Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
“ECHO VEIL” Halloween Gala
Fête de Fin de Tournage
Venue: Château Vaudreuil
Date: Saturday, October 31
Costumes Required 🎭 Open bar 🥂
ALL cast and crew are welcome to stay for the weekend and will be provided with room accommodations.
“So… you’re telling me you’ve spent finishing the rest of production with just work, eat, sleep then repeat?”
Jenna’s face filled Y/N’s laptop screen from thousands of kilometres away, wearing that concerned look she usually reserved for her patients. The clinical worry in her friend’s eyes only made the aching hollow in her chest feel more real and inescapable.
She sighed dramatically, burying her face into a throw pillow before curling further into the corner of her sofa. “Hey, be gentle. I’m going through something.”
Her best friend paused, softening her tone, “I know you’re hurting. All I’m saying is that you’ve buried yourself in work. You deserve to give yourself a little break.”
Y/N didn’t know how to respond to that.
How could she explain that working herself to exhaustion was the only way to quiet down her own mind?
It had already been a month since that night in Benedict’s trailer. One long, agonizing month since his confession, followed by him quietly wishing her happiness… with someone else who isn’t him.
And just as she couldn’t stop her heart from breaking further, production didn’t halt on her account either.
Echo Veil still had scenes to shoot and the cameras had to keep rolling. These constant cues signalling her to propel her own life forward. Yet Y/N couldn’t help but feel stuck…
While everyone else had simply moved on.
No one ever spoke of that night near the trailers again, like they had unknowingly sworn a pact of total secrecy, burying the memory deep beneath the floorboards of the set.
Despite what she had witnessed, Mike was still the same eagle-eyed director on set, and Dani was still Dani. Swallowing down the bitter taste of unfair resentment she’d casted towards her co-star, her heart is now slightly more open to listen to logic. The last thing she wants to do is blame somebody else entirely just so that she can make herself feel better, when the honest to god truth is, this wasn’t even Dani’s fault.
The tragedy of how things ended before they could even start was completely between only her and Benedict, and no one else.
Not even Asher.
Speaking of the Marvel actor, he came back radiating his usual, cheerful self. But when he finally cornered Y/N, he was a blubbering mess. He equipped himself with a thousand apologies for his careless words in the interview, all of which she had quietly accepted, in exchange for them never speaking of it ever again. After all, Benedict had been right. It was never actually about Asher.
It was her.
And because of her, Benedict had undeniably changed. The warm, thoughtful and patient man she knew was gone, replaced by someone who’s perfectly professional, flawlessly polite, and heartbreakingly distant.
Each time they shared a scene together, their chemistry remained unmatched. At the very least, they still have that. But the moment the director called ‘cut’… they reverted to being strangers again.
She noticed his smiles never seemed to reach and crinkle his eyes anymore. The playful bickering and teasing she secretly used to look forward to were gone. No more constantly trying to grab her attention, no more waiting for her on staircases, and certainly no more of the domestic dynamic they created organically while being alone together. It was as if he was able to shut everything off so easily, while she was struggling to survive these remaining weeks of filming.
The cold indifference he placed as a barrier between them effectively froze any chance for reconciliation.
“Y/N , hun… I hate seeing you like this.” Jenna’s voice cut clean through the room, breaking Y/N from her reminiscent pity party of one.
She frowned, sending her friend a confused, guarded look.
“I know you too well, you’re blaming yourself again. That’s enough. You need to give yourself some grace,” her best friend encouraged. “Even better, what you need is a surprise… ”
“A surprise?” She repeated, her heart doing a nervous little skip.
“Oh, I really didn’t want to spoil it but you left me no choice,” Jenna began, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “Bea told me weeks ago about the wrap party tomorrow and how you’re not even considering to go. You’re the lead of the movie, Y/N… You can’t just go MIA, leaving everyone without showing your face for even five minutes.”
Leaving… She flinched at the word. She was made aware that it’s one of the things she was best at apparently.
Tomorrow night, the studio was throwing its wrap party. The glossy digital invitation she received felt like a countdown to a confrontation she wasn't ready for.
She thought about attending the event but if she does, she’ll be stepping into the same room as Benedict where they weren't protected by a script and the safety corners of a film set. Just the thought of it made her skin prickle with overwhelming anxiety.
“It’s the last studio event anyway, at least for now. Then you’ll be off to your new project.” Jenna added, taking another chance at convincing her to go.
Y/N pretended to think it over, before clearing her throat to deliver a rehearsed spiel she already prepared in case it came up.
“I would love to, really I do, but I don’t even have a — ”
“…a costume to wear tomorrow, because you’re too swamp to look for one, right?” Jenna finished her own excuse for her, pointing a finger at the camera. “Yeah, yeah, I already know what you’re going to say. That’s why my surprise is already waiting for you at the hotel tomorrow. I called the concierge and arranged everything. Your costume is waiting for you by the time you leave your rental place and check in tomorrow. So you’re all set. What else you got?”
It was the second time she’d been rendered speechless by her best friend today. Once again, she didn’t know how to respond. To be more exact, she had officially run out of the mental stamina required to cook up an impromptu excuse to save herself from attending.
“It’ll be Halloween, Y/N. Go have fun, please,” Jenna insisted. “You’ve been punishing yourself long enough out of respecting he-who-must- not-be-named’s wish to remain civil. Now… you have to start thinking about yourself.”
“But I don’t really feel like going to the party tomorrow,” she whined, like a teenager to a concerned parent.
“I understand, but you’ve worked too hard not to give yourself a little break from this twenty years late emo phase you’re currently on. You have to celebrate your wins every chance you get or else you’ll burn out.”
Celebrate? Why would she?
For a month, she had stayed away from him, honouring the invisible boundary line he sketched in between them. But a small, buried part of her… the part she refused to acknowledge, wished for just one last moment with him. One more night in his space, even under the safety of a disguise during Halloween night.
She didn’t know how, but she strongly suspected that Jenna was able to read her mind at that point. “You just finished a movie production, Y/N. That’s huge. For one night, do something more than just exist.” Her friend leaned closer to the camera, her tone filled with warm support. “Promise me you won't be afraid to keep on living, okay?”
***
Jenna’s famous last words from yesterday still lingered in her mind like a track on repeat as she took in the stunning scenery of the evening's venue. After getting ready in her room earlier, she decided to get some air and take a short stroll along the lake just located outside of the hotel.
Château Vaudreuil looked as though Halloween itself had decided to host a royal ball. Soft amber lights bathed the majestic façade in a romantic glow, and autumn leaves danced gracefully across the courtyard in the cool breeze blowing off the nearby lake.
As she wandered inside, she was completely captivated by the beauty of the space, feeling the weight and history of its grand design. A string quartet filled the air with hauntingly beautiful instrumental covers of an array of modern songs. The music playing seamlessly over the chatter. Overhead, magnificent crystal chandeliers caught the flickering candlelight, throwing fractured patterns across the polished floors.
Everywhere she looked, crew members and actors mingled happily. Laughter echoed through the halls as champagne trays glided past. Even the decor was breathtaking. Someone had somehow convinced the staff to carve pumpkins so intricate and elegant that they seemingly blend so well with the rest of the place.
The entire night felt like a gothic fairytale. The perfect setting for socializing and stealing secret glances.
Y/N paused at the top of the grand staircase. Her fingers lightly adjusted the delicate silver mask resting over her eyes. It covered her upper face with delicate filigree that glittered softly beneath the crystal chandeliers.
Jenna had absolutely outdone herself with her choice of ‘costume’.
It was a stunning, modern take on the iconic lady in silver from Bridgerton. The silver cocktail dress skimmed over her thighs, its liquid satin fabric catching every warm flicker of candlelight as she moved. The neckline was both intricate and elegant, yet beautifully subtle. Long, sleek sleeves perfectly balanced the shorter hem, while the fitted silhouette made her feel sophisticated rather than flashy. Sparkly silver shoes completed the look, while her hair fell in loose, soft waves framing her face.
As she began descending down the steps, someone below looked up, and then another, until she could feel the collective weight of dozens of eyes boring directly into her. The lively conversation across the grand ballroom gradually softened, the quiet murmurings among the crowd seemed to signal her arrival.
Y/N resisted the sudden urge to turn around and flee back towards the doors.
You have literally worked with these people daily in the past months, she mentally scolded herself as she continued descending. Each step she took echoed gently through the historic hall, the silver of her dress shimmering like liquid moonlight.
“There she is!”
Chelsea, brightly dressed in an elaborate fairy costume, practically launched herself across the floor the second Y/N reached the bottom of the staircase. “I knew you’d come!”
Before she could even find her voice to answer, Bea stepped forward and wrapped her in a warm, tight hug. “You look gorgeous, Y/N. Jenna really knows fashion. She should just switch careers.”
Not comfortable being the centre of attention unless she’s on set, Y/N tried to redirect the focus of the conversation. “Er — thanks… but you guys look amazing!”
She noticed her friend was rocking a very specific green bowling shirt on top of a grey long sleeve. “Bea, are you Bella Swan?”
“Yes! Finally, someone gets it. Unlike someone here… “ The makeup artist glared playfully at her boyfriend, who had opted for a standard vampire cape hanging around his shoulders with plastic fake fangs in his mouth.
“Vat? You told me to drez up az eh vampire… ”
“I meant as my Edward Cullen, Ian! Not whatever this is… “ Bea looked quite done for the night with her boyfriend’s obliviousness.
As the pair continued their affectionate, familiar bickering over their couples’ costume, Y/N felt a quiet ache in her chest. She envied their ease, the effortless way they could playfully clash without any real broken pieces between them.
“Ahem…”
A familiar voice interrupted from behind her, breaking through the playful noise.
“You don’t have any Kryptonite on you, right miss?”
Y/N turned around. Asher stood there grinning broadly in a form-fitting Superman costume. The unmistakable signature curl was falling precisely over his forehead. His easy, boyish charm instantly completing their group dynamic.
“…Really? Superman? Won’t Marvel consider this an act of treason or something?” She laughed, a genuine, bright sound that lifted the lingering tension between them. Things had been a little strained with Asher lately, mostly because she had been actively maintaining a safe distance to keep the media from spinning any more false narratives between them.
“I don’t think so..?” Asher said, scratching his head. He paused, suddenly remembering the glass he was holding in his left hand, and extended it toward her. “Oh, right. Here you go.”
She accepted the liquor, her heart giving a small grateful flutter. “Thanks.”
Even when she’s surrounded by her friends, she still needed the liquid courage if she was going to survive the rest of this night.
Y/N took a careful sip of her drink, leaning into the comfort of the ballroom's music. And then, out of the very corner of her eye, a familiar, commanding silhouette cut through the crowded room. She froze, the glass trembling slightly against her lips as she almost choked on her drink.
“BENEDICT!”
Mike’s booming director-voice carried effortlessly through the crowd. Naturally, he hadn’t bothered with an actual costume. Instead, he’d opted for a black baseball cap embroidered with a single word: Director
“So when’s your flight?” she overheard Mike ask as Benedict stepped closer to him.
He answered, but his response faded into the background noise. She wasn’t really listening to what they were saying anymore. The moment he entered her field of vision, the rest of the crowded ballroom seemed to blur out of focus.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, her entire existence felt tethered to him. Despite every promise she had made to herself to keep her distance and to stay hidden behind her silver mask, her eyes found him anyway.
He wore a dark, mesmerizing ensemble. A crisp black top tucked into dark, tailored trousers that made him look impossibly tall. Covering the upper half of his face was a matte black Venetian mask that added an air of sharp, dangerous mystery.
As the string quartet continued playing in the background, she was instantly transported back to the magic of the Bridgerton masquerade. It was almost funny how, without even planning it, their costumes matched.
Silver and black.
Then, as if pulled by an invisible thread, Benedict’s gaze shifted away from the director…
…and found hers.
His expression grew suddenly sharper, the casual atmosphere of the venue dissolving into pure, unadulterated tension. His eyes glazed over her form, starting from the expanse of her smooth bare legs and slowly traveling up the length of her body, before finally locking back onto her face.
Y/N blinked, a sudden warmth rushing beneath her skin. But before she could even process the heat in his green eyes, it was gone in a flash. The next thing she knew, he had already looked away, leaving her standing there as the only one caught staring after the other.
He turned back toward his conversation with Mike, as if she were nothing more than a piece of background scenery.
She immediately looked down, the silver filigree of her mask suddenly feeling like a heavy cage. She had promised herself she wouldn’t so much as glance in his direction all night. But the sheer proximity of his presence, combined with the devastating way he looked tonight, brought back a tidal wave of nostalgia and memories of the good times they had shared.
She swallowed hard, realizing with terrifying clarity that she wasn’t ready for this evening at all.
***
Y/N poured all her energy into immersing herself completely by focusing solely on her friends.
Their little group eventually drifted to a quiet table near the perimeter of the ballroom. Stripped of the set’s rigid timelines, they slipped right back into their old rhythms, the dialogue witty and comfortable. Between toasts to their individual futures, she happily shared their latest update that Bea had agreed to go with her on her next project.
“Since I’m being completely excluded here,” Chelsea declared with a dramatic sulk, “I expect all of your Halloween treats as compensation.” All of them chuckled at her extortion scheme.
During the shared warmth, everyone promised to stay close and to keep their group chat alive which was cleverly called ‘Masters of the TriviaVerse’.
Once dinner concluded, Ian decided it was time to officially get back into his girlfriend’s good graces, offering a dramatic bow as he invited her out to the dance floor. Bea gave a mock sigh, but her eyes softened into a smile as she took his hand.
Chelsea stood up as well, smoothing down her costume and announcing she was heading off to grab another drink from the bar before the lines got too long.
All three took off into the rhythmic pulse of the party, leaving both her and Asher alone at the table. The sudden departure left a quiet pocket of space around them in their sudden isolation.
“Hey… ” Asher began quietly, his finger slowly tracing the smooth rim of his glass. “I know when I came back on set, you already told me not to worry about it or even mention it again. But I really owe you a genuine apology, Y/N.”
She looked up, her eyes meeting his behind her mask.
“Asher, we’re good, please, let’s not… ” she softly pleaded, not wanting to have this conversation now or ever.
“Yeah, so you’ve said before… ” The easy, boyish smile completely disappeared from his face, replaced by a raw, earnest regret. “But I still feel bad, Y/N. You never really gave me the chance to apologize properly. I wasn’t thinking when I said those things. I just became totally excited for a minute there and of course, the media took it. And well… you know the rest.”
She couldn’t stop her mind from drifting instantly back to that night in Benedict’s trailer, his confession echoed with agonizing clarity in her thoughts.
‘It was never just about Asher, love…’
Benedict had been right all along. The interview hadn't created their problems, it had merely ripped open the deep wounds that already existed beneath the surface.
Pushing the uninvited memory down, she looked at Asher and smiled softly, trying to offer him the comfort she couldn't find for herself. “I accept your apology, but honestly, you didn’t need to.”
He grinned in response, looking immensely relieved that the air between them was officially clear. “Want me to fetch you another drink from the bar?”
She thought about it for a second, her eyes subconsciously wandering toward the neon-lit bar area. Instead of the drinks, her gaze locked onto a familiar tall figure.
Benedict was leaning against the counter, with Dani standing right beside him. There was an undeniable intimacy to the way they stood together: natural and heartbreakingly comfortable.
The sight felt like an intrusion, and Y/N looked away quickly, dropping her eyes back to her half-eaten food. She shook her head as a response towards his offer.
Beside her, Asher’s smile faltered. He followed her fleeting gaze across the room, tracking it directly toward Benedict, before looking back at her face.
“Can I ask you something?” he murmured, his tone dropping to a serious register.
Hidden behind her mask, she offered a small, hesitant nod.
“Is there…” He hesitated, looking genuinely torn about crossing a line. “…something going on between you and Benedict? It’s just, I have never seen you both spend time together outside of when the cameras are actively rolling. I know you guys have a history of working together before this film, but I can’t help but think maybe there’s something else going on. Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. I’m just curious… ”
Y/N shook her head, offering a quiet, understanding look. “Yeah, of course… that’s a fair observation.”
She kept forgetting that Asher wasn’t around when she and Benedict became… what exactly? She didn't even have a relationship status complicated enough to describe whatever they were at that time.
And she would never get the answer now. Not after he had completely laid his cards on the table, confessing that he had reached his absolute limit and couldn't endure the torture of being near her anymore. Remembering the devastating finality in his eyes that night in his trailer put a sharp, familiar lump in her throat.
Pulling herself back to the reality of the crowded ballroom, she looked at Asher. “…but to answer your question, no.”
…at least, not anymore.
The worst part was that it’s not even a lie. Benedict and her were now simply co-stars. So no… there’s nothing going on between them. Just colleagues who shared a deep, unspoken history but possessed absolutely no future together of ever becoming more.
She repeated the words quietly, trying to convince her own heart as much as him. “No, there isn’t.”
Asher watched her for a long, quiet moment, his perceptive eyes reading the silent sorrow etched around her silver mask before he finally smiled gently.
“Come dance with me.”
Y/N looked out toward the crowded floor, then back to him. “I really don’t feel like — ”
“It’ll help. I can see that this is hard for you,” he interrupted softly. “Use me as a distraction.” He winked, stepping out from behind the table and adjusting his Superman cape in the process.
She blinked up at him, caught off guard by his bluntness. “What are you — ? nevermind. But the answer is still ‘no’ since I can’t dance,” she lied.
“Don’t worry, I’m a willing participant, and I promise I won’t be getting the wrong idea about us,” he laughed softly, holding his ground. “But I want us to have fun. We just wrapped an entire movie together, Y/N. Let’s celebrate.” He extended his hand toward her, his palm open, holding out an opportunity to stop her spiralling thoughts from taking over and instead keep her company.
Looking at him, she realized staying at the empty table by herself, while staring at the bar was probably not the best idea. She gave in and reluctantly accepted his hand.
Minutes later, they were all out on the dance floor, actively causing a scene in the best way possible.
Chelsea cheered loudly from somewhere nearby, hyping them up like a professional cheerleader. Ian was having the absolute time of his life, throwing caution to the wind, while Bea couldn’t stop herself from giggling uncontrollably at her boyfriend’s hilarious silly dance moves.
“Careful now, you’re a hazard to these poor people around you,” she heard Bea laughingly warn Ian.
For the first time in over a month… Y/N actually stopped thinking. The suffocating static in her mind went silent. She laughed genuinely as Asher spun her out into the crowd. Another upbeat song blended into the next, and they simply continued having the best time.
Beneath the glittering lights, she completely forgot the agonizing reason why she hadn’t wanted to come tonight… even if it was only briefly.
After a while, the music changed. The vibrant, upbeat rhythm melted into something slower, gentler, casting a romantic, dreamlike haze over the entire room.
Asher looked at her, a spark of calculation in his boyish eyes. “…Do you trust me?”
She frowned, caught between confusion and wariness, but eventually gave him an honest answer. “…Unfortunately, I do.”
“Good,” a confident grin playing on his lips. “Follow my lead.”
She hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden shift, but still nodded. Their dance slowed to match the sweeping cadence of the strings. His hand rested respectfully at her waist, his touch light but grounding as he guided her effortlessly across the polished floor.
“Don’t overthink it. Just dance.” He smiled, his tone reassuring. “You look lovely, by the way, I don’t think I’ve mentioned that to you yet.”
Despite his compliment, it was then that Y/N noticed Asher’s gaze was not even on her at the moment, rather he was looking directly behind her.
Instead of questioning his sudden distraction, she was too tired from all of their dancing and her social battery is now almost at zero. She tilted her head forward and rested it on his chest. Asher didn’t mind that she’s practically using him as a temporary prop, keeping her upright.
Then, he leaned closer to her ear, sounding suspiciously smug. “Don’t be mad, I just wanted to see his reaction, but I never thought he would actually — ”
Y/N frowned, her brain completely lagging. “…Why would I be mad? Asher James, what did you do?”
Before he could explain his little secret experiment, a rich, commanding voice with a British accent cut through the space behind her, forcing her to turn around.
“May I have this dance?”
Y/N was too stunned to speak. Benedict stood before them. The matte black mask covered his features, making him look devastatingly mysterious, but there was an intensity that came with his presence.
She looked at Asher, who looked back at her, trying to decipher the unsaid words in her eyes while tightening his hold on her in case she refuses the offer.
Realizing that both men were waiting entirely on her signal, she offered Asher a silent, definitive nod. The young actor took a respectful step back, gracefully ceding and silently accepting that his role in her life would remain solely as her platonic friend.
Benedict immediately stepped into her space like an eclipse. Meanwhile, Y/N was still trying to adapt to the last-minute change on a script that didn't exist. Unable to find her voice, she simply looked at him, slowly sliding her fingers into his awaiting hand.
The moment their skin touched, the shift in his demeanor was jarring. His composure cracked, replaced by a sudden, possessive hunger as his large hand locked firmly against her lower back. He pulled her flush against his chest with an unyielding, almost desperate strength that shattered the careful distance they had spent weeks maintaining. He was entirely too close, his raw warmth searing right through the delicate silver satin of her dress.
Noticing he was swaying just a tiny bit off-beat, she glanced up at him. “Are you drunk?”
“No.” His answer was clipped and smooth, although it was completely obvious the man in front of her had just had a little too much to drink.
Y/N tried to step back, the mere proximity of his body too much to handle. She didn’t think them dancing together was a good idea, especially since his judgment is clouded by alcohol. But before she could slip her hand from his grip, Benedict stopped her from going anywhere. His fingers tightened around her waist, pulling her back into him as he pleaded in a rough, vulnerable whisper, “No, don’t. Stay with me, please.”
Hearing that raw desperation in his voice, she felt her heart flutter and ache at the same time. It was everything she had secretly wanted to hear, yet she knew this was too good to be true. He might not have even asked her to dance at all if he was able to think straight. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she still relented and quietly agreed.
They moved together in a fragile silence, maintaining the peace to make sure the moment is kept from being ruined.
As the final notes of the violin faded away, signalling that the song is about to end, she gently tried to push some distance between them, looking up at his glassy eyes. "I don’t think drinking more would be a good idea," she murmured softly, noticing that he was still swaying even though they’ve stopped dancing.
Benedict let out a soft, careless laugh, “Why do you care, Y/N?”
He tried to grab another drink from a passing tray but missed because of the slight wobble in his balance. It’s becoming clear to her now that this won’t end well, especially for someone who’s already in a spiralling state as he was.
Y/N took charge, looking him dead in the eye behind her silver mask. She didn’t answer his ridiculous question because obviously she does care for him, yet she knew it’s pointless to argue with him now. So instead she demanded, “Where’s your room key? Hand it over so that I can take you up to your room.”
Naturally, Benedict chose this exact moment to be impossibly stubborn, grumbling about wanting to enjoy the party as he veered toward the bar for another drink. Realizing he was operating entirely on jealousy and intoxication, his mind long past the point of reason, she cut him off before he could reach the counter, firmly steering him away from the crowd.
As she was trying to get him to go inside one of the elevators, she caught a fleeting glimpse of a familiar baseball cap in another elevator across theirs. She thought she saw Mike talking to someone she couldn’t see because the director was completely blocking the other person from her view. Deciding it wasn't her business, she shrugged it off.
Y/N was beyond grateful that the grand layout of Château Vaudreuil was incredibly convenient, having reserved a private block of rooms for all the cast and crew to ensure no one had to drive after the wrap party.
After a chaotic trek down the hallway, they finally made it to Benedict’s room. The second they stumbled inside, Y/N immediately made a break for the exit. Spinning on her silver shoes to leave since she had officially gotten him back to his room safe and sound.
Mission accomplished.
But as she reached for the handle, she heard his voice.
“Why do you always leave, Y/N?”
She looked back at him, and saw his expression of heartbreaking vulnerability.
Her brain was officially running on empty, and she had no idea how to handle a brooding, heartbroken co-star in a private hotel room. She didn’t know what to say except to fall back on absolute common sense. “Benedict, you’re drunk. Please just go to bed.”
He did not appreciate the reality check. Refusing to feel dismissed like a toddler at bedtime, he decided the best way to prove he wasn’t drunk was to eliminate his disguise. He aggressively took off his mask and threw it onto the bed, revealing a face that was way too handsome to be arguing with at midnight.
Before she could formulate a tactical retreat, he crossed the room and without so much as a warning, leaned down to kiss her.
Y/N was completely speechless, the sudden, fierce heat of his lips locking her voice right inside her throat. It was a messy, collision of all the unsaid things that had built up between them over the last month. But just as quickly as the spark ignited, Benedict pulled away. A sudden look of panic crossed his features.
“I’m sorry. Clearly, this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that.” She could see him struggle for composure, trying to put his figurative mask of nonchalance back on, back to him ignoring her existence once again.
The whole one step forward, two steps back had finally done something inside of her. Ever since that tragedy of a night in his trailer and leading up to this point right now, it had been one hell of a giant rollercoaster ride of emotional whiplash. Her initial shock of their unexpected kiss transformed into a protective, confrontational spark. She closed the distance between them, looking him dead in the eyes.
“You can’t keep doing this to me, Benedict. You can’t pull me close just to push me back down. You claimed you hit your limit and ended things between us. I’ve just been trying to give you the space you asked for. But tonight you ask me to dance, you kiss me, and then you call it a mistake? Make up your mind! You know what? I won’t even let you do that anymore… I’m leaving your room right now for both our sakes.”
A dark, resentful shadow crossed his features as he stepped backward, trying to force a careless shrug. “Yeah, surely, of course,” he murmured, his voice thick with a defensive sarcasm. “Go on then, leave. Go back down to the party. Go back to Asher.”
Y/N felt an immediate sting of hurt, feeling deeply attacked by the sheer jealousy dripping from his words. “What is wrong with you?” she asked as her anger pulled her forward like a magnet, crowding his space until she could feel his radiating warmth.
Benedict looked down at her, his breathing heavy, his green eyes entirely unraveled.
“You,” he rasped, his voice cracking with a month's worth of suffocated agony. “You’re what’s wrong with me, Y/N. But you very well damn know that already!”
Driven entirely by a mountain of pent-up frustration, he closed the tiny gap between them once more, shutting out the rest of the world. And with a sudden release of almost tangible tension and longing building within their close proximity, they both finally snapped, their lips colliding in a fierce, intoxicatingly aggressive kiss.
Desperate to feel his skin against hers, Y/N blindly reached up to remove her own mask, but the intricate straps were tangled in her loose waves, and she was having a clumsy hard time getting it off. Realizing her frustration, Benedict didn't waste a single heartbeat. His hands moved to her jaw, his fingers easily unraveling the silver mask and casting it to the carpet, all while keeping his mouth desperately locked against hers as if his very life depended on the taste of her.
His hands slid down to her thighs, lifting her smoothly until she was sitting on top of the polished hotel desk, her silver dress bunching around her thighs. The physical shift narrowed the universe down to just the two of them. He leaned over her, dark and consuming, as his index and middle fingers brushed against her lower lip, parting them with a slow, deliberate pressure. He locked his gaze onto hers, his voice dropping to a low, breathless whisper that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
“Suck.”
A heavy, intoxicating wave of heat rushed straight to her core, the sheer dominance of his voice completely stopping her ability to think. Unable to resist him for a single second longer, Y/N parted her lips and obeyed. She slid his index and middle fingers into her mouth, sucking on them slowly while keeping her eyes locked entirely on his. The taste of him, mixed with the lingering trace of his bourbon, made her uncontrollably wet.
Hiking up her skirt, he dragged his fingers from her mouth, his breath hot against her neck, and pushed aside the thin barrier of her panties. He slipped his fingers, burying them deep inside her soaked velvety heat, gripping him so tight.
Benedict curled his fingers deep inside her, eliciting a helpless whimper from her. He leaned in until his lips brushed her earlobe, his voice quietly whispering directly into her, “Do you still want to leave, love?”
The overwhelming pleasure left her completely undone, her brain going haywire. Then, he shifted his pace, dragging his fingers with deliberate slowness before stopping altogether, leaving her suspended on the edge.
Jolted out of her haze, the memory of his question finally registering as she shook her head side to side. He still didn't budge, his fingers remaining agonizingly still, murmuring near her ear, “I want to hear you, love.”
“No, I’ll stay… with you, please.” She choked out, the words barely a breathless whisper.
Benedict smirked against her neck, as he started stroking deep inside her again, rewarding her instantly. “Good girl.”
With a predatory glint in his eyes, he sank his fingers deeper inside her once more, stretching her out by adding a third. The relentless, sliding friction quickly drove her right back to the edge. The room was now filled with the wet squelches of his fingers, all three knuckle-deep into fucking her incredibly wet cunt, her juices dripping all over the wooden desk. Without a warning, he curled his digits to that sweet spot that made her cry out loud in pure bliss. While he continued to ruthlessly hit it with the exact same precision every time, he added his thumb in his ministrations, doing circular motions on her clit and placing just the right amount of pressure which ultimately pushed her to her breaking point. The coiled tension inside her continued to unravel, her body convulsing as she fully surrendered to the sensation.
After a while, she finally came down from her high and Benedict removed his glistening hand out of her. His gaze never left her face as he brought his slick fingertips to his lips, tasting her release with a slow swipe of his tongue.
The sight of him shattered Y/N’s last trace of sensibility. Weeks without his touch had left her hollow, and the sudden, overwhelming need to close the distance consumed her entirely. A broken whisper left her lips, the weight of not being with him for too long crashing down all at once.
“Benedict, please. I need you."
He closed his eyes for a brief second, defeated by a single request from her lips. Resistance was always an illusion. When he looked back at her, his expression had softened completely. He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin as he whispered, "What do you need, love?"
"I want you inside me," Y/N breathed, her fingers tangling in his shirt. “Please… ”
Benedict froze, his breath catching in his throat. He realized he had always been powerless against her, especially when it came down to pleasing her and pleasuring her. That control she has over him never truly vanished, which was why keeping a safe, professional distance from her was necessary. Otherwise, this is what happens. She asks for something like this and he’s too hard it’s too hard to say no.
A sudden wave of panic cut through the heat of his desire, forcing him to draw back just an inch. For once, he attempted to be the reasonable one, "Y/N... I don’t have a rubber on me."
"I'm on a pill, Benedict, and I'm clean. My last… encounter was before we even started filming Bridgerton.” Y/N shared, her tone sharp with growing impatience as she tugged him closer. "I trust you're the same?"
"Yes, of course," he breathed. A look of sheer disbelief flashed across his face, quickly replaced by a surge of raw hunger.
He unzipped her silver cocktail dress, and she stepped away from the desk. The liquid silver fabric fell in a single wave, pooling around her ankles, the cool air striking her bare skin. Without a bra beneath the structured bodice and only her thoroughly soaked panties left covering her, she stood before him basically exposed, which seemed to have done the trick into waking Benedict up into a sudden sobriety.
A low, ragged exhale left his lips. “Fuck, you’re absolutely perfect, love.”
He closed the gap between them, burying his face in the curve of her neck. He pressed a warm, lingering kiss just beneath her ear, tracing the delicate line of her jawline up to her chin, before finally capturing her lips in a deep, familiar kiss that made her knees weaken.
"We really shouldn’t be doing this," he muttered against her, his voice strained with a sudden, frustrating logic. "My flight leaves early tomorrow morning."
That stopped Y/N entirely. The fog cleared from her mind as a sudden realization took hold. Their dynamic had completely reversed in an instant. He was no longer the one asking her to stay, he was the one already planning his exit.
Benedict continued kissing her along the expanse of her neck, moving further downwards. As he started pressing hot open-mouth kisses into her chest, his tongue swirling over one of her aching buds, then sucking on it feverishly, she then realized any attempt at clear thought was futile. Suddenly, knowing he was leaving tomorrow only made her want him more.
"Then let’s make tonight count," she breathed, her eyes locked on his. "I want you.”
Benedict let out a low, rough hum of agreement. He didn't waste another second, driving her backward in a slow, commanding stride toward the bed. His hands worked with practiced urgency, ridding himself of his clothes along the way.
Her knees hit the edge of the bed, sending her tumbling softly back onto the mattress. Her breath catching as she found herself sitting eye-level with his cock.
She remembered how it felt heavy deep in her throat, her mouth watering with a desperate eagerness to taste him after so long apart. She leaned forward, reaching out to wrap her fingers around him, but Benedict was faster. His hand dropped over his length, his palm blocking her path, effectively freezing her in place.
The previous haze of alcohol continued to lessen in his gaze, he looked down at her, his voice dropping to a low, steady register that demanded her complete focus. "Are you entirely sure you want to do this, Y/N?"
That question officially broke her patience. He casually drops the news of his departure tomorrow and expects her to just be okay with this messy, unfinished night, which is apparently all they have left. He truly seemed to thrive on frustrating her endlessly.
"If you're having second thoughts, don't let me hold you back," her words dripping with a dangerous, mischievous edge as she leaned closer to him. "You did say I can go back downstairs… maybe I’ll find someone else?"
Any trace of his gentle concern evaporated on the spot. Benedict’s gaze darkened, his earlier cold demeanour shifting back into place.
"That’s low, Y/N," he groaned loudly, running a frustrated hand over his hair. "I’ll make certain you’d regret saying that,” his voice alone made her squirm and wished she never even said those words.
He extended an open palm toward her face, his gaze locking onto hers with a cold intensity.
“Spit.”
He ordered, his voice dropping into a low, uncompromising tone that left no room for argument.
Without any complaints, she complied right away. Her gaze never leaving his as she did exactly what he asked. If she was being honest, his domineering side was a trait she secretly enjoyed.
Benedict’s green eyes darkened with a glint of approval at her eagerness. He immediately brought his hand back down, slicking the moisture along his shaft with a smooth, practiced stroke. He began to pace himself, pumping slowly that promised to make her pay for her earlier threat.
He touched her remaining garment, “Take this off.”
Again, she did as she was told in record time, pulling the thin fabric down and leaving it on the floor along with her dress and his clothes.
He propped a pillow near the edge of the mattress, his gaze fixed onto her. "Turn around. On your stomach."
The raw authority in his tone tore straight through her defenses. Her centre throbbed, his words never fail to make her wet once more. She was filled heavy with desire as her mind scrambled to process the position he was putting her in.
Y/N obeyed and shifted her weight until she was in position. With her feet planted firmly on the cool carpeted floor, she arched over the mattress, the pillow elevating her hips and leaving all of her backside entirely exposed for him.
The silence of the room stretched out as she waited. Then, a low whimper was coaxed from her throat as she felt the slick tip of his length suddenly brushing against her soft, pillowy folds. Unwilling to tolerate the torturous brush of his tip a second longer, she took matters into her own hands by pushing her hips backward, desperately trying to force him deep inside her.
Benedict smirked against her shoulder, clearly amused by her desperate attempt. "Patience, love," he murmured, before delivering a surprising slap right against her aching center.
The sudden sting shattered something in her, and a loud, fractured moan spilled out of her before she could think to hold it back. He let out a dark, satisfied chuckle against her skin, his hands gripping tightly onto her hips. "Fuck, love, you enjoyed that?"
Y/N nodded frantically against the mattress, her breath hitching as she silently begged for whatever he chose to do next. She was entirely at his mercy, caught in a desperate haze where she would gladly welcome another spanking or the promise of his firm cock deep inside her. At this point, her shame was non-existent and she would take whatever he was willing to give her.
“Please, please, please… Benedict, I need — ” Her frantic plea died in her throat as he suddenly cut off her words, by holding her hips firmly and pushed forward, his massive length sliding heavily through her slick, welcoming heat. He buried himself inside her to the hilt, the intense friction drawing a deep, guttural growl of satisfaction from his chest.
The stretching fullness was intoxicating, her body registering every ridge and hot inch of his cock plunged deep within her. He withdrew slowly, dragging himself back until only the hot tip remained, before slamming right back inside her that forced an involuntary whimper from her lips. He drove into her repeatedly, each hard thrust sending a powerful shockwave through her body and pinning her face-down against the bed.
Her breath hitching in ragged gasps as a trace of moisture escaped her mouth consequently wetting the sheets, a direct result of how exquisitely pleasurable she’s getting dicked-down by his unforgiving onslaught. His thrusts quickened into a frantic, blinding pace, the momentum building his rhythm accelerating into a rapid, breathless cadence that drove them both almost toward the edge.
A broken, breathless prayer of pleas spilled from her lips. “Don’t ah stop… more ahh ah please… ”
He leaned in closer, wordlessly granting what she asked for. He adjusted his cock, angling his penetration perfectly, driving deeper inside of her. His thrusts relentlessly kept hitting that spongy spot inside her, making her almost black-out from pure ecstasy.
He continued pushing into her dripping cunt with a fierce, single-minded intensity that reduced her into someone who’s mindlessly fucked out, responding only in breathy moans and senseless babbling. During the punishing rhythm he maintained, she was suddenly jolted by a brand-new sensation as she felt something wet trickle down her backside. She then felt him gently push in his thumb down her unfilled hole, adding a foreign, delicious pressure that took her breath away. Completely overwhelmed by the opposing sensations of Benedict filling her up both with his hard throbbing cock on one hole and his slick thumb on the other, she cried out loud as a tight, exquisite coil began to wrap around her gut, making her mouth desperately against the sheets.
That literal final touch shattered her composure completely, sending her crashing into her second emotional peak of the night which left her entire frame trembling in satisfaction.
The night slipped away from them in a feverish events of tangled limbs and a constant chase for pleasure. Shifting from the edge of the bed to the centre, they lost all concept of time, leaving her completely unable to remember when the frenzy had finally stopped and sleep had taken over.
Tonight, she let lust and emotion make the rules. Y/N knew the morning light would likely bring a bitter taste of regret, but she deliberately locked that thought away. The consequences were a problem for another day, yet tonight is undoubtedly theirs to consume all the way
Pairing: Luke Thompson × Reader [Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Summary: Portraying as a couple in Bridgerton requires precision, trust, and a clear understanding of professional boundaries. But for Luke and Y/N, who have already crossed the line from co-stars to lovers in secret, the challenge isn't the performance.
Instead, it’s the reality waiting for them when the director calls "cut." And when an unexpected velcro mishap on set completely obliterates their physical boundaries, they must decide if their secret is worth the cost of keeping it, or if the temptation is simply too hard to resist.
Content Warnings: Sexual themes, 18+ Minors dni!, Secret Relationship, RPF [emphasis on Fiction]
Fandom: Bridgerton | Lukerin | Sophiedict
Length: 5.1k
Masterlist 💬
Crossing the line from co-stars to lovers on that chaotic final press day had set a match to a slow-burning fuse. Suddenly, despite the demanding distance of their respective schedules, making time for each other wasn't just a priority…
It was a necessity.
Naturally, they kept it a total secret. Y/N firmly believed they needed to survive a few real, unscripted dates first before their castmates and publicists started poking around, and Luke was more than happy to keep her entirely to himself. His brilliant intuition understood her before she could even find the words to articulate her desire.
He simply knew her… in so many beautiful, quiet ways.
With him, her racing thoughts and constant, exhausting need for analysis completely quieted down. It was as if he always knew exactly what she needed before the realization even crossed her own mind. Looking back, a shiver of pure warmth fills her whenever she remembered how he’d waited patiently outside her dressing room door, entirely refusing to leave her behind on the night they finally got together.
The next three months passed in a dizzying blur of high-stakes career milestones, which they survived only by their late-night digital rituals. While he was back on the Bridgerton set shooting solo subplots, she would wake up in New York to find pictures of the rolling English countryside waiting on her phone. When he headlined The Theatrical Guild’s event in March, she put her prestigious social media studies degree to excellent use and stayed up late in her apartment to track down clips fans posted online, sending him a flurry of supportive voice notes to let him know she was right there with him.
In May, The Maids opened to critical acclaim. Because of the time difference, Luke would wake up early in London just to read the glowing reviews of her performance as Madame. His inbox flooding hers with low, gravelly morning-voice notes bursting with a possessive pride he couldn't simply share with anyone else.
Every milestone just proved that their secret world was the most intoxicating fun she’d ever had. It was something she simply wasn't ready to give up yet. There was a profound comfort in feeling fiercely protective over a space that they had nurtured and cultivated entirely together.
Then came mid-June. She took her final bow at St. Ann's Warehouse, the thunderous applause still ringing in her ears as she practically floated off the stage, her mind already racing ahead to her next destination.
Less than twenty-four hours later, she was staring out a tiny window seat on a transatlantic flight, watching the New York skyline disappear beneath a blanket of clouds. She hadn't slept a wink, but pure adrenaline kept her awake. When the plane finally touched down at Heathrow, she navigated the terminal in a daze, pulling a low-brimmed baseball cap over her eyes. She’d briefly thought about wearing her istg cap, but blending into the background was the top priority today.
Pulling her suitcase through the sliding glass doors of the arrivals terminal, her heart raced as her eyes scanned the waiting crowd.
And then she saw him.
Luke was leaning against a pillar near the back, looking entirely incognito in a simple jacket, a cap, and dark sunglasses. The exact moment he looked in her direction, the crushing exhaustion she felt for the last couple of months completely vanished into thin air.
She quickened her pace, letting go of her suitcase handle completely before she even fully reached him. He lunged forward in one fluid motion, sweeping her up in a tight, fierce embrace that effortlessly lifted her right off her feet. A move he always made to tease her about her “adorable height,” as he once noted. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, burying her face into his shoulder, completely intoxicated by his familiar scent.
"Welcome back, love," Luke murmured, his voice a low, emotional rumble as he gently set her back down, though his hands remained firmly locked around her waist to keep her close. “I don't think you quite realize how much I've missed you.”
"Oh, I definitely do. And I love hearing you admit it," she teased, looking up at him with eyes filled with affection. “I missed you so much more, though.”
And it was true.
She missed him so much that she fought a sudden, overwhelming urge to reach up, pull his sunglasses down, and kiss him fervently. But the reality of their secret relationship forced her to behave.
Later, then.
Instead, she leaned her forehead against his chest, her voice dropping to a breathless whisper. “Please take me to your place right now. I couldn’t sleep at all during the flight... I was far too excited to finally see you.”
Luke offered a charming, lopsided smile that never failed to make her heart flutter. Hooking his arm securely over her shoulders and grabbing her suitcase, he guided her out into the crisp London early morning.
The Bridgerton production and the rest of the world would catch up to them eventually, but as they stepped into the quiet of the car, Y/N felt a deep sense of peace. Shut away from the public eye, they were exactly where they belonged: together and stronger than ever.
The moment they finally arrived at Luke’s flat, her sense of reality blurred. She hadn’t even heard the front door click shut before her boyfriend was already dominating her space. He dropped the suitcase, grabbed her waist to spin her around, and captured her lips in a breathless kiss. Her exhausted body reacted entirely on its own, answering his touch with an eager hunger she couldn't hide. He groaned into the kiss, pulling back just an inch to rest his forehead against hers.
“Fuck, Y/N… I’m never agreeing to do that again,” he breathed, trying to steady his voice. “I should’ve just rearranged everything and visited you in New York. I think I’ve had quite enough of long distances to last a lifetime.”
“I know, it’s been long overdue,” she whispered against his mouth, tipping up on her toes to steal a deep, lingering kiss.
Luke looked at her with a darkened gaze, and she could feel the exact moment she stirred something primal and possessive inside him. “Well, I’m glad you see it my way, love,” he murmured against her skin. In one smooth motion, he scooped her completely off her feet, carrying her down the hallway. “Tomorrow you go back to playing Sophie, but today? You’re all mine.”
A soft, shiver-induced giggle caught in Y/N’s throat as she buried her face in his neck. She had craved him for three agonizing months, and the realization that the distance was finally over made her heart thrum in ecstasy. Looking directly into his silvery green eyes, they held unspoken promises of the long night ahead hanging beautifully in the air between them.
***
The next day dawned bright, lighting up the sprawling estate where the Bridgerton cast had gathered for a massive ensemble shoot.
For Y/N, her first day back on set was a thrilling, chaotic mix of uncomfortable petticoats, last-minute script changes, and a racing heart. Missing Luke while performing in New York was agonizing, but standing in the exact same room with him, breathing the same air while pretending they were just friendly co-stars, has to be the single most demanding acting challenge she had ever faced.
To protect their secret, they took zero risks: separate arrivals, different hair and makeup trailers, and a carefully calculated, professional distance.
Naturally though, the universe wasn't going to let them get away with it that easily.
During a mid-morning break, she found a rare, quiet pocket behind the camera rigs to review her script. Within seconds, a familiar shadow fell over her pages. She looked up to find Luke standing there, a bottle of water in hand and a perfectly practiced, casual smile fixed on his face for the benefit of any nearby onlookers.
"Good morning, Y/N," he said loudly, his theatrical projection flawless. "How lovely it is to see you again, after months and months of — ” he abruptly cut himself off, his voice trailing away as he scanned the immediate area and realized the crew was entirely preoccupied with something else. She quickly pressed her hands over her mouth, desperately trying to stifle a laugh at his sudden change in demeanor.
As he leaned in slightly, his eyes danced with a private warmth. "You look beautiful in that gown," he whispered, his voice so low it was practically a secret meant only for her. "I've missed you this morning.”
Her stomach did a wild, acrobatic flip. She offered a practiced, professional nod, though her eyes betrayed her entirely as she looked directly at his lips and silently mouthing, ‘I miss you more…’ back to him.
Effectively bursting their beautiful bubble, Hannah came bounding toward them, her massive silk skirts rustling loudly as she practically wedged herself right into the small space between them. The show's current stunning lead looked delightfully stressed, waving her script pages in the air like a flag of surrender.
"Y/N, please tell me how you handled the pacing in those crazy scenes last season," Hannah gasped. "They’re all happening all at once! I never knew it was going to be this overwhelming. I’m supposed to be heartbroken in one scene, and then suddenly I have to switch gears for an intimate scene, and there are absolutely no breaks in between. Well, I suppose there are… legally and technically speaking, but you know what I mean.”
She couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at her lips, a sudden wave of nostalgia washing over her as she remembered exactly how overwhelming it had all felt for her last season. “I’m always happy to help, but first, Hannah dear, you need to breathe.”
Hannah obediently took a deep, exaggerated breath, inhaling and exhaling until she looked noticeably calmer before launching right back into her dilemma. "I’m trying to prep for this massive sequence with Masali, and I am completely losing my mind. I tried asking him," she added, gesturing a thumb backward toward Luke in a thoroughly playful manner, "but your onscreen husband was absolutely no help. He just gave me this vague, pseudo-artistic advice about 'feeling the space’ and continued to ramble on about figuring it out for myself because acting, apparently, is such a ‘personal journey’. Totally useless."
Y/N burst into a fit of laughter, catching the hilarious look of wounded pride on her lover’s face. "To be fair, Hannah… Benedict is an artist. He can’t help but be a little pretentious, he’s just staying in character."
"Exactly, thank you — hang on… I offer profound, life-changing wisdom, and this is the thanks I get?" He crossed his arms, his mouth tightening into a thoroughly dramatic pout that she had to fight the urge to kiss away.
"Go focus on your own lines, Thompson," Hannah teased back, laughing as the new lead hooked her arm through hers to pull her toward the chairs. "Come on, Y/N, rescue me from the artist before he starts reciting poetry."
She cast a quick, apologetic look back over her shoulder. Luke simply offered a helpless, amused shrug, watching her go with a faint smile that he expertly wiped from his face the exact second a crew member walked past.
The rest of the afternoon followed the exact same thrilling, exhausting pattern. Every single time they managed to find themselves within five feet of each other, someone from the cast would instantly shatter their bubble. If it wasn't a director stepping in to micro-adjust their blocking, it was the hair and makeup team rushing the floor with powder puffs, or another cast member looping them into a group conversation.
They were surrounded by dozens of familiar faces all day, yet they couldn't sneak a single private touch. The forced distance only made their secret world feel that much more special and rare.
Even at home Luke’s apartment, their grand romantic timing was constantly ruined by logistics. It was a never-ending cycle of late-night shoots and mismatched wake-up calls. The new rhythm of their schedules hit Y/N the hardest. Now that she was officially out of her maid’s outfit, she had to wake up at ungodly hours just to endure the same endless hours of corset-tightening and hair-pinning as the rest of the ladies at the Ton.
By the time the director finally called a wrap on the massive ensemble shoot, the sun was dipping below the horizon in a haze of amber. True to their pact, she and Luke prepared to slip away from the estate in separate cars to avoid a single drop of suspicion.
As she walked toward the holding tents, desperate to strip off the heavy gown, a hand clamped down firmly on her shoulder. She froze, turning to find Claudia blocking her path. Flanked by several other female cast members, Claudia was leveled with a sharp, knowing, and thoroughly mischievous grin.
"You're not escaping us that easily, Sophie Baek," Claudia declared, using her character name with a laugh. "We have missed you terribly while you were off being a proper theater star in New York. We're all heading out for drinks and a proper catch-up tonight, and you are officially drafted."
Y/N blinked, her brain instantly scrambling as her mental image of a cozy, secret night at Luke's place went up in smoke. Still, looking at the eager, warm faces of her co-stars, she couldn't bring herself to say no.
“I'd love to," she agreed with a smile. "Just let me get out of this corset first, or I’m afraid I might slowly die in it."
"Perfect! You… try to stay alive, and we’ll meet you by the transport cars," Claudia cheered, utterly victorious as she turned the group around.
The second the girls walked away, she immediately searched the horizon for a certain brunet. She spotted him by the production trailers, deep in conversation with some of the crew. She only had to wait a single second before his eyes flicked her way, as if he already anticipated that she needed to tell him something. She shot him an incredibly dramatic pout, pointing a subtle finger toward Claudia’s group to let him know that their evening plans had just been hijacked.
Luke caught on instantly. He raised his eyebrows in perfect understanding and offered a small, secret wink that made her second-guess her decision.
Y/N had given in to the girls' night mainly because she knew they wouldn't even see the rest of the cast on set tomorrow anyway. The call sheets had already been distributed and the rest of the ensemble had various dialogue scenes to shoot across the estate, while she and Luke were scheduled for a completely closed set. They were heading back to the My Cottage location to film a private intimacy scene for their characters' storyline.
Walking toward her trailer, her breath felt a little shallow as she smiled to herself. Tonight would be for her friends. A necessary distraction of laughter and catching up. But tomorrow, she and Luke would be going right back to the exact place where they had first shot their scenes together, returning to where their story truly began.
***
The morrow.
The morning sun barely touched the windows of the soundstage as Y/N stepped onto the intimate, cozy set of My Cottage. The atmosphere was entirely different from the chaotic energy of the day before. Thick black curtains completely walled off the perimeter, leaving only a skeleton crew of six people moving quietly through the space: the director, DP, intimacy coordinator, camera operator, grip, and boom operator.
Luke was already holding down the fort near a wooden easel. Dressed in Benedict’s loose white Regency shirt and dark trousers, he looked every bit the devastatingly handsome, brooding artist. When his eyes met hers, a quick, knowing smile flashed between them.
"Alright, team, let's huddle up for blocking," the director called out, gesturing for both of them to step directly into the center of the set.
Clutching her silk robe a little closer around her wardrobe gown, she listened closely as the director opened the script pages.
"Alright, so we’re tackling scene fourteen," the director explained, looking from Y/N to Luke. "Benedict is desperately trying to sketch Sophie, but she’s feeling incredibly playful and keeps purposefully shifting around, ruining his lines. Because of her teasing, they strike up a mutual deal. It's essentially a Regency version of strip poker, and our version will be called ‘strip drawing’. Every time Sophie moves and breaks his focus, Benedict has to remove an article of her clothing."
Luke let out a low, amused chuckle, flashing a wicked look in Y/N’s direction. "A highly steep penalty for the muse, wouldn't you say?"
"Exactly," the director laughed. "Benedict thinks he’s just winning a silly game, but the underlying tension needs to spike with every layer Sophie sheds. We want to see the specific moment where he completely abandons the masterpiece, drops the charcoal, and his focus narrows entirely to Sophie. Let’s run through the choreography before we bring the cameras in."
She offered a nod, her heart doing a quick little dance with a mix of professional excitement and personal thrill. While the director mapped out the choreography, Luke caught her eye from across the easel, throwing her a playful, teasing raise of his eyebrows. Stripped of the massive ensemble cast, this hidden space belonged entirely to them, and their little game was officially about to begin.
"Quiet on set, please. Rehearsal is done, moving to picture," the first AD’s voice echoed softly through the enclosed studio space. He stepped out of the perimeter, locking the doors firmly behind him.
Right before the cameras started rolling, Lizzy, the intimacy coordinator, sauntered onto the bedroom floor. Clutching her clipboard, she approached Y/N and Luke with a calm, reassuring smile, ready to set the final ground rules for their onscreen fun.
"Alright, you two, let's do a quick final check before we officially roll," Lizzy said, her voice professional and calm. "We have the intimacy barrier cushion exactly where we placed it between you two for when the scene transitions to the bed. Remember, our established boundaries today are no touching outside the agreed zones, and if either of you feels uncomfortable or needs a reset, you just say 'pause’. Are we both still completely comfortable with the blocking?"
She glanced at Luke, catching the steady focus in his eyes that instantly centered her. "Yes, completely comfortable," she answered with a confident nod.
"Same here. We're good to go," he agreed, giving Lizzy a reassuring look.
"Perfect. I’ll be right back here if you need anything at all," the coordinator said, stepping back into the shadows behind the monitor next to the director.
The air in the room turned quiet and expectant as the director called out, "And... action!"
The scene started flawlessly. Luke, channeling Benedict's artistic charm, sat at his wooden easel while his charcoal pencil scratched against the parchment with a look of intense concentration. Y/N, playing a playfully teasing Sophie, sat across from him on the edge of the mattress. She deliberately shifted her weight, tilting her head to the side and flashing a brilliant, mischievous grin that completely ruined his perspective.
"Sophie…" Luke warned as Benedict, a desperate but deeply amused groan escaping his throat. "You must hold still. The light is catching your shoulder perfectly."
"I am trying, gentle sir," she replied in Sophie’s soft tone, leaning forward provocatively, completely breaking her posture. "But perhaps your artistic vision is simply too rigid."
"That is a foul slander," Luke countered, a dangerous spark igniting in his eyes as he stood up from the stool. True to the script's ‘strip drawing’ deal, he pointed his charcoal pencil at her like a weapon. "One mark against the model. That is a slipper or a ribbon gone next, if you cannot remain still."
The scripted tension was supposed to build slowly, but as Y/N slowly slid the silk wrap off her shoulders, Luke stepped closer to the bed to execute the next segment of the scene. The blocking required him to drop his charcoal pencil and hover over her, his toned chest inches from her own as his hands framed her face on the mattress, the boundary between acting and reality completely dissolving.
As Luke lowered his weight further down toward Y/N, a sharp thud masked by the heavy blankets echoed only to their ears. The flesh-coloured intimacy cushion, their strict legal boundary for the day, slipped from its velcro fastening and slid right down to the floorboards.
Just like that, the protective barrier was gone.
She felt her breath catch completely in her throat. Without the thick foam padding between them, they could suddenly feel absolutely everything. The heat of Luke’s body pressed directly against hers, the firm alignment of his chest, and the heavy, real-world friction of their movements sent a delicious jolt of electricity straight down her spine. She looked up into his eyes and saw his pupils dilate instantly.
Oh, he had realized it, too.
Instead of calling for a pause and resetting, the sheer adrenaline of their real-life secret romance completely took the wheel. The scripted, playful banter instantly melted into something fiercely genuine. When Luke’s hands slid down past her waist, his grip was tighter and far more possessive than anything they had rehearsed. Her own fingers tangled into the fabric of his loose white shirt, pulling him down harder as her chest heaved, completely abandoning the cameras, the crew, and the rules of the scene.
He captured her lips in a deep, desperate kiss that left them both entirely breathless, his tongue parting her lips with an unscripted hunger. Beneath the thick, cascading layers of the Regency blankets, completely hidden from the camera's line of sight, Luke slid his knee upward, forcing his thigh firmly between her legs. The sudden, unshielded contact sent a jolt through her core, and she instinctively rolled her hips, grinding into him with a quiet, desperate rhythm that no one can see, yet only he could feel.
"Cut! Cut!" the director’s voice suddenly barked, breaking the spell.
Y/N and Luke froze, both breathing heavily with their faces still inches apart. She caught the playful look in his eyes as he focused on her lips, as if he desperately wanted to steal one last kiss before they were forced to reset.
Lizzy immediately stepped onto the bedroom floor, her expression professional but highly alert. "Hey, you two, let's take a quick breath," the coordinator said gently, though her eyes were sharp. "The chemistry is fantastic, but you're getting a bit carried away. Luke, your hands completely migrated past the hips down to her lower thigh. That definitely wasn't in our touch points. And Y/N, you're pulling him in way tighter than the blocking allowed."
She felt her cheeks burn, her eyes dropping instantly as she regained her composure. "Right. Sorry, Lizzy. I just... lost my footing in the blanket."
Luke cleared his throat, a small, amused twitch at the corner of his mouth as he reached down to retrieve the rogue cushion from the floor. "My apologies, Lizzy. The barrier literally slipped out of place. We'll adjust and stick strictly to the playbook for the next take."
"Thank you. Let's reset the cushion, take two minutes, and keep it strictly within the choreography, please," Lizzy reminded them with a supportive smile before clearing the frame.
As Luke helped her smooth down her gown, his hand brushed against hers, giving it a swift, tight squeeze that made her heart skip. Looking up, she caught the thrilled, breathless smirk dancing on his face. They were professionals, and they were definitely going to ace the take this time, but the memory of that raw, unshielded touch was going to linger for the rest of the day.
With the intimacy cushion firmly secured back in place, Y/N took a deep, steadying breath. She smoothed down the silk skirts of her gown while he quickly adjusted his loosened shirt. The brief touch of reality had left her skin tingling, and looking across the mattress at her secret boyfriend, she could tell he was trying just as hard to lock his personal desires away behind a professional mask.
"Going again, everyone! Second take for scene fourteen," the director announced. "Quiet on set... and action!"
The clapperboard snapped, and the room fell into absolute silence as filming went on.
***
The door of Luke’s production trailer clicked shut, instantly blocking out the distant hum of generators and shouting crew members. Y/N let out a long, ragged sigh, dropping her head back against the cool wood of the door. The adrenaline from their little off-script stunt on the bed was finally fading, leaving her beautifully exhausted.
He chuckled softly, already kicking off his heavy Regency costume boots. "Come here, love," he asked gently, opening his arms.
She didn't need to be told twice. She marched straight into his embrace, wrapping her arms securely around his waist as he pulled her flush against his chest. He kissed the top of her head, resting his chin down in her hair. They stayed like that for a long, quiet moment, just enjoying the simple luxury of holding each other without a camera rolling or a crew member frantically adjusting a microphone.
"You were absolutely incredible today," Luke whispered, his hands gently rubbing her back through her silk robe.
"You weren't so bad yourself, Mr. Bridgerton," Y/N teased, looking up at him with a tired but playful smile. "Though I think Lizzy might disagree."
He grinned, leaning down to press a soft, unhurried kiss to her lips. It was sweet, comforting, and entirely their own. A world away from the rigid choreography of the My Cottage set. He guided her over to the small trailer sofa, tossing a plush blanket over her legs as they settled in to tackle their lunch break together.
For nearly an hour, it was total bliss. They spent it sharing snacks and laughed quietly at how close they had come to completely exposing themselves on the bed earlier today.
Knock. Knock.
The sharp rap against the trailer door completely broke their peace.
Y/N’s eyes went wide. Total panic spiked through her veins, her well-practiced survival instincts kicking into immediate overdrive. "Oh my god," she hissed under her breath, launching herself off the cushion. Without a single second thought, she practically dove inside Luke’s wardrobe, pulling the door shut until only a tiny crack remained so she could breathe.
Luke had to fight the urge to laugh out loud at how comically fast she could move when panicked. Forcing a calm expression, he took a breath, smoothed down his shirt, before opening the main door. Standing on the steps was Jess, the Bridgerton showrunner, holding a binder and looking slightly concerned.
"Hey, Luke! Sorry to drop in on your break," she said, stepping inside the trailer.
"Jess! No, you're alright. Of course, come on in," he said, his voice a fraction higher than usual as he strategically positioned his body to block her view of the small sofa, where two half-eaten lunch boxes were glaringly visible.
"I just wanted to do a quick wellness check," Jess said, leaning back against the small counter. "I was down in production, but I heard from the monitors that the intimacy cushion slipped during the first take. I know how jarring it can be when a boundary drops out of nowhere, so I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. Did you feel comfortable continuing the shoot?"
"Oh, absolutely," Luke said smoothly, flashing his best reassuring smile. "It was just a silly mechanical glitch with the velcro. Lizzy handled it perfectly, and the second take went incredibly well. Y/N and I are completely fine, truly."
Before Jess could answer, another sharp knock rattled the door.
He threw it open again, and this time, Lizzy the intimacy coordinator scurried inside, looking thoroughly panicked. "Oh, sorry Jess. Luke, have you seen Y/N? I cannot find her anywhere. I’ve checked her trailer, hair and makeup, and catering. She’s vanished, and I need you and her to sign off on today’s intimacy scene report."
The showrunner frowned, fishing her phone out of her pocket. "That's bizarre. She shouldn't have left the set yet. I'll just give her a call."
Inside the dark wardrobe closet, Y/N completely stopped breathing. Her eyes darted down to her robe pocket in absolute horror. She had forgotten to flip the silent switch.
The sharp, violent buzz of her phone echoed loudly inside the cramped closet.
The entire trailer went dead silent. Jess slowly lowered her phone from her ear, her eyes drifting toward the wardrobe doors, since she was seated facing them directly. "Is that...?"
Realizing their little undercover game was officially over, Y/N let out a defeated sigh, pushed the closet door open, and stepped out into the trailer light. She could feel her face burning, while Luke looked like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole and Jess looked intensely intrigued. The intimacy coordinator, however, was facing the wrong way, entirely missing the drama.
"Hi, everyone," she said, clearing her throat and offering a spectacularly lame smile.
Lizzy turned around, completely oblivious to what had just transpired. "Oh! I'm glad I found you. Are you doing okay after the cushion mishap earlier, Y/N? Any discomfort?"
"None at all! Completely fine," she squeaked out, trying desperately to keep her voice steady.
Jess, however, wasn't looking at the wardrobe anymore. Her sharp eyes shifted from Y/N’s intensely flushed face, to Luke’s incredibly guilty expression, and finally down to the sofa, where two plates of food were plainly visible. A slow, deeply knowing look dawned on the showrunner's face.
"Well," Jess said slowly, her tone shifting smoothly as she looked at the intimacy coordinator. "It sounds like our talents are perfectly fine, Lizzy. Thank you so much for your incredible work on set today. Why don't you take their paperwork down to the production office? I just need a quick minute to discuss some 'scheduling adjustments' with these two."
"Of course! See you tomorrow, guys," Lizzy chirped, as she snatched their signed forms and walked out of the trailer.
The door clicked shut.
Silence descended on the trailer once more. Y/N stood entirely frozen by the closet, while Luke rubbed the back of his neck, looking literally anywhere else except at the woman who ran their show.
Jess crossed her arms, a massive, triumphant grin splitting her face. She looked between the two of them, thoroughly enjoying their sheer panic.
"Alright," Jess said, stepping directly into the center of the trailer. "How long has this been going on?"
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
The Daily Grind with Rumi and Yaz [Guest Star Asher James]
The show flashed back onto the screen after a quick commercial break. Settling into the second half of the interview, the two female hosts sat opposite Asher James. The actor was practically buzzing with excitement. He looked ready to burst as he hyped up his two massive projects: this month's highly anticipated re-release of Endgame and the upcoming December premiere of Doomsday.
Rumi: Let's change gears this time and talk about what's been happening with you lately, Asher. Specifically, the massive theory that is absolutely taking over everyone's FYP right now regarding you and your lovely co-star, Y/N?
The live audience immediately lost it, breaking into loud oohs and cheering as the energy in the studio spiked.
Asher: (Laughs) What? Wait, since when?
The young actor scrambled to fix his poker face. He’d spent weeks preparing his Marvel talking points and making sure he didn't accidentally spoil a major plot point. He never anticipated they would pivot to his personal life today.
Yaz: Since day one, obviously! Your fans are basically FBI agents at this point. They’ve been collecting serious receipts. Between the behind-the-scenes candids and all those photos surfacing online, everyone is completely obsessed.
Rumi: We are too! (Laughs) You and Y/N have been spotted practically everywhere together, hitting up cozy cafés and restaurants while you're up in Canada.
Asher: (Rubbing the back of his neck, laughing) Yeah, well… I mean, we’re shooting a film together right now, so we're together a lot. She’s great. Honestly, one of my closest friends.
Rumi: Only a close friend?
The interviewer leaned forward with a mischievous grin, clearly hinting for something more.
Yaz: Right? Come on! Look, we know December is still a few months away, but tell us, when Avengers: Doomsday finally premieres, will we see Y/N by your side on the red carpet to celebrate?
Asher: I mean… that honestly sounds like a lot of fun. (Grinning) I’ll definitely have to check in with her about that.
He did his absolute best to keep his answers strictly platonic. He did have some ‘media training’, despite what the internet comments liked to claim.
Rumi: Speaking of the premiere, which will take place here. I know you’ve been an L.A. boy your entire life, Asher, but do you think she’d like it here?
Asher: Wait, do you mean, like… for a vacation?
Yaz: Well, yeah, sure! A vacation… or maybe something a little more permanent? Like, do you think she’d ever swap down under to move out here with you?
Asher: Oh, I don’t know. Maybe? (He scratched his head on that one) Sure, why not? We’d have an amazing time!
And he honestly believed it. It wasn't even a hypothetical, he’d literally tried to convince her to move before. Twice actually, first time didn’t really count but he brought it up again with her. He knew he was acting like a total goofball on live TV, but he can’t help the smile breaking through his ‘media training’.
Yaz: (Leaning forward, gasping) So… is that a yes?!
Asher: I’m just saying she’d love it here! Funny enough, we actually have talked about this before. I’m sure we can figure something out.
He had no idea why his brain was suddenly dwelling over the thought of Y/N living in L.A., but the mere idea of hanging out with her every day, just like they have been doing back in Montreal, had him completely buzzed. Maybe he’ll call her later or during his free time…
Rumi: We actually heard that you guys are huge trivia nerds together. Do you think she’d be down for an MCU trivia battle?
Asher: (Laughing, shaking his head) Err… I don’t know about that. Honestly, I might have to volunteer to represent the both of us for that one.
He said with a sheepish grin, and the live audience chuckled along with him.
Asher: But anything non-Marvel? Oh, she’d completely destroy me. She’s just amazing at everything else.
The two interviewers exchanged a knowing, triumphant look, absolutely thrilled with his answers. Satisfied that they’d just snagged the ultimate viral exclusive, Rumi and Yaz beamed at the cameras, officially wrapping up the segment and thanking Asher for stopping by.
The clip ended.
Y/N closed her laptop with a soft thud. On her phone screen, Ava was waiting on FaceTime, her sharp gaze completely locked onto her face.
“Well?” Her agent prompted.
She let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as she felt a headache blooming. “He’s such an idiot. But I can’t completely blame him, though. Those hosts were obviously digging for clickbait, and he walked right into their trap.”
“That, I already knew,” Ava said, her tone softening into something surprisingly gentle.
Y/N’s eyes scanned the headline glowing on her screen one more time:
ASHER JAMES TALKS “DOOMSDAY” & HAPPILY EVER AFTER WITH Y/N IN L.A.
A frustrated groan escaped her lips. “Oh, for the love of — ”
“Exactly. Which is why I’ve been calling you nonstop,” Ava sighed. Y/N winced, looking at the five missed calls she’d blissfully ignored since yesterday.
“Sorry, Ava. I’ve just been… a little distracted lately.” She trailed off, lowering her voice like she was sharing a secret she shouldn't be.
The woman on FaceTime went quiet, studying her face through the camera. After a beat, Ava's sharp, professional edge softened into something much warmer. “…Is it anything I can help you with?”
She offered a faint smile, shaking her head. She deeply appreciated that her agent was always in her corner, but she knew she needed to handle said distraction all on her own later.
“Well, let me know. I’m always just a phone call away,” Ava promised. “But back to our viral problem. I already touched base with Asher’s management, and honestly? They’re ecstatic. They think this is gold-tier PR for the movie. Since Echo Veil is a love triangle, they want to let the internet run wild with it to build hype for you and Asher. Especially since you and Benedict already have such a massive, established fanbase to compete with.” Ava paused, leaning closer to her camera. “I told them we’d think about it first.”
Y/N nodded silently, a knot forming in her stomach. In the span of a few hours, the media had twisted, recycled, and stretched a single, harmless interview into dozens of clickbait articles. Every headline claimed she was packing her bags for Los Angeles because MCU’s Asher James had "confirmed" they were going to "figure things out."
“What does the rest of our team think?” She asked, her voice tight.
Ava looked down, her silence speaking volumes.
“I see,” Y/N said, a short, bitter laugh escaping her lips. “So it’s exactly like last time. We let the internet speculate wildly because it’s free marketing.”
“We can still put out a statement right now if you want,” her agent insisted, looking up. “But a producer from your current project already called me yesterday. They see the engagement numbers. Unfortunately, they want us to lean into it.”
Y/N let out a defeated sigh. She wasn’t naive. She knew that in this industry, public perception was everything. Shutting this down right now would trigger an instant backlash, risking a disastrous opening weekend that would completely undermine the cast and crew's hard work. She couldn't carry that kind of guilt on her shoulders. Like it or not, she had to play the Hollywood game.
“I guess we don’t really have a choice, do we?” She said, looking back at the screen. “As much as I want to tell the world that Asher and I are strictly friends, putting out a statement right now is just too risky. I don’t want to tank the movie’s momentum before we’ve even wrapped production. There are too many jobs riding on this. If the studio wants to use the noise, then let them speculate.”
“Fair enough,” Ava sighed. “But what about the Bridgerton fans? Trust me, they are currently in full mourning online.”
A heavy wave of guilt washed over Y/N. In reality, she was just as devastated as the fandom, though for a completely different reason. Her mind immediately drifted to Benedict and his stupid, frustrating prior engagements. It was a messy, complicated situation that she still needs to confront today.
“For now, let’s stick to a strict ‘neither confirm nor deny’ policy,” she said, trying to sound a lot more confident than she actually felt. “That way we don’t alienate any of the fandoms. As long as there’s no official statement from our side, everything else is just background noise.”
For some reason, she wasn’t entirely panicked. Over the course of time, she’d learned that her fans were fiercely loyal and incredibly sharp. They had a knack for dissecting interviews and reading between the lines. It was actually a little terrifying how often they were spot on. They would see right through the PR stunt.
“Copy that,” Ava sighed, the skepticism is still clear in her voice.
Neither of them sounded particularly convinced, but the pressing topic naturally fizzled out. They spent another ten minutes ironing out minor schedule updates before finally wrapping up the call.
The silence settled over her bedroom, leaving her completely alone with her thoughts once again.
Y/N’s fingers tightened around her phone. Letting out a shaky breath, she reread the text he’d sent yesterday. The words made less sense the longer she stared at them.
Prior engagements. Really?
Was that honestly the best excuse he could come up with after the weekend they had just shared? She thought back to Saturday afternoon, remembering the exact moment Benedict had abruptly disappeared into his bedroom when Asher called her.
Could he really be that jealous?
It didn't make sense. Him canceling on her over something so petty felt completely out of character. Her gut feeling told her she was missing something vital, because he was normally the most grounded person she knew.
Realizing she wouldn't find peace sitting alone, Y/N grabbed her purse and keys. Outside, her town car pulled up to the curb. She was heading to the studio early, well before the scheduled night filming even began.
She was going to extract the truth from him today.
No matter what it cost.
***
The moment Y/N stepped onto the busy set, she spotted him right away. She raised a hand, trying to catch his eye, but the second their gazes locked, Benedict abruptly turned on his heel and hurried in the opposite direction.
She froze, her hand dropping to her side. That was undeniably strange.
Maybe he just hadn’t seen her?
But deep down, she knew he had.
Another opportunity arose twenty minutes later when she caught him pacing near the edge of the soundstage. To her frustration, a sudden wave of nerves hit her.
Why was she the one feeling anxious when she was supposed to be the one demanding an apology?
Taking a breath, she stepped forward. “Benedict?”
He glanced up, his expression entirely blank, before immediately returning his attention to his script. “Can I help you with something?”
Y/N flinched at the biting, polite distance in his voice. She had arrived ready to corner him and demand answers for his text, but his icy demeanor completely derailed her, leaving her entirely too stunned to speak.
“Hey, Benedict, they’re ready for you,” a PA called out, passing by with a clipboard.
“Right, thank you.” He didn't even look back at her as he closed his script folder. “I’ve got to go.”
He sounded incredibly tired, or maybe just flat-out indifferent. Before she could gather her thoughts to respond, he was already moving past her.
All Y/N could do was stand there, staring blankly after his retreating figure.
***
By the time dinner break rolled around, Y/N’s patience had been wearing thin.
Bea, Chelsea, and Ian quickly became the unwilling audience to her misery as they all collapsed around a table in the catering tent.
“He literally won’t talk to me,” she groaned, dropping her head onto her hands after yet another failed attempt to corner him. “He just ignores me. The second he spots me coming, he walks the other way. It is infuriating.”
Bea’s jaw dropped slightly. “He won’t talk to you? Are you serious? Yesterday, he kept teasing you and you were practically glowing. Honestly, watching you two made me feel like I was suffering from a severe concussion.”
Chelsea winced, sliding her phone across the table. “Do you think it has something to do with that viral talk show interview?”
“I mean, what else could it be?” Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I’ve been racking my brain all afternoon, and nothing else comes up. I haven't done anything to offend him.” She hadn’t even touched her food. The mere thought of swallowing anything past the lump of anxiety in her throat made her sick.
Bea aimed her fork at Y/N, her tone firm but protective. “Hey, you need to stop acting like this is your fault. You weren’t the one on that talk show, and you certainly weren't the one who canceled your date. For all we know, he just needs some space and he'll come to you when he's ready.”
She wanted to believe her, but in all the time she’d known Benedict, she had never witnessed him act like this. He was always so attentive, so considerate. Honestly the sweetest person she knew. Knowing he was usually the definition of being levelheaded, she couldn’t shake the terrifying suspicion that she was missing a piece of the puzzle, and her anxious attachment was absolutely skyrocketing.
“Well, has anyone seen him recently?” She asked.
Both Bea and Chelsea shook their heads in unison. Ian, however, was strangely quiet. He kept his head down, completely focused on his dinner plate and carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone at the table.
All three women instantly locked their eyes on him.
Y/N leaned forward, narrowing her eyes. “You know something.”
Ian froze, but stubbornly refused to answer.
“Seriously, Ian, talk,” Chelsea insisted.
He kept his mouth shut, holding his breath, until his gaze reluctantly collided with Bea’s. One look from his girlfriend was all it took to break his defense. He slouched in his chair, sighing heavily.
“Okay, fine. I saw them earlier.”
“…Them?” Bea pressed.
Ian winced, looking like a man preparing for a death sentence.
“…He was with Danielle.”
Y/N’s heart stopped. Danielle? As in, beautiful, stunning, perfect Dani?
Something dark and unpleasant coiled in her chest, sending a massive wave of insecurity straight through her. She tried to force a calm facade, but the emotion flooded her system before she could block it. Raw, unadulterated jealousy consumed her entirely. She looked ready to commit a felony, and the sudden shift in her aura was so intense the other two women instantly noticed.
Clearing his throat awkwardly, Ian rubbed the back of his neck to break the suffocating silence. “They were having dinner together over by the catering trailers…”
Bea fixed her boyfriend with a slow, warning shake of her head, silently commanding him to shut up. She quickly turned back to Y/N, her hands raised in a calming gesture. “The healthy thing to do now is to talk about this peacefully, right?” The makeup artist shot Chelsea a desperate look, begging for backup.
“Exactly,” the PA chimed in instantly. “Because if this whole mess is just a case of mutual jealousy — ”
Y/N shot her a death glare.
“…Or, you know, just his jealousy! Because you are the picture of calm,” Chelsea corrected, before continuing. “Regardless, a non-violent intervention is definitely the move here. A little sit-down. You guys can hash it out like civilized adults.”
Y/N tried to hear them out, but it was a losing battle. It was impossible to teach her heart to listen to reason when she was extremely consumed by the storm of emotions inside her.
The rest of the evening only made things worse. By the time the director called them back to set after dinner, her anxiety and jealousy had curdled into something far more potent.
Anger.
It flared up every single time she caught sight of Benedict hovering around Dani.
Y/N admits that she was being completely unfair to the blonde. Over the course of the shoot, she’d actually grown to like the actress, despite a rocky initial impression. But that friction had been entirely Y/N’s own doing. Her early envy during the first months of filming could be directly traced back to her own unresolved feelings for the British actor.
Tonight, however, all her old insecurities were back with a vengeance, and Dani’s effortlessly stunning existence felt deeply offensive. Mostly because Benedict seemed perfectly capable of talking to her, smiling at her, and spending time with her.
Was she his prior engagement? Or was he actually throwing a tantrum over Asher?
The lack of answers was driving her insane. To make matters worse, the pitying looks Chelsea kept tossing her way proved she was doing a terrible job of maintaining her poker face on set.
***
By the time filming finally wrapped, Y/N had finally reached the end of her patience.
She was getting answers tonight.
The walk toward Benedict’s trailer felt oddly peaceful. Most of the crew had already started heading home. The lot was quieter now, illuminated by scattered floodlights and the occasional glow from open trailers.
Y/N rounded a corner and then stopped. She could hear familiar voices, three of them.
She edged closer, hoping that lessening the distance would help her understand what they were saying. But she quickly realized volume wasn't the issue, but the language itself.
She didn’t speak a word of French, but after months on set in Montreal, she knew exactly how it sounded.
Stepping deeper into the shadows, Y/N finally spotted the trio huddled near a production trailer. She knew all of them, and whatever they were arguing about looked incredibly intense.
Mike was talking to the other two, his shoulders slumped in absolute defeat. But it was Benedict and Dani who drew her focus.
Benedict looked completely protective, stepping into the actress’ space and placing his hand on Dani’s shoulder. They looked entirely too intimate.
Y/N tried to see Benedict’s face more in the low light. She had never seen him look like this before. His features were sharp enough to cut glass, etched with an expression that made him look like an entirely different person. For a split second, she almost didn’t recognize him.
All her anger evaporated, instantly overridden by pure concern. She stepped out of the shadows. “Benedict?”
All three heads turned and their conversation stopped immediately.
Mike actually looked relieved by the interruption, while Danielle shifted uncomfortably, her eyes dropping to the ground.
Benedict, however, looked like a man at his wit's end. As if he had been through an exhausting battle all day and was finally running on fumes.
“Not now, Y/N.” The warning in his voice was sharp and harsh.
“Are you oka — ?”
“I said, not now.” He didn't raise his voice, but the tone was freezing and tightly restrained, which only made it cut deeper. “Go wait in my trailer.”
Y/N stared at him, completely paralyzed by disbelief. The hot sting of embarrassment rushed to her cheeks as she realized she’d just been dismissed like a child in front of her colleagues.
In an instant, the cold fury from earlier flooded right back into her system.
Fine!
She turned on her heel. She would wait in his trailer, and she would count down every single second until he had to face her.
***
Twenty minutes later, Y/N was still waiting. Unable to settle down, she had been pacing a frantic path back and forth across the floor the moment she stepped inside.
The interior of Benedict’s trailer felt deeply, strangely familiar now. A direct reflection of his apartment, as she recognized the stack of classic books, the scattered scripts, and the leather-bound sketchbook lying forgotten on a nearby table.
Under normal circumstances, invading his personal space would have made her heart flutter. Tonight, however, she was running on too much pure adrenaline to appreciate anything at all.
Every passing second fueled her irritation, so by the time the trailer door finally clicked open, she was practically vibrating with too many mixed emotions.
Benedict finally stepped inside.
His expression hadn’t improved. If anything, he looked even more hollow. The second the door clicked shut behind him, he crossed the narrow room in two long strides. Without a single word of explanation, he reached out and captured her wrist.
Y/N pulled back with everything she had. “What do think you’re doing?”
“Here I thought you disrupted my entire evening because you wanted to talk,” he rasped, his controlled composure finally slipping as he reached for her again.
“No.” She yanked her hand away. She could see her rejection hurt him.
Good.
“You don’t get to touch me right now.”
Benedict pulled back, something dark flickered across his features, but he forced himself to slowly drop his hand. Instead of pushing her further, he sank onto an empty chair, desperately trying to ground his racing thoughts.
“Well, what is it you need?” He was right back to his freezing, distant demeanour.
“What do I need?” Y/N repeated, a sarcastic laugh escaping her lips. “You have got to be kidding me! You can start by giving me an explanation for yesterday. Why did you completely disappear on me?”
“I told you, I had prior engage — ”
“Do you mean Dani?” She cut him off before he could even finish his absolute bs of an excuse. “Was she your so-called ‘prior engagement’? Hm?”
“No.”
That was Benedict’s only response. A flat, sharp syllable that gave away absolutely nothing.
“Then what was it?” she demanded, stepping closer, entirely intent on tearing down his wall of secrets. “Why did you cancel on me yesterday?”
She was well aware of how unhinged she must have seemed in that moment to an outside observer. People didn't fall apart like this over broken plans. But she didn't give a damn about appearance.
The rest of the world hadn't been led on by him. She was the one who had been fooled to believe they were building something real. She had gotten deeply, fully invested, both emotionally and physically, only to watch him pull the rug out from under her feet once again.
“Did any of it mean anything to you at all? Or was this all an act?” she demanded, her eyes flashing with desperation.
Benedict’s gaze dropped to the floor for a beat before drifting back up to meet her eyes. He looked completely drained or bored, as if he’d rather be anywhere else right now than to try and fix whatever was going on between them.
She scoffed, the sound sharp and laced with pure disbelief. “Are you actually serious??”
The lack of a response was driving her mad.
Y/N couldn’t wrap her head around the fact that she was finally face-to-face with him, yet she was still getting absolutely nowhere. Desperate to crack his defenses, she scrambled to think of another approach before she completely lost her mind.
“Alright. If you don’t want to talk about yesterday, then why have you been icing me out tonight?” Her voice dropped, but the raw hurt tainted her every syllable. “Why have you been avoiding me all night?”
Benedict’s mouth twitched, a shadow of a humourless smile touching his lips, as if he found something deeply twisted in the situation. “It’s rather difficult, isn’t it?” he murmured. “To be the one who does the chasing. Try enduring that for a bit longer… it’s only been a single day for you, love.”
The weaponized use of his favourite nickname sent a cold shiver down her spine. It’s cruel and it’s meant to completely inflict maximum damage. He was striking back.
“So what, you wanted payback?” Y/N asked, the realization sharp and bitter. “But why now?”
She could feel her entire body actively resisting her next question, recoiling from the absolute desperation of her own words.
“…D-did I do something wrong?” She hated how fragile her voice sounded. A wave of shame washing over her as she realized she had reduced herself and her pride just to get him to look at her.
If Benedict noticed the sudden fragility in her tone, he didn’t show it. Instead, he simply went back into being unresponsive.
The suffocating pressure building inside Y/N’s chest all night finally snapped, and unfortunately, her anger had always been directly wired to her tear ducts.
“Just talk to m-me…” her voice cracked completely, a hot blur of tears burning behind her eyes. The sheer agony she’d been carrying since yesterday was the only thing keeping her upright.
She swallowed hard, throwing out her final, desperate gamble. “Is this about Asher?”
Benedict looked up instantly, his dark eyes pinning her in place. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek.
So he is jealous.
She pulled her arms around herself, a desperate attempt to protect herself since she already felt too vulnerable and exposed in front of him. “If this is about Asher, then just say so. I told you before, we’re just friends. Don’t you trust me?”
Benedict still refused to answer, but the raw intensity in his eyes was a silent admission. She was finally drilling through his armour.
If this was just pure envy, she half expected him to at least give her the benefit of the doubt. She had made sure to reassure him that her relationship with Asher was entirely platonic, yet here he was, throwing it all back in her face.
“Have you even seen the interview?” she asked, her voice trembling.
“Yes.”
Y/N forced herself to swallow, blinking away the heavy tears pooling under her lashes. “You have? H-how? I thought you said you were always offline?”
“Why, love? Were you hoping to keep it a secret from me?” The cynicism in his tone was unmistakable.
“That’s not what I meant — ”
“No? If you didn’t want me to find out, then next time, keep your phone on you, love.”
Hold up.
The world around her instantly ground to a halt.
“My phone?” she repeated blankly.
“The one you left charging,” he said flatly.
A heavy wave of realization crashed into her as the scattered puzzle pieces instantly locked into place:
Monday morning, her dead battery, Benedict in her dressing room…
“Oh my God,” she breathed, her jaw dropping.
The agonizing hurt she’d been simmering in all evening transformed right back into white-hot anger. “So not only do you lack the basic decency to trust me, but you actually went through my phone?!”
Benedict’s head snapped up. For the first time all night, his icy composure fractured, a flash of genuine panic bleeding through his expression. “That is absolutely not what happened.”
“So let me get this straight, you don’t trust me but I’m just supposed to take your word for it?” Y/N challenged, her laugh laced with pure incredulity.
“For fuck’s sake, Y/N, give me some credit! I would never do that to you.” Benedict snapped, his chest heaving as his composure dissolved completely. “The bloody thing was vibrating off the counter. I thought it was an emergency. I thought someone from your family was trying to get a hold of you.”
She opened her mouth to argue, but the words died on her tongue. She closed it again because, unfortunately… that sounded exactly like him. He was right about her device, too. Her notifications had been definitely blowing up around that time.
“My intention was never to invade your privacy,” he muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor as his shoulders slumped. “But when I saw the headline on the lock screen… I got curious. I looked the interview up on my own mobile.”
Even though his explanation made perfect sense, she was still far too angry to let his logic calm her down. She still wanted to hold him accountable for something. She refused to let him off the hook that easily, especially since she still needed him to acknowledge the pain he'd caused.
Y/N took a shaky breath, her chest heaving. “And then what, Benedict? You watched it and just assumed that Asher and I are secretly dating? Is that honestly what you thought?”
His entire body flinched at the accusation, but she pushed forward anyway, refusing to let him retreat into his shell.
“And now you’re just going to throw away everything that happened between us this weekend? You're just going to leave me hanging and move on?”
Benedict closed his eyes briefly, retreating back into his statue-like stillness. Y/N wasn’t even sure if he was still listening to her, but she wasn’t about to stop now. Fresh tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, blurring her vision as a crushing wave of helplessness washed over her.
“You could’ve just come to me about this instead of pulling this disappearing act,” she choked out. “God, this is just like London all over again.”
Benedict’s eyes snapped open, locking onto hers with a gaze so sharp and dangerous it could have drawn blood. “Don’t.”
Y/N completely ignored the warning. The dam had burst.
“After the wrap party, I never heard from you again.”
“Y/N — ”
“Not even a single message!”
His jaw tightened so hard a muscle twitched violently in his cheek. “You don’t know what you’re talk — ”
She didn’t care that he was finally speaking again. She just wanted him to feel the full weight of her resentment. “You said we’d stay in touch,” she mocked, her tone dripping with bitter sarcasm. “You made me believe we actually had something, and then the second I left London — ”
“No, absolutely not. You do not get to bring up London!” Benedict’s shout exploded through the narrow trailer like a gunshot, his expression twisting into pure, seething fury.
Y/N’s jaw dropped as she stared up at him.
Benedict rose to his feet, completely dominating the space as he towered over her. His chest heaved sharply. In all the months she had known him, she had never seen him look this genuinely furious.
“You do not get to lecture me about London.” He lowered his volume, a lethal, controlled vibration in his tone that proved he was fighting for composure.
“You have absolutely no clue what happened the second you got on that plane.” Beneath the anger, his features shifted, exposing a man who was completely and utterly shattered.
Blinking back her tears, Y/N found her voice after the initial shock settled. “Excuse me? I had to go home,” she countered, her voice shaking as sheer confusion began to derail her anger. “You told me you were too busy with theatre, anyway. So I don’t understand why — ”
“I lied.” Benedict cut her off, the confession tearing from his throat.
After that, it was as if he had finally opened the floodgates. Once that admission escaped him, he couldn’t hold himself back anymore.
“When you asked me what happened after the press tour… I wasn’t busy. Fuck, Y/N, I never went anywhere.” Benedict looked away, his chin dropping as if he were too deeply ashamed of what he had to say next.
“I didn’t do any theatre… I just couldn’t anymore. For weeks, I just stayed locked inside my flat. I stopped answering calls. I didn’t want to see another soul. Even my family, my friends… they all thought I was just resting after the tour. But no, I didn’t do much of anything, really. I couldn’t… even if I’d wanted to. I became so bloody empty the moment you left.” The confession sounded pathetic to his own ears, a desperate admission of defeat.
He knew it, too.
But Benedict no longer cared about his pride. He rubbed a heavy hand over his face, letting out a long, ragged breath. He was utterly exhausted, yet a strange wave of liberation washed over him the second the truth was free. All this time, he had been so aggressively focused on her, whether keeping his distance or realizing it was physically impossible to stay away, that he hadn't recognized the suffocating baggage he was still carrying.
All this had been weighing him down all along.
Y/N stopped breathing, her gaze locking onto him as the world tilted on its axis. This wasn’t the answer she had expected from him at all.
For months, a quiet part of her had resented him, convinced he was out there living his best life while she was left drowning in his absence. She had never known… she couldn’t have possibly guessed.
“Benedict… I — ”
It was her turn to become completely speechless. The words evaporated from her tongue, leaving her staring at him in stunned silence.
“You are very good at leaving, by the way,” he murmured, voice laced with bitterness. And it cut through her like a physical blade.
“You left London so quickly after the wrap party, I honestly believed I’d scared you away,” he confessed, his voice dropping into a rough whisper. “I thought you’d realized how transparent I was being. How desperately I wanted you.”
His eyes burned, as he continued. “I thought you’d taken one look at the way I was falling for you, and decided that getting back to Sydney couldn’t happen quickly enough.”
“That’s not true,” she breathed, her voice trembling as her heart shattered for him.
“Well, that’s exactly how you made me feel, love.” His voice trembled. “I didn’t even get a say in the matter. You just always leave whenever you feel like it.”
Y/N squeezed her eyes shut. The defensive anger she’d been hoarding completely gone, replaced by a crushing empathy for the agony he had endured because of her.
“So when Echo Veil came along…” Benedict continued, his voice dropping into a soft, rough whisper. “I took the role.”
“Because of me?” She stared at him in complete disbelief.
“Of course because of you, Y/N,” he replied, looking at her as if it were the most obvious, indisputable truth in the world. His hard expression softened briefly, fracturing to show the gentle man underneath.
“But I didn’t want to expect anything this time. I warned myself not to get too close, because I was terrified I’d drive you away again. I just knew that being near you made it easier to breathe. That was enough for me. But I was foolish to think I could just coast along the edge of your orbit without getting pulled under. You were always entirely impossible to resist.”
Tears were falling freely down Y/N’s cheeks now, but she ignored them, stepping forward instinctively. Every protective fibre of her being just wanted to comfort him, to mend the damage she’d unknowingly caused.
“The second Asher gets back on set, I’ll talk to him,” she said, her voice shaking as she wiped frantically at her face.
But Benedict just watched her, a hollow silence wrapping around him. “Whatever for?”
For the first time all night, it felt as though the suffocating darkness between them was finally lifting. She could fix this. She knew she could.
“The interview. All these ridiculous rumours circulating, the PR stuff... I don’t want any of it to continue. I'll shut it down. I’ll fix it… for us.”
His expression shifted instantly, a profound, chilling sorrow overtaking his features. He looked at her with those beautiful, sad green eyes of his, but the warmth in them was entirely gone.
“It was never just about Asher, love,” he confessed, his voice barely rising above a broken whisper.
Benedict’s eyes searched hers, swimming with ache. “The first night we spent together… you left. We explicitly agreed we’d talk.” A sharp spasm of pain flashed across his features, and he swallowed hard before forcing out the next words. “But the next morning, you were just gone. It honestly made me feel small, Y/N. As though I’m just this one thing you keep leaving behind. I tried to see it from your perspective, convincing myself it was too much, too soon. But I wouldn’t really know. Like I said, you fled before we could ever discuss it.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, a wave of guilt crashing over her as that exact morning replayed vividly in her mind.
“And the weekend we just shared… I asked you not to run because I couldn’t survive a repeat of what happened after the press tour.” Benedict tried desperately to keep the vibration out of his voice, but he failed miserably. “I even tried to ask you to stay. Granted, I fumbled it massively when I brought it up in Paris, but then you go on and told everyone in that interview that you will never live in London.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, his posture sagging under the weight of memories that clearly still carried a lethal sting.
“And when I saw that clip...” His voice broke completely, as he averted his eyes. The sheer humiliation of his jealousy making it impossible to look at her.
“Did you... did you actually consider moving to L.A.?”
“Of course not, Benedict!” she argued, stepping closer. “It was just a casual conversation we had in passing.”
“But did you actually tell him no?” he pushed, his green eyes burning into hers.
“I never took the suggestion seriously,” she insisted, her voice trembling.
“So I guess Asher didn’t get an outright no, then.” He shook his head, a sharp, humourless smile graced his lips. “I asked you to stay once, and you wouldn’t even entertain the idea, Y/N. And this weekend, when I specifically requested you not to run away from me anymore, I find out the very next morning that you’ve been discussing a future in Los Angeles?”
“You’re blowing this way out of proportion,” she pleaded, wiping at a stray tear. “Asher just suggested it for work, about getting more auditions and meeting casting directors. More opportunities, and all of that.”
“But didn’t I suggest the exact same thing in Paris?” Benedict countered, his voice cracking as his composure fractured entirely. “Do you remember what you did? Your immediate response was to shut down. You didn't say a single word to me for that entire car ride, or for the rest of the week.”
He let out a ragged breath, the sheer hopelessness of his posture breaking her heart. “So just to make sure we are clear on this... you would never stay in London for me, but you're fine discussing moving to L.A. with him?”
Benedict’s green eyes were glistening with unshed tears. The anger had completely drained out of him, leaving his features looking utterly, devastatingly heartbroken.
“I will always just be someone you constantly leave behind,” he whispered. “No matter how hard I try to keep up, or how many oceans I cross for you. Every single time, you make me feel as if I’m never enough. Tell me, how is that fair, love?”
His words shattered her into a million pieces. She buried her face in her hands, she couldn’t even bear to look at him anymore. The realization of how deeply he had been broken without her ever knowing was entirely paralyzing.
As tears fell freely down her face, the crushing truth became undeniable: she had been so consumed by her own anxieties that she had completely blinded herself to the fact that she was the one breaking him.
Benedict finally stepped forward, closing the final distance between them, and pulled her tight against his chest. Y/N gripped his shirt, overwhelmingly grateful to feel the steady warmth of his embrace once again.
Even just for a moment.
“I’m afraid I have reached my limit, love,” he whispered against her hair, his voice trembling with a quiet defeat.
She squeezed him tighter, shaking her head furiously where it was buried against his chest. She didn't dare look up. She couldn't bear to witness what his face looked like going, because the absolute finality that was undoubtedly written on his features was something she hadn’t prepared for at all. She never wanted to let him go.
“And I cannot bear to watch you shed another tear for me,” he murmured softly.
Y/N could feel the ending coming like a tidal wave. She wanted to physically put her hand over his mouth to stop him from saying the words, but a sickening dread told her it was already too late.
“No, don’t... please don’t do this,” she whispered into the fabric of his shirt.
“I want to keep things civil between us while we finish out the rest of this production,” Benedict murmured, withdrawing emotionally even as he held her. “And then we’ll have Bridgerton again. After that… we can just move on with our lives. We won't be bound to one another anymore, and we won't cause each other any more heartache.”
He tried to force a smile, despite feeling as though his heart were being ripped wide open from his chest. “I hope you find joy and love, Y/N. Wherever you decide to go.”
She felt the warmth of his lips press against her hair, then gently against her wet cheek, before he completely loosened his arms and let go of her.
Benedict looked at her one last time, a silent, final glance before stepping out and leaving her completely alone in his empty trailer.
Y/N physically couldn’t move from where she was standing, her limbs completely frozen. She stared blankly ahead, looking at something she couldn’t actually see through the blur of her vision.
It could’ve been minutes or maybe even hours that bled away in the quiet trailer, but after a lifetime of silently crying, she finally wiped her tears away.
If she had known this was how it was going to end, that the cost of finally knowing the answers to her questions was losing him forever… she never would have paid such a high price.
Pairing: Benedict x Actress!Reader [Benedict as Luke Thompson and Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Content Warnings: This chapter contains Explicit content, 18+ minors dni!, Back to present but with a tiny flashback, Unresolved Feelings, Slight angst, Loaded with contents either from Lukerin interviews/Benophie scenes
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
Back to present day…
Monday arrived far too quickly.
Y/N stood in the middle of her bedroom, clutching a towel around herself while having a minor crisis in front of her closet.
Technically, her outfit from Friday was washed and clean, but wearing it again was a dangerous game. Absolutely out of the question. Her friends would tease her the second she walked through the door, mostly Bea and Chelsea.
Y/N swallowed hard. She needed a new look, and she needed it fast, or else the questions would start and she was absolutely not equipped to answer them. She could just imagine how it would go and she shuddered at the thought. She refused to give her friends any more ammunition to ambush her.
Besides, she and Benedict haven’t made anything official as of yet. They were, after all, only going on their very first date tonight.
After making some wardrobe decisions, Y/N headed towards the bathroom. The moment she stepped beneath the shower spray, she immediately regretted it. As the stream of warm water cascaded down her body, her breath hitched. The physical sensation immediately unlocked a memory inside her, forcing glimpses of yesterday afternoon to rush back, clouding her mind.
Through the haze of pleasure, Y/N couldn’t remember exactly how it happened. One minute, she had been sitting on top of the closed piano lid, playfully teasing Professor Bridgerton while he tried to teach her about correct hand placement. The next thing she knew, their music lesson was entirely forgotten. She was flat on her back, her underwear long gone, and her legs were draped over his shoulders as Benedict came to learn that the quickest way to get her attention was when he’s buried deep between her thighs.
He looked up at her, his lips slick and his eyes dark with hunger. "God, Y/N," he breathed, his voice rough against her inner thigh. "You taste so sweet. I could stay right here and ruin you all day, love.”
Her breath hitched the second the wet warmth of his tongue glided across her sensitive folds. He focused entirely on her clit, swirling his tongue over the peak before drawing it into his mouth and sucking on it like a starved man.
Benedict continued his assault by licking long, slow stripes from her aching entrance up to her clit. A soft whimper escaped her as he began lapping hungrily at her centre. She tried to squeeze her thighs together as he drove his tongue deeper inside her, slickly mimicking the rhythm of a real thrust.
A low, continuous moan vibrated from his throat straight into her skin, pulsing perfectly with every stroke of his muscle. The sensation was entirely becoming too much, her legs tried to snap shut again.
"Keep them open f’me, love," Benedict growled against her skin, his hands gripping her thighs to keep her in place. "That’s it... such a good girl."
He hummed in approval against her before diving right back in, feasting hungrily on her slick, dripping heat.
The only sounds in the quiet flat were the shameless, wet noises of Benedict’s mouth on her and Y/N’s own ragged gasps. The way he drank her in, slurping her juices and groaning greedily against her, sent electric vibrations straight to her core.
“So beautiful…” he murmured. He watched her writhe beneath him, completely exposed for his eyes only. “Look at me, love.”
Y/N forced her eyes open, trying to obey even though the pleasure was completely fogging her mind. He slipped a thumb up to her clit, tracing agonizingly gentle circles that made her see stars. Through the haze, she looked down and saw him holding up his other hand. His fingers were perfectly curved in a steady arch.
“Remember, love, curve the fingers,” Benedict coaxed, his eyes locking onto hers. “It gives you precision.”
Right, this was part of her piano lesson.
His mouth brushed against her inner thigh, before a wicked smile spread across his lips. “Do you want me to show you how?”
Y/N nodded helplessly, completely lost to her desire. She watched as Benedict tucked his other fingers away, leaving only his index and middle fingers extended. He pressed the tips gently against her lower lip before sliding them deep inside her mouth.
She wasted no time sucking on them eagerly, her mind flashed back to the exact way she had choked on his length the night before.
“Fuck, Y/N, you feel so good, love,” he rasped, his eyes darkening.
Before she could say anything, Benedict pulled his hand away. Y/N let out a soft whine, her chest heaving as she already craved the intoxicating feeling of having any part of him stuffed inside her mouth.
Her protest died in her throat when he plunged his fingers inside her dripping centre, deliciously stretching her out. The squelches alone sound filthy and loud as she begins to feel her core tightening, building a sharp knot of anticipation deep inside her.
Already overwhelmed by the waves of pleasure, she gasped as Benedict’s mouth found her clit again. Each flick of his tongue drew a new, breathy moan from her lips. He was relentless, curving his fingers inside Y/N until he struck the exact depth that made her vision go white. He pounded against the sensitive spot again and again, driving her closer and closer to the edge, all while his mouth stayed locked on her cunt, drinking her in.
Y/N found herself lost in the intensity of the moment, every sensation heightened. Benedict kept fingering her dripping cunt, knuckle-deep, pushing the pace until she finally broke, the world spinning around her as she surrendered to the feeling of her becoming completely undone. He kept his fingers inside her until she felt too sensitive and helplessly tried to move away from him.
"You alright there, love?" Benedict smirked. He leaned up to kiss her mouth, sharing the slick taste of her own release between them.
“You weren’t kidding about precision…” Y/N managed to get out, completely dazed, trying to recover from the wave that had just crashed over her.
The warmth suddenly vanished, and a shock of icy water snapped Y/N right back to the present. She had stayed in her head so long that the hot water was completely gone. Shivering, she groaned and rested her forehead against the wet wall.
Great, now she was going to be late.
She scrambled through the rest of her morning routine. She threw on fresh clothes, stuffed some more into her bag along with her essentials, and rushed out the door.
Her phone was completely dead. The battery had given up overnight, and she had forgotten to plug it in before her long shower. Thankfully though, she brought her charger now. She’d plug it in the moment she reached the studio.
***
When Y/N stepped on set, she immediately went straight to her dresser and knew she was in deep trouble.
Bea was waiting right by the door. Her arms were tightly crossed, and her expression was deadly.
“I’m here! So sorry, Bea.”
Her makeup artist stared at her for a moment before her features softened just a bit. “You’re very lucky I like you. How was the piano practice?”
The question nearly made Y/N choke. “Great! I perfected it… all by myself.”
“Of course, who else would be — ” Bea narrowed her eyes immediately, a slow smirk spreading across her face. “Unless…”
“Don’t even start. I’m already late,” she pleaded.
Bea didn't say a word and instead just stared at her with a knowing look.
Y/N folded within seconds. “Fine, I’ll tell you later.”
Bea instantly lit up and gestured for her to sit on the chair so she could begin. She sat down with a sigh of relief, immediately plugging her dead phone into the outlet beneath the counter.
The screen lit up. Battery: 1%. It had barely survived the weekend, and honestly, neither had she.
Instantly, her phone began to vibrate wildly. Notifications, mentions, and text messages flooded the screen so fast she could barely read the names.
Y/N blinked in confusion. It all seemed incredibly excessive than usual, but before she could open a single app, the door swung open.
Chelsea poked her head inside the room. “You’re finally here! The director wants me to come get you.”
“Give me five minutes,” Bea negotiated, waving a makeup brush. “I’ll just fix this one part over here, and then we can continue when we get there.”
Chelsea nodded, but then her gaze shifted to Y/N, looking oddly amused. “By the way, did Asher contact you over the weekend?”
“Yeah, Saturday, I think.” She responded offhandedly.
“Oh, okay. So I guess everything’s fine then?”
“Yeah, I think so. Don’t worry, already warned him about spoilers,” she assured the young production assistant.
But Chelsea just gave her a weird, puzzled look. And when she wanted to ask her about it, the door swung open yet again.
Benedict stepped inside this time.
The sight of him instantly sent a wave of warmth through her chest. Bea was so stunned by his sudden appearance in Y/N’s dressing room that their tight schedule slipped her mind completely. She couldn't fault her makeup artist for staring though. After all, she herself wasn't immune to his presence either.
“Mike sent me,” Benedict announced with a grin.
Y/N sighed under her breath, “Traitor.”
"He was concerned you’d vanished, love." His eyes crinkled in a smile, and she playfully stuck her tongue out at him.
The interaction left Bea entirely frozen. Meanwhile, Chelsea looked between them, her head tilting in that way that meant she didn't have all the facts, but she definitely suspected something was unfolding right before them.
Y/N used the distraction to snatch up her script from the counter. "Right. Let’s get going before he sends the whole cast after me."
As they headed towards the door, she stopped and looked back. “Aren’t you coming?”
Benedict didn't move. His eyes tracked from the door back to the empty chair. “Actually, if it’s alright with you, I might steal your dressing room for a bit.”
She paused, her laughter soft but curious. “For what?”
“A nap. Mike said he only has your scenes for the rest of the day anyway.”
His mouth twitched as he went on. “And I was rather busy this weekend, remember?”
The wink that followed nearly made her trip over her own feet.
“In fact, I wouldn’t mind you accompanying me, love,” Benedict teased, clearly enjoying himself.
She could see in her periphery how her friends' eyes went wide as the puzzle pieces clicked into place. She was going to have some serious explaining to do… not today though.
“What’s happening?” she heard Chelsea ask Bea under her breath.
Y/N panicked and found herself rushing towards the door, eager to escape as fast as her legs would take her. She didn't even need to look back to see Benedict looking all smug and her friends bursting with so many questions. She could still hear his soft chuckle and her friends whispering as she tried to get away.
***
The rest of the day was a blur that left Y/N with no time to think. Take after take, she poured everything into her performance. Side scenes were waiting, but most of the hours were spent on the piano scene.
Fortunately, all the practice she went through this weekend paid off. When Mike finally called it a wrap on the piano sequence, the entire crew broke into applause.
Y/N let out a sigh of relief, despite her hands feeling like they might fall off pretty soon.
“You did it, ma grande vedette!” the director grinned.
“Told you we’d get there.” She beamed right back at him. She checked the clock. It was just after seven.
Perfect.
She and Benedict could still make their dinner reservation. They might be a few minutes late, but the restaurant was just around the corner anyway.
After thanking everyone and bidding them good night, she practically floated back to her dressing room, eager to change into the outfit she had packed that morning for their date. She couldn’t stop herself from smiling like an idiot now that everything was finally falling into place.
When Y/N opened the door, the room was empty. There was no sign of the tall, handsome British man who had been sleeping in her quarters earlier.
Glancing down on the table, she noticed Bea had already slipped her phone into her bag. She had accidentally left it during her rush to escape the morning chaos earlier.
Huh, maybe he got bored of waiting and went somewhere.
Curious to see if he’d left her a message, Y/N grabbed her phone. She couldn't help but smile at her lock screen, it’s a photo of them in Paris on premiere night. She remembered that night so well, that was the first time she felt seen and proud of the work they had done together, with the way their fans were showing them their love and support.
While reminiscing that happy memory, she unlocked the screen, hoping for good news.
Or maybe he had just gone ahead to save their reserved table?
But the latest text waiting among hundreds of unread alerts crushed that hope instantly.
LondonBoy👑: Sorry, forgot I had prior engagements. Cheers.
Y/N stared at the screen, a terrible, hollow feeling washed over her. She couldn't take her eyes off that single word ‘cheers’. She could feel the cold indifference radiating from the tone of his message. Her throat tightened, making it hard to swallow as reality set in.
The date was off.
It was embarrassing to admit how long she had waited to get to this point with him. The fact that he could just casually cancel on her and the reaction it brought out from her terrified her. She hadn't realized just how much power he held over her heart until he broke it… once again.
A familiar, unwelcome panic began to creep into her system. It was the exact same anxious attachment that had taken root inside her after Bridgerton. Since their moment together on the balcony, and the way he held her that night seemed so genuine, as if he really cared for her.
If she was going to be honest, she did detect that something was off when he said he would keep in touch, it almost sounded like a line, but she still believed his words. Now that she thought about it, she supposes that’s all they really were though… only words. Apparently, they don’t hold much weight for him.
However, despite all that, she still waited for him, only for him to completely vanish from her life as soon as she got back to Sydney.
Now, looking at her phone, she couldn't stop the spiralling thought that maybe she had done something wrong again this time.
Another part of her simply couldn't believe she was trapped in the exact same nightmare, right back to square one.
Pressing her fingers to the corners of her eyes, Y/N forced the tears back. She refused to let this happen again. She remembered the agony of checking her phone every five minutes and making sure the volume was up, praying for a call that never came.
She even asked her agent to get back to her instantly if any of her castmates try to reach out. She never gave Ava any specific name, but she suspected her agent already knew exactly who she was holding out for.
This time will be different.
She was done waiting for months just for things to get slightly better, only for him to break her heart all over again.
If he thought he could make promises, build up her hopes, be in a domestic bubble all weekend together and then brush her off so easily, he was dead wrong. She may be hurting, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her emotionally crushed.
Those painful months of waiting for Benedict had taught her one valuable thing: she could survive this, whatever kind of situationship they’re currently in. It might hurt like hell, but she would live.
Tomorrow, she will get her answers. And those prior engagements of his better be worth it.
Pairing: Luke Thompson x Reader [Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Summary: The Bridgerton Season 4 press junket is officially over. While Y/N becomes emotional at the end of the season, Luke tries to cheer her up with ice cream, reality TV, and sweet words.
Seems like the perfect plan, until off-script Luke says the wrong thing at the exact wrong time, unleashing total chaos.
Interviewer: What has been your favourite part about working with each other and what have you learned from each other?
Y/N: Too much.
Luke: Yeah… A lot.
Y/N: Oh no…
Luke: I think my favourite — what?
Y/N: OH, NO...
Luke: It's over?
Y/N: It's over.
Luke: It's over… No, no… It'II never be over. We'll always be Benedict and Sophie. That's my favorite thing, maybe. It’s that actually in a strange kind of way like that's never going to end. Like we’ll always have been these two people doing this show and no one else has done that. No one else has played these characters.
Y/N: It's really the beginning, isn't it?
Luke: It really is.
Y/N: I'm sorry. I’m like, all hormonal today. It's really… It's really a time.
Luke: It's wonderful, but it's true. I think that is my favorite thing. I think l'll hold on to the fact that… Oh, we did it. We did it together.
Y/N: Yeah.
Luke: Yeah, it’s just us.
Y/N: …and it's a gift
Luke: Yeah…
Y/N: And it’s a memory I'll always cherish.
Luke: Agreed.
Y/N: Yeah.
Interviewer: I don't even know where to go from there now...
Y/N: Neither do I!
Everyone in the room laughed, and the rest of the interviews followed in a long chain. The day kept moving until they finally wrapped up their very last one for the day. Actually, scratch that, they were officially finished, not just for today, but for the whole season.
This was their very last press junket day after all.
After months of filming, daily media interviews, and seeing the same faces every single hour, it was all finally over. Y/N smiled for the cameras, hugged the crew members she knew best, and thanked everyone around her. She had done exactly what she was supposed to do.
The only exception was a certain silvery, green-eyed brunet, whom she avoided like the plague.
Once she safely locked herself inside her dressing room later that evening, she finally let her guard down. She wanted to sit with her emotions and feel everything completely. Right now, she just needed to let it all out. There was no dramatic sobbing, only quiet tears sliding down her cheeks. It was the gentle kind of crying that happens when a good chapter finally closes.
Then, a soft knock sounded at the door.
“Y/N, are you alright?”
She instantly recognized Luke’s voice.
“I’m fine,” she called back.
“Are you, love?”
She laughed weakly through her tears. “I guess n-not really...” she choked out.
“Would you like me to take you home?”
Home.
Ever since she had arrived in London for the press tour, ‘home’ just meant a cold hotel room in the city. Realizing that suddenly made her feel even lonelier.
“No, it’s alright,” she answered softly. “You can go home though. Thank you.”
When Luke didn't reply, a sudden wave of regret hit her. She wanted to call out his name, but the heaviness inside her was too suffocating, trapping the words in her throat.
She didn’t want him to see her this way anyway, especially when he was mostly the reason for her tears.
She spent another half hour lost in memories, fighting to regain control. Finally, Y/N took a deep breath, touched up her makeup as best she could, and opened the dressing room door.
Instead of an empty hallway, Luke was sitting right there on the floor. He nearly lost his balance, having leaned his weight against the door this whole time.
He had been waiting for her.
Instantly, Y/N’s eyes welled up again. “Oh no, not again…” she muttered, desperately tapping the corners of her eyes to hold back a heavy sob. She can’t imagine what he thinks of her now. She was completely overwhelmed by the end of her very first season, while he effortlessly survived this cycle every single year, after every end of a season.
Luke stood up the moment he caught his balance, taking a hesitant step toward her. The second her lower lip began to tremble, he closed the remaining distance and wrapped his arms tightly around her.
“I know, love. I know…” he murmured into her hair.
She buried her face in his shoulder. “I didn’t think it would hurt this much. I’m sorry.”
“There's nothing to be sorry for, Y/N,” he said softly.
She pulled back slightly, a sudden realization hitting her. “Wait... did you hear me crying through the door this whole time?”
Luke offered a small, teasing smile. “After today? I’ve gotten used to it, really.”
That managed to make her laugh.
Luke smiled against her hair. “Do you want me to take you back to your hotel?”
Y/N hesitated, then shook her head. “I don’t really want to be alone right now.”
His expression softened instantly. “Right. Of course.” He considered their options for a moment. “Would you like to come eat ice cream with me?”
She pulled back, looking at him with a confused blink.
When she didn’t answer, Luke gave a small, sheepish grin. “I know you prefer ice lollies — er, sorry, icy poles, but I’ve only got ice cream at my flat…”
A warm, fuzzy feeling spread through Y/N’s chest, and she had a strong suspicion it had absolutely nothing to do with the ice cream.
“We can also watch anything you want,” he offered. “Maybe binge-watch some old Top Model seasons?”
She smiled. “Now you’re speaking my language.”
“Well, come on then,” Luke said. He laughed softly, pleased by her quick change in mood, and guided her toward the studio exit.
For the first time all evening, the heavy weight in her chest dissipated into the chilly London spring air.
***
Despite its massive size, Luke’s apartment was incredibly welcoming. Every corner screamed his name. A grand piano dominated one side of the living room, balanced by floor-to-ceiling shelves of books and an impressive vinyl collection. A plush, inviting sofa sat right in the center, facing a massive television screen.
In all their months of filming together, Y/N had never been here. Her co-star was known to be quite private, keeping his personal life completely under wraps.
“Make yourself comfortable, love. I’ll be right back.”
Sinking into the corner of the couch, Y/N let her eyes wander. She wanted to commit everything into her memory: the piano, the books, the warm vibe. She doesn’t want to ever forget any experiences she has with him.
Over the last few weeks, her feelings for Luke had quietly shifted into more than just a platonic affection. The sudden realization that she wouldn't see him every day terrified her to her core. He had become her anchor, and she dreaded the heavy withdrawal waiting for her when she finally goes back home.
Luke returned a moment later, handing her one of the two ice cream bowls he was carrying. He plopped down into the cushion right beside her and flipped on the TV.
They spent the next hour lost in America’s Next Top Model. As the episodes rolled by, Y/N found herself resting her head against his shoulder, while his hand found her waist, tracing gentle, comforting circles.
Having worked so closely for so long, they were completely in sync. They knew each other's hidden quirks inside and out. The moment one of them felt anxious, the other instinctively knew exactly how to comfort them.
It was exactly why falling for him had been the easiest thing in the world.
Luke had been incredibly attentive to her all night. Seeing that her bowl was empty, he gave her a playful smile. “More ice cream, mademoiselle?”
Y/N shook her head. She didn’t actually want another bowl of death by chocolate, but refusing meant this perfect night would have to end. The ice cream flavour seems too fitting for the current situation. She found it unfair that her entire world could be upended just because she was simply too full.
How tragic.
“You know…” Luke started.
“Hm?” She looked up at him, as she snapped out of her reverie.
“I’m actually rather glad today was our last press day.”
A metaphorical record scratch echoed loudly in Y/N's mind.
She stared at Luke as he continued to smile at the TV. It was as if his casual confession didn’t just completely shattered her world. A world that currently consisted entirely of him.
She froze, her body going completely numb. All she could manage to squeeze out was a quiet, "Oh."
Right then, one of the models on the screen slipped on the runway. Luke, his eyes still glued to the television, chuckled with amusement. “I’m sorry,” he laughed, “I feel absolutely terrible for laughing at that.”
Y/N quietly set her bowl aside. In a single second, the warmth in her chest evaporated. Her mind began to spiral out of control before she could even try to stop it.
Of course he's glad.
He was notoriously private and hated social media, so she couldn't blame him for wanting it to be over. It meant freedom from the endless interviews and the blinding cameras.
Although she couldn’t help but think that maybe to him, it also meant he doesn’t have to keep up with the pretences anymore. That he can finally step out of this and be completely free from the role he’s playing.
Y/N had hoped that maybe Luke would miss her too, that he might struggle just as much with the idea of it all ending. She never imagined that her worst fear was exactly what he had been craving this entire time.
Reaching her absolute limit for the night, she stood up and grabbed her bag. “It’s late, I should probably get going.”
Luke frowned, completely caught off guard. “Wait, love, I thought you didn’t want to be alone.”
She didn’t respond, terrified that she might burst into tears all over again. She had already embarrassed herself far too much. Her only goal now was to escape.
She was already at the door when both of Luke’s arms suddenly wrapped around her waist, pulling her back.
A hot wave of anger started to envelope her slowly. Why was he holding her back? She didn’t understand why he had to subject her to anymore of this torture.
“Luke, let me go.” She forced the words past her gritted teeth, desperate to hold back her tears.
“No, not before you tell me what’s wrong. Why do you want to leave all of a sudden, love?”
She was completely exhausted by his mixed signals. The constant back-and-forth was giving her emotional whiplash, driving her closer and closer to her breaking point.
“Please, love. Tell me. What did I do wrong?” His voice cracked, and she could hear the genuine worry in his tone.
Y/N swallowed hard, fighting past the tightness in her throat to pull together a brave face. “Honestly, Luke, I just want to make things easier for us. For you, especially.”
When he felt her stop fighting against him, he let go of her waist and stepped around to block her path. He looked down into her eyes.
“Easier? By leaving me?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.
“Yes.” Y/N closed her eyes, physically feeling the hot tears about to spill over. She forced herself to blink them away, clinging to her anger like a shield as she crossed her arms to build a barrier between them.
“You’re glad it’s finally over, remember?” She threw his own words back at him. “Honestly, Luke, if that’s how you really feel, then why the hell did you even bring me here? You should have just left me alone so I could go back to my hotel. I might have been miserable, yeah, but I really thought you of all people would understand what I’m going through. I thought we were in this together.”
Y/N was furious with herself. She couldn’t keep her mouth shut long enough to save herself from complete personal ruin. She had never planned on confessing her feelings for him, especially not now, when he was clearly glad to be rid of her.
Pushing past him, she reached desperately for the doorknob. “Get out of the way, Luke,” she begged, as the tears finally spilled over and tracked down her cheeks. “Please, just let me leave with whatever tiny bit of dignity I still have left.”
“Of course, love,” Luke said, his expression devastatingly somber. “You can leave, and you can keep your dignity…”
Without warning, he sank to his knees at her feet, the absolute image of a broken man. “Or you can have mine.”
“What are you doing? Luke, please get up.”
“No. It seems I’ve caused you too much pain, Y/N. I am so sorry,” Luke murmured. The complete honesty in his eyes shattered what was left of her composure. “You must believe me, I never wanted to hurt you.”
The raw emotion in his tone nearly broke her heart all over again. “Whatever, fine,” she cried softly, tugging at his shoulders. “I forgive you. Just get up.”
“No. None of that 'whatever' or 'fine' nonsense,” he insisted, refusing to budge. “I want you to listen to me. Earlier in that interview today, when I said about what my favorite thing was... I wanted so badly to say you and me, not Sophie and Benedict. But I couldn't confess that on camera… No, not before I even had the courage to say it to you first.”
Y/N stood frozen. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, his words felt too good to be true.
“Y/N, love, can’t you see that I’ve always been in love with you?” Luke asked, his gaze locked onto hers. “On set, I constantly had to hold myself back from getting carried away. When it felt like you were returning my feelings, I was terrified. You’re such an incredible actress, that I nearly drove myself insane trying to figure out what was real and what was acting. During this press tour, I had to force myself to remember that there was a reporter or that there were other people in the room with us, because honestly, the only person I ever truly saw constantly was you.”
He slowly reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. When Y/N didn't pull away, he took her hand in both of his and finally stood up.
He caressed her hand gently between his. “But most importantly, the reason why I said I was glad today was the last day of the press tour... is because I can finally just be Luke, and not Benedict the character.”
Y/N’s heart hammered against her ribs.
“I love you, Y/N. I’ve been in love with you for months,” he whispered. “Please, if you’ll have me, I would very much like to be with you… and take you out to a proper dinner.”
Y/N’s vision blurred, but not from sadness this time. Hot tears of pure joy welled in her eyes. “Yes…” she said softly, as she threw herself into his arms, burying her face in his chest.
Luke let out a soft sigh, tightening his grip to pull her even closer, as if he never wanted to let her go.
“Now, I know we’ve already bypassed the usual steps, and technically you're my wife now according to the show's finale. But I still want to ask... would you be offended if I asked you to be my mistress — er, no, sorry, I meant girlfriend?”
Y/N let out a breathless laugh, her eyes still wet with tears.
“Ah, there she is,” Luke murmured, visibly relieved that she laughed and seemed to have forgiven him.
Y/N still couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but a wave of relief washed over her. Everything seemed finally right between them.
“You talk too much,” she murmured. She stood on her tiptoes, pulling him down further to close the distance between them, and mouthed her next words against his lips. “Just kiss me already.”
That was all the invitation Luke needed. He tangled his fingers in Y/N’s hair, pulling her into a breathless, heated kiss. His lips parted hers, begging for permission to deepen it, and she eagerly gave it to him. It was a million times better than they could have ever imagined. The realization that they had spent so much time pining like idiots only made their very first real kiss absolutely perfect.
Pairing: Benedict x Actress!Reader [Benedict as Luke Thompson and Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Content Warnings: Entire Chapter is a Flashback of Bridgerton S4 World Press Tour, Benedict’s POV, Mature language, Unresolved Feelings, Original interviews were slightly altered for narrative reasons, Loaded with contents either from Lukerin interviews/Benophie scenes
Summary: Two months after a whirlwind Bridgerton press tour, Y/N is finally ready to move on from her dreamy co-star, Benedict. Their tour was a blur of electric chemistry, endless laughter, lingering touches and facing each other so much that cameras only caught their side profiles (iykyk). When Y/N lands the lead role in a new movie, she expects a fresh start. Instead, the script reveals a familiar name tied to her past, forcing her to confront emotions she thought she had imagined. As fiction begins to mirror reality, Y/N must face the one question she’s been avoiding all along: was it ever real for him, too?
✨Masterlist
8 months ago…
Benedict was still reeling from the previous evening’s Bridgerton Season Four premiere.
Landing in France for the first leg of the world tour felt less like work and more like coming home. The familiar language drifting through airport terminals, the scent of fresh coffee spilling from cafés, the rhythm of a country that had shaped so much of his childhood, all of it settled warmly beneath his skin.
France had always been his sanctuary. Having Y/N here somehow made it better.
He couldn’t quite pinpoint when it had happened. Somewhere between filming and wrapping, her presence had become woven into the fabric of his days. Once she left, he found himself noticing her absence at an alarming rate.
He’d grown hopelessly addicted to seeing her every day. He missed making her laugh, stealing naps with his head in her lap between scenes, and bingeing dreadful reality TV over her shoulder on her mobile screen whenever filming dragged on.
Hell, he even missed those endless hours trapped in that ridiculous bathtub with those strange oils and disintegrating petals. Though if he was being entirely honest, he mostly missed the way she fit perfectly between his thighs, but that was beside the point.
When she flew back to Sydney after wrapping, he’d had little choice but to count down the days until the press tour began.
And now, the agonizing wait is finally over. Now she is in Paris with him.
And Benedict was in trouble… utterly in trouble. Because Y/N appeared entirely unaware of the effect she had on him.
The true danger lay in her new-found stillness. During filming, he’d grown used to her sweet reluctance, such as the sudden retreat of her fingers when their hands grazed, or the way she would look away if she caught him staring at her.
That distance is effectively gone now.
Instead, Y/N now gravitated toward him as if drawn by some invisible thread. If there was an empty seat beside him, she took it. If they entered a crowded room, she found him immediately. If she was tired, she’d simply lean against his shoulder as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
It was truly intoxicating.
It made him wonder about things… dangerous things. Things that he had absolutely no business wondering about.
Would she miss him when all of this was over? Would she treasure this strange little bubble they’d created together as much as he did?
To be perfectly honest, he hadn't the faintest idea and he would rather let it stay that way, ignorance being bliss and all.
By six in the morning, Paris was still half asleep.
The city drifted past the car windows in soft washes of blue and gold as they made their way through the quiet streets toward Star Academy.
Y/N sat beside him in the back seat. She was sitting far too close, not that Benedict had any intention of complaining. Every time the driver rounded a corner, their knees brushed, sending a quiet jolt straight through him.
He found himself pointing out familiar landmarks through the glass, sharing stories he hadn’t thought about in years. Places he’d visited as a boy. Cafés his family used to frequent. Streets he’d wandered down long before acting had become his profession.
Y/N listened to every word. Her sweet interest completely disarming him.
And that was his downfall.
There was something rather easy about being around her. The noise in his head quietened whenever she was nearby. The constant pressure of interviews, expectations, and public appearances simply faded into the background.
Being near her felt so safe, so entirely like his private haven, that the words escaped before he could stop them.
“You should stay,” he blurted out.
Y/N blinked and turned from the window to focus entirely on him. “Stay where?”
Benedict’s heart hammered against his ribs. He suddenly became quite nervous, the quiet space of the car now feeling rather small.
It took him a moment before he finally said, “In London.”
He thought he saw a hint of something soft cross her face, but it was likely just a trick of his own wishful thinking.
“Why?”
The simple question struck him squarely in the chest. And suddenly the terrifying reality of what he was asking settled over him all at once.
Why London?
She was correct to question him. He was asking her to cross oceans, to leave her home. Australia held her childhood, her family, and the friends she cherished above all else.
What right did he have to ask her to leave all of that behind?
Surely she wouldn’t give up her world for him, and he’d never ever be selfish enough to ask that of her. Besides, he was the only one in love here.
Wasn’t he?
Retreating into safer territory, Benedict forced a smile. “Well, the industry opportunities are quite brilliant, really,” he said, pivoting flawlessly. “There’s a massive theater scene, numerous film jobs, multiple connections...”
Y/N went quiet and looked away. The silence that followed felt louder than any argument. He could physically feel her pulling away from him, their cozy bubble evaporating into utter nothingness.
Had he completely misread her?
A sick feeling settled in his stomach. Moments ago she had looked at him as though she were waiting for something. And instead of giving her the truth, he had hidden behind career advice and professional opportunities.
Regret completely washed over him. He wanted nothing more than to reach out, to physically catch his words and pull them back into his throat.
But instead, he doubled down on the lie. “You’re still young, after all. I just think it’d be a brilliant move for your career, love.”
And not because I desperately want you to stay with me.
He didn’t dare voice out that last part.
Even without seeing her face, he could feel a heavy wave of disappointment radiating from her side of the seat. Benedict realized then he had royally fucked this up.
Absolutely brilliant.
When they arrived at Star Academy, it provided a welcome distraction, as it was remarkably difficult to wallow in self-inflicted misery while surrounded by such enthusiastic people. The interview was fun and the contestants were lovely.
For a brief hour, Benedict almost managed to forget the incident in the car.
But then one of the contestants turned toward Y/N and asked, “Where do you live now?”
“Where do I live now?” she repeated.
“Yeah, are you in Australia or in London?
Y/N didn't hesitate. “I'm still in Australia. Everyone's always asking me if I want to move to London or if I'm going to. And I say… no.”
Benedict’s heart slammed into his throat. He forced a smile, playing the part of the ever-supportive co-star, all while his own world started to crumble down.
The rejection stung like hell.
She hadn’t given him a flat ‘no’ earlier. She’d given him an opportunity and he’d sufficiently wasted it.
“I think for me,” Y/N continued, breaking his heart further along the process. “Sydney is where I have my family. It's where I have my friends. And to have a place that I can go back to that grounds me and reminds me of my people and where I came from, I think it's always such a good reminder.” She paused, a bright smile breaking across her face. “And it's nice because they put me up and I don’t have to pay rent.”
Everyone laughed, so he forced himself to mimic them. He smiled, he chuckled, a perfect gentleman on cue. But inside, the joke was entirely on him.
All he could hear vibrating in his chest was the devastating reality: Australia’s home, not London and certainly not him.
The host translated Y/N’s response into French for the contestants, before turning her attention to him.
“And Benedict? You live in London?”
He swallowed hard, forcing his press-tour charm back into his features as the cameras zoomed in. “Yeah, I mean I love doing screen, and actually I've fallen in love more and more with doing screen,” he paused. “But theatre was always my first love… and I don't think there's anywhere quite like London for theatre. And if there's always the opportunity to do it there, there's no reason to move.”
The drive back to the hotel was a suffocating affair.
Benedict spent most of it staring straight ahead, his jaw tight. He was entirely trapped in his own head, collecting all the brilliant things he should have said to her earlier instead.
But before he could gather his courage, Y/N found her earbuds first and slipped them into place. Just like that, the conversation died before it had even begun. She gave him a fleeting, polite smile and somehow that hurt him more than if she’d been angry.
As Paris drifted past outside and the River Seine reflected ribbons of gold beneath the sun, Benedict almost laughed at the absolute absurdity of it all. Leave it to him to be utterly heartbroken in the one city built for lovers.
***
Luckily, the silence that had settled between them in France didn’t last forever.
Thank the heavens for that, because Benedict was fast approaching the limits of his sanity. He could have handled anger or disappointment. But what he could not handle was politeness.
Polite Y/N was absolutely terrifying.
She smiled on cue, nodded politely, and answered his questions, yet somehow managed to make him feel like the loneliest man in the world.
Fortunately, somewhere between crossing continents and landing back in London, the normalcy returned. The cities they visited along the way were stunning, a massive blur of press calls and fan events. The beautiful chaos of it all served as the perfect distraction.
They were both so completely overwhelmed by the schedule that the unspoken tension from Paris was quietly swept under the rug. Perhaps momentarily, but Benedict wasn’t about to dig that up.
The laughter returned first, closely followed by the familiar comfort of their banter.
It didn't take long for them to start sitting far too close during interviews, sharing secret jokes and laughing until they were absolutely wheezing.
Try as he might, Benedict simply could not stop staring. Every time Y/N answered an interviewer’s question, or even so much as breathed, his eyes drifted right back to her. He was genuinely tracking toward a severe case of neck injury from the way he’s constantly looking sideways towards her.
And yet, he couldn't bring himself to care. He couldn't risk missing a single moment: the flash of her smile, her clever answers, the warmth of her laugh. And when her gaze locked onto his, his heart stuttered. It made him wonder, against his own better judgment, if he’s not entirely alone in this freefall after all.
He loved it best when she pulled out her mobile to show him something from the internet, given that he lived entirely offline. Whether the clip was from Instagram or TikTok was anyone's guess. Frankly, he doesn’t have a clue what the difference was between the two, but he absolutely adored it when she casually pressed herself into his side.
Whenever Y/N was near him, he found it next to impossible for him to resist touching her. He can’t help but hold her hand a little longer than necessary, caress the small of her back, squeeze her waist when he thought no one was looking or even rest a palm against her bare thigh.
He would never admit to her how much he craves her warmth and proximity all the fucking time. But he had ruined his chance once before and he was not about to risk doing that again.
Especially now since he felt as though Y/N had finally forgiven him. Right then and there, Benedict reached a quiet decision. If his tongue failed him when it came to confessing his love, he would let his actions speak for him instead.
Every single day. Every chance he could find.
He had almost crossed the line again earlier today though, shamelessly declaring that he owned Y/N’s rom-com era and that no one else could touch it.
Truthfully, he could only hope that if she saw how fiercely he cared for her, she would stay. And Benedict would finally, truly be enough for once.
***
The final panel of the tour took place at BFI Southbank. The auditorium was packed. Every seat was occupied and every corner was buzzing with anticipation.
Episode five had just screened to thunderous applause, and now they are sitting beneath the bright stage lights answering questions.
Both of Bridgerton’s show runner and executive producer joined them on the panel, with the lovely interviewer from Shondaland leading the event. They ran through the usual drill, sharing favorite scenes and funny stories.
Benedict barely heard his own voice, far too busy drinking in the sight of Y/N talking. She looked so mesmerizing, so ethereal...istg. Looking at her all the time was quickly becoming his favourite pastime.
When it was finally his turn to speak, he was just wrapping up a thought about his character’s emotional arc when the host hit him with a follow-up he hadn’t anticipated.
“I've got to ask you, what's been your favourite moment in season 4?”
Before his internal filter could stop him, the truth came rushing out of his mouth. “If I could wrap every single moment spent with Y/N, I'd say that.” He said, his voice echoing through the crowded auditorium. “No, it's true. She's…she’s the absolute best. She's been just the perfect — God, I'm going to get emotional...”
The looming reality of the tour ending crashed down on him, and a fierce panic gripped his chest. He wasn't ready for this to be over.
He was nowhere near ready to let her go.
He cleared his throat, pushing past the lump in his chest. “She's the perfect acting partner and I couldn't have asked for anything better. She's just wonderful and she's got a very, very bright career ahead of her.” Risking everything in front of the flashing cameras, he reached over and placed a reassuring, lingering hand on her knee.
“We're wrapping our press junket so it's getting emotional.” Y/N joked to the audience, smoothly covering for his sudden burst of vulnerability. “It's been a long week. Hormones are running high. It's a lot.”
The interviewer seized on the moment instantly. “What's so lovely is that you can really see that when you're on tour and everything, you can see you're genuinely, really good friends, aren't you?”
Friends. Right, come on now. He scolded himself.
It was a brutal reminder of where he stood in this fantastical, non-existent relationship he had deluded himself into.
Benedict kept his professional smile pinned in place for the rest of the panel event, completely hiding the agony bruising him from the inside out.
***
The wrap party that night was entirely unforgettable. It was the ultimate celebration, the very last time they would all be in the same room before a new season starts.
The music was loud, the champagne was endless, and the venue was packed with laughing cast and crew. Someone was already crying into their drink. It felt like the proper end of an era.
Benedict drifted through the crowd, putting on his best casual face while his eyes scanning every corner in a desperate, quiet search for Y/N.
“She said she needed some fresh air. Try the balcony.”
Benedict blinked, turning to find Jenna, Y/N’s best friend, whom he’d finally met in person only an hour ago. She was looking at him with a thoroughly amused smirk.
“Right. Thank you,” he said, offering a breathless smile. He gave up on any pretense of acting casual. Apparently, his desperation was quite transparent anyway. His feet were already carrying him toward the balcony doors as fast as he could manage without actually breaking into a sprint.
Benedict stepped through the heavy doors and found Y/N standing entirely alone, with the whole of London glittering beyond her. The city stretched endlessly into the dark horizon, bright and beautiful.
She caught his movement and looked up as he took his place right next to her.
“There you are,” she murmured.
“Looking for me?” he asked smoothly, as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour desperately searching for her.
She turned her head, offering him a brilliant, knowing look. “Unfortunately.”
Benedict smiled, his heart finally slowing its frantic pace. They let the quiet stretch between them, just enjoying each other’s company. There was no press, no cameras. Both stood together, completely content just to exist in the same space.
But just like the fateful masquerade ball they had spent weeks filming, an invisible countdown was ticking away beneath their temporary state of bliss.
Y/N broke the silence first, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. “My flight leaves in two days,” she said, her eyes drifting back to the city lights.
A cold, suffocating wave of panic crashed over him, stealing the air from his lungs. Benedict knew she had to go back eventually, but two days? He wasn't remotely prepared for that.
“You’re leaving?”
Y/N’s brow furrowed slightly in confusion. “Well… yes.”
He knew he had never stood a chance of convincing her to stay. But he had foolishly assumed they would at least have a little more time.
“You will keep in touch, right?” she asked quietly. She was looking up at him expectantly, entirely unaware that she’d just permanently shattered whatever’s left of him.
Benedict couldn’t bear to look into her eyes. It simply hurt too much, so he turned his face toward the sprawling city instead.
After swallowing the heavy lump in his throat, he relied entirely on his years of theater experience to deliver the line flawlessly. “Of course, love. Why would I not?”
He felt Y/N’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist, her face pressing against his shoulder blades. Benedict turned to face her, holding her close. In that devastating moment, he was intensely grateful for his height. He held her tight against his chest, anchoring her there so she couldn't look up, so she couldn’t see the panic, the heartbreak or how desperately he wanted to ask her not to leave him.
They stayed perfectly still under the London stars, stretching every remaining second for as long as she would allow him, knowing fully well that this was their final midnight.
***
Two days later, his phone lit up the dark room.
Y/N: Back in Sydney. Sent you a message as soon as I landed just as you asked. ;p
Benedict stared at the screen, the playful tone of her message cutting through him like a blade. He squeezed his eyes shut, stopping his fingers from typing ‘come back’ and instantly locking his phone.
He sat alone in silence. His flat, much like his entire existence, had become too quiet, too empty.
He stopped going out altogether, ghosting his friends, dodging his family, and rejecting every single event invite. His theater ambitions just quietly fizzled out, and the excitement for any future roles faded into nothing. Even picking up a sketchbook was a challenge.
And worst was when he’s playing the piano, as all he wanted to play was their song from Bridgerton which he already mastered after a few attempts.
He missed Y/N everyday.
For Benedict, everything seemed strangely colourless now, as though someone had quietly turned down the vibrance in his life.
Days passed in a blur, and the most devastating part was that nobody truly noticed. Everyone simply assumed he was taking some well-deserved time off to rest after the exhausting press tour. Recovering in a safe, quiet bubble.
Only Benedict knew the bitter truth.
And yet, he would never tell a single soul. He had kept his mouth shut, he had played it safe, and now the curtain had fallen. He had missed his absolute final chance with Y/N.
Perhaps she’d read him like a book and his obvious feelings had properly terrified her. The moment it all got too real, she ran. She couldn’t get away fast enough though, packing her bags in two days flat just to escape to Sydney and get on with her life.
He may have been just the afterthought she’d left behind.
As the days stretched into weeks, Benedict gradually learned how to function again. Or at least he became exceptionally good at pretending.
He was a professional after all.
One day, a new script arrived from his manager but Benedict wasn’t remotely interested. He was seconds away from throwing it straight into the recycling bin when a single name captured his attention.
Y/N was going to be the lead.
Benedict saw this as a lifeline. And for weeks, he finally feels like he’s coming up for air. He can breathe again.
He was done living in a lie. He needed to see her again. The risk, the heartbreak, the messy complications… none of it mattered anymore. He would accept whatever crumbs of her presence he could get.
Now that Y/N was heading to Montreal, Benedict vowed not to hesitate for a single second. He would cross an entire ocean just to exist in her orbit, content to simply be near her, even if he exists solely in her periphery.
