Fuck cakes | reader insert
What’s this about? It’s your birthday, and Nicky’s got a surprise for you!
Warning: slightly NSFW-ish // not explicit, but foreplay.
“C’mon.” She sat on the edge of the stone-hard mattress, her fingers threatening to pull the blanket you held oh-so-protectively over your head. “Wakey-wakey, eggs and... Whatever, I can’t rhyme for shit.”
“Shut up,” you grunted and tried to push her away with a nudge of your torso. Most of the time, you were more than happy to hang out with her, but it was way too early in the morning for anything besides snoring (and maybe cuddling).
“Ah, so now you want me out of your bed?” she scoffed, her hand diving under the covers. “That surely wasn’t the case two days ago when we-” You slapped her fingers away from your breasts. She chuckled. “What? You’re even skipping foreplay today?”
You finally gave in and popped an eye from under the covers to glare at her. Her silhouette was a blurry shade of dirty yellow as you grimaced because the few already turned on lights across the dormitory. Of course, none of that prevented you from noticing the amused grin on Nichol’s lips.
“The hell is so important that can’t wait until the sun’s up?” you asked. There were, after all, pros and cons of being assigned to the same bunk as this woman: great sex and great annoyance, respectively.
“Well, you see, I woke up with this irresistible urge to figure out what day it is...”
“What? Nicky, I swear to God-” Your mistake, great bullshit was another con to your current bunk-situation.
“No, no, no, seriously!” She brought her hands up in a placating manner. “What day is it?” she insisted. You sighed.
“Uh, noodles day or something?”
“-That too.” She frowned. “But what exact day is it? As in the actual date?”
You opened your mouth to complain about the futility of the question, but your brain at last picked up on what she meant. You hesitated, elbows supporting your weight as you propped yourself into a sitting position. It finally dawned on you. It didn’t go unnoticed.
“Huh, so you do keep track of time,” Nicky teased, grinning as she lowered her torso to grab something from the floor. A blink later, and she handed you a rough rectangular package made of toilet paper and duct tape. “Happy birthday, kid.”
“Oh my God, you really didn’t have t-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah; cut the social convention of a polite response and open the damn thing already,” she chuckled, and you opened up some space for her to edge closer.
There was a small, one-sided card attached to the layers of cheap paper, and you smile as you examined it. A rough, cartoonish drawing of the both of you that captured Nicky’s crooked smirk perfectly.
“Daya’s?” You raised an eyebrow. “This is too sappy for you, Nichols... I love it!” You gave her a peck on the cheek.
“Eh, I can be romantic every once in a while.” She shrugged. “Now, the other one.”
It was, from the shape and size, very obviously a book. Why she’d “give” it to you when you could easily get it from the library, however, you didn’t know. Nicky watched expectantly as you tore off the toilet paper, and your chin fell in surprise when you finally got to the cover.
“H-How?” you asked, turning the copy in your hands as if it were a piece of diamond. “This is my favorite book! How did you get it?” You turned to her, as excited as a little kid on Christmas -- you had, after all, asked everywhere for it, but it wasn’t available in Litchfield.
“I have my ways.” She grinned, “and some favors to collect.”
“Thank you so much!” You went straight for a kiss, almost pushing her out of the bed. Nicky used on hand to steady herself, laughing against your lips and kissing you back.
“Anytime, kid.” She breathed, not losing eye contact for a second as she kicked the boots out of her feet and crawled onto you.
Butterflies swirled in your stomach as she leaned in for a make-out session, experienced hands dancing across your torso. You twirled your fingers around the knots of her hair, earning soft bites in return.
“You know,” she mumbled in between trailing kisses towards your belly button. You suppressed a giggle -- who isn’t ticklish around that area? “We were supposed-” Her hot breath against your skin made shivers run down your spine. “To be at the cafeteria right now.”
“Why’s that?” you asked distractedly, too caught on the fact that Nicky was wearing way too many clothes. You needed her skin against yours. Bare skin, warm covers, dirty whispering. For God’s sake, you craved her.
“There’s cake.” She took off her jacket and threw it to the floor. Finally. You pulled her closer, urging to feel her as much as possible. She dived in for another kiss.
“Wait, what-” You inhaled sharply as her fingers started to trace patterns on your thighs. “Fuck. Can’t we-”
“Yeah,” she cut you off. “Red’ll save some for us.” Her breathing quickened as you played with her breasts from above her shirt. Another kiss. Kicking off pants was never a fast enough process.
Who needed cake when you had her? Her raspy voice, her smirk, her golden, wild hair? It wasn’t about the drawing or the book. It was her. How could anything ever compare to her laugh? To her fingertips on every inch of your skin? To her witty comments and summertime laughter?