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Fluff 6 for Tripsun but angsty? (Like, Wukong going through something in LMK S3 and imagining Tang Sanzang there or something.)
Dialogue starters
6.“You should probably go home.” “But I’m already home.”
I altered the context of the prompt just a little bit for maXIMUM OVERDRIVE
--
There were some days where he wished he never had to leave his Master’s embrace. Those soft hands long since healed of the road weary calluses of riding buried into his fur and stroking ever so gently and sending sweet shivers up his spine that he knew his Master didn’t mean to cause yet were there all the same. The gentle lap he rested his head on, softer than any pillow ever could hope to be, his own arms wrapped around the faintly plush middle and the soft robes that did nothing to block out the heat of his master’s body beneath his own.
Every so often he’d hear his master above him give a faint hum, either pulling some tangle from his hair he hadn’t caught in his morning grooming or finding this or that scar from a time even he wasn’t able to come out of something totally unscathed. He felt those gentle fingers prod once where the circlet once was and that hum turn distressed before a gentle kiss was placed over the scar instead and he felt soothed.
He was so comfortable like this he could so easily just fall asleep with his head in his master’s lap, but he didn’t dare to be unconscious for any of this. He didn’t dare waste a single moment with him.
“You should probably go home” It was murmured against the back of his head, sending another lovely chill up his spine that he was sure made his fur look a fluffy mess.
“Master, I'm already home.” He tightened his arms around his middle and nuzzled further into his hold.
“Bad Monkey, you know better than that.” nonetheless the warm tone nor the fussing fingers ever stopped. “You know I never cared much about you.”
Reality gently thumped against the back of his mind. He shook his head and buried hismelf deeper into the hold. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. And You know it. Why else would I decide to reincarnate without telling you? My first and last disciple?”
He remembered, he remembered when he’d gone to visit his master’s temple, leaving the mountain for the first time in four hundred years to try and slowly reintegrate into the world, only to find a statue in his master’s favorite meditation spot and one of the monks that still remained had to tell him of his vanishing.
He didn’t tell anyone, he just up and left one day. And he hadn’t wanted to believe it, they’d attained buddhahood together he’d been the first, with Longma, Baije, and Wujing all gone he was the last disciple of the Journey, and he hadn’t wanted to believe he hadn’t been worth telling. It wasn’t like he thought he was dead! By the time he’d faced the bull king the others were long gone, he didn’t want Sanzang to think he’d be all alone, he’d told him he’d be at his mountain! He’d told him he was always welcome there! He’d visited him a few times over the centuries!
He was worth visiting but not worth telling that he’d decided to reincarnate?
“Sun Wukong, you were never anything but a challenge for me to overcome. Even if I cared about you, it would never have been in the way you wanted me to.” His voice was still so gentle despite the biting words. He grabbed his master’s robe into his fists and clung tighter even as the burden of memory began to flood him. No, no, he wasn’t ready to go back to the real world yet, he didn’t care how many more biting words were said to him he’d take them all if he could hold on for a little bit longer.
“Bad Monkey, You’re being lazy again, sleeping in for so long.”
“I’m not asleep-”
“You have to wake up now Wukong-”
“-Monkeyyyy kinnngggg!” Xiaotian’s voice broke through the dream, and Sun Wukong startled awake.
His chest hurt.
“I’m up, I’m up, what’s going on, we get to the first location yet?”
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He wasn't sure who told them, but before he left, the monks held up a small jar.
"We heard you wished to scatter his ashes on your mountain," the leader said, his voice soft and eyes red. Even if Sanzang's death was expected, was planned, it was still a nasty shock. "We saved a few jars for your group."
"Thank you," Wukong said, taking the jar.
It felt so light in his hands.
Was this all that was left of Sanzang? Just a light jar? He bit back the urge to sob and tightened his grip softly- if he left it too loose, his hands would shake and he would drop the jar. If he left it too tight, he would crack it.
The flight back home felt like a second of eternity.
And then he was there, back on the beach, where Sanzang had first seen his home.
His white funeral clothes gleamed in the setting sun.
He undid the jar and peeked instead.
A sob did escape at the sight of the white ash, all that was left of his master. His teacher. His friend.
His... his heart.
He reached instead, feeling the texture against his fingers, and pulled some out. He whispered a spell and felt a breeze flow.
Without a second, he released the ash.
It gleamed in the setting sun, and, just for a moment, Wukong saw Sanzang flying.
Summary: Art School AU: Tang Sanzang submits to the urge to knock Xiangliu out. Thankfully, he has a wonderful husband.
It was sheer luck that Sun Wukong had been in the neighborhood when he got the text.
It was from Sanzang and contained three phrases.
Emergency. Need help. Use back door.
Now, they had different definitions of emergency. Wukong was willing to admit that, in his "drama king" glory, running out of peach chips was an emergency. To Sanzang, a mugging was not an emergency until the mugger had stabbed him at least three times. Over the years of raising Qi Xiaotian, their definitions had gotten closer together, but there was still a distance.
So Wukong was immediately sprinting to the museum, closed for exhibit installation and repair. His mind raced with images- Sanzang hurt, Sanzang bleeding! Peng attacking Sanzang!
Something must have happened!
He rushed to the back employee door and was so, so glad that Tang had given him a spare key. It wasn't until he was inside the closed museum that he realized that Sanzang hadn't given him a location.
Where are u?
Upstairs, main gallery.
There was a pause, the bubbles appearing and reappearing.
I hit Xiangliu over the head with a chair.
Wukong blinked. He re-read that.
He re-read it again…and again.
"What?"
There was no way.
What?
Just come up here.
Wukong began to walk. "There's no way," he said again, just a bit more confidently. Sanzang was a pacifist to an alarming degree. He could be snarky and sometimes straight up mean, but he would never actually hurt a thing. Sometimes Wukong wondered if he still thought he was bound by the monk vows he had abandoned when his dad got sick.
He pushed open the door to the main museum. There was no way. Maybe something had happened to Xiangliu, and Sanzang had just gotten confused. He did tend to blame himself sometimes for things out of his control. He turned the corner and headed up the stairs. Yeah, that theory made more sense.
More sense than-
Wukong turned the corner to the main gallery and froze.
Xiangliu was lying on the floor.
Over him, holding a metal folding chair, was Sanzang, who stared at him like a deer in headlights.
"…what happened?"
"I- he was talking about you, something about chaos and stuff and- and- and- I'm sorry, I snapped, I didn't mean to- are you taking a picture?"
Wukong snapped another picture. Despite the panic and concern rushing through his system and the panic on his husband's face, Sanzang looked hot. "Sorry, sorry," he lied through his teeth. "But this is going in my shrine."
Sanzang blinked, the panic slowly fading from his face. "You have a shrine to me?"
Wukong felt a giggle bubble up as he tucked his phone away. "Noooo… okay, maybe yes." Technically, it was a bunch of scrapbooks that he had started after the Incident. But it still counted. "But, we can talk about that." His smile faded as he studied Xiangliu's prone form. "First, we gotta deal with him."
Sanzang's eyes went wide. "Ah, yes, I… I'm not sure what to do."
"Is he breathing?"
"I DON'T KNOW! I froze up-!"
Wukong sighed. "Okay, first, set the chair back where you picked it up." His husband nodded. "Don't slam it. Place it gently down. If he's just unconscious, we don't want him waking up." Sanzang nodded again, turning and walking to where a small group of folded metal chairs was. Wukong, meanwhile, turned to the body.
He grabbed Xiangliu's limp wrist and pressed two fingers against his wrist. Xiangliu looked fine, save for a bruise that was starting on his forehead and the fact that his stupid bun had come undone. As he waited, his mind began to work. If Xiangliu were dead, then they had a problem. Despite his reputation, this would be the first corpse he would hide. Plus, Sanzang would insist on turning himself in, but he just got out of prison. Call Wukong crazy, but he refused-
There. A pulse, steady and strong. If he focused, he could hear Xiangliu breathe.
"He's alive," he called.
"Oh thank heavens," Sanzang slumped against the wall. "What now? Do we wait until he wakes up?"
Wukong shook his head, his mind working. "No, no. If he wakes up here, he might remember what happened better." He wrapped his hands around Xiangliu's chest, counted to three, and stood. His back ached as Xiangliu hung in his grip. Gods, he really was an old man. "Do you know his address?"
"Uh… yes," Sanzang nodded after a moment of thought. "He just lives a few blocks away, on the next street over."
"Okay. Hold the door open for me." Wukong began to walk, dragging Xiangliu with him. "We're gonna take him home, give him an ice pack, and write a note or something."
Sanzang's eyes went wide. "Shouldn't we call an ambulance or something? He might have a concussion!"
"No, because I know you'll tell them the truth," He was already starting to sweat. Sanzang's eyes narrowed, and he opened his mouth. "I love your honesty, really, but I refuse to have you go to prison. Now, get the door."
Sanzang closed his mouth with a soft sigh. "Fine."
The two made their way down to the back door. It wasn't until then that Wukong paused. "Wait, are there cameras?"
"No, they're getting new ones installed tomorrow," Sanzang said, holding open the door. "That's why they also decided to do exhibit renovations today, even though I think that's a stupid idea."
Wukong didn't care at that moment. He pulled Xiangliu out and winced as the sunlight hit his eyes. The alleyway was empty, but the main street…
"Okay," he said as the door closed and locked behind them. "Help me. You're gonna take one side and I'm gonna take the other. If anyone asks, he's drunk. Don't look guilty, just…" He glanced at his husband's face and the annoyed expression. "Actually, that expression is perfect."
Sanzang sighed, but helped Wukong adjust his hold. Now, Xiangliu's arm was wrapped around his shoulders. Their hands lightly brushed as they held Xiangliu's sides.
"Ready?"
"Absolutely not."
"Great! Let's go!"
Sanzang sighed, but began to walk.
At first, it was awkward.
Xiangliu's feet were lightly dragging. Sanzang was taking steps fast, as if someone was going to take one look and call them out. Wukong bit back a swear as he nearly dropped Xiangliu again. "Slow down," he hissed. "I get the rush, but you look guilty."
"I'm keeping the expression."
"Yeah, but body language is another thing. Slow down." After a quick glance down, Wukong added "And loosen your grip. Your knuckles are white."
Sanzang sighed but slowed down. His grip eased, slightly.
"Good boy."
His face exploded with red. Wukong bit back laughter.
"I- uh- this building."
"Do you know which apartment?"
Sanzang opened his mouth, closed it, and whined.
"…you know the building-"
"Shut it." A person walked out and gave them a strange look. Sanzang's shoulders hiked up, his cheeks pinking with embarrassment. "We'll have to ask the front desk."
Wukong wanted to say no. Actually talking to someone would be a massive risk. One person just had to take a good enough look and the cops would be called, or even mention it to Xiangliu. But, Sanzang didn't know the apartment, and, so far, he hadn't heard any panic. "Okay. Tell them you're his coworker and some lunchtime drinking got out of hand."
"He doesn't drink."
"Sanzang."
"Right." His husband released Xiangliu's wrist to grab the door.
The building was fancier than Wukong honestly expected… or at least, expected if he was an idiot. Xiangliu wore the nicest clothes he had ever seen, there was no way he didn't care about money like he claimed. It was tempting to just drop him.
For Sanzang, however, he refrained.
"Hello!" The receptionist jolted, looking up with wide eyes. Sanzang pressed on with a too-wide grin. "Hello!" Before he could say anything, his husband pressed on. "I'm Mr. Xiangliu's coworker over at the museum, and he indulged a bit too much at lunch. I was hoping I could have his apartment number? I just want to drop him off."
The receptionist glanced at Wukong.
There were different ways to charm people, and he had learned them all. He smiled too, but aimed for something softer, like what he would give Xiaotian. She barely looked older than him. "I know that's probably now allowed," he said gently. "But we just want him to be safe."
The receptionist blinked and unclenched her shoulders, a little smile appearing. "You're right that it's not usually allowed, but I think I can make an exception. He lives at 638."
"Thank you so much! And, the elevator-?"
DING! As if summoned, the elevator doors opened.
"Thank you!" Wukong said again, just for good measure.
"No problem!"
The two-three shuffled inside, and Wukong pressed the button.
It wasn't until the fourth floor or so that he winced.
"Does he have his keys on him?"
"Uh…" Sanzang reached down and awkwardly probed his pockets. He winced. "I forgot his jacket and bag back at the museum."
Wukong groaned, releasing Xiangliu's wrist to dug around his ponytail. He lucked out and pulled out a bobby pin. "Okay, okay, when we get to his floor, hold him. When he's dropped off, see if you can find his schedule and when he's supposed to work next." He would have to be at the museum at the right time.
The doors dinged, revealing the sixth floor.
The two hurried down the hall, more dragging Xiangliu than carrying him. They were so close, it would be a shame if he woke up so close.
638 was like a beacon.
Wukong pulled away, leaving Sanzang with Xiangliu's full weight, and knelt. It had been years since he had picked a lock, but you couldn't get rid of muscle memory that easily. As he worked, he could sense Sanzang glanced up and down the hall, ready to warn him if a person popped up.
Thankfully, luck was on their side.
Click.
Sanzang wasted no time in hurrying in. Wukong closed the door behind them. "Set him on the bed and go get ice," he said, glancing around. The apartment was nicer than he ever expected for the guy who blabbered about "life is meaningless without chaos, chaos shall consume the world" and shit. He pushed the thought away to try and look for something that looked like a work schedule, but it was honestly a shot in the dark-
"Uh, Wukong?"
"Yes?" he sighed, walking into the bedroom. He expected Xiangliu to be sitting up, spitting threats, or at least wanting to know what was going on.
He wasn't expecting the giant photo of his own face.
The closet was open, revealing what could basically be described as a shrine. It was made of red yarn, thumbtacks, various brochures and printouts, and photos of him. Not just him, no, there were way too many pictures of Xiaotian to be comfortable, as well as pictures of Nuwa. A few looked to be printouts from magazines and newspapers, but most of them were taken with the subjects looking away.
Okay. He had another stalker. Xiangliu had always acted weird around him and Xiaotian, but he never expected this.
That…
To be honest, he wasn't sure how to react.
"Should we call the police?" Sanzang whispered. "We can take him out before he can do anything."
"And say what? We technically broke in," Wukong pointed out. His head was starting to hurt. "We can't claim anything without legal evidence." Hopefully, this could be dealt with before Xiangliu attempted a kidnapping. "Come on, let's go."
Sanzang nodded, following him out.
The walk to the elevator was quiet. The walk out the door, after a wave to the receptionist, was quiet. The walk to the museum was quiet.
It wasn't until Sanzang was grabbing Xiangliu's jacket and bag that he finally spoke.
"…so, any second thoughts about your shrine to me? Since we just saw a crazy stalker shrine?"
"Absolutely not," Wukong admitted, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his husband's cheek. "I have a shrine to you because you deserve it."
It was the wrong shade of blue- or, at least, it felt wrong. Shards of bone crystal hung in the air like twisted snowflakes, thrown up by the massive chunks of bone growing everywhere like massive, twisted trees. The entire kingdom was wrapped in it, suffocating the screams of the innocent.
Wukong's hand was a steady anchor on his hip.
"Are you ready?"
"She can't die, Wukong," If Sanzang could save a demon's life, then he would. "No matter what."
The White Bone Spirit was twisted, yes. But her heart was in the right place, even if her plan included killing everyone. She could be saved, he was certain of it.
Wukong sighed. "Fine. You ready?"
"For what-?"
The cloud rocketed down, and Sanzang barely heard his scream as the blue of the White Bone Spirit's power came to meet them.
