#my fault london

[blainesebastian]

ex-something

word count: 11,109 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: NC-17 (for some smut, suggestive sexual language and expletives) summary: Just because you and Nick are broken up doesn’t mean that you’re over one another. notes: really appreciate the overwhelmingly positive response on my first nick x reader post :) hope this is just as enjoyable! i have a masterlist! notes 2: gifs from this gif pack

You get it—relationships change, that’s true with anything. You’ve had friendships that have evaporated into thin air or have fused together thanks to one night, boyfriends who promise they’d hand you the moon but couldn’t even show up when you needed them. You’re also different, you’re not the same person from year to year, nor day to day. Small, minute shifts sometimes make the greatest ripple effects. It’s good to see how something can adapt, how you can realize one thing and decide on another. 

Maybe you should have realized that you and Nick were never going to work—a thought that’s ugly that sprouts in your mind like a weed. Like ivy twisting around your ribcage and squeezing. You know him like the back of your hand, have been part of the same circles for so long—the orbiting around one another felt inevitable. 

So maybe the disintegration was too. 

Nick’s come a long way since you’ve known him in opening up, both of you bringing so much baggage to the table that you could no longer see the surface. Everyone has their own weight to carry, their own shit to get through, but it felt like…what you were carrying was no longer heavy when he was around. You both shared things, secrets in the dark, things you felt like couldn’t be shared with anyone else. While that should have caused the bond between you to strengthen, it created cracks and fragments that were sharp enough to cut the skin. 

Nick has trouble trusting that people won’t leave him, and you have trouble trusting that something will last the way it’s supposed to. As awful as it sounds, you never thought you and Nick would be together long-term. It’s not about him, but about yourself—about not deserving something good, about losing someone you were never supposed to have in the first place. 

When you began to pull away, creating distance and space, Nick overcompensated by yanking harder. He leaves you before you can leave him. The break-up, though surprising, is…somehow amicable, even though the devastation of it ending was clear on both your faces. Like a roadmap of a decimated city, the skyline crumbling into itself. 

The sudden destruction is so ugly that neither of you can look away. There’s regret almost instantly, that much is obvious, and yet neither of you speak up to change anything. You just…part ways, Nick leaving first.

You let him go, you allow him to push you and keep that chasm of space, because it was never meant to work out, right? 

“He’s in love with you, babe,” Jenna tells you one night over her house. “That’s never gonna change.” 

“Guess not enough.” You mumble—but you’re not innocent. You didn’t chase after him. 

“Well I never said he was smart,” Jenna teases, attempting to lighten the mood, and a smile twitches the corners of your mouth but you can’t reply. You shake your head, running a hand over the side of your face before lying back on her bed. 

But Nick is smart. He’s smart, and calculated, and even though he sometimes thinks with his fists, he knows the consequences of actions before he makes them. He knows exactly what choice he’s made and why he’s done it. 

Which is one of the reasons you can’t bring yourself to tell him he’s wrong. 

—

You miss Nick like you never knew you could. It’s one of those cliché things that you don’t understand what’s missing until it’s gone. There’s an absence that feels like a force, that sits on your chest, that makes it hard to breathe. An ache that begins behind your ribs and pulses outward. You miss things that aren’t altogether obvious—things you never knew you thought about until they pop-tap-pop like morse code in your mind. 

You miss his hands, the way they felt on your body, his fingers brushing through your hair or lingering along your hip. The squeeze on your knee or the gentle pattern of circles along your spine. You miss his mouth, the way the corner quirked up when he found something ridiculous, the way it felt on your own, his lips on your cheek, your shoulder, between your legs. You miss the way your bodies felt lined up, curled up in bed to sleep or slotting together during sex. You miss the sounds he used to make. You miss the gentle crinkle of his nose before he laughed, you miss that too; the laughing. 

But most of all you miss the way he stood by you, protected you, cared about you, a driving power that’d run anyone else over if you needed something. You miss the way he made you feel loved, actual love—something real and tangible and consistent. Something you didn’t know you deserved. 

It’s too late to take back what you’ve done and you lay awake at night, sometimes, wondering what would have happened if you would have tried to talk to him instead of letting your thoughts get the best of you. 

—

Just because you and Nick are broken up doesn’t mean that you’re over one another. 

—

Jenna drags you to Anna’s party—literally, she has to drag you. 

“Enough moping,” She sing-songs. “Time to put on your tightest dress and your best lipstick and have a fucking good time.” 

You roll your eyes but…she’s not wrong. So you follow her lead. Little black dress, comfortable shoes, red lipstick. It brings out the color of your eyes, it matches with the tiny, ruby, heart-shaped earrings you’re wearing and it draws people to look at your lips. But most of all? It makes you feel good. Your mother has always had a saying, to ‘dress your best when you feel your worst’, and you suppose that’s what you’re doing. 

Surviving. 

And sometimes? That’s more than okay. 

“Wish this party wasn’t here, though.” You comment, a soft sigh leaving your lips as you enter the lavish home of Anna. Anna who is probably salivating at the concept that Nick’s single again. You’re sure he’s here tonight, you don’t need to ask Jenna to know. You smooth your fingers along your dress, adjusting your small purse so it sits on your hip. 

You and Jenna wouldn’t exactly call Anna a friend…a frenemy, maybe? Maybe not. But Jenna smiles over her shoulder, “Shouldn’t let her expensive booze go to waste, should we?” 

You let out a soft laugh—you suppose that’s true. 

The night swirls forward with a lot of dancing, a messy game of darts, and almost too many shots. You roll your hips to the beat of the music, a grin on your face as Jenna bounces in time to the base, her hands finding yours and squeezing before giving you a twirl. It’s in that spin that you see him, leaning against the back of the couch on the outskirts, watching you. 

Or maybe that’s a trick of the light, or the hazy alcohol licking your common sense. Either way, you don’t look back over your shoulder towards him, you can’t. You wish that Jenna doesn’t call over the music that she needs water, because your knees suddenly feel like jello at the concept of staying on this makeshift dance floor alone. So you don’t. 

You make your way through the crowd to follow her, lingering, and hate yourself for your eyes being pulled from the task at hand…towards Nick. 

He looks gorgeous tonight, but you suppose that’s not a surprise. Jeans, a white t-shirt, an oversized jacket. It’s pretty textbook and yet it’s enough to practically sway you off kilter. Without being close to him, you can smell the leather of his jacket, the expensive cologne, something purely him tying it all together. You can feel the heat of his body, the chill of the thin silver chain he’s wearing and the rings on his fingers over your skin. 

An ache begins low in your stomach, which only turns sour when his eyes flitter to you and then look away. It’s so quick it feels like a slap to the face, his own expression impassive, like he has a million better things to do than be standing around at this party. You know his masks well, the ones he puts on when he thinks no one is looking, the ones he peeled off when he was around you. You know this is his favorite one—pretending he doesn’t care, when he does. 

Chewing on your lower lip, you take a step towards him though you’re not sure why. To speak to him, maybe? To make a joke about how his face looks like it was carved in stone? That if he keeps making that expression it’s going to stick like that. But then he shifts when someone comes up beside him—

fucking Anna. 

You stop short, trying to tell yourself to turn around, to get some water, to go back to having fun with Jenna. And yet, like a car crash, you can’t seem to look away. Anna has always been obvious about her feelings for Nick, whether it’s something genuine or just purely physical—it doesn’t matter. She practically molds herself to his side, a pretty grin on her face, talking about something that you can’t hear about—but her hand glides down his arm. 

There’s a small, gentle tilt to Nick’s lips, ever so subtle, but it’s enough to make it feel like the floor is opening up underneath you. 

Turning on your heel, you move through the crowd towards the bathroom, trying to quell the nausea rolling in your stomach. You try to tell yourself that you’re overreacting, that it’s not fair for you to have a reaction like this, that Nick is single and he can do whatever the fuck he wants… regardless that Anna is the worst. 

It hasn’t been too long since you’ve broken up, and yet you find yourself trying to rationalize that it shouldn’t hurt like this. You know that’s a defense mechanism, that trying to convince yourself that you’re okay is just something to keep yourself from hurting. But maybe it’d be good to feel that hurt, to let it in instead of shoving it deep in a box that’ll remain unopened. 

Maybe if you let yourself hurt, you wouldn’t be spiraling over Nick’s almost smile at Anna. 

When you go for the bathroom door, it’s locked, and a groan leaves your lips because of course. Running a hand over your forehead, you lean back against the opposite wall, waiting, allowing your eyes to close as your head tips back. 

“You look a little nauseous.” 

Nick’s voice jolts you out of your position against the wall, almost setting you off balance. When your eyes dart to him, there’s that playful quirk to his lips, warm amusement in his brown eyes. His jacket is missing—you hate that you wonder if it’s around Anna’s shoulders. You straighten your shoulders, letting out a breath as you turn to look at him. 

He’s not wrong, you are nauseous. But it’s not from the alcohol. “Think this house just does that to me.” 

Nick smirks, shaking his head as he takes a few steps towards you. He stops short, too short, leaning his shoulder against the wall. His eyes dance over your form, making you squirm, hating how he seems to see right through you. Like you’re made of glass. Heat gathers low in your stomach and pulses between your legs, that familiar ache comes back in the center of your chest. You miss him and you fucking hate that you do. 

Tearing your gaze away, you curl your hair around your ear, glancing back towards the bathroom door. Sheesh, what is someone doing in there? 

“Is it the house or is it someone in particular?” 

You scoff out a soft laugh—fuck, he’s got a lot of nerve. “Is that any of your business?” 

The smile he gives you is something slow and knowing, his gaze wandering to your lips, lingering on the red lipstick there. Butterflies erupt in your stomach, fluttering up towards your ribs, living there on the bones. The way he’s looking at you digs under your skin in the best way. 

“Think it’s completely my business.” He replies, sticking his one hand in his pocket. You can picture his fingers flexing, maybe trying to resist touching you. You love the sound of that. It’s one of the reasons you decide to flip the script, to take a little power back when he won’t stop staring at your mouth. Two can play this game—whatever game this is. 

Taking a step towards him, you say, “Is my lipstick your business?” 

Nick draws in a slow breath, it may seem causal, but you can see the heat darken the color of his eyes. Regardless of how things have played out between you two, things that maybe should have never happened in the first place (breaking up sounds like it was a stupid idea), you know that you feel safe with him. It’s that safeness that has you eliminating space, the toe of your shoe bumping into his. 

He’s not that much taller than you but it feels like he’s towering, eyes zeroed in on your lips. He lifts his hand, brushing his thumb over your lower one, purposely smudging your red lipstick, 

“You never seemed to be jealous of anyone when we were together.” He whispers, his breath fluttering over your cheek and yet it feels like a bucket of ice water tossed over you.  A reminder. Dick. 

You lean further into his touch, your noses bumping, close enough to kiss him but you don’t. Nick goes dangerously still and licks his lips. 

“Unsurprised that you didn’t seem to know me very well.” 

And with that you pull back, putting distance between your bodies. You wish it was enough to get your head on straight. Nick rubs his fingers over his thumb, erasing any traces of lipstick, like it never even happened. 

You wished it didn’t sting to see it. 

“I’m sure you wouldn’t want to keep Anna waiting.” You cross your arms over your chest, a clear defensive move but almost creating a shield as well, protecting yourself. 

You’re not looking at him but he lingers, a soft hum leaving his lips. He then moves to the bathroom door that…still hasn’t opened? Jesus, who’s in there? Though you try not to think about how often you and Nick found an empty bathroom during a party, a dark corner, a place where hands could roam and lips could nip. 

He jiggles the handle and pushes, your mouth falling slightly open—

“The door sticks,” He says, amused, eyes bright. And then turns to head back down the hall. 

Well, fuck. 

—

Nick leaves the party before you do but you’re not going to deny that you feel a zing of enjoyment that Anna’s left behind. And she looks pissed. 

—

Time crawls forward—it’s somehow achingly slow at the same time that it spins like a top. You and Nick are unfortunately like magnets, stuck in one another’s orbit. You suppose that’s the downside of having the same group of friends, seeing one another is unavoidable. It’s not…the worst thing, despite the prickly conversations you’ve been having. You know the fallout is a reflection on how good your relationship could be. There’s still strong emotions lingering—guilt, regret, love. It stains everything around you both. 

There’s a moment that comes and goes, just like your feelings, about having a conversation with Nick. About explaining to him why you were pulling away—that your parents have a shit relationship, that their divorce and their problems and their burdens sometimes sit in your bloodstream in a way you can’t put into words. You’re used to people disappointing you, you’re used to relationships not carrying merit—the only good one you’ve ever been in had been with Nick. And sometimes you were afraid that you weren’t worthy of it, that eventually he’d realize it too. 

That he’d leave. That all good things come to an end. 

Maybe then he’d crack wide open and explain that he likes to hurt people before they can hurt him. That it was a mistake. 

That you can start over. 

That thought is gone as quickly as it comes. Everything happens for a reason, right? There’s no need to go backwards when you need to focus on what’s ahead. Just because a relationship didn’t work out doesn’t mean that…you and Nick can’t be what you were before. 

Friends. Good friends. 

—

“Can you check again, please?” You ask, rubbing the back of your neck as you hold up a line at this charity event that your parents were supposed to attend. 

Well—your parents decided to get a divorce three months ago and neither of them wanted to get dressed up and go. You get it, you really do, they don’t want to spend time with one another anymore. They want to continue separating their assets and not be in one another’s lives unless they have to. You're the bridge between and that’s…that’s something you’re coming to terms with. 

You tried to explain to both of them that you’ve been wanting to go to this, that this charity event is about donating money to cleaning up the ocean. That plastic removal and creating turtle sanctuaries and doubling-up efforts on proper recycling is really important to you. It always has been—this shouldn’t be some sort of surprise. 

And yet neither of them can get their shit together to just be present. To go with you. 

So whatever, fine. At this point you’re used to feeling like you’re doing things by yourself, and that’s how you decide you’re going to go. By yourself. 

Except for some reason, your name isn’t on the guest list. 

Vanessa, who’s in the same social circles as you, scowls behind the podium. She must be some sort of volunteer in whatever rotations that rich kids fall into, her nose wrinkling as she taps her fingers down the so-called list that you’re missing from. 

“Sorry—who are you again?” 

You feel your cheeks heat in frustration, refusing to get flustered even though you’re sure that’s her intention. There’s this group of girls that are always hanging out with Anna at any party you’ve ever been to. Vanessa knows exactly who you are. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, can feel people getting restless behind you, wanting to get inside to escape the chill in the evening air. You’re not sure whether your parents took themselves off the guest list when they decided they weren’t attending or whether Vanessa is just being a bitch. 

“Y/N,” You say your name and add your last, just in case there’s any confusion. 

Vanessa purses her lips, about to say something nasty, when her gaze catches something over your shoulder. Her entire demeanor changes—her shoulders relax, there’s an easy smile on her face, eyes soft. You already know who it is before he speaks. 

“Is there a problem?” Nick asks, the warmth of his body at your back. You feel yourself bristle, not turning around. 

“Nick, hi,” Vanessa offers. 

Nick ignores her, his gaze falling to your own when you finally tip your chin. You turn a little, crossing your arms over your chest. He’s dressed in all black; slacks, dress shirt, overcoat, it makes the softness of his brown eyes and the golden curls in his hair stick out even more. 

“You alright?” He lifts his eyes away from you just briefly and you know he’s checking the crowd for your parents who aren’t there. 

“She’s not on the guest list.” Vanessa sounds altogether too pleased at informing him. 

“Your parents made these reservations months ago,” His attention doesn’t waver from you.  

You swallow, giving him a small smile as another podium opens up to get guests inside since this one is obviously backlogged. You resist the urge to just give up, to head back down the steps and go home.

“I know.” You reply, and Nick’s head tips back just slightly, recognition flashing in his eyes. Months ago. Your parents. The divorce. 

He turns to Vanessa, finally acknowledging her. “There’s space at my table for her.” 

“Nick,” You say gently, touched by the sentiment, by him trying to help, as Vanessa visibly bristles. 

“All the tables are filled—“

Nick cuts her right off, voice cold and sharp as glass. “Then I suggest you figure it out, Vanessa, because Y/N’s my plus one.” 

Vanessa scoffs, waving us in, muttering whatever under her breath. Nick’s hand falls to your lower back, encouraging you to step forward to walk inside. You roll your lips together, glad you’re not wearing lipstick tonight before turning to look at him in front of the coat-check. 

“You didn’t have to do that.” 

Nick gives you a soft smile, motioning you to turn around so he can help you take your coat off. “Like I’d get in-between you and saving the otters tonight.” 

You can’t help the bubble of laughter that threatens to slip out, amusement pulling your mouth into an honest smile. Something warm and comfortable and feels far too familiar with him. 

“Sea turtles.” You correct. “I’m worried about the sea turtles.” 

You’re not sure why he’s here if he doesn’t really know what the event is for, but you bite down on the inside of your cheek from saying that to him. A twinge of warmth butterflies your stomach in hopes that he came because he knew you’d be here. 

“Yeah, that’s what I said.” 

Your lips twitch and you smooth your hands down your dress, removing imaginary wrinkles. “Thank you.” You add. 

Nick’s hand slides effortlessly into yours to tug you towards the open doors and awaiting tables. He doesn’t say anything back, but he does squeeze your fingers. 

—

When you donate an amount at that charity event, Nick doubles it. 

—

It’s easy to get lost in those simple touches, it’s always been something so easy between you and Nick. That communication runs deep. Sometimes, you think, that words often get in the way. A misplaced phrase, a misunderstanding, syllables stuck under tongues or behind teeth. There’s never been any confusion in how you touch one another, in how Nick’s hands convey a love language that maybe words can’t. 

The problem is that touch between you two is sometimes too much, too honest, too real. Too complicated. 

How are you supposed to move on and get over him if you’re constantly near one another? If one brush of his fingers turns into a playful squeeze at your hip, if one lingering gaze ignites into him brushing his lips against your temple? 

You convince yourself that you can somehow create space, that it won’t be so difficult, that the universe has to be on your side here—that even though it’s hard? It’ll be good for you in the long run. 

Turns out the universe is a bitch. 

—

There’s too many moving bodies on the dance floor, it pushes you and Nick closer and closer together. 

To be fair, you’re in a tight circle of friends and beats are pulsing through the tight spaces. You’re in a tiny slip dress, a pair of high-top converse sneakers to move easily, which just ends up being a bunch of bouncing and swaying to the beat at a wicked pace. Jenna’s grin is wide as she throws her arms around you and you laugh, tipping your head back towards the ceiling. 

You love nights like this, the feeling of freedom, your heartbeat loud in your ears, no concerns other than when the next drink is gonna be bought. Lion tugs your dance partner away, twirling her into a circle and you back up to avoid the spin—

And bump right into Nick. 

The man is like black hole—endless, all-encompassing. He’s dressed simply, but he could probably wear a paper bag and still have the same sex appeal. Lean, tapered body, intricate line tattoos on muscled biceps and you try not to think about the set of Roman numerals that you used to love to kiss on his collarbone. You’re close enough to see the light sheen of sweat sticking to his skin, deepening the scent of his cologne and him somehow. You want to run your hands through his curls and tug—

You must show how you feel right on your face because Nick steps closer, his hand reaching for you, sliding it around your waist to pull you flush against him. It’s so confident and knowing that it nearly takes you out at your knees. 

You know you could pull away and that he’d let you, but the moment his fingers curl against your back, the moment he gathers a bit of the fabric of your dress between his fingers—you know you’re not going anywhere. 

The weight and heat of his body against your own feels like coming home. 

You dance like that for a while, pressed against one another, your arms resting on top of his shoulders, fingers against his neck, curling into the bottom of his hair. He slips close enough at one point to press a kiss to your shoulder, something that you ignore. You have to. 

And yet your fingers dig into his shoulders and Nick pulls back, eyes dark, on your lips. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

You’re about to say something, maybe mention grabbing water or stepping outside—but Nick’s thumb begins to trace circles through the thin material of your dress against the underwear line on your hip. A struggled gasp leaves your lips, and he must feel it more than hear it, a slow smile curving his handsome mouth. 

“I need to—“ You take a step back, almost running into someone else. Nick’s arms stabilize you from stumbling, even though he eventually lets you go. You immediately regret opening your mouth. “Bathroom.” 

You turn and make a b-line towards the restrooms before he can say anything. The sharp coolness off the dance floor manages to shake reality into focus and you run a hand over your face, a soft laugh rumbling in your chest. 

Jesus. 

You don’t end up using the bathroom, just leaning against the wall near them and breathing, trying to center yourself. It’s blissfully devoid of people back here and you need that. Your body aches in a delicious way, a throb of heat still present between your legs. 

And apparently it’s not going to go away, because Nick rounds the corner. 

“Nick—” His name barely slips out from between your teeth before he’s pressed against you again, and your resolve goes right out the fucking window, your mouth crashing down onto his. 

You thread your fingers into his hair and yank him forward and you can feel him chuckle against your body as he has to balance himself with his hands on the wall on either side of you. His thigh slides between your legs and a full body shudder passes through you as you allow yourself to lean down into him. 

Fuck. 

Nick pulls back just a little, brushing your lips together. His hand slides between you, tugging your dress up so that the only thing between your cunt and his jeans are your underwear. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, mouth at your ear. “I can stop.” 

That’s something you’ve always loved about Nick—he checks on you, he makes sure you’re okay. Doesn’t matter if it’s something soft or like this, heated and desperate. You know you shouldn’t—you know that this will only complicate things that are already complicated…

And yet you don’t want to stop. 

“No,” You reply, assure your response with your hips pivoting down, grinding against his leg. Nick’s hands fall to your waist, holding you in place, a groan vibrating in his chest. 

The pulse of the music is muffled, you can hear the uptick in his breathing, can feel how hard he is against you. You’re not ashamed of the tiny whimpers that leave your lips as you roll your hips down against him, the pressure incredible but not enough—he feels so fucking good. You’ve missed him terribly. All logical thought evaporates when his one hand comes up and cups your breast through your slip dress. 

“Can feel how wet you are for me,” Nick says. “Desperate for it, aren’t you?” 

Jesus. You need more. You need him to help—to do something. You can only use the momentum of your legs to get off on him to a certain point. There’s not enough leverage, there’s not enough friction to sate the heated ache quickly building in your lower belly. 

“I—I need—”

“No,” He nips at your lower lip. “If you want to cum, you’re gonna have to do it just like this.” 

An exasperated noise leaves your mouth, and you’re stuck between wanting to throttle him and kiss him. He drags your hips down, and you wish his fingers were inside of you, wish his thumb was circling your clit. The thought alone is enough to uptick your pleasure, and you’re so fucking close. 

“Nick,” You moan, “Please.” 

He licks his lips, smiling a little as his hand tugs down your dress over your breast. “So polite.” He teases, before he dips his head, taking your nipple into his mouth. 

There’s a snap of your hips when he drags his teeth over your puckered flesh and then you’re shattering. He holds your body up as you shudder, waves of pleasure slamming into you like the base of the music pulsing in your ears. 

He doesn’t let you go, even when your breathing settles, even when his leg moves out from between your thighs. You’re sure you look absolutely wrecked—you feel it. Underwear ruined, sweat sticking some of your hair to your neck, your heart thrumming for a completely different reason. 

Your eyes find Nick’s, the port that’s always been in the center of your storm, and a sudden thick emotion lodges itself in your throat. 

“I miss you.” You choke out, blaming the almost waterworks on endorphins, on the bliss that’s still kissing your nerve endings. 

Nick visibly swallows, brushing your hair over your shoulder after he fixes your dress. You think he might say something, he even opens his mouth, but no words come. 

Jesus. One good orgasm and you’re tumbling head over tincups into emotions too heavy to come with words. Nick broke up with you—you should be furious, you should push him away, except this is how the whole problem started. You pushed first. 

You straighten your shoulders and he takes a step back. You expect him to turn and leave, but he doesn’t, hovering—waiting? You’re not sure for what. He runs both of his hands through his hair, as if to compose himself, as if there’s words stuck in his throat that he doesn’t know how to say. 

Instead of saying anything at all, he reaches his hand out for you to take. A peace offering, of sorts, a promise that even though things aren’t okay, the door isn’t completely closed off. 

You discreetly wipe away a tear that’s slipped down your cheek and take his hand. 

—

You don’t talk about what happened at the club but things don’t change between you. It’s the same heavy glances, the same shared, soft smiles, the same brushing of fingers and calling it an accident. 

It should be fucked up. But it’s not. 

—

You haven’t been to an underground car show and race in a while, so the thrum of engines and the smell of gasoline is exciting. Comforting, even. You come with Jenna even though you know Nick will be there. Avoidance doesn’t work and trying to ignore the crackling energy between you two just…ends up with you getting off on his leg in a darkened corner at a club. 

“Don’t get me wrong, babe,” Jenna says over her shoulder as she moves to lean against her car. “I love Nick, I really do. But…whatever this is between you two—”

“I know,” You put your hand up to stop her. 

She smiles a little, “I was hopin’ you two would talk, figure it out.” 

“Oh, you mean you ruining my favorite pair of underwear wasn’t ‘figuring it out’?” You laugh a little, rubbing the back of your neck. Despite it probably not being the best decision…you can’t find yourself regretting it either. 

You still love Nick. You don’t think that’ll change. 

You look down at your shoes, a pair of sneakers, high waisted jeans  and a crop t-shirt. You’re showing off your shape but nothing that overdoes it; comfortable. You feel like you need that tonight. 

“I told him I missed him.” In an orgasm induced haze, but still. “And he didn’t say anything.” 

You know Nick isn’t exactly very forward with his words all the time, his actions speak the loudest. But…you needed to hear something then, you needed some sort of assurance that…maybe you both made a mistake. 

Or maybe it’s just wishful thinking on your part. You can’t quite picture ripping yourself wide open to talk to him about why you pulled away if he can’t admit he purposely let you go. 

You run a hand over the side of your face, glancing over at another set of cars pulling up and guys getting out, greeting one another, the space turning into an outside party with music and beer. While you’re glad you came, it’s been a while, part of you feels like curling under your comforter at home with a book. 

“Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to branch out?” Jenna asks, tossing an arm over your shoulder. “Not saying you need to have another orgasm,” You laugh softly. “But maybe talking to some handsome strangers wouldn’t hurt either.” 

You breathe in through your nose, looking out at the crowd of cars and people. You suppose it wouldn’t hurt. 

—

Turns out talking to guys about cars is fun. You don’t know much about them? But they like responding to your questions—and none of it has been mansplaining, which you’re grateful for. You’re really not in the mood tonight…just trying to sink into your own skin, enjoy something that’s a little different, not think about Nick. 

Even though you can feel his eyes on you. 

You know he’s here because you saw him drive in, park his car, and find Lion and Jenna. He doesn’t come find you; wouldn’t be surprised if Jenna told him to give you some space. Either way, you can feel his gaze every so often, lingering, something open and warm that you miss. That you feel like you can dive right into. 

Your heart flutters in your chest as you lock eyes, the guy you were talking to, Pete, headed to the bathroom. Nick crosses the pavement, giving you a small wave. 

“Hi.” 

You smile, the word somehow too simple , but you say it back. You try to think of something else to say, to fill the space between you, 

“There’s not a race tonight, is there?” 

His eyebrows crinkle together, smiling, “Why? Did you want to give driving a shot?” 

You laugh and he takes a step closer, “No, I wouldn’t stand a chance. Even when you’re driving too fast sometimes I get nauseous.” 

“I’m always under the speed limit.” 

“You are not,” You scoff out a sound but you’re grinning. 

“Very responsible,” Nick tacks on with a playful tilt of his lips, sticking his hands into his pockets. 

The banter is familiar but it makes you miss him even more. That gnawing pit in your stomach rears its ugly head as you think about the other night, about saying something so vulnerable and it not being reciprocated. Nick must see the shadow pass over your face because he clears his throat, tilting his head in the direction of the bathrooms. 

“I’m gonna—” He trails off and he turns to leave but then pauses, “I’ll see you later?” 

The question sinks into your skin and blooms before you give him a small nod. You then look at your shoes, unable to watch him walk away. 

—

Having another sip of the drink in your hand, you smile as Pete finishes his semi-cute rant about the first car he ever owned. Some sort of thing he and dad fixed up together, which is how he’s come to love cars. It’s nice, having that connection to something special, something that becomes a passion project. You thought for a long time that might be art for you but…you’ve learned that you’re much more someone who appreciates viewing art than creating it. Maybe you’ll end up going to school for something that involves the ocean.

Shifting on your feet, you curl your hair away from your face. There’s a soft headache pinching the back of your head, behind your ear, but it’s probably from the muffled sound of music constantly pulsing against the concrete down here. 

“So would you say you like driving or fixing up cars more?” You ask, running your thumb over the rim of the cup. 

He opens his mouth to reply, but then his gaze narrows to someone behind you. Turning, you come face to face with Nick, who looks furious. It’s not so much in his face, it’s the way he’s holding his body—like a tight band about to snap. He zeroes in on the cup in your hand, 

“Give that to me.” 

You blink, “What? No.” Seriously? You thought you kinda parted from one another on good terms and now he’s here? In your business while you’re trying to talk to a guy? To have a decent night that doesn’t include him? 

You open up your mouth–

“Y/N.” There's something in the way that he says your name that makes you feel cold, your gaze wandering down to the cup. It only takes a moment to connect to dots about why Nick would approach you like this, pissed. A sour feeling develops in your stomach, connecting to pinpricks of dread as the cup leaves your hand.

Nick takes it, your fingers brushing, setting it down on the pavement. And as if he wasn't moving carefully before, he suddenly whirls his body in precise movements, suckerpunching Pete in the face. His body bows and he lands on the ground, screaming about his face—

"You broke my fucking nose!"

"You think someone wasn't going to hear you in the bathroom, you fuck?" He snaps and you stumble a step back, bumping into the driver's side of a car nearby. You’re trying to piece together what’s going on but your thoughts are sluggish, which just serves to make you feel more panicked. 

"I didn't know she was your girlfriend, man, she said she was single." 

You put your hand over your mouth, swaying a little on your feet, though you're not sure if it's because Pete...he put something in your drink or because of the blood on Nick's knuckles as he throws another punch, this time hitting him square in the jaw. Pete's head snaps back like a ragdoll but all he does is groan. 

It’s unclear if Nick says anything else because the garage begins to spin and you let out a short, sharp breath, bending a little at your waist to close your eyes. Fuck. Whatever Pete gave you? It's strong and working fast—you only had a few sips of that drink. Terrifying to think if you'd been alone with him...

Someone comes up beside you and wraps an arm around your waist and you begin to squirm until you hear Nick's voice against your ear, "Shh, it's me." A small, uncomfortable whimper leaves your lips—your body feels weird, like it's disconnected. Bone by bone, muscle by muscle. Your cheeks are hot and your stomach is dipping in nausea. "I know, I got you. Hold onto me." 

You stretch your arm across his shoulders, squeezing your eyes shut as everything spins. There's movement, but you have no idea how you're even walking with how heavily you're leaning into Nick's side. 

Flashes of movement, sound, and pitches of light. You can feel warm leather underneath your body, head lolled back against the headrest, Jenna's voice? Then Nick's. 

"No, I got her." He closes a door, opens up another, "I get it Jenn, but it’s not happening. I’m not leaving her.” Confusion prickles along your forehead, unable to make heads or tails of that conversation. You want to ask but your veins feel like they're filled with cotton as the world goes black. 

--

Sleep is uncomfortable and dreamless. You wake up several times with a pounding headache, a sour stomach, and shaking that makes you feel like there aren’t enough blankets in the world to keep you warm. When you wake up and it sticks, you blink as you try to get your vision to adjust. The room is a little dark, sun trying to shine through drawn curtains. There’s an anvil that’s been placed on your head, there has to be, because when you turn to lie on your back the pain in your temples is unheard of. 

You close your eyes again, pinching the space between your nose and forehead with your fingers. It doesn’t help. A weight sits down near your legs, an arm stretched over them. When you manage to pry your eyelids back again, Nick comes into slow focus. He looks tired, eyes not as bright, curls a bit mussed. 

“How you feeling?” He asks, voice nearly a whisper. 

“Like I swallowed a tire and then was run over.” You wince, sitting up just a little, which somehow makes everything worse. Your hand covers your face and Nick threads his fingers through your hair, brushing the strands over your shoulder. The room is quiet for the moment, birds chirping outside, the even movement of Nick drawing in breath. 

“I can't believe this happened,” You mumble, “I feel like an idiot.”

“This isn't on you,” He says, voice gentle but firm. “If Pete knows what's good for him, he'll never think about doing shit like that again.”

You raise your eyebrows, the corner of your mouth twitching in a smile as you finally look at him. “What are you, like, the mafia? Did you cut off his hands?”

A wisp of a smile, and yet something dark in those eyes that make you swallow, “No, but I did threaten to slam them in his car door if I ever saw him at another event you were at.”

You shake your head even though your entire body bursts with warmth. What does it say about you? That you're willing to accept such a violent sentiment? You draw in a long breath through your nose. Maybe a thought for another day when you don't feel so sick. 

One of Nick's hands lace through yours, his thumb brushing circles around your knuckles. "Seeing you like that..." He was scared, you realize, you can see it on his face—plain as day. He's quiet for a moment, licking his lips before he speaks again, 

"Can I get you anything?" 

You shake your head, not wanting him to leave, drawing in a breath as you finally notice that you're in his bedroom and not your own. You pick up hints of the smell of laundry detergent and his shampoo on his sheets. He drove you back to his place, 

"Didn't think I'd end up in your bed any time soon." It's a small joke, just something to break what feels like a vice-like tension around your ribs. 

Nick's gaze holds your own for a moment, something unweighted and unsaid, "I miss you here." 

You swallow over an instant lump in your throat and you have to tear your eyes away and blink, trying to get rid of the sudden onslaught of tears. Partly because of the situation that landed you here, but also because you didn't realize how much you needed to hear him say it, to hold that same sentiment as you. 

You sniffle, a tear slipping down your cheek as you try to play off the comment with a light laugh, "Well your bed does have the best pillows." 

Nick doesn't reply but instead leans forward until his arms are wrapped around your back, gently pulling you to his chest. His one hand slips through your hair as you press your face into his shoulder, while the other rubs up and down your back in firm, even strokes. 

Nothing is fixed between you two, not by a long-shot. But some of the visible cracks, you think, begin to heal. 

—

You were wrong. 

That much is clear. You’ve had so many good moments with Nick that you’re not sure why you allowed your unfounded anxiety to control you, to convince you of something that wasn’t true. But that time spent with him in his bedroom after the whole Pete thing only solidifies what you’ve been feeling for a while. 

You fucked up. 

You pulled away based solely on fears that were baseless, something you thought you didn’t have a claim to. But you do. You do deserve to have someone be there for you, to take care of you, to look out for you. To miss you. 

You’re ready to own that you didn’t make the best choice…but Nick needs to own his mess too. 

Y/N: Can we talk? 

It takes a little for your phone to buzz— Nick: You’re not gonna convince me that diner food is somehow better than Italian, you’re just not. 

A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth, Y/N: I mean…

You’ve had this banter back and forth before and it’s easy to fall back into similar patterns, something comforting. That feels like home. 

Nick: You’ve never had homemade carbonara. Life-changing. 

Y/N: Are you offering? 

Not what you were originally trying to text him about but spending time with him wouldn’t suck, either. Who says you can’t bring up past mistakes over pasta? You chew on your lower lip, as you wait for a response. 

Nick: What do you want to talk about? Nick: I might be out of London next week, my dad is traveling for work and I think I’m gonna go with him.

You stare at the messages for a moment, almost getting whiplash. You know that tone completely disappears sometimes with texting but…you also get the sense that you and Nick are on the same page. And he doesn’t want to be. 

You swallow over unspoken words in your throat, not wanting to lose your nerve. If Nick leaves, you’re almost worried that you’ll be at square one when he gets back. 

Y/N: Something important. 

You curl your hair around your ear, pulling yourself up in bed. You do your best not to pace, trying to clean up your room instead, something more productive than wearing the carpet down. When your phone pings, you deny practically diving for it. 

Nick: Then I’ll make time for you. 

—

That conversation doesn’t happen. Not because neither of you want it to happen, but because the next day, your grandmother passes away. It’s not something you were expecting—you thought your grandma was in pretty good health for her age. You just saw her a month ago…went over to her house, baked cookies and watched episodes of Magnum P.I., because your grandmother’s thirsting commentary over Tom Selleck was one of your favorite things to participate in. 

You were close. Sometimes you talked to her about relationships  because she was married to your grandfather until he died a few years ago. They were in love in a way that made you feel like…like maybe it’s one of the best and worst things to happen to someone. That maybe not all relationships are doomed from the start. Your gram talked about her husband every day, even after he passed, something warm and gentle in her eyes. That love never faded. 

Sometimes you and her talked about Nick. 

When your parents tell you, you don’t cry. You just kind of stand there staring at them, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to turn this into a warped joke, a morbid sense of humor. It doesn’t feel real. How does one day have your grandmother in it and then the next just…doesn’t? How are you supposed to keep going through each of them moving forward without her? Someone who was always willing to listen, someone who made you laugh and feel at home in your skin. 

Someone who just saw you. There’s only been one another person in your life that’s made you feel like that. 

The days slip forward but you don’t end up leaving your room, spending time in bed, unmoving. You ignore your laptop, your pinging phone that eventually dies, the pleas of your parents to eat something. You just…you can’t. Not right now. There’s an ache in your chest that is beyond anything you’ve ever felt before, it immobilizes you. In the back of your mind you know you should take care of yourself, that the last thing your grandmother would want is this. 

But today isn’t that day. 

You shift in bed, adjusting your head on your pillow, hearing your bedroom door open. You don’t turn to look at who it is—probably your mother, either setting food on your nightstand or maybe deciding she’s gonna force your hand. Yank the covers off and encourage you to get a shower. You cover your face with your hand, listening to the movements as the door closes again. 

Blankets are pulled back, but someone crawls in, your heart lurching into your throat as you realize who it is. 

Nick drags his hand down your arm, shuffling closer until his front maps against your back. “You don’t have to say anything,” He murmurs, “But I’m going to lay here with you. Alright?” 

You lick your lips, the bridge of your nose stinging as you realize he’s supposed to be gone this week. He mentioned he was going to travel with his dad and yet he’s here, with you, offering you comfort and space all at once. You lean back just a little into him, a silent reply, squeezing your eyes shut. Nick’s hand rubs your shoulder, thumb tracing back and forth along your elbow, a kiss pressed to the back of your neck. 

The weight of his body and the heat of his skin make tears gather in your eyes. You’re not sure how your heart can feel so full and empty all at the same time. Sniffling, you turn your body so that you’re facing him, Nick leaning back just a little. His hand comes to rest on your waist, his head perched on your one pillow. Your eyes begin to trace the soft blonde curls that are near his forehead, the slope of his nose, his strong jawline and full lips. 

He’s here—and you love him even more than you already do, which doesn’t feel possible. 

Nick’s eyes explore your face, his one hand cupping your cheek and brushing underneath your eye, removing invisible tears that haven’t fallen yet. “I’m so sorry.” He whispers. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying not to cry, but on the next intake of breath tears spill over your cheeks. You cover your face with one hand, your shoulders shuddering, and Nick closes the space between you. He draws you into his chest, tucking you under his chin, and you find yourself clinging to him as each sob wracks your body. All the pent up emotions you’ve had since you found out empty against his chest—and Nick takes it all. 

He steadies you, wrapping his arms tightly around your frame, pressing his nose and lips into your hair. He squeezes every so often, your fingers gathering his shirt into your hands as if you can ground yourself in him. 

“That’s it,” He threads his hand through your hair, rubbing his thumb against the back of your neck. “Just let it all out.” Nick knows you far too well, knows that you haven’t given yourself time to feel, to be. To let it all wash over you. That you need this and didn’t realize how much that was true until it was happening. 

You exhaust yourself, until you’re a mess of sniffles and stumbled breathing. Nick pulls back a little, cupping both sides of your face to brush your hair behind your ears. He presses a kiss to your forehead, reaching over your shoulder to grab a few tissues from the box on your nightstand. 

“Thank you.” Your voice is a bit strained from lack of use and you try your best to clean up your face, crumpling the tissues into your palms. You’re not just thanking him for the tissues though, it’s for everything, for being here. 

Your chest hurts but…you feel a little bit better. You’re not sure when you’ll feel like yourself again, but it’s a good, small, first step. Your gaze finds Nick’s, who’s watching you with a careful expression. Not because he thinks you might start crying again, but because he’s concerned. Worried. You lift your hand and brush your thumb over his lower lip, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek. 

“I love you.” You tell him, feeling him go still beneath your touch. You know this might not be the best time, that maybe these thick, heavy emotions are driving forth how you make decisions, but…if anything? You’ve just been reminded that life is short. That you shouldn’t go through it without sharing how you feel about things, about people. 

“I know it’s…I know we still have to talk and I understand if—” If you don’t feel the same way, is what you want to say but the words get trapped underneath your tongue. 

Nick’s hand falls to your neck, tipping your chin up with his thumb, “I love you too.” He replies, stealing the air right from your lungs. “That’ll never change.” He holds your gaze a moment, playfully pinching your chin between his thumb and fingers. “Okay?” 

You give him a soft, watery smile, nodding before he tucks you in close again. 

Nick stays as long as you need him. 

—

A handful of weeks pass by—the pain of losing your grandmother doesn’t completely disappear. But you do feel better. They say that time is capable of healing all wounds, and maybe that’s true, but honestly? You think it has everything to do with Nick. 

—

Jenna’s birthday is celebrated at her house, a large party underway. You’d expect nothing less at celebrating someone so vibrant. You’re over there early to help set up, to hang out and do your makeup, to eat a little too much cake with sweet icing. Her house fills up fast, people you’ve never even met before spilling into all the rooms of the lavish London estate. You’re looking for someone specific though. 

You and Nick haven’t spoken with the intention of clearing the air since your grandmother passed. He’s been giving you space to breathe and work through your emotions, which…you appreciate, but you don’t want space anymore. You don’t want to spend one more day caught between a ‘sometimes’ and an ‘almost’. 

“You seen Nick?” You call out to Lion who’s mixing drinks in the kitchen. 

“Playing pool I think.” He volleys back. 

Making your way through the crowd of people, you turn towards the dining room were the pool table is located, but stop short when you hear Anna—

“C’mon Nick, at the very least we used to be good friends.” 

“Jesus Anna, I’m just trying to take a piss.” Which tells you she cornered him outside the bathroom. You chew on your lower lip, debating turning the corner and revealing that you’re standing there or going about your business to the dining room…or maybe even go back the way you came. 

You shouldn’t be eavesdropping, you know you’d be annoyed if someone was listening in on you, but…your feet feel glued to the carpet. You’re not sure you can move even if you decided to. 

“I’m just trying to say,” Anna replies, softer than before. She must have stepped closer to him because her voice is no longer carrying like it was. “That I miss you.” 

There is no reply from Nick. 

“We’ve always known how to have a good time.” 

When Nick finally does speak, his voice is matter of fact, “That hasn’t been true for a long time.” 

Anna bristles, “I just thought that since you’re single now, free from that—”

“Don’t,” Nick interrupts, a warning. You can picture the muscle in his jaw working, the way it clenches when he begins to get pissed off. Then, “You thought wrong.” 

A door closes, effectively ending the conversation. You know you should probably move as Anna storms down the hallway, but you don’t and when she turns the corner, her eyes go wide. You straighten your shoulders at her scowl, offering her a bright smile…before heading in the direction she came from. 

Down the hall, towards Nick. 

You wait patiently outside the bathroom for the door to open, his eyebrows lifting in soft surprise as he sees you leaning against the far wall. Warm amusement blooms over his face, erasing the earlier attitude lines from his expression.  Nick’s shoulders drop from his ears, his entire demeanor relaxes around you, as if he’s peeling away a version of himself. That he’s showing you something real. You have no idea why you hadn’t noticed it before. 

He props himself against the doorframe, “This feels vaguely familiar.” He smirks, glancing down the empty hall. 

You move towards him, a fond smile on your face, “I was looking for you.” 

Nick draws in a soft breath, tipping his chin down as you come to stand in front of him. “How have you been doing?”

It’s a large question, one you’re not sure you have a complete answer for, but you love that he asks, “I’m alright,” You nod, “Some days are better than others.” 

He nods, silence stretching between you both but it’s not uncomfortable. Your heart hammers a little into your ears and you resist the urge to straighten your dress when you know it’s perfectly fine. 

“I’m not keeping you from anything, am I?” You ask after a moment, “Anna waiting to have a good time?” 

Nick lets out a soft laugh that sounds like a breath leaving his nose, rolling his eyes, “Heard all that, did you?” 

And yes, you may have admitted that you were eavesdropping, but he doesn’t look put off in the slightest. “Was a valiant effort on her part.” 

His gaze is warm as he shakes his head and suddenly the silence between you two feels electrically charged. “She didn’t come close.” 

You feel heat splotch across the back of your neck and fuck, you have no idea what it is exactly about Nick and how he can make you feel like this. Like everything you thought you knew has been flipped upside down. You breathe in through your nose to settle the butterflies, straightening your spine in resolve so you don’t chicken out—

“This…distance between us, it’s…it was my fault.” 

Nick’s eyebrows draw together a little and he takes a step forward and you’re almost breathing the same air. You can feel the heat of his body through his clothes, his cologne achingly familiar, his fingers brushing yours as he takes your hand into his. You turn your wrist, your thumb playing with a ring on his index. 

You expect him to make a joke about there not being distance at all, but instead, he shakes his head, not allowing you to take all the blame, “I knew what you were doing,” Pulling away, “and instead of trying to talk to you, I made it worse.” 

“You wanted to hurt me,” You admit in a small voice. 

Nick glances away, a twitch in his jaw that tells you everything without him even having to say it. Not something he’s proud of, yet true. 

“Is that what you really wanted?” You ask, quickly clarifying when pain flashes in his eyes. “To break up?” 

He lifts his hand and plays with a strand of hair near your ear before tucking it behind. There’s a soft smile playing with the corners of his mouth, but it’s like he’s afraid to give into the full emotion. 

“Think we both know I’m not exactly over you.” 

You smile back, “So I’ll take that as a no then—”

Nick leans down to kiss you. It’s gentle at first, wary, asking for permission—just in case. But the moment you thread your fingers behind his neck, when you lean your body into his and make a soft, pleased noise, that’s all it takes for him to deepen the kiss. The atmosphere shifts around you and Nick leans down, lifting you up into his arms, backing up into the bathroom as your legs wrap around his waist. 

Sometimes Nick reminds you of fire—warmth, crackling energy, unpredictability. All-consuming. It’s one of your favorite things about him, how undeniable he is. 

The kiss breaks for a moment, you breathe and Nick’s one arm keeps you close while the other slips between you. His hand cups your cheek, thumb toying with your lower lip. “Whoever thought breaking up was a good idea is an absolute tool.” 

A giggle slips out, making Nick smile against your lips, and he backs up until he becomes flush with a wall. When that happens, he carefully loosens his arms so that you end up back on the floor, pressed against him. Your arms lazily wrap around his waist, up and under his jacket, a soft squeeze following. 

He purses his lips, “You think Jenna would be angry with us for leaving her birthday party early?” 

You really like where that thought is going, “I think she’ll understand,” You tip your chin up at him, smiling, “Besides, I have one of those faces that’s hard to say no to—sure she can’t be mad at it, either.”

Nick sighs softly, grabbing your hand to lace his fingers with your own. He begins to tug you from the bathroom, “Don’t I know it.” 

You grin, wandering back down the hallway and through the party towards the front door where all the cars are parked. You pass Anna on the way out, her eyes zeroing in on your joined hands. You know it’s petty of you to wave goodbye to her with your other hand—yet you do it anyways. 

—

Nick’s kitchen is filled with the scent of spices, herbs and fatty pork. He kept his promise about making homemade carbonara and you should have known that if he was going to cook, he was going to go all out. You lean against the counter as you sit on a high stool, chin pillowed in your hand, eyes on the back of him as he twirls pasta on the stove with tongs. Your gaze follows the long line of toned muscles in his shoulders, down to his waist. 

One of the hottest things a guy can do, you think, is cook. 

Jenna playfully snaps her fingers in front of your face, breaking your staring contest. You’re not even embarrassed, you just grin at her. She shakes her head, amused, “I’m so glad you’re back together, babe. No offense, I love you, but you both were just absolutely insufferable.” 

You scoff out an affronted noise, your hand on your chest in mock offense as Nick turns around to plate pasta. He’s smiling, his eyes flickering to yours before concentrating on the task at hand. He pulls long noodles from the pot, twisting even helpings onto serving plates. 

Everyone eats their fill—Jenna, Lion and Giles headed towards the pool for a late night swim. You and Nick will join them, eventually, but for now you have another helping of pasta as Nick cleans up the kitchen. You smile a little as you hear Jenna laugh outside, splashes of water. A pleased breath is drawn into your lungs as you eat the last bit of pasta on your plate. 

It’s gone—a tragedy. 

“Not going to lick the plate?” Nick asks, voice full teasing, a warmth in his gaze as he takes the plate from you. 

You narrow your eyes a little, “I mean, it was good, but check your ego.” 

Nick smirks, “Alright, so what’s the verdict?” You pretend to give it some serious thought, pausing for dramatic effect. Your boyfriend laughs suddenly, shaking his head— “Oh come on, you’re not serious.” 

“I’m still thinking!” 

“What’s there to think about?” He asks, “Homemade carbonara.” 

“Yeah, but like…have you ever ordered a cheeseburger with a perfect side of cinnamon pancakes?” You ask, purposely trying to jerk his wire, “Only a diner can do that.” 

Nick sets the plate down behind him, turning to lean against the counter. He gives you an incredulous look, “You are absolutely wrong for that, don’t know how else to put it.” 

You preen, a grin on your face, “You love me.” You toss it out rather carelessly, not expecting Nick to catch it. 

And yet he does, handles it with care, keeps it close. “Yes,” He nods, a small smile on his face. “I do.” 

A soft breath catches in your throat and warmth, affection, gathers in the center of your chest. The sensation used to make you feel like running away, but not anymore. You tilt your head a little, 

“Come over here and kiss me.” 

Nick pushes himself off the counter, rounding the island counter as you shift your body on the stool. He’s moving almost too fast, eager, and you don’t have time to open your legs for him as he leans down and captures your lips. That’s just fine though, his hands splay your knees apart before he sinks between them. 

A soft noise leaves your lips, an ache beginning in your stomach and blooming lower, your one ankle hooks around the back of his leg. There’s a distant thought in the back of your mind, shouldn’t we be getting back to our friends? — but that is quickly overshadowed when you feel the beginning of Nick’s hardness against your inner thigh. 

He seems to read your mind because in one quick motion, he’s lifting you up into his arms and you steady yourself with your legs around his waist, arms draped over his shoulders. 

“What are you doing?” You laugh, noses brushing as he tips his head up to look at you. 

“Making up for lost time.” And carries you towards his bedroom. 

[optimism-blooms]

Matthew Broome As Nick Leister | MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

[nat111love]

MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

[bakerolivia]

MY FAULT: LONDON ( 2025 ) dir. Charlotte Fassler, Dani Girdwood

[pascaloverx]

SHAMELESS

Summary: You are moving into the Leister mansion after tragically losing your father in a plane crash. He worked for William Leister, who immediately offered to take you in. The problem? His son, Nick Leister, who is far from pleased about having a stranger living under his roof.

Author's Note: My slight fixation on Matthew Broome led me to create this fanfic, but I can’t guarantee it will be good. So, dear reader, if you enjoy it, please interact and comment. The fanfic will likely contain strong language, violence, and adult content. Minors should not engage with it.

two

ONE

It's like a fairy tale—a young, poor woman turning into the new Cinderella. At least, that's what the media is saying. But that’s not exactly what’s happening in your life.

Your father spent his life working for William Leister. During a business trip, the plane he was on crashed, leaving no survivors. You had just started college and taken a part-time job to help your father pay the tuition. And now, you don’t even know what to do.

Well, actually, you do. You’re packing your bags to move in with your father’s former boss. He feels guilty, even if he won’t admit it, and decided to invite you to live with him and his son. So now, you’re leaving the house you grew up in to step into what the internet is calling a princess’s life.

They even sent a car to pick you up, which feels quite fancy. You still can’t believe the size of the place you’ll be living in—in fact, you feel almost out of place.

"I hope you had a pleasant trip," William says, embracing you gently. His staff carries your bags inside the mansion.

"It was smooth," you reply, following William inside his home. "With all due respect, sir, your house—or rather, your mansion—is truly enchanting," you say, marveling at everything around you.

"There’s no need to call me ‘sir.’ Just William is fine. Now, my house is quite large, and unfortunately, I’m running late for a charity event. It won’t take long, but I’m sure Nick will show you around," Mr. Leister says as he adjusts his suit and tie.

You feel a bit uneasy about relying on his son, but you nod in agreement and watch as he leaves the mansion, a bouquet of flowers in his hands—probably for a date.

"Are you planning to just stand by the door?" A male voice speaks from behind you. Surprised, you turn around.

"Not at all, but I fail to see how that’s any of your concern," you reply, still standing in place. It might have sounded rude, but he doesn’t seem too pleased either.

"Some might say that since you’re in my house, you could be a bit more polite," Nick says as he descends the stairs, his gaze fixed on you.

"If this is your way of saying you want me gone, you don’t have to say it twice," you retort, turning to grab your suitcase and leave. It might be a bit drastic, but you’re not about to be humiliated by some rich boy.

Before you can go upstairs to get your bags, however, Nick catches your arm—not forcefully, despite his muscular build, but just enough to stop you. The closeness between you is enough for you to catch the scent of his cologne. He, however, is clearly staring at your lips.

"You’re a guest of my father. It wouldn’t be right for me to make you leave. If anyone should leave, it’s me," Nick says, his eyes studying you, while you’re too focused on the proximity between you to say anything.

"Perhaps we should try not to get on each other’s nerves… at least for a while," you whisper, leaning in slightly. The tension is palpable, as if the two of you are trying to read each other through your gaze.

"We’ll see what the future holds," Nick replies before finishing his descent. "Oh, in case my father didn’t mention it, I don’t usually stay here overnight," he adds with a smirk, leaving you wondering what you’re supposed to do alone in this place.

"And I’m supposed to stay here all by myself?" you ask, surprised—or maybe indignant. Not that you need a babysitter, but you don’t even know where anything is.

"If you’d rather, you can come with me. But preferably, I think you’ll want to stay here—it’s safer," he says, sounding like some secret agent or mobster.

"I suppose I’ll have to go just to see how much danger I can handle," you reply, stepping closer and looking him in the eye, your faces mere inches apart.

"If you say so," he mutters, feigning disinterest.

"Your father said you’d show me the mansion," you remind him. You’re certain he won’t want to, but you can at least try.

"I think you’ll manage to find your way around. But if you do get lost, you can call my name—whether I answer or not, we’ll see," he says smugly before walking away, leaving you standing there.

[chimiye]

Matthew Broome as less toxic Nick Leister My Fault: London (2025) Dir. Charlotte Fassler & Dani Girdwood

[twistedreads]

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.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

My Fault London: Nick Blurbs

A/N: Kind of headcannons, kind of blurbs, all around just wanted to write for Nick :) Spicey Ver. Here!

Fast, Calculated

Nick’s car hums beneath you, the engine smooth as he weaves through the streets at an almost effortless speed. You know he’s in control, but that doesn’t stop your pulse from spiking every time he threads through tight gaps between cars like they aren’t even there.

“Nick—” you start, gripping the edge of your seat.

His smirk is almost lazy, but his eyes never leave the road. “Relax.”

“Relax? You’re going ninety in a fifty zone—”

Before you can finish, he smoothly takes a turn down an empty side street, braking just enough for the car to slide into place at the curb. His hand lands on your knee—firm, steady.

“You don’t trust me?” he asks, his voice softer now.

You exhale, your fingers still clenched against the seat. You hate that he always does this—pushes the limits, then pulls back just in time. Never reckless, but always toeing the line.

He watches you carefully. His hand doesn’t move. “I know what I’m doing,” he murmurs. “You know that.”

You swallow, heart still racing. Slowly, you force yourself to breathe.

Finally, you meet his gaze. “I do.”

His smirk fades into something almost unreadable, and for a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your breathing and the distant hum of the city outside. Then, as if the moment never happened, he pulls away and taps the wheel.

“Good,” he says, voice back to its usual cocky drawl. “Now, you picking the music, or are we just sitting in silence all night?”

Protective to a Fault

The party is too loud, too crowded. You regret coming the second you realize how packed it is, but Nick insisted he wasn’t letting you stay home alone.

“You gotta get out once in a while,” he had teased. “Or I’m gonna start thinking you secretly hate fun.”

You had rolled your eyes, but now, as you shift uncomfortably in the too-warm space, you almost wish you had stayed home.

Especially because the guy you’ve been trying to politely brush off for the last five minutes isn’t getting the hint.

“Come on, sweetheart,” the guy slurs, leaning in too close. “One dance—what’s the harm?”

Your stomach twists. “I said no.”

“That’s not what your eyes are saying—”

And then suddenly, Nick is there, standing between you and the guy like he was waiting for this moment.

“Hey, buddy,” Nick says, voice light, but there’s something dangerous underneath. “Didn’t she just say no?”

The guy scoffs, barely glancing at Nick. “Who the hell are you?”

Now normally Nick isn’t one for talking much. He likes to use his fists to communicate. But after promising his mother promising you, not to be so violent, he finds his restraint ticking like a clock at the moment. Nick tilts his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Someone with a short temper and a lot of free time. You wanna find out what happens when you ignore her again?”

The guy sizes Nick up, like he’s thinking about pushing his luck. But then Nick shifts slightly, and you know he’s already decided what will happen if this guy takes another step toward you.

The guy mutters something under his breath before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Nick doesn’t watch him leave. Instead, he turns to you, scanning your face. “You okay?”

You nod, exhaling. “Yeah. Thanks.”

He doesn’t say anything—just hands you the drink from his own hand instead of yours.

You frown. “What—”

“Mine’s not spiked,” he says simply.

The realization hits you all at once. You glance down at the drink you were holding. Had that guy—?

Your stomach churns.

Nick sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I told you,” he mutters. “You gotta stop trusting people. I get to do that for you.”

Soft Spot for Animals

It’s past midnight when you walk into Nick’s garage, expecting to find him working on his car. Instead, you see him crouched down beside a tiny, scrappy-looking kitten, offering it a piece of leftover sandwich.

You stop in your tracks, biting back a grin. “Are you—”

Nick looks up sharply. “Shut up.”

You raise your hands in mock surrender. “Didn’t say a word.”

He mutters something under his breath and focuses back on the kitten. It hesitates before snatching the food from his hand, its little ribs visible under its fur.

“You’re keeping it,” you say, matter-of-fact.

Nick scoffs. “Hell no.”

Two days later, you walk into the garage and find the same kitten curled up in his lap while he absently scratches behind its ears.

You smirk. “Not keeping it, huh?”

Nick doesn’t even look up. “It’s temporary.”

Sure.

Night Owl

Your phone buzzes at 2 AM.

Nick: Come outside.

You sigh but grab your hoodie anyway, stepping out into the night air. He’s leaning against his car, arms crossed, looking up at the sky.

“You always do this?” you ask, stuffing your hands into your pockets. “Show up unannounced in the middle of the night?”

He tilts his head toward the passenger seat. “Couldn’t sleep. Figured you couldn’t either.”

You blink. He’s not wrong, but… how does he know that?

Still, you don’t argue. You get in.

He drives with the windows down, the air cool against your skin. Neither of you speak, but the silence is comfortable. Eventually, he pulls up to an overlook where the whole city stretches below.

For a while, you just sit there, watching the lights. Then, out of nowhere, he says, “You ever think about leaving?”

You glance at him. “Where would we go?”

He taps his fingers against the steering wheel. “Somewhere new. Somewhere no one knows us.”

Something in his voice makes your chest tighten.

“You’d take me with you?” you ask quietly.

Nick turns his head toward you, his expression unreadable. Then, just as softly, he says, “Wouldn’t go without you.”

Actions Over Words

Nick isn’t the type to say he cares.

Instead, he just shows up.

When your car won’t start in the middle of the night while you’re over late at a friends house, you don’t even get through the second ring before he picks up.

“What’s wrong?”

“Car won’t start,” you mumble. “I—I didn’t know who else to call—”

“Where are you?” he asks, already moving.

Fifteen minutes later, he pulls up beside you. He doesn’t say a word—just pops the hood, fixes the problem in five minutes, then leans against the car with his arms crossed.

“Next time, don’t wait so long to call me,” he says.

You sigh, rubbing your arms. “I didn’t want to bother you—”

He clicks his tongue. “Dumbest thing I’ve heard all night.”

You smile. “So… I’m not a bother?”

Nick gives you a look. Then, to your surprise, he reaches out and flicks your forehead.

“You better not be,” he mutters. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[alwaysalir]

MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

[corona-australis]

Did you mean what you said?

[henryofwales]

The Lip Thing™

[10ava01]

How is this movie so much better than the original????

This is gone be on my mind for the next few months!

[optimism-blooms]

Matthew Broome As Nick Leister | MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

[nat111love]

MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

[bakerolivia]

MY FAULT: LONDON ( 2025 ) dir. Charlotte Fassler, Dani Girdwood

[alrightsnaps]

one thing about prime video they will eat with every single romance adaptation