#(they’re going undercover and of course have to slow dance to blend in)

[sensitiveheartless]

16 Dazai and Chuuya having to slow dance. (Bonus if Dazai is flustered about being so close to Chuuya) for the intimacy prompts!

[deathnotesecretexchange]

moonshine

From: @cat-soda

To: @anakien

Prompt: For Mello/Near, a story where they’re undercover at a bar and start tailing someone outside. To prevent themselves from being spotted, cue make out in an alley.

Word Count: 1623

Additional Tags: mentioned rape, mention/implied human trafficking, (nothing happens to anyone dw), alcohol & drug mention, rated T for Tons of sexual Tension, Meronia

  The bar is a hole-in-the-wall kind of nightclub, with sticky countertops and stickier glasses, and strobe lights that flicker and flash across the room in random intervals. People move together in a sweaty mass in the center of the dance floor; Mello leans over and mutters “Wanna dance?” into Near’s ear just to snicker at the vague look of disgust he gets in response. 

But, no. Even if either of them wanted to, tonight they had a mission.

Residing in the seediest part of Seattle’s Chinatown, The Lost City was a central hub for various underground dealings. Among those were aphrodisiacs and date rape drugs that moved hands from manufacturerers to linchpins, and from there into the drinks of future mail-order brides. There were several men involved in the operation. Mello, Near, and the rest of their team had managed to pinpoint three of them: David Smith, Jason Liu, and Emanuel Rivera. Undoubtedly aliases, but identifiers nonetheless. Catch any of them taking part in an exchange, and Mello and Near could blow the entire operation apart — all they needed was a testimony.

As it turns out, though, eyewitness accounts are hard to come by when everyone is hellbent on keeping mum. So, one evening, Near came up with an idea.

---

“We’ll call it a date night,” he said with his palms cupping Mello’s chin.

Near was sitting on top of a desk, face shadowed by the many monitors behind him. Mello, settled neatly between his legs, ran his hands up Near’s thighs. “You call a night out doing surveillance ‘a date?’”

He tilted his head, eyes wide. “Do you not know how to multitask?” 

Lover be damned, Mello was getting tempted to bite through the bone of Near’s thumb as it swept over his lips. He settled for taking it into his mouth and sucking instead.

---

So. Blue eyes sweep across the room, long since having gotten bored. Mello takes a sip from his rum and coke. Clearly uncomfortable beside him, Near almost seems to curl around his own drink. Some date this is shaping up to be. 

If nothing else —he amends, looping an arm around Near’s shoulders and pulling him closer— at least they look good together. Courtesy of himself, of course. Near probably would’ve come in his usual attire if the decision had been left up to him. Pajamas, messy hair, curious expressions and all. 

No, scratch that. At least they both looked legal, now. 

Regardless, they were still having trouble blending in, standing off to the side as they were. 

He takes another disgruntled sip of his drink as a man wearing a half-bun enters the main room. Mello’s attention immediately latches onto him. 

Jason Liu, age 37. 

He touches a hand to the choker on Near’s neck, pulls on it slightly. “Found him,” he says in quiet Portugese.

Near’s lips curl upwards in excitement. “Good,” Near replies in kind. He slips a hand into the back of Mello’s jeans and squeezes just hard enough to earn a glare. “I want to get closer.” He sets aside his beer and turns, a mischievous half-smile playing at the edges of his mouth. In English, “I suppose I’ll take you up on that offer from earlier.”

Mello’s eyes narrow. Near, what are you thinking…? “My pleasure,” he manages before the other detective sets off for the dancefloor. 

There’s nothing subtle about the way Near pushes his way through the crowd, and just the shine of the lights on his hair is enough to draw Mello’s gaze away from Liu as he struggles to follow. Focusing so heavily on the other must have been a mistake, however — a clubber upends half their drink onto him when they happen to collide. To make matters worse, Near reappears at his side as easily as he’d disappeared, lightly teasing, “Alcohol is supposed to go in your mouth, Mello.”

“I realize that. Thanks, Near.” Mello lifts his wrist to his mouth and tentatively licks, internally grinning at the way Near’s ever attentive eyes darken and go half-mast. “‘s not bad.” 

He sees Near’s attention dart away from him, then—

Going up on the balls of his feet, Near hangs his arms around his partner’s neck in a too-loose-limbed imitation of drunkenness. His breath is scentless —his drink had gone untouched all night— and it leaves nothing to focus on besides the resulting dampness and heat that meets Mello’s ear as Near murmurs, “The target is leaving the area through the back entrance.”

Mello looks around, quickly relocating the stout Asian man. Sure enough, he was just stepping out the door. He places a hand over Near’s shoulder blades in a kind of caress, hissing, “What, you thought I wouldn’t notice?”

“You looked distracted. Was I wrong?” A sharp nip to his earlobe, then Near pulls away with an affected —dizzying— quirk to his smile and a touch of brightness to his eyes. “Shall we?”

Mello scowls as the other man slips away from him.

Seattle’s winter is sharp as they step outside, the cold air hitting his nose and cheeks with a special kind of vengeance after the warmth of the bar. The pair of them take a moment to glance around, Mello hardly daring to breathe in case his good ear happens to miss a sound. 

Quietly, they hear the scratch of shoes against pavement. 

Mello jerks his head in that direction and, at Near’s nod, takes off with Near close at his heels. They stick to the shadows to avoid arousing suspicion, never more than a few meters behind Liu. When he stops in front of a nondescript van, they step in sync into the dark of a narrow alleyway, creeping to the edge of the brick wall to watch. The back doors of the van open and out come— 

—he’s turning this way— 

—Near pulls him deeper into the alley. 

The only other warning Mello gets is the glint of Near’s teeth as he grins, sly and stark under moonlight, before Near drags him downwards by the collar for a kiss. Their lips meet, teeth clashing harshly — Mello’s back hits the other wall with enough force that it shoots molten arousal down his veins. Ah, shit. He fumbles for the gadget in his pocket and sticks it to the wall-space next to him, then crawls his hands underneath Near’s shirt just to feel him shiver.

Near’s fingers reach up to tangle in and pull hard at Mello’s hair, half-lidded eyes watching the bob of his throat before Near sucks at his neck, insistent— Mello lets out a quiet moan that’s quickly cut off by another kiss. Biting at the blond’s lower lip, Near pulls away just far enough to whisper, “Careful. We don’t want to get caught, now do we?”

“Shut up, Near. Shut up, shut up—!” Grabbing his forearms tight enough to bruise, Mello spins until the other man’s back is hitting the wall —Near’s breath stuttering in surprise— and pins his wrists up against it. He tastes the heat of the other’s mouth, swallowing down the soft noise he makes, and moving his tongue molasses-slow against Near’s until the fog begins to clear from his head.

He pulls back, panting slightly but wearing a smirk at the way Near chases him out of the kiss. Still, he gently rubs the other’s wrists in silent apology as he lowers them. The air around them lowers by several degrees as Near relaxes against the wall, breathing hard through his nose. “That hurt, Mello.”

His smirk disappears. “Sorry. Are you—”

“No, I—” Near’s eyes open, revealing charcoal pupils blown-wide. “I meant that I liked it.”

Sparks shoot down Mello’s spine.

He works to clear his throat, and manages, after a few seconds, “Still. We should… try to be more careful. In the future.”

“...sounds good.”

Near twists a strand of hair between his fingertips. Mello tries to will his heartbeat back to normal. Offhandedly, he notices how silent the night’s become.

Near straightens up, suddenly alert. “The target!” He looks around the corner at where they’d last seen Liu, biting down on a reddened lip. “I shouldn’t have gotten so…”

“Distracted?”

Turning pink at the reminder of his earlier teasing, Near throws a cold stare Mello’s way, whose only response is to grin back, cat-like.

“‘Distracted,’ yes.” He sighs. “He’s gone. We’ve lost the target.”

Near goes into a crouch, hugging his knees to his chest in a forlorn manner, and Mello immediately decides that that’s enough wallowing in self-pity for one night. He brushes his hand through his hair, starting, “Well…” and wincing when he hits a tangle Near’s fingers had caused. “No, not exactly.” He frees his hand, then gestures to the tiny camera he’d stuck to the wall. Matt had handed it to him before they left headquarters earlier that night, citing this is a date, after all! with a shit-eating grin. “Check this out.” 

Near’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. He leans in, inspecting the gadget before turning to look over his shoulder with a slight smile, genuine and warm. “That was very clever of you, Mello.”

The soft-spoken compliment has Mello’s face flushing a brighter shade of red than it has all night. “Fuck off,” he mumbles. He takes the camera off of the wall and shoves it back in his pocket, huffing.

He can still hear the smile in Near’s voice as he responds, “Alright.” Thin, pale fingers interlace between his own. “We should go home.”

Mello finally looks at him, heart skipping a beat at the way Near almost seems to glow in the evening’s darkness, and concedes. “Yeah,” he says. He clasps their hands just a bit tighter together. “Home it is.”

---

moonshine (n)

moon·​shine | \ ˈmün-ˌshīn \

Definition of moonshine

1 : moonlight

2 : empty talk : nonsense

3 : intoxicating liquor, especially : illegally distilled corn whiskey 

(via Merriam-Webster!)

---

a/n: and then they probably fucked :p 

my apologies to anyone named david smith, jason liu, or emanuel rivera -- i swear i don't have anything against those names >.< umm, it was my first time writing smth so... spicy?? so i hope i did well. anakien, if there's anything you want me to change, i absolutely will!!

let's see... special thanks to my friend, jean, for reading this over for me, haha!! oh, and the playlist for this fic can be found here!! thanks for reading!!

[hotel-six]

"Mason." I blurted, eyeing at the man as he smiled. Woods in turn grumbled and fished his wallet, handing the Alaskan a paper bill.

"Great choice Bell!" Alex stood up from his table and shook hands with me. I shot him a questionable glare.

"Boo!" Frank called as he gave us a thumbs down.

"He's just salty he lost a bet. Don't mind him." Alex assured me and all I could do was nod. Frank was the kind of bully that picks on you because he cared for you, and no one else could change my opinion of him.

"Well, now that it's settled, Park, you're with me." Adler concluded as Park followed Adler for additional instructions. You looked at Mason questioning what to do next.

"What now?" I asked as he slumped to a nearby chair and faced me seriously.

"We'll have to come up with ways to earn her trust." He said, pulling a dossier of the president's daughter. Okay. This was easy. I just have to get to know her a little. Got it.

I read the copy of the dossier. It was so formally written, the words started to bore me.

So her name is Eve, she's into foreign languages, likes tea parties and ice fishing. Yeah this is one bizarre gal.

"Do you know anything about her interests?" Alex asked as he noticed my eyebrows already looking confused.

"Yeah… I guess I know a few foreign languages. But I doubt if she'll be interested in that."

"Yeah. It would be weird if we greeted her with a different language." Alex rubbed his fingers on his chin while Woods quickly inserted himself in the conversation, his arms crossed.

"Ice fishin'" the sergeant said. Both Alex and I turned to his suggestion.

"I don't know, make shit up. You're from Alaska, she'd be convinced that you're some popular ice fisher or something." Woods said as Alex agreed to him.

"Great, now that that's done, we could leave, right?" I stood up and clapped.

"Not quite yet. Do you already have something to wear? Remember, we need to act like we belong." he reminded me and of course I'd miss that. My mind started to remember 'Nam all over again, but just bits and pieces.

"Ah yeah. So… " I trailed, waiting for Mason to finish my sentence.

"We look for clothes." Mason tossed his keys to Frank as we stood up and went to buy some. Honestly, the side trips of the missions are the fun parts.

~

International Academy of the Arts

Prom Night

I've never worn formal clothing in quite a while but this one, I actually like. It's a fine mix of comfortable and classy, and I could still fit a gun in it. Perfect for undercover.

I took another sip of their fruit punch, these killer drinks looked fancy and tasted fancy. When Adler said blend in, it meant I get to avail everything served for the students.

"Is it really that good?" Mason asked, his eyes widened in curiosity as I downed another glass. He was wearing this simple tuxedo with a bright red bowtie. He told me red was a noticeable color and he hoped it was trusting enough for Eve to follow us.

The lights started to dim as the colorful spotlights slowed down, diverting all its glow toward the center area of the venue. It was time for the dance. As the crowd started to partner up, my eyes started to focus on Eve.

"There she is, near the stage. Let's go." Mason quickly grabbed my hand and we surged through the crowd positioning ourselves not too far from Eve.

"So we're dancing?" I asked as Mason offered his hand. I could feel my heart thumping as I accepted his offer. This isn't normal.

"Yeah. Just sway your body side to side. No big deal. Just act normal and when the time is right, we could talk to them." Mason assured as his hand found its way on me. I focused my eyes on his feet, attempting to copy his steps.

"Nothing suspicious so far. But they're closing the entrance. Looks like everyone in the guest list is already in." Lazar radioed as we continued dancing, our steps were swaying closer and closer to Eve.

We got close enough that we actually caught her attention. Eve smiled at us as everyone tossed their partners to the nearest couple, forcing me to pair up with Eve's partner.

He looked at me with a warm smile. Maybe I'm really that convincing as a schoolmate so I tagged along, dancing to the rhythm.

"I haven't seen you here. You're one of those exchange students, yeah?" He spoke and all I could ever do was nod and continue dancing.

"Great, great. Welcome to the International Academy of the Arts! I'm Ben." he welcomed me and I smiled in return.

"Great school. I like." I muttered, pretending I don't know much of the English language, further verifying my transfer student alibi. From the corner of my eye, it looked like Eve was already having a great time.

"Back to your partner you go!" He cheered as the music cued for the exchange, but just as the pass was about to happen, the lights quickly dimmed as the music stopped. Collective gasps and screaming immediately filled the dance floor as everyone panicked to safety. The faint glow of the emergency exit was their only source of light.

"What's the sitrep?" I yelled over comms.

"Proceed to exfil! The entrance is under attack!" Adler yelled as gunfire started booming in the background. Glass shattered from the windows and you felt a familiar hand pull you up.

"On your feet, Bell. I got Eve." I felt a gun in my hand and I knew exactly what to do. Lead the way.

"Woods, how's the exit?" 

"Dark and crowded." he grumbled. That just meant it wasn't the safest way out. Three people are defending the entrance and I can't afford wasting my time waiting for the crowd to ease up. 

I remembered the blueprints from earlier. There were a few more exits that I remember and every choice offers the quickest path to Sims.

Route A is through the second floor. There's a metallic ladder that leads straight to the parking lot. I doubt anyone would go there. With all the fancy clothing, this was the least plausible way.

Route B is through the basement parking lot, but the entrance is through the rest of your squad's defending line. It would be such a risk but the basement is underground and actually safer.

[Route A]

[Route B]

[fromiftowhen]

fic: and you decide what you think of me

Hey anon! Originally this was going to be my post for the undercover day for Chenford week, but it didn’t work out. That day ended up being i’ve got the real thing (and nothing else matters), but I liked this enough to keep it in my gdocs until this meme came around. 

And then I opened it up and realized it was about as finished as it was going to get. So I’m doing something I don’t typically do, and posting it here instead of on ao3... because it’s finished, and there (probably) won’t be more, but it’s not quite as complete as I usually like my fic to be. 

So, enjoy! (Feel free to ask about any of my other WIPs!)

(The Rookie -- Chenford. Rated T. 2235 words.)

It’s not that Tim hates undercover work. It’s that he hates the roads it can lead a person down, the way it can consume a life and ruin a marriage and throw his world off its tidy, easy axis. 

So he never volunteers, he never takes the chance, his career never suffers for it, and his axis stays as it should. It can’t change his life again if he doesn’t get involved. 

Which is why, of course, it somehow falls directly in his lap, and he never sees it coming. 

Or. She does, actually. And he never sees her coming. 

He couldn’t have seen her coming if he tried. 

——-

He’s just finished his beer when she crashes into him, long brown hair brushing his cheek, and her stumble is just controlled enough, just the exact right amount of pressure, that he knows it’s intentional. 

“Babe!” It’s loud, louder than necessary in the relatively empty bar, and he wants to ask who she is, what she’s doing, but. 

“I’m sorry, just help me out here,” she says, and her hand is on his shoulder and she’s kissing him, quick and dirty like they’ve done it a thousand times before, like they know each other, like he’s her safe place to land. 

It feels like coming home, in the weirdest way, but not to any home he’s ever recognized. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, just a breath against his lips as she pulls back. There’s a tiny flash of recognition in her eyes as she takes a step back, like maybe she’s seen him before. And maybe in a different life, maybe, they knew each other, because she feels a little familiar. His skin pricks in what might be recognition, but he can’t place it. 

“Yeah,” he clears his throat and wishes his beer wasn’t empty. He glances around, checking to see if she’s clearly trying to get away from someone. What the hell is going on?

She holds herself like law enforcement, strong muscle and confident, challenging eyes. He feels like he’s being read, and he doesn’t necessarily like it. 

“What in the hell—“ he starts, but she just smiles, and he wishes he didn’t immediately feel warmer, better, somehow. 

“Thanks. See you later,” she whispers, shaking her head, and it’s like the tiny motion distracts him, because the next thing he knows, she’s gone. 

——-

He’s still reeling a little when Grey calls him into his office the next morning. He shouldn’t even be surprised to see a flash of long brown hair as he walks in, but somehow, he still is. 

“Sergeant Bradford, I hear you may have walked into an undercover op last night.”

He glances at the woman. “More like it fell into my lap, sir.”

Grey glances between them, and maybe he’s about to introduce them, but he misses his shot. 

“Semantics,” she mumbles, reaching a hand out. The press of her hand is firm, so different from the way her fingers had floated against his shoulder last night. He wishes, half-heartedly, that he could stop thinking about it. 

“Lucy Chen,” she says, and the name sounds a little familiar, maybe. 

“Tim Bradford.”

She nods, like that was the expected answer. “Sorry about last night. I recognized you from a couple joint crime scenes last year, and I needed to blend in a little to keep my cover, so..” She trails off, and he doesn’t need her to fill in the blanks. 

“Agent Chen is working an undercover assignment to help bring down a big drug ring out of Malibu. She was hoping you’d be willing to lend a hand.”

He glances at Grey sharply before he responds. “I don’t work narcotics, sorry.”

Grey nods slightly, but Lucy looks undeterred. It’s a little aggravating. 

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a narcotics officer,” she says, smiling. “Agent Chen,” she says. “I’m a profiler with the FBI.” 

And it all clicks into place, that nagging familiar feeling. A kidnapping case last year, and a high profile bank robbery a couple months after that. He’d been first on the scene for both, and she’d come blazing in, lots of energy and questions and earnest answers, a little hard to miss. 

He nods. “Not a big fan of feds, either.”

“Ouch, Sergeant. I won’t take that personally.” She smiles, and he hates how he already feels a little doomed. “But I’m hoping you’ll reconsider. I just need a little backup, and it turns out a few of our principle suspects saw me with you last night, so it’d be easier to keep that part of the cover the same.”

“Aren’t there a thousand colleagues you could rope into this?” 

“We’re trying to keep as many of my colleagues out of the early stages of this, in case they need to go undercover at some point. This is a months long operation, and my part in it is small, it’ll be over soon. Yours would be even smaller.”

He glances at Grey, who gives a tiny shrug. Super helpful. 

“What exactly would I be doing?”

She grins, like she knows she has him. “Basically exactly what you did last night.” He wants to ask if that means she’ll randomly kiss him and disappear again, but he stays quiet. “Just help me blend in a little, maybe keep the creeps away. Nothing life changing.”

He rolls his eyes. He wants to say no. He wants to stop thinking about the fact that he hadn’t kissed anyone in months, before last night. 

He wants to say no. He means to. 

But she sticks out her hand to shake, a deal, a promise, and nothing in him can say no. 

——-

He’s regretting his inability to say no the next night, shoulder-to-shoulder on the edge of the dance floor in a crowded club at what is alarmingly past his normal bedtime. The music is loud and the crush of bodies makes him equal parts annoyed and on edge. 

Agent Chen — Lucy — though, she looks like she lives for it — the noise, the music, happy, laughing, loud people all around her. She looks alive, vibrant and carefree, and it’s distracting in a way he couldn’t have prepared himself for. He has no frame of reference, but instinct tells him that’s just how she is. 

She’s anything but distracted though. He watches her, the way she’s clearly taking in her surroundings, keeping her eyes on their target for the night. 

“Fun crowd, right?” She half-shouts over the noise and he raises his eyebrows at her. If she says so. 

He shrugs. 

“I spend the majority of my day behind a desk, reading files,” she explains. “I spent most of my 20s behind a desk, actually.”

He leans closer, so he doesn’t have to shout. “This doesn’t seem like an assignment a profiler would usually take.”

She shakes her head. “It’s not, unless you spent most of your 20s behind a desk and woke up one day bored and craving an adrenaline rush and basically demanded some real field experience.”

The honesty surprises a laugh out of him and he smiles despite the crowd, despite the noise. 

“Kidnappings and bank robberies aren’t enough of an adrenaline rush?” He asks, and her eyes absolutely light up. He doesn’t want to notice it, but it’s impossible not to. 

“So you do remember me.” It sounds like a gotcha. 

“I remember the cases,” he mumbles, glancing away. 

“Mhmm.” The way she’s looking at him readies him for another question, but their suspect moves onto the dance floor and she grabs his hand before he can react. “C’mon.”

She pulls him out on the dance floor, and he’s a little embarrassed at how easily he lets himself be dragged. It doesn’t feel like work. 

“Dancing wasn’t part of the agreement,” he says as they stop just a ways away from the suspect. 

“You don’t have to dance, bud. Just stand there and look pretty.” He wants to protest, and he definitely rolls his eyes, but he lets her step into his space and wrap her arms up around his shoulders. The song isn’t slow, and suddenly neither is his heart rate. 

“Come on,” she urges. “Act like you’ve danced with a woman before.” 

He huffs out a sigh and lets his hands skim her waist lightly, pulling her in so she can look over his shoulder easily. 

“Better?” He half-grumbles, his eyes scanning the dance floor around them. 

“Mmm.” Her soft reply is distracted. The song slips into something louder, faster, and she presses against him, her hair brushing the side of his neck. He vaguely wonders if it looks as intimate as it feels, pressed together close as the music pulses around them. 

“What is it you’re looking for exactly?” He asks, pitching his voice just loud enough she can hear over the music, even though his lips are basically buried in her hair. 

“Body language.” It’s quiet, and she shifts against him to move them slightly. “We’re putting together profiles on the major players now, so when the op develops more, when we have to send someone in really undercover, they’ll have as much inside information as possible.”

“Body language?” Her hand slides to the back of his neck and he tenses. 

“It can tell you all you need to know about a person sometimes.” 

He rolls his eyes. He doesn’t disagree, necessarily, but it feels flimsy to base any real assumptions off of it. 

“For example,” she continues, “you tensed when I touched your neck. That tells me you either really don’t like being touched there, or you really do.”

He feels extremely aware of every muscle in his body now, how they’re at risk of tensing and giving away secrets he isn’t even aware he’s keeping. 

“But whether or not you enjoy being touched there isn’t really the question I’m directly trying to answer. It becomes what else can your body tell me about why you tensed up that can help me figure out if you enjoy it or not?”

“Good lord,” he mutters. 

“But of course, I’m not going to go dance with that guy, so it means looking for nonverbal clues and observing the way he interacts with people.”

“What does that—“

Her other hand drags across the back of his neck, her nails raking the skin lightly, and he tries so hard to keep from tensing, from reacting in any way. 

“— Teach us about a suspect?” She finishes, and he doesn’t know her, not really, not at all, but the laugh in her voice is unmistakable. 

He nods, but doesn’t let himself respond otherwise. 

“It helps us figure out how to approach him, who to send in, what to focus on. Does it need to be someone he’s intimidated by, does he need to exert force over them to trust them, how does he interact with men versus women, or in a group dynamic? What are his weaknesses, physically, emotionally?”

“Seems like a lot of work,” he says, and maybe it seems a little too bookish, a little too clinical for him to really invest in, but she doesn’t need to know that. 

She leans back, and it’s the first time he’s seen her face in several minutes. He’s not sure he knows her any better, but the look on her face makes him think she knows him better. “It is,” she says. “But I excel at my job.”

She leans back in, and it goes like that for another hour as she tracks the guy around the club, peppering in little facts and details about what he’s doing and what it means about his personality. 

Some of it, honestly, is distant white noise to Tim, her voice pleasant and upbeat, her words carefully chosen but bold. He does his job, he holds her close, he scans the dance floor, he keeps her safe. 

——-

He walks her to her car after their suspect leaves, and he’s all too aware it’s the first time he’s not been touching her in over an hour. He walks with his hands in his pockets and wishes he didn’t spend so much time thinking about what she’s reading into that body language. 

She smiles when they stop at her car. “Thanks,” she says, and he shrugs.

“No big deal.” 

“No big deal,” she echos. “So, if I need you again, you’re in?”

“I guess.” 

She laughs. “Well. It’s not a no. I’ll take it.” He watches her glance away and then back to him, her eyes falling on his lips, and it doesn’t take a body language expert to read the signs. 

She leans up on her tiptoes, presses her lips to his quickly and runs her fingers along the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, pulling back. “Just wanted to see what it was like when it wasn’t for show.”

He swallows and nods. “And?” 

“Just as good as the first time,” she smirks, backing away toward her car. She waves, getting in the car, and he thinks he smiles in return.

Just help me blend in a little, maybe keep the creeps away. Nothing life changing, she’d said. 

He’s definitely not the expert here, but he’s pretty sure she was wrong. 

He runs a hand over the back of his neck as he turns to head to his truck. 

She feels a little life changing. 

[justkeeptrekkin]

For a ficlet prompt: masquerade! Today, I passed some really simple understated masks next to some hella gaudy bedazzled ones and started giggling.

This concept is amazing, thank you! It made me instantly think of a flamboyant Villain Mic. I hope you like, my friend. 

Shouta stands at the club door, music thudding through his body. Inside is one of the most exclusive gathering of villains in the city. It hosts his target, a highly dangerous criminal suspected to be liaising with the League of Villains. And whilst he absolutely hates that he’s the one who’s been chosen to track him, he admits that the fact he isn’t recognisable means he’s the most apt for undercover missions.

Not that he’d be all that recognisable anyway, with the mask. A simple black one that Nemuri lent to him- he really doesn’t want to know why she has it. And now he’s here, in front of a sleazy club, and he’s wearing it. Because this villain is dangerous and as much as he hates this kind of work, he’s got to be here.

Trouble is, the bouncer won’t fucking let him in.

He figures there’s little reason arguing. Clearly their intel is wrong. He’s got the wrong password to let him through past the public dancefloor and to the backroom, where his target is located. But breaking in isn’t an option. As it is, Shouta finds himself pursing his lips in frustration, feeling the eyes of drunk club-goers in gaudy masks- and possibly a handful of villains- watching him.

He’s formulating plan- the bouncer is about to remove him, by the looks of it- when he hears a familiar, shrill voice drifting from over everyone’s heads.

“OI! SHOUTA! IS THAT YOU?”

For a moment, he bristles, refuses to turn towards the voice. Present Mic is no stranger to him. He’s worked with him plenty of times as a source of information on other villains. He gives tidbits to the police, and as a reward, he isn’t arrested for his petty crimes. Nothing more than theft, defamation of wealthy public figures that probably deserve it. But he’s enough of a nuisance.

There’s something about him that sets Shouta entirely on edge, and he doesn’t really want to consider what that thing might be.

“SHOUUTTTAAA!”

He can no longer ignore him. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath to prepare himself, and peers around the bouncer.

Mic is grinning at him and waving enthusiastically from the top step of the club entrance, the neon lights lighting up the edge of his silhouette.  For the first time that Shouta’s ever known him, he’s not wearing sunglasses. Instead, he’s wearing the most absurdly flamboyant mask of anyone in the queue- it’s gold and bedazzled and has feathers sprouting here there and everywhere. Usually, it would probably blend into the ridiculous hairstyle he likes to don. Now, it seems he’s slicked back his hair, so it falls down his back in a cascade.

“Yo yo yo, it’s been forever my dude!”He saunters down the steps, lays a hand on the shoulder of the troublingly large bouncer- who narrows his eyes at Mic warningly. Mic, of course, either doesn’t pick up on the signal or ignores it entirely. Considering how intelligent Shouta knows he is, it’s probably the latter.

“Hey man, this is a buddy of mine, my plus one if you will- did you forget the password, Shou? You can be such a scatterbrain sometimes, am I right?”  

The bouncer heaves a huge sigh before stepping aside and letting Shouta pass. Before he has a chance to move, Mic has his arm linked with Shouta’s and is dragging him into the club like an excited schoolkid. And a part of him wants to argue at being manhandled like this, but he’s also happy to allow Mic to lead him to where he needs to be.

Although, in this case, he has no idea why he’s helping him. Shouta has nothing to offer him in return.

The public area of the club is already messy, floor sticky with spilled booze and masks abandoned in boothes. When Mic opens a back door, manned by another bouncer with a rather threatening rhino quirk, the atmosphere changes entirely. The room is half-lit, no flashing lights to be seen. There’s still music- fairly loud, but it’s slow and heavy. Some people are talking. Some people are dancing. Some people are doing a little more than that, by the looks of things, but it’s dark and Shouta can’t tell. It’s not nearly as frantic as the dance-floor next door, and yet there’s also a palpable feeling of unease in the room. The feeling that every movement is being watched by every single person occupying this room.

This is a writhing, dingy lair of villains, alright.

Mic pulls tighter on his arm. “Come on, Shouta, let’s dance.”“Absolutely not. And I’ve told you not to call me that.”“Would you rather I called you by your other name? Here? Are you super sure about that?”

He has a point, forcing him to call him Eraserhead, or even Aizawa here might be a bit stupid. But there’s something about them being on first name terms that makes Shouta uncomfortable. They may have been working together for a while now, but there’s no way he’d ever call Mic Hizashi. Because that would imply-

“So. We’re not dancing?”Mic pouts. Shouta stares at him.

“I’m here for a reason. Don’t get in my way.”

Mic’s eyes widen slightly behind the mask, calculating. He’s led them to the middle of the dance floor, and bodies are pressing up against him until they’re standing close, too close. There’s some low, throbbing song playing that Shouta doesn’t know and it’s far too warm in here, he realises. And he’s being pushed even closer to Mic, who merely stands there and watches Shouta with interest. And now that he can see him properly, he’s noticed the outfit he’s wearing. A sheer, mesh black top with an absurdly low plunging neckline. A shirt like that doesn’t even have a right to exist. And tight leather trousers- because it wouldn’t be Mic if he wasn’t wearing tight leather trousers.

He notices Shouta’s wondering eyes. “You like the outfit?”“It’s totally unnecessary.”“What, scared it’ll turn you on?”Shouta rolls his eyes and doesn’t deign that with a response. He’s far too close to the truth than Shouta would like to admit.

“Who is it you’re tracking?”“I’m not telling you.”

Mic grabs him by the upper arms, and Shouta stiffens at the contact. “Oh come on, I could help you!”“Not this time.”

For a moment, Mic pauses, and Shouta knows that the clever bastard is figuring something out.

“Why are you here, Mic. What are you doing somewhere like this.”He scoffs, a hand flies to his chest. “What is that supposed to mean?”“You’re a thief, Mic. Everyone here is-”

“I’m an amazing thief.”

“I don’t care.”“Yeah you do,” he says, stepping closer. “I know you care, deep down.”Shouta doesn’t appreciate the joke.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”Those eyes behind the mask flutter, as if he’s remembering that Shouta had asked a question in the first place. Then, he groans theatrically. “You’re so boring. Fine, let’s go over there.”And so Shouta finds himself being manhandled again, towards the edge of the dark room. Mic pushes him, and when Shouta comes to a stop and turns around to question him again, he finds himself trapped against the wall. Mic isn’t touching him- but he’s leaning close, head cocked and lips curled into a smirk.

“You want to know what I’m doing here? You still haven’t told me your side. What’s a place like you doing in a guy like this?”

“And I told you, I’m not telling you.”He sticks out his tongue. “Then I’m not telling you, either.”

“That’s not how this works.”“We’re on my turf now, Shouta.” Mic moves in closer, hand against the wall at Shouta’s side. Shouta tips his head back, keeps his gaze fixed on those green eyes behind the mask.

Mic isn’t touching him. But Shouta swears he can feel him. Can imagine his hands on him.

“This relationship only works because I’m the one in charge,” Shouta says, and even as he says it, he becomes less convinced. Mic snorts- apparently he isn’t convinced either.

“Are you sure about that?”“Tell me why you’re here, Mic.”“Tell me why you’re here, Aizawa Shouta.”

He says it in a low purr. Considering how grating his voice usually is, this new tone is… surprising. It’s interesting. And Shouta can’t help but be distracted by it all; his voice, his lips, the look in his eyes.

“I can tell you’re into this too, Shouta.”“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“You can call me Hizashi, you know. I think we’re at that point now, don’t you?”“No,” he says, a little too quickly. Has he been reading his mind?

“Ooo, defensive,” he sings like a teenager.

“Mic.”

Shouta lays his hands on his shoulders. And he’s just as surprised by the action as Mic appears to be- eyes widening and lips parting.

“Mic,” he tries again. “What are you doing somewhere like this.”And this time, he seems to have debate with himself, because he hesitates. Those brows pull together and raise to his hairline.

“I can’t tell you,” he says quietly.

Shouta feels something in him sink.

“You’re in trouble, aren’t you.”

He blinks at him, looks away. And then he grimaces, rolls out of Shouta’s space and leans his back against the wall beside him. Shouta watches as he props one foot against the wall, knee jutting out, and thrusts his hands in his pockets. He turns his head away.

“It’s complicated.”The words come out of his mouth before he registers them. “I can help.”

Mic snorts, but it’s not a real laugh. He shakes his head, picks at his nails. The music continues to hum through the floor and up Shouta’s body. He hasn’t even tried looking for his target yet. What is he doing?

Before he can consider, Mic adds, “You really do care, don’t you?”

There’s a light-heartedness to Mic’s voice that sounds like a joke. But Shouta knows that’s just a facade.

He doesn’t answer him.

“How did you get sucked into this? This is bigger than you can imagine, Mic.”He sighs, gesticulates vaguely but vigorously. “It’s complicated.”

“You said. But these people are really bad, Mic.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, you think I don’t realise that?” He demands, lips pulling into an angry snarl. “And, by the way, what makes you think that heroes are exempt from being ‘really bad’? What makes you think that you can trust the shitty capitalist regime you fight for? And what about the police forces? Your fellow heroes?”

Mic glares at him, eyes frighteningly wide and shining, and Shouta realises then that Mic knows something. He must know something about the Yuuei traitor.

He opens his mouth to speak, but Mic interrupts him. Naturally.

“You know it’s never as simple as just good and bad. Not everyone in here is evil. Some people… are. And sometimes you end up mixed up in that shit. It’s never black and white.” He pauses, and Shouta waits. Watches the way his slicked back hair pours down his back. Wishes he could see his face. Neither one of them seem to register that there are other people in the room. “You know, a lot of people mistake me for a hero. Since I’m more the, steal from the rich, give to the poor, type. But that still makes me a villain in the government’s eyes, doesn’t it? And then there’s you. Everyone assuming you’re a villain, first glance.”

Shouta frowns. “Nobody even knows who I am.”

Mic tuts. “Right, but I know for a fact that the people you’ve caught and had arrested thought you were a bad guy at first. I mean come on, man. The tired, red eyes? The scars? The outfit? It screams villaine extravaganza.”

Shouta snorts, shakes his head to himself. And then he looks back at Mic. Because this is a real conversation. This is the most vulnerable he’s seen him.

This is Hizashi.

“Point is,” he continues, “I know you know this world’s not so simplistic. You and I, we’re on the same page, when it comes to heroes and villains, you know? We’re neither. We’re in between the goodies, and the… really bad guys.”

Mic turns to him. He smiles. It’s painfully unguarded, and Shouta wishes things were different.

“I can help,” he says again.

Mic’s smile wobbles, and he shakes his head decisively. Shouta finds himself laying a hand on his arm, and Mic looks at him again.

And then, out of nowhere, Mic leans in and kisses him. Gentle and filled with emotions that Shouta can’t parse right now. He pulls away too soon, rests his hand on Shouta’s cheek for a moment.

“No, you can’t.”

He pushes himself off the wall. Shouta watches Hizashi disappear into the crowd, and feels everything he knows about himself crumble and break.

[hotel-six]

"Park." I say pointing at her as she nodded.

"Ha! I knew Bell won't pick you!" Woods cackled in joy as Mason handed him a crisp dollar bill.

"Okay then, that settles it. Mason, you're with me." Adler informed as Mason makes his way to Adler for a briefing of their own. Helen instantly approached me handing over a dossier of the daughter.

"What now?" I asked as he slumped to a nearby chair and she faced me seriously.

"For starters, we need to know more about the subject." She said, flipping through her copy of the dossier. Okay. This was easy. I just have to get to know her a little. Got it.

I read the copy of the dossier. It was so formally written, the words started to bore me.

So her name is Eve, she's into foreign languages, likes tea parties and ice fishing. Yeah this is one bizarre gal.

"Find any ways to connect with her?" Park hummed, while seriously browsing through her file. Lazar stood behind her and reading as well.

"Yeah… I guess I know a few foreign languages. But I doubt if she'll be interested in that."

"Yeah. It's not really interesting as this is an international school. It'd feel normal." Park mused and traced her fingers on the dossier, looking for the perfect prompt.

"Tea parties?'" Lazar inserted. Both Park and I turned to his suggestion.

"I'm not like stereotyping and all but I heard Helen once talk about the differences of two flavors and honestly, I'm fascinated. Maybe, the president's daughter would dig it." Lazar suggested as my eyes met Helen's following a nod.

"Great, now that that's done, we could leave, right?" I stood up and clapped.

"Not quite yet. Do you already have something to wear? Remember, we need to act like we belong." she reminded me and of course I'd miss that. My mind started to remember 'Nam all over again, but just bits and pieces.

"Ah yeah. So… " I trailed, waiting for Park to finish my sentence.

"We look for clothes." Park said and Lazar chuckled.

"This is going to take a while. I'll drive." Lazar offered as Helen smiled at him and you three made your way to your next destination.

~

International Academy of the Arts

Prom Night

I've never worn formal clothing in quite a while but this one, I actually like. It's a fine mix of comfortable and classy, and I could still fit a gun in it. Perfect for undercover.

I took another sip of their fruit punch, these killer drinks looked fancy and tasted fancy. When Adler said blend in, it meant I get to avail everything served for the students.

"Careful now, your bladder might betray you if things go wrong." Park commented with concern. She's true though, but I could handle a minor bladder problem. Never in my life did I see Park in a silky red dress, she looked great like everyone else enjoying the party. There was no doubt that Eve would easily trust us.

The lights started to dim as the colorful spotlights slowed down, diverting all its glow toward the center area of the venue. It was time for the dance. As the crowd started to partner up, my eyes started to focus on Eve.

"I'm losing sight of her, Bell. Let's get closer." She said as she made her way to the dance floor and I immediately followed. We positioned ourselves not too far from Eve and started to dance.

"Do you know how to do this?" I asked her and she shook her head.

"No. But we could just move left and right." She said and grabbed my hand, her soft touch was remarkably noticeable as our feet swayed from left to right. Park had her eyes focused on Eve while I focused on not stepping on her foot.

"Nothing suspicious so far. But they're closing the entrance. Looks like everyone in the guest list is already in." Lazar radioed as we continued dancing, our steps were swaying closer and closer to Eve.

We got close enough that we actually caught her attention. Eve smiled at us as everyone tossed their partners to the nearest couple, forcing me to pair up with Eve's partner.

He looked at me with a warm smile. Maybe I'm really that convincing as a schoolmate so I tagged along, dancing to the rhythm.

"I haven't seen you here. You're one of those exchange students, yeah?" He spoke and all I could ever do was nod and continue dancing.

"Great, great. Welcome to the International Academy of the Arts! I'm Ben." he welcomed me and I smiled in return.

"Great school. I like." I muttered, pretending I don't know much of the English language, further verifying my transfer student alibi. From the corner of my eye, it looked like Eve was already having a great time.

"Back to your partner you go!" He cheered as the music cued for the exchange, but just as the pass was about to happen, the lights quickly dimmed as the music stopped. Collective gasps and screaming immediately filled the dance floor as everyone panicked to safety. The faint glow of the emergency exit was their only source of light.

"What's the sitrep?" I yelled over comms.

"Proceed to exfil! The entrance is under attack!" Adler yelled as gunfire started booming in the background. Glass shattered from the windows and you felt a familiar hand pull you up.

"On your feet, Bell. I got Eve." I felt a gun in my hand and I knew exactly what to do. Lead the way.

"Woods, how's the exit?"

"Dark and crowded." he grumbled. That just meant it wasn't the safest way out. Three people are defending the entrance and I can't afford wasting my time waiting for the crowd to ease up.

I remembered the blueprints from earlier. There were a few more exits that I remember and every choice offers the quickest path to Sims.

Route A is through the second floor. There's a metallic ladder that leads straight to the parking lot. I doubt anyone would go there. With all the fancy clothing, this was the least plausible way.

Route B is through the basement parking lot, but the entrance is through the rest of your squad's defending line. It would be such a risk but the basement is underground and actually safer.

[Route A]

[Route B]