#🩸 speaks | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cain-speaks · 9 months

Text

🍭 𝙎𝙒𝙀𝙀𝙏 𝙏𝙊𝙊𝙏𝙃 🍭 || Macaque x Reader Oneshot

» sweet tooth (cavetown) « 0:45 ─〇───── 4:07

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ This is a oneshot. ➤ This is romantic. ➤ Reader uses she/her and is a cat demon, so she has cat-like features/behaviors! ➤ Described the clothes but tried to keep it simple/vague so ppl could add more details if they'd like! ➤ BRO THIS TOOK SO LONG I'M SORRY. I kinda lost the plot a few times I think,, and I got super into the shadow story,, hope this is good!! Also sorry if I switched tenses at some point, it happens rip. Also also if the kiss scene is bad I'm so sorry, I'm awkward asf LMAO. ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include profanity, a little bit of angst, referenced toxicity, and referenced murder. ➤ Word count: 3,494

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

❝ A sweet tooth for you, I'm wide awake .❞

Your tail vibrates excitedly as the timer goes off, alerting you that the mango pudding is done chilling. Grinning widely, you almost run to your fridge, throwing open the door and crouching to pull the cool dessert out. You take a deep whiff as you wander back to the counter, shutting the fridge door with a bump of your hip. It smells heavily, and an experimental shake of the pan leads you to believe the sweet treat has successfully set.

You set down the mango pudding and turn to the dishes, rinsing them in the sink and leaving them in the basin to be thoroughly cleaned later. As you scratch a particularly stubborn splash of dried pudding from the whisk, you look over at your oven, squinting to read the numbers displayed.

5:47.

"Oh, cow-milk," you hiss under your breath, finishing up with the whisk and nearly tossing it into the basin.

I'm going to be late! you fret as you pull off your apron, throwing it upon the counter as you rush to your bedroom to pull on your outfit: a simple white turtleneck under a soft long-sleeve and high-waisted plaid pants, complemented with long socks and short, buckled heels. Once you finish with your outfit and additional accessories, you grab a basket on your way out of your room and quickly fill it with cutlery, cubed mangoes, sugar, and of course, the pudding.

You pause for a second, ears flicking about as you try to make sure you haven't forgotten anything. Your time is cut short as another alarm sings on your phone, titled Get The Fudge to Mac's!

You squeak, shoving your phone into your pocket and spinning on your heel as you race out of your home, narrowly keeping the basket from slapping against your side.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You're fairly certain the only reason Macaque doesn't snap at you slamming the dojo doors is because he heard you coming.

He's curled up on his couch, a hefty book in his lap—probably about something medicinal or floral if you had to guess. Your eyes flicker to his face, scowling as you see his signature smirk, golden-brown eyes scanning your hunched-over figure in amusement.

"Look what the cat dragged in," purrs the demon.

"You—hah—think you're soooo funny," you grit out, shuffling to the couch with a glare.

"When have I ever been wrong?" Macaque asks.

The monkey slaps his tail across your face before you can recite the "a" portion of your alphabetized list.

"How come you're so late today?" he teases. "Normally you're here before I am."

You roll your eyes and give a half-hearted bite to the demon's tail, barely grazing the fur, but he pulls it away with a narrowed gaze anyway. You give him a dramatically sweet face, fluttering your lashes as you set your basket on the table.

You make a lazy gesture at it. "I made something for us."

"Oh?" Macaque asks, cocking an eyebrow. "How romantic, starlight."

For a split second, you consider letting your embarrassment at the implication get to you. But then you decide if Macaque wants to be a little evil, you may as well join him.

"Only the best for you, moonflower," you coo back, revelling in the way the black-furred monkey's face heats up around his spiked mask. You immediately laugh at his blush, far more elated at your ability to fluster the stoic demon than you think is normal, adoring the way his ears wiggle as though trying to hide his face.

"Laugh it up, kitty," he grumbles, reaching out for the basket.

You lunge forward and smack his hand before his claw tips so much as brush the handles. "Nu-uh! That's for after dinner, loser."

Macaque frowns and squints at you, shaking his hand and blowing on it in classic dramatic theater kid fashion. "What are you, five?"

"Out of five~!" You sing-song, scooping up the basket as you jump to your feet. "Now get cooking, Macaroni."

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

When Macaque announces the food's almost done, you decide to raid his wardrobe for pajamas.

You zoom up the stairs before he can say a word, but to your surprise, he doesn't make so much as a sigh as your thundering footsteps fade into his room.

It's weird. Normally Macaque always whines about you snagging his clothes, complaining about the pastry stains or endless amounts of cat hair that ends up on them—which is a small price to pay when you're constantly making him yummy treats! But tonight he's oddly quiet.

Come to think of it... he's been acting off for a while.

You noticed it last month. Your time spent with the monkey had turned more physical—training, teaching you how to make certain foods, dancing, cuddling. And amongst his standard sarcasm and snark, he was complimenting you a lot more, too. You'd even started finding little trinkets around your house! So unless some other purple-coded weirdo was breaking into your house to leave you jewelry and pretty flowers, it had to be Macaque.

But on the other hand, Macaque seemed to be... distancing himself. A canceled plan here and there, an excuse to leave the room every now and then, a strange new sense of secrecy within the demon, as though he was guarding something from you. As if he was afraid of you coming too close all over again.

It was so confusing. If you allowed yourself to consider that the demon had fallen for you of all people, what were you supposed to make of his behavior? That he hated the idea of loving you so much that he was deciding between making a game of it or completely pushing you away?

The thought strikes you right in the chest, your bottom lip falling victim to your sharp teeth.

Just recently you'd come to terms with just how much you really like the monkey—how much you love the sound of his voice and the way he drags you into trouble and his devotedness to you as a friend. It'd been an earth-shattering realization, really, one that left you tossing and turning in bed and damn near ripping your fur out.

How could you be blamed? Macaque was hardened like stone in the aftermath of his past, resulting in a closed-off and apathetic creature, a lone wolf in spite of his nature. It'd taken so, so much time and patience to get to where you two were now, laughing and poking fun at each other in his dojo, his safespace.

The last thing you want is to lose everything because your silly heart loves tragedies.

"Starlight!" Macaque's sharp call comes from downstairs, making you jump. "The hell are you doing? I said dinner's done!"

"Ack—I'm coming, just a minute!"

You quickly throw on a loose shirt and shorts, struggling a bit with the hole for your tail before finally settling the limb and bounding out of the room. Immediately, an aroma of deliciousness hits your nose. You almost stumble down the stairs due to the distraction, righting yourself with an embarrassed flush (boy, are you glad Macaque didn't see that) and carefully making your way into the kitchen.

Your eyes widen at what you see. A large bowl of chǎofàn sits at the table, neighbored by a plate of tángcù lǐjǐ and another of xiǎolóngbāo. The scent is divine, and you would call the meal a gift from Buddha if it weren't for the smirking demon leaning against the counter.

"Like what you see?" he asks cockily, tail sweeping against the ground in a lazy sway.

"No way you just made all of this!" you exclaim, grinning.

"Maybe I'm just that good," replies the black-furred monkey with a wink, fetching two plates and some silverware out of various cupboards and drawers.

"Not that good," you snort, grabbing your basket from the fridge. "Come on, what's the trick this time, moonflower?"

The demon falls strangely silent at your question. You raise an eyebrow at his back, waiting for a response. Finally, in an uncharacteristically small voice, Macaque says, "I've been preparing."

There's more to it. There's definitely more to it, but you won't push.

You set the basket down on the floor and take the plate held out to you, happily filling it up before moving to your seat. Macaque joins you on the opposite side, silent save for the short scraping sound of silverware against glass. The uncomfortable silence threatens to spoil your appetite, and you spend a few quiet minutes praying that the demon across from you will say something.

"Is it good?"

Thank Buddha, you think, immediately put at ease to hear his voice.

"Duh," you say, swallowing another forkful of delicious food. "Your cooking is some of the best I've ever had."

"Oh really?" Macaque leans forward on his elbows, hands laced under his chin, and you feel your face warm ever-so-slightly. "Then where do I rank, starlight?"

"Top ten at least," you tease, reaching for more chǎofàn. Macaque unlaces a hand to pick up the bowl and pass it to you.

"At least," he chuckles. "Well, eat up. I have a play to put on."

"A play?" You repeat, cheeks round with rice.

Macaque nods. "Yes." Quickly, he adds, "for you."

You very nearly make a quip about the romance of dinner and a show, but seeing his tail tense and thud against the floor makes you reconsider.

Instead, you smile. "I'll be there."

The monkey snorts. "Better be. If you stand me up for rice and chicken, I'll never make it again."

You fake an angry grumble. "Don't you have to go prepare, smart guy?"

He blinks. Once. Twice.

"Oh," he says, simply at first. Then his eyes widen. "Oh, yes! I have to—there are things I have to—I'm going now." Macaque cuts his rambling short and just barely avoids sprinting out of the kitchen like his tail is on fire.

"Don't—" you cringe at the sound of something falling, followed by a quiet yelp. "—hurt yourself on the way out..."

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

You sit amongst soft blankets and pillows, tails curled around your knees as you wait for the play to start. The light of Macaque's lantern bathes the dojo in a violet hue, shadows dancing with the sway of the lantern as Macaque gets into position. The monkey's innate shadow powers and connection to the lantern make it easy to manipulate it and the dark for his purposes, so part of you is confused that Macaque settles himself so far away from you. You reason that maybe the demon's just feeling extra dramatic for this story.

Or maybe this is it, you think.

Even if you don't know what that means.

"Welcome viewer, to a shadow play the likes of which have never been seen."

You smile at the signature opening line, a soft purr rumbling in your throat as you listen closely, ears perked in Macaque's direction.

"Here we follow another tale about the tragic Warrior." Macaque's voice reverberates around you, and you watch as a simplified silhouette of hi—ahem, "the warrior" manifests from the shadows. "Though this story is unlike the others—for instead of our Warrior bearing yet another arduous chapter of life, perhaps he has found his happy end.

"Everyone knows the tale of how the Sun came to betray the Moon. But what very few have to come to learn is that it was the moon that brought on such a tragedy. You see, many centuries ago, the Moon could only see their dark side—blemished, indecipherable, and lacking in light. So often the moon thought of their dark side and wept, believing that if it was all they saw, it was all anyone could see. And then the Moon realized something. They were the Sun's only companion, their only friend, so surely, surely, the Sun would give their light to them.

"And at first, the Sun did everything they could to show the Moon just how bright they could be. The Sun taught the Moon everything they knew, and the Moon took that knowledge and taught it to others, becoming a beloved warrior. And when the Moon became the Warrior, they changed the Sun into a Hero—a well-shaped, perfect vessel of holiness and goodness.

"The Sun allowed for this because they loved the Warrior, so they locked themselves within the Hero. And while the Warrior loved the Hero very much, they were so blinded by the love of their light that they didn't see what they were doing to their beloved Sun.

"Years passed and the Warrior had taken almost every bit of sunlight. Only their heart and a small sliver remained, which the Sun branded on to the Hero's golden cudgel and hid beneath stone so the Warrior could not find it. This angered the Warrior, who still could not see what they'd done to the Sun, for they were so hidden within the Hero. He said, "my hero! Why do you hide your light from me? Is it not mine, too? Have I not helped you shine?"

"The Hero replied, "I hide nothing from you, my Warrior, certainly not our light. I simply have no more to give you."

"The Warrior was displeased, and this displeasure, coupled with the dimming Sun, poisoned their light until nothing remained but a thin halo around the two of them.

"This terrified the Warrior—to see that they were so close to becoming the Moon again, so close to being consumed by their dark side, that they demanded the Hero give them their heart. Only this time, the Hero refused.

""You are not a hero," spat the Warrior. "And you are no longer a warrior," whispered the Hero. The Warrior was so angry, so enraged, that they attempted to swallow the Sun itself. They peeled away the Hero's stone body to reveal the blazing heart beneath, fully intent to rob them of every last bit of light they had, even if it meant they'd never shine again.

"The Sun broke free of the Hero's perfect body, and, using the light on the golden cudgel, banished the Warrior to a place of no light. No stars. No song. Only darkness.

"A place where the Warrior and the Moon would blend in perfectly."

While you've never heard the story portrayed this way, you find it heartbreakingly easy to tell he's talking about his death and descent into Diyu. You fiddle with your hands, pressing on the paw pads as you stare, watching the Warrior turn into wisps as a glowing mass of shadows (the Sun?) forms into a tendril and strikes them.

It's almost too much to watch, your brain caught up in what preceded Macaque's death. Is this why he's been so nervous? It would make sense—the version of the tale makes him vulnerable to say the least, and it's oozing with painful, regretful honesty. Macaque may not be a liar, but the truth has never been easy for him.

The scene changes, shifting in a quick montage.

"For centuries, the Warrior rotted in their anger and sorrow. So angry were they that they allowed themselves to be hung from strings like a simple puppet, used as a weapon to harm undeserving victims."

Flashes of burned and otherwise destroyed villages wrap around the dojo, all with a chained Macaque hovering above, eyes burning. The last image you recognize as the Monkie Kid and his group. A shadowy tendril wraps around the kid's limbs, attached to him in a similar way to Macaque's chains. Your stomach twists.

"Even when the Warrior finally forgoed their wrath and reconciled with the Sun, they still could not find it in them to shine. They'd ruined the Moon many years ago, and now the Warrior was ruined, too.

"...or so they thought. One day, the Warrior came across a maiden. She was gentle and wild, comforting and unapologetic, unwavering and bold. She was a river, a storm, a mountain who stood unblinking before the weight of the Warrior's darkness.

"The Warrior thought they were doomed to break her, as they so often did to strong things. But then the Maiden produced a mooncake from her robes, split it in half, and said, "Would you share this treat with me, O' weary Warrior?""

A feminine silhouette appears before the Warrior, dressed in a flowing hanfu and flowers. Most interestingly, the Maiden has tufted ears and a long, fluffy tail just like—

Your face erupts in a shocked blush as understanding dawns on you. The first time you met Macaque, you'd been out selling mooncakes. It'd been a good day, and by the end you had a single treat left, which you fully intended to scarf down while watching the sun set. But then you'd seen Macaque, leaning against a bridge and watching the reflection of the sun in the river, and he just looked so sad, you thought a mooncake would add a little brightness to his face.

A pity cake it might have been, but you think it was one of the best pity cakes you've ever had.

"The Warrior took the Maiden's gift. Together, the two ate at their cakes until they were naught but crumbs and the sun had long set. Before they parted, the Maiden smiled at the Warrior.

"And the Warrior glowed.

"The Warrior glowed so bright that moonlight shown through the cracks in their skin, that stars came down to twinkle in their fur and they could hear the sweetest dreams whispering in their ears, and all they said was "Mooncake Maiden" over and over again, for the Warrior had finally found someone to glow for, not because of."

You almost bust out laughing, a mix of adoration, shock, and amusement bubbling in your chest. "Mooncake Maiden", huh? Maybe you should start a business.

"For weeks, the Warrior and the Maiden continued to meet. The Warrior continued to glow, feeling more and more like the great warrior they once were. They even began to think of themselves as the moon again, not as an imperfect surface, but as a new vast and complicated world, one they wanted to explore by the side of the Maiden. All they had to do was ask her."

The shadows merge into a single ball, gliding towards you and settling before you. The ball reforms, revealing Macaque kneeling in front of you, your hands held gently in his. But what really catches your eye is his glamor—or lack thereof. His six ears, the reason for his namesake, unfurl from his head like flower petals, glowing shades of blue, pink, and purple that illuminate both of your faces. His fangs elongate past his bottom lip and a white halo of fur surrounds his face, shimmering in the gentle light.

His eye, blind though it may be, is milky and spotted like the bright side of the moon and you can't help but think it's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

"And now to discover how this story ends," he says softly.

"Macaque—" you begin, only to fall silent when he squeezes your hands.

"I know I'm not a hero," Macaque says. "I think I might always be a little evil—a trickster, a bit of a thief, a bully every now and then; a shadow of something good. But you make me feel... real. Like I can be something more, something people can love and adore without getting hurt, and I haven't felt that in a long, long time, starlight."

You blink, feeling something wet tease the corner of your eyes. Your heart thumps in your chest, tail unfurling from your knees and reaching out. Macaque meets it halfway and they curl around each other like ribbons.

"I love you," whispers the Six-Eared Macaque. Louder, he says it again, and you shiver when he says your name. "I love you, and if you'll have me, I'll be yours for eternity."

Your mouth feels dry, your body nearly numb with—what, shock? Excitement? Happiness? Exhaustion because you're feeling all the things? Probably.

But still, your heart swells at the confession and your hands slip from his to cradle his face and you say, "I love you too, Macaque."

Macaque grins, eyes shining wetly. His hands go to your cheeks, thumbs brushing under your eyes. His ears flap against your hands for a second, and then he whispers, "can I kiss you?"

Your heart nearly explodes. But you give nothing away as you utter a soft, "yes."

You're not quite sure what to expect when his lips meet yours. Fireworks, or maybe like a puzzle piece is shifting into place. You think you can safely say you feel neither, but you do feel both of your growing smiles, until you're pulling away to laugh and Macaque follows suit.

When your giggles die down, you pet the demon's ears again. "You wanna have dessert now?"

The black-furred monkey huffs, leaning into your touch. "In a minute," he murmurs, and then he's bringing you back to his lips.

❝ I like you—say it back .❞

#cain speaks #[ 🧨 ]#cain writes #[ 🩸 ]#lmk liu er mihou #lmk six eared macaque #six eared macaque x reader #lmk macaque #macaque x reader #lego monkie kid #lego monkie kid x reader #lego monkie kid x y/n #monkie kid #monkie kid x reader #lmk #lmk x reader #lmk x y/n

177 notes · View notes

cain-speaks · 9 months

Text

❣ 𝘾𝙍𝙐𝙎𝙃 ❣ || Wukong x Reader Oneshot

» crush (ethel cain) « 0:21 ─〇───── 3:20

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗ AUTHOR'S NOTE ╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝ ➤ One day I'll decide how I wanna format shit lmao. ➤ This is a oneshot. ➤ This is romantic. ➤ Reader is gender neutral (except for one use of "maiden" in reference to you). ➤ This oneshot includes Dragonhead/Triad!Wukong, who is apart of the Triad AU belonging to @skittlescripts! ➤ This oneshot in based off @dumplingsjinson's 4th unrequited-but-not-actually-unrequited-love prompt!! I originally had it here but decided to delete it incase you'd like to go into this kinda blind lol. ➤ If this is dumb I'm sorry I haven't had a genuine crush since like 2nd grade /gen. Also romance is NOT my strongsuit despite how much I read LMAO. ➤ TRIGGER WARNINGS include profanity, denial of feelings, avoidance, lying, self-deprecation, angst, and crying. ➤ Word count: 4,300

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

❝ Camo jacket, robbing corner stores; hard odds to beat when you're on all fours .❞

You didn't want this.

It started off innocently enough—a blush when you caught the Great Sage's eye, a bit of a tremble to your voice or your knees when his hand brushed yours, squealing into your pillows when he gave you gifts. Embarrassing reactions, yes, but not surprising. Afterall, whole gods have found themselves swooning for the Monkey King even if they've a snowball's chance in hell at actually gaining his affections—what chance did your mortal self stand against the demon's wicked charm? But surely your little... celebrity crush didn't mean anything significant.

Except it did.

You barely ever had crushes growing up, much less attractions so passionate you could call them love. But with Wukong, it came far too easily. You loved the way he spoke, the way he held himself, the way he managed to create a community of loyal allies despite his many enemies. But then you also loved the simple things—his real laugh, the one that made him clutch his stomach and cackle until tears were dripping from his eyes; the way his tail swayed like a dog's and curled into a heart when he was excited; the way he smelt of peaches and flowers, as if he was a whole world just for you to—

No!

No, no, no!

This is how the greatest friendships crashed and burned. An insistent crush and a hopeful heart and a two-timing brain poisoning you with sweet what-ifs and flowery dreams is all it takes for you to make one irreversible, permanent step; for you to pour your heart out only to hear we can still be friends! and watch him drift away.

Well, not you. You weren't going to risk breaking your heart nor your and Wukong's friendship over a crush, no matter how serious. So after many sleepless nights of brainstorming (and daydreaming... goddamnit, brain!), you finally devised a plan to squash your feelings for the Monkey King.

1.) Create distance physically.

You tap your fingers against your thigh anxiously, fighting the urge to scratch angry red blotches into the skin while you wait for Wukong to pick up your call. You thought this method would be easiest for enacting Step 1, hoping Wukong and Macaque wouldn't be able to pick out any lies over the phone, but with how long it's taking him to answer, maybe it'd be easier to avoid him the hard way—

"Hey, peaches!" Wukong's cheery voice greets over the line, making you huff in relief. "What's up? You're not calling to ask if you can come up, right? Because you know I've told you you can just come, riiighttt?"

Your heart swoons ridiculously, and you have to aggressively remind yourself that hanging out with Wukong is the exact opposite of what you want to achieve.

"Yessss, I remember," you force out in a nasally, cracking voice that you pray sounds convincing. "But no, that's not why I'm calling."

"Oh, peaches, are you sick?" Wukong asks worriedly, and you can feel his furrowed eyebrows through the phone.

"No," you snark, and then you force out some rough-sounding coughs, grimacing at the way your throat stings. "This happens every year. Sometime near spring I get super sick for like a month—might be the pollen or something, I dunno."

"I never noticed," Wukong replies softly. "I'm sorry, peaches. I woulda helped you before if I'd realized."

Your heart flips again and you lean away from the phone to form a silent scream before returning. "It's—cough—fine. I'm a big girl, a little springtime bug isn't going to kill me. But it is gonna keep me in my house for a few weeks."

"In that case, why don't I let Macaque handle things for a bit and come over—"

"No!" You snap out, your hand immediately smacking over your mouth at the outburst. Fuck! You think, mind racing to recover from your fumble. You let out a series of coughs as you think, then lick your lips. "S-Sorry... while it means a lot that you'd do that for me, when I get like this... it's just easier to handle it alone. I don't really have the energy to be around people or have them around me."

You cross your fingers, your opposite hand gripping your clothes in a white-knuckle grip as a few beats of silence pass. God, let him believe me so I can hang up—

"Alright, peaches," Wukong replies softly, and you have to lean back so he won't hear the relieved huff of air you let out. You're so busy rejoicing you nearly miss what he says next. "But I'm still going to drop food off to you, alright?" Seeming to sense a coming argument from you, he adds, "I'll just drop it off at your door and send you a message."

You sigh, a small smile forcing it's way on to your face despite the situation still not being as perfect as you'd hoped for. "Guess I can't stop you, sunshine."

"Nope!" Wukong laughs, popping the p. "Get well soon! Who knows what mischief I'll be up to without my angel to keep me on the path of grace?" He cooes with a subtle purr to his words. A wild blush blooms on your face, burning your ear tips as you soak in what he said.

"You're supposed to be able to do that on your own, Great Sage," you croak out, burying your flushed face in your unused hand even though the cheeky monkey isn't here to see it.

"What's the fun in that?" Wukong snickers. Then his voice softens, squeezing your heart. "But seriously, take care of yourself, peaches. If you need space, that's fine, but if you need help, ask. There's nothing you could do that would chase me away."

What he says is sweet, so sweet, and dream-like. His words make you think of a fairytale, with you a fair maiden and him a brave, persistent, dragon-slaying knight.

But life's not a fairytale, and things won't go your way just because you wish on a star.

"Will do, Wuks," you say quietly. "Bye."

"Bye, peaches."

Beep-beep.

Step 1... achieved.

2.) Create distance emotionally.

You couldn't just get rid of your crush (well, you probably could, but that'd entail some magical mumbo jumbo you're not quite desperate enough for yet), but maybe you could weaken it by limiting how much exposure you had to Wukong. Hard, considering how popular he was, but surely not impossible!

So, to start off easy, you got rid of your merch. You were able to sell most of it online, but the more stuff you got rid of, the more... upset you felt. Which made sense, sure—it was stuff you loved, of course, and if you hadn't fallen in love with one of your best friends, you'd never part with it—, but your thoughts felt... insane. You found yourself wondering if people would take care of it, if they'd love it and find the same joy in it that you did.

The idea of someone doing anything less made your skin crawl, and for a few brief moments, you considered doing full deep dives on buyers to make sure the merch was going to a good home. Then you reasoned you sounded absolutely obnoxious, like some creepy fangirl and not a close friend of Sun Wukong, and gave the rest away without any further hesitance.

Goddamn, did it sting though.

True to his word, Wukong stopped by your house once every few days with food and medicine. At first, you were worried he'd try to talk to you or ask to come in, but the only way you even knew he'd been there was when he alerted you with a message. You were grateful for it, but words couldn't describe the relief you had that he left no gifts in the bags.

If he had, that might have set you right back to square one.

Your house felt... empty without Wukong's memorabilia, but you chopped it up to your distaste for change. Obviously the nearly crippling discomfort in your own home was because of the now-barren walls (no way it was because you'd just given away dozens of priceless items...), so you bought some pretty posters of bands, artists, and games you liked and hung them on the wall. It wasn't the same, but you supposed that within time, it'd become your new normal.

You decided to ignore the way that settled on your body like gloomy fog.

Now... for the harder part.

Aside from merch, Wukong had gotten you plenty of personal items. Clothes, jewelry, perfumes, cooking utensils you'd been eyeing, plushies, that sort of thing. You knew just by looking at it that it was expensive, probably things that would land you in debt for life if you'd bought it yourself, and rare, too. Likely some one-of-a-kind stuff, knowing Wukong.

You spent three nights despairing over what to do with them. Giving them away to the masses felt disrespectful to say the least, and with the way your heart shrieked, you decided to listen. Throwing them out didn't feel much better, neither did burying them (yeah... you were thinking of everything)... but you couldn't keep them. No, no, no, it'd just encourage your stupid crush if you caved and kept anything, especially the personal stuff!

So you did the only thing you could think of: give it to your family.

It still didn't feel great either way, but at least you knew they were being cared for. And if Wukong happened to ask for any of it back, it'd be easy to retrieve.

You expect to feel relieved at having found a solution, but it only fills you with dread.

All that's left are the notes.

You keep them in a pretty box in your desk. It's a deep red covered in bright splashes of color meant to resemble fireworks, with bright iron hinges on the back so it could open and close. It's perfectly pristine without so much a speck of dust upon it, its well-cared-for appearance taunting you as you lift it out of its drawer and sit on your bed.

You know you shouldn't look at them, but it's not like it'll change anything—you already have them memorized by heart, anyway.

Dear (name), "Sunshine", huh? Can't say it reflects much of who I am as an infamous, invincible god, but I'll take it over "simian" anyday! I think I'll call you "peaches" in return. It has a nice ring, doesn't it? Sunshine and peaches. Like two peas in a pod. Anyway. I hope you like the clothes!

You laugh softly as you read the note. This had been after you mistakenly let your unspoken nickname for him slip after one of his meetings, flustering both you and the unprepared Dragonhead. Despite your furious blush and profuse apologies, Wukong had made you explain your reasoning behind the nickname (which was mostly Macaque's fault—damn him and his "sun and moon" bullshit). You were mortified, thinking you'd set your and Wukong's relationship way back, but when he started calling you peaches...

Sunshine stuck, and you two really did become peas in a pod.

You've torn through the whole box of notes by the time you realize there are tears running down your cheeks. When realization hits, you bend over and press your hands to your face, open-mouthed sobs wracking your body.

Why'd it have to be him? You could've fallen hopelessly in love with anyone, and your heart chose him?

Wukong isn't the problem. No, not at all. Next to you, the Monkey King seems wild, volatile, too much. But that's only because you're a, well, mortal, incapable of shining even half as brightly as he does. Wukong's a god, an immortal king, a being who'd felled thousands in mere moments—your best friend deserves someone who could meet him at his level, not force him into some domestic role.

Someone better than you.

The thought sends a sharp wave rocking through your chest, but with it comes some rush of desperation—you don't know if it's to fight for or against something, but it leads you to pluck one of the notes from its place on the bed,

turn it over so you can't see the words,

and fucking shred it.

That night, as you lie amongst the torn pieces of paper, you can't help but feel like a sole survivor among a ruined city.

Step 2 is done.

3.) Find somebody else.

You have to admit, Step 3 was definitely a desperate plan B if nothing else worked, and, well...

Nothing else was working.

Your "sick" month had passed, and you were now three months into cold-turkeying Wukong. You were honestly surprised the Monkey King hadn't broken into your house yet, but based on some demon conflicts you'd seen on the news, you figured he was busy.

But that wasn't the problem. What was the problem was your crush hadn't waned in the slightest! In fact, your attempts to get rid of it had only made you want to run further into Wukong's arms, where you'd be drowned in the scent of peaches and flowers and the feeling of soft fur and a strong body against yours and—

Goddamnit!

Part of you felt... tired; sick of what you perceived as dramatic and begging for a break from the heartache. It whispered to you, questioning how good Wukong was to keep around if he would cut you loose just for a crush—even saying that it'd be good for you! Save you the trouble and put you on the path of healing before it got real bad... whatever that meant.

But the other half of you fought and it fought hard. You wanted Wukong, even if it meant you could only have him as a friend. He made you feel good and you'd die before giving that up—that was why you'd started this whole mess in the first place!

Besides. You were a mortal, temporary and simple. And adaptable and well-aged as he was, Wukong was still a several-millennium old god. Rules, unspoken or otherwise, were bound to look different for various relationships, and as far as you were concerned, falling head-over-heels, squealing-into-your-pillows and feet-kicking in love with one you called your best friend was written in big red letters right under no.

So you're here at a café (far away from Wukong's headquarters, you made sure), sitting across from... your date.

They're gorgeous. With fawn-colored skin, soft brown eyes, and blonde, orange dipped wavy hair, they make you think of summer, of singing birds and beach days and ice cream in the park. And they're sweet, easily cracking jokes with you and complimenting you without overwhelming you.

But they're not Wukong, and the way you remain acutely aware of that as you share sweet treats with them destroys any hope you had of growing out of this crush.

You're trying to think of ways to let them down gently when you hear the door chime go off. A new customer isn't earth-shattering (it's a public establishment, after all), but a chorus of sharp gasps and your date's frightened stare looking past you makes you turn.

And, god, you wish you hadn't.

Wukong walks into the café calmly, his face unreadable as he scans the booths. You're fairly certain you already know why he's here, but when his eyes meet yours you just know you're fucked.

The café owner bee-lines to Wukong. "G-Great Sage!" They greet, bowing low. "What brings you here?"

Wukong doesn't break eye contact with you. "Nothing to do with you," he answers smoothly before approaching you in long strides.

You can do nothing but watch as he approaches, pinning your tongue between your teeth as you hold the intensity of his stare. Your date, seemingly noticing the tension between you two, reaches out to grasp your hand, but you gently pull away with a shake of your head.

"I'm sorry," you whisper sincerely, sliding enough money for the meal towards them just before Wukong reaches your booth.

The monkey eyes your date, unblinking. If this was any other situation (one where you hadn't avoided him for three months), you'd give him a gentle kick to the leg or something so he'd knock it off. But the situation is too tense, his presence too damning, and you're grateful for the few seconds you get from out beneath the demon's fiery gaze.

"Peaches," he finally murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. "We need to talk."

Fuck.

You get up without a word, placing your purse over your shoulder and heading towards the front door with your eyes on your feet. You can feel everyone's eyes on you—or rather, the two of you, as Wukong walks beside you until you reach the door, which he opens for you. Then he follows you out, staying just far enough behind you that he doesn't step on your heels.

Neither of you speak until you get to a bridge, void of people and surrounded by cherry blossom trees. Wukong stops beside you as you peer over the edge.

"Peaches," he says, his voice still soft. "What's going on?"

Fuck.

You immediately deflect. "How did you find me?"

You hear him suck in a breath.

"How?" You hiss out, glaring up at him.

He stares at you in silence for a moment, then turns on his phone. As he presses a button, your phone vibrates in your hand.

"You tracked my phone?" You ask, blinking owlishly.

"You weren't answering me," replies Wukong simply, pocketing his phone again.

Your face flushes in frustration. "I was out—"

"For three months?"

That makes you go silent. Your phone vibrates again, making the screen light up. You can see Wukong's name in your notifications, but you dare not look to see how many there are, lest it condemn you further.

"You know, I went to your house," Wukong carries on, his voice thickening. "All the stuff I got you is gone."

Fuck. Fuck, fuck.

"Yeah," you mumble, your gaze falling to the ground.

"Why? Did you not like it?"

You're torn between honesty and further denial. In the end, Wukong speaks before you can make a choice.

"You didn't throw out the notes."

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"It took—" his voice chokes out for a second. Your body tenses, your hands turning to white-knuckled fists at your sides. You don't look up. "It took a lot to put them together, surprisingly. Were really dedicated when you tore 'em up, huh?"

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Did you lie about being sick? Did you... were you just trying to get away from me?"

"It's not like that," you say, rushed, and you know as soon as the words leave your lips that you shouldn't have spoken.

"Then what is it like?" Wukong chokes out in a thick voice, but you still refuse to look him in the eye.

"I... needed alone time," you mumble.

"Why couldn't you say that?" Wukong replies, a bit of sharpness to his tone, and you can't help but feel like you've opened up the floodgates. "Do I make you feel so unsafe that you'll lie to get away from me?"

"Don't assume things about me," you snap hotly, your eyes flickering to his. They glow with a subtle red color, fixated on you, a testament to his growing emotion in the situation. But that's not what gets you.

It's the tears collecting in his eyes.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

"What else am I supposed to do?" He grits out. "You ignored me for three months. You didn't even text back to say if you were still sick, or if you just wanted me to stop contacting you—"

"Wukong, I—" you try, taking a step backward when the monkey flings his arms.

"And you didn't answer MK or Macaque, either!"

"Wukong—"

"You scared the shit out of me, peaches!"

"And I'm sorry for that," you bite out, managing to shut him up for a minute. You gulp, your grip on your purse tightening. "But I had... I have a problem I have to fix—"

"What is it? If you would just tell me I could help!" Wukong exclaims, reaching towards you.

"No!" You shout, twisting away from him. "You can't help, Wukong!"

"You don't know that!"

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK

"I do! I do know that!"

"How?! How could—"

"BECAUSE HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU GONNA FIX ME LOVING YOU?"

Wukong falls silent. Still. Your hands slap over your mouth.

The two of you stand in silence for what feels like forever. The river feels deathly silent, and not even the wind blows. Finally, you remove your hands.

"I-I mean, I can fix it, don't worry," you say quickly, the words spilling from your lips like water. "T-These feelings are temporary, I promise. They're just, uh, a b-bit more stubborn than I was expecting, y-y'know? But they're nothing serious, I swear! I-I know I've been difficult these past few months, I know, I'm sorry, just, please, Wukong, don't leav—"

"They're what?" is all Wukong utters, his stare burning through you.

You startle for a second, hands dropping to your chest. "T-They're temporary," you repeat. "Not serious, I swear. Nothing has to change."

Wukong doesn't reply at first. Then:

"What if I want them to be serious?"

Your heart nearly stops in your chest at the force of your surprise. "What?" is all you can get out, staring owlishly at the demon.

"I said," he speaks slowly, stepping towards you. "What if I want them to be serious? To be permanent? What if I want you to be head over heels for me, hm?"

You shiver as he stands before you, hands ghosting over your hips.

"What if I want it all to change, peaches?"

Your heart thumps in your chest, your mind desperately trying to make sense of what he's saying.

Surely he's not... he doesn't mean...

"I don't understand," you whisper, your hands hesitantly pressing against his chest.

"Oh, peaches," he cooes softly, leaning in until his forehead rests against your's and all you can see are his eyes.

"Wu—"

"I love you, (name)."

Your breath catches in your throat, your mouth falling open in shock. Your entire body freezes, your thoughts halted as you process his words...

and then your heart soars.

"Me?" You crack out, a blush warming your skin exponentially. It's a bit overwhelming, the mix of love, surprise, and unfiltered relief. So much so that you can't stop the tears from building up in your eyes and slipping out as you stare up at him. "You love me?"

"Of course," Wukong says softly, his fingers reaching up to brush your tears away. "How couldn't I?"

A sob leaves your mouth at the question. "'C-Cause you're... I'm—"

"Simple?" Wukong ventures, frowning at your nod. He huffs, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. "Peaches, you are anything but simple. You're brilliant and talented and witty and a quick-learner. You keep me guessing even now, and I've been around for a while," he soothes sweetly, a breath of laughter to his voice.

You can't help but laugh a little with him, your heart swelling at his compliments. Your hands slide up his chest and his neck, feeling the soft fur slide through your fingers, and settle on his cheeks. You mirror him then, your thumbs petting his cheek bones and brushing away the wetness in his eyes. Another wave of fresh tears overcomes you when he leans into your hands.

"You're the closest thing to perfection I've ever seen," Wukong murmurs emotionally, one of his hands retracting to engulf one of your's. "You're my girl. My peach. My qíng rén."

A sob breaks free of your lips again as you pull Wukong against you, hiding your face in his chest as you cry. The Dragonhead curls around you, as if shielding you from the outside world, which you're thankful for.

Damn. All of this to find out the great Monkey King loves you back? You're not complaining, god no! Despite your tears, your heart is doing tricks, somersaults and great leaps and cartwheels. It's just...

You definitely have some communication skills to work on, you think.

That can wait, though, you think then, your crying finally tapering out. You manage to tilt your head enough to see Wukong's face, the demon smiling down sweetly at you. Your fingers fiddle with his tie for a moment before drifting upwards and holding his face again.

"Peaches," Wukong calls softly, holding your gaze. "What're you thinking?"

You pause before answering. "I... I want to kiss you," you admit, watching the monkey's face turn a red hue similar to your's. "Can I?"

His ears wiggle, his nose twitches, and then he nods, and you can feel his tail wagging by your legs.

The time for picking on his adorable monkey mannerisms will come later, because right now all you're focused on is bringing Wukong's lips to yours and finally knowing how it feels to kiss the Great Sage.

It's done at an awkward angle since Wukong didn't let you go, the both of you straining a bit to meet each other in the middle, and you break away fast, but it's perfect to you. Maybe not how you imagined a requited crush kiss going, but it's your greatest wish come true in spite of that.

"I love you," he breathes.

Your breath catches again, your heart still flipping ecstatically. "Say it again."

Wukong grins, fangs peeking out of his smile. "I love you, qíng rén."

As you bring the Dragonhead into another kiss, you think of one thing.

Maybe fairytales do exist after all.

❝ Good men die too, so I'd rather be with you .❞

154 notes · View notes