SURPRISE BITCHES IT’S ME AGAIN

I’M SO SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING HERE HAVE A FIC TO MAKE UP FOR IT I’VE MISSED YOU ALL SO MUCH XXX

summary: it’s been a year, and dan and phil haven’t spoken since the night the door had slammed and their relationship was placed on its deathbed. dan knows phil isn’t happy. dan knows andrew isn’t phil’s type. he knows there are fewer things phil would rather do less than spend his free time in the gym, eat kale, and drive cars that probably cost more than his house. dan isn’t happy either, but there’s little he can do other than watch phil’s new life blossom from behind the glass of a phone screen.

(aka basically a fic based on ed sheeran’s absolute Banger of a song new man I highly recommend)

word count: 7k

warnings: alcohol, brief mention of smoking

-

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”

He freezes, his heart thudding.

“What?”

“Are you around at all?” Phil prompts, and the lack of hesitation in his voice is almost disconcerting.

Dan skips a beat. He knows this is only the vodka talking, only the alcohol unzipping Phil’s reserved exterior and giving way to a pushy, over-enthusiastic and giggly side to his character, but there’s a part of him, albeit a very small part buried deep down, that desperately wants to say yes.

“Um-“ Dan gulps, his chest thumping. “Are you sure about that?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” he sighs. “Let’s face it. We haven’t spoken in months, about anything, and you just pop up and phone me completely out of nowhere,” he gulps, before adding in a lower voice, “and it’s not like we ended on brilliant terms, either.”

“Which is why I’m saying we should meet up now,” Phil urges. “We both miss each other, don’t we?”

–

He’s twenty weeks deep, and apparently they went to Paris last summer.

His thumb slides idly along the glass, scrolling through filtered picture after filtered picture. The Eiffel Tower. The Louvre. A familiar face beside the River Seine, the city lights stretching into amber ribbons on the water’s surface. Some expensive-looking car parked on the side of the road, white shine and blacked-out windows. White wine on the balcony, the sunset a pastel cascade over the city. It looks as if they had a good time.

He lurks with great care, monitoring the movement of every muscle in his thumb in hopes of avoiding the dreaded double tap. Accidentally liking your ex’s new boyfriend’s pictures in itself is certainly one thing, but ones dating way back over five months ago is another.

It’s harder to look at Phil’s Instagram that far back. When there’s a red heart below the picture instead of a transparent one, it takes him a while to figure out whether or not he’d already liked the picture or if he’d slipped up.

He scrolls more. Cars, cars, four tattooed guys at some exotic-looking bar wearing matching grins, a beach, more fucking cars, gym selfie, gym selfie, and-

What the fuck?

He frowns at his phone screen, peering into the glass with narrowed eyes like he’s seeing properly for the first time.

Keep reading

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

Thank you all so so much for your consistent patience with this. College work (and a hell of a lot of it) has unfortunately become my priority right now what with university just around the corner and subsequently I haven’t updated it nearly as regularly as I would have liked to, but you guys have been so supportive and understanding and I really cannot thank you enough for that. I’ve missed this and I’ve missed you. Here’s to more regular updates in the future <3

(sidenote I’m sorry if this seems a lil wooden I haven’t written this in literal months so it might take a while for me to adjust to the story and the prose again so pls bear with me)

OK emo words over let’s fuckin DO this cue emo dan and a Lot of tension and also dishonesty because phil’s a fucking idiot

warnings; mentions of violence, smoking

Twenty-one

Phil’s been on edge all week. He can’t remember the last time he relaxed.

Every day, every hour right from the second his eyes flutter open to the sound of his morning alarm, is spent with a thudding heart and searching eyes. Even when he’s sleeping he’s tense – his dreams have spiralled into a whirlwind of almost nightmares, technicolour episodes crashing into the other in colourful sparks and bursts that end in cold sweats and aching muscles and whisperings from the boy only centimetres away from him. And it’s stupid because Phil should be the one comforting him after a bad night (and he still tries his best nonetheless), but he can’t deny there’s nothing quite like the feeling of Dan’s gentle lips on his forehead at four a.m., the sound of his voice whispering reassurances with his arms draped over Phil’s waist like a protective shield.

He hasn’t seen Liam since he grabbed at any excuse and all but ran out of Noah’s room upon his discovery that no, Phil doesn’t still have a tag, and he’s scared. He’s so fucking scared.

And yeah, it was a very stupid move to dodge the bullet in the way he did, to fling himself out of the situation without even stopping to at least try and explain himself, but he couldn’t help it. He doesn’t think he can face sitting through another one of Liam’s explosions without crying or running for cover, and he just can’t look that evil glint in the eye. Not since he saw the very same one glittering menacingly when Liam looked at Dan, the daggering stare boring into the other boy. The image is still printed deep in Phil’s mind, resurfacing during the darkest part of the night.

That’s cowardly. Phil doesn’t care.

“Are you sure you-“

“Phil,” Dan sighs. “For the final time, I’m fine.”

“But you-“

“Honestly,” he insists, brown eyes shining. He’s trying, with one hand, to unwrap the chocolate bar Phil had insisted upon him. “It was just a bump, that’s all. The paths were really icy this morning.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Phil sighs, tapping Dan’s bandage patch delicately. It sits just under his fringe.

Keep reading

fun fact this is loosely based on a real bookshop I once found somewhere in greenwich idk exactly where it is but if ever find urself around the area look out for it its v cute and v tiny

summary: Phil works at a bookshop. Dan buys a book one day, and, in a ploy to see Phil, keeps returning with more and more obscure requests so Phil has to spend more time searching. After Dan leaves with ‘cactus maintenance: a memoir’, Phil starts to suspect something’s up.

words: 7.3k

-

“Look,” Phil sighs when he catches sight of the book Dan’s clutching today. “I know there’s a very good chance you keep cacti and you just wanna maintain them and it’s probably wrong of me to assume otherwise, but-…can I ask you something?”

Dan gulps, putting the book titled “Cactus Maintenance: A Memoir” down on the counter.

“Do you actually need half of the books you come in here for?” he asks softly. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, there’s a good chance you might actually ride motorcycles, study bricklaying, want to know more about frogspawn or- you know, wanna look after your cacti, but…” he shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just- um, you’re the first person I’ve met that, you know, buys one book every single day. When do you get time to read them all?”

-

i.

Graveland’s Books is the kind of place you’d only come across if you were either very bored, very desperate, or very lost.

It hides on the tail end of an alleyway just behind the village market, and the gnarled wooden beams, the glass oil lanterns lining either side of the aged brickwork and the rusty bronze bell hanging above the door would fool anyone into thinking they’d just stepped out of 2016 and into the 18^th century. If it wasn’t for the mobile phone shop sitting directly opposite, of course.

It’s not big in size, with a staff room and an office the size of a postage stamp upstairs and just about enough room to fit two free standing bookshelves in the middle of the shop, but books spill into every single crack. Stacks and stacks of fiction and history and travel and biographies narrow the aisles between the shelves, and it’s all too easy to trip over a random pile of books in the middle of the floor when you’re not concentrating properly.

But, for a job running along the sidelines of university, Phil enjoys it. He’d certainly rather spend his time flicking through a story about a cursed mushroom than stack supermarket shelves and deal with obnoxious co-workers, anyway.

Keep reading

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

SORRY THIS TOOK LITERALLY FIFTY THREE YEARS I JUST FINISHED STRANGER THINGS AND NEEDED TIME TO RECOVER BECAUSE SERIOUSLY WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT ENDING oh and also college work bUT STRANGER THINGS

It feels like I’ve spent ages on this chapter. You have no idea (No Idea) how many lil paragraphs and scenes I’ve written and cut out and I just????? This feels really bitty for some reason idk I hope it’s still okay. I feel like it’s a bit of a ‘calm before the storm’ chapter but i hope u still like it!! it’s a Lot longer than usual hopefully that’ll make up for things <33

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaanyway………….

warnings: mentions of blood, violence

-

Twenty

Phil freezes, the hum of a conversation creeping into his earshot. He’d managed to stumble downstairs with a stack of dirty mugs from his room (he’d decided to give Dan a break from the washing up), but as soon as he’d heard voices coming from the kitchen door, he’d stopped, listening.

He recognises one of the voices – it’s definitely Noah; he can identify that laugh from about three miles away.

The problem is, he recognises the other one too.

“Don’t use that image!”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Look at her. She’s- like, what even is that position? Why’s her leg up there?”

“Why not?”

“She’s a stock model, not Simone Biles.”

“Stock models are known for being- like, weird, aren’t they?”

“Are you calling a multiple Olympic gold-medallist weird?”

“No, you twat. I’m saying the stock models are weird.”

“Whatever.”

“No- don’t put it there! How offputting is it gonna be; having some weird suited lady doing the splits in the corner of the screen?”

“Fine. We’ll use this one. Is that better?”

“She still looks a bit…”

“For god’s sake, this is clip art, not a fucking Vogue photoshoot.”

Keep reading

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

HEY I’m surprised I manage to get this up tbh England has literally been burning these past few days and it’s been so HOT and difficult to write but SOMEHOW I MANAGED IT GO ME

omg someone outside is having a really loud argument over the phone it’s so DISTRACTING can they keep it down for 4 seconds whilst I SIN please

anyway I hope this is ok!! sorry this chapter’s a lil shorter than usual I promise there’s gonna be more to the story than the Pure unadulterated sin that keeps happening hahah but yeah there’s still a lot I have planned for this fic!! This is literally so fun to write thank you all so so much for ur constant support and messages with this fic it honestly means the world ily all

aaaaaanyway on with the horny rich kids

warnings: smuttttttty smut (get ur bibles ready kids), alcohol, that’s p much it i think

-

Eighteen

“Really?”

Phil can hear his heartbeat in his ears, drumming into his head with dull thuds. His breath catches in his throat like a hook.

Dan glances up at him, all dark eyes and messy hair. “Yeah. Really.”

His fingers slide through Phil’s fringe, combing it back off of his forehead and Phil feels goose bumps sprinkle his skin.

“I mean-…” Phil bites back a gasp. “Are you-… like, are you sure?”

“Sure about what?” Dan mumbles, shuffling up closer and sliding his thigh up between Phil’s legs. “About leaving the talking ‘till tomorrow, or about the fact that I’m still somehow ridiculously turned on thanks to your stupid dancing?” he smirks, watching as Phil gulps, trying to mask his sharp intake of breath at the sudden pressure. “Because- well, it’s yes to both.”

“Oh my god,” Phil shudders out a breath, trying not to think about how fucking sexy Dan’s voice is with that raspy scratch whenever he’s sleepy or horny or trying to be quiet. Or, in this case, all three. “Same. I mean- me too. I just don’t wanna, you know, rush into anything.”

“Phil,” Dan smirks. “We’ve been holding ourselves back from each other for weeks. I don’t particularly call that ‘rushing’ anything.”

“True,” Phil grins, kissing Dan with soft little pecks. “I mean- I’m up for- well, anything. I just don’t wanna do anything you don’t, y’know?”

“I appreciate that,” Dan nods.

They kiss again, slower this time, before Phil breaks it off to say something.

“So. How far exactly are we gonna take this?”

Keep reading

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

Heyyyyyyyy I’ve been having literally The Worst writer’s block this week bc I felt as if last week’s chapter kinda drove me into a brick wall that I didn’t know how to write myself out of so <///3 I hope this is okay, it’s a lil more lighthearted compared to the last few chapters but enjoy that while it lasts bc shit’s about to Seriously Go Down my dudes ;PPP

Here is the song phil Does The Thing to ;))) [x]

warnings: alcohol, kiiinda smut but not really, inappropriate games of truth or dare why the fuck am I like this

-

Seventeen

Phil can’t speak. There’s a flood of thoughts racing through his brain at about three hundred miles per hour but he can’t seem to open his mouth and say anything. The silence is too much and he just can’t fucking speak.

Dan misinterprets the silence. He draws in a shaky breath after a couple of minutes and hauls himself off of the bench, out of Phil’s arms.

“I’ve said too much. I-“

“No, wait-“ Phil reaches out to grab for his wrist, but Dan flinches, tensing up like stone.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” Phil mumbles, suddenly feeling terrible. Weeks of spending time with Dan had made it apparent enough how sensitive the other boy still is to sudden moves. “I’m really sorry, I-“

“It’s-…” Dan swallows, clutching onto the bench. “It’s fine. I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped something as heavy as that on you. I-“

“No, it’s okay,” Phil gulps. “Really. It’s just a bit of a shock, that’s all.”

Dan sits back down on the bench, quietly apprehensive. “A shock?”

“I-… but-… okay,” he gulps. “Well- I mean. It’s great. I guess,” his throat feels like sandpaper and he kind of wants a cigarette. “For you, anyway.”

Dan freezes. “What?”

“I mean,” Phil tries again, desperately trying to ignore the swirl of something hot churning in his stomach right now. “Yeah. It’s cool. It’s cool that you’ve, you know, found someone like-“ he knows his words are slipping out too fast and he needs to fucking shut up for a minute but he can’t stop himself. If he doesn’t talk, the thudding of his heartbeat in his ears will become all too apparent and he’ll probably start crying instead. “So um. Yeah. Who-… um. Who-… who- with?” he finally stutters. “If that’s not an invasive question. Which it probably is, but-“

Dan frowns into the darkness. Phil throws him a quick glance.

“Seriously?” Dan’s voice is beginning to crack a little, and Phil can’t understand why.

“What?”

Dan shakes his head, shutting his eyes. Phil tries to reach for his hand, but Dan pulls his hand out of his grasp.

“Dan?” Phil feels a little stab in his heart.

Keep reading

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

-

HERE IT IS

HERE IT FUCKING IS 

YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I’VE BEEN PLANNING THIS FOR HAHAHHAHA OH FUCK okay right this was quite literally a nightmare to write omg u have no idea I literally spent all week writing and deleting and Rewriting and editing and CHANGING but I think it paid off. I hope.

I listened to gasoline by halsey [x] and human by christina perri [x] whilst writing the majority of this. I think they both fit dan pretty nicely so I would highly recommend.

(Also I have nothing against the may fair hotel it’s probably v snazzy idk I’ve never actually been but u know. For the sake of fiction)

Anyway here it is. The story of Daniel James Howell. The tiny troubled child.

warnings: alcohol, mentions of abuse, (v v brief) mentions of rape, self harm

-

Sixteen

Phil doesn’t really know how to feel about this.

It’s strange. It’s strange to be out here in the cold and under the stars after weeks and weeks of tiptoeing around curfews and cornered off areas and only staring at the night through an open window. It’s strange to be sitting hand-in-hand with Dan, the same Dan he’d be prepared to pelt rocks at only a month or two ago, talking about the moon and the stars and the way Dan’s features match those of the sky above. Hell, it’s probably strange to eat sixteen fucking brownies in one night, but they still did it. Everything’s just really fucking weird.

Most of all, however, it’s strange to see Dan, Dan who only last night wouldn’t let a drop of beer touch his lips, gulp away at this wine like it’s the final drop of water in an oasis.

“Slow down a bit,” Phil frowns, his heart thudding. He takes the bottle from Dan, still warm from his touch and holds it up to the moonlight. “Christ, Dan. You’ve drunk nearly a quarter of this already.”

“Good,” Dan reaches for it. “Let me-… let me have more. Then- then I can-… tell you. Things.”

Phil frowns, taking a few sips of wine himself; there’s no way he’s letting Dan drink this entire thing by himself. “What happened to Dan ‘alcohol is the mother of all evil’ Howell, eh? You didn’t touch Noah’s crate of Kronenbourg last week.”

“Wine,” is all Dan murmurs before he’s taking another gulp, eyes closed, breaths long and deep. He wipes his lips with the back of his hand, staining them a darker red than usual. “I like wine. Hate beer. Tastes like shit.”

“Right,” Phil takes a few swallows himself before screwing the lid on and wedging it in between them, slightly out of Dan’s sight. “Well. Um. That figures.”

“Mm,” Dan sighs, shutting his eyes. “God. I think I’m a bit pissed already.”

Keep reading

prompt: Southview Boarding School isn’t a castle and Phil Lester isn’t royalty, but he has everything. His father owns the school, he’s popular, has the best room, gets all the best treatment – there are very few things that aren’t handed to him on a platter. Dan is a cleaner/Phil’s personal maid there, and he isn’t as lucky. Everyone seems to take an aversion to the outsider, including Phil (at first).

-

[PREVIOUS CHAPTER]

[CHAPTER MASTERPOST]

I am currently one of eleven people staying in this tiny lil house and ive finally managed to steal an empty room to myself in order to write this and I feel so UNSOCIABLE but theres a dog here next to me so it’s all good  

Shoutout to this chapter for being the first one in which things actually begin to HAPPEN???? I know I say this at the beginning of literally every chapter so far but things really are gonna pick up from here I swear and by that I mean dans backstory (or at least some of it) is Literally Going To Be In The Very Next Chapter

Anyway I got far too carried away with this. im kinda sorry but kinda not

warnings: smut (masturbation AGAIN WHAT THE UFCK WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING) alcohol, self harm (v brief) ehhh I think that’s about it

-

Fourteen 

­There’s something about Dan that calms Phil down.

Maybe it’s weird, a little illogical, that someone with a personality as anxious and as timid as a wild mouse can somehow be seen as soothing, but that’s how it is.

“Hi,” Phil had sighed upon hearing the door open. He didn’t look over, didn’t move his eyes from the ceiling. Seconds later, a brown head of hair slides into his peripheral vision and he feels part of the mattress sink a little. He shuffles into an upright position in order to make more room for the other boy, crossing his legs and slouching his back a little.

“What happened?” Dan had whispered in a voice like cotton wool.

“Freddie happened,” Phil had told him. “We had an argument.”

Dan sighed, caramel eyes glittering with sympathy. “Talk.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me about it. You’ll feel better with it out of your system.”

So Phil did. And he found once he started, he can’t really stop and it’s only about ten minutes later he finally pauses, the room feeling thick with silence without the sound of his own voice filling it. His blow-by-blow recount from when they got to the vending machine to when he left it, charging through the corridors with an angry heart, was probably a little too detailed. He probably could’ve wrapped up the entire story in about three sentences instead of three-hundred.

“Sorry,” he breathes. “I’ve bored you, haven’t I?”

Keep reading

note: here’s the song this fic is based on [x]

summary: phil’s too reckless for his own good, but maybe that’s just what dan needs. they end up spending the summer together, living in the moment and taking chances that wouldn’t cross their sober minds, all the while slowly falling in love.

words: 15k 

 -

carpe diem

ˌkɑːpeɪ ˈdiːɛm,ˈdʌɪɛm/

exclamation

1.    used to urge someone to make the most of the present time and give little thought to the future.

2. a fancy way of saying ‘fuck it’.

**

i.

Dan’s always thought the summer holidays are a bit too hyped up, to be honest.

They’re never how they appear in the movies, for a start; no-one throws papers up in the air after the last exam, no-one really goes on the ‘roadtrips’ that are so supposedly popular in fictional summers (even if by some miracle someone does manage to organise and afford one, it’s never the six weeks of sun, loud music, fields, drinking and star-filled nights they’re always made out to be). No-one throws a house party that doesn’t end in some kind of fight, no-one cares enough about the sky to go stargazing, summer nights are overrated and it’s just never how it is in the movies.

That said, Dan doesn’t particularly dislike the summer holidays – figuratively speaking, he loves summer, it’s his favourite season. It’s his staggeringly high expectations that he dislikes – the moment when reality cuts through the picture-perfect images of the future his mind has painted out – yeah, that’s what pisses him off.

And it isn’t something he can help, either. He’s tried, of course he’s tried, but the whole “hope for the best, expect the worst” bullshit he’s been told by every teacher, parent and therapist he can think of, just doesn’t work. It’s far easier to say nonsense like that rather than to actually put it to practice.

That’s why it’s unsurprising when he finds himself slouched on his stained beanbag with an xbox controller in one hand and a cigarette in the other. It’s something-past-one in the afternoon and he’d literally rolled out of bed five minutes ago; straight off of the mattress and onto the floor, switching the monitor opposite him on with his foot and waiting for his TV to boot up. It’s not the wisest use of his time – his CV’s still sitting on the kitchen table due to the weeks he’d been putting off handing it in anywhere so he’s broke as fuck, but pretty much all of his friends are abroad, so what else is there to do?

Besides – he’d rather fight digital zombies than annoying bosses.

-

The rest of the day follows in pretty much the same unsurprising, unfulfilling manner. He ambles downstairs a couple of hours later, grunts a couple of half-greetings to his family members in the kitchen while he’s grabbing handfuls of cornflakes straight from the box. He stays upstairs, playing Call of Duty half-clothed with the curtains closed until the sky turns orange with sunset and he looks at his phone and shit, it’s already 7pm and he’s wasted an entire day.

It doesn’t surprise him, though. He sighs, putting the controller down with aching thumbs and switching the TV off with a clumsy kick in the general direction of the button. He stays there, staring vacantly at the ceiling for a couple of minutes. He stares for a while – his eyes tracing over chipped paint and faded blu-tack marks from where glow-in-the-dark stars once sat during a simpler time. He misses being a kid.

He jumps when he hears the muffled buzz of his phone from under his duvet. He reaches out, groping blindly at the sheets until his hands stumble across something solid and vibrating. He pulls it out, gearing himself up for a stilted conversation with whichever friend it is who cares enough to see how he’s doing, but when he reads the name on the screen, he frowns. What the hell does Phil want?

“Hello?” his voice is half-shaking although he isn’t quite sure why.

Keep reading

prompt: Dan and Phil are both sons of rich families and are sent to ballroom dancing lessons. Because there is a shortage of girls, Dan and Phil end up as partners. Phil really doesn’t want to be there and Dan doesn’t either, but is so frustrated by the fact Phil doesn’t want to dance with him he is determined to get him to.

a/n: fuck this is the last ever chapter

the actual last chapter

part of me was always in denial that this was never gonna really end because of how long it was but now im like .. Fuck . it’s over it’s acutally OVER

thank u so so so much to anyone and everyone who’s read this and stuck with me for the journey, whether you’ve been here since the very start or you’re just here for the very end. thank u sO much for all the constant positive feedback - i’ve loved every minute of writing this fic and it’s down to u guys that this has been such a wild and enjoyable ride. i hope u had as much fun reading this fic as i’ve had writing it <33

special thanks to sits-with-cats who actually came up with the idea of ryan cheating in the first place!! i don’t think had it not been for you, there’s no waY this fic and storyline would’ve turned out as well as it did, so thank you so much <3

also thank u to bwybms anon who, of course, actually gave me the prompt in the first place. i think it’s pretty obvious to say without you this fic wouldn’t actually exist haha, thank you so so much for all your amazingly positive feedback throughout this fic, it means so much to me to hear such amazing, sweet, lovely reviews from you that can keep me grinning like an idiot for hours on end. i wouldn’t be half as motivated to continue this fic without your guidance and feedback, so again (wtf this is so emo) thank u so so much for sticking by me for all this time. i hope we can still keep talking (i still have ur other prompt about a songfic to ‘the first punch’ in mind mhmhm), but you’ve been an absolute pleasure to write for. seriously, thank you. <3

ON THAT VERY EMO NOTE

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS

——————————————————

Thirty-One

It’s been the shortest three months of Dan’s life – he’d been swept away in a whirlwind of suitcases, boxes, new houses, school applications, ballroom outfit fittings and whatever else had subsequently flown past him during this time, and he finally flops onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling and letting all the breath out of his chest, shutting his eyes. He hasn’t been able to do that for ages. It feels good.

He lies there in silence for a couple of moments, before leaning over and pulling his Macbook out from under his bed (he’d bought one after his ancient Windows 7 laptop had finally waved its white flag and died on him, and he’s still working out how to use it – what the fuck is a ‘cmd’ key?) and quickly taps in his password, watching as it swiftly unlocks to desktop, displaying the Word document he’d left open with that half-finished History essay he’d abandoned mid-sentence. He scoffs to himself, promptly minimising it and going straight to Skype.

He hadn’t been in touch with Phil that much over the past month or two – well, he has, they’ve been calling every single night and texting when they have time, but it isn’t nearly enough for Dan. Enough, for him, would be a permanent Skype call; never hanging up, never needing to, but the chances of that corresponding with his hectic lifestyle is laughable.

His heart leaps when he sees the green ‘online’ tick next to Phil’s name. Yes.

Today, 19:20

dan

PHIL

are u available

He waits with bated breath, his fingers fidgeting over the keys, before Phil messages back.

phil

DAN

yes i am omg

fuck

i’ve missed you so fucking much

Dan’s heart clenches a little at that, and he smiles wistfully to himself, clicking the ‘Call’ button and wondering why his heart’s thudding and his stomach is twisting with nerves as much as it is. It’s hardly as if he’s about to Skype the Queen – it’s only Phil, for God’s sake.

Keep reading

I’m sitting in a train station about to go to Manchester and what have I decided to do? Write about 2009 phan until my laptop dies, of course.

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The train station is filled with a constant hum of voices, from milling conversations to echoing announcements, but Dan barely hears them anymore. They’d become ignored white noise hours ago.

He gulps, jiggling his leg (a nervous reflex) and his thumbs dance over his iPod screen, constantly skipping every song that appears on shuffle because nothing feels right and he can’t concentrate on one song for more than ten seconds.

He settles for a different distraction, pulling out his phone and hastily tapping back replies to texts from family members he should’ve answered hours ago – yes, he’s got to Euston alive, yes he’s had something to eat, and yes he’ll be careful and won’t get pickpocketed.

(Yes, he’s eighteen and not eight, he’d felt like adding).

He glances up at the notice boards, although by this point he’s pretty sure the neon glow of orange writing against the black background is pretty much engraved behind his eyelids with the amount he’s been looking at it.

But his platform hasn’t been announced yet, and he’s nervous.

Nervous being the most astronomical understatement – he’d lied to his mother about the food because he’s pretty sure anything he’d eat will just come straight back up. He doesn’t do nerves, he can’t handle pressure and stress well (the incident during the Nativity play when he was nine years old still haunts him to this day), and although he’s sure he’d chosen the safe route by turning away from the coffee and pastry stall, his vision still swims with hunger.

But it’s worth it, he decides – at least worth more than running off the stage crying the last time he’d been this stressed, but he really doesn’t need to think of that now on top of anything else. He gulps, glancing up at the row of notice boards for what has to be the fifty-seventh time, and his heart thuds.

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HI so this is a kinda sorry-i-haven’t-been-posting-that-much-but-here-have-this-while-u-wait-for-bwybms kinda thing aLso what is UP with the title how long do i have to make it smh im sorry ANYWAY i decided to write a lil more of the more-than-bestfriends-less-than-boyfriends kinda thing because imo it’s so underrated and CUTE so thsi is kinda written on those grounds i hope it ok anyway BYE

words: 3.3k

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dan and phil are tired teenage art students who nap together a lot

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Dan doesn’t think it should be legal to wake up before nine am.

He yawns, throwing his bag up to his bed on the top bunk, leaning against the metal ladder, and fighting the urge to throw himself up there along with his luggage. They have to be out of the hotel by six pm, something about visiting a seaside museum, bring your sketchbooks, don’t be late, blah blah blah – Dan had stopped listening after the first two minutes.

He hasn’t slept in what has to be over thirty-six hours; he’d lost last night’s sleep to cramming in some last-minute packing at four in the morning after having forgotten about it all night, and by the time he’d finished, it had been time to leave for the trip. He hadn’t been able to sleep on the coach – in his opinion; noisy, clumsy, uncomfortable and dirty vehicles aren’t exactly the best napping environments; especially considering he’d often be described as one of those annoying ‘fussy sleepers’ who literally cannot get to sleep unless they’re in absolute pitch darkness and silence. Which, considering he’s sharing a room with five others for a week, is probably going to cost him another couple of nights’ sleep, so he’ll be sure to look forward to that.

He doesn’t quite know why he’s even going on this stupid art trip. He’d only used it as an excuse to skip school for a week, but now he isn’t too sure where he’d rather be.

He yawns again, squeezing his eyes shut and scratching his head. Fuck, he doesn’t want to go out tonight. He doesn’t think he can manage it; he’ll get half an hour into the museum before passing out on the floor.

The en-suite bathroom door shuts, and his black-haired classmate emerges, drying his damp face with a flannel. If Dan didn’t know any better, he’d assume Phil is just as tired as he is and had just splashed cold water on his face in an attempt at staying awake.

That doesn’t seem like a bad idea, actually. Maybe he should try it.

“You alright?” Dan raises his eyebrows, eyeing the boy up and down.

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a game of spin the bottle at the park gives phil the opportunity to put his new skills to good use (sequel to kissing lessons so if u haven’t read that go read it first)

tw; alcohol and mentions of being drunk

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“The deadline’s next Tuesday, Phil,” the voice on the other end of the phone sighs exasperatedly. “How much have you done so far, then?”

“Er-“ Phil sets his phone down on the edge of his bedside table, digging into his Geography folder and rummaging around in a panicked search for his coursework planner until there are crumpled A4 sheets of paper strewn all over his bed. “-enough, I guess,” he lies, hurriedly picking up the phone after emptying the entire contents of his bag onto his duvet.

“Which means…?” Ed prompts, an edge of doubt outlining his voice. “You’ve either done the bare minimum, or you’re simply a very shit liar?”

Phil gulps. “One of the two.”

He can almost hear Ed’s eye-roll. “I know what I’m inclined to believe,” he says. “Anyway, you can continue being a failure in your own time – I need to ask you something.”

“If it’s anything to do with the History exam, I’m not listening,” Phil sighs, gathering flyaway sheets back up in an attempt to tidy up a little bit.

“Nope,” the voice at the other end of the line objects.

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a/n im sorry i wrote this in like half an hour but this prompt was too good for me to pass up

prompt: can you do a fake relationship au where dan is out shopping somewhere (he and phil don’t know each other yet) but then this other guy starts aggressively flirting with dan and dan starts getting uncomfortable and phil happens to be in the same place as dan and steps in pretending to be dan’s boyfriend? :)“

words: 2.2k

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Paracetamol, bread, and a birthday card. Then Dan can get out of here.

He attempts to hold back a yawn as he stumbles aimlessly down aisle after aisle, constantly distracting himself with either his own tired thoughts, or stopping at the magazine section to roll his eyes at whatever utter bullshit the tabloid are spewing out into the front cover of ‘The Sun’, and he doesn’t want to know how many times he’s already walked past the 'bakery’ section already whilst his distracted mind is more interested in making him think about what good cats could do to the world if they could breathe underwater than just buying the first loaf of bread he sets eyes on so he can just go home and sleep.

James’s had been great last night, Dan won’t lie; it really had, but it’s questionable whether it’s actually worth the repercussions the following morning being prone to pretty problematic hangovers, and his head thuds with the dull ache reminding him to hurry up and get the paracetamol which to his misfortune, is probably on the other side of the supermarket anyway which rules out another eight hundred years of his life trying to find it. He knows his local Tesco like the back of his hand; it’s not like he doesn’t do his shopping here every day, but it’s in times such as this when Dan feels as if it seems to have doubled in size and the stock completely rearranged.

He’s not in a hurry, anyway. He just needs to make it through without getting home and smacking the heel of his hand on his forehead in realisation that he’s forgotten to buy something important; so he stares at his shopping list on the notes of his phone for so long the words begin to blur, and judging by the amount he’d read it over, he’s pretty sure “birthday” isn’t even a word anymore.

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