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twistedreads · 2 months ago

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Are you gonna stay the night? — Nick Leister

summary— It’s your first time spending the night over Nick’s house since you guys started dating. What could go wrong?

Black Fem reader x Nick Leister My fault: London

warnings— none really, cute, lovey

a/n— I don’t know why I haven’t seen stories about Nick from my fault London, he’s literally so fine.

Masterlist

The smell of tomato sauce and freshly chopped basil fills Nick’s sleek kitchen as you lean against the counter, watching him struggle with the dough. His golden-brown hands, dusted with flour, press into the soft mixture as he furrows his brows in concentration.

“This is harder than it looks,” he mutters in his distinct British accent, his dark curls bouncing as he glances up at you. The frosted tips of his hair catch the warm glow of the kitchen lights, making him look effortlessly attractive.

You giggle, rolling up your sleeves and stepping beside him. “You’re acting like this is rocket science. It’s just dough.”

He scoffs, pretending to be offended. “Excuse me, love, but I didn’t see you volunteering to knead this. Your job is just standing there lookin’ sexy.”

You roll your eyes playfully before reaching over, pressing your hands into the dough with his. The warmth of his skin meets yours, and for a moment, you both pause, realizing how close you are. His eyes flicker to yours, a small smirk tugging at his lips before he leans in. “If you wanted to hold my hand, sweetheart, all you had to do was ask.”

You huff, shoving him with your hip, and he lays a smack on your ass, making you let out an unexpected yelp.

“Shut up and focus.”

You both continue working side by side, stretching and spinning the dough—well, you try to spin it, but it ends up flopping onto the counter in a very ungraceful fashion. Nick bursts into laughter, clutching his stomach.

“That was tragic. Absolutely tragic.”

“Okay, since you’re such a pro, you do it.” You cross your arms, challenging him.

With an arrogant smirk, he grabs the dough and attempts to toss it in the air. And just like fate had written it, it lands right on his head.

Your laughter echoes through the kitchen as he stands there, dough draped over his curls, looking absolutely ridiculous. He peels it off and glares at you, but the twinkle in his eyes gives away his amusement.

“You think that’s funny, yeah?”

“I know it’s funny.” You double over, wiping a tear from your eye.

Nick hums, a mischievous glint flashing across his face before he reaches for the bag of flour and—before you can react—puffs a handful at you. The fine white powder explodes into the air, coating your black tank top and shorts.

You gasp. “Nickolas Leister, I know you didn’t just—”

Before you can finish, he has already darted to the other side of the kitchen, laughing. “Oh, I did.”

It’s war. You grab the bag and chase him around the island, flicking flour at him while he dodges, knocking over a bottle of olive oil in the process.

After a good five minutes of absolute chaos, you finally call a truce, panting as you survey the mess you’ve made.

“Okay, this is a disaster,” you admit, brushing flour from your hair.

Nick grins, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around your waist. “Maybe. But we had fun, yeah?” His thumb traces lazy circles on your hip.

You smile, leaning into his touch. “Yeah, we did.”

Eventually, you get back to making the food, watching a TikTok video step by step as you add toppings to the dough before sliding it into the oven.

When the timer goes off, you pull the pizza out, letting it cool for a moment before cutting into it. The crust is golden, the cheese perfectly melted, and the smell alone has your mouth watering.

Nick grabs a slice, handing it to you before taking one for himself. You exchange a glance, almost nervous.

“Moment of truth,” he mutters.

You nod, holding the slice up dramatically. “If we poisoned ourselves, at least we go out together.”

He smirks. “Romantic.”

At the same time, you both take your first bites.

Silence.

Then, you slowly turn to look at each other, your eyes widening as the flavors hit.

“Wait…” you mumble, mouth still full. “This is actually—”

“—fire,” Nick finishes, voice filled with genuine shock.

“We snapped,” you gasp.

Nick nods in agreement. “Nah, we bodied this. We might as well open a restaurant.”

Without thinking, you both put your pizza down and smack a victorious high-five, laughing as the sound echoes through the kitchen.

Nick leans back in his chair, taking another bite. “This is dangerous, love. We cook like this, I might just wife you up.”

You grin, chewing. “Say less. ‘Cause I could eat this every day.”

He shakes his head, reaching over to steal a piece from your slice.

“Oi!” You swat his hand.

“Sharing is caring, innit?” he teases, dodging your glare.

The next few minutes are spent feeding each other bites, laughing when Nick deliberately gives you too big of a piece, nearly making you choke. He just sits there, smirking as you glare at him.

After dinner, you both head upstairs to his bathroom for a shower. Stripping from your clothes, you step inside. Steam curls around you as hot water rains down, enveloping you in warmth. Underneath the sound of the shower, you can still hear Nick humming softly, his accent making the tune sound even sweeter.

Reaching for the bottle of shampoo, you squeeze a generous amount into your palm. “Turn around,” you murmur, motioning for him to face away.

Nick arches a brow but obeys, water cascading down his golden-brown skin. His hair, usually fluffy and styled, is now damp and weighed down.

“You’re gonna wash my hair for me?” he asks, amused.

You nod, running your fingers through his curls, massaging the shampoo into his scalp. “Yeah. You got all that flour in it from earlier.”

He lets out a low, satisfied hum, closing his eyes. “Mm, I could get used to this.”

You giggle. His shoulders relax under your touch as you work the lather through his thick curls. When you gently scratch his scalp with your nails, he lets out the softest sigh.

“Feels good?” you tease.

“Too good.” His voice is practically a purr.

Once you rinse the shampoo out, he turns to face you, droplets of water running down his sharp jawline. His hands find your waist, pulling you close. “Your turn,” he murmurs, reaching for the shampoo.

You let him tilt your head back under the stream as he starts working it into your deep, dark curls. His fingers are gentle, slow, his touch sending tiny shivers down your spine.

“‘M I doin’ it right?” he asks, lips quirking up at the corners.

You nod, closing your eyes. “Yeah… it feels nice.”

His hands move in soothing circles, warmth spreading through you. He leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Then another, just above your brow.

“You smell good,” he murmurs, voice low.

You smile, cracking one eye open. “It’s the shampoo, dummy.”

He chuckles. “Nah. It’s just you.”

Your face warms—not from the water, but from the way he’s looking at you.

As he rinses your hair, his fingers brush over your cheeks, tilting your chin up so he can press a lingering kiss to your lips. It’s slow, sweet, the kind of kiss that makes your knees feel weak.

“Careful,” you mumble against his lips. “You’re tryna make me fall in love with you or something?”

He smirks, brushing a wet curl from your face. “Too late for that, sweetheart.”

You laugh, flicking water at him playfully. “Okay, smooth talker, finish helping me rinse.”

By the time you step out, wrapped in fluffy towels, your heart is so full it feels like it might burst.

“I think that might’ve been my new favorite shower,” Nick murmurs, pressing a final kiss to your shoulder.

You grin, nudging him. “Good. ‘Cause I plan on making you wash my hair every time now.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

You wink at him through the mirror. “And you love it.”

“Yeah,” he admits, pulling you close. “I really do.”

After drying off, you pull out two face masks from your bag. “Here. These will make our skin glow.”

Nick eyes the packet suspiciously, then looks at you. “You’re tryin’ to turn me into a beauty influencer?”

You snort. “Shut up and put it on.”

Reluctantly, he peels the mask open and presses it to his face, his expression twisting as the cool gel touches his skin. “This feels weird.”

“You look great,” you reassure him, snapping a picture before he can protest.

He peeks over your shoulder. “Oi! Let me see.”

You turn your phone to show him, and he shakes his head. “Nah, that’s mad. You’re not posting that.”

Laughing, you take a few more selfies together, making ridiculous faces before finally settling down. As the masks set, you decide to bake cookies, with Nick stealing bites of dough until you smack his hand away.

When the cookies are ready, you curl up on the couch with a plate, flipping through Netflix until you settle on Bad Boys for Life.

“Oooh,” you grin when Armando comes on screen. “That man is fine.”

Nick scoffs, pulling you closer. “Seriously?”

“What? He is.”

He makes a face. “He’s not even that good-looking.”

You smirk, turning to him. “Honestly… you kinda look like him.”

Nick blinks, then sits up slightly. “Wait, do I?”

You hum, dragging your fingers through his curls. “Mmhmm. You both got the curly hair, the jawline, the whole broody-but-still-pretty-boy thing.”

Nick smirks, clearly pleased. “Well, if that’s the case, you should be callin’ me fine.”

You roll your eyes. “I do, dummy.”

Satisfied, he pulls you back against his chest, pressing a soft kiss to your temple.

As the movie plays on, your eyelids grow heavy. You don’t even realize you’ve drifted off until Nick shifts, lifting you into his arms and carrying you upstairs.

“Nick,” you mumble sleepily, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Shh, I got you.”

He lays you down in bed, sliding in beside you. Under the dim glow of his bedside lamp, he brushes a stray hair from your face, his touch impossibly gentle.

“Tonight was fun,” he murmurs.

You nod, tracing the sharp lines of his jaw. “It was perfect.”

Nick leans down, capturing your lips in a slow, lingering kiss. His fingers caress your waist as he deepens it slightly before pulling away, resting his forehead against yours.

“Sleep, love,” he whispers.

With your fingers intertwined, warm beneath the covers, you drift off, wrapped in the comfort of each other.

#nick leister #matthewbroome #my fault London #fanfic #couple #Poc #nickleisterimagines #Matthew Broome imagines #Nick leister imagines

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