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

Chapter 112 : The Cracks that Rebuilt Us 🔥

He was beautiful like this. Unmade. Open.

"Tell me to stop," he rasped, his voice hoarse as he hovered above me.

Our foreheads touched, our breaths crashing between us. "Tell me to stop and I will."

I cupped his cheek with a trembling hand, tears still slipping sideways from my eyes even as I smiled.

"Don't you dare," I whispered.

Then our mouths crashed again - softer now, but still desperate.

His lips trembled like he was saying a hundred things he didn't know how to put into words.

Apology. Devotion. Hunger.

Namjoon kissed like a promise - like he was sewing me back together one heartbeat at a time.

Fingers trembling, he peeled away the layers between us. My shirt, his jeans.

His hands slid under the waistband of my pants and I lifted my hips for him.
No shame. No hesitation.

He stared down at me like he was looking at something holy.

"God," he breathed. "You're so beautiful."

I pulled him down again, lips bruising, needy. His name was a prayer on my tongue - whispered into his ear, caught in my throat, moaned into his mouth.

"Joon, please..."

He didn't rush.
He didn't tease.
He worshipped.

His mouth moved down - my jaw, my neck, the curve of my collarbone - before finding the swell of my chest.

I gasped as his lips closed around me, as he groaned like I was the only thing that had ever made him feel alive.

His hands never stopped moving - caressing, grounding, reverent.

"Say it again," he murmured against my skin. "Say my name."

"Namjoon," I whimpered, arching into him. "Joon, please-please, I need-"

He kissed down, lower, breath hot against my belly. Then-His hands slid beneath my thighs, spreading me open like pages in a book only he was allowed to read.

And then he was there.

His mouth was hot, open, worshipful. His tongue moved in slow against the folds of my heat, devastating strokes that made my hips jerk and my hands claw at the sheets.

"Joon-oh my god-"

He groaned into me like he couldn't get enough, like every sound I made fed something inside him.

I shattered and begged and shook - pleasure coiling, burning, rising-
But before it could crest, before I could fall-He stopped.

I sobbed out a broken sound of protest.

"Not yet," he whispered, crawling back up to me, his lips glossy with devotion.

"Not like that. I need you."

Then I felt his cock-pressing against me, lined up and shaking with restraint.

"You feel what you do to me?" he breathed, voice wrecked, forehead resting against mine.

"You always undo me."

"Then do it," I whispered. "Undo me."

He pushed inside me with a groan that echoed in the walls, and I cried out - sharp and breathless, every nerve set alight.

We moved together like we'd never been apart. Like every inch of distance between us was a lie we were unlearning with every thrust, every gasp, every whispered name.