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sjinsins · 1 year

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Scandal

Dedicated to: my mali smišni @meowyoi mwah mwah happy late Valentine's Day, king <3

Fandom: Ensemble Stars!! Ship: RinneShu Word count: 1153 Summary: They should have been keeping their dating a secret, but Rinne just can't help himself sometimes. Notes: minimally proofread, minimal plot, but they do make out

It's hard to really say what went through Rinne's head when he did what he did. Whether he did it on impulse, or because he just wanted to stir the pot. Were you to ask him, he would tell you that none of it was even his fault, of course, but that they should have known not to interview him on live television. Who "they" is, would be left unsaid. The truth was that he thought only for a moment before getting distracted.

Because Shu was working overtime trying to make everyone believe that he hated Rinne. That he hated Crazy:B, and that he especially despised Rinne Amagi. None of this was hard to believe, as Shu's particularities were well-known, and the idea of him holding no affection for such troublemakers was hardly an impossible concept. Except - it was untrue. And Shu was well aware of the fact that he didn't hate Rinne, but that's how he wanted it to seem. However, he went too far in this attempt, and now the public was convinced that Shu and Rinne had something going on between them.

Not like they were wrong. That's what Rinne was thinking about when the interviewer asked him what the deal was with him and Itsuki. He was thinking about that something that was going on between them. Trying his best to remember that warning Shu had tried to emphasise so many times, but coming up short.

Because all he could remember was Shu's fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer. Until he had to lean his knee on the sofa cushion, right by Shu's side, leaning in as much as Shu pulled him. Their lips meeting, engulfing one another, until he couldn't even think of anything except his make out partner. Rinne's hands wrapped around that annoyingly skinny waist, pinching until his companion all but squeaked. He couldn't help but smile into the kiss, biting Shu's lip just to provoke him further. Just to tease. Only to be met with Shu's fingers giving his hair a quick tug, and feeling the tables turn on him alongside the tongue that caressed his lower lip, begging to join his own. And Rinne allowed it, of course he did. He had no choice, he preferred to believe, but to kiss back with as much fervour, to let Shu's hands pull him in, as if trapping him in the kiss. It took all their strength to pull away as they ran out of air. Rinne leaned his forehead on Shu's, keeping eye contact as if hypnotised by the sight of him. Out of breath, face flushed, spit in the corner of his mouth. Shu looked like a miracle, but Rinne was certain he looked no better; he could feel his heart pounding in his throat, moments away from bursting out.

"You… Nobody can know of this," Shu warned, his hands trailing down, from Rinne's hair to his shoulders, lingering over his arms. "You mustn't tell anyone about this." "Yeah, sure, babe." Rinne wrapped his arms around his waist fully, continuing to pepper kisses all over his face, from the corners of his lips to his nose, cheeks, forehead. "I'm serious," Shu protested, though he made no attempt to push him away. "And I'm taking you seriously." The kisses never stopped. And the moment his lungs felt full again, Rinne leaned in for another round. Shu did little to fight it.

But he didn't take him as seriously as he ought to have. What's the deal with you and Valkyrie's Itsuki Shu, the interviewer asked. Rinne was warned by Shu of what to do at that moment, when asked those questions, wasn't he? He was. But it's not his fault. "The deal?" He asked, chin leaned into his hand, ankle propped up on his knee. "Itsuki talks about Crazy:B, and you specifically, as if you did something to him personally. Is there some sort of drama going on between you?" Interviewing Rinne on live television - a mistake made by the company. Giving him instructions right before sucking on his tongue - a mistake made by Shu. "Nah, he's just a bit of a primadonna. I'm his boyfriend, there's no beef between us. Well, unless ya count the-"

He knew he screwed up. The moment that crude joke, no, the moment the word boyfriend left his mouth, he knew he screwed up. And he knew well what was waiting for him when he got back to the shared dorms.

Indeed, there was the man of the hour, Itsuki himself, sitting cross-legged on the couch as if waiting for him. The door shut closed, and Shu stood up. There was something dragon-like about his appearance, brows furrowed, that gaze full of malice. It would make Rinne meow and purr at him if he had a little less sense in him, but he knew better than to provoke in this moment. "You said we're dating on live television?!" "I know it seems bad right now, but, look, it'll be okay, we just-" "Last week I called you a degenerate parasite of the idol industry, and you let slip that we're DATING?!" "I know, I know, but it ain’t that bad! Wasn't it hard keepin' it under wraps? Now we can just date like a normal couple!" "Are you out of your mind?! We are in the middle of a scandal right now, did you even check your socials since you went and blew up our reputations?" "Oh, c'mon, it ain't the end of the world, bro, chill, we'll be fine!" A pause. "Did you just call me 'bro'?" "... I'm sorry, honeybun."

Shu sighed, rubbing his temple with his fingers, as if trying to alleviate a migraine. "Just get out of my sight." "You mad at me?" Rinne pouted "YES, I'M MAD AT YOU!" "You're not gonna break up with me, are you? Babe, I'm sorry, I'll never call you 'bro' again, I promise. Rinne-chan loves ya." He spoke in a quiet voice, trying his best to endear himself to his pissed off boyfriend. And Shu's eyebrow twitched as it, unfortunately, worked surprisingly well. "You had better fix this."

After Rinne had successfully mooched another kiss off him, one he leaned into fully despite how begrudgingly he seemed to give it, Shu left the dorms. Apparently, he had business elsewhere. Though it left Rinne pouty and in a sour mood, given he wanted to hang out more, it did give him a chance to see what Shu meant when he asked him if he'd even seen what was happening on social media.

Not like he had a chance to get far beyond unlocking his phone. With sixteen missed calls from Saegusa, and many more emails flooding his notifications, he knew that his headaches were just beginning.

But it'll be worth it when he finally gets to parade around freely with Shu on his arm.

#m-my rinneshu crops have been watered #rinneshu #shurinne #i love them sm

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sjinsins · 1 year

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A/N: For the @doubleagentzine! I’m pretending Vandy’s 2 years older than Seven. I wanted to do a little peek through the years as their relationship changes.

…

15.

A kid. Vanderwood blinked once, twice, thrice, but the short kid next to his car didn’t disappear or morph into an adult. No, the boy was still standing there awkwardly, staring at him with unblinking golden eyes that barely peeked out of his unkempt red hair. This couldn’t be right. Pulling out his phone, he checked the coordinates. The blue dot blinked innocently up at him, marking their exact spot. Glancing at the boy, he asked reluctantly, “You’re the package?”

The boy nodded. His back was hunched, his body curling into itself slightly as though he was trying to take up the least amount of space. For a kid, there was something unnaturally quiet about him, like he’d just fade into the background if Vanderwood stopped looking.

This still didn’t feel right. What could the company gain from this? Rubbing his forehead, he muttered, “You’re just a kid.”

“Fifteen,” the boy corrected quietly.

“Seriously?” Only two years younger than him? With that height? He wasn’t sure if that made it worse or better. Quickly, Vanderwood texted his handler. The package is a kid?

Yes. It took all of five seconds for the response to return. Protect him, you’re his handler now.

The hell. Was that a promotion or a demotion? Vanderwood had barely managed to make a name for himself in the field, and now he was going to have to leave it to take care of some kid? His brow knit and he unlocked the door. Gritting his teeth, he muttered, “I’m not a damn babysitter.”

“I can take care of myself.” Slipping into the car, the boy buckled his seatbelt. His frame looked all too tiny on the passenger seat and Vanderwood tried to remember if he’d been that small two years ago. Maybe the kid was underfed. Or having a late growth spurt.

“Tell that to them.” With a sigh, Vanderwood gestured at the glove compartment. “If you get hungry, eat the chips in there. They’re buttery as hell but better than nothing. It’s a long ride.” Checking his mirrors, he pulled back into traffic. “What’s your name, anyways? I’m Vanderwood.”

“…Luciel.”

16.

Blood pooled around Vanderwood’s feet, and he took a step back before his shoes got any dirtier. In the dim light, he could make out his murky shadow on the dark red blood. His lips curled in disgust. This wasn’t a clean hit at all. The worst missions were the ones with clean up, and it was bad enough he had to scrub his shoes for the fifth time this month. “Let’s get the solution…”

He trailed off as he noticed Luciel’s state. Eyes wide in shock, fingers still shaking as they hovered over the trigger, Luciel couldn’t tear his eyes away from their victim. No, to be precise, from his victim. His skin was pale, with a sheen of sweat over it. Walking around the blood, Vanderwood hesitantly called out, “Luciel?”

For a long moment, Luciel didn’t say anything. His breathing was ragged, shallow gasps filling the air as he slowly turned away from the scene. Swallowing, he answered, “Y-yeah?”

“Are you—” Vanderwood caught himself before he could ask the question. He’d seen that expression before. Had that expression before.

It was the kid’s first kill.

He should have realized that earlier. Luciel had fired guns before—for practice, for warning, for defense—but the bullets hadn’t actually hit someone until now. There was no way to prepare for someone’s final cry, for the ragged breath they take before they die, for the way the light fades from their eyes. For the realization that you had caused this and nothing could ever change that. Biting his cheek, Vanderwood gently pried the gun out of Luciel’s hands. “You did good today. Drinks on me.”

“I can’t drink,” Luciel replied automatically, his usual response, and that was a good sign.

“We’ll make an exception for tonight.” Vanderwood pocketed the gun and gave a lopsided smirk. “It’s your birthday, right?”

17.

“Luciel.” Vanderwood dug his fingers into his arm, trying very hard not to yell. He tightly squeezed his eyes shut before reluctantly opening them again. Nope, no changes at all. The garage remained brightly lit. The vehicle in front of him defied all expectations. Still, he had to ask, “What is that?”

With a proud smirk on his face, Luciel stated the obvious: “A car.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Vanderwood resisted the urge to rub his forehead. He was going to have a headache from all this, he just knew it. “That’s a Porsche.”

“Yeah, it is.” Once more, Luciel only admitted the obvious truths. What had happened to the shy kid he’d met two years ago? Since when had he gotten to sassy and witty and full of pranks and—oh shit. The rebellious years. They were totally going through the rebellious years.

Vanderwood was only 19. Why the heck did he have to deal with parental grief? He didn’t sign up for any of that. Inhaling deeply through his nose, Vanderwood tried to keep his tone as calm as possible. “Why did you get a Porsche?”

“You told me to get a car,” Luciel pointed out, before covering his mouth in mock shock. “Unless you didn’t mean that?”

Alright, there was no point in even pretending to be calm. Luciel was clearly after a reaction and Vanderwood couldn’t hold it in anymore. “I said an inconspicuous car! Do you even know what that means?” When Luciel merely cocked his head, a perplexed expression on his face, Vanderwood gestured at the vehicle. “No one ignores a car like that. And it’s in neon yellow, of all colours!”

“Isn’t she a beaut?” Luciel petted the hood of the car, completely ignoring everything Vanderwood had said. He’d also been doing that more often these days. “I even put a little extra and…” With a sheepish smile, Luciel gestured at the steering wheel. “And went for the leather finishings and...” he pointed at the license plate now, that same embarrassed smile on his face, “got a custom plate.”

Was that something he had to look so bashful about? Vanderwood genuinely needed to know. The way Luciel was showing off his car, you’d think it was his first child. Maybe it was. The agency warped people, after all. Maybe they shouldn’t be recruiting fifteen-year-olds for bloody missions. Or maybe Vanderwood was the warped one and everyone around him was normal and he just didn’t realize it.

“I…see.” Vanderwood stared at the Lucky 707 license plate coated in rhinestones. Yeah, they were definitely not going on any missions in that car.

18.

“Did you just get another car?” Vanderwood asked, pushing his way into Luciel’s living room. Arms stuffed with groceries, he could barely see where he was going. Only muscle memory ensured he didn’t trip over the pizza boxes littered about.

His foot almost slipped on an empty chip bag, and Vanderwood flailed as he tried to regain his balance. His shoulder banged against the wall. It felt like the garbage in Luciel’s place had increased since the last time he visited. Anymore and it’d gain a life of its own. “Do you ever remember to clean?”

Strolling in, hand deep in yet another chip packet, Luciel blinked in surprise as he spotted Vanderwood. He pulled down his headphones as he took in everything. “You okay?”

“No!” Staggering back to his feet, Vanderwood grumpily poked his head around the grocery bags and glared at Luciel. “Do you know what cleaning is?”

“Yeah.” Luciel nodded sagely, rubbing his chin with his clean hand. “It is something you do.”

“I…what…you…” Vanderwood sputtered, unable to find the words. He was a good handler. Really, he was. What had he done to deserve this hell? Resigning himself to his fate, Vanderwood moved toward the kitchen when he noticed the phone in Luciel’s hand. “Who’re you contacting?”

Luciel grinned brightly. “You know who.”

And he did, but Vanderwood had hoped that, for once, Luciel would actually listen to him. Setting down the bags, he turned back to his ward and crossed his arms. “We talked about this.”

“We did,” Luciel acknowledged, still typing quickly on his phone.

“You can’t join a charity,” Vanderwood growled, stomping forward. “You know what we do. You know the risks. And even if you don’t care what happens to us—which you should, especially about the shit you get me into—at least you should care what could happen to them.”

His fingers froze. Good. Maybe the words were finally getting to him. Quietly, Luciel replied, “I’ll be careful.”

“Careful’s not good enough, with us.” Vanderwood rubbed his forehead. Maybe he should have actually taken those parenting courses.

“But…” Luciel looked away, his fingers digging into his sides. His voice wobbled, his eyes slightly teary, and he pleaded, “I’ll be careful. Please.”

“I…” Vanderwood was being played. He could feel it in his bones. It was a great performance that followed every step in their training to exploit others. Gritting his teeth, he slowly shook his head.

Luciel’s eyes grew bigger, if possible, and crap.

Craaaapp.

“Fine,” Vanderwood snapped, unable to handle it any further. “Just…don’t let anyone know.”

“Of course not, who do you think you’re talking to? The number one god hacker, 707!” Luciel grinned broadly, making a victorious ‘V’ with his fingers. Gone were his crocodile tears, the act over. “No one’ll ever catch me.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vanderwood groaned, covering his face with his hand. Peeking through the cracks between his fingers, he watched as Luciel went back to his phone, already furiously typing away. He was in the RFA’s chatroom again. He was certain of it. Luciel only ever made that expression when he was on it.

Maybe he should have stopped him two months ago, when Luciel had first joined it. But…there was something almost normal about his expression, something that made him almost look like the teenager he could have been. The teenager Vanderwood could have been. They could be killed for this, but he didn’t want to wipe away that expression.

No, that wasn’t quite right. Luciel could be killed for this. A shiver ran up Vanderwood’s spine at the thought. If he got an execution order for Luciel, could he do it? Could he point a gun at him?

He was afraid the answer was no.

He was afraid the answer was yes.

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