Stigma Love's Algorithm [ A BTS x Reader Poly ]

Chapter 107: Mischief, Menace, and Moonlight 🔥

I shook my head, smiling despite myself. "You're such a menace."

His eyes softened. "Your menace."

We stayed there for a while, tangled in each other, silent laughter and soft kisses traded like old secrets.

I tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and he leaned into the touch like he'd been waiting all day for it.

Then he said it-so soft I almost missed it.

"I love you."

I looked at him. Really looked.

That cocky smirk was still there, sure-but beneath it was everything else.

All the years.
All the late nights and quiet mornings.
All the fierce care and playful torment and sacred devotion.

"I love you too," I whispered. "Always."

He smiled, slow and real. "Always."

Behind us, the screen dimmed.
Deadlines forgotten.

All that existed now was this-the press of his body against mine, the taste of his kiss still on my lips, and the knowledge that I was loved, worshipped, and wholly his.

And him-mine.

It's been a few days since kook finally managed not to seduce me into pushing my editing to the very last minute.

The cursor blinks at me like it's judging me.
Rhythmic. Relentless.

Just like the ticking clock in my brain that says I'm late-again.

Kook's asleep in our room. I can hear the soft whir of the fan and the occasional rustle of the sheets when he turns over.

He waited for me. Of course he did.
He always does.

I scrub a hand down my face and blink hard, shoulders heavy with hours of edits, emails, and unspoken guilt.

When I finally close the laptop, it's not because I'm done-it's because I can't ignore the ache anymore.

Not the ache in my spine.
Not the one in my chest.

He's curled up on the edge of our bed, legs tangled in the sheets, one arm draped across my side of the mattress like he's reaching for me even in sleep.

I kneel beside him.

Fingers slip into his hair. Soft. Warm.
His curls tangle around my knuckles like they've been waiting for me to come home.

"I'm sorry I keep running out of time," I whisper, brushing hair from his forehead.

His eyes don't open-but his lips part, voice low and full of sleep. "You don't have to run to me," he murmurs.

"I'll always be here."

God.

I climb into bed and he curls into me like we're puzzle pieces.

Like there's nowhere else he's meant to be. I hold him tighter than I should.

Bury my nose into the space where his neck meets his shoulder.

I breathe in, and for the first time in weeks, I feel like I can exhale.

__________________________

Y/N's POV

The late afternoon sun filters through the tall windows, coating the living room in a light so golden it feels like a promise.

I always thought homes were just spaces-walls and corners, furniture and function.