Imagines

Misha Collins

prompt: the reader is doing an audition and he sees her do it. a few days later the reader gets the role and misha and the reader become friends

// whatever pronouns you use in the request I will use in the imagine so please be specific //

Your feet clap against the hard wood floor in rapid succession. You can practically hear the irritation coming from your tech friend, who works lighting in you theatre group.

"Y/N, would you stop pacing! I have lights to manuever!"

"Right, sorry!"

You stop pacing momentarily, only to start back up seconds later.

"Y/N!" Your friend shouts. She turns around and grabs you by the shoulders. "You. Will. Do. Fine. You know this role better than Julie freaking Andrews, now take a deep breath."

A million possibilities of things that could go wrong ran through your head, wrong notes, wrong pitch. Forgotten rhythm, forgotten movements. Anything and everything that could go wrong you thought of in that split second moment. You rolled your shoulders back and took a deep breath.

Nope. Didn't help. You looked at your friend with a pitiful glance.

"Worth the shot." She said, turning back around to the mechanics. With lighting fast speed, your annoyingly lovable best friend turned around and slapped you.

"MUTTER GOTTES. What in the BLOODY HELL WAS THAT FOR!"

"I spiked your adrenaline, helped the blood get moving."

"Oh, I am gonna..."

"Y/N! Y/FN Y/LN!" The directors voice cut through from behind the curtain.

You shot your friend a malicious look before making your way to the stage. That little nut job was right, you felt much better. Damn science. 

You take your place on the ever so elegantly tape marked "X". You make a quick mental recap of your lines and movements before taking a deep breath and waiting for the director to give you the go ahead. The director nods his head, indicating he is ready. Then, you become another person, in another world.

You become Maria Von Trapp, an adventurous nun with a passion for lifting her voice in hope.  You sing her words, you move her body, you act her actions. Your voice floats up and down the scale, hitting the notes in harmonious rythms. You feel the energy from the stage, you feed on its addictive vibe. The audition just seems to flow from you like a gentle spicket of water.

The final measure comes, and you extend the last position, hold the last note in an iron-clad grip. You relax as your voice cuts off, and the audition is over. You look over to the director, whose face is completely blank. Damn, those heartless people are so good at not showing emotion. Emotion or not, you curstsied politlely before making your way off the stage. You couldn't help but look back at the audience one more time to see if the director changed his statueque face. The director had not, but there was a figure you recognized leaning up against the door to the auditorium. 

Misha Collins.

Oh god.

Misha Collins.

He was the weirdo of your sophmore class, disregarded by many and strongly liked by few.  But you loved him. He had a wonderfull goofy and light hearted personality, but he was serious when he needed to be. Not to mention he was smart. He knew every little thing about civics, government, religion, science, and mathematics. His brain drove you crazy, almost as much as his cerean blue eyes, which stuck out like a sore thumb in the dark auditorium. 

Had he come to see you? No, he probably stayed to watch someone else. Why would he stay for you? You barely knew each other, right? Sure, you had a few classes, and he would occasionally make conversation, but that was it! Surely he did that with plenty of other girls. 

But from all the way across the spacious auditorium, his eyes met yours. Pink flushed into your cheeks and you hurried back into your regular clothes. Your best friend was caught up in lighting details, but you promised yourself to give her a good punch later

2 DAYS LATER

You tapped your pencil against your open chemistry textbook, silently counting the minutes until the final bell of the day rang. Audition results were posted, and you needed to see them. What after seemed like an eternity, the bell rang and you quickly packed up.

"Y/N!" You heard someone call out. You turned around, about to tell them off for distracting you, until you saw the person in question. It was Misha Collins.

"I just, uh, wanted to say that I, saw your audition, and, uh, I really liked it, so, good job! I, uh, hope you get the part."

OH god. How red were your cheeks? Firetruck, or ruby? Seeing someone perform is incredibly personal, and, wow. Just, wow.

"Are you going to look at the results?" He asked.

"Yeah."

"Would you mind if I walked with you?"

"It's a free country." He laughed. You groaned. Its a free country? That was stupid. 

But as you walked towards to theatre hall, talking to Misha actually calmed you down. You talked about current events, but you somehow ended up debating if white chocolate is actually chocolate. It was so nice to just talk, not have to worry. Of course, that serenity was immediately wiped when you saw a crowd of people hovering around the list like vultures preying on a dead body. You took off from Misha's side and dived into the crowd, standing on your tiptoes to get a look at the list. You scanned the page for the words Maria Von Trapp. Your eyes caught caught them and you followed the dotted line, it led to your name. You jumped. You wanted to scream, party, explode into an array of glitter. YOU WERE SO HAPPY. You ran back towards Misha, screaming, 

"I got the part!" Caught up in your excitement you embraced him. You. Hugged Misha Collins.

No.

Nonononono.

You did not just do that. 

You pulled away, apologizing profusely. He shook his head, said there was no need to worry. You felt awkward, and bad. But wait, was he blushing? Was that a hint of color you saw creep into his cheeks? 

"Congratulations! Thats amazing!" He said, half hiding his face.

"Thanks, are you going to come to rehearsal this afternoon?"

"Oh, I'm not in the play."

"Right, sorry, it was stupid, never mind." You turned to go, but he grabbed your arm.

"Hey, I didn't say I wasn't staying."

Now your cheeks were definitely red. 

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IM SO SORRY THAT TOOK SO LONG AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA