Luke + Yerin Fan Fic
An Offer Before the Season
A Luke Thompson x Yerin Ha fan fiction
Yerin had worked for this her entire life.
From small theatre productions in Sydney to carefully chosen television roles, she had always been proud of her discipline. Australians were known for their work ethic — and Koreans for their standards. She carried both on her shoulders.
But Bridgerton was different.
Sophie Baek would be her breakthrough.
And she could not — would not — fail.
The Zoom Call
The first time she saw Luke Thompson was on Zoom.
He was in London, framed by tall bookshelves and soft grey light. He looked thoughtful. A little reserved. Very British.
Yerin expected polite professionalism.
What she didn’t expect was the way he leaned forward when she spoke.
The way he listened.
The way his eyes softened.
After the call ended, Luke sat there for a full thirty seconds staring at his blank screen.
“Please cast her,” he muttered to no one.
When the official announcement came through a week later — Yerin Ha as Sophie — Luke grinned like he’d personally won an award.
He texted her immediately.
Luke: Congratulations, Miss Baek. Yerin: Mr. Bridgerton 😉
He didn’t have social media, so WhatsApp became their bridge between continents.
London to Australia.
Voice notes. Book recommendations. Jokes about corsets and Regency hair.
They hadn’t even met in person — yet somehow they were becoming close.
One Month Before Filming
The first in-person meeting was for press and rehearsals.
Yerin was nervous.
Not about acting.
About being enough.
In interviews she smiled brightly, but when cameras cut she whispered to Luke:
“Do you think… people will accept an Asian Sophie?”
Luke didn’t hesitate.
“They will,” he said firmly. “And if they don’t, they’ll learn.”
Something fluttered in her chest.
Later that day came the intimacy briefing.
Very detailed.
Very choreographed.
Very… ambitious.
Yerin nodded professionally through the explanations, but her mind spiraled. She had done romance before — but not like this.
Not on a global stage.
Not with this scrutiny.
That night she texted Luke.
Yerin: Coffee tomorrow? I have… a question.
The Proposal
They met in a quiet private library café.
Yerin didn’t waste time.
“Luke,” she said calmly, “are you in a romantic relationship?”
Luke nearly inhaled his coffee.
“That was… direct.”
“So?”
“No,” he laughed. “Unfortunately for gossip columnists everywhere.”
She narrowed her eyes playfully. “What about Harriet? Reddit says—”
“Damn,” he grinned. “You stalking me now?”
She sighed.
“I’ve done roles before, but never intimate scenes like this. It’s my weakness. And this is my biggest role yet. I don’t want to be awkward. I don’t want to disappoint.”
Luke’s expression softened.
“I’ll help you.”
She hesitated. Then, very carefully:
“What if… we rehearse privately?”
He blinked.
“Rehearse.”
“Yes.”
“At my flat.”
“…Yes.”
He stared at her.
“That is either the most professional suggestion I’ve ever heard… or the beginning of a scandal.”
She shrugged. “We’ll keep our underwear on.”
He burst out laughing.
“You are unbelievable.”
“So is Benedict Bridgerton.”
He leaned back, studying her.
“…Alright. But if we’re doing this, we commit. No awkwardness.”
“Deal.”
The Disguise
Three weeks before filming, Yerin rented a flat near his.
The first night she showed up at his door in a blonde wig, oversized sunglasses, and dramatic lipstick.
Luke opened the door and stared.
“…Are you in witness protection?”
“Shut up.”
They both dissolved into laughter, and just like that, the awkwardness vanished.
They poured wine.
They practiced choreography slowly, carefully, respectfully.
They talked boundaries.
They learned how the other breathed.
How the other moved.
It wasn’t reckless.
It was focused.
Intentional.
And yet — undeniably charged.
Afterward, they curled up on opposite ends of the sofa binge-watching Seasons 1–3, critiquing scenes like theatre nerds.
“You see the micro-expression there?” Luke said. “Oh please, you’re just admiring the lighting,” Yerin teased.
They talked about Shakespeare. Korean cinema. Irish poetry. London theatre.
The connection deepened in ways neither expected.
Ireland — “Our Cottage”
On the final day of their London arrangement, Luke said casually:
“I have a place in Ireland. A rest house. Snowy this time of year. Could be… immersive. For the cottage scenes.”
She blinked.
“Are you suggesting isolation?”
“I’m suggesting commitment to craft.”
She grinned.
“Book the train.”
They traveled disguised, reading An Offer From a Gentleman side by side.
When they arrived, Yerin gasped.
The cottage looked like it had been pulled straight from the novel.
“You’re the first human I’ve brought here,” Luke admitted quietly.
Her cheeks warmed.
“Well then I’m cooking. Because there’s absolutely nothing in your fridge.”
They drove his vintage Volkswagen into town, laughing like old friends.
For two weeks, she cooked. He read lines beside the fireplace. They practiced scenes by candlelight. They debated Sophie’s resilience. Benedict’s vulnerability.
It felt less like rehearsal.
More like… something else.
The Night
One snowy evening, after too much wine and too much laughter at a local pub, they returned to the cottage breathless from cold air and alcohol.
There was a pause at the doorway.
A look.
A question unspoken.
And this time, it wasn’t rehearsal.
The kiss was soft at first.
Curious.
Then certain.
They stumbled inside, laughter fading into something quieter.
The rest was warmth and tangled sheets and whispered “Are you okay?” and “Yes.”
Fade to black.
The Morning After
They woke slowly.
Sunlight across wooden floors.
Silence.
Yerin exhaled first.
“…Well.”
Luke ran a hand through his hair.
“No regrets.”
She shook her head.
“None.”
They didn’t define it.
They didn’t need to.
They simply agreed — whatever this was — it wouldn’t ruin the work.
Filming Begins
“Kite scene,” the director called.
“Warm up first.”
Luke and Yerin exchanged a glance.
“We’re good,” they said in unison.
One take.
That was all it took.
The crew stared.
Chemistry like that couldn’t be faked.
Only they knew how much had gone into it.
Private jokes. Private snow. Private practice.
February 13
Luke sat on his bed staring at his phone.
Our cottage. Valentine’s?
He typed the message.
Before he could send it, his sister shrieked from downstairs.
“YERIN IS WITH HUDSON WILLIAMS!”
His stomach dropped.
He grabbed the phone.
Photos. Headlines. Cultural event. Smiling. Close.
His thumb hovered over the send button.
He deleted the message.
February 14 passed quietly.
He told himself he wasn’t jealous.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
He told himself professionalism came first.
Madrid — Press Tour
Yerin ran toward him backstage.
“LUKE!”
She hugged him tightly.
He stiffened — just slightly.
In photos he stood a little farther away.
Smiled a little less.
Answered interviews a little more formally.
Yerin noticed.
Of course she noticed.
That night, in her hotel room, she stared at her phone.
Then finally:
Yerin: Did I do something?
Across the hall, Luke read the message.
And for the first time since Ireland, he didn’t know how to answer.
To Be Continued…
