hoondrop

[hoondrop]

r u and ria dating

no. we're best friends. pls stop sending such asks to me and to her. we're tired. it was funny in the beginning but pls stop now

[hoondrop]

SUPERIMPOSE

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, cnc, pwp, ex!sunghoon, unprotected sex, bondage, fingering, crying, slight dacryphilia, sunghoon is a red flag basically, usage of nicknames, squirting, lmk if i missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 1968 words.

SYNOPSIS: You try your best to forget about your ex, but he simply does not wish to leave you alone.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni.

A/N: yoo this is basically a late birthday gift for @evermorehoon <3 hope you like it :3 all likes, comments, reblogs are highly appreciated! it keeps me motivated! iloveyou all and happy reading <33

You felt restless, even at night.

It started with the sound of glass shifting in its frame, letting out a noise so faint you might as well would’ve mistaken it for the old doors of your apartment building, however, when you roll over in bed, hair sprawled across the pillow, the whisper grows heavier.

You take a deep breath as your heart quickens its pace.

You’d been dreaming of him again—Sunghoon. It’s always Sunghoon, your ex boyfriend. His face has haunted you every night since you left him. That sharp jawline which resembled some Greek statue, his eyes like cold winter despite being the warmest shade of brown, and the way he looked at you was as if you were something he wanted to lock in a box with himself and throw the key away. 

You sighed, thinking the dream hadn’t ended, but then the shadow broke from your window, and the pale moonlight caught his frame. You realized it isn’t sleep dragging you under anymore, and gosh, it’s actually him. He’s here.

“Miss me, darling?” His voice is lower than you remember, an octave deeper, almost even colder than the night itself, and yet so close it could burn into your skin.

You suck in a breath, “Sunghoon? What—”

“Don’t say it.” He said, stepping forward, shutting the window with the quiet efficiency of someone who has practiced this entrance a hundred times in his mind, or maybe, in reality too, “don’t ask why I’m here, baby. You know it.”

You shook your head, but your throat hurt from dryness, from the mere fact that your ex was right in front of you, the prettiest man you’d ever seen, also the very man who was the embodiment of possessiveness and toxicity. He always had this power, bending your silence into some twisted form of submission. 

He walked towards the bed, clad in black from boots to collar. His hair was damp, as if he’d run through rain just to see you, and droplets trail along his jaw, cascading down his adam’s apple. 

“You really shouldn’t—”

“Oh I should,” he cuts in, his tone edged with a groan, “do you think I can just forget you just like that, huh? That I can lie awake in my empty apartment and pretend you don’t exist? Every fucking minute, you’re there—fuck, actually every second, you’re in my head, and you thought leaving would make it better? No. It made me worse than ever.”

Your pulse grows erratic as he reaches the edge of the bed, and you know you should scream, shove him back, but your body refuses to move. His presence suffocates you like a hand already around your throat, scent engulfing your senses. 

“Sunghoon,” you whisper, almost convincing yourself by now, “this really isn’t—”

“Don’t, I swear,” his eyes darken, the pale gleam of the streetlight shining across them, “you fucking want me back, even if you don’t admit it.” He chuckles then, “you’re still in my hoodie.”

You groan, looking elsewhere to deny the truth he just threw your way. It wasn’t right—wasn’t healthy. 

He sat on the bed without asking, the mattress sinking under his weight. His knee brushing against your thigh, the air felt strangled by now, your eyes not looking up at him as he shamelessly stared at you.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, reaching up to touch your hair, making you flinch, but he grabs your chin, forcing your eyes to look at him, “you’re still mine, hm? No one touches you, no fucking one gets to look at you like I do. You’ll tell me I’m wrong, but your body,” he chuckles, thumb brushes your lower lip, “your body never lies, baby.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out, and just like that, he’s rendered you speechless yet again. He smiles faintly, the kind of smile that always meant that he won, that he knows he’s gonna be right no matter what narrative he puts up against you.

“Do you want me to remind you?” He asks with absolutely no intention to wait for an answer.

The rope appears like a magician’s trick, which he pulled from his coat, thin and rough, meant for you. Your breath hitches, fear and something darker tangling inside you, anticipation perhaps? You didn’t wish to admit to it.

“You’ll hate me for this,” he murmurs, almost tender, as if he could see your internal battles like you were an open book, “but you’ll thank me after, right darling?”

His hand closes around your wrist, grip strong which made you gasp and struggle to fight, yet he binds you to the headboard with the ease of someone who’s thought about it too often, each knot precise. Your pulse races, but your legs remain limp beneath the sheets now, goosebumps covering your skin.

“Sunghoon—please let’s—”

“Please what?” His mouth curls at the corner, fang peeking out, “please stop? Or please don’t stop?”

Your silence is answer enough for him, his chuckle is low as he cups your face, pressing his lips upon yours fervently, pulling back the second you give in.

“You’re trembling, always trembled for me, hm? You want me too, you need me. Say it.”

“I—oh!”

His hand slips beneath the sheets, the heat of his palm spreading across the expanse of your stomach. Slowly, he drags the fabric down until your (read: his) sweatshirt is tangled at your waist. The faint moonlight glimmers against your bare thighs.

“Perfect,” he breathes, eyes glued to you, “always so fucking perfect for me.”

He presses his mouth to your collarbone, teeth scraping your skin, sucking into you so hard as a promise to bruise you. His fingers trail lower, grazing the line of your panties.

You jerk up, not being able to move much, “Sunghoon—oh god!”

“Shh,” his lips brush the shell of your ear, “you left me starving, baby, you thought I’d let you go that easily when every fucking inch of you belongs to me, huh? I won’t let you run again.”

The pad of his finger pushes against your clothed slit, drawing a circle so languid it makes your back arch despite yourself. You want to resist, to bite back the sound crawling up your throat, but he notices the way your thighs twitch.

“There it is,” he whispers, proud, “your body knows me.”

With one tug, your panties are shoved aside, baring your folds to the cool night air, to him. His fingers slide between, slick already gathering. He hums, pleased with what he sees, especially the tears forming in your eyes, shame seeping in you of not being able to control yourself, of letting him back into your life just like that.

“Wet for me, even now. You can lie with your mouth, baby, but your cunt stays true to me.”

The vulgarity makes your cheeks burn, but his finger dipping lower, teasing your entrance, steals your protest ever so easily. He doesn’t push in—he circles, presses against you, toys until you’re panting against the sheets, struggling to move. 

Then, suddenly, he pushes in, one slender finger, curling, finding that spot he’s memorized so well. You choke out a sound, writhing against the rope.

“Shh,” he coos mockingly, “the neighbours might hear. Do you want them to know how much you beg for your fucking ex?”

You shake your head, gasping, but his pace quickens. His free hand closes around your throat—not too harsh, but just enough to remind you who controls the air in your lungs.

“That’s it,” he groans, “fucking look at me while I ruin you.”

Your eyes flutter, but he squeezes your neck lightly, forcing your gaze to his. His dark stare pins you to him as his fingers pump deeper. Another digit joins the first, stretching you until your legs shake.

“You’ll cum on my hand,” he says, like a command, “and then you’ll beg for my cock, yeah?”

Your whimpers only fuel him. His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing harsh circles while his fingers curl harder. The sensation builds up sharply, your body arching against the restraints.

“You think anyone else can touch you like this?” he hisses, “no one knows how to open you up. No one makes you squirt like I do.”

The words practically slice through you. Your walls tighten around his fingers, the pressure unbearable. His grip on your throat tightens just slightly, pushing you over the edge.

It crashes into you, the unadulterated pleasure, your juices spilling, your thighs shaking, wetness coating his hand. You cry out, strangled, as your body convulses under him.

“Fuck—” he groans, watching the slick drip onto the sheets, “that’s mine, yeah? All fucking mine, baby.”

He withdraws his soaked fingers, holding them up to the light before shoving them into your mouth, “taste it. Taste what I take from you.”

Your tongue obeys despite your mind’s panic, licking the salt of yourself from his skin. He watches, eyes glazed, as if the sight alone is enough to break him, however, he isn’t finished.

He strips his belt, the metallic clink loud in the quiet room. Unzips, frees himself, his cock all ready for you—thick, hard, waiting for your inviting cunt. He strokes it a few times, then lines himself against your soaked entrance.

“Sunghoon—”

“Say you don’t want me,” his tip nudges your hole, parting your folds, “say it, and I’ll leave.”

You try to speak but your breath catches, and silence damns you.

“Exactly, baby”

He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you wide. The intrusion burns, but pleasure blurs the pain. He groans low, head falling to your shoulder and you moan out.

“Hoonie!”

“Fuck—you still fit me like no one else. Tight little pussy was made just for me.”

You whimper, ropes biting your wrists as you struggle. He began to thrust, each one deeper than the last, harder, until the bed creaked under each snap of his hips.

“That’s it, take it, baby,” he groans into your ear, “hell, just choke on your own moans. You left me starving—now I’ll fuck the memory back into you.”

His hand returns to your throat, pressing, while the other clutches your thigh wide open. His rhythm is merciless, just how he’d always been, cock slamming against your walls until you cry out again, and again.

“Louder,” he commands, “let everyone hear how much you still want me.”

Tears sting your eyes, but your body betrays you again. Each thrust pushes you higher, clit rubbing against his skin until sparks burst behind your eyelids.

“You’ll cum on my cock,” he snarls, “scream my name when you do.”

The pressure is unbearable by now. He slaps your thigh, thrusts harder, choking you just enough to make your world spin on his axis. Then you shatter—squirting all over him, soaking his length, body convulsing.

“Fuck, yes—” he curses, still thrusting into you, “you’re mine.”

His pace grows wild, brutal almost, and with a final thrust, he buries himself deep, groaning your name as he spills hot inside you.

Silence follows—ragged breaths, your wrists raw against the rope, his chest heaving against yours, little whimpers still leaving your lips, reverberating the room. But then his lips brush your ear, voice a promise, or rather, a threat.

“You thought you left me, but this?” He thrusts shallowly, reminding you he’s still inside as you moan, “this is forever. I’ll be back tomorrow night, and the night after. Until you understand—that you’re fucking mine.”

The room feels colder now, while your heart pounds with dread and something darker you can’t name. And when he unties you, he kisses your wrists softly, reverently, as if the rope burns are vows.

With a last smirk, he kisses you deeply, “mine,” he whispers, smirking, leaving you aching for more. 

And more. 

THANK YOU FOR READING!

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[hoondrop]

miss maam are you ovulating

uhhh.... *checks out chat and then my panties* uhhmmm... 🤭

[hoondrop]

okay now LISTEN.

minhyun bps1 first special master for the entirety of the 1st mission from announcing it to the eliminations right???

and bps2 it's seongwu for the first mission.

minhyun was finale mc for s1. does that mean... seongwu finale mc for s2??? god please I need to see and hear my man more and more

[hoondrop]

thigh riding with leo😝😝😝😝 good gawd im so down bad for this man like i was there when he released one look and that was one of my top songs of 2023🥲🥲🥲🥲

(your leowon work was amazeballs btw I ate that up😋😋😋😋😋😋😋)

a/n: baeee when i tell you I've been down so bad for him for so long??? and oh my god yes ONE LOOK been on my playlist ever since sighh,, also hehe thanku for enjoying the leowon fic mwah

Leo’s sprawled on the couch, shirt hanging open, one arm draped across the backrest like he’s got all the time in the world. His head tips back lazily, but his eyes follow you, sharp and knowing, as you settle across one of his thighs.

The second your hips roll forward, his mouth twists into a smirk. “Mm… needy already?” His hand slides under your shirt, tugging it up until your tits spill free. His thumb circles one nipple, slow, almost lazy. “Didn’t even say hi first.”

“Shut up, Leo,” you murmur, trying to sound annoyed, but your breath catches when the rough fabric of his jeans drags against your clit. Your fingers clutch at his shoulders as you rock forward again.

He hums low in his throat, watching the way your mouth parts. “You say shut up, but look at you...already making a mess all over my leg.” His free hand slips between your thighs, palm pressing against your damp panties, just brushing your clit before retreating.

“Don’t tease me,” you whine, grinding harder against him, chasing the pressure. “I can’t… I can’t take it if you tease right now.”

Leo’s lips part in a lazy grin, his fingers pinching your nipple, tugging until you gasp. “Oh, you’ll take whatever I give you, sweetheart. That’s the whole point.” He flexes his thigh beneath you, the hard muscle shifting deliciously against your heat.

“Leo...” your voice cracks, half-plea, half-warning. You try to glare, but your hips betray you, rolling again, harder, dragging your soaked panties across the firm line of his thigh.

“There it is,” he breathes, hand sliding down to rub circles over your clit through the fabric. “That little sound I like. Say it again.”

“I - feels so good,” you gasp, pressing down harder, chasing friction. Your tits bounce under his palm as he toys with them, lazy pinches that only drive you crazier. “Don’t stop, please don’t stop—”

He chuckles low, thumb flicking your nipple while his other hand presses cruelly soft circles over your swollen clit. “Not going anywhere. I wanna watch you please yourself using me.”

You whimper, hips grinding in a messy rhythm now, every drag of denim against your cunt sending sparks through you. “I’m close - Leo, I’m so close...please..”

His grip tightens on your waist, dragging you down harder against his thigh, forcing the friction deeper. His lips curl into a sharp grin as your head tips back. “Do it. Cum for me. Make a mess all over my jeans so I have to walk around with your cunt printed on me.”

The words shatter you. A strangled moan rips from your throat as your body convulses, grinding desperately through the wave. Your nails bite into his shoulders, hips stuttering as wet heat spreads across the denim.

Leo groans, watching you fall apart on him, his fingers still tugging at your tits. “Fuck, baby… you’re dripping. You actually came just from my thigh?” His voice is rough, teasing but hungry. “You’re so fucking easy for me.”

Panting, you slump against his chest, body trembling. “Shut up,” you whisper weakly, face flushed.

But Leo only laughs, dragging his fingers over your soaked panties before bringing them to his mouth. He sucks them clean, eyes locked on you. “Sweetest mess I’ve ever had. Ready to go again?”

[hoondrop]

the amount of Leo, sangwon AND leowon I'm getting in my asks??? y'all were STARVINGGG (I'm a part of y'all too)

[hoondrop]

just saw a 25 minute video of pd101s2 and no i am NOT crying. no I do not miss that show and no i certainly do NOT miss wanna one

[hoondrop]

dont take this the wrong way, moon but maybe it's the fact that you're desi, nurturing, amazing with kids, and can cook but I feel you'd be perfect for arranged marriage trope especially with jay

anon,, I don't even know what to say ?????? I am flattered,, blushing lol,, and ohmgjfnf but also seriously???? onghhg ,🤭🤭🤭 see,, as much as I know I want get married one day and be a mother,, I am so so scared of marriages as well with what I hear abt, and read abt and even see. but how can you be scared of marriages when the husband would be jay himself hhhhhhhh

[hoondrop]

moon you write jungwon with noona reader so good my favourite noona reader writer 😍

anon imma be honest. I LOVE writing abt jungwon with older reader so much,, and I'm so happy most asks I get are of jungwon with noona reader 🥺

also omg I'm your favourite????

[hoondrop]

requests open again finally!!

taking request for enha and boys2planet as well.

[hoondrop]

a/n: it's been raining since this morning,, and I'm still thinking abt jungwon's weverse post from yesterday,, so it was only fitting I wrote smth for it.

Rain patters gently against the windows, the steady rhythm filling the room like background music. The couch is warm, and you’re stretched across Jungwon’s lap, head nestled against his thigh, his soft white cotton sweatshirt brushing against your cheek. His other arm is draped lazily along the back of the couch, his posture relaxed as the storm carries on outside.

He’s playing with your hand absentmindedly, long fingers weaving through yours, twisting and untwisting them like a puzzle. Sometimes he lifts your hand, kisses the back of it softly, then goes right back to tracing idle shapes on your skin.

“You’re quiet,” he says suddenly, tilting his head down, glasses slipping a little on his nose. “What’s going on in there?”

You smile faintly, watching your linked hands. “Just… how you make something so boring look beautiful.”

He raises a brow. “Boring?”

“Mm.” You bring your joined hands to your lips, pressing a kiss against his knuckle. “We’re literally just sitting here, talking about nothing, and somehow it feels like my favorite thing.”

He chuckles, low and soft, and the sound makes your chest ache in the best way. “You’re easily pleased, then.”

“Or maybe you’re just very pleasing.”

That earns you a bashful grin. He squeezes your hand, then whispers mock-seriously, “Don’t say stuff like that when I’m already trying to keep it together.”

You tilt your head, smirking. “Keep it together?”

He looks away, his profile sharp behind the black rims of his glasses. “You don’t know how attractive you look just lying here on me. It’s… distracting.”

That makes your heart skip. You sit up slowly, shifting until you’re straddling his lap instead. His sweatshirt feels soft beneath your palms where they rest against his chest, and you feel the faint rise of his heartbeat under your touch.

“Distracting? Like this?” you tease gently, lowering yourself until your faces are inches apart.

He exhales, shaky now. “Exactly like that.” His hands slide instinctively to your hips, not pulling, just resting there like he doesn’t quite trust himself to move yet.

You kiss him softly first, lips brushing his like a question, and he answers by deepening it; slow, tender, unhurried. When you shift in his lap, pressing down a little, his breath hitches against your mouth.

The first slow roll of your hips drags a groan from him, muffled into your kiss. His fingers tighten at your waist, pressing you down, not in haste but with a quiet need that tells you he wants more - wants all of you. You reach for the waistband of his sweats, tugging it down with ease, and he lifts his hips to help, his breath catching when your hand brushes against him.

“Fuck…” he whispers against your lips, voice already wrecked.

Your clothes come away quickly, no hesitation, no fumbling, just heat. When you guide his hardening cock to your entrance and sink down, the stretch has you both moaning, your mouth breaking from his as your body shudders.

His hands fly to your hips, fingers digging in, like he’s terrified you might pull away.

“Fuck—” he groans, voice breaking as his glasses fog faintly at the edges, his head falling back against the couch. “You’re gripping me so tight… unreal.”

You drag yourself up slowly, then push back down, grinding against the base of him until his breath stutters. Leaning forward, you grip his jaw in both hands, forcing him to look at you through the crooked rims of his glasses.

“Look at you,” you whisper, rocking your hips with deliberate pressure, savoring the way his eyes glaze over. “Sweatshirt, glasses, messy hair… and your cock buried in me. You’re mine like this. Every inch of you.”

A guttural sound rips from his throat, his grip tightening on your waist. “Say it again,” he pants, thrusting up into you shallowly, desperate.

You lean down, lips ghosting over his, whispering another "mine".

His lips curve against yours, a faint laugh breaking into a low groan as you start moving over him, slow and deliberate. The pace is unhurried, more like a deep roll of your hips than fucking, every motion dragging him thick and hot against your walls. His hands can’t stay still - one slides up your side, fingers tracing the curve of your breast, the other tangles into your hair, then drifts down to cup your ass, squeezing like he’s trying to memorize every part of you at once.

It isn’t frantic, it isn’t rough - just deep, messy intimacy, like you’re wrapping him up inside your body the same way the storm wraps the world outside. His glasses slip down his nose as he kisses you again, sloppy and wet, and you realize you’ve never wanted anything as badly as staying right here, fucking him slow until you both fall apart.

“Don’t rush,” he murmurs into your neck, lips brushing your skin as his breath stutters with each lazy thrust. “Fuck… just stay on me like this. Let me feel you.”

You nod, rocking slowly, your cunt clenching around him, meeting every thrust of his hips, his cock fit snug wrapped around your pussy, and his moan vibrates against your throat. The sound of rain outside blends with the slick slide of your bodies, with your soft whimpers and his ragged curses, the room filled with a rhythm that feels endless.

The slow rocking builds until you’re shaking against him, your nails digging into his sweatshirt, your forehead pressed to his as the storm outside blurs into nothing but noise. His name spills from your lips over and over, until your body finally breaks, clenching, trembling, squeezing him so tight he loses it right then.

He groans your name like a prayer, thrusting up into your pulsing heat a few more times before spilling inside you, his whole body jerking beneath yours. The kiss you share is messy, breathless, more moan than mouth, and you don’t stop moving, not right away, drawing out every aftershock until you’re both shivering.

When you finally still, his arms tighten around you, holding you against his chest, both of you panting into the quiet. Rain thrums steady against the glass, but all you feel is him, still buried inside you, twitching.

“Fuck…” he breathes, glasses fogged and crooked, sweat clinging to his hair. His hand drifts down, cupping between your thighs where you’re still joined. He presses his fingers there, deliberately messy, and you gasp when he circles them lazily, smearing the wet mix of both your releases.

“You feel that?” he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth. His voice is wrecked but soft, coaxing. “So full of me. Dripping with us.”

You whimper, hips twitching as he rubs the mess against your swollen entrance, fingertips stroking you like he has no intention of letting you go.

“Don’t,” you manage, but your body presses into his touch anyway.

“Don’t what?” he murmurs, pushing his fingers up just enough to make your breath hitch. He brings them up between you, slick and glistening, and presses them to your lips. “Don’t make you taste how good we are together?”

The sound that escapes you is helpless, and his smile curves soft and filthy all at once when you take his fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean. His other hand stays on your hip, stroking circles as if to remind you it’s not just about the filth... it’s about him holding you, keeping you here, wrapped in his arms.

“Stay,” he whispers, kissing you again, slow and tender even as his hand is still damp with your shared release. “Just stay like this... stay mine.”

[hoondrop]

was gonna post a jungwon thing rn but house is flooding so it's me, my sister, my mom and our wipers against the world rn

[hoondrop]

I really need a park donggyu smut fic BADLY 🙏

anon,, is there anything specific you want me to write?? also,, bro anon the first time I saw donggyu in ep 1. I was IN LOVE

[hoondrop]

plsplspls write a full fic of the jake+sunghoon threesome, it was soooo hot i need more 😩💗

it's in the works!! tweaking needed here and there hehe

[hoondrop]

FINALLY WE ARE GETTING LEOWON FICS I WAS STARVED THANK YOU FOR FEEDING US

anon!! I hope you like it!! I was so excited to post it!!

[hoondrop]

me first ep of bp2 looking at donggyu: ahh yes park gunwook pt 2

me now: p-park hanbin pt 2?