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rockstaryuta · 1 year ago

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﹫ SMOKING KILLS . . . 일이칠 ✮⋆˙

cigarette with his number on it, he gave it over me, do you want it?

[ ☆ ] nct 127 headcanon. afab! reader. warning. 18+ mdni, smoking, kissing, smut, fingering, missionary, rough sex, doggy style, blowjob, cowgirl, dirty talk, use of pet names.

sitting on his lap, legs spread with his slender fingers sliding up and down your slit, the cigarette in between your lips is practically forgotten. though, not by johnny who reaches up to steal it from its imprisonment between your teeth with a low laugh. he whispers some undoubtedly grating comment into your ears as he blows out smoke, pressing his middle finger just barely inside of you before pulling out and drawing tight, slow circles around your clit. he loves the way you jerk against him, biting back desperate whines, eyes clenched shut and hands gripping the edge of your t shirt. he taps the ash off the cigarette which an absent minded flick of his wrist, bringing it back to your open mouth with a self-satisfied grin and the sudden plunge of his fingers.

“what’s a matter, baby?” he coos, nipping at your earlobe as he pumps his fingers in and out of you at a pace that has your eyes rolling back in your head, “don’t wanna smoke?”

you think taeyong looks his most handsome when he’s just like this. between your legs, delicate hands pushing your thighs back as far as they can. using them as a crutch to hold himself upright, a whiny hiss escaping from his mouth each time he pushes his cock back into you. mumbling about how tight you are, how good he feels when he’s fucking you, all these pretty words that are muffled by the presence of the cigarette in between his lips. the ash falling down to the exposed expanse of your belly each time he thrusts, teeth clenched so tightly that the cigarette itself has become a contorted, disfigured image of itself.

“so good, so, so good…” he whimpers, words unintelligible and eyes fluttering somewhere between clamped down and wide open as he leans against your legs, cock twitching as you clench around him. smoke dripping from his lips as he mewls, “so fucking tight, so perfect for me,"

it always starts with shotgunning. a shared cigarette leading to a heated kiss, smoke falling from your open mouth as he bites down on your bottom lip. a kiss leading to you being bent over onto all fours. all fours leading to yuta’s cock relentlessly slamming into you. cigarette held in between the slender fingers that are laced into your hair, pulling harshly enough that your neck is craned back, earning you a breathless, cheshire grin from the man fucking you stupid. his opposite hand is digging into your hip, a grip so hard that you’re sure there will be bruises in the shape of his handprint when he’s finished. he’s barely able to take a drag, mouth never closed long enough to actually inhale the smoke, always interrupted by a hoarse groan or a comment that nearly sends you over the edge. but when he does smoke, he’s always so lightheaded from the feeling of his cock inside of you that he doesn’t even taste it.

“yeah, you like that?” it’s less of a moaned-out question and more of a definitive statement as his fingers tighten against your hip, taking a shaky drag, “that’s it, pretty. you take my cock so well,”

there are many simple pleasures in jaehyun’s life. and one of them is watching you suck on the head of his cock, blowing smoke from your cigarette as you lap at his throbbing tip. one hand holding the cig, perfectly poised on the v of his torso, and the other tensed around the base of his cock, moving in pace with the strokes of your tongue. he loves the taste of the cigarette, a mixture of you and him, sealed with the impression of your lipstick that is smeared against both the rolled paper and the length of his erection. head tossed back, hand laying over his shut eyes, he takes a drag before handing it back to you. feeling your exhale on his sensitive head, inducing the ache of his cock and a low moan before you finally allow him to slide back into your mouth.

“don’t stop,” he groans, opposite hand digging into the flesh of his thighs as you circle his tip, blowing smoke against him, “shit, baby. you’re driving me crazy,”

doyoung doesn’t like the brand you smoke, constantly nagging you to switch to his favorite brand. that way he wouldn’t have to gag whenever you two kissed or make a face of disgust whenever he caught a whiff of it on you. but he supposes that they aren’t all that bad when they’re smothered by the stench of sex. when the only taste on his tongue is blood, biting down on his bottom lip as he buries his cock into you. one hand pressing down upon the small of your back as you arch for him, the other steadying your ashtray that rocks against the sheets each time he thrusts into you. he steals the cigarette from your stuttering fingers, wet with your drool and bent from your grip. he supposes that he could get used to your brand.

“tastes like you, pretty,” he pants, leaning forward against your back to place it between your lips, encouraging you to take a drag, “don’t you think?”

repeatedly sinking down onto his cock, bottoming out with an airy moan, you nearly drop the cigarette on jungwoo’s chest. his hands are everywhere, cupping your ass, sliding up to your waist, kneading your breasts, thumbs slipping over your nipple with practiced precision. every movement, every breath is concluded with a whimper that escapes from his throat, rolling his hips into you in a desperate plea to get any further semblance of friction. he’s so sensitive that it’s almost pitiful, babbling incoherent sentences that are more moans than words as you rock your hips in a fluid rhythm. cigarette brought to your lips and smoke exhaled alongside a mewl of pleasure, your opposing hand laced with his own as he paws at your tits. there are two things that he prizes above all other iterations of chasing a high, smoking and watching you smoke. and it’s for this reason that you continually lean down onto his chest, hand steadying yourself on his torso and pussy clenching around his cock. you bring the cigarette to his lips, watching him take an exaggerated drag. one that you meet with a clumsy kiss, smoke trapped between your mouths. the feeling of your tongue on his, the tobacco burning in the back of his throat, and his cock buried all the way inside of you is enough for him to lose any shred of self control.

“it’s not fair,” he whines, rutting his hips into you as he smokes, your hand brought to his lips in an effort to let him take another drag, “you just make me cum too quickly,"

for the majority of your time knowing mark, smoking has always been more your speed than his. and perhaps that was for the best. because right now, watching him fist his cock above your pussy, occasionally smearing his precum against your aching folds with a cigarette in between his lips, is bringing you to the brink of orgasm. he takes a drag with a trembling hand, exhaling with half-lidded eyes and a needy groan. the smoke sticks to his eyelashes, clouding his vision as he rubs his tip over your clit before moving down to buck against your slit. he pulls the cigarette from his lips, holding it in between two, slender fingers as he presses down on your lower stomach. feeling himself push inside of you with a cacophony of hissed iterations of ‘shit’ and ‘fuck,’ amongst others. and when he starts fucking you? thrusting in and out as he whines about how much he loves you, how good you feel, how he’s already so, so close. the cigarette is left forgotten and crumbling on the surface of your torso, allowing you to steal it from his lingering fingers and save yourself the trouble of a burn.

“don’t look at me like that, baby,” he groans, watching you stare back at him as you take a lazy drag, tits bouncing and face flushed, “shit, you’re gonna make me cum with that look,”

you’re not one hundred percent sure that haechan knows what shotgunning is. but you can’t complain much when his hands are on you like this, one gripping your waist and the other clawing at your back as he presses himself against you. cock buried deep inside of you as he whimpers and whines against your neck, pressing sloppy, drooling kisses to your throat and leaving behind the soft impression of his teeth. he ruts into you like a dog in heat, desperate and urgent as if his life depends on it. you barely can take a drag of the cigarette that’s caught between both of your entangled fingers before he’s kissing you again, moaning into your mouth as he inhales the smoke that has fallen from your lips.

“t-too much,” he slurs, biting down harshly on the space between the beginnings of your shoulder and neck, “gonna cum. so fucking close,”

🗯️ note. if it wasn't obvious by the length of his section, jungwoo has me gnashing my teeth, ripping out my hair, shaking the bars of my enclosure. i need a cig after writing this.

🧾 © ROCKSTARYUTA 2024

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mochis-cream · 5 months ago

Note

i see you have requests open! as such i need to be your first requesting anon ever >:3 can i request a non!idol au drabble fic thing about the reader realizing they like their fwb (nct mark) cuz like..that's just the type of stuff i like 😋🤪 also can I be 🦋 anon?, please and thank you ☺️

one day at a time | m. lee ☆

・ you never meant for things to get this complicated. one night was all it was supposed to be—one night to escape, to find solace in the familiarity of his embrace, and then you’d both move on like nothing happened. it’s just one night, you tell yourself. but deep down, you know that nothing is ever that simple, especially when it comes to him.

m.l x gn!reader ・ nct 127 ・ 엔시티 일이칠 ・ sfw ・ non!idol au ・ wc: exactly 2,400 ・ genre -> fluff, slight angst (does this also count as hurt/comfort??) ・ one shot! -> masterlist!

content warning: fwb (not explicitly stated or properly implied but still), complicated relationships, emotions are hard, reader has a panic attack, crying, love confessions, pre-established relationship (kinda), mark can cook now guys, lowercase intended, narration heavy, please let me know if i missed anything!

author’s note: aw man guys.. SORRY I WAS GONE FOR SO LONG ☹️☹️☹️ was busy with work and technical stuff ☹️☹️ anyhoo WELCOME ANON WELCOME!! ask is so yummy mm i love your brain frfr 🤭 and yes you can be 🦋 anon! thank you so much for requesting! i hope you enjoyed it!!

(moodboard spread by @/pink-horizon, found here!)

it’s just for one night.

or at least, it was supposed to be.

it was just supposed to be for one night. one night, and then you’d both go your separate ways, shoving everything under the rug like you used to. so why? why is it that you’re still here, tucked within the comfort of his home a week later?

you blink your eyes open, the familiar dim light of mark’s guest room greeting you. except, let’s be real, it’s hardly a “guest room” anymore. the way you’ve practically taken over—your clothes draped over the chair, your favorite mug on the nightstand, and your books scattered across the floor—yeah, it’s more your space than some random guest spot.

you let out a sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on your chest. this wasn’t supposed to happen. it was meant to be simple. a quick visit, a night to clear your head, and then back to your normal routine. no strings, no complications.

yet here you are, seven days in, still wrapped up in the comfort of mark’s home… in the comfort of him.

and it’s not like you haven’t tried to leave. you’ve made the effort—packing your bag, setting an alarm, even making it to the front door. but then there’s mark, with that ridiculous bedhead and sleepy smile, asking if you’re really gonna leave without breakfast. and somehow, you’re roped back in, heart doing that weird little flip it does when he looks at you like that.

ugh, why is this so hard? why can’t you just go back to how things were? simple, easy, no weird feelings creeping up on you every time mark laughs at one of your lame jokes or makes you tea just the way you like it.

you close your eyes again, as if that’ll somehow block out the growing realization that’s been gnawing at the edges of your mind. but it’s there, lurking in the corners, refusing to be ignored.

because the truth is, you don’t want to leave. not really. and that’s the scariest part of all.

———

you remember how it all started—how it was supposed to be just another one of those days where you needed to escape, to find some kind of peace in the middle of the chaos that is your life. mark’s place had always been your safe haven, the one spot where you could just… be. no pretenses, no pressure, just you and mark in the bubble of comfort you’d both created over the years.

you’d arrived at his doorstep that night, the weight of the world on your shoulders and a tired smile plastered on your face. mark had taken one look at you and, without a word, pulled you inside, wrapping you up in one of those warm, awkward hugs that only he could pull off. it was the kind of hug that said more than words ever could—“i’m here, you’re safe, it’s okay.”

and just like that, the tension in your chest eased, the world outside fading away as you stepped into the familiarity of his home. it was routine by now: you’d crash on the couch or in the guest room, talk about anything and everything, and by morning, you’d be gone, back to reality. no strings attached, just two friends helping each other get through the tough days.

but this time, things didn’t go as planned.

you remember waking up that morning, the early light filtering through the curtains, and immediately getting that nagging feeling in your gut—like you were overstaying your welcome, like you needed to leave before things got weird. so, you’d quietly started gathering your things, trying to make a quick exit before mark woke up.

except he did wake up.

you were halfway out the door when you heard his voice, soft and a little groggy, calling your name. you froze, guilt flooding through you like you’d been caught sneaking out of a crime scene. when you turned around, there he was, standing in the hallway with his messy hair and sleepy eyes, looking like he was trying to figure out why you were leaving so soon.

“you’re leaving already?” he’d asked, and there was something in his voice—something almost… sad. “i, uh, made breakfast. thought you might wanna stick around for a bit.”

it wasn’t just the words that got to you; it was the way he said them, like he was really hoping you’d stay. and for some reason, you couldn’t bring yourself to say no.

so you’d stayed. one morning turned into a day, that day turned into another, and before you knew it, a whole week had gone by. every day, you’d wake up with the intention of leaving, but somehow, mark would always convince you to stay—whether it was with breakfast, or a movie night, or just… him being himself.

and you couldn’t help but notice how much lighter he seemed with you around, how his laugh came a little easier, how he smiled a little more. it was like, for the first time in a long time, things were just… good.

but the longer you stayed, the harder it became to ignore that nagging feeling in your chest—the one that kept whispering that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t just about friendship anymore. that maybe, you were starting to feel something more.

and that scared you more than anything.

———

you don’t know when it happened, when the lines started to blur between friendship and something more. maybe it was the way he looked at you sometimes, like you were the most important person in the world. or maybe it was the way he’d always go out of his way to make you feel comfortable, even when you didn’t ask for it. it could’ve been any of those little moments that seemed so insignificant at the time but now… now they felt like pieces of a puzzle, slowly coming together to reveal a picture you weren’t sure you were ready to see.

it hits you like a ton of bricks one morning as you’re sitting in the kitchen, sipping on the tea mark made you (because of course he knows how you like it). he’s at the stove, humming some ridiculous tune under his breath as he flips pancakes, and you’re just watching him—really really watching him—and it’s like something inside you clicks into place.

oh.

oh no.

it’s not just a crush. it’s not just some fleeting feeling that’ll go away if you ignore it long enough. no, this is something deeper, something that’s been quietly growing inside you, unnoticed until now. and it scares the hell out of you.

your mind races, scrambling for a way to make sense of it all, to put those feelings back in the box where they belong. but it’s too late. the box is open, and you can’t shove everything back inside no matter how hard you try.

and then, like the universe has a cruel sense of humor, mark turns around with a goofy grin on his face, holding out a plate of pancakes like he’s just won the lottery. “ta-da! best pancakes you’ve ever had, right here.”

he’s so damn proud of himself, so blissfully unaware of the emotional crisis you’re having right in front of him. you force a smile, trying to keep it together, but all you can think about is how this is it. this is the moment everything changes.

you barely hear him as he starts rambling about how he thinks he might’ve finally nailed the perfect pancake recipe, how he’s been tweaking it for weeks now, and oh, you have to try this one with the syrup because it’s so good. his voice fades into the background as your thoughts spiral out of control, panic rising in your chest.

you’re gonna ruin everything.

you’re gonna lose him.

the thought of losing mark, of him looking at you differently, of things becoming awkward and weird between you—it’s too much. your chest tightens, breath hitching as the panic starts to take over. you can’t do this. you can’t tell him. you can’t risk everything for this stupid, irrational feeling.

you stand up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and mark’s voice cuts off mid-sentence. “hey, what’s wrong? are you okay?”

you shake your head, unable to speak as you bolt out of the kitchen, your vision blurring as you make a beeline for the guest room. you need to get out of here. you need to think. you need to—

but you don’t make it far before your legs give out, and you’re collapsing onto the bed, clutching your chest as the sobs start to wrack your body.

it wasn’t supposed to be like this. it was supposed to be easy. why does everything have to get so complicated?

you curl up into a ball, trying to breathe through the panic, but it’s no use. the walls are closing in, and all you can think about is how you’ve ruined everything before it even had a chance to start.

———

you’re not sure how long you lie there, caught in the whirlwind of your own thoughts, but it feels like an eternity. the sobs have subsided into quiet hiccups, and you’re left feeling drained, emotionally spent. the room is too quiet, too still, and it only amplifies the storm raging in your mind.

then, you hear it—the soft creak of the floorboards outside the door, the hesitant shuffle of footsteps. you don’t have to look up to know it’s mark. of course it’s mark.

a part of you wants to tell him to go away, to leave you alone so you can wallow in your misery. but the other part of you—the part that’s always sought comfort in his presence, that knows he’s the only one who can calm you down—doesn’t want him to leave.

the door opens with a quiet click, and you feel the bed dip slightly as he sits down beside you. he doesn’t say anything at first, just places a hand on your back, rubbing slow, soothing circles like he’s done a thousand times before. the gesture is so familiar, so grounding, that it nearly brings you to tears all over again.

“hey,” he says softly, his voice laced with concern. “what’s going on? talk to me.”

you swallow hard, the words stuck in your throat. how are you supposed to explain this to him? how are you supposed to tell him that you’ve gone and fallen for your best friend like some cliché rom-com character? you can’t. you won’t. you—

“it’s nothing,” you finally manage to choke out, but even to your own ears, the lie sounds weak.

mark doesn’t buy it for a second. “come on, don’t do that. i know you better than that.” he shifts closer, his hand moving to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “please, just talk to me.”

his voice is so gentle, so full of genuine concern, that it makes your heart ache. you can’t keep this from him, no matter how much you want to. he deserves to know, even if it means everything falls apart.

you take a shaky breath, trying to gather your thoughts, to figure out how to put your feelings into words without making everything worse. “i just… i’ve been thinking,” you begin, your voice trembling. “about us. about… what this is.”

there’s a pause, and you can feel mark’s gaze on you, heavy and intent. “and?” he prompts, his tone careful, like he’s afraid to push too hard.

“and… i’m scared,” you admit, your voice breaking on the last word. “i’m scared that if i tell you how i feel, it’s gonna ruin everything. that we won’t be the same anymore. that i’ll lose you.”

the words hang in the air, raw and vulnerable, and for a moment, there’s only silence. you’re terrified of what comes next, of what mark will say, of how he’ll react.

but then, he does something you don’t expect.

he pulls you into his arms, holding you close, like he’s trying to shield you from your own fears. “you won’t lose me,” he says firmly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions. “i promise you, nothing’s gonna change. not like that.”

you want to believe him. god, you want to believe him so badly. but the fear is still there, gnawing at you, whispering that this is all too good to be true.

“but what if it does?” you whisper, your voice small and scared. “what if everything changes?”

mark pulls back just enough to look at you, his expression soft and full of something you can’t quite place. “it won’t,” he insists, his tone gentle but unwavering. “because i love you. i’ve loved you for a long time, and nothing’s ever gonna change that.”

his words hit you like a freight train, knocking the breath out of you. you stare at him, wide-eyed, trying to process what he’s just said. did he really just—

“i love you,” he repeats, like he’s trying to make sure you understand, like he needs you to know that he means it. “and i’m not going anywhere. not now, not ever.”

it’s too much. the relief, the joy, the overwhelming sense of love that washes over you—it’s all too much, and before you know it, you’re crying again. but this time, it’s different. this time, it’s not from fear or anxiety, but from the sheer weight of everything you’ve been holding in, of finally hearing the words you never thought you’d hear.

mark doesn’t say anything else. he just holds you, letting you cry it out, his hand never stopping its soothing motions on your back. and as you start to calm down, exhaustion begins to creep in, your body finally giving in to the emotional rollercoaster of the past few hours.

“stay,” mark whispers, his voice soft and comforting. “just stay with me. we’ll figure everything out together, okay?”

you nod, too tired to say anything, but the decision is made. you’ll stay. for as long as he’ll have you, you’ll stay.

and as you drift off to sleep, nestled in the warmth of his embrace, one thought lingers in your mind:

maybe one more day won’t hurt.