Silent is a wish (BNHA X OP READER)(ON HIATUS/REVAMPING)

Thirty-five: Below the Belt pt.2, 'Meeting' the Chicken Man

"Kk, I'll call if I need you!" Y/n, a.k.a Dieu, chirps into the phone. She's currently gliding through the air on her way to bust a trafficking scheme. 

"Dieu, there's something else I need to tell you-" Best Jeanist says grimly. 

"Sorry, I'm almost there! Bye!" She slips the phone away.

~~~~~

"What the hell?" BJ sighs. "Damn. I guess someone else will have to tell her. I can't jeopardize this mission because an amateur pro won't listen."

He dials a number on his phone.

"Hello?" A drowsy voice asked from the other end of the line.

"I'm gonna need you to go after her. She said she's almost there, but hung up before I could tell her she's part of it."

 Groaning came from the tired voice.

"Fine. I'll be there in five."

~~~~~

The heroine lands a few blocks away, and takes out the change of clothes she brought; an embarrassingly skimpy black dress, heels, and big sunglasses. She changes behind a random dumpster, and tucks the bag with her hero costume out of sight. Using her quirk, the young girl colours her hair a white-blonde, and makes it wavy like she had just left the salon, Y/n struts through the alley like a business woman with power would and stops abruptly at the outside of a run-down pub. She raps her knuckles sharply on the door, putting on her best 'here for business, not BS' face. 

A slot in the door opens. A beady pair of eyes stares into the teen's. She puts on a carefully practiced Russian accent.

"Zis is where deal is, no?" She asks, checking her manicure. The figure grunts, asking for a password. Y/n pulls her sunglasses low and winks. "Vodka Tonic, hold ze lime,"

The door opens, and Y/n steps into it with a flourish of her paper-white smile. The pub was pretty empty, save for a man swirling his drink at the bar. The man looked Y/n up and down and gave her a wink. She turned her nose up, paying no attention to the man. The short man who opened the door stopped after leading her across the pub. His stout body blocked the doorway, but Y/n could see through it . A thin hallway ending in a curtain-beaded doorframe. The faint pulse of club music wafted through.

"Name?" The short man asked, lighting a cigarette between his sausage-fingers.

"A-Anastacia." Y/n says with a stutter. Her smile falters as the man raises his eyebrow.

"Anastacia, huh? Where are you from?" He winks at Y/n.

"How does that relate to deal, hmm?" Y/n says, a sharp edge to her voice. She checks her French-tipped manicure, scratching at a speck of dirt underneath one of the otherwise impeccable nails. "I came for cargo, not for short little man in suit to hit on me."

"Who do you think you are?!" The man growls, jumping to his own defense. He reaches into his suit.

"Ah-Ah-Ahhh," Y/n tsks, throwing her gaze to meet the man's eye. "Do not temp me. I will step on throat, understand?" She pats her thigh, where the outline of a dagger stares at the man. He freezes, coming back into a neutral position.

"Yes, Miss... Anastacia. Right this way," He gestures to the hall with the bead-curtain. As Y/n enters the poorly-soundproofed hallway,  she notices a thrall of shadows behind the curtain. A tendril of nerves curls up into her stomach, grasps her navel. A shiver ripples through her and she adjusts the dress, almost tripping on the edge of the slit fabric.

"Stupid dress." Y/n hisses, pushing past the beaded curtain. She shields her eyes as a colourful strobe light passes over her. Club music seems to pulse through the floor, the walls, the very air. She surveys the environment, noting the strong, thick scent of sweat, too-sweet perfume, and alcohol. A sharp movement shocks her balance, and Y/n's heels slip. A rough hand catches her waist. The thick sunglasses clatter to the floor. She fumbles for the dagger on her thigh, clutching the handle.