A C T O R S || OS

165. Benedict Cumberbatch | Apolegetic

By : insomniaacs | Tumblr

Requested by anon: Hi can I request a Benedict x reader were Benedict gets really jealous all the time and they have an argument but a happy ending please:)) I love all your stories so much you are so talented ❤️

Word count: 1875
Warnings: none

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Benedict sighed for what felt like the fifteenth time that night.

His hands were working on stirring the pasta he was preparing on the stove, but it was safe to say that his head was somewhere else entirely.

He'd sent you about thirty texts by now and called you four times, this being the fifth one.

Benedict waited patiently for the beeps on the speakerphone. He'd practically lost all hope that you'd pick up your phone, and was already in the process of pressing the red button to hang up when suddenly your voice boomed through the speakers.

"Hey, Ben! My god, you've called me like fifty times, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up!" you said loudly on the other line and Benedict frowned slightly, tempted to press the phone to his ear, but unable to since both his hands were occupied.

"It's—it's okay, love," he replied, taking a deep breath. "Where are you, (Y/N)?" The two of you had been planning to have dinner together for ages, but you were supposed to be at his place thirty minutes ago.

He heard someone laugh on the other end. "Chris brought me to Carmichael's!"

Chris. Benedict tried to pretend that his grip on the wooden spoon didn't tighten at the mention of that name.

"What?" Benedict shook his head in confusion, even though he knew you couldn't see it.

"You know—" you giggled, talking so loudly that Benedict cringed a little, "—that pub I told you about."

Suddenly, Benedict's hands stilled their movements. He felt the anger gradually fill his lungs when he inhaled, and had to control himself in order not to scream at the phone when he opened his mouth to speak.

"A pub?" He spoke steadily, but his tone was forceful and his breaths were coming out in sharp outbursts. "You're at a pub, and you're with Chris?" Benedict asked rhetorically, taking the wooden spoon from the pan with tomato sauce and practically throwing it in the sink.

"What—yes, why? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is that I'm standing here in my kitchen like a bloody fool making you dinner, while you're out in a pub god knows where with Chris, of all people!" Benedict was yelling the words out before he could even think about what he was saying.

There was a pause and an audible gasp on the other end of the line. "Oh my god... Was that tonight?" you asked helplessly, your voice echoing through the kitchen along with the pub's background noise. "Oh my god, Ben, I'm so sorry!"

Benedict had to inhale twice before he could mutter a response. "Doesn't matter," he said, rubbing his hands over his face tiredly. "Enjoy the pub," Benedict murmured before he hung up.

He tried to taste the pasta in front of him—to create a distraction from this disaster of an evening—but all it did was burn his tongue in the process.

...

"Shit," you hissed, running a hand through your face in frustration.

You were sitting on a booth in Carmichael's beside Chis and two of his friends. The music was loud even though you were upstairs in the VIP section of the club, but Chris heard your curse anyway.