British One-shots and Imagines

Imagine 2 (Benedict Cumberbatch)

In which you and Benedict have a scene together and you're scared to death about it.

You were freaking out.

Of course you knew this moment was coming and of course you tried to avoid it as long as possible and of course you had tried to be as nonchalant as possible about pushing the scene as far back in the scheduling (you even faked being sick several days to avoid it) and of course you were scared shitless.

Granted, the procrastination probably didn't help, but you couldn't change that now.

From the minute you woke up your mind went into panic mode.

You tried pouring orange juice into your cereal, then realized your stomach couldn't handle food. Then you almost drove the wrong way to work after having done so the right way a thousand times.

Then Benedict (who you're comfortable around in any normal circumstance, but this wasn't normal) approached you when you finally walked in and tried to talk to you. The noise out of your mouth when you attempted to answer him sounded like a mix between a dying cat and a distressed pig.

It was bad.

Then the producer reminded you on the way to your trailer for another panic moment told you that you were "On in twenty minutes."

You counted down the time to the second, praying that someone had made the last-minute decision they didn't need to do this scene and it wasn't necessary for the movie.

They did not.

Even your makeup assistant noticed your sense of dread, the way she looked at you when she caught your hand shaking or your knee bobbing up and down, almost too fast for the eye to see. But she didn't say anything, and you didn't think you could form coherent words to reply, so all was well.

Until you arrived on set and saw Benedict waving to you, with the brilliant smile on his face that he wore every day.

You walked over to him, attempting to plaster a convinceable smile on your face.

"Hello darling, how are you today?" He didn't mention your earlier encounter, thank god, you were hoping that he was trying to forget about it; you were.

"I-I'm alright, you?" His eyebrow quirked up at your stutter, but he kept on talking.

"Just fine, great even; can't wait for today." I can wait, you thought, I can wait for-goddamn- ever.

The director walked over, saving you from one disaster, but throwing you into another, much bigger one. The words of the people surrounding, reminding you of what you had to do faded into the background, transforming into white noise that buzzed in your ears like a fly.

Benedict was all smiles, and you were all fake smiles, like two sides of the same coin.

Any normal teenage girl, or even adult woman, hell even some men, would have no problem with kissing Benedict Cumberbatch. You were normal, that much was true, but you were not okay with kissing at this point and time.

When the script was handed you months ago, you had no problem with this scene, in fact, you were stoked. How many people can say they've kissed Benedict Cumberbatch? Not many, and you were ready for all of the bragging rights.

But now, now you could live without a kiss, from anybody. It wasn't awkwardness, no that wasn't it, it was the fact that-

"-[Y/N]? You ready? Alright then and three, two, one, action." The director's voice scared you so much that you jumped at his voice, and you knew Benedict saw you because he hesitated with his lines. He knew something was wrong, that something was very wrong and you weren't telling anybody.

The lines you spoke were reflexes after reading the script so many times and having them memorized. But even as you spoke the words drilled into your head, all you could hear was a buzzing sound of panic and fear.

Fear that this scene would go down a road you'd been down before and never wanted to go down again. 

And then it was happening: Benedict was kissing you.

One of his arms wrapped around your waist (trapping you) and the other was brushing along the line of your jaw bone (keeping your head turned toward him.) You knew what you were supposed to do, but your arms took a mind of their own, and not in a good way.

The on that was supposed to be around his was pressed against his chest, and the other (that was supposed to be caressing his diamond-cutting cheekbone) pushed at his shoulder.

Ben's movements now held a certain hesitation; he could tell something was horribly wrong with you.

His mouth traveled up to your ear like he was supposed to do in the script, but instead of whispering the written words, he asked you a question.

"Darling, are you sure you're alright, you don't seem fine?" In response, you continued with the script, muttering something incoherent in his ear.  

Then his mouth trailed down to your lips again, then your chin, neck, and to your collarbone, and then finally, farther downward.

And that's when your reflexes kicked in.

You pushed, as hard as you could, at Ben's shoulder and chest, and he went flying.

Now, Benedict wasn't a pushover, but there was so much force behind your coiled muscles that you send him tumbling into the set behind him.

His back hit the wall, and a resounding crash following, along with the running footsteps of the set director and several profanities.

You had backed up against the wall opposite of Ben, and breathing hard, your chest heaving up and down. Someone was helping Cumberbatch to his feet, and someone else had their arm wrapped around your wrist, pulling you up.

"You guys can take twenty, we got to get someone in here to fix this," the set director gestured to a fallen piece of the set, far away from where you and Benedict had been standing.

You didn't think you had pushed him that hard.

The 'Take twenty' was all you needed to hear before walking away as fast as possible from Benedict and sure to be coming questions.

You fled to your trailer, clicked the door shut, and sank to the floor against and debated whether it was a good idea to drive home. 

A/N: Yeah this'll have a part two I swear

Don't kill me this is terrible *explodes of awkwardness* 

~Kelly~