#phil allen x reader

[muiitoloko]

RICKMAS 2024: DAY 12. MISSING MIRTH

Summary: When Phil is caught devouring the Christmas cookies meant for your sister, he claims he was just “testing” them, sparking playful banter and turning him into your baking assistant. In the end, his shameless antics bring the missing mirth right back into the kitchen.

Pairing: Phil Allen × Reader

Warnings: None

Also read on Ao3

You stopped in your tracks as you entered the kitchen, hand resting on your waist as you took in the sight before you. There was Phil, your dear husband, caught red-handed—or rather, sugar-dusted—devouring the last of the Christmas cookies you’d spent hours baking. The very same cookies you’d promised to take to your sister, who loved them as much as you did. Phil froze, mid-bite, his hazel eyes widening just slightly as he registered the look of disbelief on your face.

“Phil Allen,” you said, eyebrows raised. “Are you seriously eating all the cookies I baked for my sister?”

Phil looked down at the half-eaten cookie in his hand, then back up at you, a faint twinkle in his eyes. “Well,” he began, clearing his throat, his baritone voice carrying just the faintest hint of guilt mixed with mischief, “I was only doing her a favor, really.”

“A favor?” you repeated, trying hard to keep a straight face.

He nodded, brushing a few crumbs from his shirt with a casual shrug. “Yes, a favor. I thought it’d be best to… test them for her, you see.”

You folded your arms, tapping your foot as you shot him an incredulous look. “And what exactly did you need to test, Phil?”

He paused, that classic, understated smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Well, darling, this batch, if I’m being honest… it’s missing a bit of mirth.”

“Missing mirth?” you echoed, absolutely floored by his shamelessness. “You ate half the tin, and now you’re saying they’re missing mirth?”

Phil chuckled, setting down the remaining cookie as he faced you. “I’m only trying to save your sister from potential disappointment,” he said, his voice low and unassuming, but his eyes dancing with that familiar, playful sparkle. “Wouldn’t want her to have subpar cookies on Christmas, now, would we?”

You shook your head, unable to suppress a laugh. “Unbelievable. Missing mirth, he says! Well, perhaps you’ve just eaten all the mirth right out of them, Phil.”

He stepped closer, taking your hand, his touch warm and familiar. “I suppose I could help make another batch, if you insist,” he offered, his tone so deadpan that you couldn’t help but laugh. “After all, wouldn’t want Phil Allen’s good name tarnished by lackluster baked goods.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes but giving in, enjoying the little game. “Oh, I’m putting you to work now,” you teased, pulling him toward the counter. “If you’re so determined to test the cookies, you’re going to be my baking assistant.”

Phil nodded, his smirk widening as he slid on an apron, tying it with exaggerated care. “It’s settled, then. I’ll lend my expert taste-testing skills to ensure the highest quality.”

As you both began mixing the ingredients, he snuck a piece of cookie dough from the bowl, making you swat his hand playfully. “That’s enough from you, mister. Any more taste-testing and there won’t be anything left for my sister.”

Phil chuckled, looking at you with those familiar, mirthful hazel eyes. “All right, all right,” he conceded, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’ll be good… until the cookies are out of the oven.”

And as you baked side by side, your husband sneaking bits of dough and “testing” the occasional cookie as they came out of the oven, you couldn’t help but feel that the missing mirth had found its way back into the kitchen—thanks to Phil’s shameless, adorable antics.

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 6 - WRAPPED TIGHTLY

Pairing : Phil Allen x OC (Elena)

Summary : Phil, grumpy and alone, could find some hope wrapping tightly around his heart.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Mention of death. Mention of almost assaulted woman.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 At first I thought doing a 2 part fics, but I really like my ending, therefore, I don't really know... anyway, enjoy !

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

The warm festive atmosphere that was looming on the horizon had not really reached Phil. His son, now married and settled in the City where they were competing brilliantly, would not be spending the holidays with him this year. His wife was expecting their first child and she was pregnant up to her eyes.

Of course, he could have gone to see them for Christmas, he had been invited, but he felt that it had been more out of politeness than anything else. He did not get on very well with his daughter-in-law's parents, upper-class people who always took a malicious pleasure in reminding him that he was only a small hairdresser with a modest salon in a small town with an unpronounceable name and that it was not thanks to him that his son had been able to open his salon in London. 

Christina Robertson, the daughter of his worst enemy, was worth a thousand times more than these people, but Brian had made the mistake of letting her go and now he was living like a posh man, spending the money of his parents-in-law.

Therefore, this year, the only plan Phil had was spending December in the warm of his house with his favourite TV program. Of course, that was without counting on Sandra who refused to see him brood. According to her, she was the only one who had the right to be unhappy because a year earlier, Shelley had lost her fight against cancer and Phil and she had been divorced long enough for him to be less sad than she was.

In her great kindness, Sandra had allowed him to be sad, but not for too long, not as much as she was. And of course, Phil had mourned Shelley. For a long time. He had had to mourn his first love, but also the mother of his only son and the whole life he had imagined with her. A little after her death, Brian had left and he had found himself all alone with his hair salon and his loyal customers. And for the first time, it was no longer enough.

Phil found himself wishing for a companion in his life, an equal to talk to at the end of his days. Someone to wrap tightly in his arms.

"What did you do ?!" Phil's baritone voice echoed in the small salon that wasn't yet open.

"Oh, don't be a party pooper, Phil ! It'll take your mind off things," Sandra said, sitting nonchalantly on a worn chair in the hair salon while Phil put away freshly ironed towels.

She wore a bright blue bonnet with a ridiculous white pompom.

"I didn't ask you anything !" Phil grunted, pushing her off the chair to dust her off.

"With pleasure," Sandra replied, blowing her a kiss with her hand.

"I prefer to drink my shampoo," Phil said calmly, putting away his combs.

All these gestures were mechanical. A simplicity in the repetition that calmed his tormented mind. He stepped around Sandra who had come to stand in front of him to turn up the heat a little. The biting December cold seemed to be freezing his entire house today. But the anger he was starting to harbour against Sandra was about to melt the frost outside very quickly.

"It's too late, Phil. I've already put your name down for the Christmas market. It'll be great, you'll see," insisted Sandra, whose determination was matched only by Phil's stubbornness.

"Sandra..."

"You'll meet people, you'll offer hair treatments and you'll cut a few ends, nothing too complicated. You'll be able to drink mulled wine and you can't ignore the holidays for another year," she said with an enthusiasm that didn't contaminate Phil at all.

"I'm not ignoring them, I'm enjoying their absence," he replied, plugging in his hairdryer.

"Oh ! Come on Phil, if you don't go willingly, I'll drag you there by force !"

"I'd like to see that," Phil replied without even looking at her.

He didn't have to wait long to see himself at a stall at the Keighley Christmas Market offering quick treatments to repair the damaged ends of young girls who would do well to put away their curling irons and straighteners if they didn't want to end up bald before they were 30. Sandra had given him a severe nudge when he'd told one of them, who had burst into tears - the girl was only fifteen - and now he was content to just apply the treatments in silence. 

His stall was minimalistic, no lights, no little artificial tree. Just a few samples, the new ergonomic brushes his son had sent him the month before and a sign that said "Free haircut... if you dare to sit down". Needless to say, apart from the regulars, few people dared to put themselves in the hands of a man who seemed to want to be anywhere else rather than here. 

He was busy trimming the ends of one of his regular customers, an old lady who always tipped him generously, wondering why he had agreed. He had done it reluctantly, of course, Sandra had worn him down. Luckily, the weather was rather mild and the outdoor heaters kept the slight winter chill from freezing his fingers. He also had to admit that the stalls lit up with fairy lights and the big Christmas tree the town had put up were rather nice. But the Christmas carols that were playing on repeat... he would have burst his eardrums with his pair of scissors to stop hearing them.

As his client dug into his purse to give him a note, Phil looked up at the sky, showing that a blanket of frost would settle over the town in the early hours. That didn't stop the people of Keighley from coming out in droves to see the town's Christmas market, which was a bit beyond Phil.

"I'll get some mulled wine, would you like anything ?" Sandra asked him.

Phil shook his head thoughtfully. Sandra had insisted that he come to get him out of his solitude and yet he felt more alone than ever. He had always thought that loneliness was like an old friend and he had never paid attention to it, but for the first time, this loneliness bothered him. She was not an old friend, she was more like an old blanket wrapped tightly around him.

He felt it even more here, in this Christmas market that was overflowing with life, laughter, family and lovers. The air smelled of wood fire, spices and the little spruce trees that an old man who often came to have his sideburns cut at Phil's sold.

"Do you want to taste it ?" asked Sandra who had just returned with a slice of lemon cake.

"No. I'm going to take a walk. Keep the shop."

Sandra rolled her eyes but he didn't see her. He walked through the stalls without really looking at them.

That's when he saw her. She was shorter than him, her hair tied in a messy bun, big green eyes that looked a little sad. She had a small, unassuming booth filled with knitted scarves and blankets. She wasn’t doing anything to attract attention. She just stood there, wrapped in a purple faux fur coat, and for some reason Phil found himself drawn to her. Maybe it was the peaceful calm she exuded, or the almost motherly way she was readjusting a blanket on the rack that someone had undone before balling it up and turning away.

He walked over and stroked a soft white scarf.

“Your scarves look… useful,” Phil said, meeting his gaze.

She smiled at him, a genuine smile that reached his eyes.

“And pretty, I hope,” she said softly.

“Probably, yes. Do you knit all of these yourself ?” he asked, gesturing to the various scarves, hats, and blankets.

"Yes. It's a kind of therapy. And you, are you really here to cut hair or to avoid being alone ?"

Phil smiled discreetly. She was smart. 

"A bit of both."

He ended up buying a blanket in a pretty forest green under the pretext of giving it to Sandra for Christmas.

"I'm..."

"Phil Allen. I know who you are, you run the hair salon on the corner. My father was a customer of yours," she cut him off gently.

"Yes," Phil wondered, the light of a near stall flickering on his face, making the shadow of is hooked nose reflecting on his cheek .

He didn't claim to have the best memory in the world, but Keighley wasn't very tall and he didn't remember that face that was so unique.

"Your father is ?"

"Alexander Morton."

Phil frowned for a moment before snapping his fingers.

"Yes, Alex ! You must be Elena, he's always talking about you. How's he doing ? I haven't seen him in a while."

"He had a heart attack. That's why I came back, so I wouldn't leave him alone."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Phil said, a little embarrassed.

"He's always been very discreet. But he's doing much better. He just has to avoid drafts. He had bronchitis last month. He's at home, wrapped tightly in one of my blankets," she said with a small smile.

Phil nodded, a little relieved in spite of himself. Alexander was one of his favourite customers. He didn't talk for nothing, unless someone started him on the subject of his beloved daughter, then he couldn't be stopped, always left a good tip and when he came to get his hair done after New Year's, he always brought a delicious bottle of wine. Well, maybe not this year.

"You've only just moved to Keighley then?"

Phil caught himself by the sound of her voice asking the question. It wasn't in his nature to pry into things that didn't concern him.

"Yes. I used to live in London."

"My son moved to London not long ago. It must be strange to be here."

"Yes. But sometimes simplicity is good," she replied cryptically.

Phil wanted to continue their conversation, but a customer came in. He nodded politely to her, then turned back and walked at his own stand, but suddenly his head was no longer filled with dark thoughts of loneliness. No, it was Elena who had just wrapped his mind tightly for the rest of the evening.

A week later, Phil was completely immune to the hustle and bustle that shook most people as Christmas approached. In two weeks, families would gather to share a meal and open presents. Even Sandra would be reunited with her family. She had offered Phil a ride but he had declined. That afternoon, the sky was dark. Heavy clouds announced imminent rain and three customers had failed to show up without even bothering to cancel. Phil vowed to charge them double the price the next time they came.

He was busy sweeping when the deep voice of a man on the street was heard. He didn't understand what he was saying, but he sounded rather aggressive.

“Already drunk at this time of day,” he grumbled as he dunked his combs in a basin of water and disinfectant.

Suddenly, the bell above the front door rang sharply as a woman rushed into the living room, hastily shutting the door. Phil was about to tell her that the living room was closed when he recognized her. Elena, her cheeks red from the cold, stood with her back against the door.

“I’m sorry… I… I… I never do this… But… Can I stay here for a while ?” she almost stuttered.

Phil set down the combs he was holding in his hands, his brow furrowed.

“Sure. Is everything okay ?”

Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he’d heard a drunk man. As if to confirm her suspicions, Elena glanced furtively behind her, almost frightened.

"I... I was followed. By a man. He... He told me... Well, it doesn't matter."

"What did he say ?" Phil asked firmly in his deep voice.

"He..." she hesitated for a moment, blushing a little more, "He told me 'you'll get fucked' and then he added 'by me' and then he followed me and... I panicked and went into the first open place I saw..."

"You did the right thing," Phil cut her off.

He crossed the room in just a few strides and locked the door before lowering the blinds.

"You're safe here. Sit down."

Elena took a seat on a chair near the sinks under Phil's watchful gaze. Her hands were shaking slightly and she looked a little ashamed.

"My reaction is a bit silly. It's not like this kind of thing never happens in London," she said, nervously fiddling with a strand of her hair.

"It's not ridiculous. This kind of behaviour is just disgusting, no matter if we're in London or a small town like ours."

Without asking her anything, he went to make some tea. It was the first time he had been faced with a situation like this and he wasn't sure what to do to reassure her, but he was pretty sure that a cup of tea would help calm her down a bit.

"Thank you," she murmured as he handed her a cup.

She clasped her hands around it to warm them.

"Where did he follow you from ?" he asked, sitting down across from her.

"From the Square. I was just going out to get some air. He's not from around here, at least I don't think so."

Phil nodded as he pulled the blinds back slightly to see if anyone was outside the living room.

"I'm sorry this happened to you. This kind of thing doesn't normally happen in a small town like ours. Everyone knows everyone here."

Elena felt her heartbeat calm down here, with Phil's reassuring presence. His strong stature, his charismatic aura that filled the room alone, and that hooked nose that gave him an almost noble aura of dignity gave her a sense of security she hadn't felt in a long time.

"I should go," Elena said after a moment, "thank you very much, Phil."

Elena stood up, clutching her bag to her, but Phil held up a hand to tell her to stay where she was. He went back to the door, making sure the street was still as empty as before.

"I'll walk you home."

"There's no need," she protested.

"I insist. You never know."

Elena wrapped her scarf tightly around her neck under the satisfied gaze of Phil who was relieved that she hadn't forced him to beg her to walk her home. He wouldn't have been able to sleep properly all night without being sure that she was safe in her home. He unlocked the door and went out first, making sure that everything was quiet.

They walked side by side without saying anything, Phil still on the lookout, making sure that no one would bother Elena again.

"Do you always do this for strangers?" she finally asked, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them.

"No, not often. But you're not really a stranger. You're the daughter of one of my best clients."

Elena smiled discreetly, but didn't answer. Arriving in front of the white and blue fence of the house she shared with her father, she warmly thanked Phil.

"Thank you. Really. You really reassured me," she said with sincere gratitude.

Phil just nodded before wishing her a good evening and above all to be careful in the future.

He waited for her to come inside the house to go home, a strange warmth in the hollow of his chest. It had been a long time since he had felt like this. Since Shelley. Years ago, when he was only nineteen.

He wondered what was hidden behind Elena's sad eyes. He didn't believe it was just his father's heart attack that had driven him back to hide in a town like Keighley. And by discreetly asking one of his clients who was nicknamed "The Keighley Gazette" to find out absolutely everything that was going on, Alex was doing much better. On the other hand, she knew absolutely nothing about Elena except that she had moved in with her father eight months earlier. She was apparently a discreet woman, so discreet that few people had noticed her before the Christmas market

"Invite her. Tonight. You've made gallons of soup, share it with her."

Phil bit the inside of his cheek, wondering what had possessed him to talk about Elena to Sandra.

"She came to my salon once."

He raised his head, almost dropping the pot of hair dye he was holding in his hands. His client, Mrs. Dashwood, was half-deaf, so he could speak without fear that rumours would start running the streets about him and this mysterious young woman.

"Get a haircut?"

"No, order some fried chicken," Sandra replied, rolling her eyes. "She asked me to cut her ends and if I did some natural dyes, if you must know."

He shrugged. That didn't tell him much about her.

"She's nice, but not very talkative. Like you. I'm not surprised you're attracted to her."

"She doesn't attract me."

"Yeah, well, you took the time to tell me about her, you kind of like her."

He mumbled something under his breath that made Sandra gloat. It was high time Phil moved on and she had a good feeling about this Elena.

"And you walked her home. You could have just called the police."

"I did what I thought was best," Phil grumbled.

Sandra crossed her arms and stared at him as if trying to read his mind.

"She seems nice," she finally said.

"And a little lost too," Phil said absently.

"Mysterious, fragile, a soul in distress. She's perfect for you!"

"Sandra!" Phil snapped, giving poor Mrs. Dashwood's head a rather too vigorous stroke of his brush.

"Invite her to share your homemade soup. You've got nothing to lose, she'll say no if not worse. It wouldn't hurt to take an interest in a real woman instead of your hairbrushes. How long have you been pretending to be perfectly happy in your solitude?"

He opened his mouth to reply but she stopped him.

"Too long. If you ask me - and I know you don't - this Elena is a gift wrapped tightly by destiny just for you. It costs you nothing to be a little curious."

He bit his lip, thoughtful. Sandra wasn't entirely wrong. He had felt that pressing need to know she was safe that afternoon as night fell soon and he had felt that slight fragility that emanated from her despite his efforts to hide it. A fragility that resonated with what he himself felt.

He had tried to convince himself that it was only a good deed, but the truth was that his mind always sent him back the image of Elena, her shy smile, her big green eyes, the way she played with his hair when she was nervous.

And Sandra, that annoying Sandra, was also right about him pretending to be happy with his situation for too long. The truth was that he had been content to live for too long, even if before Elena, it had always been enough for him.

Maybe fate had given him a gift that night at the Christmas market by putting this beautiful young woman in his path.

And during the night, the idea of ​​the guest sharing a simple meal with him had taken root. There was just one small problem: he didn't have her phone number.

He couldn't show up at her house, knock on the door and ask her point blank to come eat at his place. Worse still, her father could answer it and he would look very stupid.

"You could say you've lost your touch, Allen," Phil muttered, slamming the book shut, which he wasn't even reading.

He pulled the covers back sharply and got out of bed to make himself some tea, hoping to quiet his mind that was invaded by the thought of seeing Elena again. He liked her. More than he was willing to admit.

As he put the kettle on the stove, his gaze fell on a worn notebook, and suddenly an idea seemed to germinate in his mind.

He was going to drop a note in her mailbox. Nothing too intrusive. Nothing too direct or insistent. She was free to throw it away and never come to eat with him and they could both pretend that the note had never existed. He grabbed a pen and after a moment of hesitation, he wrote in his best handwriting :

"Elena,

I hope you are well.

I didn't know how to ask you, but, if you like the idea, I would like to invite you to dinner at my place this Friday evening at 7 p.m. Nothing formal, just a simple dinner.

Come to the living room and give me your answer or leave me a note in my mailbox. Or just ignore this note and we will pretend that I never wrote anything to you.

If your answer is no, I promise not to insist.

Phil."

And without waiting, he put on pants, his leather jacket, and, under the light of the street lamps, he left for Elena's place. He could have at least waited until morning, but he knew all his courage would have disappeared and he would have thrown away the note slipped into a pretty pale yellow envelope with the young woman's name scrawled on it.

He bit his lip, ready to turn around, but, as if pushed by an external force, he ended up sliding the envelope into the slot of the mailbox before turning away and going back home lost in thought.

"It's your turn now, Elena," he whispered, hoping she wouldn't ignore him.

It had been a long time since he had felt this way about a woman, and even longer since he had felt this mixture of nervousness and relief.

All day the next day, he cast frantic glances through the window of the hair salon. Every time someone passed by on the sidewalk, he looked up from his work, just in case it was her.

But she didn't come. He shrugged, shaking his head as he mentally called himself a moron.

"As if a woman as charming as her could be interested in a grumpy old man like you," he grumbled as he folded up some towels.

That's when the bell rang. He had forgotten to lock the door.

"We're closed," he said curtly without looking up.

"I can always write my answer and drop it in your mailbox," a soft voice said.

Phil looked up a little too quickly, cracking his neck in spite of himself.

"Elena," he said surprised.

There she was, in front of him, wrapped in a wool cardigan that was a little too light for the cold weather and the wind that was rustling the trees.

"I'd love to."

"What ?" Phil asked stupidly, raising an eyebrow.

"Dinner with you, Friday night. I'd love to."

For the first time in a long time, Phil smiled. A big smile that brought him an unexpected warmth. It was as if all of a sudden, his loneliness melted away like snow in the sun and an almost suffocating joy wrapped tightly around him.

[rickmandowneyjr]

hiii <3 could i request phil allen x reader with phil giving reader a calm haircut after reader comes home from a stressful day? with phil’s cute snarky jokes and fluffff :)) it’s not one of alan’s more popular characters but if you have seen blow dry i think it would be super cute! if not that’s perfectly okay!! i hope you have a great day <33

Cutting Loose

Fluff

Pairing: Phil Allen x Reader

Warning: suggestive comments (not explicit, though)

Word count: 1604

A/N: I actually started this the same day I got it because I had seen Blow Dry that same week and was really excited to write Phil (cause ugh that mine is so fine) but then I needed some time to figure him out. The movie doesn't define his personality too much. So, I finally thought of how to write him and here's my take. Hope you like it, nonnie :)

Also, you can really tell that I nearly went in a smutty direction a couple of times but then I was like, "No... fluff. You're writing fluff." lol.

The bell that furnished the door to the shop rang with a piercing sound, followed by a loud slam. Heavy footsteps against the wooden floorboards, and then a soft thud were heard, which he assumed to be his lovely girlfriend dropping herself on the sofa.

It sounded like you'd had a tiring day so he approached slowly and carefully. Making light footfalls as he walked out to your living room, he peeped through the doorway before entering. Sure enough, you were on the tiny sofa in the room, the piece of furniture cradling your body as you curled up in it. Your head turned in his direction as he walked towards you, the cute little frown on your face fading as you saw him.

"Rough day?" he asked, crouching down next to the couch.

You hummed as you stretched your arms out, asking for a hug. Instead, he grabbed your hands and pulled you up, hoisting you to your feet. You raised an eyebrow in question as he smiled at you. "Does my misery bring you joy, love?" you asked sarcastically.

He rolled his eyes and simply interlaced his fingers with yours as he dragged you out of the room and into the foyer, that was, the shop. You smiled at him, knowing what he was suggesting. You slipped your jacket off and revealed the tight, crop top underneath and Phil sighed as he watched you.

"Eyes on her hair, Phil," he reminded himself, causing you to chuckle.

He sat you down in the chair, turning on the water to wash your hair before he worked with it. You leaned back, the cool water soothing your scalp as he wet your hair. Taking a little bit of shampoo and lathering it in his hands, he asked, "So, what happened?"

You started off all agitated, "Mrs. Dudley really ought to learn to keep her nose out of other people's business!" He hummed in acknowledgement and you continued, "She won't give me a break. Honestly, I could just- ohhh," you moaned as he gently began massaging your scalp.

Phil chuckled at the sudden change in your mood and smiled to himself about being able to help you relax. "Go on," he encouraged, bringing you back to your senses as you said, "...yes." You took a deep breath and proceeded, your tone much more relaxed this time around. "Then, after my little chat with her, I went to the dry cleaner's and they were closed. I had to drive all the way to the other end of town to drop off the clothes for the event day after."

"You still haven't shown me your dress. I wanna see how you look in it," he interjected.

"I can't afford you ripping it before the event, darling," you teased. He cleared his throat and said, "You make me sound like some kind of animal."

"You're not an animal, darling... but why do you think I buy a new dress for every event we have to attend?" you bluntly said, flustering the poor man. "Each one has been ripped off once we've gotten home."

"Well, it's your fault for looking so damn beautiful!" he defended.

A blush tinted your cheeks as you chuckled. "I'm not complaining, love," you winked. "But I'm just not letting you see me in it before you need to."

He pouted in disappointment and said, "...fine. Go on."

As he finished washing your hair, you told him about your trip around the city and how someone nearly crashed into your car and he was quite engrossed, honestly. However, when you told him that you nearly got into a fistfight, he spun the chair around, making you face him. "You? In a fistfight? With what, a chicken?" he laughed.

You simply huffed and crossed your arms, pouting. Slumped in the chair, you gave him a death stare, and he threw his hands up defensively. "Alright, sorry. I'm done," he said, catching his breath and pecking your cheek. "Who was it, then?"

You stayed silent, concerning him slightly, and he asked, "Love, if it actually got serious, I'll handle them first thing tomorrow. So-"

"...a raccoon," you murmured. Phil shut up instantly, taking a moment to process what you had said. He straightened up, and you could see him trying to control his laughter. Clamping a hand over his mouth, he started shaking as he chuckled.

"Hey! Raccoons are tough, alright?!" you defended.

At this, he burst out laughing, "Oh, I'm sure they are!" A few tears escaped his eyes and he wiped them asking, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," you mumbled in an annoyed tone. He kept chuckling and you said, "It's not that funny."

"No, of course not," he giggled. "I just had the thought that you are quite similar to a raccoon."

"Excuse me?" you said, narrowing your eyes at him.

"Well, it's just... so tiny, yet so feral, and the fact you should be terrified when you're around them with food in hand."

"I-" you stuttered. "I can't really argue with that," you chuckled, finding the comparison funny, yourself. The two of you laughed for a good minute and you'd totally forgotten about the stressful day you'd had.

Phil was the first to calm down and he asked, "So, what kind of a look are we feeling?"

You didn't have to think; you knew what you wanted - it was a change. "What do you think of me in a pixie?" you asked, a little nervous about what he'd think. He looked surprised at your request but simply said, "I think you'd rock any hairstyle, sweetheart. A pixie, however..." You tried to hide your disappointment at his words but he noticed it, giving you a sweet smile as he continued, "I think you'd look too adorable in one."

Your face lit up as you wore a beaming smile that made his heart melt. He cupped your cheek as he leaned in, planting a soft kiss on your lips. He smiled into the kiss and you couldn't help but mimic him as a smile crept on yours, too.

"Now sit still," he ordered as he pulled away, before spinning you around to face the mirror, once again.

"Yes, sir," you teased, and he simply rolled his eyes. You watched him in the mirror as he trimmed most of your hair off, with an electric razor. He was so focused on what he was doing, and it was very attractive. After a minute of silence, he spoke up, his eyes still focused on your hair. "You'll find that you can continue talking even when you're sitting still."

"Sorry. I was just too busy watching my beautiful boyfriend at work." For a moment, he paused, his eyes shifting to look at you, only to find you smirking at him in the mirror. He quickly continued working, mumbling, "Fair enough," as a faint blush tinted his cheeks. The sight made your heart flutter.

"Also, I have nothing else to say," you stated. "I've already told you about my day. Hey, that rhymed!" you chirped.

He just laughed and was silent for a bit, before saying, "Well, who won the fight? You or the raccoon?"

You glared at him with an unamused expression. "What? I'm curious!" he defended.

"Nearly got into a fistfight, Phil," you reminded. "It didn't actually happen."

"What a shame," he sulked, and you said, "Please, just cut my hair. I can't even walk-off, all annoyed, with half my hair, cut." He laughed and did as asked, returning his attention to your hair. He worked swiftly, and with precision as he switched to scissors. You watched him intently, mentally playing a game where you checked off all his cute little habits as you spotted them. The way he stuck his tongue out, ever-so-slightly, when he was entirely focused; the way a subtle smirk played at his lips when he was happy with how a certain piece of hair framed your face.

Once he was done cutting, he stepped away for a second, and you couldn't take your eyes off yourself. You admired the new hairstyle in the mirror and he leaned against your chair with a satisfied smile and asked, "Shall we blow-dry?"

"We shall," you smiled back. Once he was completely finished, you loved it even more; your hair was longer on top and the sides were faded. "I look so cool!" you exclaimed. "This little hair right here," you said, pointing to a strand that fell on your face, "Kinda makes it look similar to your hair. Though mine is more awesome." You smirked at him and said, "Maybe I should get a scalp tattoo like Sandra. With the faded sides, it'd be visible and I'd look so badass."

"Maybe then you'll be badass enough to actually take on a raccoon as well," he replied, and you got out of your seat. You took a few steps closer till your body was pressed against his.

Your voice was low as you said, "You know, I was planning on returning the favour-"

"You are not cutting my hair! You're not even-"

You sighed and continued, "You gave me a blow-dry and I was going to give you something similar..." At that, he raised a brow and said, "Is that so?"

"Mhmm," you smiled. Switching to a stoic expression, you said, "But you've talked your way out of that," and walked off, making your way into the house and up the stairs.

Clearly taken aback by the change in your demeanour, Phil just stood there, processing everything that had happened. After a few seconds, he chased after you, screaming, "[Y/N], no! Love, I'm sorry! Please don't do this! You could totally take on a raccoon!"

Also, I've started a taglist. Just drop me a message if you'd like to be tagged :)

@a-queen-and-her-throne @snapesmoonlight @writewithmarites

[muiitoloko]

RICKMAS 2024: DAY 07. QUIET WISHING

Summary: Phil, a rugged barber with a quiet yearning, finally considers pursuing his feelings for you after his son Brian and a friend tease him into admitting his interest.

Pairing: Phil Allen × Fem! Reader

Warnings: None

Also read on Ao3

Phil’s hands stilled mid-cut, his eyes catching sight of you through the barbershop window, your arms laden with bags, a hint of a smile on your face as you navigated the bustling street. It was the holiday season, and even from inside, he could see the warmth of Christmas in your eyes, the joy of whatever gifts you’d picked out reflecting in your smile.

His client, an old friend, noticed the shift in Phil’s focus and smirked. “Why don’t you ask her out, Phil?” he teased, breaking the silence.

Phil scoffed, shaking his head as he resumed snipping away, feigning disinterest. “I don’t see her like that,” he muttered, his voice low, betraying none of the truth. But his friend wasn’t buying it, chuckling as he watched Phil’s feigned composure crack just slightly.

“Oh, come on,” the friend scoffed, his voice a knowing murmur. “Anyone with half a brain can see the way you look at her. It’s written all over you, mate.”

Phil grumbled, feeling the warmth rise to his face. “She’s the same age as my son, Brian,” he argued, voice a bit gruffer than intended, hoping the excuse would end the conversation.

But as fate would have it, at that very moment, Brian walked in from the back of the shop, catching only a portion of the conversation. “Who’s my age?” he asked, his gaze shifting between his father and the client with a raised eyebrow.

Phil straightened, clearing his throat as if to move the topic along, but his friend grinned and jumped in eagerly. “Your dad here’s got his eye on that lovely young woman who just walked by,” he said, barely holding back his laughter.

Brian looked at his father, unimpressed but not surprised. “You mean [Your Name]?” He shook his head, a hint of amusement in his eyes. “Yeah, Dad, we’ve all noticed. Subtlety isn’t exactly your strong suit.”

Phil shot him a warning look. “Enough, Brian,” he muttered, but Brian wasn’t finished, a teasing grin spreading across his face.

“Oh, don’t stop now,” Brian drawled, leaning against the counter, crossing his arms. “Let me guess. You’re trying to convince yourself that she’s just some girl carrying Christmas presents, right? But we both know better.” He let the words hang in the air, watching his father squirm, something rare and endlessly entertaining.

Phil’s mouth tightened, his hazel eyes narrowing as he tried to dismiss the conversation. “That’s enough, Brian,” he said again, but this time his voice held a softer edge, one that almost sounded vulnerable.

Brian leaned back, arms crossed, a smirk plastered on his face as he watched his father attempt to brush off the topic, though it was obvious Phil was rattled. “Come on, Dad,” Brian said, his voice carrying a touch of gentle insistence. “When’s the last time you went on a proper date? You’ve been single for as long as I can remember since you and Mum split up. Maybe it’s time you took a chance.”

Phil’s hands stilled, and for a moment, he stared down at his client’s hair, his jaw tightening. “I’m perfectly fine on my own,” he muttered, though even he could feel the hollowness of the words. Brian just shook his head, chuckling softly.

“Maybe you are,” Brian admitted. “But that doesn’t mean you should be. You deserve a bit of happiness, Dad. And she… well, everyone can see you’ve got that quiet wishin’ for her. It’s about time you stopped pretending.”

Phil felt his face warm, glancing toward the window, but you had already disappeared from view. He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, as if releasing a burden he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. Brian wasn’t about to let it go.

“What’s the harm in asking her out to dinner?” Brian continued, his tone encouraging. “Just a meal, Dad. A little Christmas cheer, some conversation. You’re always saying she’s got a good heart, that she’s kind, smart… and, well, if you’re gonna spend your days sighing over her in here, you might as well give it a shot.”

Phil scowled, but the edges of his resistance were cracking. “You make it sound so simple,” he muttered, his voice almost lost in the hum of the shop. Brian clapped a hand on his shoulder, the warmth of his encouragement breaking through his father’s stoicism.

“Because it is, Dad,” Brian replied, leaning in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, from what I’ve seen, she seems like the kind who might like a bloke who’s a bit rugged, a bit quiet, a bit… hands-on, if you know what I mean.” He shot his father a wink, nudging him playfully. “Go on, Phil. Show her you’re more than just the man with the scissors.”

Phil felt himself flush as Brian’s words hit home, his mind slipping for a moment into images he’d never dare speak aloud. The thought of your warm smile, of your laughter filling the quiet corners of his life, stirred something deep within him, something he’d buried long ago.

[muiitoloko]

Can you write something about Phil where he has an apprentice but not a young one, like someone a bit younger than him but not too much making some kind of reconversion and she is a bit awkward because maybe life wasn’t kind with her and she came back in her hometown with broken dreams and he is still the gruff character we know but in the same time he felt for her and of course she likes him too but he is always hard on her but finally when she has enough and decides to quit he tells her his true feelings and then there are a lot of fluff? I don’t know if it’s clear 😅

Title: Swept Away in Keighley

Summary: You returned to Keighley broken and defeated, but Phil's stoic presence and hidden passion reignite a fire she thought had long been extinguished.

Pairing: Phil Allen × Fem! Reader

Warning: None

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your order. I hope you like it.

Also read on Ao3

The soft hum of the broom against the linoleum floor was the only sound in the barbershop as you swept the clippings from the day’s customers into a neat pile. The shop was quiet now, the last customer gone, but as you moved methodically across the floor, you couldn’t shake the weight that had settled in your chest.

Keighley. The town had once felt too small, a place you’d dreamed of leaving to make something bigger of yourself. But life had a funny way of turning dreams to dust, and after years of trying to make a name as an actress, you'd found yourself right back where you started. With a sigh, you looked around the modest barbershop, feeling that ache of regret. This wasn't where you’d pictured yourself, sweeping hair in a shop instead of taking bows on stage. And it wasn’t just the shop weighing on you. It was him.

Phil. You tried not to think about him, tried to brush away the pull you felt every time you looked into his hazel eyes or heard his gravelly voice. But that was impossible. He’d been the first person to offer you a job when you returned, shattered and uncertain, and over the past year, you’d come to know him better than you’d wanted to admit. You were his apprentice, the one he sometimes barked at for not folding towels quite right or leaving a smudge on the mirror.

But his exacting standards had only made your attraction worse. You wanted to please him, to prove yourself, and with every muttered critique or disapproving glare, it only made you crave the impossible—a sign that he cared, that he saw you the way you saw him.

Just as you finished sweeping, the familiar click of the back door echoed through the empty shop. You turned, finding Phil standing in the doorway, his sharp gaze fixed on you, his expression unreadable as always.

“Still here?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly. The sound of it sent a shiver through you.

“Just finishing up,” you replied, hoping he couldn’t see how your hands trembled as you gripped the broom.

Phil stepped forward, his gaze sweeping over the floor before settling back on you. “You missed a spot,” he said, nodding to a patch by the chair.

You flushed, biting back a retort. This was his way, always finding the smallest things to criticize. “I’ll get it,” you muttered, bending down to sweep the few stray clippings he’d pointed out.

But as you straightened, you felt his presence closer than before. He was right there, standing just a breath away, his eyes dark and intense as he watched you. Your heart raced, heat rising to your cheeks as his gaze held yours.

“You’re distracted today,” he finally said, his voice carrying that same low, gravelly tone, edged with something you couldn’t quite place. You didn’t have a chance to respond before he went on, his words soft but pointed. “Thinking about that silly dream of yours again, are you?”

Your grip on the broom tightened, the handle pressing into your palm. The words stung, as though he’d sliced into the most tender part of you with barely a flicker of hesitation. The “silly dream” he referred to wasn’t just any passing fancy—it was the dream that had shaped you, that had once burned bright enough to pull you out of this town. It was the dream you’d risked everything for, even if, in the end, it hadn’t risked anything for you.

He sounded like your parents—disappointed, tired, scolding, as if choosing to chase a life beyond Keighley had been some foolish whim. Maybe they hadn’t thought you’d make it out of here; maybe they were right, because here you were, sweeping hair in a shop that didn’t feel like yours.

Phil’s gaze was still locked on you, his eyes sharp yet distant, and you found yourself unable to look away. “I tried,” you muttered, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I really tried.”

He sighed, the sound heavy, weary. “Not everyone’s meant to be a star,” he said, a slight edge of frustration in his tone, as though he was annoyed you hadn’t accepted this already. “It’s not all glitz and glamour. Sometimes, what’s real, what’s here,” he gestured vaguely around the shop, “is enough.”

But it wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough for years, and even now, the ache in your chest reminded you that it still wasn’t. You looked down, your gaze falling to the neat pile of clippings at your feet. It was just hair, discarded, forgotten—and yet, you couldn’t help but feel like you were staring at all the pieces of yourself you’d left behind to fit back into this town.

“Maybe for some people, it’s enough,” you replied, your voice barely more than a whisper. You didn’t mean it to sound like a challenge, but it did, and the words hung between you, thick with things unsaid.

Phil’s face softened, just a little, and for a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes—understanding, maybe, or regret. But he didn’t reach out, didn’t offer you comfort. Instead, he folded his arms across his chest, his expression unreadable. “Dreams have a way of fading, don’t they?” he said quietly.

You felt a lump rise in your throat, the weight of those words sinking in. “Yeah,” you murmured, barely able to keep the tremor out of your voice. “I suppose they do.”

Phil watched you in silence for a moment, his eyes shadowed, his mouth set in a firm line. And then, without another word, he turned, leaving you standing there with nothing but the faint hum of the broom and the ache in your chest for company.

The next morning, you walked into the barbershop, the familiar scent of hair products and aftershave filling the air. Phil was already there, standing near the counter, his gaze fixed on the clock, arms folded across his chest. He looked up as you entered, his hazel eyes narrowing slightly as they took in your appearance. There was something about the way he looked at you, something quiet and restrained, as though he was holding back more than words.

“Late,” he said, his tone curt, baritone voice rumbling low in the quiet of the shop.

You glanced at the clock yourself, confused. “Phil, it’s only five minutes.”

He let out a sigh, shaking his head with the kind of exasperation that felt heavier than it should have. “Five minutes is five minutes too many. I don’t pay you to stroll in whenever you feel like it. You show up on time, or not at all.”

His words felt like a slap, and you could feel your cheeks flush with a mix of anger and embarrassment. This wasn’t fair. You were never late; you were always the first one here, sweeping up the mess from the previous day, folding towels, making sure everything was in its place. Today had been a rare exception, but apparently, Phil didn’t care. He didn’t see the effort you put in, the long hours, the attention to detail. He only saw the one moment when you hadn’t been perfect.

You swallowed, feeling a lump in your throat as you clenched your fists, resisting the urge to snap back. “It’s just five minutes, Phil,” you muttered, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Five minutes, ten minutes—it doesn’t matter. You think you’re special? That the rules don’t apply to you?” His voice had a bite to it, his words dripping with irritation. His gaze was hard, unyielding, and you could feel it piercing through you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed.

Your chest tightened as you stood there, his scolding washing over you, each word weighing heavier than the last. It was as if everything you did was wrong, as if you were constantly falling short. No matter how hard you worked, no matter how much you tried to prove yourself, it was never enough for him. And today, that familiar ache in your chest only intensified, the resentment simmering just beneath the surface.

Phil’s eyes flickered, but only briefly, and then his expression hardened again. “If you can’t manage to be here on time, maybe this isn’t the place for you.” The words stung, cutting deeper than you’d expected, and you had to bite your lip to stop yourself from saying something you might regret.

But his words lingered in the air, sharp and unforgiving. You felt yourself bristling, the unfairness of it all boiling up inside you. You wanted to shout at him, to demand why he treated you this way. Why he always looked at you with that restrained intensity, only to push you away as if he didn’t care.

“Is that what you think, then?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. There was a tremor there, one you couldn’t hide. “That I don’t belong here?”

He hesitated, and for a fleeting moment, his gaze softened. But then he shook his head, as if dismissing the thought, his jaw tightening. “What I think,” he said slowly, his voice dangerously low, “is that if you’re going to work here, you’re going to do it right. No more excuses, no more mistakes. I don’t have time for people who can’t be bothered to keep up.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, anger and hurt swirling inside you, threatening to spill over. You’d given so much to this place, to him, and yet he looked at you as if you were nothing but a burden, something to be tolerated rather than valued.

“You know what, Phil?” You forced the words out, your voice thick with emotion. “Maybe if you weren’t so busy tearing me down all the time, you’d see that I actually care about this place. About you.”

His eyes widened, but he quickly masked it, his expression hardening even further. “You think I asked you to care about me?” His voice was harsh, biting. “This isn’t about feelings. It’s a job. You do it, or you don’t.”

Your chest tightened, the frustration welling up inside you. You couldn’t tell if it was anger, or the hurt that felt like it was suffocating you, or that simmering, unspoken desire you both seemed to dance around but never acknowledged.

“You know what?” you said, your voice trembling with barely-contained emotion. “I’m done. I quit.”

Phil froze, his eyes widening just a fraction as he stared at you, clearly not expecting your reaction. For a moment, the anger in his expression faltered, replaced by something that looked almost like shock—or maybe fear. But then, just as quickly, his face hardened again, his arms dropping to his sides as he straightened, his gaze sharp and guarded.

“Fine,” he muttered, his voice low, though a slight tremor betrayed him. “Go ahead. Leave.”

But you didn’t move. The silence between you stretched, heavy and thick, as the anger and pain settled into something else, something deeper. You met his gaze, refusing to look away, your own hurt mirroring his, your hands still clenched at your sides.

Phil’s jaw tightened, his eyes darkening as he watched you, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. “You think it’s easy?” he finally muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, rough with something raw and unspoken. “To stand here and watch you every damn day, knowing I can’t have what I want?”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. He took a step closer, his hazel eyes searching yours, his hand coming up to rest against the doorframe as if to steady himself. His expression was intense, filled with a longing you’d only ever dreamed he’d have for you.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion, “how hard it is for me to keep my distance. Every time I look at you...”

Your breath caught as he reached up, his fingers brushing your cheek with a tenderness that took your breath away. His touch was warm, rough, but gentle, and you felt a shiver run through you as his thumb traced the curve of your jaw.

“Phil,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, filled with a mixture of hope and fear.

He closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as his hand dropped to your shoulder, pulling you closer until your bodies were just inches apart. “I’ve tried to push you away, tell myself it’s just a passing fancy. But it’s not,” he muttered, his voice rough, his breath hot against your skin. “I don’t want you to leave, love. I need you.”

You felt your heart pounding in your chest as he leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, tentative kiss that quickly deepened, filled with a hunger that had been building between you for far too long. His hands slipped around your waist, pulling you closer, his fingers digging into your back as if afraid you might slip away.

Your arms wound around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pressed against him, every unspoken feeling pouring into the kiss. His mouth was warm and demanding, his lips moving over yours with a passion that sent a thrill through you, igniting every nerve.

“God, I’ve wanted you for so long,” he muttered against your lips, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine. His hands slipped under your shirt, his touch hot against your skin as he pressed you back against the door, his body pinning you there as he kissed you with a hunger that left you breathless.

You gasped as his lips trailed down your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered, “You drive me crazy, love. Can’t get you out of my head, no matter how hard I try.” His hand slid lower, gripping your thigh as he pulled your leg up around his waist, his mouth finding yours again in a kiss that was rough and desperate, filled with all the pent-up desire he’d been hiding.

And as you melted into his embrace, you realized that maybe, just maybe, this small town, this modest barbershop, held more than you ever thought it could.

[muiitoloko]

I was thinking could you do another Phil Allen story, this time with a female character. I had an idea that his son’s girlfriend had a half sister and she comes over from the US to see her sister. She meets Phil because obviously her sister is dating his son. They get get to know each other and develop a connection, they embark on a secret relationship due to their fear of what his son and her sister’s reaction would be. They mainly meet up in her hotel room. Do what you want with that idea.

Title: Dirty little Secret

Summary: You knew this was worth it.

Pairing: Phil Allen (Blow Dry) × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut

Author's Notes: I absolutely loved your idea for Phil! It's such a juicy premise with plenty of potential for drama and intrigue. I've crafted a one-shot based on your concept, and I can't wait for you to read it! I hope you enjoy the story—I put my heart and soul into it. Let me know what you think!

Also read on Ao3

As you lazily caress Phil's chest, your mind drifts to the complicated web of emotions that entangled the two of you in a forbidden love affair. You're tired of hiding your affection for Phil, tired of sneaking around like teenagers trying to avoid getting caught. But Phil's reluctance to make your relationship public weighs heavily on your heart, reminding you of the countless obstacles that stand in the way of your love.

Being Christina Robertson's half-sister only adds fuel to the fire, as you come from the lineage of Phil's rival, Raymond Robertson. The tension between your families is palpable, a constant reminder of the divide that separates you from Phil.

The fact that you're also his son's sister-in-law from Phil's son, Brian Allen, makes your situation even more precarious. Brian's relationship with Christina only adds another layer of complexity to the mix, as your very existence threatens to unravel the delicate balance of their romance.

Despite all the odds stacked against you, neither you nor Phil can resist the magnetic pull that draws you together. From the moment you met, there was an undeniable chemistry between you, a spark that ignited a flame of passion that refuses to be extinguished.

And so, here you are, stealing moments of intimacy in the confines of your hotel room, the only place where you can truly be yourselves without fear of judgment or reprisal. It's not the ideal situation, but for now, it's enough to sustain you, enough to keep the flame of your love burning bright in the darkness.

But as you lie there with Phil, you can’t help but wonder how much longer you can keep up this charade. How much longer can you live in the shadows, denying yourselves the chance to be together openly and without shame?

With a sigh, you bury your face in Phil's chest, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne as you cling to him desperately. You know that the road ahead won't be easy, that there will be countless obstacles and challenges to overcome. But as long as you have each other, you're willing to face whatever comes your way, together.

When Phil gently tugs on your hair, turning so he's above you, a shiver of anticipation runs down your spine. His breath catches in his throat at the sensation. You can feel the heat of his body pressed against yours, his touch sending waves of desire coursing through your veins.

With a soft moan, you arch your back, offering yourself up to him completely as he leans in to kiss your lips with a hunger that leaves you breathless. His lips are soft yet demanding, claiming you as his own with each passionate kiss, his tongue tracing lazy circles against yours as he explores every inch of your mouth with a fervor that leaves you dizzy with desire.

But as his lips leave yours to trail kisses down your neck, your mind reels with the knowledge that this forbidden love affair could spell disaster for both of you. The thought of being caught in the throes of passion with Phil fills you with a heady mix of excitement and fear, your heart racing in your chest as you cling to him desperately, unable to resist the magnetic pull that draws you together.

His tongue flicks out to tease your nipples, sending jolts of pleasure shooting through your body as he sucks and nibbles on each one with a skill that leaves you gasping for breath.

You arch your back, offering yourself up to him completely as he takes you in his mouth, his tongue tracing lazy circles around your hardened peaks as he worships your body with a devotion that leaves you trembling with desire. Each flick of his tongue sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your veins, your hands tangling in his hair as you urge him to take more of you into his mouth.

With a low growl of desire, Phil complies, his mouth closing around your nipple with a fierce intensity that leaves you gasping for air. He sucks and nibbles on your sensitive flesh, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer tugs, each movement driving you closer to the edge of oblivion as you surrender yourself completely to the ecstasy of his touch.

And as Phil's erection pressed against your thigh, a surge of excitement rippled through your body, your fingers tingling with anticipation as you reached between the two of you to grasp his throbbing member. With a soft moan, Phil released your nipple from his mouth, his gaze locking with yours as he watched you stroke his cock with practiced ease.

His breath hitched in his throat as he felt your hand wrap around him, your fingers trailing over the rough but well-trimmed pubic hair that framed his length. Phil took pride in his grooming habits, always meticulous in his attention to detail, especially when it came to his appearance below the belt.

With a grunt of frustration, Phil pulls your hand away from his throbbing cock, his desire evident in the way he grips your wrist tightly, his eyes smoldering with need as he gazes down at you. "I like your touch, darling," he murmurs, his voice husky with desire. "But I need more than just that. I need to bury myself in your sweet pussy, to feel you clenching around me as I fuck you senseless. Feel your taste on my tongue."

You whimper in response, the ache between your legs growing more intense with each passing moment as you watch Phil lower his head between your spread thighs. His fingers part your lower lips with practiced ease, his tongue flicking out to tease your sensitive clit as he explores every inch of your pussy with a hunger that leaves you breathless.

You cling to his hair desperately, your hips arching off the bed as you chase the exquisite sensation of his tongue on your skin. Each flick of his tongue sends shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, your breath hitching in your throat as you surrender yourself completely to the ecstasy of his touch.

But just as you feel yourself teetering on the edge of oblivion, Phil pulls away with a mischievous glint in his eyes, his lips glistening with your arousal as he gazes down at you with a devilish grin.

"Sorry, darling," he says, his voice dripping with amusement. "But I can't have you ruining my hairstyle."

You roll your eyes in amusement at his antics, unable to resist teasing him in return. "Oh, please," you retort, your voice laced with mock indignation. "Your hairstyle was ruined the moment you woke up this morning."

Phil feigns a disappointed sigh, his hand pressed dramatically against his chest as he gazes up at the ceiling in mock despair. "Oh, the cruelty of fate," he laments, his voice thick with sarcasm. "To be blessed with such natural beauty, only to have it marred by a simple touch."

You can't help but laugh at his theatrics, the tension between you dissipating in the face of his playful banter. With a playful swat to his shoulder, you pull him back down to you, your lips crashing together in a passionate kiss as you lose yourselves once more in the heat of the moment.

With a low growl of desire, Phil's lips find yours once more, his tongue delving deep into your mouth as he claims you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. You moan into his mouth, your hands roaming over his naked body as you revel in the exquisite sensation of his skin against yours.

But just as the heat between you threatens to consume you both, Phil pulls away with a reluctant groan, his eyes smoldering with desire as he mumbles something about getting a condom. You nod eagerly in response, your heart racing with anticipation as you watch him disappear into the bathroom.

Alone in the dimly lit room, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of what's to come. The anticipation coils in your belly, aching to be released as you wait for Phil to return to you, his cock hard and ready to claim you once more.

And when he finally emerges from the bathroom, a condom in hand, you can feel your pulse quicken with desire at the sight of him. His body is a masterpiece, every line and curve a testament to his raw masculinity as he stalks towards you with a predatory gleam in his eyes.

With a wicked grin, Phil crawls back onto the bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he positions himself between your spread thighs. His cock is thick and swollen, glistening with pre-cum as he rolls the condom onto his length with practiced ease.

You watch with rapt fascination as he sheaths himself, a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins at the thought of him filling you completely. With a low growl of desire, Phil leans down to claim your lips once more, his hands gripping your hips as he positions himself at your entrance.

And then, with a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself deep inside you, filling you to the hilt as you cry out in pleasure. Your walls clench around him, the sensation of him stretching you to your limits sending shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through your body as you surrender yourself completely to the pleasure of his touch.

With each thrust, Phil drives you closer to the edge of oblivion, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as he chases his own release. You meet him thrust for thrust, your bodies moving together in a primal dance of desire as you lose yourselves in the heat of the moment.

As the pleasure washed over you, your mind couldn't help but drift back to the tangled web of secrecy that surrounded your relationship with Phil. Despite the intensity of your connection, the thought of being his secret weighed heavily on your heart, casting a shadow over the ecstasy of the moment.

"Phil," you whispered breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as you clung to him desperately. "When are you going to tell Brian about us?"

Phil paused mid-thrust, his movements slowing as he processed your question. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation.

But then, with a sardonic chuckle, he leaned back slightly, his lips curling into a smirk as he looked down at you. "Gee, darling," he replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I must be really bad at fucking if that's what you're thinking about at a time like this."

You scolded him with a playful swat to his chest, your voice laced with annoyance as you chastised him for his flippant response. "That's not what I meant, Phil," you insisted, your tone firm with resolve. "I don't want to be your dirty little secret anymore. I want us to be able to be together openly, without having to hide like teenagers sneaking around behind closed doors."

But Phil ignored your protest, his movements becoming slow and deliberate as he continued to fuck you, his forehead resting against yours as he whispered words of affection in your ear. "But you love it, don't you?" he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "To be my dirty little secret, to have me sneaking into your hotel room and fucking you on this fancy mattress before I have to sneak out again like some kind of forbidden lover."

You couldn't deny the truth in his words, the thrill of secrecy adding an intoxicating edge to your passion as you surrendered yourself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. With a soft moan, you arched your back, offering yourself up to him completely as you lost yourself in the heat of his touch.

"God, Phil," you gasped, your voice thick with desire as you clung to him desperately. "Fuck me harder, make me yours completely. I want everyone to know that you're mine, that we belong together no matter what."

With a sparkle of mischief dancing in his eyes, Phil held your hips firmly as you wrapped your legs around his waist, the heat of his body pressed against yours as he intensified his thrusts. The headboard rattled against the wall with each powerful stroke, echoing the rhythm of your shameless moans as you called out his name in ecstasy.

"Oh, fuck, Phil!" you cried out, your voice filled with raw desire as he buried himself deep inside you, hitting all the right spots with each delicious thrust. "Harder, please, I need you to fuck me harder!"

Phil's lips curled into a wicked grin as he obliged your request, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as he chased his own release. He knew just how to push you to the brink of ecstasy, his cock driving into you with a primal intensity that left you trembling with pleasure.

"That's it, darling," he growled, his voice rough with desire as he watched you writhe beneath him. "You like it rough, don't you? You like it when I fuck you senseless, when I make you scream my name until you can't think straight."

You nodded eagerly in response, unable to form coherent words as pleasure consumed you completely. With each thrust, you felt yourself spiraling closer to the edge of oblivion, your body teetering on the brink of ecstasy as Phil drove you to new heights of pleasure with each powerful stroke.

And then, just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, Phil trapped one of your nipples in his mouth, sucking and nibbling on it with a ferocity that left you gasping for air. The combination of his relentless thrusts and the exquisite sensation of his tongue on your sensitive flesh sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, overwhelming your senses with pure, unadulterated bliss.

"Fuck, Phil!" you cried out, your voice echoing through the room as you surrendered yourself completely to the ecstasy of the moment. "I'm gonna come, I'm gonna come so fucking hard!"

Phil's only response was a low growl of desire as he redoubled his efforts, his movements becoming more urgent, more desperate as he chased his own release. With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing with pleasure as he spilled himself into the condom with a primal roar of ecstasy.

As you tumbled over the edge into blissful oblivion, your body convulsing in the throes of orgasm, you knew that this forbidden love affair was worth every moment of secrecy and shame. In Phil's arms, you had found a passion that transcended the boundaries of time and space, a love that burned brighter than any flame, and as you clung to him desperately, you knew that nothing could ever tear you apart.

[muiitoloko]

I love your Alan Rickman fics! but sometimes i just insert myself as the masc one cuz im a boy... would you.. maybe make a Male reader pov? cuz i feel so left out with the fanfics (And please Eamon de Valera?? or Phil Allen)

Title: Styled with Love

Summary: You and Phil have fun.

Pairing: Phil Allen × Male! Reader

Warnings: none

Author's Notes: Thank you very much for your request! I hope you like it, this is the first time I write about Phil. (And oh, I wrote this with a male reader in mind, but you can read it as a gender-neutral reader too.)

"Are you sure about that shirt, darling?" Phil's voice floated from the other room, his tone laced with playful skepticism.

You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of the shirt you had chosen for your day out with Phil. It was supposed to be a simple outing, just the two of you enjoying each other's company, but Phil seemed determined to make it difficult.

You rolled your eyes, knowing this routine all too well. "Yes, Phil, I'm sure. It looks fine."

But Phil appeared in the doorway, a mischievous grin on his face as he scrutinized your outfit. "I don't know, love. It's a bit... bland, don't you think?"

You sighed, feeling amusement bubbling up within you. "Phil, we've been through this. I like this shirt. Can we please just go?"

But Phil shook his head, still wearing that cheeky grin. "I'm sorry, darling, but I can't let you go out looking like that. It's simply not up to my standards."

You groaned inwardly, knowing there was no point in arguing with him. Phil had always been particular about fashion, even more so now that he was no longer in the hairdressing business. He seemed to take great pleasure in teasing you about your wardrobe choices, always insisting on making last-minute adjustments.

With a resigned chuckle, you headed back to your closet, searching for another outfit that might meet Phil's approval. As you changed, you couldn't help but chuckle to yourself, realizing that maybe Phil just wanted an excuse to play fashion critic.

"Alright, how about this?" you asked, stepping back into the room in a different shirt, hoping this one would pass muster.

Phil's eyes lit up with mock seriousness as he took in your appearance, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Now that's more like it," he declared dramatically, his voice filled with mock satisfaction. "You look absolutely stunning, my dear."

You grinned, feeling a sense of satisfaction at Phil's over-the-top approval. Despite his fussiness, you knew that his intentions were good, and you couldn't help but be amused by his antics.

"Thank you, Phil," you replied, your voice tinged with amusement. "I'm glad you approve."

And as you headed out together, hand in hand, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Phil's unique sense of humor and love. Despite his quirky ways, he was the one who made you laugh and feel special, and for that, you would always cherish him.

As you and Phil entered the diner, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling bacon filled the air, enticing you both with the promise of a delicious meal. You settled into a cozy booth by the window, the morning sunlight streaming in to warm your skin as you perused the menu.

Lost in thought, you barely noticed when Phil nudged you, his voice low and urgent as he whispered, "Hey, love, check out the woman sitting at the table across from us. She's been eyeing you since we walked in."

You glanced up, catching the gaze of the woman in question as she quickly averted her eyes, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. You couldn't help but chuckle, a surge of confidence swelling within you as you turned back to the menu.

"Can you blame her?" you replied with a playful wink, your tone light and teasing. "I mean, look at me. I'm irresistible."

Phil rolled his eyes, though there was a hint of amusement in his expression. "Oh, here we go again with the ego boost."

You chuckled, reaching across the table to playfully nudge him. "Hey, you know it's true."

But before you could continue, Phil's hand shot out, swatting your arm with exaggerated force. It drew the attention of nearby diners as you blinked in surprise.

"What was that for?" you demanded, feigning offense as you rubbed your arm where Phil had made contact.

Phil's eyes danced with amusement as he leaned in closer, his voice filled with mock seriousness. "I can't let you get too cocky now, can I? Gotta keep that ego in check."

You laughed, shaking your head at Phil's antics. Despite his teasing, you knew that his love for you ran deep, and you couldn't imagine spending your life with anyone else.

With a smile, you leaned back in your booth, ready to enjoy your meal and the playful banter that always accompanied your outings with Phil. With him by your side, every day was an adventure filled with laughter and love, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

As you and Phil stepped through the door of your home, Phil couldn't resist a playful quip, "Well, if it isn't the dynamic duo returning from their diner escapade."

You chuckled, the tension from earlier dissipating as Phil's lightheartedness washed over you. Closing the door behind you, you felt the magnetic pull drawing you towards him, prompting a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

In one swift movement, you closed the distance between you, your lips crashing together in a fervent kiss. Phil responded eagerly, his arms wrapping around you as he joked, "I hope you didn't eat all the pie without me, darling."

The passion between you ignited, and as you kissed, the world around you faded into oblivion, leaving only the two of you locked in a playful dance of tongues and lips. Phil's playful banter continued as he teased, "You know, they say kissing burns calories. We might need to order another pie."

You laughed into the kiss, the tension melting away as Phil's humor lightened the mood. His touch was both playful and tender, a testament to the unique bond you shared. And as you lost yourselves in each other's embrace, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the undeniable connection that bound you together, heart and soul.

With a mischievous glint in his eye, Phil knelt in front of you, his hands expertly removing your pants and underwear. "Alright, time for the main event," he joked, his grin infectious as he prepared to take control of the situation. And with a shared laugh, you surrendered yourself to the playful passion of your beloved Phil.