#my fault london

[nat111love]

MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

[optimism-blooms]

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

[chimiye]

Do you think you're better off alone? My Fault: London (2025) Dir. Charlotte Fassler & Dani Girdwood

[henryofwales]

The Lip Thing™

[alwaysalir]

MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

"I want you more than I have ever wanted anyone."

[bakerolivia]

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

[blainesebastian]

ocean in a glass

word count: 7,093 ship: Nick Leister x reader rating: R (language) summary: The last thing you expected was for Nick to offer to be your fake date for the night. notes: continue to appreciate all of you who send me comments, cute asks or even just like or reblog my fics. thank you!!! 🥰 notes 2: gifs are from here, masterlist is here!

It’s not that you want your ex back, you don’t. You’re just pissed that he managed to actually hurt you. Your relationship wasn’t perfect, not by a long shot, but you thought you were happy. At least most of the time. It’s not like you have a lot to compare it to, you’ve only been in a handful of relationships, and this past one was the longest and most serious. No, it wasn’t always easy, it took a little bit of work. But that’s…you didn’t think there was anything wrong with that. Relationships aren’t always what they seem like in books, or movies. Sometimes you need to put time and effort in. 

Regardless, you never thought your ex would cheat on you. 

Even if things had been off for a week or so, even if you thought that you might have been falling out of love with him anyways, the action itself stings. Didn’t you respect one another enough to talk about what wasn’t working? Didn’t you both care enough about eachother to be honest? You had been building up the nerve to have a conversation…and then this whole thing just blew up in your face. 

You’re angry it hurts, you’re upset that your social circles have been tainted by him acting like you never meant anything in the first place. You’re not…totally put off that people talk, some consider Evan to be an outright dick anyways. But that worthless feeling that sits in your chest sometimes? That ‘what if’ that lingers that maybe you somehow deserved this, that you weren’t a good enough girlfriend to keep? 

You hate that he put those doubts there. Because you know, inherently, that they're not true. 

Except you haven’t been able to get rid of those feelings, sometimes they hang around, like ghosts. 

Evan’s got plenty of people he’s interested in, he’s a free agent that’s taking advantage of being single. You’re not jealous about that or wishing his attentions were turned towards you. You do, however, hate the sickening feeling that you’re alone in all this. You’re not saying you need to jump into another relationship but the break-up does a number on your self-esteem, your self-worth. Jenna teases you that it’s time to get over Evan by getting underneath someone else, and you get the sentiment, but that’s the last thing you’re interested in. Casual or otherwise. 

You just…want to stop feeling like garbage, hate that he’s coiled that emotion deep within your chest, like weeds sprouting. You know that one day you’ll be okay, that those feelings will pass, that you know Evan wasn’t worth all the time and effort you gave him. You’ll get over it. But maybe that’s what fucking stings too…the fact that you gave so much when he gave so little. 

Leaning against the kitchen counter in Jenna’s kitchen, you smile when Lion leans over and presses a kiss to her temple. You then glance away, the action somehow making your chest hurt.

“C’mon,” Jenna grins at you, and you tap your fingers on the table, “You have to come, I want you there.” 

Nick comes around the corner into the kitchen, just arriving, the scent of his cologne wafting past you. It’s not overwhelming, though, it’s comforting in the way you know a person, that feeling of safety that being close to someone can provide. You give him a small smile when he rounds the counter, his eyes meeting yours for a brief moment, a tug of his lips. 

“What are we talking about?” 

You sigh dramatically, rolling your eyes before shaking your head. Jenna gets up off her stool, “I was telling Y/N that she needs to come to this party tonight, that she can’t sit around and stick her head in the sand.” 

“She is sitting right here,” I reply, letting out a soft laugh. You glance towards Nick, your eyes briefly running over his form—pair of jeans, a black t-shirt, silver chain resting on his chest,  leather jacket. The soft blonde in his curls looks almost darkened gold underneath the kitchen lights. Handsome without even trying. “I’m not interested in going to a party that my ex is at.” 

Jenna crinkles her nose, “Never?” 

“Babe, maybe let her be.” Lion gently squeezes her side and you force a smile you don’t altogether feel. You get that Jenna is trying to help and in general? You do agree that moving on is a good idea, you’re just…not ready for that yet. 

“No, it’s okay,” You assure, glancing towards Nick when you can feel his gaze. You’ve known him a long time and yet it’s always been difficult to get a good read on him because he rarely wears his emotions on his face. Unless he’s pissed. You like the moments where he smiles with his eyes, you wish he did it more often. 

“I just don’t feel like being around him right now.” 

You don’t admit why, but you’re sure your friends can guess. Evan has been throwing into your face that he’s been flirting with basically anything that moves. It’s not that you’re jealous or even care about him, not anymore. Not like that. But you hate that he thinks he’s getting underneath your skin. It also just speaks to the fact that your relationship wasn’t worth…anything to him. And that, for reasons you can’t fully express, is embarrassing to you. 

Jenna hums, moving around the counter to plant a kiss to your cheek that makes you laugh before she says she’s going to get ready. “Whatever you want babe, long as you’re okay.” Lion follows in tow, skittering behind her to pick her up in a way that makes her giggling echo down the hallway. 

You’re not okay yet, not exactly, but…you’ll get there. 

Shaking your head, you reach for a glass of water that you poured, your eyes slipping to Nick. “You going tonight?” 

He nods, a small smile on his face as he leans against the counter, “Someone doesn’t watch Lion he’ll end up thinking he can hula dance.” A laugh bubbles up in your chest at the mental image. 

“Wouldn't wish that on anyone.” 

“No,” Nick agrees with a soft smirk, straightening his shoulders before taking a longer look at you. His eyes travel along your form, as if he’s drinking you in, attempting to read words printed underneath your skin. You resist the urge to squirm. “So definitely not going?” 

You blink, “What? Oh,” You curl your hair around your ear, “Nah, not even just with the Evan thing but I don’t think I’d be very great company right now.” 

He moves to stand near where you are, leaning his hip against the counter so he can face you, “I doubt that.” 

A small smile tugs the corner of your mouth, your stomach dipping in butterflies. You lift your hand to playfully poke at his chest, “You’re sweet.” 

Nick catches your wrist, his fingers moving to squeeze your own. You expect him to let go after that but he doesn’t. Instead, he runs his thumb along your knuckles, “I’m not,” He replies, “Not really.” 

You hum a little, not believing him for a moment. Maybe he’s not exactly the warmest person to everyone, but to his friends? The people he cares for? He’s one of the sweetest people you’ve ever met. Thoughtful, caring, protective. You love that about him. 

Part of you considered going to this party just to let off steam, but that other part of you feels weighed down in molasses, unsure of how to pull yourself free from that. You watch the way Nick’s hand travels along your own, dipping your thumb to press against his, a soft smirk as it almost becomes a war. He covers yours, shaking your hand a little and encouraging you to look up. 

“He’s an absolute shit for hurting you.” He says and you…you don’t need anyone to tell you that, but it means something for him to say it. 

You swallow over an emotion in your throat, shrugging your one shoulder, “I feel stupid that he did,” You admit quietly, “Like I should have seen it coming.” 

Nick shakes his head, “What he did isn’t your fault.” 

Letting out a soft sigh that tilts your head back a little, you don’t say anything. For one, you don’t want to end up doing something embarrassing like crying. That jerk does not deserve your tears. But also? It’s hard to accept those words as truth. You're trying to, but it’s not easy. 

“I think he thinks I’m stuck up on him,” Your eyebrows draw together, “That’s the last thing I am.” 

Nick licks his lips and you can tell for a moment that he’s mulling something over, chewing words and slipping them under his tongue before he says, 

“I think hiding gives him that impression.” 

The words hit an open wound, even though they’re not meant to. They dig into a place in which you’re utterly vulnerable and you hate that Nick’s exploited that spot. Or maybe you’re just ashamed that he’s right. You are hiding. 

You chew on your lower lip and Nick soothes his thumb up your hand and over the inside of your wrist, as if apologizing. But you don’t want him to say he’s sorry, he doesn’t owe you that. He’s right—he’s completely right. 

“What…should I do instead?” 

Nick purses his lips, a swirl of amusement and mischievousness amongst the brown of his eyes. Your heart ticks up behind your ribcage, “I think you should come to the party tonight. And I think you should let me be your date.” 

—

It wasn’t often that you, Evan and your friend group had hung out around one another. Jenna had never been a fan, but respected how you felt, supported you despite getting ‘those vibes’ that Evan was trouble. You should have listened to her, but love—or what you thought was love, is not only blind but apparently deaf and dumb as well. 

The few times Nick and Evan were around one another, it never ended well. Evan got on Nick’s nerves from the very moment that he didn’t get your birthday right. It seemed, at the time, like an honest mix up, a confusion of a few days, but ever since then? It didn’t take much for Evan to get under Nick’s skin. 

You remember this one instance that you were all hanging out at Jenna’s, eating food, chatting, debating whether to head to the beach over the long weekend. Evan picked up a fried olive and tried to feed it to you—

You scrunch your nose, “No, I’m good.” 

He scoffs, “C’mon, trying to be romantic here. Granted it’s not as sexy as a chocolate covered strawberry, but—” 

A small smile tugs the corners of your mouth but you shake your head. You appreciate the sentiment, but, “I’m good. You eat it.”

Evan opens his mouth to say something again when Nick interrupts, his voice hard around the edges, making his accent appear deeper, “For fuck’s sake, she doesn’t like olives.” 

You remember a soft swoop in your stomach at that, that something so trivial and simple could have such a big impact. It’s not like you’re not vocal about things like that—you hate raw onions, you don’t like olives, and you’re allergic to shellfish. It should have been obvious, easy to remember. Just like your birthday. And yet. 

Maybe you should have realized it then. Because it felt like Nick was trying to point out—you really shouldn’t be with someone who doesn’t know you or worse, care to remember. 

—

You pace, back and forth, in the inside of your walk-in closet for a few moments, wondering what the fuck you were thinking. 

When Nick mentioned he should be your date, your fake date, you had let out a sharp laugh that kinda lingered until you realized he wasn’t kidding. 

What? 

Look, you can show everyone that you’re not hiding out, stuck up on that fuck-face. And who knows, maybe you’ll actually have a good time while you’re at it. 

You have no idea why you said yes. Actually, no, that’s a lie. You know exactly why you said yes—because Nick’s an instigator, for one, but also? He’s right. You do want to head to that party and have a good time and prove to everyone (and yourself) that you’re not as hurt by what Evan did as what’s assumed. You’re not saying it’s not okay to feel terrible about what’s happened…but you shouldn’t let it break you, either. 

A deeper part of you has also thought about Nick, has considered the possibility of more than just friendship. Sometimes gazes and touches linger, and you wonder…

You wonder. 

But you’ve never allowed yourself to go beyond that. You were with Evan and even when you weren’t, Nick always felt like someone just out of reach, unattainable for so many reasons. So tonight, the promise of being able to tuck yourself in close, to brush your lips against his own, to pretend—it’s too alluring to pass up. 

I’m going to be miserable, you said. 

I can take it, Nick teased, it’s part of your charm. 

So now here you are, pacing in your closet, trying to figure out what the fuck to wear like you’ve never attended a party before. Everything feels too tight, or too short or too uncomfortable. It’s all in your head, you know that, and yet you rip another dress off and toss it into the corner to lay with the rest of what you’ve already tried on. 

Like a little cemetery of party clothes. 

Nick purses his lips from his spot on a stool near your shoes, “I kinda liked that one.” 

“You’ve said that about all of them.” It doesn’t bother you that you’re wandering around your closet in front of him in your bra and underwear, your bathing suit has covered less skin. Nothing he hasn’t seen before. You are bothered, however, that you can feel his eyes on you as you move about the space. 

It’s making you feel a little stir crazy, like bugs underneath your skin. 

“I have nothing to wear, I can’t go.” 

Nick’s lips twitch but he doesn’t smile, knows better than to do that, standing instead and running a hand through his curls. He steps over dresses on the floor and fingers through ones that are still on hangers. Not for long, if you’ve got anything to do with it. You’re about to call it quits, for real. He tugs on a denim one—it’s an overalls mini dress, made for something to go under it. You’ve worn it over bathing suits before, long sleeves with tights underneath in the winter. 

“Wear this.” 

You crinkle your nose, “It’s plain.” 

“Not on you.” 

You feel your cheeks heat and travel all the way down your neck, “You gotta stop saying stuff like that.” 

“As your fake date, I’m obligated,” He grins, taking the dress off the hanger. His eyes brush over your bra and then he turns, tugging open a drawer that’s half open that has lace bralettes sticking out of it. He plucks a black one between his fingers. “This underneath. Let me see.” 

You blink at the selection but sigh, taking them. You then twirl your fingers in a circle, “You’re going to have to turn around for this.” 

He smiles, leaning his shoulder against the one wall of your closet, “I’ll be on my absolute best behavior.” He crosses his heart and you shove his shoulder, making him laugh. He then covers his eyes with his hands. 

Smiling just a little, you change into the outfit he picked out, looking at yourself in the mirror. Cute, with a hint of sexiness underneath the denim dress thanks to the lace, and above-all comfortable. It’s actually…a really good choice, though you’re not sure you want to give him the satisfaction in saying that. 

“Can I look?” 

Smoothing your hands over imaginary wrinkles, you nod before you realize he can’t see you. “Yes.” 

Nick pulls his hands away from his face, his eyes drinking you in. It’s definitely not the sexiest thing you’ve ever worn but maybe it’s not supposed to be. It’s not about trying too hard, it’s about being confident with yourself. He steps towards you, his fingers adjusting the strap so it’s straight. 

There’s something about the intimacy of having him stand so close, the privacy of the closet that makes that lump appear in your throat again. Your wring your hands in front of you as you look up at Nick, 

“Do you think he regrets it?” You whisper. 

Nick’s gaze swims with empathy, almost to the point where you have to look away. And it’s…it’s not about feeling bad for you, it’s that he’s hurt because you’re hurting. 

“I think he should,” He replies gently. “I think that’s something that can be arranged.” He means tonight. His hand moves to your chin, brushing his thumb along your jawline. 

“But I want you to promise me something.” 

You let out a breath, “Not to join Lion in the hula?” 

He smirks before shaking his head. “That at no point tonight you blame this breakup on yourself.” 

God. He really does see right through you. A smile decorates your face, but it’s not real, too tight, pretending you’re okay. 

“I dunno if I can promise that.” You whisper. 

A ghost of a smile touches his lips. “Alright,” He nods, understands. “Then I can’t promise I won’t fucking punch him.” 

Your hand covers your mouth as a sudden laugh slips out, that smiling with your eyes thing you mentioned happening on Nick’s face. He reaches for your elbows, tugging you forward until he can wrap his arms around you in a hug. And god, you don’t realize how much you need that until it’s happening. You allow yourself to be folded into his chest, closing your eyes for a few moments, listening to the sound of his breathing. 

There is nothing fake about how your heartbeat skips. 

—

You’ve been fidgety since you left your house. 

You send Jenna a text on the way that you’re coming and she’s thrilled even though you feel so out of your element. Like you have no idea how to act at a party even though that’s not what the nerves are from. It’s not until Nick’s hand gently comes down on your knee and squeezes do you realize you’re jackhammering your leg so bad. 

You smile sheepishly, unhooking your shoulders from your ears and trying to relax back into the leather seats. You expect him to pull away, but he doesn’t, only doing so when you arrive and he needs both hands to park. Letting out a slow breath, you undo the seatbelt, the hum of the engine disappearing as Nick takes his keys out. He’s glancing at you, trying to catch your eye, you can feel it—but for some reason you avoid it, getting out of the car. 

Before you can begin walking up the gravel walkway to the house, he catches your wrist, tugging you to face him. When you do, he searches your eyes for something, probably just to make sure you’re okay. When you offer him a timid smile, he brushes his thumb along the tree of veins near your thumb. It grounds you. 

“This being a date and everything,” Your eyebrows draw together in soft confusion, noticing he doesn’t say the word ‘fake’— you wonder if that’s because someone might overhear him. Couples and groups of friends are parking nearby and making their way towards the low thumps of music ahead. Though the longer you think about that, the more ridiculous it feels. 

He continues, “I need to know if there’s anything you’re not okay with.” 

“Like…you mean, touching?” 

His gaze falls to your lips, “Something like that.” 

You smile a little because…Nick is one of the most tactile people you’ve ever met. He speaks with his hands, he always has. Your friendship has consisted of his hands on you, and vice versa—fingers lingering along your lower back to guide you through a crowd, or pressing into your shoulder blades after a long day, up and down your spine when you’re upset. You, in turn, touch him in similar manners. It’s just…always been a thing between you two, the personal space significantly smaller.

Which is why you say, “Yeah, no. I’m okay with everything.” 

He gives a slow nod, “Okay, just checking.” 

You really appreciate that. Appreciate him. There’s still a swirling of butterflies living in your stomach and visiting your individual ribs at the thought that you’re actually doing this with him, as it settles in the forefront of your mind—

And then all matter of thoughts stop dead in their tracks, because Nick is suddenly shifting you backwards until you bump into the driver’s side of the car. A breath catches in your throat, your heartbeat roaring in your ears like an oncoming wave from the ocean, not yet crashing into the shore. Your gaze searches his but he gives nothing away, just the soft comfort of his brown eyes and the gentle quirk of his mouth. 

His mouth. 

Nick cups your cheek, pausing just a moment as he leans in—just in case, you think, for you to push him away if you wanted to. You’ve got no clue what you want but it’s certainly not that. 

He brushes his lips against yours and when there’s such a sharp intake of breath from you Nick fucking smirks. You refuse to let him unravel you, not unless he’s coming with. So you step closer to him, your bodies lined up and pressed together and you nip at his lower lip, surprising the hell out of him. 

It only takes a moment after that for his lips to come crashing down onto yours. 

The kiss is quick, a little bruising, and you feel yourself tilt your head into it, your hands falling to his chest and gathering the fabric of his shirt between your fingers, like you need to anchor yourself in place. Like the last thing you want is for him to step back. Eventually, that becomes inevitable. He teases the seam of your lips with his tongue and a soft moan you’ll deny making later leaves your throat. 

And then it’s over, he takes a half step back, looking down at you with darkened eyes. Or maybe it’s just the trick of the light out here. He smiles, brushing his thumb along your cheek. 

“Just…figured we’d get that out of the way so you could concentrate the rest of the night.” 

Heat pulses from the center of your body and licks down between your legs, lives there for a few moments as his hand finds yours, lacing your fingers. He squeezes, turns to begin walking with you, and thank fucking god you have a few moments to get your head on straight.

Concentrate the rest of the night? Unfucking likely. 

—

Turns out, being Nick’s date to this party is pretty much like showing up as his close friend. Except with a few specific differences. 

He’s always been an attentive person, but tonight he’s looking at you, speaking with you like you’re capable of hanging the moon. The first time you notice it, that subtle distinction is enough to nearly take you out at your knees. Then there’s the touches, which have always been a norm of your friendship, turned into something domestic and intimate. His hand lingers along your waist, your lower back, fingers brushing the top of your ass. It’s also the occasional nudge of his knuckles along your jawline, sweeping your hair over your shoulder, or guiding your chin so that your lips can graze. You don’t even want to get started on his mouth—how his lips feel against your temple or pressing a kiss into your hair. It overwhelms you in the best way—though not only that? It also serves as a distraction. 

Never does it at any point turn into something over the top, something for show. It’s like it’s as easy as anything else for him that requires muscle memory—boxing, racing, breathing. 

You almost forget none of it is real. 

Lining up a dart to the board…or an attempt, anyways, you let it fly across the space towards the destination. And end up hitting the wall. You wince, 

“I hate this game.” 

Nick chuckles warmly, going to pick up the dart from the floor and wander back over to you, “And that would have nothing to do with the fact that you can’t aim, right?” 

You pout, “It’s harder than it looks.” 

He hums, his eyes zeroing in on that lip. He lifts his hand and thumbs over it, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. A zing of heat travels straight down your spine. You’re not sure you’re going to last the night. 

When you first walked into the party with Nick, you expected everyone’s eyes to find you, for whispers to start, for Evan to appear around the corner with an attractive girl toeing behind. But none of that happens. The nightmarish drama that you’ve built up around yourself is exactly what it is: just a nightmare. The only one who cares about what someone might think about your breakup with Evan is you, which makes it slightly easier to settle into your own skin tonight. 

While a few girl’s heads turn to look down at Nick’s hand laced with yours, particularly Anna, no one cares that you’re here with him. Not even Jenna batted an eyelash at the fact that you were pressed against Nick’s side when she found you, tossing her arms around your neck and promising to get you a drink. She’s probably somewhere tucked away with Lion right now but that’s okay—surprisingly? You’re having a good time. 

Even though you’re losing this game of darts. 

You wonder if you can throw him off somehow, so you lean over and plant a kiss to his cheek. You try to convince yourself that’s all it is, and not because you just really want to. He raises his eyebrows as you pull back, reading you like an open book. 

“Valiant effort.” He teases, turning to face the board. 

He lines up the dart, tosses, and lands on the 20. You scoff, putting your hands on your hips, “Unfair.” 

“That would have been hitting the bullseye,” He smiles at you, licking his lips, “But I was trying to be nice.” 

You grumble under your breath as you reach for another dart—maybe you just need to try harder. Though you’re not sure if you’re directing that at fixing your aim or trying again at distracting him. You let out a breath, trying another technique at throwing the dart differently…and you hit the board but none of the numbers. Nick smiles, glancing over at you, putting his hands up, 

“I’m not going to say a thing.” But when you pout again, he lets out a sigh, “Want me to show you how?” 

You brighten, nodding, moving to retrieve the darts from the board. You set them down near Nick’s leather jacket and when he takes a step towards you, he leans down and brushes his lips along your ear. 

“I think you should ask me nicely.” He whispers. 

Seems wildly unfair that that causes a full bodied shiver but…you’ll deny that if it’s ever brought up. Because with how close Nick is standing? He definitely felt it. 

You turn your head a little, your lips a gentle pressure on his own, as you make your single request against his mouth, “Please?” 

Nick cups your cheek and kisses you. It’s nothing like the first—this one is far more gentle, done with purpose, with thought, his lips map yours as if he’s trying to memorize how it feels. You melt into him, turning to liquid honey against his chest, sliding your arms around his waist. You don’t even realize that one of your hands have gathered the material of his shirt, that you tug on him to come closer again when he begins to pull away. 

He smiles, his hand closing around yours, giving in to your insistence, and presses a quick series of kisses against your lips. You laugh lightly when his mouth follows yours, even when you turn your head, his arms circling around you and keeping you close. 

This is far too easy for you to get used to. 

When he does pull away, he slips behind you, picking up one of the darts. “Turn your body at a bit of an angle.” He instructs, palms on your hips, gently rotating. 

Nick passes the dart over and you try to ignore how you can feel the long lines of his body pressing into your back when his other hand settles on the one holding the dart. 

“You’re holding on too tight,” He tells you, the one hand on your hip has his thumb tracing circles. Are you really supposed to concentrate like this? “Loosen your hand a little.” 

“Loosen yours,” You grumble, to which Nick grins. You can’t see it, but you can feel it against your back, the way his whole body leans forward, squeezing a bit around your waist. 

“Didn’t realize it’d be so difficult for you to pay attention.” He pulls your arm back and demonstrates how to move to throw the dart forward. It feels different than what you were doing, you at least notice that much. 

A small scoff slips from your mouth, “I find it hard to believe that you don’t know exactly what you’re doing most of the time.” 

The fucker presses an open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder in response. You expect that to ruin any semblance of hitting the dart board when Nick drops his hand and encourages you to throw as he showed you—

And then the dart lands in the fucking bullseye. 

Your mouth falls open, a laugh tumbling out. When you whirl around to look at Nick, that handsome smugness fades away to warm amusement at how excited you are. 

You tell yourself to begin to put some distance between the two versions of Nick that you know—the good friend and the fake date, because at a certain point not being able to distinguish between them is only going to hurt you. 

But since you’re used to living with hurt recently, what’s the difference in piling on more ? 

You throw your arms around his neck, nearly rocking him back on his heels as his hands grasp your waist. You’re both smiling when you kiss again. 

—

Two hours pass without running into Evan and you think you begin to tell yourself that maybe it won’t happen. Maybe he went home early or maybe he was never here in the first place. Regardless? You’re grateful for Nick being there for you tonight, a constant support that you never realized you needed. Once you were able to relax? You started having a really good time. The night is spun together with your friends and Nick and…yes, he’s definitely a separate entity tonight. He’s considerate in a way you never realized he could be, and it makes you irrationally jealous of whatever girl in the future that’s going to be able to call him her boyfriend. 

Her very real boyfriend. 

These are thoughts you try your best to ignore as you dance with Jenna, Nick and Lion until your body begs for water. You lean close to Nick and he dips his head down so he can hear you over the music when you tell him you’re going to the kitchen. Instead of letting you go alone, he nods, his hand snaking down your arm to intertwine your fingers. As if it’s something you two do all the time. 

He guides you through the crowd and the air becomes a little cooler and easier to breathe as people dissipate in areas like the hallway and eventually the kitchen. You hum softly, reaching for a paper-towel as Nick breaks away from you to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. You turn the sink on, dampening the paper-towel in cool water and then drag it along your face, 

“I’m so hot,” You let out a soft laugh, “Think it’s the dress.” Denim was a cute idea until you decided to dance in it, until you were pressed together with a bunch of other people. 

He reaches for another paper-towel, drenching it with water and squeezing out the excess before lifting your hair off the back of your neck. When he sets the paper-towel there, you let out a soft moan of relief. 

“That help?” He asks, pressing an absentminded kiss to the back of your shoulder. You’re not sure if he even realizes he’s doing that anymore. 

You nearly want to lean back into him, it feels so good. You can’t even speak, you just nod as your eyes flutter closed. 

And that’s when you hear him. 

Evan’s laughter spills into the kitchen and you don't even realize that you’ve gone rigid until Nick’s hand begins to gently rub your back in soothing circles. That’s how Evan notices you. 

“Shit—Y/N, is that you?” He asks, voice a little slurred from drinking, “Didn’t think you’d be here.” 

Letting out a breath, you turn a little to glance at him, noticing that he’s alone. No one is trailing in behind him as he wanders over to the cooler near the sink to grab another beer. You wait for that moment in which your stomach bottoms out, in which you realize you miss him because that has to be what all of your feelings should dissolve down to, right? And yet…that moment doesn’t come. You don't miss him, you don’t miss what the two of you had, you certainly don’t love him. If anything, you’re upset with yourself for not breaking up with him sooner. You’re angry that you allowed him to dig under your skin, that he’s kind of doing it now by looking smug and satisfied he’s run into you. As if he’s not the one who cheated. You realize that you can be okay that you’re not together anymore but still be hurt by how it happened. It can all exist in the same space. 

“Why?” You ask, your voice surprisingly even. “I like coming to parties—why should tonight be any different?” 

He raises his eyebrows and then shrugs, smiling against the rim of his beer bottle, “Because I’ve heard you’ve been holed up after our breakup.” Seems like that gossip circle is spinning. Hiding out, just like Nick had said. You hate that Evan thinks it's because you’re torn up over losing him. 

You just wanted to avoid this. 

You bite down on the inside of your cheek, hard, at asking him questions that you know will just hurt. It’s like he’s acting like you were a quick fling that lasted a week, not a year spent together building what you thought was trust, love. You draw in a breath—At no point tonight you blame this breakup on yourself. It’s not your fault, you realize—his inability to take a relationship seriously has nothing to do with you. Nick’s right. 

Evan clicks his tongue off the roof of his mouth, “It’s pathetic really—” 

“Don’t talk to her like that.” Nick interrupts, sharp in warning. 

Evan blinks, like he didn’t even see Nick standing there until he opened his mouth. He scoffs, not put off by him, having another sip of his beer, “It’s cute that you think I’d be bothered by him having my sloppy seconds.” 

A few things happen at once—you can feel Nick tense beside you, and you know him well enough to recognize what’s coming. But before he can even throw a fist, you’re chucking yours. It’s like you’re watching in slow motion beside yourself, your arm arched back and then it pops forward, punching Evan right in the fucking nose. 

You’re not sure whether it’s momentum or fucking surprise but Evan’s head snaps to the side before he begins howling. Your mouth opens a little in shock, staring at your fist and the pain radiating from your knuckles up your arm like they’re not even attached to your body. 

“You fucking bit—” 

“I would stop speaking, if I were you.” Nick states, a clear indication that he will gladly finish what you started. 

Shockingly, Evan clamps his mouth shut, holding his face, the glare he’s throwing strong enough to melt someone on the spot. Nick puts his hand on your back, unphased, and leads you out of the kitchen. 

—

You head outside, the chilly air settling in your bones and cooling your blood, which still sounds like it’s pounding in your ears. Nick slides his leather jacket off, placing it over your shoulders and you’re suddenly enveloped with the heat of his body and the scent of his cologne, laundry detergent, and something purely him. 

There’s a well-groomed yard in the back of this party, bushes and flowers and a greenhouse. To the right of it sits a small gazebo and to the left, a set of swings. You raise your eyebrows, your feet drawing you towards the swingset until you’re sitting down in one of them. Nick stands in front of you, holding onto the metal linked chains for a moment before stretching his hand out to you, palm up. 

You place your right hand there, watching. His skin is warm as he splays open your fingers, checking your knuckles. 

“I can’t believe I hit him.” You admit after a moment, a shocked noise of amusement leaving your lips. Fuck. That was so not intended. 

“I know,” Nick replies, lips twitching, “I can’t believe you beat me to it.” 

You can’t help it, you giggle. The sound escapes until it becomes full-bodied laughter, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Nick just watches you with a fond smile, shaking his head as he reaches out and thumbs a tear track created on your cheek. But you’re definitely not sad—you’re fucking invigorated. Eventually that melts into the occasional snicker, Nick pressing a kiss to your bruised knuckles before he joins you on the swing-set. 

“We’ll get you an ice pack or something cold to put on your hand before we leave.” 

You breathe in deeply, tipping your head back to look at the night sky. Rolling your legs forward, you use it as momentum to swing gently before holding onto the chains. Your legs are a bit too long to sweep under you, but you still sway. You’ve always loved swings—can’t remember the last time you were on one. 

Quiet settles between you and Nick, but it’s not uncomfortable, your gaze wandering over to him in his black t-shirt. Your reach out and thumb one of his many line tattoos, skin warm, your stomach bottoming out as you’re met with a very specific question that crawls up your throat. 

You need to know… “Why did you do this for me?” You ask softly, chewing on your lower lip, “The party, the fake date,” The kisses, “Just…all of it?” 

His eyes soften as they lock with yours, as if the answer is obvious, “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you.” 

The way that sentence hits you is so overwhelming, it feels like you’re trying to hold the ocean in a glass. A shudder works down your spine that has nothing to do with the chill in the air. 

“You can’t say things like that to me.” You whisper. 

“Why?” Nick tilts his head, watching you carefully. 

“Because this…” You motion quickly between the two of you, “This is fake. This isn’t real.” That was the whole point, wasn’t it? 

You expect Nick to breeze past this conversation or maybe…get up from the swing, motion you should head back inside and find your friends, or leave the party entirely. But he does none of that, he just pushes his legs back and forth a little, moving the swing. The chain-links creak under his weight. 

“I think we both know that isn’t true.” 

And fuck, you do know that. You’ve felt it long before tonight but just…never knew how to act on it, never knew you could, never thought Nick would feel the same. Always the wrong time, wrong place. You’re not about to deny that tonight felt right, like two pieces finally figuring out where they connect. 

Evan hurt you, he made you reconsider how you approach anyone you might be interested in. He destroyed your trust and whittled away at your self-worth. 

Yet somehow, within one night, Nick’s managed to begin to heal that. Like he’s picked up the broken shards, regardless that they’re sharp enough to cut his hands, and began to glue them back together. You’re not completely healed, not yet—but maybe you can begin again. 

“So…your thought was…a fake date? That was the solution?” But your voice is warm, teasing. You know when Nick originally came up with his idea that he just wanted to help. And it did help you—it became a lot more than you ever thought it could. 

“Well when you put it that way.” He laughs a little, drawing his legs back to propel himself forward. 

You stick your one leg out, catching his ankle and hooking him closer until your swings tangle together. Practically eye level, he smiles at you. 

“What can I do to fix it?” Nick asks, as if he hasn’t spent the whole night attempting to fix splintered pieces that someone else left behind.

You were just teasing, but you love that he offers. You lean forward, brushing your noses together, “We go on a real date.” You nod—and then, “And you should kiss me.” 

No sooner are the words out of your mouth, he’s cupping your cheek and drawing your lips to his. Your eyes flutter closed and you lean into it, holding onto the chain of his swing, your leg wrapped around his. He tilts his head, deepening the kiss and a shiver once again slips down your spine. But it’s the same sensation as earlier in the night—kissing him feels like something you’ve done a hundred times. Like coming home. 

When Nick pulls back, he smiles, amusement flirting in his eyes and you feel like you’re really seeing him for the first time. And he sees you. That’s the realest thing you’ve felt in a long time. 

[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.

[alrightsnaps]

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

[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.”

[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.

[nat111love]

MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)

[optimism-blooms]

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

[chimiye]

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

[10ava01]

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

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

[alwaysalir]

MY FAULT: LONDON (2025)