Pairing: Benedict x Actress!Reader [Benedict as Luke Thompson and Y/N as Yerin Ha inspired]
Content Warnings: Fluffy-☁️-fluff in this chapter, Suggestive themes are barely there (much like Gregory Bridgerton’s facial hair jk), Song mentioned is actual song from TV show, 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
The studio had that strange end-of-day energy where everything felt half-asleep. Crew members moved slower, voices softer, lights dimming one section at a time as everyone packed up for the weekend to rest.
Y/N sat perched on the edge of the piano bench, script resting beside her, while Bea zipped up her makeup case nearby.
“Are you absolutely sure?” Chelsea asked for what felt like the third time, hovering by the doorway with her coat half-on.
“Yes,” Y/N laughed. “I promise I’ll survive being left alone with a piano.”
Chelsea frowned. “That sounds ominous when you say it like that.”
Ian snorted from where he stood waiting for Bea. The makeup artist looped an arm through his and sighed dramatically. “Honestly, if Asher were here, he’d absolutely volunteer to stay.”
Chelsea nodded immediately. “Yeah, he’d bring snacks and not eat them,” she then smiled sheepishly.
“Maybe even bring a full charcuterie board,” Ian added.
Bea gasped. “Sorry, what? You actually know what charcuterie is and you’re taking me out tonight for burgers and poutine?”
Y/N laughed at their teasing banter, but the amusement faded quickly.
It was Friday night, and the absolute last thing she wanted was to spend her entire weekend chained to a piano. Unfortunately, she couldn’t keep putting this off. The deadline was staring her right in the face, and she needed to perform the piece flawlessly for a scene next week.
Meanwhile, the missing-in-action Asher was currently somewhere in California, trapped in an endless cycle of promotional interviews for the Endgame re-release. Apparently, it was all in preparation for some massive Marvel blockbuster arriving later in the year. At least, that was how he’d dramatically explained it.
A handful of chaotic texts over the last few days confirmed he was perfectly fine.
She, however, absolutely was not. She couldn’t afford to waste another second.
“Guys, you know I love all of you,” Y/N said, gesturing toward the exit, “but you have to leave now so I can actually get started.”
Bea’s eyes narrowed immediately, a slow, brilliant grin spreading across her face like a lightbulb had just gone off. “You know who could not only accompany you, but actually teach you? It’s — ”
“Alright, that’s enough from you, missy.” Y/N cut her off so quickly it nearly gave Chelsea whiplash. The young PA looked so confused.
“Ian, drinks are on me tonight. Please do me a favour and take her away.” She said it jokingly, but only partially. The last thing she needed was Bea opening that particular can of worms when she was supposed to be focusing.
After one final round of hugs and goodbyes, her friends finally left. Leaving her alone in the quiet studio. She took a deep breath, rolled her shoulders back, and stepped toward the piano, ready to face the music.
Time to work.
An hour of practice disappeared in a blur. When she finally checked her phone, it was nearly ten o’clock. And somehow, she still had so much ground to cover. The scene itself wasn’t especially complicated, but adding the piano into the mix made it more complex.
To be fair, she had played when she was younger. She’d assumed it would be like riding a bike. Apparently, she’d been wildly optimistic.
Y/N attempted to play the same section again and again until she finally dropped her hands frustratingly into her lap and that’s when she heard voices echoing nearby.
“…told you they were on the stage steps.”
“Sorry to trouble you. I completely forgot to pack any of my spares.”
Y/N froze. Her fingers lifted instantly from the keys. If she remained perfectly still, perhaps she could become invisible.
Benedict walked in alongside one of the crew members, Sam, who pointed triumphantly toward the stage. “Your glasses.”
There they were. Exactly where Benedict had apparently abandoned them. He sighed as he retrieved them.
“One day,” he said, slipping them on, “I shall have them glued to my face so I may never lose them again.”
Sam laughed and then stopped. He spotted Y/N. “Oh! You’re still here.”
Y/N lifted one hand weakly. “Yes. I hope that’s alright.”
Sam checked his watch. “Er… I’m actually locking up in fifteen. Weekend protocol, sorry, Y/N.”
Oh, fair enough.
“Right.” She tried not to visibly deflate.
Sam gave her a sympathetic smile. “I’ll swing back.”
And then he disappeared, leaving Benedict and Y/N alone in the suddenly quieter studio.
Benedict watched her for a moment before speaking. “You look as though someone’s just informed you Christmas has been cancelled.”
“I finally had momentum.”
“Were you? Because I could hear you playing and — ”
She shot him a deadly look.
Benedict raised both hands immediately. “Nevermind then.”
“No, you’re right.” Y/N sighed in defeat. She looked back at the piano. “I’ll just make a request so they’ll let me rehearse here over the weekend.”
“You don’t need to go through all that fuss. I’ve got one back at my flat.” Benedict shrugged like this was the most ordinary thing to say. “I requested one from production.”
Y/N stared.
“You requested a piano?”
“Yes.”
“For your flat?”
“Yes.”
“…who are you?”
His mouth twitched. “Someone who is beginning to regret offering.”
“You’re sure it’s okay?”
Truth be told, Y/N doesn’t think this might be a good idea for both of them but she didn't really have much of a choice. She doesn’t want to burden their director, or force some poor staff member to spend their weekend unlocking and relocking the studio just for her.
Benedict adjusted his glasses, a faint, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Come on now, love. I can’t quite believe I’m the one having to twist your arm when I’m only trying to help.”
“I just feel guilty,” she admitted, quieter now. “I don’t want you cancelling weekend plans… or dates… just because of me.”
The teasing faded from Benedict’s face instantly, leaving his features entirely soft. He stepped toward her, his hand sliding effortlessly into hers until their fingers were fully intertwined.
“Right then, let’s go.” He grabbed her bag with his free hand and gently pulled her along behind him. “We don’t want Sam staying late because of us, now do we?”
Her heart was suddenly beating far too fast. She tried to blame it on the stress of the performance, but as his fingers tightened around hers, she knew it had absolutely nothing to do with the piano piece.
***
The last time Y/N had been in Benedict’s flat, she hadn’t exactly had the time to actually appreciate it.
Now, seeing it properly, the whole place was warm, quiet, books everywhere, music sheets stacked in slightly chaotic piles. She sees a record player in one corner. It seems like he enjoys staying here rather than going out, unlike her and her friends.
Everything in this place is so him.
And then her eyes landed near the sofa where she can see a pair of Birkenstocks.
Her Birkenstocks.
Well, technically his but the same ones she’d given him.
“You still wear those.”
Benedict glanced down. “Of course. You gave them to me. They tend to follow wherever I go.”
Y/N tried very hard not to overthink that sentence. She can’t start overanalyzing what they mean to each other over a pair of sandals. What does that say about her?
Benedict led her into his study, where the piano sat near the window. Beautiful and intimidating.
Y/N sat down reluctantly, lifted her hands toward the keys but then stopped halfway.
Benedict leaned against the doorway. “What’s wrong, love?”
“I only have until Monday.”
“…and?”
“I don’t think I can pull this off.” Her fingers hovered cautiously above the keys without pressing down and making a sound.
Benedict crossed the room and sat right next to her. He began to play a familiar melody, one that sounded wistful and heartwarming at the same time. She swears she’s heard this before…
“That,” Benedict said thoughtfully as his fingers moved effortlessly across the keys, “is your self-doubt speaking.”
“And you’re forgetting one vital detail.” He continued and then glanced at her. “I happen to be an exceptionally good teacher.”
He flashed her a smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling warmly. He always looked his happiest when he was lost in the music. “Any clue as to what song I’m playing?”
Y/N instinctively began shaking her head, but as the melody clicked in her mind, a slow, radiant smile spread across her face. She did know this song.
“It’s our song…” she whispered, a sudden, overwhelming happiness flooding her chest.
“Yes, right you are,” Benedict smiled, a soft warmth in his voice. “It’s called ‘A Simple Dance Lesson’. I always thought our scenes in Bridgerton felt a little more special whenever they used this.”
She couldn't help but be deeply moved by the gorgeous melody. There was something profoundly intimate about it, the kind of music that felt like a living memory, wrapping around them both.
Pressed close beside him on the narrow bench, Y/N lost all track of the notes she’d been worrying about. Instead, she watched his skilled fingers move with effortless grace, her mind suddenly curious about what else those hands could do.
Heat crawled into her cheeks. Y/N quickly redirected her attention back toward the sheet music, before her imagination could go any further.
Benedict noticed her being distracted, so he slowed down and let the music fade. Turning to face her on the small bench, he leaned in and pressed his forehead against hers, then he closed his eyes and sighed, as if he’s enjoying this quiet moment with her.
Staring at his face, Y/N was struck by how beautiful he was up close. He looked so relaxed, so entirely at ease. Her eyes drifted lower, locking onto his lips.
But then Benedict opened his eyes, slowly pulling back to create a bit of space between them. “Right,” he murmured, breaking the silence. “You're here to practice, so we should probably get started.”
That snapped her back to reality. “Yes, you're right,” she said quickly, nodding a few times too many to seem focused and eager to learn.
“Alright, fingers in position… Relax your wrist, love.” He covered her hand with his own, his touch light and reassuring as he guided her hand with a calm, practiced ease.
Y/N was entirely out of her depth, hyper-aware of his chest pressing close to her shoulder as he guided her hands. Still, she swallowed her nervousness and kept playing.
After more than an hour, Benedict watched her fumble a chord she’d gotten right ten minutes earlier. A clear sign she was completely running on empty.
“Break,” Benedict announced, nudging her shoulder playfully.
“Thank God," Y/N sighed. She pulled her hands from the keys, shaking her wrists dramatically.
Benedict stood up from the bench, rolling his shoulders to shake off the stiffness. "I'll go make us some tea," he said, gesturing toward the living room. "Go turn the telly on and relax.”
Y/N didn’t need telling twice. She collapsed onto the sofa and picked up the remote. As she flicked through channels, the opening chords of La La Land caught her attention.
Perfect.
Maybe if she watched closely enough, she might actually subconsciously pick up a bit of technique or inspiration to help her through her own scene next week.
Benedict came back into the room and handed her a freshly brewed mug of tea. She thanked him, taking a careful sip as he settled onto the couch beside her, his attention turning to the screen.
“You know that the jazz club in this film exists?”
Y/N turned toward him, smiling. “Are you one of those deeply insufferable people who talks through films?”
“Only when I’m being fascinating.”
She laughed and he took that as his cue to continue. “Le Caveau de la Huchette is a real jazz club in Paris.”
“Seriously?”
“Mhm.” He glanced at her. “The director’s father is French, so there’s quite a bit of French cinema influence.”
“Wow, you are insufferable.”
“And yet here you remain.” Benedict winked at her as he took a sip.
Y/N smiled into her mug. He’s right. Here she remains, indeed.
They settled into a comfortable silence, the bright colors of the film washing over the darkened room. Benedict glanced down and saw her eyes were already half-closed. Smiling faintly, he gently took the mug from her loose grip and set it aside.
“C’mere, love,” he softly murmured, pulling her gently against his side so her head could rest on his chest. “I guess rehearsal will have to wait ‘til tomorrow. Shall I take you up to bed?”
Instead of answering, Y/N just hummed softly, snuggling closer, tucking her head perfectly into the crook of his neck. Within moments, her breathing evened out into a deep, sound sleep.
Benedict looked down at her for a long moment. He didn't have the heart to wake her up, deciding they were perfectly fine where they were. He rested his chin against the top of her head, watching the screen until he too drifted off to sleep.
Just had the fun thought of teaching Bucky piano. Sitting next to him, guiding his hands…a shoulder lean.
I think this calls for a blurb!!
---
He'd seen you playing the large instrument with evident skill and poise, but it looked so daunting to him. Finally, he had worked up the nerve to sit beside you when you practiced.
"Hi, Bucky." You had smiled while still flicking your fingers over the keys, carefully playing.
"Hey," he smiled shyly back, his hands tucked under his thighs. "You know..you're really good."
"Thank you!" Your nose scrunched at the compliment.
"And it looks very hard work."
"Its discipline, and memory." You rambled as you came to the middle of the song where it slowed. "But it's not that hard once you understand the system."
He listened in silence for a long moment, allowing you to finish the song, his low voice quietly humming in your ear.
As you finished, you added a flourish and looked at him.
"Tada."
"A round of applause for the mistro!" He clapped and was grinning.
"Thank you one and all."
"Hey...could- you think I could learn?" The question caught you off guard slightly. "I mean, not that song, but maybe somethin' easier?"
You snickered, but also filled with warmth, not that he was already sitting this close--
"Of course,' you smiled brightly. "I'll teach you the easiest song ever."
---
His brows were knit together in concentration as you showed him the notes one more time then he would be on his own.
"I'm swearing you to secrecy-" he pointed to you with a semi-firm expression. "No one will know I can play Mary Had A Little Lamb on the piano "
"My lips are sealed, Bucky." You grinned as you made a zipping motion. "Scouts honor."
He made you snicker again when he raised an eyebrow in mock threatening before trying to song one more time.
"Here-" you stopped him before he began again. "I've got a better idea. " you moved around to him and placed your hands over his fingers-- good lord he was warm. "I'll push your fingers down, see if that'll get it through your thick skull."
Your cheek was touching Bucky's ear as you keyed the notes, slowly and deliberately. There was something in that connection, almost as if he was feeling your heartbeat.
You finished the song and pulled back a little bit, but before you could fully step away, his hands grabbed yours and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. "I have to pay for my tutor." He rumbled as he looked at you.
Grade 8 piano. An accomplished girl. I executed the music to the established standard, but I did not inhabit it. I practised as much as was necessary to hit the mark, not as a musician would practise. Tom’s Claudia, for example. Hour after hour, day after day, and never bored. A fanatic, one might say. There is no other way. But even had I practised to excess, I would not have become a Claudia. To become an artist, as Claudia is an artist, hours are necessary but not sufficient. It is a question of grace. I am not touched by grace. An earthbound path was marked out for me.
— Jonathan Buckley, One Boat: A Novel (W.W. Norton & Company, November 4, 2025)
