☣︎ electric - nicky nichols
authors note: sorta self indulgent, i just had to write for her. more fics w her soon.. masterlist link here.
ฅ ฅ cw: nicky x female reader, tiny bit of angst followed with fluff. sorta ooc but idrc.
You crept in through the slight crack into the electrical room, where wires lay frayed and wrenches rusted, yet there she was — tucked near the corner where the fluorescent light flickered on and off, casting long, restless shadows across the cracked tiles.
The washing machine hummed a low, steady buzz that made the room feel alive even in its decay. And there stood Nicky Nichols, exactly where you knew she’d be — your shared spot, the one place that was always yours — and still, every time, just the sight of her made your chest tighten in that dizzying, stupid rush that came from merely hearing her name.
“L/N,” she said, blonde curls bouncing as she lifted her head, her eyes sweeping over you the way they always did—slow, deliberate, almost memorizing. She looked at you like she was tracing a map she already knew by heart but still needed to touch again, something she didn’t even seem to realize she was doing.
She always stared. Always leaned in a little like she couldn’t help it, pupils widening like she could drag you closer just by looking, like she could study your soul with the tilt of her eyes or the twitch of her mouth.
Your slides shuffled over the tile as you stepped toward her. Each step slow in the way you watched her movements.
“Nicky,” you murmured, aiming for calm, but the second her gaze lifted from beneath her lashes, your mouth betrayed you — your grin broke through before you could stop it.
She stepped closer, warmth radiating off her like a furnace, and it lifted every hair on your arms. She pointed at your face with two fingers, her fake preppy-designer voice dripping sarcasm as she said, “Now, see how much better you look when you’re smiling. Not all grumpy, eh?”
You scoffed, swatting at her hand. “You’re so stupid. Shut up.”
She grinned — that reckless, effortless grin — but it slipped for half a second. Something softer, bare, flickered behind her brown eyes. “I missed you, kid.”
Her words sank into you, warming everything at once. And for a moment the room stilled — suspended, like static before the radio cuts in. A hazy, almost sedating warmth washed through you.
You slid down the wall. She followed instantly, shoulders brushing yours, knees knocking every few seconds — small touches that sent little sparks skimming under your skin.
Nicky leaned back, dragging her hands over her face with a half-laugh, half-sigh.
“Alright, alright,” she muttered, voice low. “Look at me getting all sentimental. That’s not my gig — that’s yours.”
Your breath hitched, chest tight, and she scoffed softly.
“Fuck, uh… I mean, we’re friends, yeah? It’s fun. Just fun,” her voice dipped low, rough at the edges, and bled into something too raw to swallow back down.
Silence stretched. She rocked her head against the wall, eyes flicking up at the flickering light, lips pressed tight like she’d been biting down on the truth for too long.
“Nichols… why do you care?” you asked quietly. “You flirt with everyone. I’m not… special.”
She laughed — uneven, warm, almost pained. “Christ, kid. If you really think you’re not special, then you haven’t been paying attention.”
Your chest felt light — floaty almost — the way her words rolled off her tongue like they were nothing, even though they weren’t nothing. Not for you. Not for her.
Still, your stubbornness flared, instinctive and stupid.
“Don’t try to twist this,” you muttered. “It’s not my fault you’ve slept with half the prison.”
She tilted her head, amused but tired. “Yeah, but you know I confessed. A dozen times. Maybe more.”
You went still. She was right. You ignored her. Ignored everything she said. Ignored the way your chest ached whenever she smiled at you.
“I just—” your mouth went dry, words failing you.
“No, baby. I know. You’re stubborn. You don’t wanna let me in. You guard your heart. Eh… I’m not mad, I can’t be. It’s what made me love you so impossibly much. It’s fucking bitter and sharp—shit stings like hell. I’m so fucking infatuated with you, it hurts. My chest aches. It aches. Whenever you’re not here, it’s withdrawal. My brain goes haywire, like you pulled the plug.”
Your heart rattled against your ribcage, clawing upward, like it wanted out. Like it wanted her.
The ache became unbearable.
You leaned in, grabbed Nicky’s face, and kissed her. Hard.
She gasped — a sharp inhale of surprise — before melting into you, hands sliding around your waist, dragging you onto her lap like she’d been waiting her whole life for this exact second. Your legs wrapped around her instinctively, clinging.
The kiss deepened slow at first, warm and searching — then it broke open, frantic, desperate. Every kiss a plea. Every press of lips a confession. Teeth knocking, tongues tangling, hands grasping and pulling and memorizing. Her fingers threaded through your hair like she needed proof you were real.
You tore apart only when you had to breathe, foreheads pressed, both of you panting. Nicky looked at you through messy curls and glassy eyes, voice wrecked and low.
“What is it?”
You swallowed, chest trembling. “I love you.”
Her face lit up, grin splitting across it — then she masked it, teasing, almost playful, yet her voice held low and raspy. “Hey now. Put a ring on it first.”
You giggled. She laughed with you, warm and free, pulling you back for another kiss — slow, messy, endless — letting the warmth between you stretch, hearts hammering together, skin pressed, breaths mingling, the room disappearing around you until it was just this ache that settled between you.
