#fuck james

[red-riding-wood]

I Want You to Want Me

Pairing: Neil Lewis x F!Reader

Fandom: Watching the Detectives

Summary: Neil receives a frantic call and finds you outside of Gumshoe after a date night gone wrong. Secretly habouring feelings for you ever since the two of you met, he finds you oddly irresistable in your tears and torn fishnets.

Warnings: SMUT, mutual pining, dub-con touching, dryhumping, riding, foreplay, teasing, begging (m), masturbation (m), clothed sex (semi), Neil being a wet paper towel, so just Neil being Neil, pervy Neil, switch!Neil, slight dom but mostly sub!Neil because c'mon guys it's NEIL, slight dom!reader, body worship, public sex (technically?), premature ejaculation (sort of?), angst, some fluff? by my standards anyway lol so take that with a grain of salt -- this ended up being more wholesome than I thought it would be

Inspired by this cover of I Want You To Want Me (the reader's song) and Creep (Neil's song) by Radiohead.

Huge thanks to @your-nanas-house for getting me started with a prompt for this and cheering me on!

Totally nicked the "jock boyfriend" inspo from @cillianmesoftlyyy's fic here; go check that out if you want more spicy Neil content, because it was fantastic!

And thank you and also fuck you to @rysko for dramatically beta reading this in my ear WHILE I WAS TRYING TO MAKE THE HEADER

And now that I'm done thanking every fic writer on tumblr, my parents, the Royal Society for the Prevention of Birds, and Saturn and all of its rings, enjoy your filth!

WC: 4239

He found you outside the back door of Gumshoe, huddled against the concrete step, the cool air of the spring night nipping at the wet tears that streaked your cheeks, the slight breeze stirring a shiver from one fretful limb to the next. The whites of your eyes burned red beneath the faint glow of the lanterns atop the neighbour’s picket fence. It wasn’t exactly the most incognito place to cry your eyes out, but you didn’t have a key to Neil’s store, and it was nearly three in the morning. 

“Hey, I got your call. What’s going on?” A familiar voice broke the pitiful sounds of your sobbing, and the tension of your shoulders eased if only slightly at the mere sound. 

You tried to answer past your sobs, but found that your words came only in hiccups, in broken fragments of your splintered heart, and it didn’t take long for him to sweep an arm around your shoulders, lowering himself to sit beside you on the cold step. Instinctively, you found yourself leaning into his touch, trembling against the warmth of his body. 

Neil was never really great at these sorts of things to begin with, but it certainly didn’t help that his attention was drawn to the low-cut top where a tear streaked down the groove of your breasts, to the fishnets that you’d torn on your way out the door of your boyfriend’s, to the short skirt that rode up just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the lace hem of your panties. 

He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, and he tried to keep his eyes on the face you so desperately tried to hide with your trembling fingers, for you were ashamed of your unkempt appearance. You must’ve looked like a cheap whore – a mess of one, no less. You couldn’t tell what was more embarrassing: the way you were dressed, like you were begging for attention, or the way your emotions seized you so cruelly that you could scarcely breathe. 

“Hey.” His warm, careful touch landed on your wrist, and as you pulled your fingers from your lashes, they came away black with smudged mascara. “I’m here,” your friend said. “Tell me what happened.”

You could still only speak in hiccups and broken vowels.

“Shhh,” Neil soothed you, fingers running up and down your spine, sending tiny shivers through each nerve as the fabric of your shirt bunched and his skin brushed yours. “Shhh. I’m here.”

Resting your head on his shoulder, your hair spilled in sticky threads over the jacket that, judging by the slight musty scent that lingered in the weave of the corduroy, had probably missed one too many washes. But you didn’t care. You’d come to appreciate the little imperfections about him, the details of his scent that made Neil Neil. Like the waxy tinge that seemed to always cling to his fingers after a long shift of rolling back tapes. Like the silk cream and smoke of the vanilla candle you’d gifted him last week. Like the artificial scent of cheap shaving cream and the slightest hint of blood where he’d nicked himself with the razor. The musk of his sweat and skin, buried beneath all these little things that you’d come to know almost as intimately as your own.

But there was something else, something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. And its unfamiliarity unnerved you.

His other hand came to rest on your knee, hot as fire in the cold of night. He thumbed at the tear in your fishnets and looked at you with bright, concerned eyes, but he used this as an excuse to touch you.

“Did he hurt you?” Neil asked. His hand stayed on your knee. In a way, it felt comforting; it grounded you enough so that, finally, after lulled by the rise and fall of his shoulder and the unique blend of his scent, you could speak.

“Is that cologne?” You wrinkled your nose and drew back to look him in the eye, your tangled hair peeling reluctantly from his corduroy jacket.

A rose blush came upon Neil’s cheeks, and he smiled nervously. He’d been sure to spritz himself with a good helping of it before he left, despite his hurried state. He needed to impress you; ever since you’d started dating that jock from across the street, he’d been trying to find more ways to steal your attention back.

“Yeah, it’s new,” he said, a little flustered, in a way that made your stomach flutter. “I wanted to ask for your opinion on what I should get, but you – well…” His voice cracked a bit as a hint of sadness crept into his tone. “… you’ve been pretty busy lately.”

“It’s awful,” you told him, laughing slightly, and your words seemed to cheer him up; his lips tugged into that playful grin of his again, and a deep chuckle rumbled from his throat.

And then you both fell into silence, and he looked back to your knee, still thumbing the skin where the fabric had torn.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Neil said.

You swallowed, another lump forming in your throat, and when you looked at him, bottom lip in your teeth, reddened eyes pouting, rimmed by your messed mascara, his heart sped in his chest in both fear and arousal. The thought of James even touching you boiled his blood, made his skin crawl and tightened a noose round his neck, but seeing you like this, baring your soul to him with those tear-brimmed eyes and mournfully upturned brows, it made him want you even more.

If he’d been the one to take you out tonight, he would’ve brought you home to his bed, worshipped each inch of your hallowed skin and made love to you like you were the only woman in the world, splayed his fingers across your thighs and parted them like a sea, dropped to his knees and prayed with the hungered strokes of his tongue and lapped at your holy waters.

He’d started reading poetry lately. It had felt right; it was the only thing that seemed to express just how he felt about you. Echoed the words in private like they were gospel; chanted your name from desperate lips as he palmed himself each night – and morning – to your photographs, to the vanilla of the candle that reminded him so much of you, to the fantasy of your sweat-slicked thighs wrapped around his waist, your walls clenched around him as he bucked his hips against your weight and finally let himself go, spilling himself inside you and hearing you moan so sweetly for him from those heavenly lips, feeling his own cum dampen his stomach as you collapsed over him. He always knew you’d be so tight, that you’d fit so perfect around him.

But sitting here, staring at your shivering, impotent form in your torn fishnets and your skimpy attire, he could barely contain the urge to tear open your knees and fuck you against the concrete. It had been so long since he’d even been this close to you; James took up all of your time nowadays, and gone were the late movie nights and stolen games of basketball on the breaks he took so liberally.

He missed you. So much.

And you knew it. You knew it, deep in your chest where the remnants of your heart twisted, still hearing the words, “You’ve been pretty busy lately.”

You shook your head, choking out another sob as shame crept along your skin, and you shivered at its grotesque touch. “No, he didn’t hurt me… not – not in that way.”

You couldn’t look at him; his pearlescent blue eyes and his sun-kissed freckles and his boyish brown locks all fading into memory as you buried your face in his chest, inhaling once more the faint scent of his laundry detergent and the musk of him beneath the shirt that was flipped inside-out but still outlined the blatant logo of Back to the Future. Whether he hadn’t realised he’d put it on backwards or he’d been shy about it, you couldn’t be sure, but it lightened your heart all the same, your sobs turning to giggles.

Neil pulled you closer, his chin resting along the nape of your neck and his hand running up your thigh; you barely noticed how near his hand was to your panties as you tugged at his shirt, nails sinking past the fabric as if to keep him and never let him go.

You regretted all that time you’d spent with James, when you should have been spending it with him instead. Everything felt so much easier with him; your smiles were broader, your laughter more carefree.

But you wanted more – selfish and lovesick, you wanted more than what he already gave you. You needed more than his attention and his friendship.

You needed him to want you.

“I thought that…” You sniffled. “… I thought that James wanted me. I dressed up all… nice… fucking whorish… and I thought tonight was finally the night and that he would’ve… that he would’ve…”

The words twisted in your throat, and you squeezed your eyes shut. Two hours ago, when you did up your makeup and clothes for your date with James, you’d felt sexy. Powerful, even.

Now, you just felt worthless.

Neil nestled his nose in the crook of your neck, brushed the silk strands of your hair aside, breathed your scent in so deeply that for a moment, the butterflies came back to the pit of your stomach.

“I just want to be wanted,” you admitted, losing it, sobbing uncontrollably into the now-damp shirt that clung to his thin frame. “I just want to be desired. That was the only reason I was with him, Neil. The way he looked at me that day when he came into the store, I…”

With a bitter pang in his chest, Neil remembered that day. The way James had looked at you like you were a piece of meat. The way he’d asked you if had any recommendations on which sports film he should rent and Neil had practically wedged himself between the two of you and started chattering to James about every little piece of trivia he knew about Chariots of Fire and Rocky. How, despite his efforts, James had still gone home with your number as well as the tapes. How you’d come in the next morning with a hickey on your neck and Neil had just known that where James had paused one of the tapes was when your movie night was likely cut short by… things he’d rather not think about ever again.

It should’ve been his couch you’d been curled up on, should’ve been him watching the movie with you. His mark on your neck.

And he would’ve picked something a little more fitting for the mood, too. Something more like Casablanca or Sin City. It was as if James didn’t even have to try to get you drooling over him. What was so special about him, anyway?

I wish I was special, Neil thought.

Neil’s grip on you tightened at the memory, nails digging in to the flesh of your thigh in a way that stirred a little gasp from your lungs, huffing against his collarbone as you tilted your head up to look at him.

“Y/N.”  His breath caught in his throat, and he reluctantly pulled from your neck to look you in the eye, locks of messy hair falling across his forehead and his eyes half-lidded. His fingers ghosted up your thigh, and you blinked past the sharp mint of his mouthwash – it burned your eyes slightly, but you didn’t care. You were so close to him, your breaths became one, a few threads of his hair tickling your cheeks and his nose brushing yours.

“Neil,” you breathed, the slightest of smiles tugging at your lip as your heart thudded between your legs, dangerously close to his fingers. Warmth spread across each fevered limb, taking you somewhere past the cold concrete and bitter chill of the wind, somewhere away from the graffiti-painted alley and the reek of broken booze bottles. Somewhere safe, and warm, and thrilling all at once.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” Neil’s voice cracked around the words, a nervous laugh huffing against your fluttering lashes as his freckled cheeks darkened another shade of red. The hand that wasn’t between your legs played with a lock of your hair, twirling it in his finger but still supporting you beneath a quivering arm.

You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was real.

He had to have been playing some sick joke, right?

But the whimper that fell from his lips was very real, as his nails dug into your flesh again and he tugged you closer, his hips arching upward against your outer thigh.

“You look more than nice. You’re so fucking hot in this skirt, in anything you wear. That asshole is fucking blind,” he breathed, fingers grazing your panties and landing over your hipbone, testing the waters more and more as he tried not to rock his growing arousal too obviously against you.

But you noticed. You noticed the way his cock hardened and twitched beneath your weight; you noticed how even despite his body trembling from his attempts to resist his primal urges, his hips still gave little bucks upward, seeking friction. Seeking the heat that flared between your thighs, that ached for him so desperately that it was all you could do not to return the favour.

He couldn’t take it anymore. Staring into those gorgeous, bright eyes. Looking up at him with anything but innocence. So he scooped both hands around your ass, squeezing the flesh and lace and tugging you properly onto his lap with an alluring squeal tearing from your full lips.

“I want you, Y/N.” His hot breath pooled at your collarbone as he trailed wet, sloppy kisses along your jaw, your neck, and your lips parted in another gasp, back arching and thighs clenching around his waist as you ground wet panties against the bulge in his trousers.

“I fucking need you,” he whined, nipping like a needy puppy at the delicate skin of your neck. “Always have.” Another kiss. “Ever since I first saw you. Long before James.” A possessive growl stirred from his throat at that, the flare of dominance sending a jolt through your core.

“Neil, I – oh my God.” A moan broke your words as his fingers moved up your spine and his teeth grazed your collarbone, hovering over your pulse point.

“Fuck, baby. Say that again. Just like that.” His fingers began rolling your shirt up over the lip of your breasts, the sight enough to make him whine again in need. He couldn’t help himself from groping you, squeezing your breasts and rolling one nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Bending his neck to trail more sloppy kisses down your torso, they were his next destination.

“Oh my – Neil. Neil, I – “ You had so much to tell him, so much you needed off your chest, but his hips bucked sharply against you at the sound of his name moaned so beautifully, a low groan in his throat and his cock digging slightly inside your heat, the fabric of your panties scraping almost painfully against your walls.

“Please, Y/N, please don’t make me stop. Please let me keep touching you like this. I wanna worship you.” His hot breath shattered against a pert nipple. “Wanna fucking prove to you how much I want you.”

For a few moments, you were rendered speechless, mind whirring like the wheels on a VHS. Everything was happening so fast, and the warmth of his touch was seeping into you like honey, inundating you in a sort of comforting flame.

He could almost smell the vanilla of the candle wick burning.

You left nail marks down his chest where you clawed at the collar of his shirt, but he didn’t care. He sucked a nipple past his teeth and moaned around the taste of you, the sound so filthy that your eyes nearly rolled back in your skull as your parted lips tipped to the heavens. His name outlined by their perfect shape.

Reality came crashing down around you as you jumped, another squeal leaving your tongue as his teeth bit at your nipple and pain shot along your nerve endings.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, chest heaving, looking up at you with reverent eyes. “I didn’t mean to, I – “

You cupped his chin in your palm and shook your head. “No, Neil. I’m sorry.” A tear streaked down your cheek, beaded on your jawline. “I’m so, so sorry.” You were beginning to sob again, and his brow furrowed in concern, thumb beginning to trace small circles along your spine. “I’m sorry I abandoned you for James, I didn’t… I shouldn’t have. I didn’t know you felt this way, I – I’m so sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he told you, his words sinking into your skin like a warm tide. With one hand, he brushed the tear from your jaw and wove his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer. “Just let me keep touching you. Please.”

When you didn’t respond for a moment, caught up in the way his blue eyes seemed to hollow with a certain hunger, the way his chest rose and fell beneath the bare flesh of your stomach, he uttered that word again:

“Please.”

You smiled, elated and giddy with joy, blood pounding with arousal, and kissed him, threading your own fingers into the fluffy locks of his hair.

Another tear streaked across your lips as they met his, and you tasted like salt and vanilla, slightly waxy from your chap-stick but the sweetest thing he’d tasted nonetheless. At first, he was embarrassed by the noises he made, the way he’d accidentally called you “baby” because he’d always wanted to do so, but he melted beneath you like butter. Nothing mattered anymore except the fact that you were finally his, that you were in his arms and grinding against his cock.

Neil broke the kiss to pull your shirt over your head, tossing it aside somewhere on the concrete – he would buy you a new one. His hands flattened against your back and pulled you flush to his chest, taking any excuse he could to hear that little squeal you made each time.

“Please, baby, please let me be inside you,” he whined, biting his lip as he stared up at you with those powder-blue eyes. Nails dug into your skin. Hips bucked against yours.

Your heart soared with his words, his worship, his want; you’d never been this ecstatic in your whole life. Part of you wanted to keep teasing him, make him beg, while another part of you ached to feel him buried to the hilt inside you.

“Patience, Neil,” you giggled, as you undid his trousers. You worked them down to his knees and your eyes widened as your hand brushed his cock, bare and springing flush against his stomach. You hadn’t expected him to not wear boxers.

Neil smiled sheepishly up at you, eyes still lidded, mouth still panting out a fevered breath. “I was in a rush getting dressed. I…” His cheeks reddened, and there was something so cute about how pathetic he looked in that moment. “You wanna know how much I want you, Y/N? I was touching myself thinking of you when you called.”

Creep, some voice in the back of his head hissed.

You bit your lip to suppress a moan, trying to ward off thoughts of Neil stroking himself to you, finishing to the thought of you. Oh, how you wished you could have witnessed the sight.

“Did you come?” you asked, a devious grin pulling at your lips as you took him in your hand, massaging a bead of pre-cum into his sensitive flesh.

His eyes fluttered, and he shook his head, his words coming out as a breathy whine,

“No, I promise. I didn’t come. Not yet.”

“Will you?” You dipped your head to let your words tickle his neck, your grip on him tightening.

“Yes,” he moaned. “Yes, yes, oh God, I will. Fuck, baby. Fuck, gonna come if you don’t stop that, need to come inside you, please, please…”

His mutterings trailed off into a low hiss of a whine, and your movements stilled, dragging him to his peak and letting him teeter at the edge as you both caught your breaths, chest heaving and a cold chill racing down your sweat-slicked back, thighs trembling around him.

“You sure you can handle this?” you purred against his ear before pulling back once more to witness the shivering mess you’d made him, priding yourself in your accomplishment. Lining his cock up with your entrance, the fabric of your panties scraped his tip teasingly as you slotted them to the side.

Neil looked up at you like you were some kind of goddess, his breathing coming laboured, his throat stripped of words. The dazed, blissful look he gave you was all the answer you needed. But you wanted to reap him of every last praise he had.

“Use your words, Neil,” you giggled, smirking.

“Ah…” His lips parted, near soundless. You watched intently as they formed the word “Please”.

You almost felt bad for him.

But it wasn’t pity that brought your hips down around him, slowly, teasingly, savouring the stretch of him against your walls and the fullness in your belly, but rather, your own need.

Neil’s head rolled back against the brick wall, blood welling at his lip where he bit it to keep himself from toppling over his peak; he nearly did it to himself when he bucked his hips upward, burying himself inside you, making you whimper at the pain that blended so sordidly with the pleasure. Your fingers tugged at his hair, and your nails grazed his scalp, and every little sensation sent him into overdrive. He used these little things to ground himself, as you had his tangled scents; he focused on how smooth your stomach felt against his own, his shirt hiking up so that you were skin to skin; he focused on the noises you made, huffing and whimpering, as you began to ride him; he focused on the softness of the breast that he cupped in his hand. Tried not to think about how you felt better than he’d imagined, how you clenched so tightly around his cock that he was almost pushed out each time you elevated your hips, but were so wet for him that he slid back inside so seamlessly each time.

“Neil,” you moaned as you fucked yourself on his cock, breast bouncing beneath his thumb, skirt fluttering around the bareness of his thighs. “Neil, fuck. Fuck.”

“Baby, I’m s—sorry. I’m gonna…”

You yelped again as pain shot deep inside your core, his hips bucking against yours with a violence you hadn’t known sweet Neil from the VHS store to possess, bottoming out inside you as his nails dug into the now-abused skin of your back and pulling you close, so close you were panting over his shoulder and his breath shattered against your ear. The hand that had been cupping your breast shot up to cradle your head, petting your hair.

He held you to him so tight, you didn’t think he’d ever let go. And you couldn’t have been happier.

Warmth spilled around his cock, sticky against your thighs, painting your insides white. You shuddered around him, balling his hair into a fist and digging your own, sharper nails, against his back.

“I didn’t mean it to be over so fast,” he mumbled into your neck. “I just… you’re so… fuck, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”

“So have I,” you breathed. You practically hugged each other, shivering in the night air but content in each other’s warmth. “Don’t worry.” Pulling away slightly, you smiled down at him, cheeks flushing bright red. “If anything, it… it’s endearing.”

“Really?” he chuffed out a laugh.

“It…” you looked down, unable to meet that crystalline gaze. “It makes me feel wanted.” You pecked a quick kiss to his jaw, and could’ve sworn you saw love in his eyes when you pulled away.

“God, you’re perfect.” His voice broke again as his lips sought yours, and his breath hitched in his chest when the action caused you to rock your hips forward, a new sensation he’d never felt before buzzing along his skin. His mouth hung open and you laid kisses to his lips, his jaw, the Adam’s apple that bobbed along his throat. He felt his cock stiffen again inside you, already eager for Round Two.

“I should take you home,” he murmured, hands running up and down your sides. “You must be so cold.” As if just realising that he still had his jacket on, Neil shrugged it off in haste and wrapped the heavy material around your shoulders. A chill ran down your spine, as the material was damp with sweat – you smiled at how predictably forgettable he was when he had a woman on his lap, just as you’d imagined –, but his scent soothed you.

Though you were cold, it was a small sacrifice to make to stay here, with him buried so deep inside you that you felt dizzy in the head. Depleted of your energy and sinking into his warmth, you smirked, and rested your chin on his shoulder.

“I was thinking of just staying like this a while,” you admitted.

“Whatever makes you happy,” he breathed, hugging you even tighter. “Whatever you want.”

A.N. Sorry if this was a bit rough, guys. I smashed this one out the other day because I was tired of my writer's block.

I actually laid into some themes that I was planning on using for a Dark!Neil fic based on the song "Creep" which I don't know when I'll get around to writing, but let me know if you guys would like to hear more about the idea for the series or are interested.

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[severus-snape-apreciation-blog]

Anyone else think about how if James Potter and Co’ were not cruel and bullies to Severus or weird to Lily how he could have been their friend. Never joined the death eaters and possibly had a good life? Just me? Or

[you-dont-want-to-be-alone]

Don’t you just love searching for dickbabs or dick kori content and you just find essays and essays about how dickbabs or dick kory suck

Like

Like can’t dick have multiple love interests

Can y’all stop blaming Barbara or kory to what happened in the 1996 run anual 2

Like seriously I left the sw fandom because of stupid ass shit like this

[drivemysoul]

aita for cheating on my girlfriend?

i (17m) saw my girlfriend dancing with another guy so i cheated on her all summer. but i showed up at her party and asked her to kiss me and she told me to go fuck myself. in my defense i'm only 17 and i don't know anything. aita?

[getrope1]

You cant make this shit up

[joyflameball]

Man just doesn't stop fucking MURDERING white men who've done very shitty things

Edit: Yes I'm aware that Hbomb wasn't really The Guy to take down Wakefield, and Wakefield was gotten by Deere, however it was for the meme

Edit two: When referring to Shapiro I was talking about the Aquaman clip

[anyth1ng40urmoony]

guys can i please say i went through the most painful breakup ive ever experienced , like crying for weeks on end in the school halls to the point people STILL call me crazy 10 months later, and i have to see his name all over my tumblr feed. i love you james bloggers but man you give me a heart attack sometimes.

[stylinson-spagghetti]

betty i wont make assumptions about why you switched your homeroom but *proceeds to make an assumption*

[bejeweledbaby]

my girl betty can finally tell her side of story!!

[jofiah]

tumblr live is just haunting me but. wait computer enhance

WHO IS AI GENERATING TUMBLR LIVE ICONS

who are these people. what is happening. real cool legitimate feature you guys got here @staff

[robinsversion]

How I sleep knowing I always cite my sources:

(First image from the film Drip Dippy Donald (1948); second image from season 4, episode 3 of the Simpsons, “Homer the Heretic” (1992).)

[dulcecatrina]

James Somerton’s Patreon is back. If you were supporting him, make sure to cancel before the end of the month or you will get charged.

There are nearly 3,000 subscribers on his page. It has been scrubbed of all posts, including his last “statements” about the situation, except for two unrelated ones.

He said he had done this so people would have a chance to cancel their pledge, but he has no post describing the plagiarism and why his patreon disappeared or is back.

If you were one of these nearly three thousand subscribers and if you no longer want to support James Somerton, plagiarist, monetarily cancel your pledge.

[opportunityarose]

they are 12 year old boys

[culverton]

average friendship

[devilspastorson]

The way he looks genuinely sad-

[v0idwraith]

David Szymanski: in my game i have invented the Iron Lung as a cautionary tale

Billionaires: at long last, we have created the Iron Lung from classic horror game Don’t Create The Iron Lung