Highfive Gonta AU Mastermind
Kokichi was reading files in his lab when Miu busted down the door dragging Gonta with her shouting nonsense about how short people are always the mastermind, looking up from the file he sighed before putting on a big wide goofy grin. "Miu how can I help you this time with your kinky fantasies of getting into Kiibo's metal pants!" Miu blushed before shaking off her thoughts but she'll think about it later. "Oi! Kokichi, I'm right when saying that Gonta would look cool as the mastermind? He's got the built!" Kokichi looks Gonta up and down before shaking his head in shame "But not the brain of one, If he can stop saying his name before every sentence he utters then I'll believe it." Miu gasps before huffing "I bet you that Monokuma can find a way to fix that!" Kokichi snorts and Gonta finally speaks after a while of watching them talk to each other
"Gonta thinks being Mastermind bad, Gonta go back to searching for insects." Gonta tries to leave but Miu pushes him into a chair and points at him her aura spiking to intensity. "Gonta stays there or else I'll squash every insect that crosses paths with me! Kokichi go get Monokuma, They need a better mastermind and Gonta is the one!" Kokichi goes to object but before he can Monokuma appears with a Flashback Light, "Did I hear about a new Motive~ well here you go! oh and before I forget The killing game will have two masterminds which means more killings will happen and boost the ratings! ta-ta" with that Monokuma left Miu, Kokichi and Gonta alone in the Supreme Leader's lab.
Miu looks at the flashback light on the ground and picks it up grinning like a mad person, she goes to flash Gonta but is stopped by Kokichi who was shaking his head in Desperation, "Miu think clearly for once! If you use this what's gonna happen to Gonta and what is gonna happen to everyone if we have a double Mastermind in the roster! WE can't risk that!" Miu pushes Kokichi off and presses the button making the room shine bright with a white light when the light is gone Gonta sits there for a moment before looking up at Miu his stare was serious and made Kokichi nervous.
"Miu tell me why are you causing such a ruckus when you're supposed to be in your Lab making the Ultimate Killing Machine." Gonta's voice held malice and Miu started jumping in Happiness shouting about how it was a success and that she was a genius before stopping in her tracks and picking up on what Gonta said, "G-Gonta I just wanted to test if we can have our own Mastermind for the game and-" before she could say anymore Gonta was in her face his eyes piercing red with rage and he pulled on her hair roughly before dragging her into the hallway and pushing her out shouting, "GET TO WORK MAKING THAT VIRTUAL WORLD OR ELSE YOU'LL BE THE NEXT BODY DISCOVERY ANNOUNCEMENT"
Gonta turns to See Kokichi backing away from him, taking a step forward he smiled at Kokichi before that smile Fell and he brought Kokichi close to him by pulling on his bandana "We're both gonna play this killing game and we're gonna win. Tell anyone that I'm the Mastermind and I swear my Insects are gonna enjoy feasting on your tongue...Oh but that's right no one believes a liar like you. so I'm safe to roam as I please" Pulling away and dropping Kokichi on the ground Gonta heads toward the door before turning back to look at him with a Smile filled with no remorse
"Gonta can't wait to play with everyone! Oh, Kokichi should be careful because Miu is trying to murder him....But Gonta will protect his Friend." The word friend coming from his mouth held no warmth and it made Kokichi gulp before hearing the door shut behind Gonta. Kokichi sat on the floor breathing hard grasping his throat "He could've easily killed me by snapping my neck...Miu head is gonna be sore..." Kokichi looked down at the file he was reading and how Ironic that it was about past victims of Killing games who were turned into the mastermind by just a simple lie.
Now everyone had to be careful around two masterminds in the shadows except Kokichi already knew one...and so did Miu.
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fever pitch (b.b) - prologue
soundtrack: mastermind - taylor swift
pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader
synopsis: Bradley shoots his shot in public, but will he fumble when he meets you in person?
warnings: language, drinking, meet cute
notes: my first series in a while! this is shamelessly based on the epic Taylor Swift/Travis Kelce saga currently happening rn, and combine that with my innate love of football (the kicking kind, not the NFL kind) and... voila! I hope you enjoy this. Let me know what you think in the comments, reblogs, and asks. Happy reading! <3
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Soccer Sensation Bradley Bradshaw Fails To Shoot His Shoot With Y/N At Her Concert?
Arsenal captain Bradley Bradshaw may be among his club’s top scorers this season, but even he misses a chance in romance like the rest of us.
The 29-year-old athlete spoke about his missed opportunity with the multi-platinum songstress Y/N while speaking to his former teammate Héctor Bellerín on the latter’s podcast, “More Than A Footballer”, earlier this week.
When asked about any fun stuff he did last weekend, Bradshaw replied,
“I went to the Y/N concert at Wembley [Stadium]... it was awesome. It was pouring rain, but it was amazing. I don’t remember Wembley ever being that electric aside from, like, cup finals. She was sensational.”
Bellerín nods in agreement, having heard great things about the famed singer-songwriter’s live concerts.
Unprompted, the American midfielder then continued,
“If you’ve heard about the tour, there’s this tradition of trading friendship bracelets. And I actually made one with my number on it, hoping I could give it to her after the show…”
The Cockney-raised Spaniard cackled in surprise and teased him, “But she didn’t wanna see you, bruv? [That is] legend!”
“No hard feelings!” Bradshaw raised his hands in defense over the Zoom call. “She needed to dry off and get warm. Gotta make sure she stays healthy, protect those vocal cords. But yeah, I was a bit bummed out about it.”
Bellerín laughed and jokingly addressed the camera, “Y/N, if you’re watching, give my boy a chance, will you?”
Mononymous pop sensation Y/N is hot off of her Kaleidoscope North American Tour, which wrapped in September. Her six-show run at Wembley Stadium this November officially kicks off the European leg of her sold-out tour.
Will they be the next pop royalty and conquer the stadiums with their own crafts, or will this fizzle out as this week’s viral anecdote? The ball is in your court, Y/N.
Y/N’s representatives have not responded for comment.
***
Your Miu Miu heels click and clack against the ground. The pavement gleams after the rain and glistens under the streetlights. Everywhere you look, your eyes hurt. Down, and you worry about slipping into a puddle and falling on your ass. Forward, and a million camera flashes are ready to give you an aneurysm.
All in the name of reporting your night off of work, performing live in front of 90,000 people in a stadium.
In other words, all in a day’s work.
There’s a moment of reprieve, when the silvery white blitzes disappear into the dim tangerine lighting of the lobby. The flight down the stairs is so dark, you’re seeing green. It takes your eyes a moment to adjust, but as soon as they do, the thumping bass line of some dance music hits your ears. Clashing perfumes doused on the dancing, dressed-up bodies that you have to weave through.
You are seriously regretting your girl friends’ invite to a night out. You could’ve just had them over to your hotel, open a bunch of red wine, and you would’ve still had a blast. But no. You had to say yes to going to the Cuckoo Club with Lacey, Amara, and Jo.
And this evening is making you feel quite cuckoo.
There’s champagne at your booth and you’re much too eager to take a glass and start a toast. “Cheers, bitches!” you yell over the music, clinking your glass against theirs before downing the whole thing in one go.
It’s nowhere near enough.
There’s not enough buzz to dull the assault to your senses—not even after the three glasses of wine at dinner earlier. Everything is still too loud, too bright, too crowded, too… much.
“Hey!” you nudge Amara, who is sitting right next to you. “Let’s do shots!”
She turns to you, eyes widening at the slightest. “I thought you wanted to take it easy tonight!”
“Changed my mind,” you shrug, as you get up to the bar.
While you make your way through the crowd on the dance floor, Bradley Bradshaw looks up from his booth and does a double-take at the girl who just walked by. Even in a high-end club full of the well-dressed and well-heeled, people still get starstruck. And why wouldn’t they? You’re about as famous as an iPhone.
His eyes widen and immediately whips out his phone to shoot a text to his oldest and most trusted friend Natasha Trace.
‘Dude, I’m in the club and Y/N just walked in. What do I do??’
Natasha thankfully texts back almost immediately. Then again, maybe being a Communications Director for a major company requires her to be a good texter. ‘Wdym what do you do? Just go talk to her.’
‘You were supposed to introduce us!’ Bradley replies, eyes darting between his phone and you at the bar, conflicted.
Natasha is a mutual friend of yours, too, and when the Bracelet-gate clip went viral, she laughed in his face for a full 5 minutes before deciding to set the two of you up. But the schedule never really aligned, so he hasn’t got a chance to see you. Not even after he went to your concert with a friendship bracelet and a dream.
And now, seeing you here in the same room at the same time as him…
‘What do you want me to do, get down there and do it for you?’
‘...Can you?’
He senses the judgment even as the three dots appear on his screen.
‘Stop being a pussy, Bradshaw. Let me Netflix and chill with my gf in peace.’
Bradley scoffs, half-annoyed and half-fond. ‘Asshole. Have fun.’
The dance floor clears up, just enough to see that you’re right there. Leaning against the bar in your dress like a dirty daydream, talking to the bartender, and he couldn’t just let you go without a word. He thought about it, and he simply couldn’t.
“Oi, where are you off to?” His teammate Martin hollers, while the others watch him make his way to the bar in determined strides.
He squeezes past patrons across this jungle of a club, hoping to God that somebody hasn’t beaten him to talk to you yet, or you haven’t ducked out completely. Oh fuck. You’re still there, though. Good. You’re still at the bar, still glimmering under the mirrorball. Just a tap on the shoulder away. You can do it, Bradshaw…
“Excuse me, I—”
You feel the hand on your shoulder just as you turn and stand up, and in a flurry of miscoordination, looks up just as the other person moves in.
In a stroke of dumb luck, Bradley feels the top of your head slamming up against his nose and he groans in pain. “Ohh!”
“Shit! Oh my God…” you gasp, reaching out to the man in front of you. He’s tall, very tall, and you can’t quite see his face with his massive hand clutching his nose. “I’m so sorry…”
“No, it’s okay. My bad…” It really doesn’t seem like it, so he lets go of his nose and smiles sheepishly. Gosh, he must’ve looked stupid right now.
But you see it differently. What you see is a dashing man in a sleek tieless navy suit and a well-groomed mustache, straight out of a Cinemascope flick, ever so handsome despite his reddened nose from the way you just accidentally headbutted him. “No, that was totally mine. Are you okay?”
Your eyes are crystal clear even in the dim light, the concern is palpable in your gaze—and rightly so. It’s just that he’d take the headbutt any day, if it means he can look at your beautiful face. “I’m… I’m swell. Y/N, right?”
There’s a shift in your gaze. First, alert—you’re assessing how much of a potential threat this person is, whether they’re gonna be weird about you— and then it relaxes. Not a threat. Then a slightest hint of mischief, like she wants to know what kind of dynamics they would have. “Have we met?”
And boy, can he.
“We haven’t, actually. But I went to your show at Wembley earlier this week. You were amazing.” He offers a handshake. “Bradley Bradshaw.”
You didn’t quite catch his name over the blaring music, although you shake his hand anyway. “Sorry?”
He leans into your ear, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw.”
You don’t know which one makes your heart skip, the sudden close proximity, the warmth of his timbre, or the whiff of his perfume.
“Right. Nice to meet you, Bradley Bradshaw.” You accept his handshake, hoping he doesn’t see how flustered you are in the strobing purple light.
“Likewise.” He nods with a smile. “And may I just say… you look stunning.”
“What, this old thing?” You brush down the art nouveau-inspired Balmain dress on your body. You’re just being modest, of course; you know you’re dressed to the nines. You have never been much into facial hair, but somehow that mustache suits him very well. “You don’t look so bad yourself. You remind me of a… young Robert Mitchum. Or Paul Newman— or one of those Golden Age leading men.”
His face lights up. It’s hardly the first time he received that kind of compliment, but when it came from you, it feels… different. It feels special. It makes him just a little bolder. “Yeah? Maybe after a few drinks, I’ll be quoting lines from Butch Cassidy. Or would you prefer Cat On A Hot Tin Roof?”
This piques your interest. A man of culture, it seems. But of course, you can’t be too sure. “I’m more of a Paris Blues kinda gal, I’m afraid.”
Gosh, you don’t swoon so easily and he likes you so much for that. “Makes sense.”
“How so?”
“It’s a good underrated musical movie, for the musically gifted… And Sidney Poitier was just fantastic in that.”
“Huh.” You raise your eyebrows. You honestly thought he was just spouting the famous titles. But the fact that he has likely seen this hidden gem might just mean he’s really into it. “Aren’t you full of surprises.”
He leans in to speak in your ear yet again. “If you stick with me for a bit, I might show you another surprise or two.”
The music drowns out your racing heart just barely, and the bartender places a whole set of tequila shots on the bar top, and it snaps you out of your reverie for a moment.
“Wanna get some air?”
He seems surprised, but of course he wasn’t gonna throw away this shot. “Sure. Why not?”
You instruct the bartender to send the shots to your booth, not even spending ten seconds to ponder staying in this deafening hell hole. Not when this man looks like peace. Perhaps an undercurrent of mystery underneath, but his whole demeanor is as calm and comforting as those old-school movies you put on to fall asleep. At the same time, something about this person pulls you in, it’s almost magnetic, and you can’t help wanting to see this through.
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