#the boys neumann | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

latibvles · 5 months ago

Text

literally no one asked for this. i, however, saw these pictures on Ben Radcliffe’s instagram and decided “you know what this fandom needs? Frat Boy John Brady.” So that’s what this is. And also another excuse to write Willie & Brady coupled with shenanigans that aren’t the horrors of war. i now know way too much about fraternities and sororities. special tag for @wexhappyxfew for seeing the vision. brady has now fallen victim to my “putting characters in places they got no business being in” just like Ron

—

John should’ve majored in the art of escape.

It was seamless — slipping away from the beer pong table, head half-swimming and just a little bit stumbly. Pretty much every room on the first floor was swathed in a smoke-laden haze; John figures that Dougie’s countless social media posts must have done the trick. Most people he’s run into are strangers to him. That, and with this being the first party of the year, the turnout was bound to be big. His head was just pounding, and he needed a place to sit that wouldn’t open up the invitation for a random stranger to inadvertently sit on him.

Omega Pi’s brothers and others only policy on the second floor is a blessing in that way. He just needed a solid fifteen minutes before Bucky could sniff him out like a bloodhound and drag him into something stupid. Last semester he’d somehow managed to persuade John into drinking way too much tequila directly from the bottle, and he still gets nauseous whenever someone mentions margaritas.

He’s pretty sure he heard Benny say something about a bottle of Patrón behind the bar and he isn’t sticking around to find out.

John climbs the stairs, a little wobbly-legged, still foggy-brained as he tries to guesstimate how long he’ll have until he’s hunted down by any variety of friends wondering “Where the hell Brady’s at?” He figures maybe fifteen, twenty minutes, and that fact imbues him to move a little bit quicker to his own door, admittedly fumbling with the knob as he makes his way inside — Dougie’s playlist immediately muffled once he shuts the door, and for that he’s thankful.

He reaches for one of his vinyls on the shelf and sets it on the record player, flicking the switch and setting the needle before throwing himself haphazardly onto the bed itself and shutting his eyes a moment. The sharp beginnings of a headache are beginning to take root behind his eyes as he lets them flutter shut a moment. Deep inhale, slow exhale, ears latching onto the smooth jazz of the vinyl as opposed to the muffled Future track that was shaking the walls of their esteemed house.

He just needed t—

Click.

John’s head snaps up upon hearing his door open and shut quickly. His brows furrow, taking in the mostly shapeless form with their back to him. A varsity jacket maybe two sizes too big swathed their frame, they had curly black hair that’d gone frizzy — presumably from the amount of people downstairs. John clenches his jaw, staving off the irritation forming. This was either Bucky sending someone up here to draw him out already, or the nighttime company of someone else who’d found the wrong room. Their shoulders seem to relax and they let out a small sigh, not yet noticing him.

John gives this person the benefit of the doubt and goes with the second option.

“Think you’ve got the wrong room,” he opens with a clearing of his throat. The person gasps, small and surprised, head whipping around to meet him and— oh.

Her eyes are big and brown, brows raised and lips parted for a moment. They stare at each other, wordless, and he’ll blame the fact that he’s kind of taken aback for the moment on the alcohol — taking her in. She has on one of those black corset tops and a pair of beat up white sneakers. He recognizes her, vaguely, having seen her come in with a group of girls from the sorority house down the street. Bucky knew them better than he did, but to be fair, Bucky knew everybody.

“Sorry I didn’t—” she presses herself back up against the door again, lips pressing into a line. “Was just looking for a quiet spot. You guys have uh… persistent party guests. I can— I can leave if—” she’s reaching for the doorknob and John’s sitting up, reaching like he’s going to cross the threshold to stop her from turning the knob.

“No. No, you can stay. I just thought you were—”

“Here to hook up?” His face heats up at her blunt delivery of it, and John coughs unceremoniously into his fist.

“...yeah, something like that.” She nods, her expression unreadable, the silence between them admittedly stiff. He’s sitting up more, as opposed to his prior position laid out sidelong on his bed, extending his hand and feeling almost dumb for doing so. “I’m… I’m John er— Brady. John Brady.” Jesus Christ, when did he ever trip over his words like this.

She takes it, shaking his hand and he can’t help but notice the callouses, the chipped manicure and blue stains on her fingers.

“I’ve heard.” His eyes widen at that.

“You’ve heard?” There seems to be a twitch at the corner of her lip, she looks from their hands back up to him.

“One of your friends… Ev? I think his name was? Was looking for a uh… Johnny with the Donny and I’m pretty sure you’re the only one hiding up here.” John doesn’t know whether to laugh or to hide his burning face in the pillows and try to stave off the tequila-induced PTSD he feels coming back in full force. He decides to snort quietly instead of further embarassing himself.

“Except for you.” She nods, squeezing his hand and then letting it go.

“Except for me.” John really wishes he were more sober for this, just so he’d stop getting caught up in long dark lashes and the pink dusting on her cheeks that he doesn’t know if it’s from makeup or from him. His half-inebriated brain hopes that it’s because of him. He almost misses her introduction. “I’m Willie.”

John smiles.

“That short for something?”

“Nothing worth repeating. Too many syllables.” She waves her hand dismissively, and he scoffs in amusement at how quick Willie is to dismiss it. He figures not to press this time.

“Alright. Hope you don’t mind jazz then. You can uh… sit wherever,” John welcomes, gesturing to his space. At least he could pride himself on keeping things neat in here — even if their kitchen would be sticky with spilled beer tomorrow and it’d take a good chunk of their Sunday to clean everything up. Willie makes her way over to his desk chair and plops down — it rolls with the force of her as she looks around his room with an innocent type of curiosity.

“You have… a lot of music,” she murmurs in a quiet sense of wonder — the kind that makes John feel warm down to the tips of his toes.

“It’s kinda my whole thing…” her eyes are drawn back to him and he feels suddenly shy. “Music Ed.”

“History,” Willie looks at the vinyls he has neatly stored on his shelf by the record player. “If I tell you I’ve never heard this song, are you going to kick me out?”

“You’ve never listened to Sade?” She smiles a little bit — this time he’s sure of it — still eyeing his vinyls, and shakes her head. “Well I won’t kick you out but I might not let you leave ‘till you can name three songs off the top of your head.”

“God, you’re one of those.”

“Oh absolutely. The worst kind,” he’s teasing now, and it’s landing because she’s laughing in a breathless kind of way, a way that sobers him up as if to ensure he could commit her to memory as she is now. And she’s, well… she’s beautiful, sitting at his desk chair, looking at the CD cases he’d put up on his walls at the start of the term. Effortlessly so. He’d make her laugh for the rest of the night in this space if it weren’t for the fickleness of his hiding spot. Her eyes fall onto him again and they look over him from his spot on the edge of the bed. Her gaze is piercing as they dart over the length of him with all the swiftness of a hummingbird, her fingers reaching up to mess with her bottom lip a moment. “I’m sure there’s probably worse.”

John raises his brows.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm, considering…” she gestures to the space around him. “I mean— there’re frats with worse reputations too. I just heard that Omega Pi’s—”

“Reckless?” She nods succinctly, with a half-hearted shrug.

“And that some of you go through girls like a mom in a Target clearance aisle,” John makes a noise that’s half between being strangled and laughing. “Guys too.” It takes him a minute to come back down to Earth after that one, rubbing at his face, halfway between embarrassment and amusement. Okay, she wasn’t wrong: his friends had a tendency to do some stupid shit, himself included, and while he in specific wasn’t hooking up with anyone with a pulse — he’s pretty sure that Dougie bought three boxes of condoms after move-in day. But they hadn’t done anything to get arrested and he’s pretty sure all the guys were, well, clean where it mattered.

“That’s just Dougie,” John offers, and she raises an inquisitive brow.

“And Bucky.”

“Christ, what’d he do?”

“Nothing, he just has the look to him.” Okay, that’s fair. “And he definitely stole my friend from me to play beer pong because he couldn’t find his partner.” John clicks his tongue at that.

“That might’ve been my fault.” Willie rises from her seat and he watches as she seems to mull it over for a moment, before crossing to actually sit next to him now. She’s so much closer than before — his lamp lights up some of her dark hair to make it look more brown, there’s a shimmer of faded highlighter on her cheeks and something inexplicably pretty about the mascara flakes dotting just below her eyes. He’d wipe them with his thumbs if she’d let him. He gives her a half-shrug. “Like I said, we’re both hiders.”

With the small laugh and bob of her head, he catches a whiff of her perfume. Something clean and a little citrusy, reminding him vaguely of springtime in spite of the autumn leaves changing outside.

“Well then it’s not all bad.” She decides on, sincerely. His knee bumps into hers and they exchange quiet smiles — the air significantly less stiff between them. Something warm sprouting between them and charged by the points where they connect. His pinky finds hers on the mattress, and in a brief move of boldness, he lets his hand overlap hers. Willie looks down, cheeks flushing as she looks back up at him.

She really is a vision, flustered like this.

She opens her mouth to speak but is immediately cut-off by Mambo No. 5 blaring — John knows that’s not his ringtone, and so he laughs in disbelief as Willie’s eyes widen.

“That’s— my friend Harrie set that I think. I—”

“It’s fine. Maybe you’re just a Lou Bega fan.”

“John—” she narrows her eyes and he thinks he might swat at her so he’s leaning back.

“Well don’t keep them waiting.”

She huffs, picking up the phone with a very flat “Hello?” but the voice on the other end is so loud that he can hear it clear as day.

“Where are you? Fern’s up on the table and I can’t get her down!” Willie looks at John, who’s hand is covering his own mouth to muffle his laughter, evident by his shaking shoulders. The exchange is quick: Willie’s words are flat, almost bewildered, and she’s batting at him as they talk before she hangs up the phone and looks at him with what he’s pretty sure is disappointment. He can’t say he’s not disappointed either.

“Guess I’ve been found. I can leave you here, tell them you passed out.” He shakes his head, standing up as she does, rubbing the nape of her neck.

“That’s never stopped them before and it won’t start now,” he admits, turning to switch off his record player, walking towards his door to get it for her. She walks past with quiet thanks and John watches for a few moments, admiring her departing figure before walking after her and descending back down the stairs into the chaos — the sound of his name on her scolding tongue looping over and over again in the back of his mind.

#ship: willie/brady #frat boys au #masters of the air fic #john brady x oc #mota fic #ch: willie neumann #the jacket is viv's btw. she does varsity girls' volleyball

36 notes · View notes

latibvles · 5 months ago

Note

a kiss to prove you don’t have feelings for them

For Willie and Brady? If you could.

I love them and want nothing but happiness for them…, but also I’m a sucker for angsty steamy scenes.

A KISS CAN JUST BE A KISS.

hi anon friend! as much as i would really love to try and work this into mainverse ( because im evil and love giving them problems ) Brady is . unfortunately (?) extremely aware of his own feelings as is the entire 100th except for Willie for a little while. you know who isn't as aware of his painfully obvious crush on Willie? Slightly Dumb College Frat Boy Brady. So this ended up taking a turn into Frat Boy AU. I hope you don't mind! I did have fun writing this ♡ I had to make an entire side character because I cannot for the life of me imagine one of Brady's own friends instigating this heavily in his love life

—

The house was busy — but with the October chill setting in, the backyard was a bit quieter. Still, they’d made a run for firewood today in anticipation, which was a good call on Jack’s part. It’s a welcome warmth, putting up an effortless fight against the chilly air, and they’re sitting all around it. Them, being himself, Willie to his left and Benny to his right, and then a couple others: some of the people here, he’s only just learned the names of.

Helen was a hospitality major, but he knew her boyfriend, Nash. He and Rosie were pledges living at the dorm, and the latter had an English class with Harry last semester. Her friend Tatty sat to the right of her, next to some guy he didn’t know all that well, but presumably went to school with (he’s pretty sure it’s Charlie), and the girl next to him, he recognized from a previous party, was Naomi. He’d also caught Dougie slipping her out of his room the next day — and she’d just smiled and waved at him as he groggily padded his way into the kitchen for a bowl of cereal.

“Alright Benny, your turn, truth or dare?”

The game was Naomi’s idea. John was just fine sitting there, leaned over and talking to Willie about nonspecific things. Since that first party they’d formed something of a friendship: formed mostly through iMessage games and playlist exchanges. Once he’d started seeing her he couldn’t really stop — whether that was on campus or at a house party, or her taking a cat nap in his room while he studied. Not that he minded. He liked talking to her, liked making her laugh, indulging in her comfortable silences. But Benny agreed and so he ended up doing so, and then Willie, too.

“Dare.” Really, it was less like truth or dare and more like Truth, Dare, or Drink. Benny’s lips curl in a smile as Charlie hums, running his finger over his lips.

“Kiss the least attractive person in the circle.”

“Yeesh, trying to get me in trouble, are you?” Benny leans back, eyes darting around the circle and Charlie looks smug enough. John watches as Benny’s eyes dart briefly to the door and sneaks a look himself. It’s not hard to spot the blonde he’s eyeing — has been eyeing since the start of the semester — who looks over at them. Or rather, at Benny, John’s pretty sure he may as well be transparent at the moment.

Benny leans back in the chair, finishes off the drink in his solo cup. One of Hambone’s ungodly concoctions that John is pretty sure is just straight up Tito’s with jolly ranchers or something dissolved in there for flavor. He coughs once, twice, then looks at John.

“Sorry. Didn’t want to hurt your feelings there.” John scoffs, with a roll of his eyes.

“Yeah, you’re really breaking my heart over here,” he counters dryly. Benny rises from his lawn chair with a promise to be right back — heading off to get another drink from inside. Willie laughs, quietly, watching him go and John looks her up and down. Viv’s jacket draped over her shoulders and denim-clad legs pulled in, curled up on the lawn chair.

“They’re hopeless,” she remarks quietly, looking back over at him. They smile at one another and John wipes at his nose.

“They’re something, alright.”

Naomi clears her throat, clasping her hands together.

“Right then. John, truth or dare!”

“Truth.” She blows a raspberry at that, seemingly deflating before perking up again all at once, then takes a look around their circle.

“Ever hooked up with someone in this circle?” She asks, with a glint to her eye that makes John shift in his seat a bit. He shakes his head immediately.

“Can’t say I have.”

“I oughta make you drink for that,” she huffs, and John raises a curious brow. “It’s no fun if you lie.” Naomi isn’t looking at him. She’s looking just to his left, to Willie, and he looks at her too. Her cheeks are flushing and her brows are furrowed in confusion. “Oh don’t give me that look — I heard you spent like an hour in his room last month.”

“I was hiding,” Willie says flatly. “And it was more like twenty minutes.”

“It’s not like that.” John tacks on at the end.

He blames that twisting feeling in his stomach on the alcohol and not the indifference of her statement, how quick she is to say it and how quick he is to tack that part on at the end. Naomi’s eyebrows raise and he doesn’t like the look of it, but she hums out an “Oookay!” and sips from her cup absentmindedly.

The game continues. A couple more rounds. Helen and Charlie end up switching shirts on a dare, Benny returns and snickers about not letting Nash see that. John drinks when Tatty gives him a dare because he’s not sitting in the October cold in his boxers and shirt until his next round. Benny ends up telling the story about how Meatball knocked the door open while Dougie had a girl over and stole his pants. He feels a little warm and makes a note to ask Hambone just what the hell this concoction’s made of.

“Jooooooohn,” Naomi hums, looking at him. “Truth or dare?”

Maybe it’s the mystery drink making him feel a little bolder. He sits up in his chair.

“Dare.” Benny raises his brows in quiet surprise. On the other end of the firepit, Tatty chuckles, sitting criss-cross, or something like it.

Naomi grins. John doubts his choice for a millisecond. And it’s warranted, because she glances from Willie back to him.

“Kiss Willie.” John scoffs.

“What are we, twelve?” He looks to Willie, who just draws her knees closer to her chest. Naomi whines.

“Oh come on. It’s a real easy one, isn’t it?” She leans forward on her knees, and the firelight makes her look like some sinister storyteller. “You said it yourselves. It’s not even like that, so who cares?”

Something about the way she says it outright rubs John the wrong way. He already knows that she isn’t convinced that he and Willie are just friends. It feels like a challenge — and he’s really backed himself into a corner. He can either drink and prove her point, or do the stupid dare and… disprove it. Or prove it. Honestly, he doesn’t even know. He looks again to Willie, who’s expression is unreadable — and he usually really likes her quiet, contemplative silence, but right now he really needs her to say something. Anything.

Willie looks at him and her brows furrow.

“Why’re you staring at me?” She asks. He fights the urge to smack his hand to his forehead.

“Are you fine with this?” he asks, genuinely meaning it. He sees the hesitation flash across her face before she shrugs, unraveling herself and letting her feet hit the grass, hands gripping her knees. She’s staring off, not looking at him, or Naomi, or anything really.

“Sure,” she acquiesces, “Prove your… your point, I guess.” John feels his mouth go dry, and not just from the alcohol. His palms are sweaty and he has to try really hard not to balk at how casual she’s being about the whole thing. Or wonder if he should start taking notes from her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, John,” Willie looks at him and there’s a slight edge to her voice. Insistence, maybe, or something like it. She’s never gotten impatient with him before. “It’s fine.”

John breathes out as she shifts her lawn chair until they’re bumping knees. He nods to himself once. Naomi looks decidedly pleased with herself, and so he shoots her a pointed glare, before turning to look at her. Willie’s already kind of leaning on her knees, looking at him and he can’t tell, even for a moment, how she might actually be feeling about this whole thing. Probably annoyed at John’s voiced protests instead of just getting it over with quick.

John turns, angling himself so he’s leaning towards her, into her space. She’s stiff as a board, her jaw clenched when it first comes into contact with his hand as he reaches for her. He sweeps a thumb over her cheek and it relaxes for a moment. She shuts her eyes and for a second John wonders if she’s bracing for impact or something. Her lashes are long. Dark. Pretty. She’s always pretty.

He’s surrounded by the scent of her; that soft citrusy perfume enveloping him, her dark curls tickling his hand where it’s tilting her jaw up a little. He’s leaning down to kiss her before he can think too hard on it, doubt it. It doesn’t have to be anything. A kiss can just be a kiss.

…right?

He means for it to only be a peck — a barely there bump of their lips. But hers are… soft, warm, they taste like the canned vodka seltzer she’d snuck from their basement fridge as opposed to the watery beer and strange half-assed concoctions they were offering en masse to the other guests.

There is an urge there, to deepen this, to taste and to hold her. A thought that crossed his mind so blatantly once before, when he’d first met her. Otherwise he thought he’d pushed that aside, buried it.

He’s grateful for her friendship. Wants to keep it, because it’s simple and because it was— is, easy to exist with her. Willie’s beautiful and funny and honest with him in a way he appreciates. He doesn’t want to lose that. Fuck it up with feelings that go beyond that — not wanting to demand more of her than what she ever wanted to give him. Her friendship’s precious and he’s lucky to have it; he knows that.

And here he is wanting to pull her into his lap and forget that this is supposed to be a part of a game. Wanting to press his tongue against her teeth.

His heart’s in his throat. A kiss can just be a kiss. He isn’t sure how much he believes that.

Willie breathes out against his lips, a soft, nearly mute “fuck” fanning across his face as they pull away from each other. His entire face feels flushed and he can’t bring himself to move away from the space between them. It was… charged with something. Energy between them that’s just downright impossible to ignore.

John stares at her, hardly moving from the space between them. Her expression’s unreadable for a few moments, holding his gaze with those piercing dark eyes of hers.

Her brows furrow, and she frowns. Willie leans away and turns her head from him.

“I’m… gonna go inside. S’cold,” she breathes out, standing up and walking away from before John can so much as rise with her and ask her to stay. Or ask to go with her.

It’s damning. All of it. The kiss, the way she looked at him, the way she walked away. His heart is sinking into his stomach. He wants to chase after her like some little kid but he somehow knows that that would be his second mistake.

#*poet writes #ship: willie/brady #ch: willie neumann #frat boys au #masters of the air oc #john brady x oc #john brady #listen his boys will 100% meddle in his love life #but imply that he DOESNT LIKE WILLIE?! JUST TO MAKE HIM MAD?!#absolutely not they're the ones telling his goofy ass that he has a massive crush on her #guys don’t worry they’ll make out— i mean make up eventually

22 notes · View notes