. "Lahan," you breathe again, loving and hating the way it felt on your tongue. Again. You wanted to say it again. That bubbling and burning heat in your throat, giving way to his name like honey on your tongue. With the way he's looking at you so strangely, you wanted to say it again.

"I-I'm sorry for addressing you so casually, but I can't stop myself with you this close to me." Your voice quivers as you try to finish your scramble of thoughts. "I don't know why I- I wanted to say it."

"Say it again."

His grip on you tightens, and his voice is so low and commanding that it sends heat through your body.

You gulp as you watch his eyes flicker across your face as if searching for something.

"Lahan," you whisper like a confession, as if it were wrong to give in to your desires.

Your voice is met with a strained groan. You watch the mathematician lean forward, his head lowering to rest on your shoulder. You can feel the ghost of his lips touch your neck as he speaks. "You know what, maybe I'm not as strong as I thought I was."

Your blood freezes over immediately like you had just been dunked into ice. You push against his chest to get a better look at him. "Lahan, did I infect you with my sickness?" You reach up to touch his face. "You can't afford to be sick, especially since you have a meeting-"

His voice interrupts you. "It's alright, y/n-san. I was already... sick. If you want to call it that."

His statement causes you to pause. Slowly, as if you might've misheard him, you ask, "have you also been feeling the way I've been feeling?"

Lahan chuckles lowly. "Yes, but maybe since I've been sick longer, saying your name alone isn't enough for me."

Your eyebrows raise. "It's not? Do the symptoms get worse?"

"Oh yes," he lilts, his head coming closer to yours as he wraps his arms around your waist. "It gets so, so much worse. You see, I want to touch you more, no, I need to touch you. I need to hear your voice. I need to breathe you in, to worship you, to taste you," he confesses.

Your blood buzzes in your veins, your head light and hazy. You want to run away, but there's something inexplicable keeping you in place. "Because you're sick?"

"Because I love you."

"What-" Your voice catches in your throat when he bites down on your neck. A yelp escapes you at the stinging pain, but it morphs into something else when he kisses his mark gently.

"And you love me, too," he says with an unguarded smile, free and wild as if a weight has finally gotten off his shoulders.

Drunk on his touches, your body burns at the ghost of his lips. "Love? This is what love feels like?" You breathe out, voice soft and sweet.

"Still doubtful?" His eyes glint dangerously, his smile curling playfully. "Then how about this?" A yelp escapes you as he lifts you onto the desk. You can faintly hear papers falling, but all you can pay attention to is the feeling of him pulling up the length of your dress so he can settle in between your legs. The roughness of his hand grips onto the exposed skin of your thigh, and your leg jolts at the sensation. His voice is hot and low in the shell of your ear. "Let's see if you'll become hungry like me if we keep this up."

"Wha-" Your voice is smothered by his mouth on yours. Hot, forceful, and demanding. You're dazed by the feeling, but the pinch of your leg causes you to open your mouth in surprise. Before you can even grasp what was going on, he takes the short opening to push his tongue into your mouth. Exploring it like a hungry man.

Your chest arches up into his, and you feel his larger hand curl into the fabric on your back. His grasp is rough, but it's steadying, and you find yourself desperately grasping at him to anchor yourself.

His kiss is hypnotizing as you drown in the feeling. Your nails dig into his back helplessly, wanting so desperately to pull him closer.

He breaks free from the kiss, and despite needing the air, you half-mindedly chase after him.

The carnal smirk he responds with is sinful as he dives back into your neck. With the fabric of your kimono loosened, he wastes no time exploring the uncovered expanse.

"Look at the way your body curls into mine, yearning for me. Do you think this isn't want?" His voice is hot against you; the sharpness of his canines grazing your skin.

Your hand snaps to his head, knocking off his hat and grabbing a fistful of his hair. The moan you let out is vulgar, dirty, and everything you thought you weren't.

"Desperation, need, hunger, it's tight in your chest, isn't it?" His kisses litter your neck. He tugs the fabric completely off your shoulders, exposing your skin to the cold night air, but all you can feel is the burn of his touch. "Don't you want release? Do you really want to run away from me?"

He leans back to meet your eyes. "Or do you want me to help you come undone?" His voice is thick with need and desire. "Tell me what you want."

"I want you," you whimper to the deepening approval in his eyes and the rock of his hips into yours.

"Good girl."

Your flush darkens, and you feel the praise rumble in his chest. Your lips open in a silent gasp as you feel his hand palm your breast, pulling down the wraps that secures it. The noise that comes out of your mouth is warped and lost beneath a whimper as his head dives down to take in a budding nipple. The flick of his hot tongue is somehow not as overwhelming as the hand that is teasing circles along the softest part of your thigh, inching higher and higher.

You can’t help but buck your hips, which earns you a sharp squeeze on your thigh. “Be good now, my lady,” he says, muffled against your skin. “Let me take my time to ruin you.” At that, he bites down into your plump flesh while simultaneously pushing his thumb against your clothed clit. Your hips immediately try to squirm away from the obtrusive hand, but the rough pad of his finger chases after you demandingly, stroking your entrance before pressing down onto your clit with a taunting pressure.

Looking at you from the valley of your breast, his cheeks may be flushed, but his eyes are clear and focused. “So wet for me already,” he withdraws enough to breathe against your neck. You twitch violently as his fingers pinch at your clit through the fabric, and the moan you let out is shameless. It takes everything in you to keep your eyes open and trained on the man in front of you. But the heated gaze of the man in front of you as he watches, oh so attentively as if he was committing your expression to memory, makes you turn your face away in embarrassment.

 “Look at me,” his voice asserts, low and domineering. “Don’t take your eyes off of me,” he growls as he pulls down the fabric of your underwear. The grin that splits his face is dark and devilish. “You have to make up for ignoring me these past few days.”

You raise your hand to cover your flushed face, embarrassingly. “I-I-” your tongue is hot and heavy, and you can feel how wet your mouth is. “My lady,” he chastises, a little bit of condescension mixed with ego dripping from his voice. “If you want me to continue,” his pupils are large and black, “look at me.”

Slowly, you turn your head to look at him, and you move your hand to grip onto the fabric of his arm. Before you can even blink, his finger begins to punishingly circle roughly at your clit. You distantly hear the mewls that escape your mouth, but your senses are overwhelmed, and you start to not be able to tell where your body ends and where his starts. What’s more is the heated stare of the man in front of you. His smile’s dropped, and his eyes are intense as they pierce into yours; it’s too much to bear. His mouth is agape, and you know he must be murmuring a liturgy of praises, but you can’t hear anything but the obscene sound of his fingers on your sex.

“Ah!” you moan when he slides his thick fingers inside you. You fight everything in you to keep your eyes open and on him, and you can see the twisted satisfaction in his eyes as he pumps into you. You know you must look so lewd right now, as your breasts bounce from the movement, and your legs are spread around him, while you rock your hips against him to meet his fingers. How many fingers did he have in you? One? Or is it two? You want his praise, you want his attention, you want him to see how hard you were trying to listen to him.

You can’t even think straight when he starts to pump his fingers at a tantalizing pace that borders on too fast and not fast enough. Your nails dig into his arm as you feel yourself starting to come undone.

“That’s right,” his voice is broken and barely understandable. “So good, so sweet. Cum for me.” At his words alone, you whine as your body shakes before liquifying and becoming pliant against the cool desk. You’re panting, gasping for air and you are gently laid against the table. You can’t make out anything going on around you but the feeling of your hair sticking to your skin and the slick against your thigh. All your strength leaves your body, and you can't tell if it's from doing this act or finally facing your problem.

Your half-lidded eyes snap open when you feel your thighs pushed apart once more.

“Just a little bit more, my Lady.” Lahan says roughly, lining up against your entrance. “Be good for me, yeah?” The feeling of it pushing into you causes you to go into a panic, and you frantically grab the hand that is gripping your thigh.

“It’s t-too much!” You hiss as the pain intensifies as he slowly pushes into you. Your other hand goes lower, grasping at his cock as it slowly sinks deeper and deeper. It earns you a heated groan as he becomes more determined to press further into you. “It’s too big, Lahan. I can’t take it,” you cry, tears beginning to well up in your eyes.

His head tilts back as he enjoys the sensation that envelopes him. Deciding to be kind, he leans down to fully be on top of you, stopping his lower machinations. “You know just what to say to a guy, don’t you,” he sighs into your ear, kissing you’re the crown of your head. “Place your hands around me, sweetheart,” he says, “I know you can take it.”

Complying with his commands, you wrap your arms around his back and let yourself be enveloped by his warmth. Your teeth grit, and you dig your nails into his hair in a taunt as he slides into you slowly. The pain is overwhelming, but so was the pleasure that chased after it.

Lahan’s hand lowers to cup your ass as he fully sinks into you with a sharp breath. “So tight, you’re taking me in so well.” His moan is enough to set you off as you clench down onto him. The curse that leaves his mouth pleases you immensely and you twitch in anticipation.

“Lahan,” you breathe. “Move.”

The flash of teeth that replies to your command distracts you from his punishing thrust. You keen into him, a litany of noises spilling from your lips as he thrusts long and deep, in and out. You turn to muffle your whimper against his shoulder as his pace becomes quicker and unrelenting.

Your vision becomes hazy, and you think he knows that with how he grounds you in a kiss. But even you can tell he was losing himself with how messy and wet the kisses were. The sting of teeth, the taste of indulgence, the mix of moans and curses.

You can’t tell when he comes undone, but you know you’re being torn to shreds beneath him and sown back together all at the same time. Lahan holds you tight beneath him as he rocks into you one last time before pulling out.

The two of you breathe each other in silently. The only sounds are your heavy breaths and your beating hearts.

Lahan lifts his head and looks at you with hooded eyes. “Well?” he lilts playfully, his smile shifting towards something closer to genuineness. “Are you cured?”