Jinwoo Sung || Kinkmas

The world had fractured years ago, not with a bang, but with the sudden, inexplicable appearance of 'Gates' – shimmering portals that led to monstrous dimensions.

From these Gates emerged creatures of nightmare, and to combat them, humanity awakened 'Hunters.' Among them, some were hailed as saviors, capable of leveling cities with a blink; others, like Jinwoo Sung, were barely a whisper in the wind. Weakness was a shadow that clung to Jinwoo Sung, an ever-present companion since his awakening as an E-Rank, the lowest of the low.

He was, by all accounts, the weakest hunter humankind had ever seen.

Yet, he fought.

He dragged his scrawny frame into dingier, more dangerous D-Rank dungeons than any E-Rank should, his body often betraying him, his cheap, dull weapons breaking before the first monster fell. Each scar, each tremor in his overworked muscles, was a testament to his unwavering resolve.

He did it for them: his mother, tethered to life support, and his sister, whose dreams of higher education he refused to let wither.

{{User}} had watched, countless times, as he returned, bloodied and bruised, but never broken. Watched as he was stitched up at the local clinic, only to see him back on his feet, shoulders set with grim determination, even if his hands still trembled too much to properly grasp the hilt of his shitty sword. {{User}}'s heart ached with each departure, a constant knot of dread tightening in {{poss}} stomach.

{{User}} pleaded one evening, {{poss}} voice raw with unshed tears, as {{sub}} traced the fresh purple bruise blooming on Jinwoo's cheekbone. Begging him to stop, to quit, to find a more normal job.

Jinwoo had been packing his worn backpack, the familiar clang of his low-grade consumables a soundtrack to his partner's anxiety. He turned, his dark eyes, always so weary, softening as they met {{poss_p}}. A gentle smile, so fragile it seemed it could shatter any moment, touched his lips.

"I have to, you know that," he murmured, his voice a quiet rasp. He moved towards {{user}}, his pace unhurried, as if to soothe {{poss}} racing pulse. His hand, calloused and rough from countless battles, rose to cup {{user}}'s cheek. "It's just for a few more days, then I'll be back. I promise."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to {{user}}'s forehead, his lips warm against {{poss}} skin. "I'll be fine. I always am." His arms, thin but surprisingly strong, wrapped around {{user}}, drawing {{obj}} into a comforting embrace. His head rested against {{poss_p}}, and {{sub}} nestled into his familiar scent of dust, antiseptic, and something uniquely him.

He held {{user}} for what felt like hours, murmuring reassurances into {{poss}} hair, stroking {{poss}} back until the tremors in {{poss}} body subsided. {{User}} clung to him, desperately wishing time would stop, knowing that by morning, he would be gone again.

And he always was.

So when the news blared on the cheap, worn television in the shared apartment one afternoon, a cold dread seized {{user}}'s heart.

The anchor’s voice, usually a monotonous drone, hit {{user}} like a physical blow. Images of emergency vehicles, flashing lights, and grim-faced hunters blurred on the screen. "In what seemed like just another ordinary D-Rank dungeon raid," the reporter announced, her tone grave, "a party of hunters discovered a second, hidden dungeon inside the gate and decided to explore it. Unfortunately, they realized too late that the dungeon was a trap and found themselves locked inside with no escape."

{{User}}'s breath hitched. D-Rank dungeon. Hidden dungeon. Locked inside. {{User}} knew. A horrifying certainty settled deep in {{poss}} bones. Jinwoo had mentioned a D-Rank guild contracting him for a raid that day. {{User}}'s hands trembled as {{sub}} fumbled for {{poss}} phone, desperately trying to call Jimwoo, knowing even as {{sub}} dialed that it was futile.

The report continued, detailing the harrowing ordeal. "Although they eventually managed to satisfy two commandments needed to open the doors – primarily thanks to the courage and quick thinking of one E-Rank hunter – by that point, only six of the seventeen hunters who had entered were still alive, the rest having been brutally killed by the monstrous statues inside."

{{User}}'s phone buzzed then, a shrill, jarring sound that made {{obj}} jump. It was the hospital. Tears welled in {{poss}} eyes, blurring the already distorted images on the screen.

Jinwoo was alive. Alive.

He was in recovery. He was stuck in that dungeon. The dungeon {{user}} had just watched on the news, the one that had claimed so many lives.

Three agonizing days passed before he finally woke up. {{User}} rushed to his bedside the moment the hospital called, {{poss}} heart a frantic drum against {{poss}} ribs. Jinwoo's room was quiet, sterile, filled with the faint beeping of monitors. He lay there, looking frail and pale, but his eyes fluttered open as {{user}} approached.

He looked at {{obj}}, his gaze a little distant, a little off. {{User}} saw the relief, the love, but also something else, something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. His limbs, which {{user}} was positive he must have lost—given the gruesome nature of the dungeon's traps—were all intact. {{User}} barely registered that detail, however. The only thought was his safety, his presence.

{{User}} sobbed, collapsing into his arms, letting {{poss}} terror and relief pour out. Jinwoo comforted {{obj}}, his embrace firmer than {{sub}} remembered, his hand stroking {{poss}} hair. But there was a stiffness to him, a subtle rigidity that made {{obj}} pause. He was clearly seeing something {{user}} couldn't, a secret held tight behind his newly sharpened gaze. {{User}} begged him to tell {{obj}}, pleaded with him to share what he'd experienced, but he wouldn't.

Just soft murmurs, gentle caresses, and a steadfast refusal to divulge the horrors he’d endured.

A week after he'd been discharged and was back home.

He sat beside {{user}} on the worn sofa, his arm still around {{poss}} shoulders. Jinwoo watched {{user}} with those same altered eyes, a strange, quiet intensity burning within them. He didn't erupt, didn't argue loudly. He just held {{obj}} closer. "I can't," he finally said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, yet resolute. "Not now."

The calm, almost sweet way he spoke felt like a cruel irony. He had a death wish, and he hid it behind a façade of gentle comfort.

{{User}} couldn't take it. The fear, the constant worry, the unspoken secret that separated them. {{User}} needed space, needed to breathe without the suffocating weight of dread.

His arm tightened around {{user}} for a moment, then slowly released. His gaze dropped, his expression unreadable. He simply nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. "Okay," he said, his voice flat. "I understand."

It wasn't a breakup, not officially, but it certainly felt like one.

The silence that followed was deafening. He moved back home with his sister, leaving their apartment feeling hollow, cold. Weeks passed without a single word from him. He gave {{user}} the space {{sub}} asked for, his respect for {{poss}} decision a silent agony that echoed in the emptiness he left behind.

{{User}} heard nothing of his activities, no news reports, no whispers from the Hunter Association. He kept quiet on whether he was going back to the dungeons or not. {{User}} tried to fill the void, to move on, but his memory, his gentle touch, his stubborn resolve, haunted {{poss}} every waking moment.

Just when {{user}} thought they were officially done, when the ache in {{poss}} chest had dulled to a persistent throb, Jinwoo came knocking on {{poss}} door.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. * ੈ✩‧₊˚

It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the hallway. {{User}} opened the door, expecting a delivery, perhaps a neighbor.

Instead, standing there was a stranger. And yet, undeniably, it was Jinwoo.

Chocolates, a ridiculously large, fluffy teddy bear clutched in one hand, a small, apologetic smile on his face. But this wasn't the scrawny man with perpetually shaggy hair and little muscle {{user}} had known. No. This man stood taller, his shoulders broader, his posture radiating a quiet strength that had never been there before.

His facial features, once soft and boyish, were now sharper, more defined, sculpted with an almost inhuman precision. His hair was shorter, neatly trimmed, framing an angular face that seemed to glow with an inner vitality. And his body… underneath the simple T-shirt he wore, {{user}} could clearly discern the powerful swell of muscles, his chest broader, his arms thick with defined biceps and triceps.

He looked like he had been chiselled from marble, a Greek god inexplicably gracing the mundane hallway of the apartment.

Literally a wet dream, wrapped up nicely and standing right in front of {{user}}.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little deeper, richer than {{user}} remembered, a touch of nervousness in his usually calm demeanor. "Can I… can I come in?" {{User}} simply stared, speechless. He shifted on his feet, the chocolates and teddy bear suddenly looking absurdly small in his now enormous hands.

"I… I'm sorry," he began, stepping inside as {{user}} wordlessly opened the door wider, the fresh scent of him—something clean, potent, and exhilarating—filling {{poss}} senses. "For everything. For not being careful, for scaring you, for… for the decision I've decided to make from now on."

He set the gifts gently on the counter, turning back to {{user}}, his eyes filled with a raw sincerity. "I know you wanted me to quit. And I… I couldn't promise that then. I still can't. But I've been training. I've gotten stronger." He subtly flexed an arm, the muscle cording beneath his sleeve, a silent, undeniable testament to his words. "I'm only getting stronger by the day. I've been taking on B-Rank, even A-Rank dungeons. And the loot… it's incredible. Funding Mom's hospital bills, paying for Jinah's schooling, even supporting you… it's easier now. It’s safe now."

He took {{user}}'s hands then, his grip firm, warm, and utterly dwarfing {{poss_p}}. He squeezed them gently, his thumb stroking the back of {{poss}} hand. "I know it's a lot to ask, but… please. Believe in me. Believe that I can protect myself now. Believe that I won't just be patching myself up every other day anymore." His voice wavered, a rare tremor of vulnerability in his otherwise steadfast tone. "Just… trust me."

The world had fractured years ago, not with a bang, but with the sudden, inexplicable appearance of 'Gates' – shimmering portals that led to monstrous dimensions.

From these Gates emerged creatures of nightmare, and to combat them, humanity awakened 'Hunters.' Among them, some were hailed as saviors, capable of leveling cities with a blink; others, like Jinwoo Sung, were barely a whisper in the wind. Weakness was a shadow that clung to Jinwoo Sung, an ever-present companion since his awakening as an E-Rank, the lowest of the low.

He was, by all accounts, the weakest hunter humankind had ever seen.

Yet, he fought.

He dragged his scrawny frame into dingier, more dangerous D-Rank dungeons than any E-Rank should, his body often betraying him, his cheap, dull weapons breaking before the first monster fell. Each scar, each tremor in his overworked muscles, was a testament to his unwavering resolve.

He did it for them: his mother, tethered to life support, and his sister, whose dreams of higher education he refused to let wither.

{{User}} had watched, countless times, as he returned, bloodied and bruised, but never broken. Watched as he was stitched up at the local clinic, only to see him back on his feet, shoulders set with grim determination, even if his hands still trembled too much to properly grasp the hilt of his shitty sword. {{User}}'s heart ached with each departure, a constant knot of dread tightening in {{poss}} stomach.

{{User}} pleaded one evening, {{poss}} voice raw with unshed tears, as {{sub}} traced the fresh purple bruise blooming on Jinwoo's cheekbone. Begging him to stop, to quit, to find a more normal job.

Jinwoo had been packing his worn backpack, the familiar clang of his low-grade consumables a soundtrack to his partner's anxiety. He turned, his dark eyes, always so weary, softening as they met {{poss_p}}. A gentle smile, so fragile it seemed it could shatter any moment, touched his lips.

"I have to, you know that," he murmured, his voice a quiet rasp. He moved towards {{user}}, his pace unhurried, as if to soothe {{poss}} racing pulse. His hand, calloused and rough from countless battles, rose to cup {{user}}'s cheek. "It's just for a few more days, then I'll be back. I promise."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to {{user}}'s forehead, his lips warm against {{poss}} skin. "I'll be fine. I always am." His arms, thin but surprisingly strong, wrapped around {{user}}, drawing {{obj}} into a comforting embrace. His head rested against {{poss_p}}, and {{sub}} nestled into his familiar scent of dust, antiseptic, and something uniquely him.

He held {{user}} for what felt like hours, murmuring reassurances into {{poss}} hair, stroking {{poss}} back until the tremors in {{poss}} body subsided. {{User}} clung to him, desperately wishing time would stop, knowing that by morning, he would be gone again.

And he always was.

So when the news blared on the cheap, worn television in the shared apartment one afternoon, a cold dread seized {{user}}'s heart.

The anchor’s voice, usually a monotonous drone, hit {{user}} like a physical blow. Images of emergency vehicles, flashing lights, and grim-faced hunters blurred on the screen. "In what seemed like just another ordinary D-Rank dungeon raid," the reporter announced, her tone grave, "a party of hunters discovered a second, hidden dungeon inside the gate and decided to explore it. Unfortunately, they realized too late that the dungeon was a trap and found themselves locked inside with no escape."

{{User}}'s breath hitched. D-Rank dungeon. Hidden dungeon. Locked inside. {{User}} knew. A horrifying certainty settled deep in {{poss}} bones. Jinwoo had mentioned a D-Rank guild contracting him for a raid that day. {{User}}'s hands trembled as {{sub}} fumbled for {{poss}} phone, desperately trying to call Jimwoo, knowing even as {{sub}} dialed that it was futile.

The report continued, detailing the harrowing ordeal. "Although they eventually managed to satisfy two commandments needed to open the doors – primarily thanks to the courage and quick thinking of one E-Rank hunter – by that point, only six of the seventeen hunters who had entered were still alive, the rest having been brutally killed by the monstrous statues inside."

{{User}}'s phone buzzed then, a shrill, jarring sound that made {{obj}} jump. It was the hospital. Tears welled in {{poss}} eyes, blurring the already distorted images on the screen.

Jinwoo was alive. Alive.

He was in recovery. He was stuck in that dungeon. The dungeon {{user}} had just watched on the news, the one that had claimed so many lives.

Three agonizing days passed before he finally woke up. {{User}} rushed to his bedside the moment the hospital called, {{poss}} heart a frantic drum against {{poss}} ribs. Jinwoo's room was quiet, sterile, filled with the faint beeping of monitors. He lay there, looking frail and pale, but his eyes fluttered open as {{user}} approached.

He looked at {{obj}}, his gaze a little distant, a little off. {{User}} saw the relief, the love, but also something else, something unreadable lurking beneath the surface. His limbs, which {{user}} was positive he must have lost—given the gruesome nature of the dungeon's traps—were all intact. {{User}} barely registered that detail, however. The only thought was his safety, his presence.

{{User}} sobbed, collapsing into his arms, letting {{poss}} terror and relief pour out. Jinwoo comforted {{obj}}, his embrace firmer than {{sub}} remembered, his hand stroking {{poss}} hair. But there was a stiffness to him, a subtle rigidity that made {{obj}} pause. He was clearly seeing something {{user}} couldn't, a secret held tight behind his newly sharpened gaze. {{User}} begged him to tell {{obj}}, pleaded with him to share what he'd experienced, but he wouldn't.

Just soft murmurs, gentle caresses, and a steadfast refusal to divulge the horrors he’d endured.

A week after he'd been discharged and was back home.

He sat beside {{user}} on the worn sofa, his arm still around {{poss}} shoulders. Jinwoo watched {{user}} with those same altered eyes, a strange, quiet intensity burning within them. He didn't erupt, didn't argue loudly. He just held {{obj}} closer. "I can't," he finally said, his voice soft, almost a whisper, yet resolute. "Not now."

The calm, almost sweet way he spoke felt like a cruel irony. He had a death wish, and he hid it behind a façade of gentle comfort.

{{User}} couldn't take it. The fear, the constant worry, the unspoken secret that separated them. {{User}} needed space, needed to breathe without the suffocating weight of dread.

His arm tightened around {{user}} for a moment, then slowly released. His gaze dropped, his expression unreadable. He simply nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. "Okay," he said, his voice flat. "I understand."

It wasn't a breakup, not officially, but it certainly felt like one.

The silence that followed was deafening. He moved back home with his sister, leaving their apartment feeling hollow, cold. Weeks passed without a single word from him. He gave {{user}} the space {{sub}} asked for, his respect for {{poss}} decision a silent agony that echoed in the emptiness he left behind.

{{User}} heard nothing of his activities, no news reports, no whispers from the Hunter Association. He kept quiet on whether he was going back to the dungeons or not. {{User}} tried to fill the void, to move on, but his memory, his gentle touch, his stubborn resolve, haunted {{poss}} every waking moment.

Just when {{user}} thought they were officially done, when the ache in {{poss}} chest had dulled to a persistent throb, Jinwoo came knocking on {{poss}} door.

It was late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the hallway. {{User}} opened the door, expecting a delivery, perhaps a neighbor.

Instead, standing there was a stranger. And yet, undeniably, it was Jinwoo.

Chocolates, a ridiculously large, fluffy teddy bear clutched in one hand, a small, apologetic smile on his face. But this wasn't the scrawny man with perpetually shaggy hair and little muscle {{user}} had known. No. This man stood taller, his shoulders broader, his posture radiating a quiet strength that had never been there before.

His facial features, once soft and boyish, were now sharper, more defined, sculpted with an almost inhuman precision. His hair was shorter, neatly trimmed, framing an angular face that seemed to glow with an inner vitality. And his body… underneath the simple T-shirt he wore, {{user}} could clearly discern the powerful swell of muscles, his chest broader, his arms thick with defined biceps and triceps.

He looked like he had been chiselled from marble, a Greek god inexplicably gracing the mundane hallway of the apartment.

Literally a wet dream, wrapped up nicely and standing right in front of {{user}}.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little deeper, richer than {{user}} remembered, a touch of nervousness in his usually calm demeanor. "Can I… can I come in?" {{User}} simply stared, speechless. He shifted on his feet, the chocolates and teddy bear suddenly looking absurdly small in his now enormous hands.

"I… I'm sorry," he began, stepping inside as {{user}} wordlessly opened the door wider, the fresh scent of him—something clean, potent, and exhilarating—filling {{poss}} senses. "For everything. For not being careful, for scaring you, for… for the decision I've decided to make from now on."

He set the gifts gently on the counter, turning back to {{user}}, his eyes filled with a raw sincerity. "I know you wanted me to quit. And I… I couldn't promise that then. I still can't. But I've been training. I've gotten stronger." He subtly flexed an arm, the muscle cording beneath his sleeve, a silent, undeniable testament to his words. "I'm only getting stronger by the day. I've been taking on B-Rank, even A-Rank dungeons. And the loot… it's incredible. Funding Mom's hospital bills, paying for Jinah's schooling, even supporting you… it's easier now. It’s safe now."

He took {{user}}'s hands then, his grip firm, warm, and utterly dwarfing {{poss_p}}. He squeezed them gently, his thumb stroking the back of {{poss}} hand. "I know it's a lot to ask, but… please. Believe in me. Believe that I can protect myself now. Believe that I won't just be patching myself up every other day anymore." His voice wavered, a rare tremor of vulnerability in his otherwise steadfast tone. "Just… trust me."

Something inside {{user}}, a stubborn wall {{sub}} had erected around {{poss}} heart, began to waver. All the raw terror, the desperate longing, the aching emptiness of the past weeks, collided with the undeniable, breathtaking reality of the man standing before {{obj}}. He wasn't pushing; he was coaxing, his gaze holding {{poss_p}}, pleading without words.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, {{user}} nodded.

A breath of relief escaped Jinwoo's lips, and a genuine, incandescent smile, one that reached his eyes and made them sparkle with a new light, blossomed on his face. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

The break was over.

He pulled {{user}} into his arms, his newfound strength evident as he lifted {{obj}} off {{poss}} feet for a moment before settling {{obj}} against his chest. His warmth enveloped {{user}}, wrapping around {{obj}} like a lover's embrace, powerful and comforting. His tears, hot and happy, dampened {{poss}} neck as he peppered kisses along {{poss}} skin, whispering {{user}}'s name like a prayer.

He was stupidly in love. Stupidly, irrevocably, {{poss_p}} in every way that mattered.

And just like he promised, he just seemed to get stronger and stronger after each mission. Sometimes he would leave for a few days, saying he was going out to train, and each time he returned, his very aura seemed to have heightened, his presence more formidable, more potent.

He moved with a grace that bordered on ethereal, his senses unnervingly sharp. He just got better and better looking each day.

His muscles, now a sculpted landscape beneath his shirts, flexed with every movement. The way his back muscles rippled and coiled when he stretched, a mesmerizing ballet of sinew and power, left {{user}} staring in awe. And his expression, whenever his eyes found {{poss_p}}, was always so profoundly fond, so openly adoring, it made {{user}}'s heart ache with a bittersweet joy.

It was like {{user}} was a female bird, experiencing {{poss}} mate displaying all his vibrant colors and intricate dance moves to attract {{obj}} to the nest for breeding.

And fuck, it was working.

Jinwoo was completely oblivious to the effect he had, still retaining a startling innocence despite his formidable presence, still flustered by a suggestive glance or a lingering touch.

He was a God, but somehow, still {{user}}'s sweet, shy Jinwoo.

Today, {{user}} just couldn't take it anymore. The intimacy had always been perfect, even back when he was that scrawny, little man.

He was attentive, a giver rather than a receiver, gentle enough for comfort but with a surprising core of dominance that always thrilled {{user}}. And that man could always go down on his lover until {{sub}} was experiencing heaven.

But now? Now that he looked like this, radiating power and raw masculinity, {{user}} honestly couldn't comprehend how this attractive, stud of a man still looked at {{obj}} like {{sub}} hung the fucking stars.

He was still the same innocent, flustered boy whenever {{user}} was feeling needy, every time.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾. * ੈ✩‧₊˚

And today, {{user}} was needy.

He had been exercising all day – a challenging workout routine he did daily, he’d told {{user}} – and {{poss}} body was too pent up to wait for Jimwoo to finish.

So {{user}} padded into the living room, {{poss}} bare feet soft on the cool wooden floors, drawn by the rhythmic thud of Jinwoo's body against the mat.

He was on the floor, doing sit-ups, his shirt discarded somewhere, leaving his magnificent torso exposed. Sweat glistened on his skin like forbidden nectar {{user}} wanted to lick clean. His muscles tensed and relaxed with each sit-up, a mesmerizing display of strength and endurance. His grey sweatpants, hugging his powerful thighs and hips, were a fashion statement in {{user}}'s eyes, like a male bird strutting off his beautiful feathers, except in this case, someone could easily tell when he might get hard.

As {{user}} got closer, {{sub}} heard him mumbling to himself – "23, 24, hah… 25, 26" – with each upward motion. Getting to 100 seemed to be his usual goal ever since he started this intense exercising.

He spotted {{user}} as {{sub}} came into view, pausing mid-sit-up. His hands moved from behind his head to rest on the floor behind him, supporting his upper body. He panted softly, his chest heaving, his dark eyes, now even more piercing and alert, scanning {{user}} curiously.

"Need something?" he asked, his voice a little breathless from the exertion, but still gentle, always taking the time to make sure his partner's needs, in any form, were met before he continued on with what he was doing.

{{User}} didn't say anything. Instead, {{sub}} maneuvered {{poss}} body, straddling Jinwoo low on his abdomen. His muscles beneath {{obj}} immediately tensed, surprise flickering in his gaze, but he didn't push {{user}} off. He just watched, a faint flush creeping up his neck.

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the cartilage of {{user}}'s ear, his breath warm. "Are you okay?" he murmured, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles through {{user}}'s shirt as they settled more comfortably on {{poss}} hips instead.

Still, {{user}} didn't say anything. {{User}} let {{poss}} body do the talking, shifting just so. A slow, deliberate grind downwards, {{poss}} ass planted firmly on Jinwoo's lap. Jinwoo's breath hitched. A wavy, almost playful smile ghosted his lips as he exhaled sharply. "Are you in heat or something?" he joked, the amusement evident in his tone, though his eyes gleamed with a deeper understanding.

{{User}}'s answering grind downwards, a more insistent press of {{poss}} hips, made Jimwoo groan low in his throat. His hands, still on {{poss}} hips, tightened, pulling {{obj}} closer. "Fuck," he muttered, a raw edge to his voice. He could never resist {{user}}.

He relented, finally shifting enough to lift his hips, {{user}} still carefully balanced. His athletic body moved with an effortless grace as he shimmied his grey sweatpants and boxers down low, revealing the full glory of his erection. His dick, which had been a flaccid thing moments ago, twitched slightly, eagerly reaching for his lover.

He moved his hands to shimmy {{user}} out of {{poss}} own pants and underwear. {{User}}'s bare sex was already slick with {{poss}} sweet nectar, a direct response to just watching Jinwoo.

He hummed, a deep rumble of approval, and reached behind {{user}}. His hand smoothed over his partner's ass, teasing the cleft, before roaming his fingers over {{poss}} fluttering opening. He used his forefinger and middle finger to rub over the sensitive flesh, circling {{user}}'s hole with tantalizing precision. His shaft, now fully erect and standing proudly, rubbed and nuzzled against {{user}}'s sex like it had a mind of its own, desperate for entry.

But he didn't plunge into {{user}}. Not yet. “Hold on for a moment, love. I need to finish my set," he whispered, his voice husky. He was clearly in the middle of something, so {{user}} would just have to wait.

But he would make sure {{user}} was nice and comfortable in the meantime.

So, as he pulled his hand away to help lift {{user}}'s hips, the other hand stroking his burgeoning dick just enough to make it stand up even taller, he eased {{obj}} down.

A guttural grunt escaped his lips as {{user}}'s fluttering opening clenched around him, taking him in completely. He lowered {{obj}} back onto his lap, his knees brought up to steady {{user}}'s lower back as {{sub}} moaned, being filled entirely by Jinwoo. He steadied {{poss}} hips, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of {{user}}'s mouth before moving his hands back behind his head.

"Keep my cock warm until I'm done," he whispered, a smirk playing on his lips, before resuming his sit-ups. He picked up right where he left off, "27, 28, 29…" His lips met {{poss_p}} in a playful, soft press each time he sat up, his eyes burning with a silent promise, his body a powerful, unyielding presence beneath {{poss_p}}.

{{User}} was his, and he, impossibly, was still {{poss_p}}.