we collect mistakes / I will carry them home - Mk x gn! reader + parental! Macaque x gn! reader
A/n: Welcome to the start of a new series! This fic is just the start, but the series probably won't follow a strong plotline, it'll just be random one-shots in some form of order. The fic is based off of Not the Ghost by the crane wives
Summary: I won't be afraid of all the things I wanted / It's the fear, and not the ghost that leaves me haunted, haunted
…
You've been taught through many harsh lessons to remain in the dark, but with the resurrection of your old mentor, and romantic feelings brewing between you and the Monkey king's successor you're suddenly being thrown out into the sunlight with nothing to protect you from it. It's left you wondering if the story of the hero and the warrior is doomed to repeat, or if you and Mk are something else entirely.
Warnings: nobody is good at feelings, canon(ish?) death, mentions of depression, plus get these monkeys and this shadow demon therapy
Word count: 4.2k
There is a special type of comfort in staying in the dark. In the shadows information is whispered, people are found hiding, and ignorance is common practice. If all else fails, you can always depend on the night to envelope you and your suffering. The light gave people too much to lose, and after being away from the day for so long, it often burned your skin.
Macaque had taken you in while Sun Wukong was trapped under a mountain. He was not someone to take in orphans, but perhaps he felt the magical connection between you two, or maybe he was longing for company that left in Wukong’s wake. Whatever the reason, you grew up with Macaque, receiving training from him, and guidance from his hardened heart. At times he was tough, probably more than he should have been, but you two shared the shadow demon heritage despite your human appearance. He just didn’t want you to turn out like him.
Finding the simian, all over again, wasn’t that difficult. When you first felt Macaque’s magic awaken in the shadows you were ecstatic. Your mentor was alive. If you hadn’t been trained in the art of repressing your emotions you would have cried.
Even so, you hesitated, surely Macaque knew you were alive, regardless of the years that have gone by, you’re a demon. You age quite differently, and the magical connection wasn’t a one way link, he could feel your power just as well as you could sense his, which made you question why he hadn’t found you yet.
Therefore instead of confronting the monkey, you got close to him in a different way. You became friends with the Monkie kids.
“Hey kid,” Pigsy greets you as you sit down to order a bowl of noodles.
As you mumble out your own greeting and order, Pigsy seems to be having an internal conflict. It’s like he’s holding himself back from saying something. That, just wouldn’t do.
“What is it Pigsy, you look like your thoughts are battling each other,” you jest, trying to give an easy way out of your concern.
Only, the pig demon sighs, confirming your worries. “It’s just- I need a favour, Mk hasn’t really been taking care of himself, and he only seems to listen to you these days.”
Although Mk not taking care of himself wasn’t new, ever since you’ve “joined” the group he’s gone through phases of depression, but not nearly bad enough for Pigsy to ask for your help. Something must have been up. Despite the pig’s words Mk listens to the others plenty, he just seems to focus on you in a way he can’t on anything else. You also have a sense that other than the monkey kid himself, you haven’t actually gained their trust. It wasn’t like they were rude to you or anything akin to that, but there seemed to be looks traded between Pigsy and Tang and sometimes Mei would stop herself from sharing all the details. This didn’t bother you nearly as much as it should have, in fact you were glad that your potential friends could spot when someone wasn’t being totally honest.
You don’t ask for more details, in your mind it would be an invasion of Mk’s privacy if you did. You’re a creature of the shadows, you enjoy the secrets murmured but you respect the law of ignorance. Besides, you would much rather that Mk explain himself rather than one of his many father figures.
You don’t bother with even moving from your seat, you just wait for Pigsy to look away and you fall into your shadows right into Mk’s room.
The Monkie kid doesn’t even flinch when you unexpectedly drop from his roof. He’s getting too used to you, - you’ll have to spice it up next time.
You and Mk have a fascinating relationship, in the beginning you attempted to keep your distance. Yet, he has a way of poking the bear until it gives in, and goes to attack. Then he feeds it, making it feel bad for attacking. You’re certain that Macaque also fell for the boy’s tricks.
The others don’t even know about your demon abilities, as far as they’re aware you’re a completely normal human. Eventually, Mk was the only exception to the rule so that you could avoid Sun Wukong, and telling Mk about your past gave you at least some plausible explanation for him, and so he could tell you when to not swing by in case the Monkey king might be there. It was strategic, and you had figured that Mk would be the easiest target for your plan, but then he started to grow on you.
Although, Mk initiated the companionship, the rest is on you. Usually, you don’t like bright things, but his light is warm and forgiving. With information shared in the starlight, and unspoken feelings left between the dawn and the dusk, in doing so he had gotten closer to you than anyone has in centuries. Silently, you hope that you’re the same for him.
Seeing your starlight normally so luminous, flickering beneath a mountain of blankets, tugged at your extremely repressed emotions. You swear the not-quite-monkey is determined to undo all of your training.
No words are needed, you’ve never been any good at verbal assurance, and you’ve never spoken lies to Mk. Why would you start now? Alternatively, you offer your quiet presence, as you sit beside him on his bed, waiting for him to make the first move.
While you wait, you observe Mk’s room, it’s not in the state you expected it to be. Typically, when Mk gets this way his room’s a mess, but right now it’s remarkably clean (for Mk that is). You’re also noticing that although Mk’s underneath a pile of blankets, of the little clothes you can see, he’s not wearing the same outfit as yesterday, or even Pj’s. You have an inkling that Pigsy didn’t actually know what was wrong, or didn’t understand it, is in all likelihood a better way to put it. You can’t fault him for that, when it comes to his own problems, Mk can be very secretive. From what you’ve gathered, ever since the pillar of Heaven incident his family have been keeping a close eye on him, Pigsy is probably just desperately worried.
Deep in your own thoughts, you begin to run your hands through your starlight’s hair. Slowly, Mk starts to shift until his head lays on your chest, and some of his covers slide off of him.
“Did Pigsy send you?” His croaky voice vibrates through your chest.
You hum your affirmation, but you don’t bring anything else out into the sun.
“You didn’t have to come.”
You scoff, and he screeches when you tug at his hair, before going back to running your hands through it.
“Of course I didn’t, but I wanted to.” He should know better than to underestimate your care for him.
His whole body seems to freeze above you.
“It’s- this is actually about that.”
Sometimes you hate being kept in the dark, because eventually you’d be forced into the light. The light always burns hotter when being away from it for so long.
Mk chuckles awkwardly, but continues on with his unprompted confession anyways.
“I just realised something recently, and it scared me. I love you, and it scares me! I don’t know what the future will hold, I can’t guarantee you safety, or even consistency.” He turns to meet your gaze, his face barely a shadow away from your own. “But, I’m coming to terms that I probably couldn’t have even done any of that before becoming the Monkie kid.” He takes a quick breath, “I-I want to care for you in a romantic way, you don’t deserve to be kept in the dark about it.”
Mk’s speech leaves you staring at him dumbstruck and wide eyed.
Long ago, Macaque told you the tale of the sun and the moon. Quickly, you understood his intentions of teaching you to never give yourself over entirely in love. He himself had already done so, and he battered into you that you would always be better off without any real connection.
How foolish you’ve been for breaking the one rule he truly enforced. Oh, how idiotic you’ve been in falling for the Monkey King’s successor nonetheless. It’s the tragic story of the hero and the warrior, of the sun and the moon, repeating itself. If you followed this path, you would surely lead yourself to ruin. Sun Wukong killed his mate, Mk and yourself were too alike to your mentors, it’s undeniable, your fate would end the same as Macaque’s. You would be lit aflame if you remained in Mk’s starlight. Perhaps it would have been better if you had stayed in the dark.
You know that your mentor told you to remain put, to not follow him. He said, “My twilight, you won’t be coming with me this time.” He even threatened to cancel the next lesson if you did!
Even so, you don’t like being kept in the dark unless you’ve put yourself there. Yet, you pace the small little dojo you and Macaque built a few years ago. You’re aware that his threat is very real, but the curiosity is killing you, and the shadows have been screaming for the past hour. Without a doubt, you would get a scolding for describing it as such, but there’s really no other way to explain it. For someone who can hear literally everything, it's imprudent for him to ignore the murmurs of the dark.
Although, this isn’t the first time they’ve screamed, it usually isn’t for so long though. It’s starting to give you a headache.
All of this, paired with the fact that you know he’s visiting Sun Wukong - who he has a notoriously complicated history with, and in your opinion a dangerous relationship, is making you nervous. After a bit, you decide you’ll just go to check on him. Just something quick, if you’re lucky Macaque won’t even notice! Honestly, he’ll be too absorbed with the Great sage to even realise you’re there.
The shadows leap forward, basically without your command and envelope your form. The darkness surrounding you is frantic, and you nearly throw up with how hastily they’re transporting you.
When you blink, you find your vision obscured by Macaque laying on the ground, the Monkey King nowhere to be found.
He must be sleeping, he has to be sleeping.
Be that as it may, when you approach what must be his sleeping body you find he’s not sleeping at all.
For the first time, you wish you weren’t kept in the dark, while simultaneously wishing you could just disappear into the shadows.
You are just like the shadows, screaming, and screaming, and screaming.
If Macaque would have known what was to come, would he have left the Monkey King alone and heartbroken? Or, would he do it all over again, even knowing the end result?
Your eyes peer into Mk’s, and you know what your answer is. Damn him, damn those fucking monkeys. You’ll let your skin boil and peel before leaving Mk alone and heartbroken.
You must have been silent for too long, because Mk starts to recoil and move away from you.
You don’t want to be the cause of his pain - you outright refuse. Macaque’s and Sun Wukong’s feud and relationship is extremely complex as a cause of their own stupidity. They were also in a time of rebellion and control, entangling their close relationship with their wants and the harsh political climate of the time. The sheer amount of variables against them was immense, not to mention their differences in priorities and values. In a sense, they were doomed to fail and fools to even try.
You and Mk are going into a time full of unknowns, it may be even more complicated than before, yet you are not Macaque, and Mk not Sun Wukong. You’ve seen that destiny, you won’t walk that road. Your mentors hurt one another, you would rather die than harm Mk like they did each other.
Darting forward, you grab Mk by his jacket, you don’t immediately connect your lips together like they do in those sappy romances. You would never without asking, especially with something so foreign to you both.
“Stop doubting us,” your chest shakes. “It’s an insult to our love for each other.”
Mk’s reaction mirrors your previous one, but he finds his bearings faster, and collapses against your chest, happy laughter beginning to fall from his lips.
You have much to talk about, but right now you could just lay here, and hold each other together. Both of you were already broken by the world, now you would glue your shattered pieces together to make something new. If it's to be terrible or to be amazing you don’t know yet, you did know that it would be worth it, and even life changing.
As time wears on, the sky quickly turns dark, with Mk passed out on top of you. You wish you too could just close your eyes and sleep, but your gut was telling you that you need to finally visit Macaque. You don’t want to break this in between-peace that surrounds you both. Still, you can’t go on like this, ignoring the warnings from your gut, or the messages from the shadows. The one time you did, it had fatal consequences.
Carefully, you shuffle Mk off of you, you want to leave a note, but you don’t know if you would be able to hold a pencil. Now that you were actually going to visit Macaque your whole body trembles in anticipation. Besides, no matter what happens, you would be back, you promised to never hurt Mk, and you intend to keep your promise.
With one more glance at your starlight, you surrender yourself to the darkness. It removes your vision, even so you feel no fear. For the shadows cradle its child, already knowing where you desire to go. They’ve wanted to transport you back to your mentor ever since he’s been revived, only your initial resistance has kept their excitement at bay. Even so, they know better now to wait for your instructions.
There’s a moment of pause, it’s hesitation of the highest degree, because this- this could change everything you’ve ever known. On a basic level, Macaque raised you in your early childhood years, if he rejected you, you would no longer be able to revel in the embrace of the dark.
Nevertheless, this has gone on for too long.
“Take me to Macaque.”
And the shadows gladly did.
☯〰〰〰⚘⁕⁕✴☀✴⁕⁕⚘〰〰〰☯
They take you to Flower Fruit Mountain, because of course that’s where Macaque is. He truly takes his role as the shadow seriously, he always has.
The Great Sage must be getting lazy in his protection spells for his island if you can just teleport right into his hut. Although, it certainly doesn’t escape you that your powers are the same as Macaque’s, but you’d rather not dwell on that too long. You’re not sure that there will ever be a reality where you’ll forgive the Monkey king, but you are sure it’s not this one.
The hut itself is small, and not grandiose like you assumed, but Sun Wukong’s never really cared for anything extravagant when it comes to living - or that’s what you’ve gathered from Macaque’s daily rambles about the king. Apparently, the dark-haired simian had begged him to build a proper house years past in their peach eating days. Much to his chagrin, his lover failed to listen. That in of itself, seems to be a recurring theme with Sun Wukong, his incompetence to listen.
Gradually, you make your way around, careful to not make a noise, just in case anyone other than Macaque is here. You’d like to keep this in the dark where it belongs, and you’d rather fight the Buddha than talk to Sun Wukong. Your power pulls you towards a door, hesitantly, you turn the doorknob, and quietly shut it behind you. When you spin around, you find you’re in the bedroom of the Monkey king, with said simian and your mentor practically on top of one another, while sleeping.
If you had a little less self-restraint you would be laughing your ass off right now. Instead, you settle yourself onto a chair in the corner of the bedroom and stew in the resounding silence.
Macaque would wake soon, you may not have his hearing abilities, but you were very familiar with how they worked. If you just lifted the edge of your chair just the tiniest bit his brain might recognize the "unfamiliar" presence. Sure enough, the monkey startles awake and stares straight at you.
He doesn’t move, so neither do you, conversely, you take the time to fully observe your resurrected mentor. He must have some heavy glamour on to cover his ears, and the scar that should surely be taking over his eye. Otherwise, he appears pretty decent, there are some dark eyebags under his eyes, and just gazing up at him he looks tired. It’s such a startling revelation that you nearly give him a reaction and break the little staring contest you’ve found yourselves in. Macaque’s rage and vengefulness couldn’t even spark a fire much less a flame right now. In spite of that, the world hasn’t broken him, he just looks as if he’s lived in it for so long.
You wonder if he still feels the burn of the sun.
Quite abruptly, Macaque untangles himself from the still dreaming monkey below him and leaves the room.
Okay, well you guess you’ll just have to follow him then?
Your mentor is standing just outside of the pathetic hut. You don’t go over to join, rather you stay behind him, knowing that he’s completely aware of your presence.
Perhaps he’s brought you out here to bathe in the moonlight and send you into the night. He took you in, during a time of anger and resentment. Maybe he doesn't want to be associated with you now that he’s worked through his emotions. Is he disappointed in what you’ve done since his death? Does he simply not want to deal with the kid who their own family didn’t even want? The child orphaned not from fear but by apathy. It could be that he’s done with the lessons, the training and the care because he too has become apathetic. Were you naive to peer into the dark and believe it could care?
Did you not mean the same amount to Macaque that he does to you?
“My twilight,” he breathes life into you with those words, simultaneously blowing away a little bit of your doubts. “You’ve come back.”
That small, afraid and abandoned orphan child is no more. How could you be that kid, when you’ve forged so much more for yourself. You aren’t the orphan burned by the world or the student encased in the dark. Macaque cannot substantially hurt you unless you let him.
“I was waiting for you.” Your tone is perhaps too judgemental, too confrontational but even you can’t keep the emotion from your voice. “Why didn’t you come find me, it would have been easy enough.”
Macaque turns to face you, his glamour now gone. His beautiful six ears with a frightening scar that covered nearly his whole eye all on display. His eyes, despite the one being obviously blind are sad, something you didn’t notice before. Even his slow blinking shows the weight of the world on his shoulders, it looks tired.
“At first, it was because of the Lady bone demon, I couldn’t endanger you. Then, as I spent time around Mk and unfortunately Wukong, I saw the way the kid was being dragged into his messes.” He sighs, it’s a disappointing sound coming from your mentor, like he’s given up on you, on himself. “I realised, I didn’t want to do the same with you, that you’ve lived a whole life without me. I didn’t want to intrude.”
You scoff, Macaque is not the type of person who cared whether he was intruding or not, then you take a step forward so that you’re face to face with the simian.
“You are pathetic.”
You watch as his eyes widen in surprise before narrowing, a sneer quick to leap onto his face.
You continue on, regardless of his reaction. “To think so lowly of yourself, to think so lowly of my capabilities. Of course I’ve grown and lived without you, but that does not mean you can’t be a part of it now!”
The anger clouding Macaque’s expression quickly fades leaving an understanding silence between the two of you.
“You’ve gained emotional intelligence while I was dead,” he says, with a small smile on his scared face. It’s different from the face of the mentor you used to know, but that smile, that small proud smile is the very same he used to give to you. Not even death itself has pulled that from him.
“Only sometimes,” you snort, thinking about your recent situation.
Macaque hums, before slowly, unsurely, wrapping his arms around you, and bringing you in close to his chest. Once again you’re frozen, grasping at straws for what to do, rather than sending you off into the dark, he’s thrown you into the light. It burns, similar to being around Mk, but with much less heat. Nevertheless, this seems to hurt more because Mk shines his light on everything, while Macaque’s moonlight is just a faint reflection compared to the Monkey king’s successor's, even so it spotlights you. You feel like an actor on the stage in the middle of a forgotten monologue. You don’t even realise tears are slipping down your face, until Macaque holds you tighter and your wet face is pressed into his shoulder.
What could you do, but hold him back?
Your body shakes as your mentor attempts to sooth you. Sobs are wracking you, seemingly out of nowhere, and these emotions come to swiftly catch you off guard. You have no defenses ready, no way to analyse and cautiously act on them if you find them rational, or just plain interesting.
Here, your breaths come in gasps, here you clutch your mentor and cry. Here you cannot separate the orphan, or the child training under Macaque. You can’t grab them, rip them from your identity and scream at them to stop. Stop trying to walk into the sun, please just stay in the comfort of the dark. If they stay, you can remain ignorant, pretend like their pain is not your pain.
“Macaque- Macaque I’m sorry.” You blurt out, almost like the desperate orphan from all those years before, almost like the naive pupil, almost like the lone shadow demon, broken yet grown despite it.
“I broke your rule.”
‘I’m sorry, I’m going to end up like you.’
Macaque just shakes his head. “I’m sorry too.”
Eventually, you calm down from your outburst enough to be able to pull away from the monkey.
“You won’t leave him?” He murmurs, trying to find just one string to extract you out of this situation. He probably already knows your starlight is Mk, it’s pretty easy to see traces of leftover shadows. If you had used your powers in Sun Wukong’s bedroom, you would have seen traces of shadow magic all over the orange-haired simian. He’s pulling at strings he knows doesn’t exist.
“I won’t hurt him, leaving would hurt him.”
“That might be the case now, “ your mentor chuckles. “Yet there will be a day where you’ll seem to only want to hurt him.”
The very thought causes you revolution.
“I’m not you.”
That’s just the truth, isn’t it? Macaque yearns for revenge, and you’ve never even thought of going after the Monkey king for killing your father figure. The simian controls the dark, yet never indulges in its whispers like you have. Hell, Macaque isn’t just a shadow demon, he’s a celestial primate, one with six ears. He could hear everything if he wanted to drive himself mad. You’re just a shadow demon, who kept their humanoid appearance, and your hearing is only slightly enhanced like the rest of your senses. You and Macaque are deeply similar, but very concretely different.
Macaque steps into the sunlight, but hides as the welts begin to form. You revel in the burn of starlight, while wishing he would burn brighter.
“Yes,” Macaque regards you with careful eyes. “You are not me, you might not even be like me.”
Instinctively, your body gives a quick inhale at his words, but you refuse to let your eyes get wet once again. You’ve already shed enough tears today, and although you care deeply for your mentor, he does not deserve anymore of them. At least, not yet.
Your father figure smiles, “and the world will be better for
☯〰〰〰⚘⁕⁕✴☀✴⁕⁕⚘〰〰〰☯
Later, you teleport back to Mk’s bedroom, before Macaque’s killer and presumably lover wakes. Mk is still fast asleep when you return, his face just as peaceful as when you left him. Briefly, as you slip into the bed, you wonder if he can find peace without you, if his life would actually improve without you in it.
When Mk latches onto you, his sleeping peaceful face growing a loppy kind of grin, you find yourself silly for even thinking of abandoning him.
mentions: no pronouns or y/n used, established relationship, takes place at an unspecified time post-canon, deliberations of mortality, monkey demon courting customs, mating run, very mild angst, engagement/proposal, predator/prey dynamics, biting, scenting, minor blood & injury, flirting, mild suggestive content & tension, clingy swk, non-sexual intimacy/nudity, nicknames used for reader (hun, sunshine, little bird/birdie)
word count: 21.2k+
part one
macaque's version
ao3 link
All in all, you take Wukong's stifling clinginess and strange behaviors like a champ.
Each instance with him gets carefully ruminated upon and stored in a particular area in your brain for later. You do your best to accommodate him, or brush away his actions in favor of letting him just… be happy. Less clearly stressed, as he had been, not so long ago.
But it was inevitable that you’d eventually put your foot down.
Currently, you’re hanging around on Flower Fruit Mountain, skipping a few stones across the little lake surrounding the entrance to Shuilian Cave. It’s a beautiful day, with bright blue skies and a gentle breeze that makes you feel fresh and relaxed. You’d hitched a ride with MK on his somersault cloud earlier—he had wanted to get some solo training done on the mountain, and you’d figured it would be easier than having Wukong make the back and forth trip to pick you up.
Once MK had dropped you off near the water curtain entrance and took off to train elsewhere, you’d texted Wukong to let him know you’d arrived. And thus, here you are, waiting for Wukong to finish with whatever task he’d told you he was just wrapping up. You don’t expect him to take too long, but you never know when it comes to him.
A handful of rocks rests in the palm of your non-dominant hand that you had scrounged up from the area. You roll one of the rougher, flatter ones between your fingers—inspecting its dark, gritty makeup—before you flick your wrist to send it sailing across the water in short bursts that leaves rippling circles in its wake. One, two, three and—! Ah, that’s it. Not bad, but you can do better. You try again.
You notice—in the few minutes that you’ve been skipping stones—that you’ve seemed to have gained an audience of sorts. From the corner of your eye, you spot a couple of white-furred monkeys, peering at you from within a nearby bush. They watch your hand as you snap it forward, then chitter amongst themselves as their dark gazes follow the hopping motion of the rock across the water.
They grow bolder, the longer they watch you, and eventually they linger just a few paces away from you—cooing and chattering as they dig in the ground looking for their own stones and pebbles. One of them tosses a stick into the water, then chirps confusedly when it sinks. You have to suppress a chuckle.
The monkeys on Flower Fruit Mountain have always had a sort of undefinable intelligence to them. They listen whenever you speak to them, and seem to understand your words to a certain extent. It’s what makes you squat down before them to show them one of the flat stones in your hand.
“It has to look like this, see?” you tell the monkeys gently. One of them ventures closer to your hand to sniff curiously around it. You turn the stone in your hand to emphasize its thin surface. “Flat. And when you throw it, you have to do it like this.”
Standing, you exaggerate your hand motion a few times before eventually letting the rock sail across the water. Nice, four skips this time. You smile and look back down at the monkeys when they tug at your pants leg—their small faces peering up at you as they chirp excitedly and point at your hand holding the few stones you had remaining.
“Alright, alright, here you go,” you say with a snort and bend down to pass them the rocks. As soon as they commandeer your pile, they add their own dug-up pebbles to the mix and start experimenting with throwing. You don’t expect them to master rock skipping anytime soon, but it’s certainly amusing watching them haphazardly chuck stones into the water.
Of course, the little monkeys run out of rocks way too quickly and manage to rope you into helping them look for more with some tugs at your clothes and wide-eyed, almost pleading expressions. It goes right for your heart, and you have half a mind to think that they know how to use their cuteness to their advantage. In any case, you end up shuffling around the edge of the water in search of more skippable stones, the two monkeys chattering away somewhere behind you.
Hmm, there aren’t really many good options around that you find. Most rocks are too rounded or jagged. You toe at a loose patch of dirt, working free a smokey grey stone that looks like it’s flat enough. You flip it over with your shoe to inspect it. Yeah, it’ll do. Maybe you should look around the trees too, you think to yourself as you bend down to pick up the rock. There’s bound to be more options hiding among the—
Something heavy abruptly lands on your shoulders.
It is so unexpectedly jarring that it nearly causes you to lose your balance with a yelp. Your heart leaps up to your throat as your arms pinwheel to prevent yourself from pitching forward into the water. It’s a close call—too close. You barely register a familiar voice yapping away into your ears, too preoccupied with stumbling backwards and attempting to settle the heart attack you almost went through.
Eyes wide, you find two small legs dangling on either side of your neck from atop your shoulders. You cannot quite move your head, and with a blink you realize there are arms wrapped around it in a hug. A warm weight presses against the crown of your head and nuzzles into your hair. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who it is.
You blink incredulously even as your hands automatically come up to hold onto Wukong’s shins. Did he just— throw himself onto your shoulders? While you were bending down?! He’s still chattering away, though you’ve completely missed what he’s been saying all this time. And with the adrenaline still coursing through your veins, you end up bursting out the first thing that comes to mind now that you’ve figured out what had just happened.
“Wukong, what the hell!” you snap as you do your best to crane your head up to look at him. He pauses his talking to make a sound and leans to the side to better meet your gaze.
“Well hello to you too!” he chirps out, seemingly excited about something, but you have no idea what. Not that it quells your irritation any. He grins at you, then seems to take in your vexed expression. His head tilts innocently, smile fading just a little. “…Something wrong?”
Steam practically whistles from your ears. “You—!” He’s still hugging your head, mild confusion now starting to settle onto his features. And before you do anything rash like yell at him, you cut yourself off and take a deep breath. You pinch at the bridge of your nose. Then, you exhale.
Alright, you’ve had enough of this.
“Okay, off,” you say grumpily and release his shins so you can reach up to grab him under his arms. He protests as you lift him off your shoulders, letting himself dangle in your hold like some strange, toddler-sized doll. You set him on the ground in front of you, and he frowns before returning himself to his proper size.
“What?” he questions when you cross your arms at him and give him a scrutinizing look. “What happened?”
“What happened?” you repeat incredulously, ignoring it when the two little monkeys from before dart over to Wukong to cling to his legs. He glances down at them and chitters something that causes them to look up at his face, then at yours, before they race off to disappear into the jungle. You don’t even bat an eye and continue on. “You happened. What’s gotten into you?”
“What are you talking about?” Wukong asks confusedly. You roll your eyes.
“You’ve been acting weird,” you tell him plainly. When he only continues to look at you in perplexion, you elaborate. “I’m used to you being clingy and stuff, but for the last couple of weeks you’ve been exceedingly so. What’s going on?”
There’s a moment where all Wukong does is blink at you. But then, he seems to process what you’re saying. He waves a hand at you in dismissal, a loose grin on his face. “Pfft, what d’you mean? I haven’t been clingy.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Yes you have. I don’t even remember the last time I’ve been alone for more than a few hours. What’s wrong?”
Wukong snorts and raises his arms to cross them behind his head. “Bah, it’s nothiiiing!” he says cheerfully, his tail twitching slightly from behind him. “Nothing at all! You sure you’re not just imagining things? Everything’s been completely normal as far as I can tell!”
You frown at his words, unconvinced. That same worry you’ve been feeling bubbling up in the back of your mind over the past weeks returns tenfold. Your gaze flicks over his face—looking for… something. Anything, to clue you in on what he’s thinking about. But he can be oddly inscrutable when he wants to be. Your frown deepens before you let out a relenting sigh.
“Well,” you start casually as you turn on your heel with a shrug, “if you won’t tell me then I guess I’ll just get going then—”
Wukong lets out a surprised sound behind you. Within a blink, he appears in front of you, eyes wide and alarmed. “Wait wait! Don’t go!” he bursts out suddenly, his hands raising to hold you by the shoulders. When all you do is give him an expectant look, he continues slowly, “...I’ll tell you.” He presses his lips together, then leans back to give you a rather… hesitatingly hopeful expression. “But only if we do this one last thing real quick.”
You eye him warily. “Oookay? What is it?”
Upon hearing that you haven’t immediately denied him, Wukong grins—sharp and sly. “How ‘bout we play a game of Tag?” he asks, letting go of your shoulders to clasp his hands together as he rocks back and forth on his heels.
“A game… of Tag,” you repeat slowly. What the fuck? Is he being serious?
His eyes upturn into crescent slits of blood red and gold as he nods. “Yep! Well, more like a mix of Hide ‘n Seek and Tag. Winner gets to do whateeeever they want!” He is being serious.
You tell him as much. “You’re serious.”
“As a heart attack!”
Squinting at him, you suspiciously ask, “Are you avoiding talking about things?”
He only smiles at you. “Nope!” he says cheerfully. Then he adds, “The opposite, actually!”
“…Right,” you say flatly when he doesn’t care to elaborate. You take a moment to analyze his expression once more, your eyes darting over the minutiae of his face. But apart from his expectant look and steadily swaying tail, you are still unable to glean any kind of meaning or intention from him. It doesn’t make you feel particularly satisfied.
Wukong seems to sense your apprehension. “C’mon, please? Pretty please? I promise it’ll be worth it!”
He’s being oddly insistent over a child’s game. You rub at your face. You suppose it’s something to do… “A game of Hide ‘n Seek Tag, that’s it?” When all Wukong does is nod eagerly, you huff. “I don’t really expect to be able to outrun the Monkey King, though.” You make a show out of giving him a once over—from the black shoes on his feet all the way up to his golden chest plate and then the feathered crown sat atop his head.
Wukong lets out a loud laugh that echoes over the surrounding sounds of wildlife. “Don’t worry, I won’t use any of my powers,” he assures you, inexplicably happy. “I’ll also make myself slower, just for you.” He winks.
You hum, weighing your options—not that you have much of a choice if Wukong is willing to actually talk after this, no matter who wins. He seems to be giving you a fair fighting chance, though, which is… considerate, you guess. You have to suppress a sigh. Worry continues to gnaw at your insides.
You can’t believe you’re about to do this right now.
“Okay, fine, I’ll bite,” you say and have to suppress a smile when Wukong lights up like a firework in a dark night. You point at him. “But! I can do whatever I want to slow you down.”
He chuckles. “It’s adorable you think you can stop me.” You pout and open your mouth to retort, but he continues on before you can say a word. “Alright, sure. It’ll be funny to see what you try to do anyways.” He smirks at you in a way that makes you huff.
“Whatever, man,” you grumble, watching as Wukong starts to bounce excitedly on the balls of his feet. You roll back your shoulders and idly stretch out your legs. Might as well loosen up a bit. “We doing this now?”
“Yep!” he replies with a wide grin. He steps away from you and spins on his heel so that he’s facing away from you—looking up at the giant waterfall covering his home. “I’ll give you a head start.” He peeks at you over his shoulder, something oddly intense lining his golden eye. “Better get a move on, Sunshine!”
“Yeah, yeah,” you say with a snort as you wave him off. Turning around, you can’t help but get one last jab in. “Don’t pull a muscle trying to catch me, old man!”
“Hey! You said you wouldn’t call me that!”
Letting out a loud laugh in response, you start jogging your way down the path leading away from his cave entrance. It’s rather steep, flanked on both sides by scraggly bushes that stretch out loose limbs to obscure parts of the compact ground. Your steps are quick yet cautious as a result, wary of tripping. And when your shoes slip slightly on the dirt path, you find yourself wishing you had purchased those sneakers with a better grip back when you’d first had the thought so long ago.
Exhaling, your gaze flicks around your surroundings. Hmm, where should you go? Flower Fruit Mountain is large enough that you think you have a good chance of evading Wukong for quite some time if you’re lucky enough to not cross paths. The only problem is getting far enough from him in the allotted head start—a length of time that you are unfortunately not privy to. You frown and pick up the pace.
The overhead canopies sway gently overhead, rustling like thousands of tiny footsteps. Stalks of bamboo tower around you like thin, reedy giants, swallowing your shadow within the multitude of their own. You will have to dive deeper into the jungle soon if you want to give yourself some kind of advantage over Wukong; this path is the only main one leading down the mountain, and he is bound to find you should you stay on it. Within the jungle, you have a better chance at disappearing between shrubs or trees.
Not that you think he won’t not find you; this is his mountain, after all. You can at least try to give him a run for his money—should he stay true to keeping himself “powered down,” or so to speak. Honestly, you’re not sure how long he’ll last—he can get impatient pretty quickly. But maybe you can use that to your advantage to get him to concede.
No matter what though, you think to yourself as you hop over a fallen tree trunk covered in moss, you must keep moving for this beginning portion of the game to put as much space between you and him as possible. Stopping to hide probably isn’t the best course of action considering who you’re dealing with. At least, not right now.
If he really wants the win, you decide determinedly, he’s going to have to work for it.
But so will you, apparently, as you feel a stitch form in your side.
Huffing slightly in exertion, you peek over your shoulder more out of precaution than anything. The only thing that greets you is the sloping path of the mountain. You’re lucky it’s been so well traveled in the past—the compact dirt, bits of grass, and protruding roots cover your steps decently well. You’re sure Wukong will have a sharp eye for them though, even without using his gold vision. Ah well, you can’t really do anything about that now.
Eventually, you come to a fork in the path. You take only a moment to contemplate it before you pick right on a whim—delving into steadily thickening vegetation. The path narrows—overtaken by vibrant grass and flowers with curled petals that glow with a near iridescence—until it completely disappears, and you’re left to pick your way carefully past low-hanging branches and tangled roots.
The leaves overhead rustle slightly while you jog, but you are unable to really discern anything when you peer up at the thickly covered branches. You can hear the distant chattering of monkeys, though, accompanied by the dulcet song of birds hidden away in the trees.
At any other moment, you’d take time to appreciate the beauty of the nature surrounding you—the butterflies with bright wings hovering over equally as bright flowers, the nectar-like light of the sun filtering down from above, the curling vines dotted with blossoms dangling above your head—but you have other things to concern yourself with right now, unfortunately, and they pass by in fleeting glances.
It’s not long before you have to stop for a break. Tucking yourself against a thick tree, you take in deep breaths to ease the racing of your heart. Perspiration dots your forehead, and you use your arm to wipe it away. You could really use a drink of water, you muse when you swallow and feel the dryness of your throat. Your only option would be to find a river or stream of sorts, but you’re not sure how successful you’ll be. You have no idea where you are on the mountain, after all.
Sighing, you roll your shoulders and cross your arms as you peer around you at the jungle. Normally when you’re here, you spend your time in Wukong’s cave or the beach, maybe even the cliff-side. Very seldom do you actually venture through the overgrown vegetation. Your eyes dart about, taking in the surrounding verdancy, before they trail upwards in thought.
Hmm. What can you do to slow Wukong down? Throw him off?
Your gaze lowers to the ground, where you find rocks scattered and partially buried about. Maybe you can try throwing things at him again, you mull, thinking about a time not too long ago. Or maybe you can retrace your steps and take a different path through the shrubbery to buy you more time. You swat at a fly buzzing near your ear as you ruminate, then startle when something suddenly drops onto your right shoulder from above.
For one heart-stopping moment, you think it’s Wukong—somehow having managed to sneak up on you in the few minutes you’ve been resting here. But then you turn your head and realize that it’s just a little, white-furred monkey. It chirps as it peers down at you with dark eyes. You’re not sure if it’s one of the same monkeys from earlier, but by the way it tugs at your hair and curls its tail around your upper arm, you want to believe it is.
“I don’t suppose you can help me win against the Monkey King, huh?” you murmur to it as you reach up to scratch the side of its head.
The monkey gives you a little hoot and tugs at your hair again—harder, this time. Your face scrunches up at the twinge of pain, and you reach up to disentangle tiny monkey hands from the strands. “Ow! Hey, careful!”
When you manage to free one of its hands from your hair, the monkey instead moves to grab your ear and give it a firm yank. You yelp as your head follows the motion of its pull. “Quit it! What are you—”
It’s only when the monkey pulls at your ear again—forcing your head to turn in a specific direction—that you realize it’s trying to show you something.
In the far, far distance to your right.
A moving flash of red jumping from tree to tree that steadily gets larger and larger the longer you squint at it.
The monkey on your shoulder chitters something to you at the same time a loud voice booms through the jungle—sending birds and other small wildlife scattering about in fright.
“There you are!”
Your heart drops right down to your ass. Oh shit.
Immediately, you turn in the opposite direction and bolt.
Wukong’s laugh echoes behind you as you zip past trees and bushes alike—ducking beneath low branches and slipping between bamboo stalks. How did he find you so quickly?! Even without using his powers that was absurdly fast. You huff as your shoes pound against the dirt ground, your eyes darting about for the best routes to take where you won’t absolutely eat shit tripping over any roots.
When you feel arms tighten around your head, you realize that the little monkey from before is still sitting upon your shoulder. It hoots excitedly into your ear, seemingly having fun using you as a ride.
“This isn’t a taxi service,” you grumble to yourself without all too much heat as you shoot a quick backward glance to gauge how far Wukong is from you.
The answer? Not far at all.
He has caught up to you frighteningly quickly, swinging himself from branch to branch overhead a short distance away. He’s showing off, you know he is, based on the twirls and flips he does in the air. Vaguely, you’re able to register that he’s changed his clothes from his normal armor, but you don’t catch anything more than burgundy fabric billowing out behind him before you turn back around with another huff.
“Come on, Little Bird!” Wukong calls out to you after having noticed your glance, a grin apparent in his voice. “Flap those wings! You can go faster than that!”
Little Bird? That’s a new one. You brush it off easily so you can call back to him.
“How’d you find me so fast?” you shout, leaping over a tangle of bramble. “Did you cheat?!”
Wukong releases an affronted gasp somewhere above to your left. “I would never! Have you no faith in me?”
“Not really, no!”
“I can’t believe this! And to think I was giving you encouragement!”
You snort, a sort of… giddiness starting to course through your veins when you make a turn and catch another glimpse of Wukong behind you. He’s not speeding himself up or anything. In fact, he seems to be maintaining that same distance from you in a low effort (for him) chase. It’s… exciting, in a way. You wonder what his play is here.
“Now would be a great time for some help,” you mutter to the little monkey clinging to your clothes as you squeeze yourself between two trees. It chatters something into your ear in response, and as you pass by under another tree, the monkey reaches up to snag onto a vine hanging down from one of the branches to hoist itself up.
You blink as you snap your head back just in time to see a waving monkey tail disappear between the tree’s large leaves and blossoms. Ah. Well. That’s the end of that, you suppose. You hope that monkey didn’t just abandon you, but perhaps asking it for help was a bit too much. You shake your head and turn back to focus on getting away.
“You’re making this awfully easy for me!” Wukong taunts, not sounding like he’s even a little bit out of breath. “Give me a challenge, hun!”
He seems really into this, doesn’t he? “You’re not being helpful!” you bite back at him, your eyes snagging onto a decently-sized rock up ahead. A challenge, huh? As you run by, it’s easy to bend down to scoop it up into your hand, then use that same motion to turn and chuck it towards Wukong.
You don’t linger to see if the rock successfully makes contact or not, but based on Wukong starting to speak in a teasing manner, it likely doesn’t.
“Rocks again? Really?” he says in amusement. “Kind of a one-trick move there, Sunsh— Woah!”
At the startled sound of Wukong’s voice, you peek over your shoulder and instantly grin when you see your little monkey friend has made a reappearance—having launched itself at his face. It makes Wukong stop to perch himself on a tree branch, his hands trying to tug the monkey free from where it’s obscuring his vision by yanking at his hair and ears.
“Hah!” you gloat, making your voice loud enough to be heard over the shrill hooting of the monkey. “How’s that for a challenge?!”
“Using one of my own against me? Harsh!” Wukong strangles out as you promptly pick up the pace to speed away. This is the perfect opportunity to try to lose him. You manage to hear him chatter something irately to the little monkey before you disappear deeper into the bush—far enough that you can no longer see nor hear him.
Still, you don’t stop. You push yourself into sprinting—your feet practically flying over grass and dirt alike—until your eyes snag onto a little crevice nestled within a thick tree trunk. It’s nearly concealed behind a dense patch of shrubbery: the perfect spot to hide. Immediately, you beeline for it, squeezing yourself into the nook until you’re surrounded by wood and old cobwebs. It’s a tight fit, but you make it work as you press yourself against one of the trunk’s inner walls, bark digging into your back.
Your heart is pounding within your ears, a rapid beat that you focus on calming with deep inhales and exhales. Faintly, you smell pine. Everything feels hot without the wind generated during your run brushing past your face. You swallow heavily against the dryness of your throat and nestle down so you can pay attention to the world outside of your hiding spot—listening for the sounds of Wukong’s approach.
You do not have to wait long.
“Suunnshiiine! Come out, come out wherever you are!” You hear Wukong call out distantly through the jungle. Instantly, you hold your breath, too wary that even the smallest of sounds will catch his attention.
There’s a rustling that gets steadily louder and louder until it pauses—seemingly right above you. Your gaze flicks up, as though you can see Wukong through the wood. And then, muttered so lowly under his breath that you almost don’t catch it, he muses, “Now where did that little bird fly off to?”
You don’t move an inch.
And eventually, after what feels like an agonizingly long stretch of time, there is the intermittent creaking of branches and shifting of leaves away from you. You dare not even peek out of the tree’s crevice until it has long faded into the distance. And even then you wait some more, for extra measure.
Soon enough though, your legs decide to cramp up, so you tentatively peel yourself away from the confines of the tree nook and step back into dappled sunlight. Cautiously, you look around. You don’t think Wukong would’ve just let you escape like that, but you’ll take the victories where you can. Maybe he’s making good on giving you a fair fighting chance.
Exhaling, you shake yourself out, brushing away any stray cobwebs sticking to your clothes and hoping there aren’t any bugs crawling across them. Now that you’re not actively moving, everything seems oddly… still. Not quiet, just still. It doesn’t make you feel any calmer, so you start slowly retracing your steps. Hopefully, Wukong doesn’t expect you to appear in an area you’ve already run through, though you’re honestly unsure when it comes to his thought process.
You’re lucky the terrain has been rather even, you think to yourself as you walk past blooming plants and dried leaves. You’d have twisted your ankle long ago otherwise. And of course, as though hearing your thoughts, your shoes choose now to slip on a portion of rock partially buried in the ground. You grunt in annoyance and manage to catch yourself.
Peering around carefully, you fan your shirt against your chest. Your skin is sticky with sweat, and it doesn’t do anything to make you feel comfortable or cool you down. Again, you’d like nothing more than to find a water source. If you strain your ears, however, you don’t really hear anything indicative of a nearby stream—no rushing rapids or splashing water. You sigh to yourself. Looking for it may be a lost cause at this point.
After retracing your steps for a bit, you decide to veer off into a different direction. Small sticks and leaves crunch under your steps. In the distance, cicadas buzz, followed by the sharp call of a pheasant. You lift the bottom of your shirt up to wipe at your face, then drop it so you can push your way past leaves larger than your very torso.
Despite the adrenaline from the earlier chase having long faded, you feel alert as you pick your way through the jungle. While you don’t think Wukong will sneak up on you, per se—based on how loud he’s being trying to find you—you also won’t put it past him to drop out of the sky just to give you a good scare. As such, any little snap of a branch or odd rustle of foliage makes you dart your gaze about to look for familiar flashes of red.
It’s a while later that you realize you’ve ventured into an area of Flower Fruit Mountain where you’re practically swamped by thick vegetation. It makes it difficult to move around without your clothes snagging on something, but not impossible. You have to duck under low-hanging branches and vines thicker than your arm. And soon enough, after struggling through what feels like miles of overgrowth, you find yourself pausing in front of two trees.
There’s nothing remarkable about them, really. Just two thick elm trees standing apart from each other by a few meters. But what truly catches your attention are the multitude of vines draping from their branches like nature’s version of a beaded curtain. Looping and dangling in a way that connects the trees together. Almost forming a web of sorts, but not quite there yet.
An idea forms at the back of your mind. You eye the trees some more. Hmm. You may just be able to pull something off here. It’s certainly worth a shot.
With a short nod to yourself, you get to work.
It takes you quite a bit of time to arrange everything according to your plan. Vines get repositioned around the branches of the trees in a specific way, criss-crossing in a manner that’s not too telling of your added touch. Their ends get tied together and scrutinized based on their placement around the trunks. You step away from your masterpiece once you’ve fiddled around long enough, two lengths of vines held in your hands from where they trail off both of the tree trunks.
Swiftly, you pull on the vines, watching in satisfaction as they cause a tangled web to spring into position in the space between the trees. A trap. Hopefully one that will buy you some time. You drop the vines in your hands and the web relaxes—turning back into its previous innocuous, drooping mess. The surrounding vegetation is thick enough that Wukong will have to jump through the vines if he wants to catch you. And you’ve left a small gap underneath the vines for you to slide through as well. Don't want to get caught up in your own trap, after all.
Now all you have to do is lead him to this very spot. Should be simple enough.
You trudge away from your trap, marking your path by snapping branches or peeling bits of bark off of tree trunks. You will have to travel far enough so you can lead Wukong over without him catching onto what you’re doing—that he gets invested enough in the actual chase to not pay attention to his surroundings.
Once you deem yourself at an adequate distance, you stop and peer around. With the vegetation not as thick here, you’re able to see better past the broad leaves and tangled branches. It should allow you to spot Wukong from afar.
And now, the only thing you can do is wait for him to find you—as you’re certain he will. Making some noise will likely help speed up the process though, you muse to yourself.
Humming to yourself, you stomp around for a bit, occasionally bending down to pick up some sticks from the ground. Once you have a proper handful, you plop down atop a nearby rock coated in moss on one side and start snapping them in half.
Each crack of wood is sharp—some louder than others based on the thickness of the sticks. The snaps echo slightly throughout the jungle. You have no doubt that Wukong put a damper on his own hearing, but this should draw him in some if he gets close enough to hear them. Or if he’s finally reached the end of his patience to not use his powers.
Your eyes glance up and around on occasion, your ears practically straining to catch any Wukong-like sounds. There’s some intermittent rustling over your head, but when you look up, you only see a few birds flitting about. You wonder how long you’ve been playing this game with him for. Time has been swallowed up ruthlessly by the jungle. You could check the time on your phone, but you’re not sure when you both even started.
You run out of sticks pretty quickly—even after you break the halves into quarters and the quarters into eighths. You scratch at your head as you look around for anything else you can use. Maybe you can shake some bushes around like you’re wading through them. Or throw some rocks against trees like you’re practicing your aim.
But before you can get up to enact one of your ideas, you hear him.
Immediately, you pause, listening intently to the faint sound of Wukong calling for you. It’s almost like you’re hearing the tailend of an echo in a cave, with you standing at one end and Wukong standing all the way at the other. Slowly, you stand and pivot around in an attempt to gauge where he’s coming from. His voice gets louder, just a tad, and you’re able to detect a sort of… desperation to his voice. Maybe frustration, but it sounds too whiny to be it exactly.
“—ou here somewhere?” You hear Wukong yell. “C’mon! Please! You can’t hide forever!”
Snorting to yourself, you roll your eyes and raise your fist up to your mouth to cough loudly into it.
Like clockwork, he goes silent. Listening intently, no doubt. You wait a few seconds, then clear your throat a tad quieter, whispering a little curse under your breath for good measure.
It’s quiet for a few minutes. You turn slowly in a circle, your gaze flicking about to see if you can spot him in the distance. And eventually you do—in your periphery. That familiar spot of burgundy getting closer and closer while he travels via tree branches.
You pretend like you haven’t seen him, your back towards his direction of approach. And, as Wukong is wont to do, he calls out to you once he’s close enough—his voice all excited.
“Found you!”
Feigning surprise, you snap your head behind you to direct wide eyes and raised eyebrows at him before you start to sprint away. You’re able to catch a glimpse of the delighted smile on his face in that short moment, his golden gaze trained on your form while you maintain a speed that’s not too fast, yet not too slow either.
“Hey you’re doin’ pretty well, hun!” Wukong calls happily out to you, leaves rustling and branches creaking in his wake. “Impressive, considering who you’re up against and all!”
You’re unable to hold back a light scoff. “Please, you’re going easy on me,” you throw over your shoulder. “I hardly stand a chance against the humble Monkey King.”
He lets out a laugh at your pointed words. “You know me, humble as they come!”
“Uh huh.” Your eyes snap from tree to tree as you seek out your path markings. “I’m more surprised you’re letting me run away like this. Again.”
“I did say I would make myself slower for you!”
This feels less like him moving at a slower pace for the game and more of… something else. But you can’t quite put your finger on it. You brush it off in favor of teasing him. “You sure it’s not ‘cuz you’re getting tired, old man?”
Wukong makes an offended sound that has you grinning. “Hey! You’re one to talk! I can hear your breathing from here!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say quickly, even as a stitch forms in your side once again, and a heat starts to build in your cheeks from your sprinting. Everything passes by in a near verdant blur. Your clothes are starting to snag occasionally on the spindly fingers of branches and twigs.
“I think you do.” He chuckles, and fuck it sounds like he’s right above your head. “Besides, could a tired, old man be able to do this?”
And before you can really process what’s happening, there’s a sharp crack that sounds out above your head, immediately followed by a blur of red flipping a few feet in front of you. A yelp gets stifled in your throat as you realize it’s Wukong—cheekily grinning at you while you make a sharp pivot and just barely dance around him to continue running.
That fucker.
He whistles a decrescendo note as you go, and a quick glance shows that he’s still standing in that same spot—watching you with half-lidded eyes as he smiles sharply. There’s something shaded to his gaze that you can’t make out in the split second you observe him. You turn back around in time to avoid tripping over a root.
“Nice reflexes there,” Wukong calls, sounding like he’s proud. You can’t help but roll your eyes.
“Okay now you’re just playing with me,” you say with a huff and look behind you again to see that he’s started to run after you instead of hopping from tree to tree like the monkey demon he is. There’s quite a bit of distance between the two of you, though you don’t doubt he can close it in an instant should he wish to.
But him now actually running after you is… different in a way that makes your heart suddenly leap up to your throat. You shake your head to vanquish such feelings. Focus. You can see the trees of your trap up ahead. All you have to do is get there.
“Whaaat? No way. I’m better than that, I swear,” he tells you innocently.
“Right.” Come on, come on, you’re so close. “I definitely believe you.”
“No really! In fact, I’ll pinky promise it right now if you stop running.”
“Nice try,” you manage to get out as you only pump your legs faster. Shit, your chest aches. It makes breathing difficult. “You’ll have— have to try harder than that.”
You can practically hear the grin in his voice as he replies, “Oh Little Bird, if I did, this all would’ve been over in less than a minute.” You snort and open your mouth to respond. But before you can, however, Wukong pivots the conversation like the flip of a coin. “But, you know, I really do think it’s about time we wrap this up,” he says lightly. There’s this depth to his voice that makes something in your stomach twinge. “Don’t you think?”
“Sure,” you reply breathlessly as you vault over a shrub instead of kicking your way through it. “As soon as”—you take in a deep breath in an attempt to ease the fire in your lungs—“as soon as you say you give up.”
“Weeeellll,” Wukong drawls, sounding much, much, closer than before. “You see. About that. Not gonna happen.” His voice lowers, the hint of something terse coating it. “Not when I have you right here, after all.”
And suddenly— well, suddenly you feel this chill go down your spine.
It leaves you feeling as though you’re a gazelle being stalked by a lion. So sudden and jarring that you internally panic, heart starting to hammer in your chest from something other than exertion.
This feeling, the accompanying base instinct in your gut to get away, is what causes you to practically throw yourself underneath your awaiting trap. You slide on the ground, kicking up dirt as your hands scramble for the ends of the vines in haste.
Your muscles ache, your lungs burn, but you pull on those vines with all the swiftness you can manage just in time to see them snap around a lunging Wukong. He makes a surprised sound as he gets tangled within them, and you waste no time in tying the ends of the vines around the nearest tree—double, then triple knotting them together.
“Ooooh, clever, I’ll give you that,” Wukong breathes once you stumble away from the tree and brace your hands against your knees in an attempt to catch your breath. Your heart practically thunders within your ears, and you have to shake your head to rid yourself of the remnants of whatever that had been. If your throat wasn’t already so parched, you’re certain it would’ve dried up instantly.
Wiping at the perspiration on your forehead with your arm, you take in the sight of Wukong. He’s posed at a forwards angle, arms outstretched slightly towards you with a number of vines wrapped around them and his body—even his tail. You breathe in satisfaction, then blink when you are finally able to take in his change of clothes.
He has on a silky, red bèizi decorated in what looks like swirling, white patterns from what you can see under the multitude of crisscrossing vines—the lines thin and smooth. Under that is a gold zhíjū, lined in white along the edges and tied together with a sash that’s similar in color to the bèizi. Somehow he’s managed not to dirty anything, the material still glossy and vibrant. You’re taken aback.
Why… Why is he wearing that? What’s the occasion?
It’s confusing, and you’re sure this confusion shows in the furrow of your eyebrows. When you move to make eye contact with Wukong, however, the questions poised at the tip of your tongue vanish at the sight of his own wolfish smirk.
“I didn’t know you were into stuff like this,” he purrs with no small amount of smugness. His eyes flick purposely at the vines encasing him.
You only huff and cross your arms. The heat in your cheeks is from the dead sprinting you just did. Nothing else, obviously.
“You did agree that I could do whatever to stop you,” you tell him, stepping closer until you’re just in front of him. His face is level with your own. You give him an expectant look. “Ready to give up yet?”
“Not at all.” Wukong chuckles, his eyes trailing rapidly all over your body before they eventually land on an area on your neck. “C’mon, you don’t think this can actually hold me, do you?” he drawls, finally looking up to meet your gaze with his own half-lidded one. He gives a pointed flex of his arms—making the vines around them quiver and strain.
You roll your eyes. “Of course not. I’m actually gonna take this time to enact a new rule.” You point a finger at his nose; his amber eyes cross slightly to stare at it. With all the authority you can muster, you declare, “You’re not allowed to escape from this trap for five minutes.”
Wukong blinks and blows a raspberry at you. “Boo, bad rule. As the Monkey King, I object to this addition so late in the game.”
You withdraw your finger to send him a glare. “Oh please, like you don’t pull shit like this all the time. You’ll follow it if you know what’s good for you.”
Wukong takes a moment to consider your words. “Fair,” he soon replies casually. “Alright, I’ll listen to your rule. Even though it’s dumb.” His eyes flick back down to your neck for a split second, then return to your face. You have to hold back the urge to rub at it in self-consciousness. “I’ll warn you now, though… I’m starting to lose my patience.”
And there’s that terseness again—in the strain of his voice and the glint of his eyes. Concern, building from the start of the game—from those months before—starts to prod its fingers at your thoughts.
You’re beginning to think this is more complex than a simple game of Tag.
But you’re not going to address that right now.
“Noted,” you say lightly. And then, spurred on by the sight of him willingly keeping himself in your shitty trap, you lean forward and plop a chaste kiss right on his nose. His pupils dilate. “Be a good boy and stay here, hm?” you whisper to him like you’re telling him a secret, then pull away with a little wink.
His breath immediately catches in his throat—a minor hitch that you’re just barely able to hear over the surrounding ambience of the jungle.
“Better start flying, Birdie,” he warns you lowly, the corner of his mouth trembling slightly. It feels like you've stopped breathing as well. “‘Cuz once I get my hands on you…”
Wukong smiles widely, and it is all sharp, fanged teeth.
You are loathe to admit the jolt it sends straight to your stomach. He doesn’t even need to say anything else. You can see the way he flexes his fingers, and it makes you spin around on your heel to hightail it the fuck out of there.
You’ll be surprised if he manages to wait the whole five minutes.
Pushing yourself like you never have before, your only focus is getting away away away. You zip through the jungle, footsteps thundering below you. It’s a miracle that you don’t somehow trip or slip, though you come close quite a few times. You almost don’t feel a thing, so focused as you are on trying not to think about what had just happened and letting the adrenaline guide you.
The vegetation thins out slightly before you eventually find yourself stumbling out of the treeline and into a clearing. It’s unexpected, and you squint slightly when you’re hit with the full force of the sunlight instead of it filtering down through leaves. You shield your eyes from it with a hand, taking a few deep breaths of air to help ease down your heart rate. And once your eyes have adjusted, you find that you’re not alone in the clearing.
MK has turned to look at you, paused mid-strike with his staff in what looks like one of his training exercises.
For a second, you both blink owlishly at each other. Then, he seems to snap out of it first.
“Oh hey!” he greets, twirling his staff and setting one end against the ground. He’s chilling in his monkey form, his tail swaying behind him. “I thought you were hanging out with Monkey King, what’s u—“ He cuts himself off to give you a bewildered once-over. “Uhh… Why do you look like you’ve just lost a fight to the mountain?”
It takes you a beat longer to process that he’s asked you a question. And another beat for you to suddenly come up with an idea as you stare at him.
You wave him off as you quickly approach. “Oh don’t worry about it. Just having a little bit of fun with Wukong, is all.” MK looks like he simultaneously does and does not want to ask what you mean by that. You don’t give him the chance to make up his mind. You stop just in front of him and clasp your hands together as you give him a pleading look. “Actually, can I ask you for a favor if you’re not too busy?”
MK squints his eyes at you, his head tilting slightly. “This won’t have any unforeseeable consequences or anything, right?” he asks dubiously, even as he shrinks his staff to tuck it into his ear.
“Umm.” You have to think about it for a second. “No?”
“Then sure! Whatchu need, fam?”
You send him a grin, even as you peek over your shoulder to check if Wukong has escaped yet to track you to this spot. He hasn’t, thankfully, though you feel even antsier, if possible. Time is ticking. You turn back to look at MK, who raises his eyebrows as an indication for you to continue. “You mind dropping me off on the other side of the mountain? Like, right now?”
“Yeah, I can do that!” He nods, raising his fingers to his mouth to blow out a sharp whistle. “Is there a reason why, ooorr...?”
“It’s…” You hesitate, then settle with saying a stilted “Complicated.” You should really get going.
“Alrighty then!” He seems to be handling your vagueness pretty well, all things considered. His somersault cloud zips in from over the top of the treeline and comes to a halt at his side. He jumps on top of it with ease, holding out a hand to help you up. “You can count on Monkie Kid’s Certified Taxi Service to get you to your destination! C’mon!”
“Thanks, man,” you say appreciatively as you take his palm. “I’ll treat you to boba later, I promise.”
“Awww yeah!”
Once you’re settled atop his cloud, your arms wrapped around his waist for support, he takes off. The wind rushes past your face with his speed, bringing nice relief to your overheated, sweaty skin from running. The ends of MK’s headband flaps behind him, occasionally brushing against your forehead. The tension you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying slowly disappears from your shoulders as you both travel above a sea of trees—their leaves a green blur underneath MK’s cloud.
Good, this is good. You’ll definitely have some more time to evade Wukong if you’re, you know, on the opposite side of the mountain from him. Though, where that may vastly impede any regular person, you’re sure Wukong will have no issues at all. Either way, you’ll be able to plan your next move. Maybe you should try to find somewhere to hide for a while this time.
It’s as you’re admiring the view of the mountain—the way the sun spills its rays across treetops to make them look like they’re coated in liquid gold—that you feel this prickling sensation at the back of your neck.
So sudden and intense, you straighten up slightly before you cast a cursory glance over your shoulder.
Immediately, your eyes lock onto a small figure in the far, far distance. You squint at it for a second, then feel your eyes widen when you realize it’s Wukong—rapidly approaching on his own somersault cloud fast enough that you can see a burst of leaves and branches flying up into the air behind him.
Well. There goes his patience to not use his powers, you suppose.
You can’t make out his expression, but if the way he’s speeding towards you with reckless abandon is any indication, you’re guessing he’s not quite happy.
Sure enough, his voice drops into your head a second later.
You better hope I don’t catch you, he tells you, somehow sounding like he’s gritting his teeth together. You feel your stomach instantly bottom out at his words. You don’t even dignify him with a response.
You turn back to tug rapidly on MK’s jacket, a mix of fear and giddiness energizing your movements. “Holy fuck MK, go faster!”
“Huh?” MK yells over the rushing wind, turning his upper body around slightly to look at you. As such, you see the precise moment his gaze flicks from you to a point behind you. His eyes round out almost comically, alarm spreading across his face. “GAH! What did you do to make him so mad?!”
“I don’t know!” you yell back, though you definitely have an idea. And you’re currently riding it. “Never mind that! Go go go!”
“Hang tight!” MK shouts, even as his tail winds around your body. You have just enough time to lock your arms around his waist before he abruptly shoots off. The force is enough to steal the breath right from your lungs. You have to squeeze your eyes shut and press your face against his shoulder for a minute to collect yourself.
You really don’t want to know what Wukong’ll do once he catches up (or maybe you do?), but at the same time… You bite at the inside of your cheek in mischievous delight. Even amidst all the alarm bells going off in your head regarding the way he’s acting for a stupid children’s game, it’s… fun. Especially riling him up.
A little payback, perhaps, for making you worry over him. You suppress a sigh.
Now collected, you peek back over your shoulder to see how close Wukong is. He’s still pretty far, but he’s gotten closer that you can make out his crouched pose atop his cloud, his clothes furiously flapping out behind him. Something gold flashes at you from his face like light reflecting off a surface.
Inwardly, you curse, then turn around to look for somewhere MK can drop you off. You need to get back on the ground and hide. That’ll at least make it easier for you to get away compared to the open air. Though, if he really is using all his powers, that’ll probably be a moot point. But it’s fine.
You can handle Wukong.
You think.
“There!” you shout when you spot a small clearing below hiding within the jungle. You point at it. “Drop me off there!”
MK shouts something back that gets swallowed up by the wind and veers down towards the clearing. In mere seconds, he skids to a stop a couple of feet above the ground, and you quickly detach yourself from him to jump off.
“Thanks again!” you call to him as you start running towards the treeline, tossing an erratic wave over your shoulder. You feel bad for ditching him so quickly, but you really don’t want to linger. You don’t want him to get caught up in all of… this either.
“No prob good luck don’t die byeee!!” MK hollers, his voice trailing off distantly in a way that tells you he’s likely darted away on his cloud. You don’t blame him for not wanting to stick around with Wukong acting like this.
You practically crash through the bushes and bamboo stalks, your feet carrying you deeper into the jungle. This section is quite thinned out compared to the thick vegetation you had to wade through earlier. Leaves crunch under your shoes as you dart around looking for a place to hide. Another tree nook, a large rock, a fallen trunk—anything. But you’re not quite successful.
“Oh come on,” you grit out under your breath, your head whipping side to side. With the trees so spaced out, you think your only hope is to keep running until you hit somewhere with more foliage.
And then you get this urge. An instinct, out of nowhere. One that absolutely screams at you, the hairs along your entire body standing up. You follow it without hesitation.
As you throw yourself to the left in a lunge, a small breeze brushes over your body. Your shirt sleeve gets tugged on, ever so slightly. There’s the sound of splintering wood and a small grunt.
You hit the ground, then immediately scramble up to your feet to jog a few safe meters away and spin around. Heart pounding erratically in your ears, you stare with wide eyes at Wukong.
He’s got one hand braced on the trunk of a tree that’d been in your way before you had lunged to the side. You step back when you notice there are claw marks etched into the bark that hadn’t been there previously—jagged, yet shallow. Your stunned gaze lingers on them for a moment before they snap back to Wukong. Who’s looking at you from the corner of a glowing, golden eye.
You swallow heavily. Everything suddenly seems so quiet. Like nature is holding its very breath.
Wukong slowly turns away from the tree to fully face you and lowers himself to the ground until he’s on all fours, his tail swaying dangerously behind him.
Then, he grins sharply at you.
Oh hell.
You spin around to try to sprint away from him. But before you can make it even a few steps, you feel your shoe slip on something. You let out a curse as you topple forward, your stomach dropping down to your feet. Though before you can come into unforgiving contact with the ground, something collides with your body midair, grabs onto you, and twists.
The world passes in a blur. You grunt as you land on something warm, then grunt again when everything flips. Your back comes into contact with what you register as the cool, grassy ground. A weight atop your body lifts to hover over you, something unlatching from around your torso. It gives you an odd sense of déjà vu. And you lay there, for a second, your eyes squeezed shut as you process what the fuck had just happened. You’re dizzy, only a little bit, and definitely discombobulated. But eventually you open your eyes when you feel something straddle you around your thighs and squeeze.
It’s Wukong—his pupils blown so widely that all you can see is a ring of amber lining them. He’s breathing heavily, chest expanding and contracting with every breath of air. There is the minutest of trembles to his body where he’s poised over you, so close and utterly warm. It makes heat start to creep up your neck.
“Wukong,” you manage to get out. Your eyes dart side to side to look at his arms—where he’s propping himself up with his hands splayed out on the ground by your ears—then return to his face. “What the fuck?”
He takes a moment to respond, his gaze rapidly flicking all over your expression and body. Taking you in. Hungry, almost. It makes your confusion start to rear its head again, closely followed by concern. Why is he acting so…? You don’t get the chance to finish your thought.
“I have you!” Wukong responds breathlessly, sounding like he’s exceedingly happy. And once that seems to sink in for him, he abruptly leans down to bury his face in your neck and inhale deeply. You jolt slightly at the action. “I win!” he declares proudly, his voice muffled.
You scoff, though it’s not all that strong with Wukong still rubbing his face into your skin. You have half a mind to push him away—you feel gross as hell with all that exercise, after all—but you don’t think that’ll end well. “You used your powers. That’s a forfeit.”
He snorts, his breath fanning out across your jugular. You’re unable to suppress the shiver it causes. “Oh yeah? You broke the rules first. I can’t believe you’d use my own successor as a getaway ride!”
“Technically it’s not against the rules,” you say smartly. You remind him, “I could do whatever I wanted.”
“To slow me down,” Wukong emphasizes, switching to the other side of your neck to continue to nuzzle into it. “Not get away!”
You hold back a huff. Whatever, if he wants the win so badly, he can have it. You don’t particularly care anymore, not when there’s more pressing things you’re concerned about.
“Alright, fine. You wih— win,” you stutter when you feel his mouth rub against a particularly sensitive spot on your neck. What is he doing? Shaking your head slightly to get yourself to focus, your voice lowers as you ask, “Are you ready to finally talk to me now?”
He doesn’t say anything for a minute, so busy with mapping out the planes of your neck down to your collarbone. You have to nudge him. “Mmm, talk?” he murmurs distantly.
“Yes,” you say, somewhat irately. “I know you haven’t forgotten. And I won’t let you do whatever you want if you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong.” When all he does is trace the curve of your cheek with his nose, you give him another firm nudge. “Wukong stop that! I know you can hear me!”
“Agh, fine, fine,” he groans into your jaw, shifting slightly as though to retreat, though he doesn’t completely just yet. “Buuut first I should mention that this was sorta a…” You feel his teeth graze against a spot below your ear. “Well, a courting ritual.”
…
A what?
You stare up at the canopy of leaves above you as you process his words.
“Sun Wukong,” you say slowly even as it feels like there are butterflies swarming around in your stomach. “What did we just do?”
He takes in another deep breath—it honestly feels like he’s stalling—then pulls away fully to sit properly on top of your stomach. His body slouches forward as he scratches at his cheek.
“Weeellll,” he starts, almost in a sheepish manner. Your eyes narrow up at him. “Maybe we just uh. Kinda sorta… got engaged?” He winces once the word leaves his mouth.
Your gut bottoms out. All coherent thought leaves your mind. You stare up at him. He avoids your gaze.
“What?!” you shout incredulously, and he definitely flinches that time, his ears flattening against his head. You don’t— You don’t even know how to process this information. Fuck, is that why he’d changed his clothes?! It feels like your brain just got filled with buckets of static. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?!”
“Heheh, sorry!” He rubs the back of his head, eyes flicking about to look at everything but you. “Just got a little too excited.” Then, he clears his throat and closes his eyes. You want to say something, but for some reason you just let yourself watch him, heart starting to palpitate wildly in your chest.
Wukong takes in another deep breath, then leans forward a little and opens his eyes to watch you. They glitter like gemstones in the dappled sunlight. He says your name, and the look he gives you makes your mouth go dry like you’d just swallowed an entire desert.
“Marry me,” Wukong says seriously, holding your gaze. “But like, forever. As in forever forever. ‘I have an immortal peach for you’, forever.”
Your lips part, stunned as you are, but he doesn’t give you a chance to speak.
“I know you’ve been worrying about me, and I promised I would eventually talk to you about it… so…” He clears his throat again and reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair away from where it sticks to your forehead. Your skin tingles in the wake of his touch.
“The truth is… you’re mortal,” he says quietly, like he doesn’t quite want to admit it. His jaw tenses. “And I can’t lose you. Not ever. I don’t—“ He breaks himself off, glancing to the side momentarily before he returns his gaze to you. “I don’t want to lose anyone else. Especially someone as important to me as you.”
“Wukong…” you whisper, your hand reaching up to hold onto his own that still lingers by your face. It feels as though something is pouring into your chest, filling it with a tender, aching warmth.
But on top of that is the slow confirmation that he’s been agonizing about this—about you, your future life with him—for so long. Even longer than when you’d first become privy to it, you ascertain, because you have heard these words before. Years and years ago.
(“Stay here,” Wukong rushed out, gripping at your hands as you stood at the edge of a cliff on Flower Fruit Mountain. He was crouched atop his somersault cloud—that hovered right before you with the clear intention to eventually dart away. Out and across the seemingly endless waters of the dark, roiling ocean.
There was a static in the air that made your skin buzz, your stomach churning with a mixture of convoluted emotions that made you feel so utterly sick.
“But— Wukong—” you blurted, your eyes flicking rapidly across his face before darting behind him at the foreboding obsidian beam of light that stood stark against the cracked and fraying sky.
It was far—far, far in the distance where Megapolis was, you knew. And yet you could still see the orange flashes of lightning sparking from it. The way it parted the overhead thunderclouds that swirled around it like a shark circling its prey in water. A sign. A warning.
His eyebrows creased upwards with the anguished look he gave you. It was not a familiar expression on him. There was a certain desperation to his eyes that made something in your chest twist and ache.
“I need you to stay here,” he emphasized with no small amount of urgency. “It’s safe here. You need to stay safe.”
“I can come with,” you choked out, voice cracking part way through your sentence. It felt as though your fingers were locked around his own—you refused to let go. You could not imagine being away from him right now. “I can help—”
“You’re mortal,” he cried out, his tail lashing out behind him. “You’re mortal and— I can’t lose you. I can’t. So please”—he took a deep breath, and when he looked at you again, there was something unyielding to his gaze—“stay right here.”
You had to bite down on your lip to stop it from trembling incessantly. There were a million things you could say to argue—a million things to make him take you with him or… or stay with you. But you knew you couldn’t do that. You couldn’t.
You inhaled deeply. Held it. Then, exhaled.
“Okay,” you whispered and stepped backwards. Your fingers slipped from his and there was a moment—a small, small moment—where it felt like he almost didn’t want to let go. You brought your hands up so you could cup them in front of your sternum. Your eyes closed momentarily with your bone-weary sigh. “I’ll stay.”
Wukong was still crouched and bent forward like he was holding onto you. His eyes darted across your face—memorizing the fine details there, maybe—before he finally leaned back and gave you a nod.
“Good,” is all he said, his head already turning to face the treacherous world beyond. You could see the way his jaw clenched at its sight. “I have to go now. I’ll be back, I promise.”
“Be careful,” you murmured with your sinking heart. “Please.”
He gave you a final glance, then raced away on his cloud with a burst of speed that made your hair scatter about. His clothes flapped against his legs with the wind, the long feathers on his head a trailing line behind him that almost looked like fire.
And you stayed there, watching, until he was nothing but a small speck in the shattered sky.)
Your gaze softens as you gently squeeze his palm.
Wukong coughs into the fist of his free hand and switches his intonation to something with a bit more forced exuberance. “So! I went up to the Celestial Realm to gather some immortal relics for you! Cashed in a few favors and stuff.” He grins at you, then seems to register the look on your face—whatever it may be at the moment. His smile fades, just a little. “Ever wanted to try Heavenly Wine? It tastes good, I swear,” he adds weakly.
You are bubbling and brimming with so many different thoughts and feelings.
“Oh Wukong,” you sigh out as you release his hand and bring up both of your own to gesture at him. “Come here.”
He hesitates, for just a split second, then leans forward so you can cup his face in your palms. His skin is warm under your touch, radiating similarly to a furnace. Your thumbs run over his cheeks almost soothingly. If the way he sinks heavily into your hold is any indication, he clearly needs the comfort.
“You silly simian,” you tell him adoringly, shaking his head slightly. He pouts at your words, but doesn’t say anything—just stares down at you hopefully. Maybe even anxiously, you think, when you catch sight of his twitching tail. “This is what you’ve been worrying about all along? Mortality?”
“Well, your mortality, specifically,” he mumbles, his gaze half-lidding as you continue to rub at his face. He catches the look you send him. “What? It’s a valid concern!”
You chuckle. “Of course,” you say, amused by his indignance. “And what about the extra clinginess?"
“Clinginess?” he questions in confusion. When you give him a flat look—you are not doing this again with him—he makes a face like he’s thinking about it, then comes to a realization. “Oh that. Pre-marriage excitement, you could say,” he confesses. He at least has the decency to look sheepish about it. “But also… Courting life is different from marriage life for us mystic monkey demons. I was getting you used to it. A way for me to test the waters, so to speak.”
You give him a knowing look. “Uh huh.” That does indeed explain certain actions of his. And of course since he’s Sun Wukong, he didn’t tell you about it beforehand. Still, you have a vague feeling he may have been taking advantage a little. “You weren’t being clingy just to be clingy?”
Wukong gasps, looking all affronted. “I would never! Who do you take me for?” When all you do is give him an unimpressed look, he tries to hold out by meeting your gaze, but he eventually seems to crack. He pouts, mumbling, “Heavens forbid a monkey wants to spend more time with his future mate.”
That’s what you thought. “Boundaries, Wukong,” you say pointedly, pinching his cheek a little. Something fond and warm sprouts in your chest. “Boundaries.”
He deflates in your hold. “I know…”
You take in his dismay, then rub comforting circles into his face. “We will talk about this later.” You don’t want to trouble him too much about it right now—not when there are more pressing matters to discuss. You sigh, your mind churning up a storm, and add quietly, “…You realize that is asking for a lot, right? Immortality?”
Wukong frowns. “Yeah, I know.” His hands lift up so he can gently hold onto your wrists. An anchor for him, it seems. “But I meant every word, you know.”
You hum as you ruminate, idly tracing over his cheekbones with your fingers. Immortal, immortal… Do you want to be immortal? It’s not an easy decision to make. Especially not now. You exhale through your nose.
“I’ll think about it,” you tell him eventually. He brightens, his grip tightening around your wrists, and it makes you wonder if he’d been expecting you to flat out reject him.
“Alright! Cool, yeah. Take your time, I can wait,” he says happily, his tail swishing back and forth over his shoulder. He gives you a grin—though it still looks a bit strained, you notice. “And uh,” he nervously adds, “what about— what about the other thing?”
Ah. You never really gave him an answer, did you? Poor guy.
You smile up at him, feeling as though your heart is about to burst right out of your chest. Something affectionate and excited runs through your veins, the weight of it all settling within your bones.
“Of course I’ll marry you,” is all you’re able to get out before Wukong positively beams.
“Oh thank heavens,” he wheezes, then lets go of your wrists to swoop down out of your grasp and plant a kiss right on your mouth. It’s so sudden and eager that you can’t help the laugh that escapes your lips, muffled as it is. Wukong grins into the kiss, then pulls away a tad to pepper them all over your face. Your cheeks hurt with how much you’re smiling.
“Alright, alright, that’s enough!” You laugh again and lift a hand to push him gently away from your cheek—wet now, with his saliva.
“Had me getting real nervous there, hun,” Wukong chuckles and instead avoids your nudge to tenderly nose at your jawline with a little chirp. His fur tickles your skin.
“Haha, sorry.” You pat him on the back consolingly, then shift slightly when you feel a stray pebble poke into your hip from below. “You know, most couples normally talk about this sorta stuff before dropping a proposal.”
He snorts, hot breath brushing against your neck. “You’re marrying the Monkey King, Sunshine. Nothin’ normal about that.” He lifts his head just enough to send you a wink.
You roll your eyes. “Fair,” you say in amusement and shift around again. “Okay, now get off me. This ground isn’t exactly comfortable.”
Wukong hums and withdraws, only minutely reluctant. His weight presses into your thighs. But he doesn’t get off of you just yet. He rubs anxiously at his nape.
“Actually,” he starts, his tail swishing back and forth behind him, “there’s uh. One more thing I forgot to mention.”
Your eyebrow raises as you stare up at him. “What is it?” you ask him slowly, narrowing your eyes when he clears his throat. He’s not meeting your gaze again, instead staring intently at that same point on your neck.
“Weeelll, for mystic monkey demons,” he begins to explain, “we usually have a certain way to… show we’re taken.”
“…And that is?” you question warily.
“A bite,” he says casually.
“A bite,” you repeat. You blink at him. “I’m not a monkey demon though?”
“And I know!” Wukong rushes out, waving his hands slightly in front of him. “But well. Customs, y’know? I’d ah, like to give you one. If you don’t mind.” He adds that last part quickly.
You’re honestly unsure how to feel about it, but it is one of his people’s customs… You hum as you take the time to study Wukong’s face. He meets your gaze hopefully, and continues to look at you even as your eyes trail over his body—taking in the tense, scrunched up way he holds himself. The way his nose twitches, and his fingers fidget. You exhale. It’s clear he really wants you to say yes.
…You suppose it can’t be all too bad.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here,” you muse, “and say you want to do it on my neck. Right?”
“Ding-ding-ding! Correct!” He reaches down to tap a spot on the side of your neck—dangerously close to one of your carotid arteries, you note. “Right here, in fact. That’s the bite spot for engagements.”
“I see…” You’re wary, you can’t deny it. But well. It’ll make him happy, and you want him to be happy. No time like the present, you guess. You give him the okay. “Have at it, then.”
Wukong grins excitedly at you, the elongated teeth of his fangs on full display. The sight of them makes something in your abdomen twinge. “Perfect! Alright, let me just…”
He adjusts himself, shifting his weight forward so that he’s sitting more on top of your hips than your thighs. He takes your hands and places them on his shoulder blades. “Hold here if you need to,” he instructs you as he leans forward and snakes his arms underneath your back like he’s giving you a loose hug. Then, he presses his face to the crux of your neck and breathes in slowly.
Your hands gently grab at his clothes, even as your mind turns over his order. What does he mean ‘need to’? Your eyes dart over to what you can see of his head, your body inadvertently tensing.
“Umm, is this going to hurt?” Your voice cracks slightly, your nerves making themselves ever so prominent.
“No! Noo, not at all!” Wukong assures you, nosing gently at your exposed collarbones. He pauses. “Well, maybe a little.” He glances briefly up at you to meet your disbelieving look. “A lot,” he amends, to your growing concern. He squeezes you slightly. “But it’s okay. I’m here.”
“That’s not reassuring,” you squeak out, even as you feel him make his way up the line of your trachea. His teeth grazes intermittently against your skin. You have to force yourself not to squirm.
“You trust me, right?” he asks, now moving to the side to run his nose up and down from your earlobe to a point a few inches below it.
“Yes,” you respond without hesitation. Then, you add as a joke, “Most of the time.”
He snorts and gives you a patient nuzzle. “Then relax. I’ll take care of you.”
You sigh, long and steady, willing your body to let go of all the tension that’d built up. You can’t believe you’re about to do this. “Okay.”
He plants a kiss on your neck—right on the spot he’d tapped earlier. “Ready?” he asks gently.
You manage to give him a nod. “Mmhm.”
Wukong spends some time just nosing at that spot, his hand tracing up and down slowly along your spine. You stare up at the leaf-laden branches above, trying in vain not to twitch too much when his fur tickles you. It feels like your entire attention is fixated on the sensation of him pressing his mouth against your neck, lips warm and soft.
His mouth opens to give the spot a quick little nip, and when you make an indignant sound, you feel it when he snickers in response. He does it a few more times, alternating between kisses and nips—you think he even licks you at one point—before he finally presses his teeth resolutely into your skin. He waits, one second. Two seconds.
And then, he begins to bite down.
Your gasp gets caught in your throat at the sharp pain he causes just below your jaw. It burns something fierce and keeps intensifying with each millimeter of teeth that you can feel sinking into you. A tortuous sort of pain that feels like magma rising up to the surface of your skin.
“Wu—” you choke out, hands fisting into the back of his silky bèizi. Your grip is tight enough that you can feel the stretch of the fabric between your fingers. “Wukong.”
“Shhh,” he hushes, muffled slightly as he presses himself deeper against you. Your throat. Hot hot hot, it burns, it burns. “Shhhh.”
You make a sound, and—broken as it is—your voice cracks before it can really leave your mouth. It makes Wukong’s ears flick, and you can feel, more than see, the way he coils himself tighter around you. His arms caging you against his chest as he wraps them firmer around your back. His tail winding itself around your upper thigh as though to cement you in the here and now. Steady. Hot.
He is overheating and igniting you within his own flame.
All you can do is bear it.
“Fffff—“ you hiss, then bite down on your tongue to stifle your cry. It still slips out as a groan. Your leg kicks out slightly, and Wukong leans his weight further into you, releasing an answering hum from the back of his throat.
Still, his face does not lift from your neck.
There is only him. Him him him. His scent overtaking all your senses. The heat from his body pressing heavily against your front and sides. The fur of his head tickling at the exposed skin of your face. It hurts, it hurts so much, but you bear it as much as you can—clenching your jaw so tightly that you won’t be surprised if something cracks.
When his teeth finally pierce through your skin, the pain makes your eyes instantly fill up with tears. They cloud your vision, turning everything into a blurry, watery mess. Something hot runs down your neck, pooling at your collarbone. You can’t feel anything else other than the eruption of pain from his bite, blinding and intense.
He lets go almost as soon as your skin breaks, and you gasp with that first brush of air against a freshly made wound. It stings like nothing else and seems to worsen the longer you lay there. Your skin throbs, a pulsating beat that aches.
You’re breathing heavily, but so is he, you faintly register as you feel him run his tongue hotly along your neck—lapping up at the lines of blood.
“You’re okay, you’re fine,” Wukong soothes in a murmur as he cleans you up. He lifts himself up to look at you—though you can’t quite make him out through the tears still lining your eyes. Dazedly, you blink a few times until he comes into view, grinning happily down at you with rouge-colored lips. His gaze softens, a certain limerence to those pretty golden eyes that makes it feel like someone has hooked a cane around your belly button and tugged. “See? That wasn’t too bad!”
“Easy for you to say,” you retort with a sniff and let go of his robe to wipe at your eyes. He brushes your hand away so he can lean down and run his tongue up your cheeks to chase away the hot streaks made by your tears. His saliva leaves cool trails along your skin. You sniff again, your face scrunching up a little, but you let him do what he wants, more focused on the agony that is your neck. “Whad’da fuck, Wukong?”
He chuckles. “You took it like a champ, hun,” he says as he moves to give you another sweet kiss. Faintly, you taste something salty and metallic. He pulls away to sit up and observe the bite wound. “Hmm, still bleeding,” he muses after he runs his tongue over his teeth and lips. You try not to stare, but it’s difficult.
Tentatively, you raise up a hand to hover it over the bite, feeling the heat radiating from it. You don’t dare to touch it, fully aware of how dirty you must be from running around the mountain. Wukong gently pushes your hand to the side and plucks a hair from his head to turn it into a washcloth. He presses it to the wound, and you recoil with a hiss.
“Here, hold it there,” he instructs you. Once you take over in staunching the blood flow, he picks himself up off of you to stand, then bends down to help you up. It’s a struggle, just a bit. Any little movement of your head makes your neck flare up in pain. You grunt once you manage to properly get on your two feet, shaking your legs out a bit when they start to feel wobbly.
Wukong keeps a hand on your arm as he watches you carefully. With his other, he picks out a few stray leaves and twigs from your hair. “Good?”
“Yep,” you say after a moment, giving him a thumbs up with your free hand. You adjust your hold on the washcloth. You feel a little lightheaded, but nothing too worrisome.
“Great! Let’s go back to my place,” he replies cheerfully, still hovering next to you as he whistles for his somersault cloud. You watch him; your gaze lingers on his own neck.
You let out a contemplative hum, and it makes him turn to tilt his head at you inquisitively. “I feel bad you don’t have anything to show we’re engaged, though,” you admit. Should you offer to bite him back or…?
“Bah, it’s fine.” He waves you off. “‘S not necessary for me.”
Your lips twist to the side. “Still…” you trail off as you carefully look around. As your gaze lands on some long blades of grass sticking out of the ground, you get an idea. “Hang on.”
Wandering over, you bend down to pluck up a piece of grass—wincing a little when the motion makes your neck flare with pain—then straighten up. As you turn, you see that Wukong’s followed you, his gaze landing on your hand with the grass pinched between your fingers. He cocks his head.
You gesture him towards your neck. “Hold onto the cloth for me? With your right hand.”
He obliges, his arm extending across the space between your bodies. With both your hands now free, you lift up his left hand so that it’s palm down and carefully tie the blade of grass around his middle finger. You can feel his eyes on you the entire time.
“There!” you say in satisfaction once the grass is fastened properly. “Consider this temporary until I can get you an actual ring.” You reach back up to hold onto the washcloth, allowing him to lower his arm. He stares down at his left hand in wonder. “Now we both have something from each other.”
Wukong spends a moment observing the grass ring, flexing his fingers and flipping his hand over to look at it from all views. You can see his tail swaying back and forth behind him, slowly picking up speed as he finally looks at you with a bashful grin.
“Wow, I get to marry you?” He beams, his cheeks flushing a warm red. “I must be the luckiest monkey alive!”
“Oh shut up,” you say mirthfully as you give him a light push on his shoulder.
He laughs, then takes your hand to lead you over to his awaiting somersault cloud. Squeezing your palm, he says, “Alright, come on. Let’s go get cleaned up.”
He helps you up onto it first, then jumps on after. Once your free hand is hooked around his chest and his tail winds firmly around your waist, he takes off—zooming right for his cave.
You keep your face tucked into his shoulder the entire ride there, now feeling a sort of exhaustion as it seeps into your muscles. All that running and sprinting you’d done earlier is starting to catch up to you. The bite wound still smolders like the aftermath of a fire, though you think it has stopped bleeding, thankfully. Quietly, you inhale, then exhale.
Wukong’s cloud eventually comes to a gentle stop. You lift your head to blearily blink at your surroundings. To your mild surprise, you’re not in front of his cottage. Instead, you’re at a pool of gently glowing water that resides in a different section of his cave. It’s what he uses to wash himself—you have used it yourself on occasion in the past. You spot a couple of pale pink blossoms floating around in the pool, following the gentle circulation of the water flowing in and out of the pool from the small underwater passages.
Sunlight filters in through cracks and holes in the cave’s ceiling, formed from years of weathering and battle. The ground is smooth and even, though the arching walls are rough and glisten with condensation and minerals. There’s a faint floral scent in the air, accompanied by a dampness that settles its weight lightly across your skin.
Your gaze lingers on the leftmost wall of stone that has shelves carved into it. They house a number of items, ranging from bottles of shampoo and conditioner to lotion and soap. Another shelf has a pile of folded towels atop it, while another has what looks like some suspiciously familiar clothes. You think you even spot a first aid kit.
“You’re rather prepared,” you say pointedly as Wukong lowers the two of you to the ground, where his cloud sinks into it and disappears.
“Have been for a while,” he confesses, taking hold of your free hand again to lead you to the edge of the pool. “Just wasn’t sure when we’d do the run, you know?”
You hum, then teasingly reply, “How presumptuous of you.”
Wukong sticks his tongue out at you, drawing you both to a stop. “It’s not presumptuous if I knew for a fact you were going to agree to everything.”
That’s funny coming from him when he’d been so nervous you wouldn’t accept his proposal earlier. “It literally is though?”
“Anyways!” he says loudly and claps his hands together. You have to stifle a laugh. “Let me see the bite mark real quick?”
You oblige and lift the washcloth from your neck. The previously white material is partly blemished with burgundy when you glance at it. You were right, though; the bleeding has indeed stopped. Wukong leans close as he peers at the injury, scrutinizing it, then nods to himself.
“Not bad. I’ll take care of it after you get washed up.” He spins on his heel to make his way over to the shelves stocked with bottles. “Go ahead and take off your clothes.”
You can’t help but poke fun at him, even as you start to toe off your shoes and take your phone and keys out of your pockets to set a few feet away from the pool’s edge. “So forward, Wukong. At least take me out to dinner first.”
He scoffs, his back towards you as he searches the shelves. “Haha, real funny. I’ll take you out on several dinners once you’re not so stinky.”
You sober up at his words, tossing the washcloth to the floor to join your socks. It immediately turns into a poof of hair upon contact. “I don’t smell that bad, surely,” you muse as you wiggle out of your pants. Some dirt that had been caking it flecks off to sprinkle lightly against the floor. The stone feels cool under your bare feet.
“Your little human nose wouldn’t be able to pick it up, but you do. A lot.”
You’d get peeved at him if his voice didn’t sound so lightheartedly teasing. “How rude. I’m calling off this engagement right now.”
He snickers. “Good luck with that. You’re stuck with me, Sunshine.”
“Don’t remind me.”
You manage to peel off your shirt with only a few flare ups from your neck, tossing it onto the ground to join the rest of your things. And after you slip out of your undergarments, you pad over to the pool to step into the cool water. It feels refreshing on your skin, already working wonders to get rid of all the dried sweat and dirt from your run.
The pool isn’t all too deep, the water reaching your hips when you stand up straight. There’s an underwater ledge sticking out of its circumference that’s perfect to use as a seat, so you do just that. It causes the water to rise to your chest. You shiver, then look over when Wukong makes his way back over to you with his arms loaded with a couple of bottles, a loofah, and the first aid kit. He sets them all down somewhere to your left.
You spin around in the water to look at the bottles. You pick one up as he shucks off his bèizi to drop on top of your own clothes. “Did you steal this from my bathroom?” you ask with a raised eyebrow as you read the label.
“Pssht, no,” he says indignantly, now working to untie his zhíjū and unwrap it from around him. He lets it slip off easily from his shoulders. “I sent a clone out to buy them. Like a good mate would.”
“Mmhm,” is all you respond with. Lazy simian. Your eyes flick away from him when he reaches down to slide his pink boxer briefs down his legs, busying yourself with setting the bottle in your hand back down and rearranging them.
You look back up when the water gets displaced from Wukong slipping into the pool. It sends little ripples your way, and you watch in amusement as he ducks under to completely wet his fur before resurfacing to release a spout of water from his mouth. His hands rake over his face to smooth his wet hair away, then he turns to grab the shampoo bottle from behind him.
He gestures at you. “C’mere, I’ll wash your hair.”
“I can do it myself, you know,” you tell him, lips quirking upward. He rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, but this is all about you right now,” he says resolutely. His voice lowers into something gentle. “Let me take care of you.”
Your gaze softens at his request. Who are you to deny him? “Alright. If that’s what you want.”
A bright grin is sent your way. “Great!” he chirps, gesturing at you again. “You just focus on not letting any soap get into your wound, ‘kay?”
“Mkay,” you reply as you shift towards him, bracing yourself before you momentarily duck underwater to get your hair wet. It causes your injury to flare viciously back to life, and you grunt upon resurfacing, your hands wiping water and wet strands of hair from your face. You grimace as you rotate your body until your back faces Wukong. He seems to catch the look.
“You just gotta bear with me for this and then I can get you some painkillers,” he reassures you again. There’s the click of the shampoo bottle being opened.
“It’s not all that bad, really,” you tell him as you stare out at the cavern. The pain has already died back down to a low throb. You can hear him lathering his hands together. “More manageable than it was before, at least. It only hurts when I move.” Still feels like it’s emitting heat like a furnace, but you suspect it’ll die down eventually.
“That’s good. It should heal up pretty fast if it doesn’t get infected or anything. But I’m prepared, I promise.” His fingers thread through your hair, massaging into your scalp in a way that instantly makes your eyes flutter to a close. “We’ll ah, have to see if it leaves a scar or not later,” he says casually.
“Depending on the size, it might not be the worst thing in the world,” you muse. You can always use some makeup to cover it up, anyways. “Still, you really did your research, huh?” you mumble as you cup a hand around your bite wound to prevent any stray dribbles of shampoo from slipping into it. Wukong does a good job of keeping the froth to your head, though, his fingers slipping around your face to brush any wanderers back towards your hair.
“Duh,” he replies. “This was one thing I wasn’t gonna slack on, believe it or not.”
You can only manage a hum in return, lulled as you are, into a drowsy state. The repetitive motions of Wukong raking his fingers across your scalp are dangerously soothing. You can feel yourself nodding off on occasion, your head only able to stay upright due to Wukong’s hold and the sting of your injury. You’re vaguely aware of when he finishes with the shampoo and clicks open the conditioner bottle to lather it over your hair strands as well. Faintly, you think you hear him humming idly to himself.
Your eyes blink open blearily when there’s the sudden swishing of water around you. Wukong rounds your side to position himself in front of you, his eyes a low, amber glow as he holds the loofah frothed with soap in his hand.
He gestures at you to hold out an arm. You oblige and reach out with the hand you’d been using to cup around your wound. Your fingers are grasped gently in his own, and you watch through a half-lidded gaze as he runs the loofah down your arm. A smear of dirt is eased away from your forearm, replaced by lines of white froth that emit a gentle fragrance. He takes extra care to clean any hints of soil under your nails, his expression utterly focused.
You take to watching him because of this—drinking in the way his eyebrows furrow or his tongue peeks out of his lips in his concentration. There’s something so achingly tender about the way he takes care of you. The way he handles you like every action of his is meant for worship. It pools warmth at the bottom of your stomach.
You wonder if this is how he feels whenever you’ve groomed his fur.
Once Wukong cleans your arms, he makes you stand up so that your upper body is out of the water. You can feel the rivulets running down your skin, soon replaced by the slightly scratchy material of the loofah as he scrubs across the planes of your abdomen. Up your sternum. Across your clavicles. Around to your back and flanks.
He’s close—enough that you can feel it when he breathes out and the air fans across your face. Gently, he cleans your neck, skirting around your injury as he holds onto your shoulder with his free hand. Your eyes flick to him and catch the way his own amber ones glow through the shadow cast across his face from looking slightly down at you.
After you duck back into the water to wash the soap from your skin, Wukong shifts around you to carefully guide your head slightly backwards so he can rinse out the shampoo and conditioner from your hair. And once you feel his hands leave your head—they are dangerous things, you think to yourself, nearly putting you to sleep—he rounds your body again to place himself in front of you.
He hums thoughtfully as his gaze moves down to stare at the rippling surface of the water, then up at a point somewhere behind you. One of your eyebrows raises, but before you can ask him what he’s thinking about, he treads closer to you and grasps firmly at your waist with his hands underwater.
You make a surprised sound and have just a moment to prepare before he promptly hoists you out of the water, walks forward a few steps, and sets you down so that you’re sitting on the outer ledge of the little pool. Like this, you are forced to bend your head down so you can look at him. It makes your injury flare slightly, but you pay no mind to it as you watch Wukong grasp at one of your calves to lift your dripping leg out of the water.
Being out of the water so suddenly makes you shiver a little bit, your skin prickling with goosebumps. Wukong glances at you as a result, but ultimately returns his focus to scrubbing the loofah down your shin and over your foot. His fingers press lightly into the flesh of your calf.
You have to resist swallowing thickly when he makes his way up to the plushness of your thigh, then switches over to your other leg. You hope he cannot feel how intently you’re watching him. How your pulse begins to race.
If the small smile on his face is any indication, though, you fear you’re a goner.
You have to look away momentarily to help ground yourself, your eyes flicking past his lower form in the water to the way the bubbles from the soap float across the pool’s surface. And they only return to him after he’s finished sponging water over your legs to get rid of the soap—leaving you feeling much cleaner and refreshed than before.
Wukong’s already looking up at you through his thick lashes, the loofah tossed to the side as he leans his upper chest against your slightly parted legs. His eyes flick over your face, down to your bite mark, then back up to your lips. You tilt your head curiously at him.
“This seems awfully familiar,” you say in amusement as you watch the way he presses his cheek into the inner side of your knee. Even after spending all this time in the cool water, he is still warm.
He smiles cheekily up at you, eyes curving into crescents. “Is it?” he asks, then pointedly plants a kiss right on top of your patella. The spot feels like it instantly gets hotter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
You hum. What a little liar. You can see the mischief reflected in his golden eyes. They dart swiftly down to your hands and back up—almost like he wants you to reach out to him—but you keep them firmly in your lap.
“Don’t start something I can’t finish,” you warn him teasingly, echoing his words from a not-so-distant moment of the past.
“Start something?” he teases back, his grin stretching enough to show off his fangs. You try not to focus too hard on them. He leans further into your legs and parts them a tad more so he can place another kiss on the inside of your thigh. The water ripples just under his shoulders. His eyelids lower. “Start what?”
You narrow your eyes at him, swallowing heavily against your heart beating in your throat. The very motion gets traced by Wukong’s intent gaze—his eyes slowly trailing down your neck and sternum.
Your tongue darts out to swiftly wet your lips. “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about,” you whisper throatily, one of your legs moving to hook boldly around his back in the water.
And when Wukong’s gaze snaps back up to your own, you are able to see the precise moment his pupils abruptly dilate.
He surges up from the pool—his hands gripping at the ledge on either side of your knees—and promptly captures your lips in a searing kiss. Distantly, you register the sensation of water rushing down Wukong’s body and over your lower legs. The way he leans into your space and hums a pleased note into your mouth.
Kisses like this—a deep push and pull that overtakes all of your senses, consumes you in its entirety—are rare, with Wukong. He vastly prefers other forms of intimacy, such as the nuzzling he is wont to do. You don’t mind, really. But each time he initiates a heated kiss, the breath gets stolen right from your lungs, and you feel something within your stomach bloom with a delicate warmth.
You hum back, your eyes having long fluttered close as you lose yourself in the softness of his lips against yours. Eager and utterly addicting. Filling you up with a gentle, sweet nectar until you are fit to overflow.
Your tongue swipes against his lower lip until he parts them to nip at your own. It makes you exhale slightly through your nose—an action he mirrors cheekily back at you. And when a smile involuntarily pricks at your mouth, he makes a sound like he’s holding back a laugh. He still tastes faintly of salt and something metallic.
There is a fire building in your gut that grows stronger and stronger with each second that ticks by. You are unable to process much else other than him, him, him. Wukong, Wukong, Wukong. Yours, he’s yours. And he will be, for the rest of your life—immortal or not.
He presses further into you in a way that makes you lean back, almost like you’re moving to lay back on the stone floor. His head tilts to the left so he can further deepen the kiss, and your head automatically tilts with the motion until—
Viciously, your injury flares to life.
It makes you flinch back abruptly. You manage to throw one of your hands behind you so that your palm can catch yourself atop the ground. Your face scrunches up with the pain slamming through the nerves in your neck like a particularly inconsiderate wrecking ball, chasing away everything else. Your free hand raises to hover over the bite wound. You’d gotten so lost in well, Wukong, that you hadn’t been all too careful about what was going on.
“Ah, right,” you hear Wukong say, and you crack open your eyes to see that he’s leaned slightly away from you, his gaze latched attentively onto your neck. He rubs the back of his head sheepishly and lowers himself into the water once more. An apology lines his expression. “Yeah, let’s get that tended to. Don’t wanna let it get any worse.”
You hum your agreement, straightening up as you absently rub around your injury in an attempt to soothe the lingering hurt. You watch him swish away from you to grab the first aid kit nearby. Your gaze lingers on his lean back as he moves across the pool’s surface. “We’ll continue this later, then.”
At your words, Wukong shoots you a sly grin over his shoulder, but ultimately says nothing else. Your legs shift for a minute, then glide idly through the water as you watch him pop open the kit to rummage around inside of it.
Closing your eyes momentarily, you breathe in, then out. Reorienting yourself. Without his presence so close to your own, you feel cold and wet. Getting dry and into some comfy clothes seems ideal, you muse. Maybe you can also finally get something to drink.
Your eyes reopen when you hear the movement of water again. Wukong treads towards you, his arms laden with a few choice supplies. He sets them down next to you on your side that has the bite wound, then hoists himself out of the pool so he can sit atop the ledge next to them. Water drips down his body to puddle on the stone.
“Alright, hold still,” he tells you as he smooths some of the wet fur on his head back with one hand and holds up a syringe with the other. It’s filled with a clear liquid, and when you raise an eyebrow up at him, he explains, “It’s just water with a bit of soap.”
You’re kind of impressed at the level of foresight he’s had for this. Especially since he’s, well, Sun Wukong. Telling him will just inflate his ego, though. Still, you can’t help the small smile that lingers on your lips.
You hum and do as told. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Wukong inspects the injury for a minute, scrutinizing it with a narrow gaze. Then, he uses the syringe to gently wash it out. You do your best to not shrink away at the pressure and subsequent throb of pain.
Once the syringe is empty, he swaps it out for a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide. You are unable to stop the grimace that spreads across your face at the sight.
Wukong catches the look. “You can hold my hand if you want~” Though it’s said in a teasing manner, you can still detect the layer of sincerity in his tone.
You huff out a laugh. “What am I, a child?” And yet you still hold out your palm so Wukong can place his free hand within it. Gently, your fingers close around his own and squeeze slightly.
Wukong uncaps the bottle with his teeth and spits the small lid off to the side. “Brace yourself,” he warns, and you have just enough time to tense your shoulders before he’s gently pouring the antiseptic atop your neck.
The bite stings and burns something fierce, like the flat edge of a knife’s blade held within fire had pressed directly against it. The liquid spills down to your collar and runs trailing fingers over the slope of your back. Your grip tightens around Wukong’s hand, and you grunt past the way your teeth have sunken into your bottom lip. It feels worse than when you’d gotten the actual bite, and that’s definitely saying something.
“Okay, done, done,” Wukong assures you as he pulls the bottle away and sets it off to the side. His thumb rubs soothing circles into your hand. “You’re doing great, hun!”
“You did this to me,” you grit out with all the dramatics you can muster in your voice. Your eyes squint open—you hadn’t noticed they’d squeezed shut—to shoot Wukong a glare with no real heat behind it. “You and your surprisingly effective charms.”
“I did,” Wukong replies in a pleased manner, a cheeky grin on his face. Gently, he fans his free hand at your bite mark to let it dry faster. “And now you’re stuck with me! Sorry!”
You halfheartedly grumble under your breath about him not sounding all that sorry at all. He only chuckles and lets go of you to clean his hands with a wipe. And after your wound has dried enough, he picks up a tube of an antibacterial ointment to begin slathering over it with nimble fingers.
One bandage patch carefully taped to your neck later, you’re all set and clean. You let yourself slip back into the pool for a quick dip while Wukong packs everything back up and pads over to the shelves to put them in their correct places. And as he reapproaches with a towel for you and one for him, you lift yourself up from the pool to take it from his extended grasp.
Being out of the water makes you feel as though there are stones tied to your limbs, the coolness of the air causing you to hastily wrap the fluffy cloth around yourself. A shallow puddle has formed by your feet from all the water trickling down your body. You step out of it with a quick shake of your foot and start to pat yourself dry.
“You’re not gonna clean yourself up too?” you ask Wukong questioningly when he shakes himself out—water flicking away from his body and tail not unlike that of a wet dog—and starts to vigorously rub his own towel across the fur on his head. He hadn’t really soaped himself down or anything, focused as he had been, on you.
“Naahh,” he replies dismissively, now rubbing the towel along one of his arms. “If I did we’d be here all afternoon.”
“Right,” you say as you roll your eyes. You rub the towel at your own hair to wring out the water still soaking the strands. “You and your ten-step routine.”
“Hey!” he protests and pauses in his drying to point a dramatic finger at you. “It takes effort to look this good, you know!”
“Mmhm,” is your response. You make a show out of looking him up and down—trailing your gaze pointedly along the contours of his arms and legs—before you return your gaze to make eye contact with him. A sly smile graces your lips. “And I do appreciate said effort, of course.”
Wukong blinks. Once, twice, as he processes. Then, he gives you a bashful grin. A gentle shade of pink blooms to life along his cheeks.
“Yeah?” he purrs as he flexes his arms downwards in a pose once he’s thrown the towel over his shoulder. He switches into another strongman pose to flex the muscles of his upper back, and his tail curls alongside his arms to mimic them. “You should tell me that more often~”
You let out a light scoff and refix the towel around yourself. “And let your head get any bigger than it currently is?” You spin on your heel to start walking over to the shelf with your clothes, your hand waving dismissively in the air behind you. “No thanks.”
“Hey! My head is perfectly normal-sized!” he calls out behind you with only a vaguely offended lilt to his tone. The quiet patter of his footsteps as he trails after you follows his words.
“Sure,” is your teasing response. It makes Wukong huff, but you don’t bother to dignify him with anything else. You’re too focused on looking at the shelf neatly hosting the folded garments of one of your more comfortable outfits. “Huh. I was wondering where this had gone,” you muse as you pick up an awfully familiar shirt and hold it open in front of you. Your eyes flick upwards to glance at Wukong hovering just beyond it. With the way he’s positioned, it almost looks as though he’s wearing your shirt. “I should’ve known you had something to do with it disappearing.”
Wukong gives you his most innocuous look. “Who, me? I didn’t do anything. Those clothes just appeared in my cave out of nowhere one day. I dunno how they got there.”
“Of course they did,” you reply, mildly sarcastic. You toss the shirt haphazardly back onto the shelf and cross your arms over your chest. “Those damn clothes and their tendencies to just. Spawn in caves that belong to the Monkey King.”
“I know right?” Wukong shakes his head. “Befuddling, really. Someone should look into that. Not me, though.” He shoots you a wink. “I’m gonna be too busy helping to plan a wedding with the best mate in the world~”
At that, you cannot help the laugh that leaves your lips. The reminder makes a tender warmth creep up to your cheeks, and you think Wukong catches it, for he immediately breaks out into a silly grin of his own. His eyes squint delightedly at you in a way that makes you turn away to hide your expression from him—whatever it may be at the moment.
This guy.
“Shut up and pass me the lotion,” you tell him in amusement, silently willing the heat to recede. You press your knuckles to your face, a cool contrast that helps only a smidgen.
Wukong snickers, but relents and passes you the bottle. His hand lingers over your own for the tiniest of moments—the grass ring you had tied around his finger has managed to stay on through both your baths, surprisingly—before he eventually leaves you be.
Diligently, you work the lotion into your skin while he finishes up with roughly drying his fur. Then, you slip on your clothes and wiggle your now-socked feet against the stone floor. It makes you glance down, then at your pile of dirty clothes mixed with Wukong’s—where your shoes are. You pad over to slip them on and snatch up your phone and keys to slip back into your pockets.
“What should we do about these?” you question as you nudge the clothing pile with your foot.
“Eh, just leave ‘em there.” You look over in time to see Wukong pop his head through the neck hole of his hoodie. His hair is a certified mess, but he pays it no mind as he slips his arms through the sleeves and tugs the rest of it down to cover his torso. “I’ll deal with it later.”
“Will you really?” you ask with an eyebrow raised. Your hands move to prop themselves against your hips. “You’ll do a load of laundry?”
“Pssht, yeah.” He waves you off as he approaches you to shove his own feet into his shoes. “I can practically do it with my eyes closed, in fact.”
“Alright then,” you concede in an amused manner, “but I won’t be surprised when those clothes go missing either.”
“Yet again, you have so little faith in me. It hurts,” Wukong says with the fakest sniffle you’ve ever heard. And then, like the flip of a coin, he brightens out of nowhere. “Actually! That just reminded me— C’mon, I got somethin’ to show you!”
You are unable to suppress the quirk of your lips as Wukong grabs you by the wrist and tugs you towards a tunnel hidden in the shadows of the cave's wall. He is palpably eager—you can see the way his tail flicks excitedly side to side—and you are so absorbed in watching him that it takes you by surprise when he finally skids to a stop in front of his cottage's door.
"Okay!" he says as he drops your hand and spins around to face you. He grins. "You ready for this?"
You can't help the chuckle that escapes your lips. "I'm starting to think you're more excited for whatever this is than I am."
Wukong flicks at your nose with his tail, making you scrunch it up. "Oh hush. Go inside and you'll see."
With a lighthearted roll of your eyes, you step past Wukong so you can open the door. And upon entering his little cabin, you are immediately hit with the light scent of lavender and vanilla; different from the usual rosewood and incense. Then, you notice the decorative lights he has strung up around the walls. They twinkle in shades of gold and a warm white, their gentle glow illuminating the space.
At your feet, you notice he's tossed a bunch of flower petals upon the floor. It makes you bite at the inside of your cheek in amusement, and you follow them all the way up to a small table set right in front of his couch, where your gaze falls upon—
"Ta da!" Wukong hops past you to brandish his hands at the laden table. "Fruit art!"
Indeed, he has outdone himself; there are mangoes carved into delicate roses—just like at the food market—as well as peaches, persimmons, and oranges. You see sticks of táng húlu, peeled mangosteen, and what looks to be miniature replicas of you and Wukong—made entirely out of fruit, of course.
Your mouth twitches as you turn to look at Wukong, who bounces on the balls of his feet as he waits impatiently for your verdict. "Is this what you were busy doing earlier?"
"Yep!" he proclaims proudly, striking a pose. "See? Fruit art is no match for the Monkey King!" He seems to catch himself with a quick glance at your face and drops the pose to clear his throat. "Ah, do you— do you like it?"
You have to swallow down a blooming, aching warmth that presses itself against the roof of your mouth. He looks so hopeful, and it makes your heart squeeze.
"I love it," you manage to get out. And then, because you can't help yourself, you add, "You can be so stinking cute sometimes, you know that?"
At that, a flush instantly crawls its way across Wukong's face and into his ears. "I— Well, ah—" he stammers, his eyes darting to and away from your steadily growing smile, then clears his throat again and casually smooths a hand over his unkempt hair. "Well, duh. Cute and cuddly is kind of my thing, y'know. Glad you're able t— able to recognize that."
"Uh huh," is your response, your smile wide enough to make your cheeks hurt. "Hopelessly romantic too, apparently," you add with a gesture to the petals scattered across the floor.
"Eh, I don't know about the hopeless part, but—" he cuts himself off with a cough into his fist. Amber eyes then meet your own with a surprising amount of sincerity before he quietly says, "I think you know by now I'd do anything for you."
Your gaze softens. "Even if it's cheesy?"
Wukong glances around his cabin, then rubs at the back of his head with a low, sheepish chuckle. "Even then."
And oh, you think to yourself as you watch the way his tail curls back and forth behind him—the rosiness that refuses to disappear from his cheeks—how lucky are you that you get to be with him?
You eventually decide to let him be before he clears his throat out of embarrassment any more. You step past him to approach the table. "Well, in any case, thank you. I actually am kinda hungry after all that running."
Wukong brightens. "Help yourself then! Oh— that reminds me—"
As he flits around the cabin, you take a seat on the couch and reach over to pluck up one of the carved mangoes. You almost don't want to eat it; it's clear he spent a lot of time meticulously shaping them. You wonder how long it took him.
You are interrupted from your admiring when Wukong suddenly appears in front of you. He hands you a bottle of water and two small, blue pills.
“The painkillers,” he reminds you when you give him a questioning look.
"Oh! Thanks," you reply appreciatively, having nearly forgotten about the wound on your neck in your distraction. It takes a bit of juggling with everything in your hands, but you manage to toss the pills into your mouth and swallow them down with a gulp of water.
You end up finishing the entire bottle—water at last, you think to yourself—then breathe out a sigh of relief. You'd been parched.
Wukong takes the bottle from you to toss it into a nearby bin, then plops down next to you on the couch as you try to figure out how to take a bite out of the artsy mango. He grabs a persimmon to stick into his mouth—whole and all.
You glance at him, his unruly hair, then back at the fruit in your hand. "Hang on, these aren't made of hair, right?” you ask in a mildly suspicious manner.
Wukong nearly chokes. “What? No! Of course not!” he exclaims, vaguely offended. Then, he purses his lips. “Well. I did consider adding one in as a prank— Don’t give me that look! I didn’t, I swear!”
"Right," you drawl, now more to tease him than anything. You bite into the side of the mango and immediately hum at the sweet, slightly tangy taste that bursts upon your tongue. A bit of juice escapes from the corner of your lips that you are quick to swipe away. Definitely not made of hair, you determine. "Hmm. You pass this time."
He rolls his eyes. "Told ya."
The two of you spend some time making idle conversation as you slowly pick your way through the table of fruit. At one point, Wukong's tail wraps around your waist and doesn't move an inch. Typical of him, really, but it has a… different sort of feeling to it now that you are both technically engaged. You're unsure how to define it, but it makes a bubbling warmth take root in your stomach—one that you're certain will not dissipate anytime soon.
Eventually, though, once you have eaten your fill and spend some time slumped against the couch, you start to feel the beckoning of fatigue. You blink heavily a few times, your legs and arms slightly sore from all the exercise you had gone through earlier.
"Feeling tired?" Wukong suddenly asks gently, and you turn your head to find he's been watching you for who-knows-how-long, his eyes a soothing amber glow.
"A bit, yeah," you admit as you reach up to stretch out your arms. "Sore, too." You sigh. "That's what I get for going against the Monkey King, I suppose."
He chuckles. "Not many can say they've only had to deal with soreness after an encounter with me, you know." His tail squeezes briefly at your waist before it slips away. "In any case— it's nap time."
You hardly have a moment to brace yourself before Wukong promptly scoops you up from the couch. A surprised noise escapes your lips, but he doesn't take you far. He merely climbs atop the back of the couch and dumps you into the hammock that hangs just behind it.
You blink as you sink into the combination of your pillows and his within the hammock. He takes a moment to slip your shoes off your feet, tossing them to the side, then he climbs in after you once he's toed off his own.
The hammock rocks and sways as he makes himself comfortable. The steep, sloping edges causes your bodies to mush together—the warmth of his torso seeping into your own where he curls around you. Wukong adjusts a few pillows around the both of you, then rests his cheek atop your temple as he breathes deeply in, then out in a satisfied sigh.
You glance towards him—as much as you can, anyways. "You're squishing me."
Wukong's tail comes up to rest heavily against your stomach. "No I'm not."
"Um, yes you are," you say, slightly muffled when his face presses even closer to your own. You try to wiggle around a bit, but Wukong only tightens his grip around your body and rubs his cheek along the side of your face. You sigh, and your hand lifts up so your fingertips can brush against his cheek, then his ear. Wisps of his hair tickle at your knuckles. Gently, you smooth them back.
Wukong hums, content. Then, one of his hands reaches up to lightly ghost against the bandage patch on your neck. "How's your pain?" he murmurs into your hair.
You make a contemplative sound. "Not too bad." The wound has settled into a low, aching thrum—much more manageable than it had been before, thankfully.
"Good," he says, now sounding sleepier than you had felt mere moments ago. Your hand reaches up higher to thread your fingers further through his hair—doing your best to blindly tame the rumpled, slightly damp strands. Wukong lets you do so for a few more minutes, then his own hand lifts to capture yours and interlock both your fingers together. He brings them down to rest atop your chest. "Sleep, Birdie. Y'said you were tired."
"Oh hell," you groan quietly to yourself. “That isn’t gonna become a new nickname for me, is it?”
You can feel it when Wukong snickers. “Who knows, really,” he says in a way where you absolutely know it will. “Now shhhh.”
You sigh through your nose. Your head turns, and Wukong automatically lifts his own up to make way. It allows you a look into his soft, amber eyes, the tips of both your noses gently brushing against each other. You stretch up to plop a chaste kiss atop his mouth, then settle back in with a breath. "Okay."
And as Wukong lets out a quiet chuckle and presses his lips to the top of your head, you think you could get used to living like this—going to sleep and waking up right next to him for the rest of your life.
Immortal, or not.
a/n:
swk to himself the moment he realizes he wants to marry you: oh fuck i gotta make sunshine immortal i'll need a peach and the heavenly wine and maybe i can bother laozi for some of his elixirs—
you: he's in trouble with the celestial realm again isn't he :/
it’s not swk if he doesnt immediately jump into planning something without asking others directly involved in it for their opinion first LOL. anyways, i made it vague whether the reader chooses immortality or not so that you guys can put in your own decision. would you accept? personally, i wouldn't LMFAO. let that mf yearn for me after i'm gone for the rest of his life HAHAHA. just kidding!….. or am i?
i will say it IS romantic to pick immortality tho! in my head the reader chooses yes for happy ending's sake, but you can pick whatever you want lol
thank you for reading if you've made it this far! feel free to ask me anything about this fic via askbox!! there are loads of details to unpack here!! and don't forget to read macaque's fic (ao3 only; account needed) after this! my friend worked really REALLY hard on it and i promise you guys will enjoy it! :)
Damian: Out of respect for the Robin name, I have been researching the person who originated it: Mary Grayson (nee Lloyd).
Bruce: Oh, find anything good?
Damian: Were you aware she had a criminal record?
Bruce: Yes.
Tim: Of course. I have a copy of it at home.
Jason: I mean I didn't. But I'm not surprised.
Damian: Why not?
Jason: Because I've met her son. I imagine Mary Grayson was involved in every anti-authoritarian protest she came across on her travels. What I would be more interested in is learning exactly what Janet Drake was up to to create Master Stalker over there.
There is a burial practice in china and northern vietnam called cải táng/bốc mộ, where the grave of a loved one who was buried far from home because of circumstances will be exhumed after 3-7 years, when the body has finished decomposing and only the bones remain. A family member/partner will be the one who digs out the grave and opens the wooden casket, picking up the bones by hand and cleaning them, before placing them neatly in an urn to be buried in the family graveyard. It is the final act of respect in the burial process, reuniting the loved one with their family and praying for their blessing/divine protection to the living.
