spicespoon
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Killua is a rockstar with some… messy habits. That’s how he tells it to his sister when she calls, the reality of it is a lot more destructive.
Except now she’s not calling, she’s in his hotel room writing on his arm cast (no, he doesn’t remember how he broke it) and demanding to join him and his band for their cross-country tour. He can’t send her home for obvious reasons. He needs someone to keep an eye on her, or more accurately, keep her eyes off the disaster that is his life.
And when his band manager Bisky says she knows the perfect person he thinks that maybe, he’s finally got lucky, and maybe it will all be fine.
Except things are never, ever, fine with him.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚
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Bookmarked by spicespoon
18 Jul 2026
Bookmarker's Notes
Gen one of the best Killugon fics I’ve ever had the privilege of reading 🙏💕
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Summary
Macaque awakens on an airship, no memories, no recollection of the horrible injury across his skull, and a strange curiosity for the golden monkey that keeps looking at him.
Told there are three rings that need finding, Macaque does his best to help save the world, while also piecing together the fractured pieces of his mind.
As well as discover how this happened in the first place. Kind of difficult when everyone around you is hesitant to talk about it. -
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He fixes his posture and falls into meditation.
Or, tries to. He has to take stock of himself when it doesn't work, and concludes that the idea of leaving his body vulnerable in this place leaves him with too much of a bone-deep, primal discomfort. The kind of response leftover from having been born just another creature waiting to die.
Even though as far as he can see, this place is just a cave. No matter what Macaque implied. It was a cave with some kind of seal on it, yes, but just a cave.
A cave under a mountain. -
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Things were weird. They didn't talk about it.
Macaque was coming by again. The first time had been at night, so soon after they'd both been freed that the ground around them was still littered with jagged ice stalagmites, now inert. They were already melting. They would be gone on their own eventually.
Wukong watched him pummel one into slush.
After a minute, he wordlessly stepped out and helped crush them to puddles with their bare hands. The extent of her influence left the two of them working for the better part of an hour before they could no longer see any on the horizon. Their work done, Macaque had slunk back into the shadows.But he came back. Again, at night. He kept to the trees, nosing into his scarf and whiling the night away reclined and stealing whatever fruit grew at hand. He didn't sleep. Wukong would have been a hypocrite to bring it up. He was gone again come morning, always seeming to slip away when Wukong had his eyes off him.
Night five of that, and Wukong left the shack door ajar.
Night seven, and Macaque came inside.
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Bookmarked by spicespoon
09 Jul 2025
Bookmarker's Notes
Such a cute read with a dash of trauma 10/10 recommend
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Macaque doesn't do anything but yawn. “Oh, ‘s just you.”
“You're in my spot.”
He arches an eyebrow, then makes a show of looking around, as if he's searching for a sign or label of some sort. “I don’t see your name on it.”
“It’s my island,” Wukong retorts. “Everywhere is my spot. Move.”
5 times Wukong wakes up alone, and 1 time that he doesn't.