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

Chapter 112 : The Cracks that Rebuilt Us 🔥

I bit my lip, trembling beneath him.

"Not yet," he growled when I shivered. "You don't get to let go yet. I need to feel you hold on."

My nails dug into his shoulders, grounding myself there. His name escaped me again and again, each one a prayer: Joon, Joon, please, Joon-

He flipped me over so fast I gasped, his palm sliding over my lower back, coaxing, commanding.

His touch was fire-tracing the curve of my spine, the dip of my hips, down to where I ached and throbbed and needed.

Then he pressed against me, chest to my back, breath hot against my ear.

"Still with me?" he asked, biting gently at my shoulder.

"Always," I breathed.

His hands gripped my waist, steady and firm, and I felt him roll his hips again-long, slow, and deep.

My moan cracked open the air like glass shattering.

"You're unreal," he groaned. "So good. So fucking good."

His rhythm deepened, his grip tightening-pulling me back against him, each thrust making my vision blur and my mouth fall open in a wordless cry.

He reached around, palm splaying across my stomach, grounding me. "Feel that?" he whispered against my neck.

"That's all for you."

"Joon, oh my God-" I gasped, dizzy.

"You take me so well," he grunted. "Like you were made for me. Like this was always ours."

Every inch of me burned-every cell alive, singing, pleading. But he wasn't letting me break. Not yet.

My knees trembled, my body shaking with the need to come undone, but his pace stayed deliberate, punishing, worshipful.

He moved with purpose, with reverence-like I was both his altar and his offering.

Then he slowed again-achingly, torturously-and pulled me upright against him, my back to his chest, his hand spreading over my heart.

His other hand moved up, cupping my breast, teasing a soft whimper from my throat. His lips found my neck, then my jaw, then my ear.

"You're perfect," he whispered. "You know that?"

I couldn't speak.
I couldn't think.

He was everywhere-his hands, his breath, his voice, his body moving inside me with slow, devastating force.

"You're my fire," he said. "My faith. You're what I reach for when I'm lost."

My hands clutched his thighs beneath me, and I could feel his heart racing at my back. My body strained, every nerve alight, every breath a plea.

"Just a bit more baby," he breathed, one hand now moving lower, teasing at the edge of release-drawing me close, then pulling back again. "You hold on for me."

"Joon-"

"I've got you. I've always got you."

We were moving together like a storm, crashing, pulling, colliding.

It wasn't just sex.
It was everything.
Our bond. Our fear. Our forgiveness.

Every thrust felt like a vow. Every gasp like surrender.

And then-
*Ding!*

A soft chime, barely audible through the haze of heat.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Then his.