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ninja-knox-ur-sox-off · 8 months

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Wassup folks I was having thoughts about Macaque and ended up writing a ficlet using said scattered thoughts about his character. enjoy o7

Wordcount: 2k

Macaque wasn’t a very complicated person. If anything, he thought himself rather simple.

He liked what he liked, and he didn’t like what he didn’t like. He wanted three main things, and couldn’t imagine wanting anything more.

Macaque wanted food.

More specifically, he wanted fruit. He loved fruit. Having food was an important part of being happy. He knew well that being happy without food in your stomach was a difficult thing. He was especially fond of the sweetness and tartness fruits would give him. He loved to eat it, loved to find the best crab-apples, plums, apricots, tangerines, and peaches, to pick them out one by one and triumphantly show them off before peeling them or shoving them directly into his mouth. He didn’t mind digging for melons that were hiding under leaves, or hunting for sugar-cane and peeling off the outer layer with his teeth for the sweet bits inside, or climbing high up to get coconuts and smash them onto rocks to open them up. Shi Hou had smashed a coconut on his own head once, splitting it in half and getting the milk inside in his fur. “Like a rock, see?” he had declared proudly. Macaque remembered hiding his face in his arm to disguise his laugh.

2. Macaque wanted the sun.

Contrary to what a lot of humans, and even sometimes other creatures assumed, one of Macaque’s favorite things to do was nap in the sun. His fur was dark, his natural form of magic gravitated towards things like shadows and places under rocks no one could see, so many assumed he would prefer to spend his time in dark places and away from light. Macaque rather thought the opposite. He believed his affinity to shadows and dark cold places were the very thing that drove him into the sun to shake that uncomfortable chill from his bones and feel soft sweet sunlight on his skin. He loved nothing more than a nap in the soft grass with a light breeze, his stomach full of fruit and the gentle warmth of the sun touching his face and soaking into his fur. The only time he enjoyed shade falling over his face was when he looked up to find another source of light beaming down at him with the promise of mischief in its eyes. 3. (And rather most importantly,) Macaque wanted his friend.

His best friend. His only friend really; Shi Hou, later named Sun Wukong. Without him, the fruit was less sweet, the sunlight was cooler, and Macaque was sure he would be less happy. Before, Shi Hou, fruit and the sun had been enough, but after knowing him, being near him, and following him into all sorts of fun and chaos, Macaque couldn’t imagine being happy without him. He was a second sun, a light in all the shadows and dark places Macaque used to hide. He was his best and only friend, the person Macaque would pick out of hundreds to spend time with. The only one who could drag him out of his solitude to be with the other monkeys and join in on the fun. Sun Wukong was his person, and it made him happy to know it was just the two of them against the world.

Until it wasn’t.

Intruding on his happiness came demons, celestials, and every other groveling insect that crawled out of the bush to beg for his friends' time as Sun Wukong started to seek more power. It was fine at first, he made time for Macaque. The extra power felt nice, the reputation he started to build meant no one bothered them. He was gone now and again for increasing periods of time, but most of the time Macaque was with him, and he always came back so it didn’t matter.

(Until it did. Until he was gone for years.)

It was fine until those three joined the brotherhood: Azure Lion, Golden Peng, Yellow-Tusk... They pushed their way in and sat at the table, taking up space and Sun Wukong’s attention. But that wasn’t what really annoyed Macaque. Shi Hou always made time for him, always listened when he spoke, which wasn’t often around the brotherhood. No, what annoyed Macaque the most was the wars they spoke of. The battles they laughed about, the glory they spoke of to Sun Wukong until his eyes seemed to sparkle, something a little ugly underneath the awe; want, but not the good kind. What annoyed Macaque was how enamored Wukong was by it all. Rebellion, they spoke of. Pushed forward by bravado, Wukong left and came back with stories that made Macaque’s hands curl into tight fists and his fur stand on end. Talk of challenging even the Jade Emperor.

Isn’t this enough? Macaque thought again and again. Isn’t the fruit and the sun and me and you enough? We’re immortal now, isn’t this enough? But Sun Wukong was not Macaque. He was never satisfied once he’d seen the other side, once he’d had a taste of heavenly wine, once he’d sunk his teeth into the flesh of immortal stonefruit with juices sweeter than honey, nothing in the mortal world could compare. The peaches Macaque picked for him would never be enough. Macaque would never be enough next to Celestials and people who would never see Sun Wukong like Macaque did. He wanted a bigger title, sweeter fruit, “a better way of life,” he said, “for both of us.”

Sun Wukong slipped a celestial peach into Macaque’s hands and he could do nothing but stare at it and wonder how what they had wasn’t enough for him.

“I’ve seen things,” Sun Wukong said to him one night, the rest of the brotherhood passed out at the table. “The world is so much bigger than this, Lui’er. They laughed at me--at us.”

“Why does it matter what they think?” Macaque had asked.

Sun Wukong stayed silent.

Macaque closed his eyes and tried not to think about how his friend felt more and more distant on nights like these. He tried not to think about his own hand in pushing him to this place.

After everything, the brotherhood disbanded easily. The nights spent in camaraderie, the talk of glory, the hands on Sun Wukong’s shoulder and pushing him to the forefront of the chaos, praising him as a leader and their King meant nothing the moment he was under the mountain. They scattered like dust in the wind and, as it was in the beginning, Macaque was the only one left.

Sun Wukong was angry. After the initial I-told-you-so that resulted in Sun Wukong screaming at him, Macaque didn’t say much. He tried to keep his visits light. He tried to bring him things, tried to keep him company, but his old friend would accept none of it, his hands clenched, his eyes alight with boiling, barely contained rage and hate. It wasn’t directed at Macaque, but he still sat a distance away. He understood why so many feared him, but Macaque never had. It felt unnatural.

Sun Wukong had plenty to say on his own, filling the silence and Macaque’s six ears with threats of vengeance and violence that made him turn away and want desperately to press his hands over his ears or stick his head into the waterfall back home so the seething sounds of Sun Wukong's anger could be drowned out.

Secretly, privately, quietly, a small part of Macaque was glad for the chains and the mountain that held him down. He hoped it would be enough to calm his friends' anger and allow him time to cool down, time to think and see that there were more important things than power, that it didn’t matter what others thought of them so long as they had fruit, the sun and each other. But to his disappointment, nothing changed. No matter how many days passed, Sun Wukong’s rage remained, simmering and hot. It got quieter. Less threats and more growling and silently glowering until Macaque was sure he’d burn a hole right through the chains that held him captive with his glare alone.

Inevitably, eventually Sun Wukong directed his anger towards the only available target; his best friend and the one person who hadn’t abandoned him the moment he’d lost everything. The one person who came to check on him and visit in the place with no sunshine where the chill would cling to bone even hours after exiting.

Macaque took it for a long while. He understood there was nothing for him to do but rage and snap and insult. He understood the bitterness. Or at least he thought he did. He’d let him rage at him and blame him for it all, being trapped, being useless. He let him call him things and lash out at him even though it hurt because he thought it might make it better. He’d take it until his hands shook and he’d have to exhale to steady himself and leave through a portal, Sun Wukong yelling obscenities behind him. He’d always come back and act like nothing happened until Sun Wukong started all over and Macaque would sit until he couldn’t take anymore, leave and then come back later and repeat the process all over again.

But even a stone wore down eventually, and Macaque was far from as firm and unyielding as stone. His friend’s words chipped away at him little by little until he snapped back, angry at him for not opening his eyes and seeing where they were, why they were there in the first place. Furious at him for being angry at everyone and everything but himself, the real reason he was chained under a mountain and uselessly screaming threats at the cavern as if the echos would carry into the Celestial Court. He was angry at him for looking at Macaque and deciding he wasn’t enough.

“I did it for YOU--for US!” Sun Wukong roared at him.

And maybe it had started that way. Maybe it had been for him once. For them. Or maybe Macaque had turned a blind eye to the lies that had always been there. Maybe Sun Wukong had always been self-centred and selfish and Macaque was too stupid to see it.

He snapped back, because Sun Wukong was trapped, he was trapped and so he would sit and he would listen. He would hear every word he’d ignored, every warning Macaque had tried to give him, every accusation and hurt Macaque felt, he would hear it all and he would listen.

Macaque called him a demon. Like so many others before, every Celestial and human they’d come into contact with, he called him a demon. But unlike the others, Sun Wukong didn’t stretch his shoulder and let it roll off his back. Instead, his jaw dropped. His eyes widened. He reacted in a way Macaque had never seen him before. He saw him react and all he could think was ‘good.’

It was all a bit of a blur after. He couldn’t remember a lot of what he said. He stumbled and leaned against a tree. His hands were shaking, his arms were trembling. His feet were unsteady under him. They’d never fought like that before. A lot of it was a blur but Sun Wukong's last words, banishing him from returning ran clear in his ears. And that alone made him bitter enough to close his shadow portal and decide then and there he was never going back.

Macaque had only ever wanted three things, but now? He didn’t know what he wanted.

A lot happened after that. Bad things. Things he would rather not remember, but one thing was certain. The Six-Eared Macaque as he was, without the Monkey King was vulnerable. He was weak. He was all alone and many preyed on him simply for his association with the Great Sage Equal to Heaven.

So Macaque did all he could think of to do.

He built up a wall, a persona of sorts. He needed to become someone else, someone they couldn’t hurt so easily. He needed to become loud rather than quiet, brash rather than nervous, scary rather than soft. He needed to become someone no one would mess with or dare linger around. He needed to become someone powerful enough to say no. Someone who didn’t want things as stupid and simple as naps in the sun and sweet fruit handpicked from trees and being around friends. He needed to become someone who didn’t care.

But who could he mirror? Who’s confidence and brashness could he channel? Who’s lack of care for the people around them could he mimic and hold close and make himself believe he felt? Who’s personality could he take and warp into what he remembered, vicious and hurtful and power hungry? Who’s weapon could he replicate and clench in his hand when he felt an inkling of care for people who wouldn’t care for him when it really counted? Who could he mimic to become someone else who didn’t want simple things like holding hands with a best friend and picking fruit until they smiled?

Why Sun Wukong of course.

The most selfish person he knew.

(note: please don't slander sun wukong in the notes Macaque's opinions do not reflect the my own regarding the great sage equaling heaven-- hGLS;KJFD)

#KNOX WRITES (me)#Six Eared Macaque Monkie Kid #Monkie Kid Macaque #Macaque Monkie kid #Fic #Monkie kid fic #I really gotta figure out how i want to tag things my gosh *wheezing*#Monkie kid #lego monkie kid #fr tho its interesting how macaque isnt' that complicated of a guy #he plays at being deep and dark and complicated but he's actually just so freaking simple?#i THINK THE MONKEYS ARE NEAT OKAY #also i just really adore them as ex close best friends #extremely close bff's who know each other better than anyone but don't lean into familial or romantic categories my beloved #seriously tho i need me some backstory #we don't even know if Wukong actually killed him in this or not #he doesnt' seem suprrised to see him like he is Azure who he ACTUALLY put into the underworld #SAYS SO HIMSELF #NEVER SAYS THAT ABOUT MACAQUE #I'M SO CURIOUS HECK #if any jttw media spinoff or whatever would have wukong nOT kill macaque outright it'd be monkie kid #anyway heck i'ma just post this before i change my mind #NO BETA WE DIE LIKE LBD #confession time: i don't remember half of what i wrote here so pls have mercy #monkie kid fanfiction #should i post these tiny blurbs to ao3??#never bothered to do it before [shrugs]

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diodellet · 1 year

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he's the romantic one (simeon x gn!reader)

ay new smut with the angel man! but also please stop torturing me with your beauty!! i am BRoke!!!! content warnings: -reader is described as flat-chested (no mention of genitalia) ++established relationship shenanigans (of the movie date variety), some finger sucking and mentions of spit, gratuitous nipple play, frottage, handjobs word count: 2.6k words minors do not interact

With the weak volume of your laptop's speaker, you have to share a pair of earphones with Simeon, sitting close enough that your thighs touch.

"I-I don't get why they've got to hook up in the middle of the apocalypse. Ew—" You clap a hand over your eyes with a smack.

"Eh? Are you alright?" You should be thrilled. He's got his attention now trained on you.

"Mhm, yeah. I'm fine. It's just—ew what the fuck they're kissing—" In your blind search to lower the volume, your fingers accidentally increase the volume even more. You scream in tandem with the actors' moans and yank up the collar of your shirt to obscure your face, dislodging the earphone out and cutting yourself off from the audio.

Thankfully, a pair of hands shuts the laptop screen closed, putting out the last of your bedroom's light.

"I didn't think a romance scene would put you off."

Your face is still burning from the ordeal that you were put through. But you could project it—your mortification—onto that, the movie. Sitting back on your palms, you fumble blindly for the earphone. Simeon hands it to you and you quietly thank him.

"I-it's the end of the world!" you reasoned, "why would they be doing something like that? Shouldn't they be trying to—oh, I don't know—survive?"

He laughs, a carefree sound that doesn't contain a hint of mockery. You then feel the weight of his head leaning against your shoulder. "You can't blame them for wanting to... commemorate their last few days together." Maybe it's the darkness of the room, making you hyper aware of his presence beside you. You can hear a hint of wistfulness in his voice. Well, he did have a sense for romanticism.

There was a running joke that he was the cheesy one. Something something, mansplain, malewife.

"'Commemorate,'" you snort. "You sound like the type who'd wanna get married before having sex."

"And you're the one who started screaming once the leads kissed." His laughter doesn't let up. "I didn't quite peg you for the shy type."

It's not like you were completely inexperienced! You open the laptop and readjust the volume. You've watched porn and read erotica. You were given the talk about the birds and the bees, and sometimes you've indulged in your needs with your hand. This was a completely natural thing that happened, especially in movies. But even with all that knowledge...

"Actually...it was when it cut to their naked bodies but still." You protest, "I'm not shy... It's just, I'm—" You wince at the change in angle as it focuses on their faces, focuses on all the nasty sounds their lips make as they sloppily make out. "—grossed out by bodies...Why does it sound like that—they're so...into it, eugh." You turn your head away and instead look at a patch of blankets lit up by your laptop's screen.

Unaffected by the scene in front of him, Simeon muses thoughtfully, "I guess the acting might not be your cup of tea. It does seem a bit...forced." He was a writer himself, but more than that, he was an angel. Did he ever have to think about these things outside of his line of work? Well, he might not have had much reason to initially, you reason. But if he was with you now... your mind starts wandering. Did he think of you in those situations? Did casual skinships like this—sitting thigh to thigh, hands brushing against each other, little contact points to hardly exchange warmth—also have any effect on him?

If you hadn't ruined the movie watching with your annoying screaming, you were definitely ruining the experience by continuing to make a scene out of this.

"It's so bad, I can't continue watching," you groan, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyesockets. Your cheeks still have yet to stop burning with secondhand embarrassment. Your own hands reach out to shut the laptop screen closed a second time. This time, deliberate. "I'm sorry, I'm—ugh."

You are a mess.

The silence of your room combined with the thump of your pulse in your ears compounds your discomfort. "Would you have wanted to watch something else?" you ask. Why did you turn to face him? You were both sitting in darkness, so it's not like he could see you.

Simeon scoots closer to your side. He makes a non-committal noise. "I don't always watch this kind of genre, so it was interesting." His hand slips underneath the hem of your shirt, with his gloved fingertips pressed against the small of your back.

Your posture straightens at the feeling against your bare skin. "I probably ruined it, didn't I?" you blurt out.

"Well, your reactions partly made it interesting." His hand rises to rest against the base of your shoulder blade.

Thanks for calling me juvenile, you think to yourself. Your hands tighten into clammy fists, creasing the fabric of your bedsheets. "Simeon, I love you, but I think you're just saying things—" Your sentence tapers off into a surprised squeak when his palm brushes against your front.

The little noise seems to echo throughout the confines of your bedroom. "I do mean it, really, I do," Simeon reasons, his other hand snakes around your waist. Both of his palms, warm and gentle and all of those good sensations, are cupping your chest. It isn't quite stimulating, but nonetheless, it leaves you anticipating for more. "I did want to do more than just watch a movie with you though." You then hear a note of suggestiveness creep into his voice.

Your pulse speeds, buzzing with excitement. You can't fight the growing smile on your lips. "What do you mean by 'more'?"

The longer strands of his hair are tickling the side of your head as he leans closer to you. "Let me touch you, please?" he whispers right against your ear, low and breathy and needy. And you feel your pulse stutter at the sound of your name falling from his lips.

He's already been touching you, you want to say. But your words get caught in your throat. And all you can do is place your hands atop his, lean into his touch. One of your hands searches for him—

"Mm!" The firm press of his lips to yours makes you melt in his hold. Equally needy for him, maybe greedier for more. But Simeon, with all his patience and his considerate nature, is a slow lover. His tongue slips into your mouth. He isn't doing anything forceful, but you can feel your breath being stolen away. Even in his gentleness, there's something almost lewd and obscene in the gesture—He wasn't boring, far from it.

You were just impatient. Needy. Greedy.

Simeon pulls away, lightly panting. Your own breathing is also quick, chest rising and falling underneath his palms. You can feel drool running down the side of your mouth. Thank God you're under the cover of darkness in your room, he won't have to see the accompanying dazed expression on your face.

"I...hah... thought you were going to...touch me..."

"Hm? I am." His lips graze the side of your jaw—

—then the junction between your neck and shoulder— "...but...I thought..."

He hums, waiting for you to gather your words. "Thought what?" You feel his breath ghost along the center of your nape.

Was he really going to make you say it aloud? Heat creeps up your neck. You swallow tightly in a vain attempt to dispel the growing fluster. "I thought you were going to touch my...chest...a-ah Simeon—"

His gloved palms squeeze the sensitive flesh and you arch into his touch. You catch yourself, biting off the moan that threatens to escape your throat. Instead digging your nails into the skin of his wrist.

"I haven't forgotten about these," he reassures, "just let me take care of you."

The heat emanating from his body is persistent against your back. Both sides of your body are bracketed by his legs and it leaves you no room for escape. The most you can do is shift your legs in a vain attempt to relieve the growing pressure between your thighs. The tips of his fingers idly trace circles around your areolas, the gentle motion teases your nipples erect.

You're very much sure that the darkness of your bedroom is adding to it, multiplying the sensations tenfold. When he pinches the nub in between his fingers, it tears a high-pitched keening noise from your throat. Your chest pushes forward to lessen the twinge of pain. Your arousal is hard to hide at this point, you're sure that he can feel you shifting on his lap.

"Wouldn't you want me to turn around?" Your voice comes out in a whisper. So you can face him and also run your hands along his body. Maybe even get to feel him put his mouth on your chest. You want—no, you need something to occupy your hands, instead of just having them sitting there.

Instead of leaving you helpless. Passive. Subjected to his touch. A mere recipient.

"No, not yet." His hand leaves your chest and you whine at the loss of touch. Your dismay only elicits a soft laugh from him. Your ears pick up the sound of rustling fabric and before you can piece together its source, you feel the tip of his finger prodding at your bottom lip. "Will you open up?" he asks. Oh. So he took off his gloves.

You don't need to be told twice. You open your mouth and lave his fingers with your tongue. Your eyes flutter shut as the digits explore your mouth. Pressing down on your tongue, brushing against the inside of your cheek, grazing the edges of your teeth, coating them in even more of your spit. He doesn't push until the back of your throat, only shallowly fucking the inside of your mouth with his fingers. The slow deliberate movement sends you further down your arousal, filling your head with fog. Your hips thrust against empty air, searching for some kind of relief. It feels good but it's not enough—

"Mm...just like that," Simeon praises before withdrawing his fingers. Your lips feel puffy, more drool slips down your chin. You chase after his hand only to be pulled flush against his chest. His spit-laden fingers return to toy with your nipples and the newfound sensation wrings out a pitiful mewl. What you would give to have his fingers at the junction of your thighs.

"Simeon, let me touch you too, please..." you whine, unable to keep the building frustration out of your voice. You can feel his erection straining against the fabric of his pants, an insistent heat against your lower back. Wasn't he getting impatient too?

You feel him turn you around to pull you into another deep kiss, feel him swallow your long drawn-out moan, swallow down your frustration and need until you're wrenching away to gather air back into your lungs. Simeon, not quite, sated moves lower and mouths at the hollow of your throat. Moves down your torso to seal his mouth around one of your nipples. His other hand doesn't stop groping at your chest, doesn't stop palming at the heated flesh. Every brush of his tongue and fingers against your overstimulated nipples sends a little tremor through you.

The stimulus is almost bordering on painful, but in this position, you can grind against him. Savor the friction between both your groins. The fabric of your bottoms reduced to a thin barrier.

"Can I touch you too?" Your fingers ghost along his waist, hovering just short of making contact.

Simeon pulls away, releasing the nub with a pop. "Mhm." You feel him shudder as your hand brushes against the skin of his lower stomach. After unbuttoning his pants and taking his cock into your hand, you slowly drag the tip of your finger against the sensitive vein running along the underside of his shaft. His breath hitches. "...do it gently, please." His hold on you tightens and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. You can't get enough of that sound, the shaky whimper and the addicting breathiness of his voice when he calls your name.

The steady stream of precum leaking from his tip makes it easy to meet every cant of his hips with your strokes. Your hand curls into a tight fist for him to fuck. "Don't forget about..." Your other hand guides him back to your chest.

"Mmh..." The flat of his tongue drags against your other nipple before wrapping his lips around it and sucking. The gesture elicits a low groan from deep in your chest.

Quiet moans mixed with curses and praises, chants of your name and his, 'more' and 'need' and 'please', you're not sure who's saying what anymore. There's no one else to hear, but your attempts at stiflling the sounds—only making them just barely audible for the other—makes the darkness of your room all that more hallowed.

His thrusts grow more clumsy the closer he draws to release. You can feel your thighs straining with exertion. The only warning you get is the graze of his teeth against the nub, followed by him releasing your nipple to claim your mouth in another bruising kiss. And you feel him spill into your hand. Your pace doesn't let up, thoroughly milking every drop from him.

...

(You keep the lights of your room on a low setting, so that neither of you trip or knock against anything as you clean up. Not that you're a messy person, but going several rounds made a simple trip to the bathroom more difficult than it needed to be. You forego your shirt, leaving it hanging off the edge of your hamper. You give your chest a cursory glance and—oh. Those look...

You set the fresh shirt from your cabinet back down.

"Should I just go shirtless...they're probably going to chafe..." you mutter to yourself as you stare at the forming bruises on your chest. Prodding a finger against your nipple elicits a quiet, pained hiss.

You don't think you can understand his fascination with your chest. Much less why he always focused so much of his attention on the two little nubs. They were small, pretty much unremarkable. Well, the underside of the shallow curve sometimes felt ticklish, but more than anything, it took an agonizing amount of time to get you to feel that much.

"I wanted to see if you could do it hands-free." Simeon's voice pulls you out of your thoughts. Your shoulders tense and your hands quickly drop to your sides. While he's also clad in his underwear, his posture is relaxed, loose.

At your wide-eyed stare, he says, "you were kind of...talking aloud." His expression is sheepish, but there's an undeniable tone of fondness and amusement coloring his words.

It doesn't take long for you to piece together what 'do it hands-free' means. Your hand claps over your mouth out of mortification. "I-is that even possible though?" Your cheeks feel hot, you can't look him in the eye and duck your gaze. "Th-that has to just be a porn thing."

His lips are right against your ear and it sends more heat through your frame. You can hear the smile in his words. "I still think it's worth a try, don't you?" You remember how you were reduced to a whining, needy mess in his lap. If that's what an attempt entailed, then what more if it became a regular thing?

"Argh, shut up! Sleep!" You knock your pillow against the side of his head. It does little to dispel the fluttering in your stomach.)

*twirls hair* haha simeon having a thing for small tits... let me have this one (1) singular fantasy

anyway if you liked reading this, don't be afraid to reblog and holler in the tags. your comments mean everything in my fight against my inner saboteur.💕💕

#obey me smut #mdni #obey me simeon #gn!reader #ibtc readers this ones for you #dellet-writings #kung kelan nagsulat ako para kay simeon...di naman siya nagpakita sa nightmare hmp. edi wag #i just think that simeon only plays up his innocent angel act when hes gonna blindside you with lewdness #but other than that the guy is freakae like gosh *fans self*

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