Nikolai Imagines - Blog Posts

Trash Sugar Magic MEDLEY

❥ 001: ᴛᴇᴀʀ

contents ❥ nikolai gogol x fem!reader, fluff, 1.2k words

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Getting kidnapped a few days ago is really not on your agenda. But your kidnapper has been kind—well… sort of, if you minus the times he pushes you roughly, tugs your hair, ties your legs to the bed posts, seizes your jaw and shakes your head as he mocks you for being so spoiled. 

However, this time, his kindness will not compensate for what he has done. 

“Nikolai.” You call him when he is in the room, crouching by his wardrobe to rummage through the drawer for something. You are not able to move. Your legs are tied. You are forced to sit and lounge on his bed with some old books accompanying you. 

Nikolai does not respond though, as if your call is too small for him to hear. But really, he just ignores you. 

“Nikolai.” You call again, louder. But he does not even turn around. Huffing and clenching your fists, you hastily take off your white cardigan, bundle it up into a ball and toss it towards the man. 

The cardigan perfectly lands on his hand, submerging his face in the fabric scented with you. 

“W-What the hell do you want?” Nikolai stands up immediately as he pulls your cardigan off his head. His face is red and his voice is coated with a tint of fluster.

“You ignore me.” You pout, crossing your arms. “You must pay for what you've done.”

“W-Wha… What’d I do?” He asks back, baffled. You point at your baby blue dress, exactly on the neckline where there is a rip, caused by his rough handling of you a few days ago. It was not big of a rip but yesterday, Nikolai was in need of using the bathroom and he shoved you away as soon as you got out a little too hard. His grip on you accidentally stretched the fabric and made the rip bigger. 

This is your favourite dress and the big rip is exposing your chest, for God's sake! Nobody wants to be this exposed during winter. 

“This is your fault.” You say as you keep your finger pointed at your cleavage where the rip is located. 

Nikolai’s eyes are staring but he looks visibly confused. 

“I… don’t understand.” He says. You tilt your head, huffing again as you lift the ripped part to make it obvious to him. 

“Where did you look? This tear right here wasn’t that big a few days ago!” You whine. 

“Oh,” His Adam's apple throbs and he awkwardly looks away. He takes a deep breath, shakes his head before he runs his palm over his face. “So, what?”

“Fix it. I love this dress.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“But you did it.”

“Yeah, and I do not give a bloody fuck.” With his hand on his waist, he waves his other hand dismissively. “Does that rip even matter right now? What matters is that I’m gonna get my money from babysitting you.” He says before he turns around. 

“Hey, wait! Where are you going?” You ask, crawling to the edge of the bed. “Give back my cardigan.” 

“I’m going out. You stay here and don’t think of doing anything funny. I will know.” Nikolai says before he smirks as he holds out your cardigan. “It’s gonna be cold. Here, take it.” He tosses the cardigan to the corner of the room. 

“H-Hey!” You try to protest. There is no way you can reach it, especially when your legs are bound to the bed. You hear Nikolai’s mocking cackle, followed by the click of a shutting door.

Meanie. 

— ♡

You wanted to give Nikolai the silent treatment. But your rebellion was cut short when he got home by eight with mushroom and chicken pie from Olga’s diner and three pieces of brownies given by Olga herself. The dinner was fulfilling enough for you to forget your sulk. 

You changed your dress to a sweater, provided by him, to sleep in at night. The weather is getting colder and with sniffles between your begging, he gave you one of his sweaters. As usual, you are still tied to the bed at night—you do not understand why he is still reluctant to trust you, as if you have anywhere safe to go. 

You fold the dress and the cardigan—you grabbed it when you were free earlier—and set them on the drawer by the bed. Then, you lay down, eyes looking at the door. The room’s light is turned off and you can see the dim light from the living room. Nikolai is probably working on something you do not understand. 

Well, you have time to get to know him. With that in mind, you sleep. 

You are deep in your dream. Even the softest sound of the door being pushed open does not wake you. A tall figure approaches the bed. 

Nikolai stares at your body. The sweater completely fits you, covering your skin and providing extra warmth for the night. The cheap blanket barely covers your body, as if your movement during your sleep also moves the blanket away. Silently, he takes it and drapes it over your body properly. 

His eyes then fix on the folded blue dress on the drawer. He takes it and walks outside, plopping on the couch that has become his new bed for the past few days. Slipping his hand into the jacket he wears, he takes out a cookie container. He opens the lid and reaches for a needle and a roll of white threads. 

“I hate this girl,” Nikolai grumbles to himself before he slips his hand into his pocket and takes out a pair of glasses. “I can’t even fucking see right.” He sighs as he wears it. He holds the needle and with his tongue slightly out for extra concentration, he tries to put the thread through the needle hole. 

The living room is as quiet as a graveyard. The only thing that makes noise is Nikolai who occasionally hisses when he accidentally pricks his finger with the needle—Ah, curse his flawed eyesight… He even tries to not frown so hard as he tries to focus—massaging his temple to ease his strained eyes. Nikolai certainly does not want to get wrinkles at this age. He is more than glad that he does not start balding like the inmates he used to talk with. 

An hour passes and with a snip of the remaining thread, the rip on your dress has closed. He holds the dress up, checking his handiwork. Almost perfect. The white of the threads is a little visible if he looks closely but overall, your dress looks fine now. 

Nikolai runs his hands through the fabric, seeking any other tear that he might have missed. He finds none, really, but he does snip some pointy threads from the existing seams on the dress. Once he is satisfied, he places the dress on his lap, staring at it. 

He remembers it—the night he trailed you from the bar you worked at from afar. You were not really a contrast amidst the snow. Rather, you complimented the sight. 

A girl, at night, alone. 

You looked like you were just begging to be taken away. And after a few days of having you in his house—perhaps you did want to be taken away. 

Nikolai waits. He waits for the day you spout anger and demands him to release you. He waits for the day you call him a bunch of names. He needs it to happen right now, at this period where he still hates you—where his annoyance is still fresh and his affection hasn't bloomed. 

Because it hurts none now.

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Hello I’m new here, I just couldn’t help but notices how lovely you write. So I have little request for you.

Can I request Nikolai and any characters you want reaction when their s/o hides stuff between her breasts?

omg welcome just my drunk friend! tysm!!!! i love nikolai im on it 🫡 and dazai ofc..

has: no pronouns used but mention of boobs and bras, also one (1) use of the word tits. is that worthy of a warning? probably not. but Nikolai says it in a weird way bc he’s the worst so just in case 🤞🏻

You knock feverishly on Nikolai’s door. Fuck, where did you leave your key? You’d already made it back to your apartment when you realized it wasn’t in your pockets. The last place you were was Nikolai’s, so if he didn’t have it you aren’t sure who would.

“Nikolai, you dick,” you mutter under your breath. That asshole is definitely still awake, so why wasn’t he answering the door?

The knocking ceases as Nikolai swings the door open, hair unbraided and eyes glimmering. “Missed me that badly?” He leans forward, bending down slightly to maneuver his face just above yours. “You could’ve called, y’know.”

“Yeah, well,” you shrug. “I need to come in.”

“Pushy!~” He pouts, crossing his arms and standing up straight. “Not even gonna say hello?”

A groan passes your lips, too frustrated at your missing key to play his games. “You didn’t.” You pause momentarily. It’s less frustration and more so anxiety that makes your skin crawl and your tone snippy. “Sorry, I just lost my key. I’m worried I dropped it on the street walking home.”

Eyes lighting up, you would’ve sworn Nikolai beamed down at you with two mismatched flashlights. “You need your key, you say? And what if I told you I could procure it for you?”

Your shoulders slump down, relaxing. He’s being an asshole, sure, but at least you know he has it. “Please, Nikolai?”

“Mm… You gotta promise not to be mad when I retrieve it. Especially since I’ll be your savior, you know!” He puffs out his chest, already proud before he has even produced the key.

“I promise, I’ll be eternally grateful as long as I can find that key.”

Nikolai’s warm and ungloved hand slips under your loose shirt collar, digging beneath your bra and in between your breasts. You freeze, even with the warmth of his hand on you. Before you can chew him out for the random grope, the jester pulls your apartment key from in between, flashing both it and a wolfish grin to you.

You say nothing for a moment, just staring slack jawed at your key. Had you really..?

“You dropped it in there before you left,” he shrugs before dropping the key back in between your breasts, not bothering to hand it to you properly. “And I just stare at your tits all the time, so I noticed.”

With a gentle smack to his bicep, you fish the key out once more and let out a sigh of relief. “Thank god; I thought I was going to have to change my locks!”

“You still should - I have, like, several copies of your apartment key littered around my apartment,” Nikolai smiles once more.

You don’t even bother replying, just turning around and leaving his place for the second time that night, your apartment key in hand.

Dazai would start hiding things in there too. He tosses a pen your way before heading out on a mission, one where he knows you can’t bring a bag along, just to watch as you stuff it in between your breasts. You’d sigh resignedly, used to his actions by this point and having long given up arguing or telling him off.

When on said mission, he’d find any and every reason that one might need a pen and turn to you expectantly, waiting for you to pull it out and hold it out for him. It’s always so warm after, heated up from its time nestled between where he’d like to be stashed away.

You’d complain after he asks for the pen for the nth time, telling him if he needs to use it so often he can get one himself! Those words were meant to tell him to bring/carry his own pen, but he’d grinned before taking that as meaning he could jam his hand down your shirt to reach for it himself.

“What? You told me to grab it myself…”