Chapter Text
It starts with an argument.
“Wukong, I need to learn.” You square your shoulders, your chin tilted defiantly upward as you stand apart from the others on the forest path. Sha Wujing is quietly tending the fire at your makeshift camp, while Zhu Bajie has already passed out, snoring loud enough to frighten the wildlife. Tang Sanzang meditates beneath a tree, seemingly oblivious to the exchange.
“Learn what?” Wukong asks, leaning lazily against his staff. His golden eyes gleam with mischief, though his tail flicks once—just once—in mild curiosity. “How to nag me better? You’re already a master at that.”
“Fighting.” Your tone is resolute, though there’s a slight flush on your cheeks. “I want you to teach me how to fight.”
That gets his attention. Wukong straightens, the teasing smirk softening into something more genuine. “You? Fight?” He tilts his head, studying you. “Why? You’ve got me, you’re covered.”
“I don’t want to be ‘covered.’” You cross your arms, your brows furrowing. “I’m tired of being the one who always needs protecting. Every time there’s a battle, I feel like a liability. You’re always looking out for me when you should be focusing on the fight. It’s dangerous—for both of us.”
For a moment, Wukong says nothing. He regards you quietly, the teasing glint in his eyes replaced by something more thoughtful.
“Besides,” you add, softer now, “I know you’d worry less if you knew I could take care of myself.”
That last part strikes a chord, though he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he lets out a dramatic sigh, leaning on his staff again.
“You’re serious about this?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.
“Very.”
“And you want me to teach you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I hope you realize what you’re asking for.” His smirk returns, sharp and playful. “I don’t do anything halfway, you know. If you’re expecting some gentle, hand-holding lesson, you’re out of luck.”
“Good,” you shoot back, your voice steady despite the faint nervousness in your posture. “I don’t want gentle. I want effective.”
Wukong grins, wide and wolfish. “Alright, then. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
XxxOxOxOxxX
The clearing you find the next morning is perfect—wide, grassy, and shaded by towering trees. The soft hum of insects and the distant calls of birds provide a peaceful backdrop, though there’s nothing peaceful about the way Wukong is looking at you.
“You sure you’re ready for this?” he asks, tossing his staff aside and cracking his knuckles. He’s stripped down to his undershirt and loose trousers, the muscles in his arms and shoulders gleaming faintly in the sunlight.
“I’m ready,” you say, though your voice wavers slightly as you mirror his movements, shrugging off your outer robe and tying up your hair.
“Alright,” he says, circling you slowly. His gaze flicks over your posture, assessing. “Show me your stance.”
You hesitate, then plant your feet shoulder-width apart, raising your fists awkwardly.
Wukong winces. “Oh, gods, no. You’re an open target like that. Here—” He steps closer, placing his hands lightly on your shoulders. His touch is warm and firm, and you stiffen slightly at the unexpected contact.
“Relax,” he says, his voice softer now. He shifts your shoulders back, his fingers brushing against your collarbone. “Straighten your spine. Good. Now your feet.”
He crouches, tapping your ankle lightly with his hand. You glance down at him, your heart skipping at the sight of him so close, his hair catching the light like spun gold.
“Weight on the balls of your feet,” he instructs, standing again and stepping back. “You’re not a tree—you need to be able to move quickly.”
You nod, adjusting your stance.
“Not bad,” he says, nodding approvingly. “Now, let’s see if you can block.”
XxxOxOxOxxX
The first few attempts are disastrous. Wukong comes at you with light, controlled strikes—enough to make you stumble but not enough to hurt you. You flail awkwardly, managing to block one or two hits but missing most.
“Focus!” he barks, though there’s a playful edge to his tone. “You’re hesitating. If you hesitate in a real fight, you’re done for.”
“I’m trying!” you snap, brushing a strand of hair out of your face.
“Try harder.”
He lunges again, but this time, you manage to dodge, your movements more fluid. Wukong grins.
“That’s more like it,” he says, circling you again. “Now, let’s add some offense. Try to hit me.”
You hesitate, glancing at him uncertainly.
“What’s the matter?” he teases. “Afraid of hurting me?”
“Not exactly,” you mutter, though you know the idea of hurting him is laughable.
“Well, don’t be. Come on—give it your best shot.”
You take a deep breath, then throw a punch. It’s clumsy and slow, and Wukong dodges easily, catching your wrist and spinning you around. You stumble, but he catches you again, his hand on your waist.
“Too predictable,” he says, his voice low.
His fingers linger for a moment longer than necessary, and you feel a shiver run down your spine. You pull away quickly, hoping he doesn’t notice the faint flush creeping up your neck.
XxxOxOxOxxX
Wukong’s movements fluid and unpredictable. He grins the entire time, spinning his staff with one hand like he has all the time in the world.
“You’re getting better,” he says, sidestepping a lunge with maddening ease. “Not good, mind you. Just… better.”
Your grip tightens on your practice staff as you pivot, eyes narrowing. “You don’t have to sound so smug about it.”
“Oh, but I do,” he replies, ducking a quick jab and stepping lightly around you. “See, if I don’t, who will remind you that your beloved Great Sage is the best fighter you’ll ever meet?”
“Beloved?” you scoff, aiming a sharp strike at his shoulder. “In your dreams.”
“Every night,” he quips, grinning as he blocks the strike effortlessly. “You star in them, by the way.”
You glare, your cheeks flushing. “Focus, Wukong. Or are you too busy coming up with bad lines to actually fight?”
“Bad lines?” he repeats, feigning offense as he twists to deflect your next attack. “These are excellent lines. You should be taking notes.” He winks. “Might come in handy when you decide to serenade me one day.”
Your frustration boils over, and you press forward with a flurry of unsteady strikes, determined to wipe that infuriating grin off his face. But just as you’re about to land what you think is a solid hit, he dodges—and suddenly he’s right there, far too close.
“Wha—?” you start, but your words are cut off as he leans in and steals a quick, feather-light kiss.
Your mind blanks. Your staff wavers. You freeze, your face going hot as he steps back with that same cheeky grin.
“Distracted?” he asks innocently, twirling his staff like nothing happened. “Thought so.”
You gape at him, utterly flustered. “You—did you just—?”
“Me?” he says, raising his eyebrows in mock innocence. “What did I do? Oh, you mean that?” He taps a finger against his lips. “A tactical move. Completely valid. Can’t fight properly if you’re not focused.”
“You—” Your voice hitches, torn between outrage and disbelief. Your cheeks feel like they’re on fire. “You kissed me!”
He shrugs, the grin on his face widening. “Worked, didn’t it? You dropped your guard.”
Your staff swings before you can think, and this time it clips his side. Not hard, but enough to make him stumble a step back, rubbing his ribs, though you’re sure the hit only landed because he allowed it to.
“Alright, alright,” he says, laughing. “I’ll give you that one.”
“You deserved it,” you huff, planting your staff in the ground and trying to steady your breath. But the smug grin he’s wearing only makes you more flustered. “You can’t just—do that! What if someone sees us?”
His golden eyes gleam with amusement. “Don’t worry, no one’s around. Besides,” he adds with a tilt of his head, “you didn’t tell me to stop.”
Your mouth opens, but no words come out. For a moment, you’re caught in the way he’s looking at you—not with his usual mischief, but something softer, warmer. And then you remember yourself, scowling to mask the fact that your heart is hammering in your chest.
“I’m serious, Wukong,” you say, your tone trying for firm but faltering. “We can’t—”
He cuts you off with a quick step forward, and before you can react, he kisses you again. It’s just as fleeting as the first, but this time he lingers an extra half-second, enough to leave you breathless when he pulls away.
Your staff clatters to the ground. “Wukong!” you scold, your voice too high-pitched to sound convincing.
He steps back, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “What? You didn’t say no.”
Your face is burning now, and you point a finger at him, your hand trembling more from the rush of emotions than anger. “We need to stop. If Master Sanzang or anyone sees—”
“They won’t,” he promises, his voice lower now, almost soothing. “I’d never let anyone put you in that position.”
Your indignation falters at the sincerity in his tone. You sigh, covering your face with your hands for a moment before peeking at him through your fingers. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re beautiful when you blush,” he counters smoothly, leaning on his staff and watching you with a lopsided grin.
You groan, half out of exasperation, half to cover the way your stomach flips at his words. “We’re supposed to be training,” you say weakly, bending to retrieve your staff.
“Exactly,” he says, stepping back into a defensive stance. “And I’m training you to handle distractions. You’re welcome.”
You shake your head, trying and failing to keep the corners of your mouth from turning up. “You’re the worst.”
“And yet,” he says, flashing you a wink as you square off again, “you’d miss me if I stopped.”
You don’t dignify that with a response. Not verbally, anyway. But the smile tugging at your lips gives you away.
XxxOxOxOxxX
By the time four days have passed, you’re improving. Your movements are quicker, your strikes more precise, though Wukong still dodges them all with infuriating ease.
“You’re holding back,” he accuses, smirking as he ducks another punch.
“I’m not!” you protest, your frustration evident.
“You are.” He steps closer, backing you up until your shoulders brush against a tree. “You think too much. Fighting isn’t about thinking—it’s about instinct. Trust your body to know what to do.”
“Easy for you to say,” you mutter, glaring at him.
He chuckles, stepping back. “Fine. Let’s try something else.”
He lunges at you without warning, and you barely have time to react. You sidestep quickly, but your foot catches on a root, and you stumble backward with a yelp.
Wukong moves instinctively, catching you before you can fall. The momentum carries you both down, and he lands on his back with a grunt, your body sprawled across his.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
Your hands are braced against his chest, your palms pressing against the firm muscles there. His hands rest on your waist, his grip steady but hesitant. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest beneath you, and the heat of his body seeps through your clothes.
You glance down at him, your face inches from his. His golden eyes are wide, his pupils dark and dilated, and you can see the faint flush on his cheeks. His tail flicks once against the ground, betraying his tension.
“Comfortable?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual.
You don’t answer, your gaze flicking to his lips. The air between you feels thick, heavy with unspoken tension. You’re aware of every point of contact between your bodies—the press of his hips against yours, the warmth of his hands, the way his fingers twitch slightly against your waist as if fighting the urge to pull her closer.
Wukong swallows hard, his throat bobbing. “If you’re trying to distract me, it’s working.”
You blink, startled, and quickly scramble off him, your face burning.
“I-I didn’t mean—”
“Relax,” he says, sitting up and brushing himself off. His smirk is back, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve had worse falls.”
You look away, your heart still racing.
“Not bad, though,” he adds, standing and offering you a hand. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
“Thanks,” you mutter, taking his hand and letting him pull you up. You avoid his gaze, but you can feel his eyes on you, sharp and thoughtful.
XxxOxOxOxxX
That night, as the group settles in for the evening, Wukong finds himself restless. He sits apart from the others, his staff resting across his lap as he gazes into the fire.
Your laughter drifts over to him as you chat with Zhu Bajie, and he feels an odd twist in his chest. He shakes his head, scowling.
“Get it together, Wukong,” he mutters to himself.
But when you glance his way, your eyes meeting his across the fire, he knows it’s already too late.
TBC