#fluff!

you knew it wouldn’t be long now. somewhere beyond the rice fields, a figure would be walking the worn path toward the village gate. . . unhurried in ways to measure your patience.

a cart rolled by and you almost smiled at your own hope. no, not yet. . . then another set of steps—quieter, sure. but they stopped at the gate. by the time you looked up, he was already there beyond the fence, one hand resting over the sheath of his sword and just as fast your pupils gleamed.

“ā-yuan! i thought you might’ve gotten lost!” you called out, louder than necessary. you knew he could hear the smallest whispers, but teasing him like this had become a habit.

qiuyuan’s head turned slightly toward your voice with the smallest hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

you met him halfway across the stride, running the last few steps before his arms found you. he caught you easily, the practiced grace of someone who knew your movements better than his own. your laughter stuttered into a breath, and he felt it—the tremor that came before familiar tears. his palms rose, tracing the curve of your face, momentarily brushing your cheeks and memorizing the plump skin he yearned so long to feel.

“come now. you’ll make me think i’ve been cruel, staying away this long.”

you shook your head against his shoulder anyway, the scent of dust and spring air clinging into his fabric. “then don’t cry,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than the breeze. “i made it back, didn’t i?”

you laughed through another breath, the sound uneven. “for how long this time?” he hesitated. you felt it in the way his hand tightened briefly at your back, the faint hitch of air before he answered. “as much as your safety grants me,” he said at last.

you pulled back to look at him, eyes rimmed at the edges but still holding contentment. “just say forever.”

“. . . if only i could,” his thumb brushed beneath your eye again, catching what was left of your tears. “the days mean little out there. . . my dear, i—” he paused, tilting his head as though ashamed.

you reached for his hand. “you don’t have to explain anything,” guiding it toward the small gate latch. “come inside,” you said quietly. “i made us stuffed tofu.”

the house still smelled faintly of sweet osmanthus and river clay. his steps were light, almost soundless, but you still watched each one, ready in case the uneven boards caught his foot. “you changed the furniture,” he noted, fingertips brushing the edge of a table.

“only a little,” you said. “it makes the entrance cleaner.”

you led him to the table where the meal awaited, steam curling like pale silk. if only he could admire just how much time you had put on the presentation of the dish. . . qiuyuan tilted his head slightly, sensing the frequency of your silence. “what’s wrong?” he asked, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “did you spend the whole morning arranging the table for someone who can’t see it?”

you sighed, shoulders loosening. “maybe. i thought it’d make you feel better, from whatever’s going on out there.” you said, turning to the window.

"then it must look beautiful," he said simply. shifting gently to sit on the floor cushion. you rolled your eyes, though your lips curved despite yourself. "compliments to the cook i’m guessing?"

"many," he murmured, fingers finding the chopsticks with practiced ease. "but i'd still rather have you describe it to me. tell me how it looks today."

you hesitated, watching the way the steam touched his face before sitting down beside him. "well. . . i added lemongrass to the clear soup before steaming the tofu," you said quietly. "and i marinated the meat in chili oil. so the color looks brighter and it might be tangier than usual. and i—umm, i collected some wintry bells and honeysuckles for decoration.”

“that so. . .” he murmured, the corners of his lips lifting faintly. “a little too fancy for my liking?.”

you laughed under your breath. “yeah, that’s basically it. i’m just hoping the lemongrass doesn’t mess with the flavors.”

he allowed himself a smile. “don’t worry, it won’t. the aroma is soft.” he set his chopsticks, felt for the bowl, and lifted a piece of tofu to taste. he took his time, chewing, breathing through his nose.

“any good?” you mumbled, watching him reach for the soup. “maybe too much chili?”

“just enough.” he angled his head. “did you eat yet?”

you blinked. “i was waiting for you.”

“don’t,” he said, matter-of-fact. “even if i’m late, you eat. i don’t like the idea of you sitting here hungry.”

“it gives it time to cool down,” you muttered playfully before taking your own bite. maybe it was the moment or the nerves, but the heat landed faster than you feared. he listened to the clink of your chopsticks, and the breaths of suppressing coughs.

he didn’t answer immediately. instead, he slipped one hand toward the folds of his outer robe and pulled out the small bamboo vessel he always carried—the same one worn soft from years of travel. without a word, he unscrewed the cap, and extended it in your direction.

you stared. “what is it?”

“it helps,” he said simply. “just don’t gulp it like tea.”

you took it anyway, more out of covet than common sense, and tipped the flask back. . . and immediate regret hit. the burn washed sharper than the spice, racing down your throat like a flame. you coughed again, louder this time, tears forming as you shoved the container back at him.

“really?” you croaked.

he hummed, barely hiding the small pull of a smile. “it tends to help me.”

you shook your head, still swallowing around the burn. “i don’t understand how you enjoy that.” the burn slowly settled. “. . . maybe my spice measurements weren’t right.”

“mhm.” he took another bite. “or maybe you forgot you were cooking for two.”

“i guess.” you mumbled.

he didn’t press, but you could feel the quiet satisfaction in the way he reached for another piece. there was a rhythm to this—eating beside him again, like no time had passed.

“. . .you said you were waiting for me,” he said after a moment, setting his bowl down. “mhm,” you nodded, reaching for a water cup. he was quiet for a while, fingers resting near the edge of the table. then, “what if i’d been another day late?”

you borrowed seconds before answering. “you weren’t.” you said, pouring a drink.

“but what if?”

you lowered your cup. “. . . then i’d simply eat at night.”

qiuyuan’s brow twitched slightly, not in disapproval, but something close to guilt. “you shouldn’t have to get used to that.”

“it’s not so bad” you replied, taking a sip off the water. “the food stays warm for a while. and i know you always arrive some day during this season.”

he nodded, accepting your honesty. you could tell he was chewing on something, not the food, but the kind of thought he rarely shared aloud.

you leaned back against the wall, letting the warm air fill the space between you. “you’re thinner,” you said at last.

“the road got longer,” he answered. “busier than i’d like.”

“busy with the people who’d follow you here?” you didn’t mean to make it sound like a question. but it still managed to.

his eating paused. “some of them would, if i were careless.”

your eyes perked at the sudden shift in frequency. his hand shifted—slow fingertips brushing along the grain of the table, grounding himself there.

you exhaled, watching steam rise from your own half-finished bowl. “. . . do you think it’ll ever stop?” you asked quietly.

he tilted his head, listening. “not while they still believe i owe them something.”

the room held its steam and its questions. just a little after finishing your food, you had set your plate down first. “then. . . at least owe me a walk. i have to pick up some early vegetation!”

he huffed a quiet a laugh, fingertips skimming the table’s edge before standing. the bowls clicked once as you stacked them out of the way; the lamp on the shelf settled to a smaller flame.

you nudged open the door that led outside. feeling the warm blessings of spring blossom in every flora and shrub.

“careful,” qiuyuan murmured out of habit, though he was already walking his way through the herbs.

his hand ghosted the doorframe, then found your sleeve. outside, early light lay along the yard.

you guided him along the worn stones, naming obstacles only when they mattered—despite him not needing the help.

somewhere a pail tapped the well-ring and went quiet. he matched your pace, shoes brushing the soil, head tipped to follow the small sounds. you steadied him at the elbow over the dip by the fence, he found the post with his knuckles, then the frayed bit of twine you’d retied that afternoon.

“. . .seems like you also moved the plantation,” he said softly.

you smiled, kneeling beside the bloom patch. “the sun reaches this hill first.”

he didn’t speak, but you could tell he was listening to more than just your voice. so you plucked the softer petals gently, placing them in the small woven pouch you carried for gathering.

“will you wait for me next spring?” he asked, the words unhurried.

you glanced at him. feeling a sudden knot in your throat. “. . .i’ll always be here.”

the pouch rustled as you tied it shut. he stepped closer, then crouched beside you, his hand brushing against the grass.

“the last time i asked that,” he said, “you didn’t answer.”

“i was angry,” you murmured. “to be fair, i just wish i could see you more than once every moon cycle. . .”

he understood that feeling all too well, maybe he wished the same. even so, there’s only so much answers you can borrow from life.

he nodded once, then reached up and gently pressed something into your palm—the metal seal tied across his chest.

“just until i come back,” he said. “keep it by the window.”

you blinked. “qiuyuan. . .”

“don’t wear it. don’t take it out.” he stood again. “just. . . keep it close. something so you don’t feel so isolated.”

you stared down at it, the silver polished smooth despite the years. he had carried this emblem ever since you had the blessing to meet him. never knowing exactly what it meant.

. . .he was never the kind to ask for goodbyes. didn’t dramatize the moment or scold you for your emotions in the few moments he had to be with you. he just reached for your hands again, fingertips grazing your knuckles once before pulling you with him.

his hands wandered your frame. the ticklish sensation blooming a laugh or two from both.

his fingers brushed your cheeks first, as if recalling themselves with what hadn’t changed. then your jaw, the button of your nose, the curve of your cheeks. his touch was impossibly gentle just to remember every slope.

his thumb traced just beneath your eyes. “. . .they feel softer.”

“i’ve been sleeping better,” you murmured. “since the retroact rains stopped.”

his mouth curved faintly. and for a mere second, his eyes seemed to have brightened.

“you are just as beautiful as i remember,” he said, tracing the shape of your lips.

you felt the air shift as he leaned in, stopping just short of you.

you didn’t move—not because you were nervous, but because he didn’t need you to. you didn’t have to close the space between. he already knew where you were.

his nose brushed against yours, just briefly, before his lips met the corner of your mouth, light and deliberate. he always started there—as if working his way back into your memory in pieces.

you exhaled, not quite a laugh, just something warm caught in your throat. your hands settled lightly over his chest.

his hands were careful even when they were sure. the second kiss landed at the other corner of your mouth, a polar to the first, and then he pressed a third, smaller one at the center, light enough to leave room for a smile.

“once every spring,” he said, almost to himself. “. . .yet it’s a time i’m willing to wait.”

you laughed, quietly, despite feeling the tears begin to cloud your judgement.

𓂃 . 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 , yay by the time this is published qiuyuan’s out!

so umm there’s not much to base this off of, in other words not a lot known of him yet. but hopefully once i get him i’ll go through his lore, voice lines, and companion quest and see everything i got wrong (or right, maybe) but yeah!

please enjoy this for now <3 i started this draft around october 23rd? finished 25th and edited today, hooray! sorry it’s a bit long or sounds repetitive, it’s been some time since i last wrote something. . .

anyway, i’ve yet to pull on his banner because i’m so nervousss!

i really wanna get his s3 so i can use him as a dps (because what the freak is his kit, i’ll probably still end up getting him s6 because he’s so cutie). . . to be honest i’m planning on getting all the characters i use s3 one day since i already have jiyan s1 and calcharo s2, yay! but not so yay because jiyan’s second sequence borrowed 160+ wishes off of me :( and that means i have to save for brant too. . . ughhh it’s a whole thing. i’m so butt at this game, i basically only know how to build dps or healers.

but yes! many prayers and luck upon those who plan on wishing for qiuyuan, or any characters in the future! ૮꒰ྀིっ˕ ς ꒱ྀིა

yk i was supposed to use ‘musings’ as my little chat box but i just end up using the tags aswell anyway. i’m too lazy to change them now sorry for the abundance of #’s :(

© mylovingkiss. 2025 | feel free to request! but please don't steal, translate, or modify any of my works! thank you ༝༚༝༚

It was getting tiring having to beg him to come back to rest, even for a moment. Spider powers or not, everyone needs a break.

“Uh oh…” you hear Lyla say as you march into the monitoring room, but you continue to press onward.

“Miguel!” you call up to him, but he doesn’t even bother turning around to face you, rummaging through papers and swiping through screens.

“Querida, is there something you need?” he asks nonchalantly like nothing was wrong.

“Yes! There is, actually. What happened to coming home yesterday, hm~?” you say, irritation rising in your voice.

“Oh…is it already the next day?” he asks, still not looking toward you. “I’m sorry, vida mía. I guess I got carried away, I’ll try to be back later alright?” he says, trying to placate you.

“You can’t keep going on like this Miguel, it’s not healthy. One evening of a break won’t hurt. Hell, I’ll even help you out with paperwork, and Lyla can too. So come home tonight, alright? For me, please?”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he says without thinking, only half listening to you.

“Excuse me?” you say, your voice stone cold and immediately Miguel stiffens, slowly turning toward you with a sheepish look on his face.

“Vida mía,” he says, his expression apologetic as his platform begins to lower to the floor. You don’t have the patience to wait for it though, choosing to swing up with your webs and meet him at his level.

“Miguel O'Hara, who do you think you’re talking to?" you say lowly. "I’m not one of your subordinates, I am your wife,” Your hands are planted on your hips as you look up at him annoyedly.

“I know, I know,” he says hurriedly, “I’m sorry. I said it without thinking.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough. We’re going home, now,” you say, grabbing his hand and leaving no room for argument. “Lyla, have Jess take over for the rest of today, alright?”

“Aye, aye, captain!” she says, snickering at the interaction between the two of you.

“Querida, there’s still so much work I have to do,” he says, resisting your pull but you continue to drag you along.

“Should have thought of that before you said ‘whatever’ to me, Miguel,” you say, but sigh. “I’m only trying to look out for you, is that so bad?”

He pauses, studying your worried expression that was because of him. It caused a wave of guilt to wash over him after he disregarded your care for work instead.

“I know…alright, let’s go home sweetheart,” he says, finally relenting as he presses a kiss to your forehead. Immediately you light up, grasping his hand tighter.

“I’ll make your favourite today, and we can take a bath later if you’d like?” you suggest.

“I would love that, tesoro.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!

Time ticks, and ticks, you count down the minutes.

Shift ends in four, maybe five hours - eternity as far as you were concerned. It was a slow afternoon, a few disgruntled grandpas getting ready for weddings that they had no interest in. You had let a few part-timers leave for the day, no sense in keeping them when there was hardly anything to do or anyone passing through the door.

Busying yourself refolding tables, the chime of the door goes off.

"Hi, welcome in!" You say cheerfully, mustering up your customer voice as best you can.

He was gorgeous, you hesitated to almost joke that he must be in the wrong store - he possibly couldn't be wanting to be here. No, your shop catered to an older demographic compared to its sister store down the street.

"Hey, how fast could you get me fitted?" He asks, his voice soft like warm honey, "I got, uh, a flight in three hours."

Sugar plums dancing across your vision melt away and are quickly replaced with your more professional demeanor. You took a good look at him, he was buff. Definitely works out, not in the obnoxious gym bro way - no, he was lean but muscular but a slim fit wouldn't look right. No.

"Uh... you just gonna keep starin' or what, princess?"

You snap out of thought, "Sorry! I, uh - okay, what color, and what fit do you like? Do you know your size? It's totally okay if you don't!"

With shaky hands, you pulled your measuring tape from your cardigan pocket. Bright orange, you were worried it wouldn't exactly go around his chest, he was built like a goddamn greek god for all you knew. Measuring him shouldn't be too much of a problem, truck had just stopped by for the day.

He chuckles, "Uh, navy - and slim fit's too snug but I don't wanna look like I've been digging through my old man's closet. Size wise, can't recall."

You nodded, "Okay! Stand in front of me, and look toward the front, arms out."

He walks toward you, and there was definitely an aura to him that you weren't used to. He was cool, confident. Definitely not like the usual crowd of people you're used to.

He shucks off the biker jacket and lord have mercy, you never really paid much attention to the looks of most customers that come in unless if its the small things like bad breath or if they were the creeps that tried to make a pass at you, once or twice.

"I'm sorry for giving you trouble," He says as he turns to face the front of the store, you swallow thickly, "I have this big meeting and thought I got a suit, it slipped my mind."

You laugh it off, "I've had a best man come in the day of his brother's wedding to rent a suit, he was not happy about being told no. Trust me, you're giving me no trouble."

"Sounds like interesting people." He says as he raises his arms, you step closer and smell vanilla and spice as you take the measuring tape around his chest, "must be fun here, yeah?"

You sighed, "Sometimes, groomzillas scare me at this point."

He laughs, "Groomzillas? Thought it was the bride."

"Not always, no." You said as you paid attention to the tape, making a mental note - chest size is a 48, "Okay, drop your arms."

You take the tape over his bicep, "Measuring your overarm, promise."

"Not the first time I've been tied up."

You about choke, face flushed as you counted seven down or at least tried to - your mind instantly imagining the most smutty scenario that a book couldn't even publish, "Okay, uh, we're gonna try a modern fit - classic, but tapered like a slim. I have a tailor in, she can definitely try to get some minor stuff done to make it look more fitted if you don't mind waiting."

"Sounds good, I'm at your mercy after all, sweetheart." He says, "Name's Leon, by the way."

You nod, "Nice to meet you, Leon, I promise i won't have you looking like a mess when you get out of here. But I am gonna have you try stuff on."

Fishing through for his size in a bright navy color, you feel his eyes burning through your back. Taking a deep breath, you managed to find one coat, "Here, try this on. It should fit your shoulders, we can take the sides in of your coat for a tapered look."

He shrugs on the jacket, it looked great in the shoulders and arm. Just a bit blousey from the back. He turns to face you, "In your expert opinion?"

"We'll take in the sides, and that should help." You guaranteed, "What size in pants do you wear?"

"Couldn't you just measure me?" He asks, cocking an eyebrow.

You let out a small joke, "You don't know what you wear in jeans?"

He flushed red, "Right, shit, okay - I'm between a 34-36."

He shrugs off the coat, before setting it down on one of the racks. You fish through for pants, guessing that he'd prefer more a 32 length. You hand him the pants, "Fitting rooms are in the back, push open on the door. I'll get the tailor out and we'll get the initial stuff we talked about marked and I'll have her work on them."

"Thanks, you're amazing." He says before he takes off to the fitting rooms.

You took a deep breath before going to the back but making a quick right into the tailor shop, telling the older woman you had someone for her to fit.

Once Leon got in front of the mirror, he caught you staring. You swallowed thickly, "How do the pants fit?"

"Fit great, you're pretty good at this." He says with a grin, "How long have you been doing this?"

"A year."

Helping him with the jacket, the tailor comes out. You look to her and smile, "Hey, is there any way we can get the sides in for him? We'll possibly have to lower the collar, what do you think?"

The older woman studies him, "How soon do you need it?"

"He's got a flight in three hours."

The older woman sighs, "Can be done, I'll mark it and take it with me."

"Thank you," Leon spoke, "You're a lifesaver."

The older woman nods and gets to marking, you can't take your eyes off Leon. He was probably the most interesting part of the day, next was the shirt. You gently wrap the measuring tape to get under the Adam's apple, distracted by the prettiness of his eyes.

"You usually get this nervous?"

You shake your head, "No."

"Seventeen, turn around - face front." You tell him, taking the tape off his neck, he turns and you measure his sleeve, "You could get a thirty four or thirty five."

He pulls shirt over his head, and you felt faint.

"Oh my god," was the first thing that rolled off your tongue once you got a glimpse at him.

Any sense of professionalism, down the drain. Replaced, the giggly crush slowly bubbling to the surface. You busy yourself finding a shirt for him, quickly unpinning it and throwing the pins every which way than the pincushion saved for the tailor.

You were a flustered mess, and it was like he enjoyed it.

You handed him the shirt, "Go to the dressing room, please."

He chuckles and walks off, you took a deep breath. You went to check on the tailor, maybe splash cold water on your face. The tailor looks up from Leon's coat once you enter the tailorshop, "How's it going?"

"It's going," You reply

She chuckles, "He's pretty, that one."

"He is," You agreed, "but he's in a bind, I appreciate you so much for this."

She smiles, "Of course, of course. Get his number, will you?"

You blushed and turned, leaving the tailorshop. Just in time to nearly trip into Leon, you look up - noticing how the shirt pulled across the chest.

"How's the shirt feel?"

"Good." He says, "little snug, but it doesn't matter to me."

You raise a brow, "Button the collar, if you plan on wearing a tie - you gotta breathe."

"Might need help with that."

You shake your head and reach up to button the collar of his shirt, to test, you put two fingers behind the collar - there was room all around.

"Congrats, you can breathe."

He chuckles, "So you didn't take my breath away, damn."

Once done, and all set to ring out. A grandpa comes in through the front, you welcome in just as you were ringing Leon out. He eyes you, "Could I get your number? I'd like to see you when I get back."

"Really?" You asked, almost in disbelief.

"Well, consider you my personal stylist." He says with a wink once the tailor came out with the suit, bagged and ready to travel, "We can talk more over dinner. See you next Friday at 6? You like steak? I know a great place."

A whirlwind of thoughts run through your mind as you scribble out your number on your business card, "S-Sure, I'm off at six."

"Good. See you when I get back." He says as he takes the card from you.

With that, he was gone and your head was in a swirl of feelings -