NOUSH! (누쉬)

            Nonetheless, your focus was on these cookies. Kneading your fresh cookie dough with your gloved fingers, scents of vanilla and nutty chocolate whisked around your presence, rolling the dough between your palms. Unintentionally, you found yourself humming to the song Heeseung was playing—Heaven and Back by Chase Atlantic. You were trying to calculate how many of them you could actually make, pausing your movements momentarily while taking a glimpse of your baking tray. A subdued shiver tickled your spine, your damp hair tucked behind your ears, skin scrubbed raw after showering off today’s sweaty activities: which only involved going on a charity run with your closest friends.

            “Eight? No… maybe nine,” you mumbled to yourself, placing the dough back in your mixing bowl as you removed your apron, the material a little too tight around your hips. The placid ticking of your kitchen’s analogue clock didn’t go unnoticed, removing one of your gloves so your fingers could reach for the calculator you bought solely for your hobby of baking.

            As you pressed the buttons on the tiny machine, the calculator almost slipped from your digits as you flinched from the sound of the doorbell, followed by numerous, earsplitting knocks and the use of your door knell: a heavy metal thing which was always insufferable to hear. You furrowed your eyebrows, eyes trailing towards the door, another irritating voice (that you normally chose to tune out) calling from the garage.

            “Y/N! Get that for me, will you?” Heeseung pleaded, lowering the volume of his speakers, scoffing quietly in slight rebellion as you tore off your other glove, having no choice but to oblige. Your slippers shuffled against the wooden floorboards of your home, fingers prodding your skin, wanting to look somewhat presentable. Ensuring there were no dry flakes of any kind scattering your countenance, you turned the key inside your door lock, opening the door with the flattest expression known to man.

            “Ah, Heeseungie—! Oh. Hi, Y/N,” Jake greeted, pearly whites on display, the toothy grin of his best friend, Sunghoon, faltering only slightly when the puppy pair (as you liked to call them) found you standing under your very own doorway, immediately apologetic. They respected you a lot, obviously. You were their hyung’s little sister.

            “You guys couldn’t be any louder?” You retorted, though your voice lacked any real bite as you stepped aside, a little taken aback when Sunghoon gave you a little grocery bag. “What’s this…?”

            “We were at the convenience store,” Sunghoon replied, his smile courteous as they both brushed past you, dressed in monochrome shades of grey—did illegal street races have colour themes? “Just bought a few snacks and things.”

            “For me?” you frowned, touched by the notion as you got ready to close the door, your eyes following both of them as they made a beeline for the garage. “You guys didn’t have to…”

            “Nonsense,” Jake grinned, winking before nodding towards the doorway. “Don’t close it yet. Someone else is on his way.” Yet again, your eyebrows crinkled, whipping your head around to peek outside, the plastic bag dangling by your legs. There was literally no one here. The sun had set at least an hour ago, but the sky was a dark, cerulean sort of blue, glittered with stars, a particular Venus standing out in the midst of the horizon. That was until… the horrendous sound of a motorbike entered your hushed street, revving dangerously as it approached your humble abode, your lips parting in bewilderment at the scene. You took a step back into your hallway, lips thinning as you watched the rider kill the engine, pulling his helmet off with leather-bound hands—honey blonde strands a little poofy after being confined for so long.

            “God’s sake,” you muttered under your breath, watching his onyx eyes meet yours from afar. Without another word, you left the door askew, turning on your heel and heading right back to the kitchen. Your patience would not be tempered with today.

            Nishimura Riki. Called himself Ni-ki in the streets. To everyone else, he was simply the tall, bored-looking ‘bad boy’ that hung with Heeseung’s crew, organising the monthly racing functions across the many districts of the city. When it came to you, however… Riki acted differently.

            Was he your boyfriend? God, no. Heeseung would freak.

            You didn’t really know what he was to you.

            Leaving your snack bag on your kitchen counter, you heard your front door shut a minute or two after, wearing your latex gloves once more. Kneading your cookie dough, you disregarded your calculator, realising that the odd-sized cookie could just be a tester—you never followed recipes. For now, you were opting on placing them in the oven for about fifteen minutes? Anyhow, heavy footsteps lingered outside your kitchen, heading to your garage first.

            “Ni-ki yah!” Heeseung’s voice echoed a few rooms away. That name. “Get in here, you prick—”

            “Give me a min. Need a piss,” Ni-ki excused himself—and, all of a sudden, those heavy footsteps were entering the kitchen.

            You hadn’t wanted to look at him. Yet, you always did, your eyes landing on the tall figure who ducked his head under the arched doorway, hands clasped in front of him. Nishimura Riki tended to appear devastatingly beautiful ninety nine point nine percent of the time and it was fucking unfair. His recently bleached hair, even though it looked slightly fried under your kitchen lights, was styled with a discreet amount of gel, neatly sticking up like he’d run his hands through his locks countless times. Thick eyebrows, that had been dyed the same colour, elevated at the mere sight of you, his former monotonous expression now softening at your appearance. You weren’t wearing anything special—only your old, Bambi-themed pajamas; long-sleeved with jade green bottoms. It was his favourite set… simply because you looked adorable. He noticed that your hair was wet, your nose and cheeks pinched with the cutest shade of rouge… were you sick? Or, maybe it was just the intense heat of this household’s radiators that were bothering you. Ni-ki didn’t have time to contemplate, not with the way you were analysing him. Black leather jacket… crisp, cotton t-shirt underneath… Sagging jeans with a silver keychain dangling from it… Oh, not to mention he was wearing his favourite safety pin necklace—it rested just below his Adam’s apple. You watched the thing bob in his throat, something that tended to occur.

            Not that you would know…

            “Bathroom’s upstairs,” you informed him politely, studying his large hands that quickly pocketed themselves in his jeans. His gloves had been removed: it was impossible to find a day where Ni-ki wasn’t wearing his favourite Chrome Hearts rings. What you found weird—you managed to catch a glimpse of his press-ons, metallic tabs stuck to the index and pinkie fingers.

            Odd placement.

            “I know,” he responded, hearing his voice for the first time in days. Averting your eyes, you focused on the cookie dough, not liking that his tone had warmed the tips of your ears, a tingling sensation blanketing the chambers of your heart. As you pulled a piece off, you heard him again, forming a small ball in the crevices of your hands. “I—”

            “No,” you interrupted, pressing your lips together without gifting him another glance. Ni-ki sighed, a smile beginning to form as his boots padded against the floor, making his way towards you. Paying him no mind, you placed your first cookie ball on your parchment-covered baking tray, the thrum of the pre-heated oven acting as a reminder that the two of you were not alone, pairing surprisingly well with Heeseung’s suppressed speakers.

            But, of course, Ni-ki didn’t care.

            “You’re mad at me,” he murmured, appearing behind you, watching you over your shoulder, minty breath kissing your earlobes. “Go on… let me have it.”

            “No,” you repeated, concerning his initial statement as you portioned another ball of cookie dough, shaping it into another sphere. “I just don’t want to talk to you.” A low hum emitted from his full, pink lips, his chin finding its place on your shoulder, observing the movements of your pretty fingers. Hidden by latex. When you didn’t react to his touch, his hands snaked around your waist, his thick rings gently digging into your flesh through your clothing… you could only tsk, nudging him with your elbow as he pressed his chest against your back. “Stop it. Heeseung is literally in the next room.”

            “Okay,” was the only word that left his mouth, a mere sigh leaving yours—then came the kisses, feeling him pepper his lips along the column of your throat, your cheeks flushing a deeper, almost impossible shade of red. Your moulding wavered, fingerprints squishing the mellow cookie blend, chocolate chips submerging themselves within the beige mixture. The corners of his mouth quirked upon your complexion, your pulse practically smooching his cheek with how rapidly it was beating. “Missed me?”

            “Shut up…” your eyes fluttered shut, a shaky breath succeeding your retort. “You stopped texting me,” you continued, your voice much quieter now as he paused, his thumbs sticking to your stomach. “I thought you were, like… avoiding me or something.”

            “Of course not, baby,” he whispered, his own eyebrows pulling together at the thought of you thinking that. He placed another kiss on your collarbone, a sensitive spot of yours—you turned your heads, eyelids lifting in a miniscule manner as they shifted to note his expression. “‘m sorry. I’ve been really busy. Not an excuse, but…” his voice trailed off, the loss of your warmth slapping him in the face as you quickly moved away, dropping your ruined cookie ball in your mixing bowl. You turned around, moving to the kitchen counter, rolling your shoulders. Almost as if you were shaking off his affection. Ni-ki’s tongue ran over the edge of his upper teeth, thumbs finding the loops of his jeans while his eyes scaled up your spine.

            “You seriously can’t… kiss me here,” you could only say, sparing him another look, your own teeth sinking into your bottom lip. “Heeseung—”

            “Don’t care,” Ni-ki shrugged as you rolled your eyes, removing your fingers from the dough completely. At this rate, these cookies were not going to see the inside of your oven. “Why should he care who you sleep with?”

            “He shouldn’t, but he’s my older brother at the end of the day,” you reminded him, slipping your gloves off next: your skin seemed to hate it whenever you suffocated it with latex. “And, you’re one of his best friends. You would feel the same way if someone tried asking Misora out—”

            “You are a grown woman,” Ni-ki interrupted, your back still to him as you opened one of your bottom cupboards, throwing the gloves inside the bin. “Sora’s a kid. Not the same.”

            “Ni-ki—” you began to sigh, your palm finding your forehead. However, he wasn’t having it, reaching for your hip and spinning you around so he could see you, cornering you against the counter. Your sigh evolved into a gasp of astoundment, breath stuttering as his other hand landed on your upper kitchen cabinet, effectively caging you in with his heat. Forced to drag your gaze over his stature, you bore witness to Ni-ki’s small pout, head leaning down so his nose could nudge yours.

            “Thought I was Riki to you,” he purred, his eyes drifting towards his hand on your hip, thumb sneaking under your shirt like beforehand. You relented, huffing at how insufferable he could be.

            “Riki,” you corrected yourself, palms squeezing the edge of the counter. “You’re going to get yourself killed.” He chuckled then, dipping his head even lower as he stole a kiss from your moisturised lips, not giving you a second to breathe, his forearm meandering around your waist and lifting you onto the counter effortlessly. His knee knocked your legs apart, situating itself in the middle, kissing back as a little whine spilled from your throat, the insides of your hands prickling with a searing heat created by the friction of the marble countertop.

            “Then, I’ll die,” Ni-ki began, pulling away for the smallest of seconds. “A happy man.” Your lips emitted the loveliest of hymns, his hand on the cabinet dropping to the back of your neck, kissing you again like a man starved. Tongue slipping into your wet cavern, his fingers caressed the hairs on your skin, the cold dampness of your scalp a stark contrast to the warmth shared between you. Ni-ki’s spare hand made its own journey, toying with the hem of your pajama bottoms as he mumbled for permission against the cusp of your Cupid’s bow. “Can I?”

            “Mhm… Please,” you whispered, your right arm coiling around his neck to steady yourself, your thighs spreading wider. Ni-ki couldn’t help but grin, nipping your bottom lip with his teeth while his hand slid under your panties, his silver rings stinging your tissue ever so sweetly—the sensation only chorussed a whimper, feeling his two middle fingers slide between your slickened folds.

            “Shit,” he cursed under his breath, coating them with your wetness, relishing in the way your eyes had already rolled to the back of your head, forehead resting in the crook of his neck. “You really did miss me.”

            “Don’t piss me off,” you confounded with a scowl, though it dissipated when his fingers finally sunk into your pussy, not even giving you the time to adjust to one. As always, you fleshed out to fit him like a glove, holding your breath—muffling your moan against his shirt as he cradled your head, beginning to pump them slowly… agonisingly.

            “Shhh, my pretty girl,” Ni-ki cooed, feeling your fingernails dig into his shoulder, “Can’t be too loud, yeah? Don’t want Heeseung hyung getting suspicious.”

            “Mmmkay…” you gasped, practically hearing the smugness of his expression as he scissored your folds, thumb massaging your labia (so that’s why he only wore two press-ons!)—he adored how easily you lost your attitude when you were in his arms: like putty on a hot, summer’s day.

            “Good. So good for me,” he praised you, your thighs squeezing around his hand—you were a leaking mess, eyes widening in a doe-like manner as you lifted your head, forehead reaching for his. Combing his fingers through your wet hair, tenderness afflicted the dark embers of his gaze, onyx orbs fixated on your soft lips. “That’s my good girl…”

            “Ki…” you only whined, vision blurring with a want you couldn’t understand, sucking in a sharp breath. He was fingering you so deliciously, fingertips stimulating your spongy walls as they sucked them in—you leaned further back, the crown of your head dormant against the upper cabinet. His eyes locked with yours, hearing you swear almost noiselessly. “F-Fuck, Riki…”

            “Yeah, baby?” He crooned, dotting your cheeks with more kisses: this was not fair. You could barely respond, only managing a mewl as he trailed a path towards your jawline, your fingers tentatively grabbing his honey hair, tugging him down so he was hidden within your neck. “I’ve got you,” he continuously muttered, finally using his teeth to pinch your skin, sewing pleasant, dark blooms around your pulse point. You bit down hard on your bottom lip, eyes trained to the kitchen doorway, a little frightful of the speakers in the next room over. And, still, you felt your core climbing for a release, your eyes closing with his thumb lodged beneath your little rosy bud—

            That was until the door to the garage creaked open. And, you froze. Voices. Speakers turned off.

            “Fuck,” he hissed, leaving a final kiss to your beating pulse—within a second, he had withdrawn, the loss of his fingers ringing an emptiness throughout your body. Sliding off the counter with practiced ease, you pulled your pajama bottoms up, murmuring a curse or two under your breath as Ni-ki turned on the tap, running his slick-coated fingers under the lukewarm water—you could’ve laughed at the absurdity of it all if it weren’t for the fact that you had been this close to finishing. Fanning your cheeks, you turned away from him, knowing he was washing away the evidence.

            Clearing his throat, Ni-ki’s head turned towards the doorway as he shut the tap off, watching his three friends enter the kitchen. Instinctively, your hand found your neck, conscious of how much of your skin he nicked off in the span of thirty seconds. Heeseung hadn’t noticed the itching tension filling the room, your eyes staying glued to the clock as Ni-ki spoke. “All done.”

            “Took you long enough,” your older brother scoffed, patting the younger’s shoulder as he dried his hands with his jeans, dabbing the water drops away. Fiddling with the old string of your pajama top, Heeseung took note of your profound annoyance, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “What’s your problem?”

            “Nothing,” you grumbled, Ni-ki coughing a little exaggeratingly as Sunghoon side-eyed their youngest, his eyes floating between you two.

            “We should get going,” Ni-ki commented, hearing your low exhale but heeding you no mind, biting back a sly smile. “Y/N wants to finish her cookies, I imagine.”

            “I thought they’d be in the oven by now?” Heeseung questioned, tilting his head at your silence. You hummed, gently pulling a lock of your hair.

            “Fingers cramped halfway through,” you excused yourself, meeting your brother’s gaze momentarily and speaking before he could interrogate you further. “Um, what time will you be back? I don’t want to be woken up at three in the morning because of your racket.”

            “Do not worry, Y/nnie—we’re like little mice,” Jake beamed, your left eye twitching at his interpretation, seeing Heeseung’s sheepish expression. Ni-ki snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose as he maneuvered past the trio, Sunghoon playfully shoving Jake away,

            “You burst into her room last time, you know?” he reminded the latter, shaking his head as the two began bickering amongst themselves, your older brother shifting his focus back to you.

            “Lock the door for me, please, Y/nnie?” He asked, reaching for your shoulder so he could plant a kiss on the top of your head, you grimacing in response. “Wish me luck, too?”

            “No! You guys are going to an illegal street race thing!” You scoffed in outrage, following them out of the kitchen—you were moreso irritated because you hadn’t fucking came, and the source of your arousal was now being forced to leave. “I mean, seriously—”

            “Yeah, yeah, bye!” He smiled, walking through the garage as you stopped at the doorframe, glancing at his car—it looked the freaking same despite the fact that he’d spent hours tweaking the damn thing, but what the hell would you know? Rubbing your forehead, you watched with crinkled eyebrows as Jake and Sunghoon slid into the backseat of your older brother’s ride.

            And, Ni-ki? He patted the hood, entering the front yard through the garage shutters, likely heading for his bike. Unable to give you a final glance. You huffed, going back inside the main house, approaching the front door to make sure it was locked like Heeseung had asked before returning to the kitchen, losing the desire to finish moulding the stupid cookies.

            But then, a minute after Heeseung’s engine came to life in the background, your phone buzzed by the kitchen sink. Fingers tapping the screen, a frown so acute painting your countenance, you bit the insides of your cheeks, the text messages floating into your mind.

ki<3: i’m sorry, pretty 6:59 PM ki<3: you’re so cute 6:59 PM ki<3: sneaking into your bedroom tonight 6:59 PM ki<3: don’t fucking touch yourself while i’m gone 6:59 PM

            The wrinkle in your forehead softened, that familiar flush returning to the apples of your cheeks. Damn him.

you: creep 7:00 PM you: don’t keep me waiting x 7:00 PM

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