#instead of getting an occasional notification in my activity for it and immediately forgetting to answer it/deleting it lol

[martyrbat]

face reveal of me disabling allow anonymous asks after someone was being mean

[ladamedusoif]

Rockford, P.I.

Or: the one where Tim Rockford is a ghost hunter

Inspired by the incredible PPCU AU moodboards by @almostfoxglove!

Pairing: Paranormal Investigator!Tim Rockford x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6k

Content notes/warnings: 18+ MDNI; F!Reader; no physical description of Reader; Tim Rockford AU; Reader is Tim’s occasional partner in the business; established working relationship and friendship; friends to lovers; spooky shenanigans; implied smut; fluff; ghosts; references to death; references to alcohol use; references to drug use; strong language; cliches and most likely a lot of stuff that’s not correct about paranormal investigations.

Author's note: I loved @almostfoxglove's PPCU AU moodboards so much and I've been thinking about this story for a while, so when better to finish and post it than Halloween? I know I haven't written in a long time - since the summer, I think - and at the weekend certain discourse made me want to just give up completely and delete every word I'd ever posted. But this was nearly done, and I feel like at least some people might like to see it. So here you are. Happy Halloween, Oíche Shamhna shona daoibh.

And thank you to @mescalpascal for beta-ing this and not letting me get away with just giving up - with writing, fandom, everything.

To find more of my work and get alerts when I post new writing (which will hopefully be more frequently!), follow my writing blog @ladameecrit and turn on notifications.

Ghost divider by @wethairjoel

“Rockford, PI - Tim speaking. How can I be of assistance?”

Tim spins in his battered desk chair, phone tucked against his shoulder and box of leftover takeout still in hand as he listens to the person on the other end of the line, nodding and “uh huh”-ing every so often.

He stops spinning. He puts down the box of cold lo mein. He grabs a pen, and frantically begins taking notes. He asks the caller to send as much information as they can via email.

And then he calls you.

Other little girls at school wanted to be princesses or singers or models or movie stars. You? You wanted to be a Ghostbuster. Forget clean-cut TV stars or the latest cookie-cutter boyband member, your first love was Dr Egon Spengler.

Fast forward a few decades, and your dream had become reality - kind of. Your doctoral thesis on the interplay between reported paranormal activity and its representation in popular culture had produced a few well-received articles and earned you a positive reputation in the admittedly rather specialised world of paranormal and psychical research. It had not, unfortunately, led to a glittering academic career.

Instead, you made a living with a part-time teaching gig at a university combined with a little freelance consultancy work for movies and TV shows, almost all of which ditched your nuanced advice and produced yet another cliched depiction of “ghost hunters” screaming on camera.

And then there was Tim. You’d met a long time back, after a talk you’d given in the city about change and continuity in the concept of the “haunted house”. He was sitting in the front, diligently taking notes and nodding along as you spoke, eyes warm and encouraging - and he immediately made a beeline to ask you for coffee as soon as the Q&A wrapped up. 

Before you parted that evening, he handed you his card.

”Rockford, PI. You’re a private investigator?”

Tim shook his head. “Paranormal investigator. Helps to have most people think it’s the other kind of PI, though.” He called you from time to time, asking for your help on specific cases, sometimes enlisting you as a partner for the duration of an investigation. You always welcomed the extra income, but in truth you helped him out for the sheer love of it - for the chance to feel like a real Ghostbuster, even if Tim worked in business attire instead of boiler suits, and to spend time with one of the few people in the world you felt really got you.

You peer out at the English countryside from the window of the car Tim hired at Heathrow, straining to see something of the allegedly “green and pleasant” land through the miserable grey haze and sheets of rain. The navigation on your phone announces the final turn for your destination. Tim, still getting used to driving on the other side of the road, approaches cautiously and takes the left turn onto the long driveway.

“Whoa.” His voice is awestruck as the car arrives at the enormous country house, now a luxury boutique hotel catering to the rich and famous in search of an exclusive retreat. “We’re a long way from poltergeists in Poughkeepsie.”

You shrug as Tim drives into the small, discreet parking lot to one side of the building. “I’ve done some work on a couple of Gilded Age mansions. This isn’t going to be all that different, right?”

“True,” he muses, climbing out of the car and setting to work unpacking your luggage: a suitcase each, plus several hard-sided cases of vital equipment for conducting the investigation, labelled ‘Scientific Instruments’. “And they did say they think it’s only one manifestation.”

You chuckle as you help him wheel the cases from the car towards the hotel entrance, where a man in elegant livery is already rushing to greet you with a brass luggage trolley. “One manifestation? Please. We got this, Rockford.”

That evening, unpacked, freshened up, and after a dinner meeting with the hotel owner, you and Tim decamp to the library - now a comfortably-appointed lounge with its own bar - to compare notes. The two of you are the only residents, the hotel having temporarily suspended operations in order to deal with the spectral guest.

He hands you a glass of whiskey and settles beside you on the Chesterfield sofa, hair still damp from his earlier shower and his customary attire replaced by a long-sleeved Henley shirt and a pair of jeans. He looks more boyish, the grey patches in his beard notwithstanding, and you find yourself smiling softly at him.

“So: first impressions?”

You take a sip of your drink and reach for your notebook. “First impressions: they must be pretty freaked out to temporarily close down a hotel over one spirit, don’t you think?”

He shrugs. “Maybe? Or maybe it’s unusually troublesome - they mentioned strange things appearing on bedroom walls, guests waking to the sound of a voice shouting for help, weird stuff turning up on TV channels... And they do pride themselves on the whole ‘idyllic rural retreat’ brand, which a ghost doesn’t exactly fit with.” He sips his whiskey and thinks. “Did you find out any more about the death here a couple of years ago?”

”I did - it was weirdly under-reported, given that a celebrity was involved, but I guess people had much bigger things to worry about during the pandemic.” You flip to a different page. “Nothing I found out seemed to contradict the owner’s version of events, though I’m sure they’d be careful to control the narrative if there was anything to hide.”

Tim sucks his cheek, deep in thought, and nods. “I guess we can’t proceed until we see how this thing is manifesting for ourselves. You have everything you need for the surveillance in your room overnight?”

You nod. “And we’ve got the kit set up in the other parts of the hotel the owner mentioned. I think we’re good to go, Timothy.”

He grins, eyes sparkling, and clinks your glass.

Jetlag doesn’t stop you waking as soon as the first rays of sunlight begin to peek around the heavy drapes that adorn the windows of your large bedroom. You’re checking the recordings and readings taken in the room overnight, looking for any indication of paranormal activity, when your phone buzzes with a message from Tim.

Nothing in my room overnight. Anything in yours? 

Not that I can see. You want to check the other equipment before breakfast?

Sure thing. Race you to the Full English.

“Oh, it’s on, Rockford,” you murmur to yourself, reaching for leggings and an old hoodie. You slip on a pair of Crocs, already bracing yourself for Tim’s inevitable comments about your choice of footwear, grab your keycard, and slip out of the room.

It’s quiet in your absence, save for the gentle sound of birds singing outside, the wind occasionally rattling your windows - and the increasingly steady beeping now being emitted from a little device Tim had given you, designed to measure sudden shifts in psychical energy. 

None of the other devices set up elsewhere in the hotel had registered anything out of the ordinary. Tim, typically, is philosophical.

“We just have to wait, do some more research in the meantime, speak to the staff. How’s that breakfast?” He sips his coffee, mug looking comically small in his large hand, and gives you a mischievous look.

“The bacon’s delicious, the mushrooms are great, the eggs are perfect… but I don’t think Cumberland sausages are for me.” You poke at the thick, half-eaten link sausage on the plate. “Not least because ‘Cumberland sausage’ sounds like a fuckin’ euphemism if ever I heard one.”

Tim laughs, the warm sound resonating in the empty dining room. He tops up his coffee and reaches for another slice of toast, and you realise that he seems…different.

“Rockford?” He looks up at you, toast crumbs in his moustache. “What’s going on with you? You aren’t normally this, uh, jolly on a job.”

He swallows his toast and drinks his coffee thoughtfully. “It’s a fascinating case, and I guess I’m just really happy that we’re working together again. Even if you’re wearing those.”

Tim gestures with mock scorn towards your brightly-coloured Crocs, before giving you a sly wink. 

“Are you absolutely sure you want to comment on my sartorial choices, Rockford? Or do you want me to talk about your rotating selection of striped ties from Sears?”

After breakfast, Tim decides to take advantage of the on-site pool and you return to your room for a quick shower before beginning the first round of interviews with hotel staff. The beeping noise is audible before you’ve even reached the door.

You steel yourself and gently enter the room, slowly moving in the direction of the little device on its tripod, various alert lights flashing in sync with the rhythm of its insistent beeps. You transcribe the codes on its screen into your notebook and take a quick video, ready to show Tim as soon as possible. Cross-legged on the floor, you close your eyes for a moment, steadying your breathing.

“I can’t believe they let in someone else wearing Crocs. So much for their fuckin’ dress code.”

Your eyes snap wide open at the sound of the male voice behind you, on the other side of the room. American. West coast, you think. A little…affected? 

In other words: that’s probably not a member of staff.

You get to your feet and turn, slowly, in the direction of the voice.

There, on the other side of the room, sprawled on the sofa, is a man you think must be in his early 40s. His hair is wild, wavy, dark; his eyes obscured by a pair of vintage Ray-Bans. He’s wearing a brown teddy coat, which has slipped open to reveal a shirtless torso and a flash of tummy. A pair of loose grey shorts, wooly socks, and fucking Crocs complete his outfit. 

Definitely not staff.

Though your heart is pounding out of your chest, you find the strength to speak. “Are you a spirit?”

The man slips his glasses down his nose and gives you a withering look. “What the fuck else do you think I am? And while we’re here - why is that…thing making so much noise?”

“It’s to read changes in psychical activity,” you explain. “So it’s probably picking you up.”

The man thinks about this for a couple of moments, as if chewing it over. With a jolt, you realise two things: firstly, that in all your years of working with the paranormal, you’ve never actually seen a ghost, at least not in this form; and secondly, that you recognise this figure.

“So you do know who I am,” he drawls, pushing his glasses back up his nose and lying back on the couch. Shit, he’s more powerful than you suspected - he can pick up on what you’re thinking.

“It’s…it’s you. The dead guest.”

He exhales dramatically and flops his arm over the side of the sofa. “I have a name.”

You rack your brains, afraid to look away to grab your notebook in case he disappears.

“You’re…you’re Dieter Bravo.”

Tim Rockford is on his twentieth lap of the pool when a slow, steady buzzing noise catches his ear, coming from the direction of the tote bag he’d left poolside with towels, a t-shirt, and shorts. He hauls himself out of the water and roughly dries off his face, hair, and hands before rummaging in the bag. “Fuck!”

He’s half-wet and breathless when you open the door to your room, his fist still raised as if ready to continue the frantic hammering that had signalled his arrival. 

“Jesus! You okay?”

He’s turning and twirling around the room, glasses on and fogged up from the residual humidity of his body, holding up one of his own psychical activity detectors. “You…fuck,” Tim hisses as he tries to catch his breath. “You saw it? Where is it?”

“So I’m an it now?”, Dieter drawls, now hovering - literally - in the area of the large bay window. 

“He’s there,” you gesture, calmly, as if being in a room with the spectral manifestation of a dead Hollywood actor was an everyday occurrence. “By the window.”

Tim stares directly at Dieter, but doesn’t register anything. Dieter roars with laughter.

“Oh, babe! Looks like you’re special.”

“I’m special?”

Tim swivels at the sound of your voice, confusion written all over his face. Dieter sidles up to the other man, resting his head on Tim’s shoulder, and you’re struck by a kind of resemblance. Tim shivers.

“He can’t see or hear me. Most people can’t, which makes haunting the fuck out of this place hilarious,” the actor explains. He takes a seat on a vanity table near the window and looks a little wistful. “Annika was the last person who could see and hear me,” he sighs. “Kinda nice to be…” - he wiggles his hands in the air - “visible again.”

“He…he says I’m special because I can see and hear him, and you can’t. Most people can’t. Is this…normal? Am I normal?”

Tim crosses the room and puts a hand on your shoulder, gently caressing it in a gesture of reassurance. “I mean, none of what we do is normal. But yes, this is not unusual.”

Dieter immediately launches into a Tom Jones impersonation, gyrating in exaggerated fashion towards Tim, and you roll your eyes involuntarily. Tim looks hurt.

“Oh! Oh, Tim, no, I was rolling my eyes at him. Not you. Shit, this is going to be confusing, isn’t it?”

The crinkles that form around Tim’s eyes when he smiles make a welcome appearance, and his dark eyes twinkle behind his glasses. “I’m sure we can work out a system for keeping communication clear. Usually, when a manifestation is only visible to one or two people, it means they have some kind of need, or something unfulfilled. And, I guess, they think the witness can give it to them.”

You glance over at Dieter, who is still gyrating. He lowers his sunglasses and grins at you lasciviously.

Over the next couple of days, you and Tim interview hotel staff and examine some of the areas affected by the haunting, to establish a pattern for the manifestation’s - for Dieter’s - behaviour. 

“The random murals appearing overnight aren’t that disturbing, I suppose,” you muse, noting down the details of the artwork Dieter had left in one guest bedroom.

“Depends on what you consider disturbing, though.” Tim rubs a finger against the paint, examining the powdery residue. “I wouldn’t like to wake up to an extra-large rendering of Hieronymus Bosch’s ‘Garden of Earthly Delights’ on my hotel room wall.”

You giggle and nod in agreement. “Well, fair. Though it’s weirdly good, for a ghost.” 

Your psychical activity detectors start to beep in unison and you turn to each other before you spy Dieter, lounging on top of a wardrobe. He’s clad differently, today, this time sporting a green robe, a baggy purple t-shirt, and striped lounge pants. 

And the Crocs.

“I am good. Honestly, if they’d got my heart going again I think I’d have quit Hollywood, y’know? Jacked it all in, got clean, got into art properly. Make sculptures, paint, run a gallery or some shit.”

“He’s talking to me,” you explain to Tim, before turning back to Dieter. “So you’re hanging around here because you didn’t get to make the art you dreamed of?”

“Ugh. I don’t have to explain myself to you people.”

And he’s gone.

In the evenings, the hotel insists on serving you and Tim dinner as if you were ordinary guests, not paranormal investigators tasked with eradicating the ghost of an Oscar-winning Hollywood enfant terrible from the property. The lone waiter serves your five-course meal with the kind of exaggerated formality you had only ever seen in films or TV shows about royalty, respectfully pointing out the various cutlery and accoutrements needed for each course in a low, somewhat fawning voice.

“And voilà, Mr Rockford, your seabass.” He lifts the dome from Tim’s plate and does a little bow. 

Tim is chewing the inside of his cheek and turning pink as the waiter leans closer to his ear.

“A reminder, sir, should you require it, that the fishknife is that delicate little marvel on the right. Bon appétit.”

Tim says nothing as the waiter makes his way across the vast, empty dining room, watching for the door to the kitchens to close properly before he lets out a belly laugh so huge it almost rocks the table you’re seated at. You raise an eyebrow and pour him a fresh glass of water.

“Are you quite well, Tim?”

He’s taken off his glasses and is rubbing tears from his eyes, unable to control his laughter. “Why did he say that about the fishknife? And the fucking dome? I shouldn’t laugh but…”

“You mean you didn’t need to be reminded that the fishknife is a delicate little marvel?” 

Your attempt to replicate the waiter’s tone sets the two of you off this time, and you’re still laughing about it by the time you retreat to the lounge with a gin and tonic each. 

This was the longest you’d ever spent in Tim’s company, you realised one night, sitting with your feet tucked under you on the large leather sofa. There was a lot that you didn’t know about each other, but being stuck in a haunted hotel is nothing if not an ideal opportunity for getting to know someone better. 

You are listening to Tim animatedly telling you about one of his strangest cases. His face lights up when he talks about his work, big hands gesturing for emphasis, eyes bright and focused on you. He listens to you with the same commitment and interest, keenly asking questions and taking in your every word.

When you lean in for a goodnight hug before parting ways, he seems surprised - but pleased, somehow, as he returns your embrace.

Your TV is on when you return to your room. The tell-tale beeping from the psychical activity monitor gives him away immediately.

“Dieter.”

He’s lying on your bed, propped up on one arm, green robe wrapped around him. “Heyyyyyyy. Hope you don’t mind. Wanted some company and I’ve haunted the fuck out of everyone else around here.”

You shake your head and pour yourself a glass of water. “I don’t mind. But if I let you hang out with me you have to answer my questions.”

He groans and flops back onto the bed, though his body makes no indentation in the bedclothes. “FINE. But you have to answer mine.”

“Fair.” You settle beside him on the bed, trying not to overthink the fact that you were literally hanging out with a dead man. “What the fuck are you watching?”

He runs his fingers through his hair in irritation and points at the 90s sitcom he’s watching on some random-ass cable channel. “Allegedly this is a British remake of Who’s The Boss but like, it’s fucking shit. No Danza, no party.”

You pause for a moment. “Speaking of party…can you do drugs, if you’re a ghost? All the evidence would suggest you can’t, but I’ve never actually heard from someone with first-hand experience.”

“I tried.”

“And?”

Dieter grimaces. “I literally threw a couple of tabs of acid through my stupid fuckin’ ghost body, didn’t I. Just…whoosh.” He gestures with his hand. “I feel so real, y’know? All corporeal. But then you try to get high and bam. No can do. I can’t eat or drink, either.”

“You didn’t answer my question earlier.”

He stares at you. “Why do you get to ask two questions in a row? My turn.”

You roll your eyes and take a sip of your water, noticing Dieter staring longingly at the glass.

“Fine.”

He cackles and claps his hands together. They make no sound.

“Are you and Magnum P.I. fucking? You’re fucking, right?”

“Um, no?” You take another sip of water and swallow hard. “No, we are not fucking. We’re colleagues.”

Dieter mimics you, note-perfect, and cackles again. “Bullshit. He’s down so fuckin’ bad for you.”

“Tim is not ‘down bad’ for me, as you put it.”

He sits up, moving into a kind of lotus position. “He is.”

“He’s not.”

“He is, and I know he is because I can literally sense this shit. And I can definitely sense that you’ve got a crush on ol’ Columbo down the hall. Which is fair, I guess. He’s pretty hot.”

You can feel the heat rising to your face, but maintain what you hope is a neutral expression. 

“Oh, Scully is trying so hard not to let her crush on Mulder show.” He smiles a smug, satisfied grin.

“Is he Magnum, Columbo, or Mulder, Dieter?”

“All three, baby.” He hovers about a foot above the bed, pointing at you accusingly. “And you should put him out of his misery. Want me to go check on him for you, see if he’s thinking about you right now?” Dieter wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“If you don’t shut up I’m going to get a ghost trap and put you in it.”

“Like in Ghostbusters?!” Dieter seems unreasonably excited. 

“Do you want to be sealed up in a little trap, or would you prefer to continue having free rein?”

He sighs and descends back to the bed. “Ugh. Okay. I’m sorry. But I’m not wrong.”

Dieter fucking Bravo. He was haunting your brain, as well as this hotel.

His insistence that Tim had a thing for you - and vice versa - now coloured every interaction, every conversation between you and your colleague as you tried to discern any evidence that Dieter was right, or that disproved his theory. To your horror, you began to unconsciously hope that he wasn’t just winding you up.

He quickly got in the habit of appearing in your room just before bedtime: staying for a little chat, dodging any of your questions that veered too close to the essential truth of why he hadn’t completely passed over to the great beyond, and asking repeatedly if you and Tim had “got around to fucking” yet. 

“It would be kinda hard for us to get around to fucking with a fucking ghost in my room, don’t you think?”

He laughs his wheezy rasp of a laugh and crosses his hands over his tummy. “Listen, the more the merrier, babe.”

A few moments pass before you break the silence. “Why are you so obsessed with us, with me and Tim, with us getting together?”

He pouts and stares into the middle distance. “I guess…hmm. I want people to get what they want, love-wise.” Dieter discerns your incredulous glance. “What? I mean it! I’m a big fan of romance and happy endings.”

“You can’t blame me for being sceptical, Dieter.”

Tension crackles in the air. When he speaks again, he’s very quiet. 

“Just because I didn’t get a happy ending in life doesn’t mean I can’t believe in them.”

Dieter’s big, dark eyes - or the spectral impression of his big, dark eyes, now trapped in some in-between place, neither here nor there - look at you with absolute sincerity. 

“Is that why you’re still here?”

He turns away. 

“I don’t know why I can see you, Dieter, or what you need me for, but there’s got to be a reason for it. And I can’t help you until you talk to me.”

He huddles deeper into his green robe, and you exhale. 

“Fine. You’re not wrong. You’re right, in fact.”

He doesn’t move, but you can almost feel his ghostly ears pricking up.

“I’m right?”

You close your eyes and bite your lip. “Fuck it. You’re right, I… I think I do have a crush on him.”

This time, you swear you can hear Dieter smile.

“On who?”

“You know who.”

“Say it.” He chuckles to himself.

“Oh, fuck.” You bury your head in your hands. “Why do I need to say it, when you can sense what I’m thinking?”

Dieter rolls over and props himself up, grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Because it’s very fucking satisfying. For me.”

“Fuck you, Dieter Bravo. Fine. I - I have a crush on Tim. Happy?”

He nods, and points in the direction of Tim’s room, down the hall. “Mmm. And now you need to tell Timmy so that he can tell you he has a crush on you and then you can go off and have lots of weirdo paranormal-obsessed babies. If that’s a thing you want, of course.”

“Okay.”

Dieter’s eyes widen. “Okay? So, you’re just gonna tell him?”

“I’ll tell him… but only if you let me help you.”

“No deal. Fuck you two, keep on being idiots.”

“I thought you loved happy endings, romance, all that?”

“Nope.” 

You shift on the mattress to face Dieter, and speak more gently this time. “Do you want to be stuck here forever, Dieter?”

He hesitates. “Nope.”

“So, should we make a deal?”

He talks and talks all night, floating around the room, resting on the vanity, on the armchair, on the bed, and at one point drifting in and out of the bathroom - even with the door closed.

And you listen. You listen like Tim listens to you: engaged, curious, open, kind, even, trying to get to the root of what’s keeping this man trapped in between worlds in a luxury hotel in the English countryside.

Unfinished business is a common explanation for why ghosts hang around, you’ve realised. A desire for vengeance, too. Sometimes spirits just want to stay around their families and friends. Once, a long time ago, a client of Tim’s described the work as being like a kind of doula, for ghosts. 

“You help them get out of the in-between,” the lady had said, after Tim had solved the ongoing hauntings in her family’s ranch house. “They just need someone to hold their hand, I guess. Well, maybe not literally.”

Watching and listening as Dieter talks about his life, his death, his successes, his failures, you become ever more keenly aware of how right she was, and more focused on getting him to where he needs to be. To peace.

He descends gently to the ground in front of the TV set. “I can’t deny that the whole Beetlejuice shtick has been fun, most of the time,” he says, sadly. “But you’re right, I don’t wanna be stuck here for the rest of my life. I mean, the rest of my death. I mean -”

“The rest of your afterlife.”

He grins. “Exactly.”

“Dieter… do you think you might just be afraid?”

“Afraid?” His eyes are wide and frightened, giving you his answer without a word.

“Afraid to let go. Afraid to move to the next stage, whatever that is.”

“But that’s just it.” Dieter stares at his Crocs. “You said it. ‘Whatever that is.’ I don’t know what’s there.”

“No one does, though. And most spirits don’t end up haunting entire hotels, they just…pass through.”

He nods. “I guess I always had to stand out, huh?”

“Nothing wrong with that,” you agree. 

He takes a couple of moments to compose himself. “I… I saw whatever the fuck comes next when my heart stopped. Bright light, all that shit. Fuckin’ near-death experience, except I was actually dead.”

“But you didn’t pass through?”

“I feel like my entire self just went ‘fuck this, I’m not done’. But I couldn’t come back, y’know?” He tugs at an errant curl. “I guess…fuck. I didn’t want to be forgotten. Wanted to know I could live on, maybe.”

“You don’t have to stay in the in-between to live on, Dieter. The work speaks for itself.”

He groans. “Some of it does. Never got to rebuild properly, though. Whole lotta shlock in there and one fuckin’ Oscar.”

You bring yourself to the ground beside the spectre. “That’s one Oscar more than most of us will ever have. And plenty of people who died before their time still live on in their work.”

“If you mention the 27 Club to me I will actually haunt you for the rest of your life.” 

“Noted.” You smile at him, cheered by the sight of a little grin on Dieter’s lips. “But you know it’s true.”

“I just never got the happy ending.”

He looks so sorrowful in that moment that you wish, more than anything, that you could hug him - make him flesh and blood, just for an instant again, so he could know the comfort of a warm embrace.

“Maybe the happy ending is off there in the hereafter.”

Dieter arches an eyebrow. “Do you actually believe that?”

You grin and chuckle. “Honestly? Fuck knows what’s after all this. I think I’d rather not know. But even if it’s just a bright light and bam, that’s it - you’ll live forever, Dieter Bravo.”

Tim is bed-headed and bleary-eyed when he opens his door to you at 6.30am, but he smiles widely when his vision focuses and he recognises your face. 

“Have a seat, have a seat,” he gestures to the bed, before blushing a little. “Or I can move my clothes off the armchair, if you’d prefer.”

You perch on the edge of the mattress and shake your head. “It’s perfect here, thank you. I just wanted to tell you that I think Dieter’s…”

Funny how, in spite of doing this job and researching these phenomena for so many years, some cases just get to you. A sob catches in your throat as you try to find the words.

“I think the haunting problem is solved, I guess.”

Tim’s eyes widen in amazement and he sits beside you on the edge of the bed. “Your doula skills, right?”

You nod, tears still threatening to fall at any moment. His strong arms wrap around you and hold you close, keeping you safe as you cry against his broad chest.

“Please do feel free to stay for the next couple of days, of course.” The hotel manager is effusive and grateful as you wrap up the debriefing session later that morning, standing up to shake your and Tim’s hands in turn. “The rooms are booked, we won’t be reopening to other guests until we can redecorate the affected bedrooms. It’s on us, an extra little thank you for dealing with our, uh, friend.”

After lunch, the two of you walk through the property’s walled gardens and admire the various topiaries and water features. All the while, your promise to Dieter lingers at the forefront of your mind.

You said you would tell Tim how you felt, if Dieter let you help him. And he did. And now…

Fuck. And you wouldn’t put it past Dieter Bravo to somehow find his way back from the hereafter, just to haunt you out of spite.

You look over at Tim, who’s taking a photo of the hotel buildings from the gardens, and feel a surge of affection, mingled with anxiety. What if Dieter had got you right, but Tim wrong?

He catches your eye and grins at you. “Hey, come in for a photo?”

You pose beside an ornamental fountain, Tim concentrating as he sets up the shot. He beckons to you. 

“How about a selfie, maybe?”

His arm snakes around your shoulders as he angles the phone towards the two of you and captures the moment: he, suit on but tie loosened, eyes twinkling; you, smiling broadly into the lens.

He brings you a gin and tonic, settling in beside you on the Chesterfield sofa and clinking his glass of whiskey to yours. In the last few days the ritual has become familiar and comforting; and with a jolt you worry that this might be the last time you enjoy it together.

Tim sips his drink in contented silence, watching the flames of the large, open fire. 

“You’re quiet. Is everything okay?”

His dark eyes meet yours as you turn to face him. “I’m…”

Dieter Bravo is going to haunt you if you don’t do this.

What if this is your happy ending?

A large swig of G&T, to fortify your resolve.

“Um, I’ve really enjoyed this whole case, working with…being with you.”

Tim smiles softly. “Me too. It was nice to get the chance to get to know each other better.”

Another fortifying sip. 

“I was wondering…uh. Shit. Maybe, when we get back, would you -”

Your voice dries up in your throat. The next words are barely more than a whisper.

“Would you maybe like to get a drink or dinner sometime? With me?”

For an instant, you can see that Tim is on the verge of brushing it off, of asking why you're being so strange about this, of saying that you regularly meet for coffee if you’re both free, talking about that diner you sometimes go to.

And then the realisation sinks in, and his face softens into a huge smile.

“I would love to take you for dinner. And drinks. Whenever you want, wherever you want.”

He puts his glass down and moves closer to you. Your fingers reach for the end of his tie as your bodies shift ever closer, until he’s holding your face in his hands and his mouth is on yours, kissing you with warm intent.

You’re about to pull him down to the couch, his hands already snaking up under your blouse, when a stern cough makes the two of you jump.

The hotel’s only waiter casts a disapproving glance in your direction and shakes his head as he processes through the lounge to the main bar. 

Your hand reaches for Tim’s and you lead him towards the hallway and the main staircase leading to the bedrooms.

The morning is grey and dreary, rain already pelting against the windowpanes as the dawn light struggles to break through the dark clouds. You press a kiss to Tim’s bare chest as you slip out of bed to use the bathroom, padding swiftly across the deep-pile carpet so as not to wake him. 

The green robe hanging from the hook on the tiled wall of your bathroom is unmistakable, but even so you have to pause for a moment to be sure it’s real. You run your fingers over the textured weave and fabric, noting how (surprisingly) good it smells - faint whiff of weed notwithstanding.

Tim stirs as you close the bathroom door and walk back to the bed, blinking awake and greeting you with a delighted smile.

“Good morning. Nice robe.”

“A movie star gave it to me,” you explain, shedding the soft green garment and pulling Tim’s naked body to yours before he can ask any further questions.

(Sorry, Dieter. Love you.)

[littlebluemoth]

Ooooh angst “what about us?” “there is no us, there never was.” with tom plssss! Really love ur work 🌸

Last Kiss || Tom Holland

Summary → After a fling you and Tom had started while filming a movie together, he tells you that you two can’t be together anymore. Once you get home, Tom let’s you know that he made a mistake.

AN → This was supposed to come out yesterday, I just got lazy and waited to edit it. I can’t tell if I like how this came out or hate it, either way, I hope you guys like this. Also in honor of the Fearless re-record!!

Pairing(s) → Tom Holland x Fem!Reader

Warnings → Strong Language, Suggestive, Alcohol Use

Prompt(s) → 38

Word Count → 1.9k

The ringing of your phone sounded through your apartment loudly, the sound of the rain pattering loudly against the windows out-looking New York City. You set down the remote, feet padding against the cold hardwood while you looked for your buzzing cellphone.

You didn’t bother glancing at the caller ID, picking it up bringing it to your ear all in one quick motion.

“Hello?” You said, pulling a wine glass down from the cabinet.

“Y/N?” Tom’s voice came through the phone.

Your heart dropped, a breath catching in your throat while you stood in your kitchen. He was across the country, wanting nothing to do with you. He repeated your name through the phone, asking if you were there.

“Yeah, I’m here,” you answered, pouring more wine than you’d originally intended into the glass.

“Isn’t it like one in the morning in England?” You asked, listening to the muffles coming through the speaker.

“Yeah—yeah, it’s late here. I just couldn’t sleep, and I started to think of you. Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have called.”

You sat at one of the barstools, swirling the red contents of the glass around. You wanted to yell at him, or maybe you wanted to tell him how much you loved him. You sat silently for a few moments, bare legs cold from the draft.

“Tom,” you started. “I just don’t get why we have to rehash the past, you know? I came back to New York, just like you told me I should. You’re working on whatever new movie, I’m doing the same. I don’t know—I just think we should leave whatever happened between us alone. You made it very clear that it was me that you didn’t want,” you mumbled, pulling at the sleeves of your sweater.

He audibly sighed, the ruffling of sheets coming through the phone. He was probably in bed, if he wasn’t so far away you’d have asked him if this was a sad attempt at getting you to sleep with him.

“I was fucking stupid, and I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so fucking sorry, I’ve said that a million times,” his voice was hoarse and tired.

“I’ve already forgiven you, Tom. I just can’t keep doing this—this thing with you.”

You both went quiet for a minute, the only sound being the noise from outside in the bustling streets of the city and the rain. You knew you should hang up, block his number and forget about anything you two ever had. You’d tried a few times, unable to bring yourself to doing it.

“What about us?” He asked lowly, a twinge of hurt in his tired voice.

“There is no us, Tom,” you replied. “I’m not even sure there ever was.”

He didn’t say anything, you wanted to let out the repressed cry and tell him you didn’t mean it. That you were sorry and that you thought about him more than you’d like to admit. Something in you knew if you didn’t do your best to cut it off, you two would continue down the same everlasting cycle.

“Okay,” he said.

“Okay.”

The line went silent for a moment, and then your home screen lit up. The call had been ended. You downed the remainder of your wine, ditching the cup and just going for the bottle. You thought about calling him back, about apologizing and booking a plane ticket like some lovesick teenager.

You opened Instagram and began scrolling through your feed of posts, liking and commenting occasionally. You weren’t anywhere near drunk, merely tipsy and heartbroken. Your finger lingered on the button to go live, wondering if you really wanted thousands of people to see you in this state.

You left the kitchen and instead propped your phone against the couch, taking a seat on the white rug of your living room. You wearily pressed the go live button, raising the bottle to your chapped lips once more. You are pathetic, you thought.

“Hey guys!” You smiled at the camera and outpouring of greetings in the comments. Within a few minutes you’d racked in a few thousand viewers. You grabbed the guitar sitting against your wall and strummed the cords lightly while it sat in your lap.

userone: you are so adorable

usertwo: can you please say hi?!!!??

userthree: it’s my birthday y/n!

“I’m sorry I haven’t been very active on social media, guys. It’s been super crazy traveling back and forth from London to New York and then having to leave again in a few weeks. And now I’m sitting on my living room floor with a bottle of wine,” you laughed. A few familiar people popped into the comments of the live, some you’ve worked with and some you’ve yet to meet in person.

florencepugh: y/n!!!

gracieabrams: might just bust out the wine just for u

“Florence, I can’t wait to see you soon!” You smiled, “Gracie, I swear it’s making everything like a hundred times better.”

userfour: i’m in love with her

userfive: y/n saving 2021???!!!

“I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be singing,” you flushed. You did sing, before getting into acting you’d post a lot on Instagram and TikTok. It’d always been more of a hobby, something you loved to do, but weren’t good enough to pursue.

“I’ve had a little too much to drink,” you added. “So don’t get upset if I’m a little pitchy, guys.”

usersix: if she’s pitchy i’m not sure what i am

userseven: sing taylor swift!!!

“Okay, okay!” You chuckled, scrolling through the hundreds of comments saying to play Taylor Swift. You’d only just been crying to like three of her albums a few hours before.

“How about the chorus—and maybe the bridge too, yeah, that’ll work,” you mumbled to yourself, fiddling with the strings. “Alright, guys, Last Kiss it is. I won’t bore you all with the whole thing, though. I could never do Taylor justice.”

“And I’ll go sit on the floor, wearing your clothes”

Getting involved with him was singlehandedly the most stupid decision you’ve ever made, you thought. Late nights in his flat after long nights on set, ordering in and just talking, you two would talk as if you’d known each other your whole lives. It was something about the way he’d let you wear his clothes, or the way he’d tuck your hair behind your ear while you told him about whatever insignificant thing that had happened that day.

“All that I know,

I don’t know how to be something you miss”

The car ride to the airport was the worst, it was grey and cold outside. There was makeup running down your face, mascara covering your eyes generously. You’d wrapped filming a week earlier, unable to bring yourself to walk away from him.

You couldn’t tell the driver to turn you around, or could you? Tom had already made it clear that you were both in different places in your career. This wasn’t what he wanted. You weren’t what he wanted.

“I never thought we’d have our last kiss”

He had held you just a little tighter, you ran your fingers through his hair for just a second longer. The taste of each other lingering on the both of your lips. Like you knew it would be the last time he’d hold you without knowing.

His stupid smiled, the way he pulled away and ran his thumb over your swollen bottom lip. You were almost wrapped around his finger, absolutely sickened with desire and infatuation for him.

“I never imagined we’d end like this,

Your name, forever the name on my lips”

The day you’d left to come home to New York started with a huge argument between the two of you. He’d basically just told you that you’d both known from the beginning you wouldn’t last together. It wasn’t a matter of how much you cared for one another, but that it was impossible, as he put it.

His eyes glossed over and bloodshot, you a complete and utter mess. Slamming the door behind you as you left was one of the most painful things you’d ever endured. Even more painful, the fact that he never came after you.

“So I’ll watch your life in pictures like I used to watch you sleep”

“I can feel you staring at me, love,” he murmured against the pillow.

Your face heated, eyes averting to the stream of light through the sheerness of the curtains. He leaned into you a moment later, his lips soft on your own. He was warm, he was always so warm. You cupped the side of his face gently, pulling him in a bit harder.

“And I feel you forget me like I used to feel you breathe”

You dropped your bags, stepping into your apartment after months of being away. It felt quieter than usual, desolate and empty from your being away. It was dark out, the illumination of the bright city lights from your windows.

You glanced down at your phone for a moment, not a missed call, not a text, not even a fucking notification. He’d simply told you to go home, nothing more nothing less.

“I keep up with our old friends just to ask them how you are,

Hope it’s nice where you are”

You’d texted Harrison a few times, regretting it almost immediately after. He was sweet, telling you that Tom would come around eventually and to just be patient. You’d relied on those kind words for some time, eventually deleting them all together.

After Tom’s first text, you’d realized he wasn’t coming around or regretting what he’d said to you. He was lonely, maybe even a bit desperate. For months you had been there to listen to him and hold him, and now you were gone.

You’d fed into it the first few times, sitting on the phone with him for hours at a time. Then you started to feel worse hearing his voice, silent sobs escaping as you’d listen to him ramble. Then your finger would linger over the decline button a little longer than usual when he’d call, until eventually you started to use it.

“And I hope the sun shines and it’s a beautiful day,

And something reminds you,

You wish you had stayed”

Once you started to go out with other guys, Tom’s ‘I miss you’ texts became more infrequent. Paparazzi would snap pictures, and the next morning they’d be plastered all over the internet.

There was no doubt he was seeing you going out with other people, watching article after article about who you were dating surface. Would he be jealous? No, you thought. Tom was probably doing the same thing as you. Hopeless hookups, meaningless blind dates.

“You can plan for a change in the weather and time”

One early morning, you found yourself in a sweatshirt you’d stolen from one of his drawers and forgotten to return. Listening to the morning rush of traffic and hugging yourself, noticing the lingering smell of his cologne.

You wondered if he knew you’d taken it, if he would think you were pathetic wearing it months after you two had broken things off. This only made you clutch yourself a little tighter, closing your eyes and trying to remember.

“But I never planned on you changing your mind”

[ryewi]

a game for two pt.1 (M) - jjk

Summary: Seven days on a school trip to the seaside. Seven days with your best friends, alcohol, freedom and a mischevious Jeon Jungkook who just wouldn't leave you alone. Sounds fun, right?

Genre: schooltrip!au, classmate!au, smut, fluff, drama, tba

Words: 7,5k (a long boye)

Warnings: grinding, thigh riding, attractive consent female orgasm, dirty talk (like a tiny bit), language

Early A/N: the summary... flopped... the work didn't though so don't worry!

There he was once again, looking at you with the hottest smirk you've ever seen on a person.

"Jungkook! Come over here man, we're going to make room arrangements!"

And just like that, with a quick and distinctive wink, he turned around and walked away.

Jeon Jungkook, the hottest motherfucker, but also one of the smartest students in your class, has been playing this game of eye fucking for the past seven hours of travelling. The said man would also intentionally brush shoulders with you whenever in close proximity, whispering a barely audible “excuse me” as he walked by.

Currently, the whole school year (divided into 10 classes) was on a weeklong trip to the seaside. On your way to the hotel, you've visited two museums and three churches that you supposed were somewhat important to the history. Truthfully, as much as you liked history and appreciated fine art (also) in form of religious buildings, right now, you just couldn't care less. It was constant waiting for the drive to finally come to an end for the day so the class could hang out in one room, eat snacks and have fun together.

Jungkook on the other hand, found the visits extremely interesting and paid attention to everything the tour guide had to say. His eyes were always on the short woman and it looked like he sucked her every word in like a sponge. It was the first time you’ve seen someone be so bothered about a passing lecture. Therefore, when one of your best friends abruptly told you to look to your left and you witnessed Jeon Jungkook staring right at you, with the cheekiest smirk on his face, you felt rather privileged.

But then she began to point it out more and more and just then did you realize how much less does the man pay attention, since his eyes were constantly on you. That knowledge was both flattering and slightly disturbing, because his intentions weren’t clear; what was he trying to get from it? The smirk would never leave his lips, occasional lip bites thrown here and there and the sight was more than pleasing to look at. Especially knowing that his actions were directed at you only.

"Sister, go suck him off behind the museum or something, don't you see how he looks at you?" Marie said, pushing you slightly towards Jungkook. You turned to look at her, disbelief in your eyes at the crude words.

"You're crazy, Jungkook's probably playing pretend. The fuck would he want to do with me?" You replied, hands trying to pry hers off from your hips.

When you turned around, Jungkook's eyes were locked on to his iPhone. Yet, as if sensing your eyes on him, Jungkook looked up. Instead of a smirk, his pink lips lifted upwards in a tiny smile as he seemed to tap hard on the screen of his phone – your own phone immediately buzzing in your hands. You flinched hard, the device falling out of your hands, straight on to the back. Thanking Gods from above for it had not fell on the screen, you picked it up, inspecting with shaky hands the notification of a new message.

"Oh my god he texted you" Marie said, shaking you back and forth, smile reaching the top of her cheeks.

"I don't know" You replied, fingers working quick to press the password into the keyboard. Truthfully, you felt a bit giddy, thinking that it might be Jungkook who sent the text. Well, when the phone was finally unlocked, it appeared to have been your mom, as she asked where you are now and have you been eating well.

"Ah bummer, imagine if it actually were him?"

"Please, don't give me any ideas"

"Why don't you fuck with him too? Two can play the staring game, intimidate, tempt him” She suggested, mouth still relatively close to your ear, her voice sending shivers down your spine. “I’d honestly give all of my money to see Jungkook hooked on and chasing after someone, y’know?”.

Marie was right, Jungkook wasn't the type to chase after females, mostly because he didn't even have to. They always fell right into his arms, the man had much charisma and great flirting skill. Despite all of that, Jungkook wasn't the type to offer himself to just anyone. He was rather picky, but his gorgeous face and perfect body allowed him such attitude. That would probably be the biggest power of his, everyone was ripe fruit in his garden, yet he chose the ones he liked the best. And that motherfucker for sure knew it.

Something you've never seen Jungkook do, was date for longer than a week. This guy seemed to do everything else so well that his dating abilities had to suffer. It was possible to frequently hear stories about how good Jungkook was in bed, but also how bad the dates went. It was common sense that most females that went out with Jungkook only did it to get into his pants, and you somewhat pitied the man. Then again, Jungkook never looked that interested into doing anything else other than fucking with any of them. He accepted their flaunts, only to never speak to them again once he's done.

Exactly because of that, Jungkook never slept or showed interest in anyone from your class. The one-night stand wasn’t worth not talking to someone he sees every day for the rest of his life.

Therefore, his sudden actions were slightly confusing, and you had to agree with your best friend. Oh, what you’d give to see the game this man would play upon seeing defiance and not immediate compliance.

“You know what, you’re right, let’s play Jeon Jungkook”

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The buses parked at a nearby McDonalds right by the freeway, therefore offering a quick break before continuing the journey to the hotel. The line in McDonalds was horrendously long, but thanks to the determination of your friend, you managed to break to the front and order relatively quick. Upon noticing the ice cream machine working, you’ve taken the one in a lifetime choice and ordered a chocolate ice cream.

Situating yourself outside on one of the (miraculously) free tables and waiting for the rest, you enjoyed your sweet in peace, for a whole of ten seconds.

“Hello!” Everything happened so suddenly. Both the voice and body appeared surprisingly quick, and it took you a long moment to process that Jungkook launched himself from somewhere in the line to the seat across of you. He was smiling and his hair was covering his forehead, fringe coming to cover his eyebrows, giving him a childish look. Jungkook looked like a lost boy and the duality of this man was impossible.

“Uh, hi?” You replied, eyes giving him a once over, before looking down and on the ice cream. Scooping a big amount of it and bringing it towards your mouth, you enjoyed how nice it tasted. For a fast food restaurant with a broken ice cream machine, this proved to be rather good.

Jungkook was giving you a certain type of look, but it wasn’t the one from before. This one was something between expectant and excited. Catching you off guard, the two of you began a staring contest, unsure of what to say or do. The silence became uncomfortable quick and you quietly begged him to start talking.

“The machine’s working yeah?” Jungkook asked, pointing at the cup you were holding. He was still smiling and there was something different in seeing his lips form a smile and not a smirk.

“Yeah, but it won’t be working for much longer” You pointed back with your thumb to the line of students that were filling the small place up. Jungkook laughed at that, head falling back and eyes squinting into thin lines. His nose was scrunched and there was suddenly an undying urge to pinch it.

“Well, that’s too bad isn’t it? I should go ord- oh wait, you have something here” He stood up, leaning over the table fast. His thumb came up to the corner of your mouth and wiped off the slight smear of chocolate. Then probably rather predictably, he moved it to his lips and licked it off, humming to the taste.

“Ah man I wish I could get one, I better hurry!” And just like that, Jungkook was gone, probably faster than he appeared in the first place. There was a dumbstruck look on your face, and other students were either tracking their eyes after Jungkook, or looking at you. There will most definitely be gossip about this for the next two years.

“What was that about?” Your best friend Marie approached you from behind. She was carrying a cup of her own, a colorful drink inside as she sipped from the plastic straw. You ogled the straw and frowned, ready to once again scold her for not thinking about the environment. But before you managed to say anything, she beat you to it.

“They didn’t have any other straw, now answer my question” Her smile widened, shoulders shrugging as she watched you with anticipation in her eyes.

“I wished that I had an answer to that question too, but unfortunately I don’t”.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

"Well class, here we are, The Great Dragon" Mrs. Montero noted, walking a few steps ahead of everybody. She let go of her obnoxiously pink suitcase and walked up the short set of stairs with open arms. "Let our vacation begin!"

Mrs. Montero was a middle aged, forty-something old woman that had a spirit of a young child. She was a daredevil, and often seemed to forget that her teenage years are long over, therefore frequently accompanying and planning fun activities that maybe wouldn't suit her age. Mrs. Montero was also the form teacher of the most chaotic class in school, which so happened to be the one you were in.

Upon witnessing the rather childish and expectant grin on the elder's face, your classmates looked between each other. Suppressed laughs were evident as cheeks puffed and heads turned to avoid smiling straight at the other's face. You too looked around, trying to find your best friends (Marie, April and Jackie) that somehow managed escape to the other side of the group. Once your eyes met, you frowned and scrunched up your eyebrows at them, hand moving quick as to call them over. The three of them laughed and shook their heads no, whispering something between each other. You wanted to ask why, but in a matter of a few seconds, when your eyes accidentally averted their gaze just a bit to the left, the answer struck you like a lightning.

Of course, Jungkook’s eyes were once again on you. What else could’ve it been?

You tried playing along with a cool posture, and clear mind, but it proved to be rather difficult. Really, would anyone be able remain indifferent upon getting eye fucked by Jeon Jungkook? His eyes were now seemingly always on you, the feeling strange, causing you to shy away and immediately drop down to tighten your already tightened enough shoelaces. Jungkook’s gaze was burning your skin, every inch his eyes moved over left as an ignited patch that itched, begged to be covered.

The thing was, the two of you never spoke much. Not a single word was exchanged today, syllables traded for shy looks and sneaky smirks. The whole atmosphere was weird, but alas, you had no courage to go and directly ask what he was trying to do.

“The dinner is going to be ready soon, so head down to the diner once unpacked. The disco starts at 11pm, so dress well!” Mrs. Montero said, her pitched voice now a background noise in your head as you focused on Jungkook’s lips that ever so lightly, lifted up in one last smirk.

Just like that, he was off, disappearing into the crowd, like always.

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“He’s literally undressing you with his eyes, look” Jackie pointed out, head nudging in Jungkook’s direction. She spoke so close to your ear, soothing voice sending shivers down your spine. Her soft palms were soon placed on to your temples, carefully but quickly turning your head in his direction. Truly, there Jungkook stood, bottom lip in a strong hold of his teeth, as he observed the hilarious sight.

You managed to catch his gaze even in the dark and dimmed purple light. The reflectors that were every now and then passing over your heads uncovered the mysterious glint of Jungkook's eyes. The kind that only ever indicated trouble.

Slapping Jackie’s hands off your face and fixing your hair in a swift motion, you chugged the rest of the drink in your cup. The liquid burned your throat, immediately taking effect, as you suddenly felt much lighter and careless. You weren't a drinker, but after the class managed to smuggle in a bottle of whiskey, jack daniels and whichever cheap vodka, the temptation to take a few sips was too strong.

Not long after, Señorita was played and every student that was previously sitting, was now up and approaching their significant other/group of friends. Apparently, this song was loved and enjoyed by many. One could ask why, but upon taking a few glances left and right, they'd be able to conclude why. The track had awoken serious sexual tension, tens of students now grinding on to each other, teasing their way up to what would later be continued in the safety of their hotel rooms.

Looking around, your friends were nowhere to be found. Even Jackie, who was mere centimeters away from you just few moments ago. Although your companions weren't there, Jungkook somehow managed to break his way through huge masses of people and thought that he just might be the perfect replacement.

Oh I should be running, oh you keep me coming for you.

You felt a pair of strong hands on your waist and as if it were some kind of sixth sense, you whispered Jungkook's name. His face appeared next to yours just a few moments later, his chin pressing into the crook of your neck, waiting to see if you'd show any sign of discomfort before proceeding further. Luckily, Jungkook only felt you relax in his arms, your form leaning backwards into his. The beat of the song paired up with the slight buzz of alcohol made you feel so careless and free.

I wish I could pretend I didn't need ya

Jungkook gripped your waist tighter, putting more pressure down onto your hips and trying to guide your movements right before his crotch. Accepting his sly teasing play, you arched your back slightly, beginning to grind down on him.

A quiet sigh of content and satisfaction left Jungkook’s lips and he soon eased his grip, letting you have complete control over your movements. You pondered over the thought of him giving control up so easily; finding it incredibly amusing. The knowledge will come in handy in the future, you thought.

Unexpectedly, you turned around and put your hands around Jungkook’s neck, immediately locking with his. You suddenly craved closer contact and the man was more than willing to give so. His eyes were hooded and breath labored, but his trademark smirk was still plastered on those beautiful features.

Jungkook was about to say something, mouth opening to create words, but no sound came out. Not when you unlatched your hands and began slowly lowering yourself, fingers tenderly caressing the expanse of his chest and thighs. You finished the move in a crouching position, hands on the man's strong calves and face just a few centimeters away from his now obvious hard-on. Raising upwards just as painfully slow, you listened to the beautiful whimpers that kept leaving Jungkook's parted lips – the special kind of sound reserved for your ears only.

A hand lifted your shirt and crept up your back, feeling the smooth skin underneath. Waves of pleasure spread throughout your body at each and every touch – his cold fingers a perfect contrast to your burning skin. A moan surprised Jungkook and he made it his goal to make you create as much of those beautiful noises as possible.

The man looked like he was about to kiss you, his soft palm leaving the expanse of your back and finding purchase at the back of your neck. Jungkook's lips were that close to yours, that it was possible to feel his breath fan over your face. You inhaled the strong smell of jack daniels that he was evidently drinking before approaching you – oh how tempting it was to taste it too.

When the last chorus hit the speakers, you lifted a hand up to Jungkook's chin, dragging a point finger over the prominent cut of his jawline. At that, his breath hitched and he visibly reacted to the contact through a quick cringe. Goosebumps formed on his skin, sigh filling the small place around him. You smiled, continuing the trail from his jaw down his adam's apple, collarbones and the exposed part of his chest. It was so tempting to begin unbuttoning the rest of his shirt, but you decided not to do so this time. Pushing your hips towards his, you continued previous actions. His hands came downwards, not quite resting on your ass, guiding and feeling you for the last few seconds of the song.

It seemed to end way too quick, and so did the intimate moment between the two of you. As if a switch was flipped, Jungkook disconnected himself and disappeared into the crowd. On the other hand, your best friends appeared from the same direction, screaming and squealing because they've been monitoring on the situation from far away. Sigh, the whole class was probably watching you two from the corner of their eyes.

Maybe it was for the better, or not, but there was no sight of Jungkook for the whole night. You tried disregarding it as him finding someone to take care of his little friend, but that only made you think about him more. It awoke some kind of feelings, something unexplainable that made your heart spasm but stomach ache at the same time – it made you feel sick and you didn’t like it.

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The next day left everyone exhausted. It's as if the tour guides intentionally wanted every single student to pass out when back at the hotel. You've been walking for five hours and really, they could be considered an eternity at this point. The temperature was at the highest of highs; you’ve never been to hell, but this is exactly what you imagined it felt. Neither the hand fan or bottle filled with cold water helped and instead of listening to music, you listened to students constantly complaining.

One boy had to be excused from the tour because of what seemed to be a heat stroke, and only then did the guides and professors realize that they've maybe been pushing it too hard.

Although daytime was barely bearable, nighttime proved to be everyone’s favorite part of the day.

The class agreed to meet on the beach, right beside the barbeque spot, around 10pm, a little bit after the sunset. The plan was to eat, drink, listen to music and relax after such a tiring day. Many carried their Bluetooth speakers, yet no one used them. Not when three talented guys brought guitars and a Cajon to complete the whole idyll with beautiful, live music.

Although invited, Mrs. Montero decided to stay in and “let the teenagers be” for tonight. Truthfully, the whole group was thankful, since no one quite wanted the woman around. It meant that the alcohol could be carried freely and occasional swearing wouldn't be scolded and judged. There was no questionable behavior tonight.

When the clock hit 10pm, a small flame began to rise from a certain spot on the beach. Your male classmates have already started preparing, and you watched the whole scene from the safety of your hotel room. The fire was still weak, and guarded very well by a tight circle of rocks. It called, lured you in, the bright orange in the dark, and you turned around, heading to leave.

Your best friend Marie waited for you, checking herself out one last time in the mirror. She was wearing a floral, light cardigan, and a bikini underneath. You expected Marie to jump into the water straight away. After you complimented her look, she noticed your presence and turned around fast. Her eyes scanned your own outfit. Simple bikini top with light beach pants, nothing too revealing for your liking. Offering a quick nod, Marie opened the door and headed out.

Once outside, you were quick to spot Jungkook, the man made himself visible straight away. His muscled back and tiny waist as he crouched down were an immediate attention grabber, ripping out a loud sigh from you. He was helping the fire grow, adding what seemed to be a shot of vodka straight into the flames.

The sand underneath your feet made quiet but noticeable sounds as you walked towards the rest of the group. Jungkook immediately turned around, eyes widening at the sight of you dressed so effortlessly beautiful. At that moment, Jungkook could’ve sworn on anything that he has never seen a person so breathtaking as you.

Upon noticing his dumbfounded gaze, Marie stabbed your ribs with her elbow, making you yelp in pain and hop to the side, hand covering the hurting spot.

“What the fuck was that for?” You breathed out; breath labored after receiving such a hard hit. You were now crouching, trying to soothe out the pain that gradually became worse with each passing second.

“He looked at you with those eyes again! Please tell me you saw!” Marie whisper-yelled at you, her hands frantically flailing all around. She looked to the side, trying to steal one more look at Jungkook and what he was doing; gosh was that the most important right now?

“He’s still looking!”

Jungkook for sure was still having his eyes locked on to you, although not out of adoration anymore. The man was unsure of what to do, he was torn between immediately running over to help and watching from a distance. If he offered help, would it be too suspicious? Would he be too transparent? There was still a certain image Jungkook had to keep, the unbothered, playing hard to get type of guy. Yet, seeing you in pain made his heart break and he swore he was just about to help when-

When you gathered your pride, decided that your mother didn’t raise no bitch and stood up. The injury hurt like hell and you inspected it one last time. That’s going to leave a bruise.

Marie followed you to the rest of the class, explaining to your other two best friends what had just happened. Jungkook wasn’t looking at you anymore, well, not as much as before. You still caught him glancing over every now and then and he seemed somewhat shy – how cute.

Soon, everyone was gathered around the small campfire, passing bottles of unknown drinks and delicious pieces of meat between each other. The instruments that were played created soothing melodies that served as a boost to an already beautiful night. Some were already in the water, splashing around and tempting the rest to join.

It was perfect. The change between black silhouettes who ran through shallow water and the kids that sang their hearts out while leaning on to each other. The students evidently forgot all of their worries for a little while, finally finding some solace. The water perfectly reflected the full moon and all of those endless constellations. You sighed in content.

Everything was alright. You were happy.

Just as you were about to let a tear fall, out of nowhere, someone wrapped their arms around your waist and pulled you up. The first person that came to your mind was Jungkook. To your surprise, you managed to catch a glimpse of said man sitting on the other side of the fire, watching the scene intently.

Upon turning around, you saw your best friend April grinning with the cheekiest look on her face.

April was drunk, and oh god she was a hardcore lightweight.

“Wanna skip stones?” She slurred, holding out a hand for you to hold. April was a big child, hence being very easy to entertain. The reason why she proposed stone skipping was simple. She was pretty good at it and you weren’t, therefore just like a kid, April liked showing off.

Accepting the offer because you weren’t willing to deal with the emotional drunk behind the happy façade, you took a few steps into the water. The cold liquid splashed your calves in low waves. April was already searching for her rocks, iPhone battery lit up and pointed downwards. She was losing balance quick whenever she crouched, yet somehow managed not to fall. Until-

“April!” There she went. All of the rocks fell out of her small hands and scattered around. The female tried to fall on to her hands, to prevent getting hurt as much as possible. The face of discomfort and hurt as she held her hand right after the fall had fueled your concern.

“April oh my god, are you okay?” You asked, crouching right beside her, trying to inspect her body for any sign of bruises or cuts. Fortunately, there were none. You hoped that she hadn’t broken her finger, but because of her strong grip, you just couldn’t be sure about it. “Let me see, shh it’s going to be okay”.

“I broke my nail!” She sobbed.

Oh my god.

Oh dear god.

It was a great effort to mentally force yourself to carry as much empathy as before. Nails were a pretty big deal to April and you too understood the bother of having a nail that’s shorter than others. Just so aesthetically unpleasant. Yet, the amount of grey hairs you grew because you were genuinely concerned it was a serious injury weren’t worth it.

“It’s okay, I’ll get you a nail clipper and a file and we’ll get it done again, okay?” You asked with a hopeful tone, patting the other on the shoulder. She continued sobbing but made an effort to stand up before speaking up again.

“I’ll get it myself, I don’t want to bother you” She slurred, almost losing balance for the hundredth time.

“No, no, it’s not a bother, I'll be right back. You stay here, I can’t risk you falling down the stairs or something” That seemed like enough reassurance as April only nodded and wobbled back to the rest of the class, searching for comfort.

While walking the path that led straight to the hotel, you swore you heard someone trail behind, sand and dried grass crunching under their feet. You quickly dismissed it a classmate that’s heading back because of their own reasons and resumed the journey without any bothers.

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April’s file was hard to find, for it took five minutes of rummaging through her bag only to find it next to the bed. Taking a deep breath and sighing to let your frustration out, you grabbed the nail clipper that was in the bathroom and began heading out. Although you turned the lights off completely, the fire from outside was enough to create a rather dimmed light. The sight of flames was pretty enticing, and you found yourself staring at it for a few moments before snapping out of the daze and opening the door.

The person standing right outside only caught your attention once the door was safely locked. The intrusion was surprising, but definitely not unexpected.

"Well hello, what's the reason behind such a blessing of meeting you?" The corner of your lips curved upwards in a rather playful and teasing manner. The sight before you truly was a blessing. Jungkook was leaning onto the wall, strong arms crossed over his bare chest, flexing just enough to showcase the prominent lines of muscle. His black shorts were positioned lower than before, tiny waist shaping a strong v line you suddenly wished you could see the end of.

Yet, Jungkook’s face displayed a completely different emotion. There was a small smile playing on his lips, his hair curled and messily thrown all over the place. His eyes shone with a special kind of glint and for a quick moment you thought he looked angelic. Then, the next second, when Jungkook’s famous smirk made a comeback, you realized he were more of a devil.

"Oh, I'm just passing by, enjoying the view" Jungkook replied, eyes following an invisible path from the bottom of your toes to the top of your head, trying to emphasize his point. The obvious check-out would usually make you feel uncomfortable, but this was Jungkook. Because of him, you were feeling flustered and even more cocky, absorbing the attention from this breathtaking human like a sponge.

"Then I hope it's worth your money" You replied, blowing a kiss. Just as you were about to turn around and head back, the nail clipper accidentally fell out of your hands. Upon folding yourself to pick it up, a rather silent whine left Jungkook's lips. It sounded like the most beautiful sound your ears have ever heard. There was an unexpected urge to hear more of it, to be the sole cause of it once again.

"It's more than worth" The man mumbled, eyes falling down to see the object currently being picked up. "Really? She sent you out to grab a nail clipper?" Jungkook let out a laugh, in disbelief that a broken nail had you walking all the way back to the hotel and up on the 4th floor. It was a tad bit comical to you too now that he had mentioned it, hence a light laugh escaped your lips as well.

"Is it that important? Can't it wait?" Jungkook asked, tone indifferent.

You quickly caught on to the game the man was trying to play and guessed that there could be some time to spare, join in and play too.

"I suppose it could, but what could I do while I'm waiting?" Making sure to pout while finishing the sentence, you looked at the other with curious eyes, his reply already quite obvious.

"Me?" Although sounding like a question, Jungkook's answer was a statement. He seemed to close the gap between you in a matter of moments, his face now way too close to yours. It was possible to feel Jungkook's breath on your lips again, slight aroma of cheap whiskey tickling your nose. Yet, the man wasn't drunk, for his eyes were way too alert and clear.

"I'm not sure if that's worth my time..." You teased, biting your lip and raising your eyebrow at Jungkook. The cockiness Jungkook had woke up inside of you still sometimes managed to surprise you.

"I guarantee you that it is, beautiful" At that, Jungkook's hands were on your hips, pulling you closer to him where you could feel the prominent bulge of his growing hard-on. The position was awfully similar to the one in the club last night and you wondered how will the man move tonight. Another sigh came out of his mouth the moment you grinded back on him, drawing a small and tight circle with your hips.

"Well then, prove it to me" Locking hands behind his neck, you guided Jungkook's lips straight to yours. His were soft, but the moves were even softer. The kiss was slow, sensible and full of emotion which made you confused for a moment. Jungkook was the one in lead and it looked like he was kissing the love of his life and not just a girl he's trying to shuffle with for the night.

"Fuck no I'm sorry I can't do it like this" You heard him speak when you parted, his mouth lingering a few millimeters away. Then, they were once again on yours and the pace of the kiss changed. There was more of teeth, tongue and bites, it became messier as Jungkook seemingly tried to push you through the wall you were now leaning on. His hands were all over you and the high temperature your bodies exchanged was becoming way too much.

Jungkook was squeezing, groping, every single inch of your behind, hungry for even the smallest piece of it. His hot pants as he tried to gasp for air in between quick kisses only turned you on more; this man truly was a gem. You were trying to figure out the nature of his, if the constant pants and whines were labeling him as a submissive type, or were the aggressive moves an indication of a dominant man.

A certain strong push to the wall had you wincing, but unfortunately not out of pleasure. The injury that was cooling down had reminded you that this maybe wouldn’t be a nice idea. Alas, you were ready to dismiss the thought, only if it wasn’t for Jungkook who was now looking with an extremely concerned expression. Weird.

“It hurts a lot, doesn’t it?” He asked, lips turning down into a frown. Jungkook was beginning to pull away, scared that he’d hurt you more. His change of demeanor was once again confusing, concern a rare emotion for the other.

With a smile and a light nod, you reassured Jungkook that it’s all fine. After pulling his hands back to their previous position, you tried to bring back the heated atmosphere from before. Jungkook gave you one last skeptical look, but you had none of it and crashed your lips back on to his. Bearing the pain will be worth it in the end.

"As much as I'd like for you to choke on my dick right here, I'm afraid we'll have to move somewhere more private" Jungkook whispered, the flirty persona appearing again. He finally stepped away from you, letting you catch a proper breath. He took a moment to inspect how you looked, bikini top barely holding on, pants loose around the hips. Your lips were glistening and puffy, hair somewhat disheveled but nothing that a quick hand through couldn't fix. Yet.

Jungkook was quick to pull out a plastic black card, pressing it to the door right next to yours and unlocking it in a matter of moments. You followed in suit, looking left and right one last time to check for any unwanted spectators. Deeming the hallway free of any potential intruders, you jumped right inside of the room, shutting the door behind with a loud thud.

Although the lights were off, the flames from outside allowed you to notice how different Jungkook’s room was. It was much bigger and you remembered that they had five, where as you had four in one room. You were about to curiously inspect the different furniture if it wasn't for Jungkook pulling you into his strong figure and pushing you backwards towards a big double bed.

When the back of your knees hit the bed, both of you collapsed back, lips still moving together and refusing to break contact. Sometime in between then and now, Jungkook took your pants off, unsure if you’d be okay with getting rid of the bikini right now. The man was kneeling in between your open legs, kissing a path down from your neck, over the valley of your breasts and down a ticklish area of your stomach. He paid extra attention to land a feather-like, healing kiss to your side. Your hands were running all over Jungkook's toned abdomen, often tightening their softer grip on his small waist. The tiny waist has always been one of Jungkook's biggest representations.

"Fuck baby, your body is beautiful" The man whined, slowly rising up towards your neck and once again focusing on kissing the sweet spot on the bottom of it. You were pulling on his hair softly, seeking solid support but also wanting to show just how much his actions affected you.

"You're not so bad yourself" You replied, voice breathy and shaky. You tried rising your chin even higher, granting the other even more access - more space to leave marks on.

"Oh you like that? Should I mark you so the whole class knows what you've been up to, dirty girl?" Jungkook smirked on your skin. At the mention of 'dirty girl', you whined, back aching and head moving in a circle. Gosh, you'd do everything to have this man's hickeys all over your body.

Jungkook looked like an angel carved by the most talented gods. On the dimmed light, the shadows created by his prominent arm and torso muscles made them just that much more noticeable. Laying under such a sex symbol, seeing the want in his eyes, you felt empowered and confident. It was you who caused this man's dick to jump and you've never felt prouder.

“Would it be okay to take this off?” Jungkook asked, head tilting up to look at you. His fingers were holding on the thin piece of fabric that is your bikini, waiting for an answer.

“Please do” Was all that left your lips. It was quiet and broken, but that’s all the confirmation the other needed. All while sucking purple bruises on your neck, Jungkook's fingers untied the knots behind your neck and back in record speed. Once the garment was off, he lightly pinched and pulled on the sensitive buds, testing out what your body enjoyed the most. When it came to you, Jungkook was extremely eager to learn - and he learned fast.

"Jungkook" You whined, hips rising from the surface of the bed, seeking friction.

"Fuck baby, moan for me" Jungkook smirked, eyes moving to witness your poor attempts of dry humping his strong thighs. Granting you more access, Jungkook picked you up and flipped the both of you over so you were now on top of him, straddling his thigh. His hands found your hips pretty quick, introducing and setting a slow pace in which you grinded on top of his clothed thigh.

"Grind on me, fuck, yeah, just like that sweetheart" He cooed, peppering quick kisses over the tender and fresh bruises on your neck. The contact felt so good, and you knew that the wetness will soon soak through your cotton underwear.

"You're going to ruin my shorts darling, what will we do with them later, huh? Should I make you lick all of that up?" Jungkook whispered, voice right next to your ear, making you squirm. His grip tightened and he flexed his thigh - now that's when you felt the coil in your stomach begin to build. The filth the man was telling you only fueled your arousal. Sweet pet names paired up with what could only be described as a verbal sin created such an addicting contrast.

Your hand wandered lower, towards Jungkook's abdomen. His rough breathing was evident, abs tensing with every intake of air, the space between two halves of muscle enough for your finger to pass through. It seemed to tickle him as Jungkook shied away from your touch for a quick moment, first laugh of the night making its way to your ears. As much as his moans turned you on, his breathy laugh made your heart beam with satisfaction. In spite of the short pause in your actions, you were quick to get back to work, hand trailing even lower this time.

Jungkook's hard on was trying to break free from the tight restraint of his shorts. You wanted the other to get some relief too, your hand making its way down to the fly. Yet, Jungkook dedicated this moment to you and your high only, his own hand coming up to yours to stop it from proceeding.

That moment of bliss was so close. Jungkook’s thigh was touching every single spot perfectly. Despite the current euphoric feelings, there was still that little something missing that would push you over the edge. Jungkook managed to catch on to the needy look you offered, so he slowly moved one of his hands from your hip to your center. The middle finger of his right hand was soon positioned just above your clothed clit, teasing for a quick moment before starting to rub slow eights on it.

With sharp bucks of your hips and whines of Jungkook’s name, you reached one of the best orgasms in your life. Jungkook’s smirk was an indicator of his cockiness, the fucker knew just how good he is and what he did to you. Still, his eyes showed adoration as he held your exhausted body carefully. His pride was over the roof right now, but he was also extremely happy. He did that to you. Unreal.

Your phone suddenly began vibrating from somewhere on the floor and you stood up from the bed (with Jungkook’s help) and walked towards it. Jungkook looked at you with eyebrows raised, expectant expression on his face. When you bent down to pick up the small device, making sure not to bend your knees, Jungkook's hand was quick to grab a handful of ass. In spite of it being inappropriate, his eyes were still locked down on to your center. He made sure to thumb over that area as he listened to you answer the phone.

"I-I'm sorry, the d-door were acting up and I had to wa-wait for someone to come and help me" Your breath was still shaky and voice somewhat strained, and if the person on the other side wasn't completely deaf, they'd be able to hear the truth behind your obvious lies.

"Yeah ok-okay" You replied after what seemed like an eternity of silence, before ending the call. Maybe it was for the better, because Jungkook was touching you oh so beautifully again. Nothing else other than whimpers would be able to leave your mouth if the conversation went on.

Once you were sure that the line was indeed cut short, you picked up your stuff that was thrown all over the place before heading back to the bed. Jungkook wore a fucked-out expression, even though it were you who experienced an orgasm. Settling down right on his clothed cock, you grinded once again, earning a beautiful moan in return. Your right hand made its way to his jaw, holding it tight. His eyes were hooded and looking straight into yours, hands coming down to your ass and squeezing hard.

"I'm sorry baby but I've got to go" You pouted, head dipping down to kiss him once again. The kiss was slow and passionate, trying to make up for the time of the night that will be lost. Moans and whimpers were shared between the two as arousal kept charging the actions of both. Jungkook was quick to move south, retouching the bruises he made and pressing you closer to himself. Apparently, the man didn't want to let go, and neither did you, but your drunken best friend was getting impatient and whiny, and oh how painful she could be when she's drunk.

Somehow managing to break free, you stood up and tried to dress yourself to look as presentable as you were before you left. You’ll have to go grab a jacket to cover the bruises on your neck. Yet, the action of dressing was deemed hard as Jungkook's hands just couldn't leave your body. You were sorry for the guy, but somewhat thankful for the whole situation too. It only added up to the tense game the two of you were playing and it gave you a mischievous idea of teasing the other until he couldn't take it anymore. You hoped it would lead to the best dicking of your entire lifetime. And Jeon Jungkook was never the one to fail any expectations.

Once everything was on, you walked up to the man for the final time, hips swaying to the sides lightly as you crouched down in front of his open thighs. Jungkook's eyes grew expectant, maybe you’ve changed your mind, maybe you’ll stay a little bit more. His heart skipped a beat. When you lowered your head towards his crotch and unzipped the zip of his jeans, you landed an open-mouthed kiss to the clothed head of his cock, driving the other insane. Smiling at him, you zipped up the fly and patted on to the area softly.

"We'll see each other around, okay?" With that, you turned around and walked through the now unlocked entrance. Jungkook was left with a disbelieving and dumbstruck expression, accompanied by a horrible case of blue balls.

Oh you still had five days of this school trip.

And he planned on seeing you around much more now.

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A/N: Well hello! School's over, I managed to keep my grades how i wanted and so now I have more time! I was scared it won't be that good after my hiatus from writing but it turned out well! I like it and I hope you will too. See you soon hopefully!

[nikkiscarlet]

A million times this. I have gone off on boomer relatives for their takes on social media because they basically amount to “screen bad, rando sitting next to you good”, and as someone who suffered an awful lot of bullying and abuse by the people around me as a kid, and who still suffers from severe social anxiety and C-PTSD because of it, having the internet as my social outlet literally saved my life when I was a teenager. Getting your social needs met on the internet is entirely valid and I will die on that hill.

However, at the same time, I am barely present on most of the big social media platforms. I pop on to Facebook about once a week to check my notifications and then immediately leave again. I often forget Instagram exists. I avoid Twitter like the dumpster fire that it is, but occasionally it still sucks me in and I might retweet a couple of fandom posts or funny quips roughly once every few months. I will very occasionally google search terms with the word “reddit” in them so I can get what will likely be the most honest and detailed review of a product before deciding to buy it, but I think the last time I actually posted on Reddit was something like 2012. Even on Tumblr I have mostly just reblogged for the majority of the near-decade I’ve been here, only occasionally popping in with a comment. And I got a Tiktok account entirely so I could follow one man who yells at old recipe books. The only social media platform I actually spend regular, active time on is Discord, and I don’t even really think of it as a “social media platform” �� I think of it as a chat client, like IRC before it. The truth is: I hate “social media”, because “social media” is a corporate walled garden that isn’t really built for actual community-building: it’s built for drama and data mining. It’s built to control your internet experience.

(It isn’t lost on me that the social space where I find the most peace and satisfaction is a place called “discord”.)

I’ve also been working on building a website of my own, old-school, so I can run my own solo blog and have a place to post my thoughts, art, and fic without worrying that the collapse of a business or moral-panic-purge will result in years and years of precious memories and creations being deleted in an instant. It also means I’m a lot less likely to have to worry about harassment, because most people just aren’t “surfing the web” looking for interesting new sites anymore: they spend all their time on the big platforms, so the kinds of people who make a hobby of terrorizing strangers on the internet for the instant dopamine hit are less likely to venture out to some nobody’s blog in the middle of nowhere, and I can post whatever I fancy in relative peace and quiet while still getting to show my friends the things I want to share.

I do think more people should abandon (or at least dramatically limit their time on) the big platforms and DIY a website of their own instead. I pay for server space, but free options exist: neocities is fantastic and incorporates social profile functionality. If you want to follow specific people/sites all around the internet from one convenient feed, you can get an RSS reader and subscribe to all the sites and blogs you want. (Notably, though, the big platforms make it really hard to follow anyone on their sites using RSS. Hmmmmm, wonder why.) Great thing about RSS is that everything is shown in chronological order and there’s no algorithm dictating what you see. There’s a bit more of a learning curve to doing things this way, but in the end you have much more control over your internet experience, have a lot more opportunity to get creative, and you’re probably having a lot more fun. The internet would be much better off for it, and I think most people’s mental health would be, too.

the internet HAS been turned into a series of easily swallowable pills for quick consumption and standardization and I don't think it's 'boomery' to discuss how the internet no longer feels like a wild wild west and has been massively gentrified for quick access to anything you could ever want or need and that next hit of dopamine. there is a difference between 'social media bad' and 'our experiences online are increasingly manufactured by algorithms looking to make money from scraping metrics of data about who we are to either sell us stuff or sell who we are to people who will sell us stuff'

[dante2568]

opStyle has always been important, but the days of the blocky sports watch are now long gone. Instead, we have sleek and style lifestyle devices, which monitor us, and give us the data to monitor, if not improve, our health. With Withings, Steel HR is a perfect example of this, and is probably the most attractive activity tracker on the market – in my eyes anyway!

Withings Steel HR Review – Digital Style

Let’s be clear, the Withings Steel HR is about as stylish as activity trackers come. Now watches, rather than activity trackers, are very much like glasses, highly personal items. Some people for whatever reason don’t LIKE to wear what looks like a digital watch or a neon green fitness tracker. Personally, I really like the high-tech look of the Polar M600 or the FitBit Alta, but quite understandably there are people who also feel that this doesn’t blend with certain work clothes or a business suit for example.

Withings released the Activité line, consisting of the Activite, the Pop and the Steel last year, with the cheapest of the range, the Withings Pop bringing the concept of an analogue activity tracker to £80.

But technology has moved on in the last year, and optical HR is now the new step counter. All devices must have optical HR, even if it isn’t very reliable (Garmin Fenix 5 !) As such Withings have launched the Withings Steel HR – All of the weight and robustness of last years Steel, but not with a screen and optical HRM to complete the package

Withings Steel HR Design

The Withings Steel HR looks like a classic watch. The black face and bright polished metal immediately conjure up images of 50’s and 60’s style given the black strap in the box

Around the fixed bezel we have minutes engraved, and the new OLED screen balanced at the top of the watch to equal the visual weight of the analogue dial.

Around the back, we have the new optical HR sensor – flat and comfortable against the wrist. BUT the slight lip where the sensor is put into the watch acts are a real dirt trap unfortunately

The two silver dots also function as the charging points for the included USB power cord

Occasionally the magnets seem to object to you asking to charge the device, as they can also repel the charging puck. But often it is merely just a case or re-orientating the watch.

Not a major issue but one I haven’t come across before with other devices

On the RIGHT side is the simple push button which allows you to cycle through all the menu screens

Straps

Removable straps are a must on casual activity trackers now, and the Withings Steel HR uses the same system as the Pop before it. Simple  latches on the underside of the watch, allow you to quickly and easily slide the straps out without any issue

With the strap removed, you can see this is merely a very clear way of attaching a regular strap pin. Meaning a regular watch shop would also be able to provide you with replacement straps of different materials.

Personally while the strap is a nice black, it would have been nice to see and offer to bundle more than one strap, or to have different choices on purchase

Withings Steel HR Screen

All interactions with the watch are through the single button on the side. You can scroll through:

Date – Digital time- heart rate- steps – distance -alarm time

But being OLED, while it might allow for a good looking watch inside, the screen is practically useless in bright sunlight

Withings Steel HR Specification

Weight: 39g (32mm) 49g (40mm)

Glass: Mineral

Screen: OLDE

Size: 36mm or 40mm

Battery life: 4 days continuous HR monitoring, 25 days normally, 20 additional reserve battery days

Water Resistance: 50m (diving not advised)

Sleep Tracking: recording both light and deep stages of sleep

Connectivity – BlueTooth Low Energy

Activities

Steps – distance and calories

Running – distance and calories

Swimming – duration and calories

Activities auto detect from MEMS 3-axis accelerometer

Heart rate

Silent alarm – really useful, rather than waking your partner, or telling the world you have an alarm going off, the Steel vibrates. That vibration isn’t like many other smart watches or phones though. The vibration is practically inaudible – that might seem a minor point, but I think it’s great!

The Withings Steel HR manual is available here

Using the Withings Steel HR

The Withings Steel HR is a very simple device to use, the vast majority of the features of the watch are primed during your setup, and then it is just a case of fire and forget for the activity tracker

Fire and Forget is particularly app when it comes to the battery life. 25 days of active use is certainly realistic, and unlike most other smart watches, when the battery does run down, the Reserve function kicks in.

At this point, you loose the smart watch features but maintain that crucial function of a watch – the ability to tell the time

Withings Health Mate app

To get the Withings Steel HR working, you need to install the Withings Health app, available for Android or iOS

The app walks you through all the steps regarding setting up the Withings Steel HR

Including the initial firmware updates as needed

It is only a minor point, but because the Withings Steel HR is an analogue device, the app contains a brilliant function to ensure the analogue hands are lined up, which is done with a large onscreen wheel and is a lovely approach to calibration. You will do this for the minute hand, hour hand, and the activity tracker dial at the bottom

Finally, you have to confirm your step goals for the day, with a simple on-screen slider

  And with that, you are nearly done! The alarm is similarly set with an easy to use the on-screen slider, and you stay which smart notification you want to come through to your wrist, and then you are good to go!

Withings 

There is a lot about the gamification of activity and sports (I word I’m not keen on but still) – Nike tried it with the original Fuel Band. Fitbit has a similar system where you can see your activity compared to others. But as a rule of thumb, these are closed ecosystems. Which might be an effective way of encouraging a family, or group to buy into a particular brand, but if you are outside of a companies sphere of influence, you are left outside in the cold.

Withings goes some way towards addressing this with the Health App. The Health App is free, can be downloaded by anyone with an Android or iOS device, And then the phone itself can track your activity level, which will also allow you to take part in the family/group challenges even without a dedicated Withings device. The same system will cover you if for some reason you leave you Withings Steel HR at home. By toggling a switch within the app, you’ll get your steps recorded by your phone that day, rather than the Withings Steel HR!

The Withings Steel HR can automatically detect swimming, running and walking, typically registers things well

However, occasionally the Withings Steel HR will not know quite what has happened while acknowledging indeed something has. At which point the app allows you to save or dismiss that activity detected

Running with Withings Steel HR

As there is no GPS in the Withings Steel HR, running is quite a simple affair, press in the button on the side, and off you go!

While you are running, you can see your heart rate, and the duration you have been running. Dedicated runners watch this isn’t.

If you do find yourself going for an impromptu run, and forget to start your watch, then the Steel HR will detect your started running and trigger the optical HR for appropriate monitoring

After the run, you can review your activity in the app,

But that information is very limited to duration, calories and HR tracking. You don’t even get estimated distance or cadence in the running activity screen. Although your steps do count towards your overall distance

Withings Steel HR Swimming

Here we have a similar mixed bag.  When swiming you get duration, and calories but nil else. I also found a several swims that the HR failed to track for some reason

I have not been able to find a good reason for this, but as I’m not really getting many additional data from the swim function, I haven’t really been too fussed, as I find it so very limited already

Withings Steel HR Activity Tracker

As you use the Steel HR and walk greater total distances, you unlock badges… This isn’t too well signposted or discussed in the app as initially, they seem arbitrary. You’ll get a popup saying “You unlocked Loch Ness!” you go “huh?!” and then the message is gone. When you look into the app, the badges relate to landmarks corresponding to total distances you have walked with your device. An interesting idea, but not really integrated very well

Your activity levels are shown in the app across each hour, with darker reds corresponding to more activity, or running as we can see here. With further break down below on how far you walked each hour, and what has been going on with your heart rate over the day

Withings Steel HR Sleep tracking

Sleep is recorded showing light and deep sleep. This recording happens automatically when the Withings Steel HR recognises you been still for the appropriate length of time.

I think the tracking compares quite favourably to that of the Beddit Smart Sleep a which is a more accurate measure of sleep activity, and the Garmin Fenix 5 also wrist-based sleep tracking

Which you can break down further into light and deep section of sleep, so you can monitor your number of sleep cycles

Other Bits

The Withings Steel HR is a great watch, stylish, and seems to give accurate step tracking. But I would suggest that step tracking is its main function, yes you can go for a run in it, but even though Withings suggest that the device is safe to swim in – heck it is one of their big features, there have been reports is issues with the Withings Steel HR being affected by moisture.

I’d seen no issues with this – until it came to that day to write up the review – sitting outside in the sun and “uh oh” – steam under the Withings Steel HR glass!

Now Withings responded very reasonably to this explaining that it is due to normal condensation when the temperature of the air changes inside the watch, causing condensation of any humidity in the internal air. The watch is water resistant, not air tight, and that the fog should disappear when the watch returns to room temperature.

That was certainly my experience after taking the Withings Steel HR back inside for a few minutes.

Never the less, if things worsen, or do not resolve Withings suggest to contact their Customer Service

Withings Steel HR – Heart Rate Analysis

Now, this bit of analysis has to be a bit light. I have not been able to export the raw HR data from the Withings Steel HR to a graph as I would normally do. But if we compared the heart rate graphs from the Withings Steel HR along with a 4iiii chest strap graph, they both look to be reasonably similar.

Given the other broad brush strokes that the Withings Steel HR takes towards specific exercise tracking, I’m happy with the optical HR “in the same ball park.��

Withings Steel HR Conclusion

The Withings Steel HR is beautiful. Without a doubt. The construction feels distinctly more premium that the Withings Pop was able to carry off.  But who is it aimed at? There certainly isn’t enough data available on the watch screen for someone doing training or trying to log their runs/swims.

The Withings Steel HR is for someone who wants to monitor their fitness, casually, perhaps do the occasional workout, without having to worry about recharging the battery every day. But crucially someone who doesn’t want to have a digital, or obviously sports watch or band such as such the FitBit on their arm, and that I think is one of the major selling feature – style.

The style is the most important feature in “normal” watches, so as the fitness tracker market has matured, it makes sense that innovations on style and functionality are becoming priorities – The analogue gauge as a way of counting steps is a great idea, and an easy way to engage people. Although the few smart watch features do feel a little limited at the expense of style.

If I’m honest, the only two issues that I have with the Withings Steel HR are the fact that there is no option to purchase the watch WITH a leather strap. You have to buy that separately, and the restriction of activity monitoring to only walking, swimming and running, think cycling should have really been included.

A beautiful device, but too many limitations to get above 3/5

Withings Steel HR – “Limited but beautiful.”

The @Withings #SteelHR Review - "Digital Skills Analogue Style" is now up on #TitaniumGeek. A beautiful watch, but not a #running watch! opStyle has always been important, but the days of the blocky sports watch are now long gone.