#daniel howell is a coffee hoe

[phealboy]

Dan from Law,

Phil from Media & Editing

is that how it goes? it’s been so long i forgor…

hey poo poos. its been a while, huh…i know, i know, i said i’d publish this the FIRST OF DECEMBER…but ya boy was a bit busy, gimme a breaaaak. anyways…here with a longer chapter to make up for it. enjoy. no smut. just a buncha gay boys and angst. as usual, tags under the cut :3

AO3 LINK

MASTERLIST OF THE CHAPTERS

jump scare, heart eyes howell

Tags :

Basically just fluff, a bit of angst. Mentions of Dan being outted, Dan having a sliiight panic attack?, Phil is allergic asf to cats, ADORABLE CAAATTTSSS, enjoy poo poos xox

Dan and Phil had exchanged numbers after around 30 minutes of talking on Grindr. Dan was just managing to wrap his head around the fact that fucking Phil was some variation of queer. Then, Phil proposed they meet up. For a date. Phil wanted Dan. Whether it was romantic or platonic, Dan was never going to reject that.

It was around midday by now, a little too late to go to a café because of the daylight savings, so they arranged to meet somewhere called ‘La Chat’. It was some French cat café, something that Dan couldn’t afford, but he’d be damned if he didn’t dig into his savings for this “date” with Phil. This might be his only opportunity.

Phil had been texting Dan about how he’d “have to slam back 10 antihistamines" because he’s allergic, but that he didn't mind because he would "rather die than not visit a cat café at all possible opportunities.’’

So, Phil was taking Dan out on yet another coffee date, and he didn't care about the fact that he was going to be sniffling the entire time. And goddamnit, Dan didn’t care either.

The next day, Dan woke up, showered, put on his ugliest knitted sweater as he thought it would beautifully fit the theme (it did) and some fuck ass jeans that most definitely didn’t fit him but were the only pair on his floor that weren’t, like, completely dirty, and then drove towards the cafe.

When he was in the shower earlier that same morning, he had debated not straightening his hair but leaving it, keeping it natural. That’s what his mother always used to say, ‘Girls want you naturally, Daniel’, but he quickly shot down the idea. What did his mother know? Anyway, no girl ever wanted him, naturally or not, so he decided on straightening his hair down. It was all he knew, after all.

His heart was pounding the entire time while he drove, his head a mess and his forehead just a ‘tiny’ bit sweaty, which only helped to slick his hair down to be even more pinstraight, even if it looked a little unnatural.

Maybe, in Dan’s dream world, when Phil and him had been together for a few months, he would let him see his hair. The way it looked just so shockingly different curled, how his fringe looked shorter when he didn’t use his shitty poundland-fake version of a GHD straightener to burn his hair to a crisp. Maybe, if Phil didn’t up and leave after a week or so of Daniel’s messed up self -- his self esteem issues, his bi-weekly existential crises’, his problems with procrastination despite his perfectionist mindset -- maybe he’d let Phil in. Maybe, just maybe, he’d let Phil see him, the imperfection of his hair caused by the years of heat damage.

Possibly.

–

Dan’s shitty ford fiesta slows down to a stop a few feet away from ‘La Chat’. Well, where maps said it was anyway. Dan had never come down this part of London, this was the ‘fancier’ part of London. It wasn’t ever really in Dan’s price range, and it was about a 20 minute diversion from the only route he went out in his car (his commute to work), so he had never seen the street the cafe was down, didn’t even recognise the name of the street, let alone know his own way to the cafe.

Dan was apprehensive to get out of his car, and, momentarily, he felt trapped. Trapped within a 1.1 tonne lump of pissing metal. Trapped within a moving death machine, but it felt safe. Safer than going outside, safer than going into that cafe. Safer than the possibility that Phil would stand him up. Safer than the fact this might’ve all been a lie, that the same thing that happened in Wokingham when he was 17 would repeat, that everyone would find he’s…whatever he is, gay, queer, it didn’t matter. He wanted to keep this a secret, a thing he would keep locked away until the guilt of it all was overpowered by stupid lust, until he didn’t care. But Phil, the mere idea of Phil, made that guilt slowly dissipate.

He took a large breath and refused to let it leave until he stepped out the car. After about 4 seconds, he climbed his awkwardly lanky body out of his shitty fiesta and he exhaled. It would be okay. Phil seemed nice, the idea of Phil and coffee seemed concrete, correct. In his mind, if Phil really wanted to stand him up, then he would pick somewhere shittier, - a bar, possibly - a place Phil wouldn’t regularly go to, not a cafe. Dan didn’t know a lot about Phil, but he knew he liked - loved - coffee.

Dan took a few steps, then he saw one of those foldable chalkboards with a ginger cat drawn in chalk with ‘’Sandwich + Milkshake for £12 every Tuesday, 4-6’’ next to it, written in blue chalk.

And then, without even having to look up and see the ‘Le Chat’ sign above the cafe and its large windows, he knew he was in the correct place. Expensive food, expensive drinks, shitty deals.

He looks up, still at least 5 steps from the door. His heart pounded even harder than it already was, from leaving the safe confines of his car, when he saw Phil in one of the booth’s near the window. He intently watched Phil for a few moments, watching – studying – what he did when he was alone.

Phil stood up inside the cafe, walking towards the male bathrooms. Dan watched him sneeze once, then again, then bump into a tall woman, wearing the ‘La Chat’ uniform, with a sandwich in her arms on a plate. The woman proceeded to drop the plate and Phil was apologising, while he continued to sneeze. A cat jumped atop of his table, poking its paw innocently in his cup, getting cat hair all in his coffee.

The whole scene was chaotic, yet it calmed Dan’s nerves as he stepped closer to the cafe. Chaos was regular for Dan, calmed him, made the world feel a bit more real, less worrying. Phil might be able to possibly size up to how chaotic he was. Possibly. Probably not, but possibly.

Dan watches as Phil stumbles off to the bathroom. He walks into the Cafe, hearing a little dingle above him from a bell attached to the door. No one looks over, relievingly. Except a waitress, the same waitress that Phil had knocked over.

‘’Hello. Do you need a seat?’’ She says. Dan shakes his head, ‘’No, I’m meeting someone. They’re already here. Thanks.’’ Dan internally cringed and slapped himself for saying ‘They’re’ instead of ‘he’s’. He was trying to get over the embarrassment of being gay, or whatever he was, and fixing small bits in how he spoke was a step in that direction; it just wasn’t that easy. At all.

The woman nods and walks into the back of the kitchen, presumably to ring in another sandwich to replace the one Phil had made her drop. Dan walks towards the booth that Phil `had been sitting at. There was a ginger cat on the table, splayed out, belly-up to the ceiling.

“God, I’d love to be a cat for a day.” A familiar voice spoke behind him as he sat down at the booth. He turned his head to his left, and there was Phil. Dan flashes Phil his most ‘I didn’t nearly cry in the car over here’ smile, which ended up being an awkward smile, but it got his whole ‘I’m happy to be here’ idea across, which was what he wanted.

[scifiphan]

dan howell’s profile: good content

[phealboy]

Dan from Law,

Phil from Media & Editing

hello ! this is my first dan & phil fic, so enjoy. sorry followers if yall dont fw this.. NO SMUT IN THIS CHAPTER, WILL BE IN CHAP 2.

AO3 LINK

this is NOT a oneshot & will be updated frequently (i actually have chapt 2 quarterly finished as i post this!), i will update this post with links to next chapters at the end as the fic continues.

update : chap 2

Tags ;

office AU, Dan & Phil are NOT YouTubers!, Dan being a coffee SLUTTTTT, Dan getting a lil crush

THE SONG I LISTENED WHILE WRITING THIS :3

Dan woke up, starting his daily rituals. He had been trying to improve himself, half because he wanted to feel less shit, half because he wanted to be appealing enough that someone else would help him feel less shit.

He hadn’t had a relationship since 2019, which was brief and uneventful.

He opened his curtains (of which were basically falling off the shitty rod his landlord wouldn’t fix), hoping to open it to some sun. He knew that was unrealistic. He peered over London from his stupid-expensive apartment’s stupidly-shit window. His view was nothing interesting, at all. It was just buildings, cars. Very corporate, very regular.

He had a brisk shower, long enough to be sanitary but not long enough to the point he has to take out a mortgage to pay his water bill in 3 days.

He got himself ready for work, ready to get in his barely-working car and drive to his barely-paying-the-bills job. And he done so.

He drove, parked and trudged into the building. He looks at the mini Costa Coffee in the lobby lovingly, but decides not to treat himself as he didnt get paid for another 6 days and was living off of off-brand pot noodles. Instead, he steps into one of the 4 elevators in the lobby.

Theres a few people in the elevator with him. He gives a small nod at them as he enters. He presses the ‘7’ button, there was many other buttons already lit up.

His eyes surveyed the small group alongside him in the elevator, trying to see if there was anyone off of his floor - but he couldn’t recognise anyone.

There was an overweight short woman with greying hair, she was 5’4 maybe, a tall blonde man who was staring down at his phone, hm, and a man in a business suit who looked like an outsider here for a meeting possibly.

After around a minute, he gets to his floor and steps out. He wasnt the last, he had been stranded alone with the suit man for a floor or two now. Dan gives him a small, straight-lined smile as he steps out.

He walks towards the kitchen that was shared between floors 6 to 9 and begins to grab for his favourite mug - a faded mug with some star-wars quote on it.

When he couldnt feel it where he put it the day previous, he furrows his eyebrows. He focuses more on finding his mug, digging through the cupboard, getting at least 3 weird stares from others.

Whatever, someone could’ve just…not known it was his…although it did have his name scribbled on the bottom in sharpie. They might not of looked, it’s whatever. He’ll get it back eventually. Even if he’d prefer to get it back now.

He grabs a napkin and a nearly ran out BIC pen from a pocket in his trousers. He scribbles ‘If star-wars mug found, please return to Dan Howell from law, office 324’ on the napkin, ripping it in multiple places, and leaves it in the mug-cupboard.

He grabs some plain one, one he knew was unclaimed (because he checks, like a normal human being…) and made his coffee.

He takes a sip, burning his lip in the process, but, hey, he was caffeinated, could he complain? Yes, he could, he wants his Star Wars mug back. Twat.

He walks to his cubicle and gets to work once his cup is secured on his desk. He was a bit ticked off about his star-wars mug, but he puts it to the back of his mind as he begins to draft up an email for his client he was helping currently.

About 2.5 hours later, theres a knock at his ajar cubicle door. He looks up, “Come in.” he says, his voice a bit too posh for his liking (it always got like that if he was surprised with the dreaded human interaction.)

He recognises the man who steps into his cubicle, and he recognises the mug he’s holding even more. It was the tall blonde man from the elevator, and it was his beloved mug.

“Hi, sorry, uhm..” The man starts, Dan’s eyes are focused up at him, locking onto the man’s own. “I didn’t know there were claimed mugs, I only started last week. Here’s your mug.” He says, putting out his hand with the mug. Dan could see his passive-aggressive napkin/note in-between the blonde’s fingers. “Ah, or would you rather I put it in the sink in the kitchen?” He interrupts himself and pulls his arm back.

Dan just looks up at him dotingly, before he extends his arm and taking his mug back into his safe confines (his hands). “It’s fine here, Yoda has had more than enough travel for today.” Dan slaps himself mentally once he says that, that seemed twat-ish. He clears his throat.

The blonde man nods softly, “I’m Phil. From Media and Editing. Sorry, uhm...” He splutters his sentence off, continuing it once he glances at the napkin again. “Sorry, Dan from Law, office 324.” Phil adds, finishing off his sentence as he begins to turn to leave Daniel’s cubicle.

“Nice to meet you, Phil from media and editing.” Dan says before Phil leaves earshot.

Phil. Simple name. Although, Dan had a feeling Phil maybe wasnt too simple.

[phealboy]

Dan from Law,

Phil from Media & Editing

HEY YALL!! if u've never seen this b4 then this is chap 1 and THIS is chapter 2! chap 2 has SMURT so if ur a minor, pls go :( sorry lol maybe ill eventually make a smut-free fic...maybe. Basically, its an office romance/smut fic. But make it Dan and Phil.

AO3 LINK!

This and all the other parts of this fic will probably be explicit, and this one is PURE smut, so...yah. You've been warned! Tags & actual fic below cut lol

TAGS :

Post nut clarity, fingering, dan being a SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAG, mentions of Phil liking danny boyo back :0

Daniel’s head was loud that night.

He’d been trying to shut it out, trying everything, trying everything to avoid the guilt that would surely come after if he caved in, gave in. He’d played some ‘Power Washing Simulator’ and once that didn’t distract him, he knew he was fucked. 

Last resort: Cold shower. It would be his first idea, normally, to calm himself down, but that only works if you’re stressed, not trying to *avoid* touching your dick like some horned up teen. I mean, the temptation is right there. But, it was either this or lay down, and he knew how laying down would end.

Dan stepped into his bathroom, grabbing at the hem of his black t-shirt. He pulls it over his shoulder blades and pops his head through. He puts his thumb under the band of his pyjama pants and pushed them off. He turns the knob (haha) on the shower, the water splashes down, hitting his arm a bit. He hisses slightly at the cold. He adjusts the temperature so the water is just about under room temperature before he takes off his socks and unpeels his boxers from his overly sweaty thighs. His hand being so close to his half-chubbed up dick is tempting, but he doesn’t.

‘One really fucking good wank isn’t worth that guilt, Dan, don’t.’ His mind blared.

The cold water attacked his back, London’s water quality around the parts he lives in is pretty shit, it was like hail more than water that was supposed to be calming him currently. It’s not working. Of course it’s not working, because why would his cold ass shower actually do it job?

He takes a shaky breath as his arm moves, his wrist twisting at the joint to turn up, his middle and pointer finger trailing, following, up the vein on the underside of his shaft. “Fuck…” He whispers. He was gonna regret this. With his other hand, he turns up the temperature of the water. He was giving up, giving in. He’d tried everything he could but it seemed every fibre of his being wanted him here, touching himself, his perverse mind full of some unfortunate guy that probably just saw his sorry ass and bought him a coffee for shits and giggles.

Once the warm water shines through the cold, he wraps his left hand around his dick and slowly drags his right hand’s middle finger down from his shaft to his ass.

He sighs as his fingertip feather-touches the rim of his hole, all of his thoughts, including his guilt, would soon fade away and he’d be left, panting as he fingered himself with his mind empty of everything and everyone except Phil.

Hey, at least the warm water was helping relax his muscles.

He exhales as he slowly inserts his middle finger inside of his tight ring of muscle, getting to the second knuckle before stopping himself and giving himself a breather. His fingers were quite lanky, much like the rest of him, so they gave him an easy orgasm most days, made it easy to reach his own bundle of nerves without using too much time or lube - helpful, considering how expensive both were to him nowadays. His breath is shaky, his body is slumped against the shower’s wall tile as to hold himself up as his legs weren’t confident enough to do it solely by themselves. Dan’s mind was full of Phil, the blonde semi-curls, even the grow-out of his brown hair turning to blonde was sexy to Dan.

The way Phil looked directly at him…Phil must’ve known what he was doing, impossible not to. It’s obvious. Or maybe it isn’t, and it is simply Dan’s minds way of wishful thinking. However, tonight, just tonight, he’ll indulge in the thought that Phil wants him even near as much as he wants him. Dan pushes his finger in deeper, curling it, fishing for that stupid spot that makes his eyes lull to the back of his head. Once he found it, he knew. He lets out a small groan, followed by whisper-calling out Phil’s name, albeit very shakily.

“mhmm..” He begins to move his finger, pushing it in and out of himself - stopping just before his finger leaves himself, just to push it back in him as quickly as possible, missing that ‘full’ feeling. He pushes his finger inside the tight ring of muscle and begins to move his finger to the side, starting to try to stretch himself so he would be able to accommodate a second finger. After a few minutes of this, while lazily stroking his cock, he managed to get himself to the point of where putting another finger in him wouldn’t hurt. He slowly slips the second finger in, to the second knuckle, starting the exact same process as what he done with the first finger.

“fuck..” He whispers, as if anyone but *his* lonely ass would be able to hear him.

He curls his two fingers before pushing them in further. His breath hitches as he finds his prostate, his two fingers now bottomed out in him. His arm was beginning to ache, he had to hurry. He hated hurrying. The impending doom of the warm water running out was rushing him as well. Dan focuses on curling his fingers in time with left hand stroking his length with his right.

He makes sure to rub his soft palm over his frenulum. “God-“ he groans in response, he pushes his head back against the tile wall.

By now, his mind was dedicated to just Phil now, his brain was a college of different mental screenshots of the way Phil’s blue eyes stared into his own while he sucked his two fingers, licking the whipped cream off of the digits. Dan’s hips thrust up involuntarily, he was close.

The way Phil carelessly paid for his coffee, the way Phil had basically bribed him to spend his break with him, it all concluded that Dan’s little crush maybe was reciprocated, and that maybe he had a chance. He could see whatever Phil was packing. Now, his imaginations were full of all the different guys he’d fucked. All the tall ones, around the same height as Phil (and himself), were pretty hung. Phil could be hung.

Dan bit down on his lip, his hips pushing up for one last time as his fingers pushed exponentially hard on his prostate, and come pushes it way out of the tip of his dick, coating his hand and the floor of the shower, although it was quickly washed away by the oddly-aggressive water. He sighs heavily, waiting a few moments before removing his fingers from himself. During those seconds, he takes his hand off his dick and washes away the come. “Fuck me.” He mutters to himself as he takes out the fingers.

He puts his right hand under the stream of water, that was now nearly room-temperature. He takes a few moments before he turns off the shower. This month’s water bill is gonna hurt if he doesn’t get over Phil, and soon.

He grabs a half-damp towel from his radiator, of which had broken 4 months ago, and scruffs his hair with it, getting most of the excess water off before he ties it around his waist. He walks over to his bathroom sink, staring at himself in the mirror above it.

And there was the guilt. It hit him, and it hit pretty hard. He sighs, this wasn’t his first fight with post-nut clarity and, if Phil continued to plague his mind, it wouldn’t be his last.

He washed his hands, using his new soap he had treated himself to. It was supposed to smell like lavender. It infact did not, then again, it wasn’t ever going to for £1.99. He splashes his face with water, like his water bill wasn’t fucking high enough. Sad bastard. He dries off his face, turns off the tap and turns off the bathroom light as he walks out, trudging himself to his bedroom to go lay, damp, in his bed and sleep - like he had wanted to all damn day.

[phealboy]

Dan from Law,

Phil from Media & Editing

CHAPTER 4! WOOOOO, DONNIE YOU MANAGED TO ACTUALLY MAKE A SERIES! Tags & actual chapter below cut!!

This is a part of a series!!! This is it on AO3 :)

Chap 1, Chap 2, Chap 3

TAGS

Dan goes on Grindr, Dan is a naughty tortoise (he steals condoms), Dan is a lil loverboy

Dan’s back ached as he sat up once he had abruptly woke up, turning his upper body to turn off his stupid alarm, it blaring at him to wake up. His whole body was shouting at him, shouting at him to get a better fucking paying job so he could, maybe, for once get a good nights sleep and not be aching all day after.

 

It was Friday, just one more day of that stupid 9/5, then he could relax. Maybe he’d redownload Grindr for the first time in months, get his mind off of fucking Phil. Even though it wouldn’t work, was worth a try.

 

He started his daily routine, showering, then remembering what happened last night, nearly having yet another cry wank, but stopping himself, then getting dressed and drive his barely-alive car to work.

 

He goes to his floor, eyes strained on the Costa before the elevator doors shut. He quickly paces to the kitchen, he hadn’t had any caffeine today and that was a problem.

 

He puts the Nescafé granules in his plain red cup, again, his Yoda cup was sitting safe at home (if his shitty little apartment could be considered a home), beginning to boil the water remaining in the kettle.

 

Once the water boils, he pours it slower than usual, hoping that Phil would maybe walk into the kitchen, that he’d see that fucking man at least once today.

 

When his oat milk is stirred into his coffee at least 10s too long, he gives up with the hope of Phil showing up. He put the teaspoon in the washing up bowl and begins to walk to his cubicle.

 

His day was long, boring and no matter how many minutes he would spend kicking his legs under the desk, nothing seemed to be entertaining him.

 

When he looks over at the clock, it’s finally 5:02, and he can go home. Fuck yeah. Home. House. Apartment. Place…Walls. Again, was it a home if he was alone and he couldn’t afford to keep a fucking lamp on for too long? Probably not.

 

——

 

He drove to Sainsbury’s on the way to his…home…thing…house. He walked in, grabbed a few essentials. If he planned on getting even some action tonight, he had to be prepared. After all, what if he was rusty? He hadn’t had a cheeky Grindr hookup for so long, his ass might as well have fucking cobwebs in it. Ew, Dan.

 

He grabs the cheapest condoms possible, because how are 10 durex fucking £12? Insanity. Then, he puts them back. He grabs the fancy ones, he’ll treat himself (he’ll shove them in his coat pocket and pretend nothing happened) tonight.

 

He grabs a baguette while he’s there, since they were on offer because they were a bit crunchy. He tended to lean to crusty old bread, liked dipping it on soup whenever he had it. Old bastard.

Does he want this? Realistically? Or is he just using innocent men for a distraction from Phil? Is he a horrible man?

Who’s he kidding, of course he’s horrible, download Grindr already, stop fannying about already.

He does so, after his mind screaming about 4 different opinions at him. He signs back into his old account, cringing at the pictures on his profile. And, God, that bio…

He quickly switches out his photos for some more recent ones, cropping out his friends in the photos and changing his name to ‘DTF’. Straight to the point.

Down to fuck Dan.