#hey sweetheart

[hollygl125]

Your Love Is Better Than Chocolate

@ficwip #hey sweetheart Insp. (❤) + (❤) + (❤)

[nimudae]

Happy Valentines from "(Grumpy) Sweetheart" and "Darling (Sunshine)" ❤️💛 For @ficwip's Hey Sweetheart challenge

[Ko-fi] (Sorry for the repost but A Certain Hellsite shadowbanned this after an edit)

[quickreaver]

Happy Vday, to all you schmoops who celebrate! This was also created for the SPN-J2 Secret Santa on LJ (for stellamira and her prompt: "You think you can manage not to break any bones next year?") and @ficwip’s Hey, Sweetheart event. Who me, lazy? Yeah, pretty much... :D

[grapenehifics]

Prisoner 224

I really loved writing Out of Sync for @fulcrum843's @topwan-obikin fest prompt, but fully intended it to be a one-shot until @somethingsteff started feeding me ideas and, well, I'm limited on free time right now so this is still only a ficlet but I couldn't help myself.

If you don't know the fic, the Council finds out about Obi-Wan and Anakin's relationship and they quit the Order. Anakin punches Palpatine when he insults Obi-Wan and gets sent to jail, and Obi-Wan hurries to hit the Chancellor as well so they can stay together. This also fulfills @ficwip's Hey Sweetheart challenge!

Text under the cut:

“Where are we going?” Anakin demanded. His hands were bound at the wrists in front of him, which didn’t make him look very threatening, but he gave his best glare to the backs of the heads of the troopers escorting him down the hall anyway.

Neither the troopers ahead of him nor the two at his back answered him. Their little group just kept marching along.

“I demand to know where you’re taking me,” Anakin tried, not pausing in his forward march but flexing his fingertips in preparation. He didn’t want to use the Force against them – besides the fact that they were probably just acting on orders from someone higher up the prison management chain of command, he was also pretty sure even something mild like knocking four guards out for a few hours would get his sentence extended and that was the opposite of what he wanted considering Obi-Wan was already slated to get out weeks before he did – but he also was not planning on taking a move to another cell block without putting up some sort of a fight.

He and Obi-Wan were kept apart for most of the day – Anakin in his cell and Obi-Wan in his – but because they were part of the same cell block, they were allowed to take both their exercise hour and their meal break together, Anakin holding Obi-Wan’s hand clasped in his as they jogged around the exercise track in their prison-issued tracksuits and rubbing elbows as they sat side-by-side with their dinner trays (and this only because they’d been told off for trying to sit on each other’s laps instead). But it was still a far sight better than not getting to see him at all, and Anakin hadn’t even done anything wrong (lately) and so really didn’t deserve to be punished like this.

“I want to go back to my cell,” he said.

“One of my batchmates is serving under Commander Cody in the 212th,” the trooper behind Anakin on his right said through his helmet vocoder. “CT-3812.”

“Sure. Punch, right?” Anakin said easily. “Yeah, I know him. But what has that got to do with anything?”

“That’s him,” the trooper agreed. None of the prison guards had ever told Anakin their names, just their badge numbers, although not for lack of asking. This one was one of the supervisors. Some of the younger guys were so green they had five-digit designations. “He’s met General Kenobi a few times.”

“Cool. So have I,” Anakin nearly growled. “That’s who I’m trying to get back to. So if you could just put me back in my cell, that’d be great. Or at least tell me what I’ve done.”

“Punch tells me he’s a real stand-up guy,” the trooper continued, as if Anakin hadn’t spoken. “Always makes sure his men have enough to eat. Doesn’t take unnecessary risks. That sort of thing.”

They rounded a corner. Anakin was starting to get desperate. “Just tell me where we’re going,” he practically begged. “I can call in a couple of favors and get myself reassigned back to Obi-Wan’s floor”-

“Punch also said,” the trooper on Anakin’s right said, so loudly he was almost shouting in Anakin’s ear, “that one time you and your troops joined up with their battalion, you threw yourself in front of a blazer bomb. Saved the lives of fifteen men.”

Anakin had done that enough times that that didn’t really narrow it down for him. “Which campaign?” he asked, but the trooper ignored him yet again, which seemed rude, considering he’d started the conversation in the first place.

A commlink chirped – Anakin instinctively looked to his own belt before remembering he didn’t wear one anymore – and one of the troopers at the front of their procession answered it.

“We’re ready for you, Sergeant,” the voice on the other end said.

“Copy,” the man said, replacing the device on his belt.

“Well, I’m not ready,” Anakin said, and he stopped walking. The troopers at his back nearly ran into him. “I’m not going any further without an explanation. If you can’t give me that, then you can just put me back in my cell, because” –

“We do regular maintenance, on all the cells,” one of the troopers injected, talking over the tail end of Anakin’s sentence. “Routine cleaning, things like that. Check that the water pipes are functioning properly, do a little light dusting…”

“I don’t care if my cell is clean or not,” Anakin hissed. “You can skip mine for the next five months if you want. Or let me do it myself. Is that the problem? Just give me the tools and leave me alone. If you’re worried I’m going to break out, I promise I won’t. As long as you’ve got Obi-Wan here I’m, like, the opposite of a flight risk.”

“It might take, say, three hours to finish the whole floor, wouldn’t you say?” the trooper on Anakin’s left asked the trooper on Anakin’s right.

“Maybe as many as four,” he responded.

“And we do these sorts of rounds every other week,” the first one continued.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Anakin demanded.

“If you’d just wait right in here, Prisoner 224,” the trooper who was friends with Punch said, and nudged Anakin in the back with the butt of his rifle.

“I told you; I’m not going. And you’re bluffing. You won’t shoot me.”

“That’s true,” the trooper admitted. “I’m not. What I am going to do is count to thirty, and by the time I get to the end, you’re going to decide to go, all on your own.”

“Ha,” Anakin said. “Like hell I am. What on earth do you think would make me” –

“Here we are, sir,” another of the troopers said, and he punched the button to release the door guard in front of one of the cells. He was wearing a bucket, but he somehow seemed to be able to stare straight into Anakin’s eyes anyway. “Four hours, every other week,” he repeated slowly, enunciating very clearly.

“I don’t care how clean it is,” Anakin insisted, just as he was very unceremoniously shoved forward into the new cell he absolutely did not want to be in –

“Oh. Hello, sweetheart,” Obi-Wan said, sitting up from where he’d been lying on his back across his bunk, his arms crossed behind his head. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“What” – Anakin stammered as the door guard slammed down behind him, locking him in. Locking him into Obi-Wan’s cell. With Obi-Wan.

Anakin opened his mouth. Shut it. Opened it again. The binders around his wrists unlocked and fell to the floor with a clatter. “Send Punch my regards,” he said, without turning his head. He and Obi-Wan hadn’t stopped staring into one another’s eyes from the moment they’d faced one another. Obi-Wan grinned. Anakin grinned back.

“Will do, sir,” his friend said jovially, but Anakin missed hearing him as he launched himself at Obi-Wan and Obi-Wan, laughing, caught him and lowered him down onto his bunk.

“Did I just hear you say something about four hours?” Obi-Wan asked mischievously, one eyebrow raising into a verbal question mark.

“Shut up and kiss me,” Anakin said, and Obi-Wan did.

[kinetic-elaboration]

Complex College Mating Rituals as a Distraction from the Brutality of Boston Winter

Fandom: Daria Pairing: Daria/Jane Word Count: 3,600 Tags: College Era, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Fluff

For @ficwip 's 2024 Hey Sweetheart challenge, the goal of which is to write a story (or create art) in which one character calls another 'sweetheart'--and means it.

Summary/Excerpt:

"Complex college mating rituals as a distraction from the brutality of Boston winter," Daria answers.

"That could be the title of a story."

"I'm hardly the person to write it."

Jane shrugs. "Why not?" She pokes Daria's foot under the table with the toe of her boot, tries with only some success to hold back her smirk. "You have a girlfriend. How'd you manage that if you don't know something about complex mating rituals?"

Or: Three scenes from Daria and Jane's freshman year of college, February 2001, as they settle into their new relationship.

READ ON AO3.

[sparklepocalypse]

This glorious WIP Wednesday, I bring you a whole damn fic -- and my hundredth work on AO3! -- which I wrote A. for Valentine's Day and B. for @ficwip's Hey Sweetheart challenge! Thanks to @hgejfmw-hgejhsf, @kiwiana-writes, @getmehighonmagic, @firenati0n, @anincompletelist, @priincebutt, and @inexplicablymine for the tags on this most holy Singles Awareness Day! 💗

[Rated E | 7,732 words]

“I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day as a rule; it’s so commercialized and performative, and that just strips away all the actual romance. But also… it’s objectively more difficult to celebrate Valentine’s Day when you’re aggressively single.” “What exactly makes someone aggressively single?” Henry muses. Alex chuckles and adjusts his stance against the desk. “Not sure that’s really a topic for the office, regardless of whether you’re Pez’s best friend,” he replies. (Or, Okonjo Foundation lawyer Alex meets Okonjo shelter director Henry. A Valentine's Day fic.)

Mind the tags please: relevant triggery tags include homophobia and transphobia, due to the nature of Alex and Henry's jobs. Alex and Henry are the good guys, here; it's the side characters who we hate.

Open tag comin' your way (yes, you in particular), because I've seen a lot of WIP Wednesday posts flying around today already!

[starlightvld]

Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Teen Relationships: Sheith (Shiro/Keith) Chapters: 1/1 * Words: 6,915 * Status: COMPLETE

During a routine mission to provide aid to a planet ravaged by the defunct Galra Empire, galra hold-outs pull Keith through a wormhole to who-knows-where and disable his ship before he defeats them. As he drifts through space alone and then crash lands on a deserted planet, he muses over his relationship with loneliness as he tries to keep his hopes up that his friends will come to the rescue. This time, it's Shiro's turn to be Keith's hero.

Written for the @ficwip Hey, Sweetheart 2024 event.

[bcbdrums]

Full Disclosure

A Drakgo fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

A/N: This next one-shot has a few sources of inspiration. First, the prompt from this list: 2. "If I kiss you, will you shut up?" Prompt was recommended by the legendary "Guest" on AO3 (you know who you are!) who specifically wanted French kissy-face, and the story was inspired in part by @lordwiggyton whose recent Mama Lipsky art has had my mind stirring. I'm also submitting this work to the "Hey, Sweetheart" Valentine's event run by @ficwip. It's not the conventional route perhaps, but within the rules? Pretty sure. And last but not least, it's an answer to @kim-possible-prompts's Valentine's Day prompt! (Have y'all noticed I adore answering prompts? lol.) ALSO this is the first of some birthday gifts I have for the incomparable @gothicthundra. Happy birthday, chaos queen. :) Enjoy!

Full Disclosure

Shego sighed from her perch at the end of the bed, leaning back and re-crossing her legs as she watched Drakken pace and listened to the same worried ramblings for the third time.

"But what if she never forgives me!" he cried as he wrung his hands.

"Dr. D.... We've been through this," Shego said, glancing down to study her nails. "She's jumped across moving train cars for you. Somehow I don't think finding out you've spent the past twenty years attempting world domination is going to come as much of a shock."

"But Shego..." Drakken said, pausing in front of her.

Shego looked up and took stock of her lover's appearance. He had, at her insistence, gone for black slacks instead of his usual Dockers, a tailored cherry-red dress shirt, and a black silk tie that perfectly accented the rest of his attire. And of course, the gold medal he'd received for saving the world hung heavy over his chest.

Shego wished she were the one going out with Drakken that evening, especially considering the calendar date. But this night had been planned for quite some time.

"She's had faith in me my entire life... How can I tell her it was all for nothing?"

"Drakken—"

"I admit it's past time to tell her the truth, but I just can't bear to disappoint her!"

"Drakken—"

"And then I'll never hear the end of it!" Drakken continued, throwing his hands up and resuming his ambling around the bedroom. "Passive-aggressive cards and letters is all I'll get for Christmas now! And lumps of coal instead of home-knitted sweaters!"

Shego stood up from the bed and briskly approached him.

"Drakken—"

"All the years of silence I left between us so she wouldn't figure it out. All those lost years I could have been close to my lonely old mother. That's what her letters will say, now. Have you ever heard that woman start on a guilt trip? She's an absolute master!"

"Drew!"

This finally caused the mad scientist's jaw to snap closed. He stopped mid-stride and whirled around to face her.

"If I kiss you, will you shut up?"

"Hnn?"

Shego didn't wait for an invitation. She snaked her arms around Drakken's neck and pressed in close before he could protest, and was gratified to feel tension leave his shoulders first and his lips a moment after.

She was far gentler with the kiss than with her words, her lips sliding with soft friction against his until they parted and gave her tongue purchase. She felt his soft exhale through his nostrils against her cheek as his fingers found her waist, and she could feel his hum of satisfaction where their chests were pressed together. His tongue was gentle as it slid alongside hers in caress, and he still tasted of cinnamon from his toothpaste.

Warmth blossomed in Shego's chest at his attentive response, and for the moment the dilemma of the present was forgotten. There was only the gentle pressure of noses fitted together, the give and take as their tongues took turns parting supple lips and exploring the heat and texture of one another. Drakken's body melded hot against hers as his hands slid lower, and her fingers rose to tangle his perfectly slicked-back hair.

It was fortuitous perhaps when Drakken pulled back slightly to stroke the outline of her mouth with the tip of his tongue. It was intoxicating, but the faint distance allowed her other senses a chance to process the sound of approaching footsteps. Not in time to leave her lover's embrace, however, before they reached the doorway.

"Hey, Sweetheart— Drew Theodore P. Lipsky!"

It was Shego who moved first, putting a healthy space between them and leaving Drakken blinking and confused for a moment with his lips still parted before he had processed the voice that had spoken.

"M-Mother!" Drakken cried, darting behind Shego instinctively at the sight of his mother's judgmental expression.

"And no ring on her finger yet! For shame!"

Shego's face flushed as she was sure Drakken's was doing as well. That was a topic she definitely did not want to get into right then, and least of all with Drakken's mother who had her own agenda on the matter.

Mrs. Lipsky had opted for nicer attire for the evening as well, choosing a conservative charcoal sheath dress with a floral teal and peach floral sweater and pearls.

"Dr. D.," Shego said quickly, stepping away from the mad scientist and leaving him looking very exposed as he waved at his mother and attempted a weak smile through kiss-swollen lips. "Shouldn't you and your mother hurry to make your reservation on time?"

"Ahh...y-yes. But first," Drakken said, turning and nearly tripping over his feet as he hurried to pick up his mother's gift from the bed. "Happy Valentine's Day!"

The irritated crinkle at the older woman's eyes softened as her frown bloomed into a smile.

"Roses! And chocolate! Oh Drewbie, you shouldn't have!"

"O-Only the best for you, Mother," Drakken said as he presented the gift with a nervous smile.

"Marzipan! My favorite!" Mama Lipsky said after plopping one of the chocolates into her mouth.

"Of course! Now...Shego was right, we'd best get going," Drakken said. He began looking around for his suit coat, and then stopped short when he found Shego holding it up for him, a smirk on her face.

"Aw, she's so thoughtful Drew!" Mama Lipsky said, smiling fondly at Shego as she closed the chocolate box. "Dear, would you mind putting these in water for me until we get back?"

"Sure," Shego replied, smoothing Drakken's jacket over his shoulders.

She received the flowers from the woman a moment later, who squeezed her hand with a grateful smile before turning toward the door. Without the watchful gaze of older generation, Drakken turned worried eyes back upon Shego. All of his fears from the rambling of before were spoken in the inky blue of his irises, and Shego was tempted to give him a shove toward the door as a way of telling him to knock it off. Instead, she leaned in to let her lips graze his ear, speaking so softly she could hardly hear her own voice.

"She'll always have faith in you. Besides, you saved the world. You've accomplished more than she could have ever dreamed. Have some faith in her."

Shego felt again the release of tension from Drakken's frame as she adjusted the medal over his tie. She smirked again when he pulled away, the light of hope having returned to her lover's eyes.

"Coming, Drewbie?"

"Yes...yes, Mother," Drakken said and turned to go, confidence back in his stride.

Shego tilted her head down to smell the flowers as the two left. It was a strange new world they'd found themselves in since the invasion, but, some things would always be constants.

"Now, Drew, on the phone you'd said there was something you wanted to tell me...?"

[tapesofterror]

the softer faces of love

a fluffy jonmartin fic set in the scottish safehouse. true love is letting your partner give you their cold because you didn't want to leave them alone while they were miserable.

written for the hey, sweetheart event by @ficwip

[tammyghostal]

DEFINITELY not thinking of any mutuals while posting this.

[onthewaytosomewhere]

i've got you acting like you want more

my smutty submission for the @ficwip Hey, Sweetheart event

He stands in the shower, letting the water cascade over him and wash away the soap he used and the grime of his morning run. He is running his hands through his hair, making sure to get the conditioner throughout, eyes closed when the door to the shower behind him opens. He turns and smiles at Henry as he steps into the shower, sleep still clinging to him, eyes barely open. Alex pulls Henry to him and whispers, “Good morning, sweetheart,” smiling against Henry’s neck at his sleepy sigh. “What brings you out of bed already? I thought for sure you’d be there at least a few more hours since you didn’t get in until the wee hours of the morning.” Henry mumbles into his shoulder, “I turned over three different times, and you weren’t there; this time, I heard the shower and came to find you.” “Oh, so you came to lure me back to bed? I see how it is.” or a brownstone era pre-engagement the boys re-uniting after a week apart fic

big thanks to @magicandarchery & @england-would-fall for giving this lil thing a look over for me and making sure everyone's body parts stayed where they should lol💕

[inanejane]

TULIPS

SUMMMARY: Five years after the outbreak, the survivors are still managing themselves without the government. But wait, isn't Valentine's Day coming up? Ellis and Chris take it upon themselves to plant tulip seeds they found, and Chris surprises Rochelle with a gift. Now everyone wants flowers!

RATING: Teen and Up Audiences

WARNING: No Archive Warnings Apply

CATEGORIES: F/M , GEN

FANDOM: Left 4 Dead (Blind Man's Bluff)

RELATIONSHIPS: Rochelle/Chris, minor Nick/Ellis

ADDITIONAL TAGS: Fluff, Bickering, Valentine's Day, Flowers, Forged Family, Romance, Light-Hearted, East Coast

CHALLENGES: @ficwip hey sweetheart 2024, 100 ships, @fandom-free-bingo 'zombie au'

LINK: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53694817

Hey! I'm super excited to post this little valentine's day work for the lovely @ladyred-ms detailing Rochelle's and her OC, Chris', relationship. Thank you to @starrywriter917 for beta reading as well! It's just a quick little tidbit I was inspired to do and I sincerely hope you all enjoy it. <3

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Ink it in on my skin, sign me up, make it last against the time

For my addition to the Hey Sweetheart event put on by @ficwip, I'm including my FirstPrince Valentine's Day fic! While there aren't any warnings associated with this fic, please do check the tags as well as the note at the beginning of the fic for mention of something that I wanted my readers to be aware of going in.

“Okay, then,” Alex says, and Henry can’t help but smile at the hint of mischief creeping into his voice, “there’s two weeks until Valentine’s Day. We each have that long to make it happen, and we’ll do a big reveal that night. Deal?” Flecks of gold are shimmering in his copper eyes. Henry leans forward, catching Alex’s lips to seal their accord. “Agreed.” OR Alex and Henry both decide to get tattoos.

And as always, thank you all for reading!

[fictionallemons]

A Burning For You timestamp for Hey, Sweetheart 2024! Enjoy!

Read on AO3

While Dean is running an errand on Sam's birthday, Sam gets a call from the police. There's been an accident.

@ficwip

[belovedstill]

bittersweet (ao3) svsss, bingqiu | 2.2k, canon divergence, angst and hurt & comfort if you squint, pre- and post-endless abyss, jinlan city (chapter 34)

“Binghe.” Shizun’s voice isn’t as soft or gentle as it usually is when he asks him random questions, so this one he’s trying to make sound casual. “Yes, Shizun?” “Does Binghe have a sweetheart yet?” “What does Shizun mean? What does ‘sweet heart’ refer to?” A glimmer flashes through Shizun’s eyes then and he straightens up a little more. Binghe knows this posture very well; with a heart feeling even sweeter, he sits up straighter himself, ready to listen to the teachings and learn.

written for @ficwip's hey, sweetheart event 💕 the rule was to have one character call another 'sweetheart' in a non-sarcastic way. wouldn't it be nice if Shen Qingqiu called Binghe this way? ...after years of pain, that is.

Full fic on ao3 & under the cut

The most dangerous thing that forever changes Luo Binghe’s thoughts happens on a morning like any other: special and warm, spent in the delicate sunlight while pouring Shizun his morning tea to be enjoyed with morning meal. Shizun has seemed somewhat absent-minded ever since he’s woken up, with his forehead creased ever so slightly. Luo Binghe has given him time and space to gather his thoughts and either keep them to himself or share them with him – after all, listening to Shizun’s musings is something Binghe is happy to do whenever his master pleases and it’s one of his favourite ways to spend their time together. Shizun doesn’t do it with Ming Fan or any of the other disciples—only with Luo Binghe. It’s quite a well-known fact at this point. Binghe likes to think it’s not just because he occupies the room in the bamboo house.

“Binghe.” Shizun’s voice isn’t as soft or gentle as it usually is when he asks him random questions, so this one he’s probably trying to make sound casual.

“Yes, Shizun?”

“Does Binghe have a sweetheart yet?”

Binghe blinks up at him as he puts away the tea kettle.

His heart flutters softly in his chest, as it always does whenever Shizun refers to him just by his given name. Whenever it does this, it does… feel… sweet. But Shizun surely doesn’t have that in mind, doesn’t he? Or does Shizun know… somehow…?

“What does Shizun mean? What does ‘sweet heart’ refer to?”

A glimmer flashes through Shizun’s eyes then and he straightens up a little more. Binghe knows this posture very well; with a heart feeling even sweeter, he sits up straighter himself, ready to listen to the teachings and learn.

“A sweetheart is a very important person. It’s somebody you love and cherish. Somebody you want to spend your life with, caring for and protecting. It’s somebody you want to make happy and be happy with.”

Yes, Binghe thinks immediately. Yes, I do have a sweetheart.

“Binghe is such a talented and dedicated young man, he’s at the age of finding his first sweetheart. This master was simply wondering if he has found her yet.”

And then Shizun opens his fan and looks at him over the edge of it.

There are some things Binghe doesn’t understand from Shizun’s speech. ‘First’ sweetheart? Binghe is not planning on having any other. ‘Her’? What’s with the pronoun? But he pushes that thought aside and gives him a firm nod.

“This Binghe has already found his sweetheart,” he says without a shade of doubt in his heart.

Shizun gives him a nod. With a gentle hand, he reaches for his teacup and takes a sip, hidden behind the fan.

“Good. In this case, this master has guidance to offer.”

“Yes, Shizun.”

“Binghe must take care of his sweetheart and always treat her with kindness and respect. He should show his feelings clearly and make time for her, pay his attention to her, even if affection settles into something lukewarm and guaranteed. He must not take her for granted.”

“…? Yes, Shizun.”

“Even more importantly,” Shizun says, his voice gaining a harder edge as he puts his cup on the table and closes his fan with a swoosh against his palm, “if Binghe doesn’t feel loved and appreciated by her, he must remember that he’s worth more than that. If she seems to love Binghe only for some parts of him and not the others, he must not sacrifice his own happiness for her and stay with her. If Binghe ever finds himself unhappy, he can leave.”

Binghe’s heart is thudding in his chest at the way Shizun is looking at him. The feeling in his heart turns into something warmer, hotter than a simple sweetness.

“Does Binghe understand?”

He tries, but there are holes in what Shizun is saying.

“Shizun, this disciple is too simple and unlearned to understand fully,” he says carefully. “If a sweetheart is a very important and loved person, why would anybody leave them?”

Shizun’s fingers tighten around his fan a little, but Binghe doesn’t miss it.

“Because sometimes those most important to us hurt us the worst. Sometimes, they don’t feel the same. And sometimes, they take advantage of our feelings for their own gain, and they are ready to abandon us whenever their fancy strikes.”

“Shizun.”

Who hurt you this way?

“Binghe will encounter during his life many beautiful maidens who will make his heart aflutter. They will be drawn to him, his skills, and kindness. They will offer Binghe warm words and warmer feelings. But words and feelings can be temporary. Every sweetness can turn into bitterness. This master does not want his disciple to be unhappy.”

Binghe puts his hands together and bows.

“This Binghe understands.”

When the charged moment seems to pass and Shizun has finished his morning meal, Binghe says,

“Shizun, this one has a question he is not sure he should ask.”

Shizun faces him with a calm expression. “Speak.”

Binghe lowers his head, then gingerly looks up through his eyelashes.

“Does Shizun… have a sweetheart?”

Hes fully prepared for the gentle pat of Shizun’s fan against his head.

“Shameless.” Spoken without heat or anger. And then, “This master is too old and busy to be chasing after maidens.”

Binghe smiles and offers him his most respectful bow. “This Binghe understands.”

Shizun enjoys speaking in riddles, and Binghe loves solving them.

No maidens. Too old. Too busy to chase.

But Binghe isn’t a maiden, and he doesn’t need to be chased. All he needs to do is wait some years and hope.

“Thanking Shizun for his teaching.”

Two years later, Shizun pushes him into the Abyss, and the sweetness in his heart trembles in worry.

A delicate paper fan falls together with him, its edges fraying from the heat and specks of molten sparks. For dozens of thick and dark hours, he holds it open in his hands, blinking back mist from his eyes as he stares and stares and stares at the face of the fan. No matter how much time has passed, though, the fan’s bamboo design, trembling in his swimming vision, does not change. And when it becomes clear that Shizun will not somehow send him a sign or instructions or an explanation, the sweetness in his heart starts tasting bitter.

Shizun was right. Of course, he was; all the wisdom he’s imparted which hasn’t brought Binghe hope has eventually turned out true.

And shouldn’t Binghe have expected this? Wasn’t that how it’s always been for him? If every sweetness can turn bitter, then it’s only certain that Binghe’s must do so in a way that hurts the most.

For what feels like days, Luo Binghe cradles the frayed fan to his just as frayed heart and decides to stay there. If he’s so unwanted, so despicable, he’ll just lie here and wait for the darkness to consume him.

But instead of darkness, in come the monsters. Shizun’s teachings have been nothing but thorough. On instinct, Luo Binghe evades each and every lunge, bite, and swipe of claws. He brings the monsters down with mere twigs and stones.

In all this ruckus, the edge of Shizun’s fan has got another small tear. Binghe carefully folds it and ties the fan with a piece of straw.

Shizun can’t have intended to have one of his favourite fans fall into the Abyss so Binghe should return it. Just so Shizun doesn’t feel the loss.

Of the fan.

For that, he’ll have to get out of this place.

He won’t even need to show himself to Shizun when he returns the fan.

…but if he does, would Shizun greet him…?

…maybe there’s been a misunderstanding. Maybe Binghe could explain…?

The bitterness stops spreading, kept back by the vulnerable flicker of hope. Within the bittersweetness of his heart, Luo Binghe finds himself a goal.

He has Shizun by the throat against the wall of an abandoned building. He’s chased him from street to street, rooftop to rooftop, after Shizun has started running the second he’s realised Luo Binghe is not Liu Qingge. Whom he’s apparently been expecting in his bedchamber.

What a fool he’s been.

Shizun hasn’t missed him at all. Shizun doesn’t regret pushing him down. Shizun hates him and hates him and hates him, and Luo Binghe—

“Binghe?”

—hates how his name sounds sweet only in Shizun’s voice. It’s the only voice he can hear, the only sound that reaches him through the murky, swirling fog in his mind. His frayed heart is pounding with hot blood, each pulse cracking it more and more open, each look into Shizun’s evading eyes scalding and sharp and confining.

“Am I really so undeserving of anything?” he grits through his teeth and pain and heartbreak. “Of warmth and closeness, and love?”

He can’t see Shizun’s face anymore, but he can feel the sudden light of his eyes on him. A piece of his heart trembles in a long-lost but never forgotten way, carrying with it a faraway scent of bamboo and fresh congee and sleep-warm inner robes.

“Binghe…”

Shen Qingqiu doesn’t care, flashes through his mind. He shakes the thought away, though he knows it’s right. The voice that speaks it has been the only company he’s had for so long and it’s never lied to him.

“—you hear me?” Shizun’s speaking in a softer tone now.

He just wants to leave.

Maybe he’ll listen now…?

He just wants to leave to Liu Qingge and Gongyi Xiao. He’s found others his heart is sweet for.

…maybe I could still be one of those—

For you, he feels only bitterness. If he claims otherwise, he’s lying.

…

“—need to calm your mind, focus on—"

He’s just afraid of your pain. He’ll leave if you show it to him. Make it so he can’t. Tear him apart as he’s done to you. Rip his chest open, see the hole where his heart should be. You’re not unworthy. You deserve everything. He has nothing worthy of giving.

A cool hand touches his cheek. It feels like relief.

He lets go of Shizun’s throat and clutches at his shoulders instead, pushing his face firmer against the cold, cold skin.

“Shizun—” Take his worthless breath away so he has none left to give anybody else— “—it hurts…!”

“Oh, sweetheart…” Shizun whispers, his voice nearly lost underneath the pain, pain, pain, but the word has touched his lips, Luo Binghe has never been more certain of anything in his life.

Shizun has called him—and before, all those years ago, he said that—

“A sweetheart is a very important person. It’s somebody you love and cherish. Somebody you want to spend your life with, caring for and protecting. It’s somebody you want to make happy and be happy with.”

—then does it mean—what does it mean?

Shizun lets go of his face and wraps his arms around his body, close and tight and open.

The chaos in Luo Binghe’s mind stutters.

“For all the pain I’ve caused you in the past,” Shizun says close to his ear, “let me repay it all today.”

The voice in his head crows.

Familiar cool, calming energy starts flowing fast into his spiritual veins. Shizun’s spiritual energy. The same Shizun’s who was poisoned by an uncurable poison when protecting him; the same Shizun’s who took Luo Binghe’s blows when they were trapped in his Dreamscape. His Shizun’s—protective, caring, ever self-sacrificing Shizun’s.

“N—no!”

The energy increases even more. The voice in his head spurs him on and cheers. He pushes against Shizun’s body, struggles like his life depends on it.

“Don’t���stop, I don’t need it, just stay! Just stay, don’t leave me, just stay, don’t leave—”

Shizun’s energy stutters to a stop then. A second later, his body sags against him and his arms fall down.

For a long, long moment, Luo Binghe stays like that, breathless, frozen in fear, eyes wide open yet unseeing. Shizun’s forehead is pressed against his neck. It’s cooler than it should be.

His mind is silent.

His heart is numb.

He can’t feel his arms.

And then—

Shizun sighs. Luo Binghe feels his eyelashes flutter against the skin of his neck.

“Of all the times to act up,” Shizun mutters.

His heart gives a tentative thump. Then another. And another.

Shizun’s hands brace against his chest, but before he can push himself away, Luo Binghe wraps his arms around him and pulls him close.

“Binghe—”

Luo Binghe shuts his eyes closed and says, “Begging Shizun to forgive. This Binghe asks for just a moment.”

Shizun sighs and goes slack in his arms again. “This master isn’t going anywhere. Binghe needn’t worry.”

How could he not? If Shizun wasn’t poisoned—

He shakes his head and stops that track of thought. The worst hasn't happened. Shizun is here and talking to him. Maybe—maybe everything can be fixed. Maybe all he has to do is start.

He’s never been more grateful for Without-A-Cure.

"Shizun," he whispers, not loosening his arms. "I believe Shizun's lost his fan."

Shizun's eyelashes tickle his neck. His breath feels warm.

"I've brought it to him," Binghe continues, "but it's a little damaged."

A moment passes in silence, and then Shizun's hands tighten on Luo Binghe's robes.

"I don't mind," Shizun breathes. "As long as it's back, all is well."

Luo Binghe presses his face against Shizun's hair and cries.

[ahria-lethe]

“Hey Garak,” Quark says, barely audible over the noise of the dabo table. “Our mutual friend isn’t looking so good tonight. He’s in the holodeck with a few bottles of my best whiskey and that antique gun he likes to play spy with.”

“I’ll be right along,” Garak assures him, setting aside his PADD.

“Better hurry. You have any idea how much it would cost me to clean up a mess like that?”

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