A/N: Hi! This is my first imagine. It’s a Danisnotonfire imagine where the reader is actually really good at painting and neither Dan or Phil knew, till one day Dan finds you painting and thinks it’s amazing. It’s really long I’m sorry!
Pairing- Dan and reader
Warnings- None (well, I suck at proofreading :))
The boys had known you about as long as they knew eachother, and you were a good balance to their spontaneous-ness. So when Dan and Phil move to London they take you with them without hesitation. You were long use to Dan yelling in triumph when he beats Phil at Mario Cart or whatever new video game. And you’d learned to buy extra cereal to hide in your room for when Phil is on the prowl. You were comfortable with their antics and appreciated the talents that contributed to the atmosphere in your life.
Dan’s talent being piano playing with the melodies drifting throughout the entire house, and Phil sometimes singing at the top of his lungs in the shower. You had been gifted with your own abilities as well, but your favorite was painting. The way the paint brushed the canvases, the way various colors blended together so vibrantly and how anything could come from nothing were lessons that got you through important moments in your life and taught you anything was possible.
Sadly, as you finished college with the major your parents told you you would be the best off with and got your steady job, your passion for painting faded like an old work. You still did art, but it was drawing and sketches on printer paper and nothing like the wonders you could create with a brush and some paint. You badly missed painting but your supplies were somewhere in your parents houses, and it was such a long drive for something that may have been thrown away years ago.
It was thanks to your mother you were reunited with your precious talent. She’d come across your painting set up from high school and decided to send you a little care package of your table easel, oil paints, your best brushes and everything you would need to kick start the inspiration again. Painting was your true passion, and she knew nothing made you happier.
The package came while Dan and Phil were at a Youtube convention. So they weren’t there to hear your squeals of excitement that rang through the apartment when you were reunited with your supplies. You threw on you old white button up shirt and pulled on your paint splattered blue jeans that were both in the bottom of your dresser and painted up three painting before the day was over. It felt so good to have the brush back in your hands.
(Y/N) had been in a permanent state of euphoria ever since Phil and I had gotten back from the convention. There was an extra bounce in her step and she would always smile at random times. She seemed the same other than that, except for the occasional moment when she comes to breakfast in the morning looking sleepy because she apparently couldn’t sleep. I occasionally indulged myself in trying to figure out what made her so happy. But no matter how often I caught her with a sudden smile at something in her head or found myself staring at a point in the distance for so long Phil or (Y/N) thought I was having an existential crisis, I couldn’t figure out the extra look of excitement she got in her eyes when something of beauty crossed her eyes. Or why she would sometimes stay in her rooms for hours at a time in silence. As always, (Y/N) was the enigma that made life interesting.
The first big clue must’ve come a year before we’d even moved into the London apartment, when the three of us had volunteered for a park beautification project. (Y/N)’s eyes had lit up when she’d gotten the email that she’d been asked to help paint the new mural that the city was putting on the cinder block tunnel at the edge of the park. I thought it was just because she’d gotten out of redoing the flower garden unlike Phil and I. And I’d shrugged it off when she had shown up in a paint splattered white button shirt and blue jeans of matching style, I guess I figured she’d painted a house or something before. And I was so flustered when at lunch her supervisor came up to me at the barbeque and told me: “Your girlfriend was such a help with the mural, she’s very talented.” I was too busy trying to quickly explain she wasn’t my girlfriend to comprehend the part of her being more than good at smearing paint on stone and having a real gift at bringing out potential in more than just people.
The second one came a week after the convention, when (Y/N) had been 20 minutes late to grab a slice of her favorite pizza and when she finally came out, her hands were far from the normal (Y/S) color. They were instead splattered with various colors of the rainbow. “Oh my god, (Y/N)! What did you do to your hands?” Phil asked.
“Huh?” She asked confused. She looked down at her hands and her cheeks turn a rosy color. “Oh shoot!” She quickly rush to the kitchen to scrub her hands, coming back five minutes later with a red glow on her face that somehow made her look even more pretty than ever. Phil and I look at each other but don’t say anything. I continue eating my pizza and study the blue streak in (Y/N)’s (y/h/c) hair, not connecting the dots until another week later.
You ran out of canvases yesterday when you finished your latest peice. It was a painting of the sunset over the mountains, one of your favorites so far. You’d been painting up a storm whenever you had free time or couldn’t sleep, and as a result your room was filled with various masterpieces ranging from the night sky to the galaxy. What on earth am I going to do with all of these? You think pulling on a raincoat to brace London’s glaring rain. Normally you could just hang them on your wall, but the space was already occupied by various posters and photos. I could give them to relatives, but I don’t think I have enough family members in my entire family tree. You chuckle and quickly run a brush through your hair as you continue to get ready. When you were ready you walked out of your room and straight into Dan. “Woah,” Dan exclaimed as you two collided. The camcorder tumbled out of his hand and you quickly caught it.
“Centuries old. Don’t want to break that,” You hand the camera back to him while quoting the Sherlock episode the three of you watched last night. Dan smiles in relief of his camera being saved and you take in the chocolate brown of his eyes. How lucky you were to see the most beautiful wonder of the world everyday. To be surrounded by masterpieces and have the privilege to make one smile each day.
“Thanks, (Y/N). Phil would kick my butt if I broke another camera,” Dan joked.
“No problem,” you reply. “You recording a video today?”
He shrugs. “Just finished actually,” he shifts the camera to his other hand and notes you rain coat and his eyes widen slightly. “You’re going out? It’s like, storming outside.”
“I need to get some things,” You reply vaguely. “I’ll be alright.”
Dan didn’t seem reassured, “do you want me to go with you?”
You smile at his concern, “I’m a big girl Dan. You’re welcome to come if you’d like though.”
Before Dan can reply though, Phil’s voice rings through the apartment, “Daaaaannnnnnnn.”
Dan rolls his eyes and yells over his shoulder, “what Phil.”
“We need to record an episode of the Sims.” Dan looks back at me and I laugh.
“Go record. I’ll be fine, Dan, I’ll pick up a pizza for dinner.”
“Get sausage!” Phil shouts excitedly, from the other side of the apartment.
“Phil I can hear you just fine there’s no need to yell!” You yell back with a giggle.
Dan smiles and shakes his head. “Okay, okay. Just be careful alright?”
“You mean more careful than you are with your video equipment?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.
Dan laughs, and his smile makes me melt. “Alrighty then. See you later.” He hesitates for a second, but then shakes his head and walks down the hall to record.
(Time skip brought to my by waffles and my lazy A ;D)
I unlock the apartment door and start bringing everything in. Three bags of groceries, three five packs of canvases, and another bag of brushes from the art store. Needless to say, after buying both groceries and paint supplies, it didn’t seem smart to try and bring a pizza on the underground. So instead you just ordered one for delivery and hoped the boys saved you a slice.
“(Y/N)? You home?” You hear Dan yell from upstairs.
“Yeah!” You shout and lock the door behind you. Seconds later Dan clomps down the stairs and sees you soaking wet with shopping bags surrounding you.
“Jeez (Y/N), did you walk through a tornado?” Dan asks in regard to your disheveled hair.
“Haha,” you say sarcastically, wringing out your hair. “Help me with the groceries, Howell.” You pick up your canvases and a grocery bag. Dan gets the other three bags.
“Was the weather bad?” Dan asks as you walk up the stairs behind him.
“No, Dan it was sunny and rainbows filled the sky,” you reply with all the sarcasm you could muster.
“Ugh sound horrible,” Dan retorts.
“So how was recording? Did Dil set anything on fire?”
Dan laughs, “yeah actually. And it was all Phil’s fault.” He finishes with a yell.
“No it wasn’t!” Phil calls back, his voice squeaking. Dan and I laugh.
“Lemme throw my bag and stuff in my room real fast.” You say reaching the hall. “And you better have saved me some pizza Phil.” You yell towards the living room.
“Dan, help,” Phil stage whispers. “We only saved her one slice.”
“Oh that better be a lie,” You say with a giggle and set your things on your bed. You quickly place the canvases you bought against your wardrobe, next to some of your finished paintings, then go to join the boys in putting groceries away.
“Okay we saved you two slices, but we’ll watch whatever movie you want,” Dan compromised, handing you the box of cereal to put in the cupboard.
“It’s cool. You guys up for (Favorite Movie)?” You grab the next item and place it in the fridge. The boys agree.
“I’ll see if it’s on netflix,” Phil says, relishing the excuse to get out of putting away groceries. On the way out, He gives Dan a look like do something you fool. To which Dan rolls his eyes. You and Dan continue to finish putting the shopping away when he comes across your paint bushes.
“Where do these go?” He asked, studying them.
“Oh I got those, here.” You took the paint brushes from him and placed them on top of your desk. Your eyes catch a particular painting you were quite proud of. A quiet nighttime lake with pond lilies surrounded by a lust green forest with fireflies lighting up the water and sky. You could almost hear the crickets and frogs croaking.
“Woah.” You turn and see Dan standing in the door. His mouth agape and his chocolate eyes darting to your different artworks. He sees you looking and rubs his neck. “I- Sorry, the door was open and I- Phil got the movie set up and-” His eyes catch the painting you were just admiring. “Did you do these?” He asks, referring to the paintings around him.
“Yeah,” You say sheepishly. You didn’t know why you were so shy about this. Plenty of people had seen your work and said you were good, but Dan seeing them somehow felt, different. You’d never actively asked for someone’s opinions on your work, but you wanted Dan’s approval, you wanted him to think they were good. It embarrassed you a little thinking about it.
“These are- (Y/N) these are incredible,” Dan says. His eyes are trained on your face and you feel a burst of pride. “You should sell some of these.”
You smile and tuck a peice of hair behind your ear, “thanks.” You and Dan stand there for a second, his eyes catching yours and then both of you quickly looking away. “Should we go watch the movie?”
“Yeah. Sorry, it’s just,” he hesitates, his eyes going from your features to the paintings again, then continues, “those are amazing.” You beam at him once more, then follow him into the living room. Inside your chest your heart felt warm with a sense of achievement and comfort. If the world turned on its head tomorrow and everyone said that your painting were horrid, Dan Howell said your paintings were amazing.
And somehow that felt like the highest praise in the world.