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

Chapter 119: Unspoken, Unfolding, Ours 🔥

Ten years of him making a fool out of me, and me loving every second of it.

He's my light. My gravity.
My most favorite chaos.

I rise from the rug where I've been sprawled, walk up slow.

He keeps dancing, like he doesn't feel me behind him. But I know he does-his shoulder twitches, his grin lifts at one corner.

He always knows.

I slide my arms around his waist from behind, pull him flush to me. Press a kiss just behind his ear.

"Wanna break it in?"

He pauses, glass halfway to his lips.

Then turns his head slowly, arching a brow like a challenge.

"Not on the rug. This rug is sacred. It's the gayest thing I own."

I grind my hips gently into him, making sure he feels me. "We are the gayest thing you own."

He stares for one beat.
His throat bobs.
Then- "...fuck it."

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🔥Content Warning: This section contains explicit sexual content and adult themes. Proceed at your discretion.

We crash to the rug like a pair of live wires.
Wine spills. His laugh hits the ceiling.

Our limbs tangle, arms wrapped too tight, mouths searching, greedy.

I pull at his shirt, but it's mine that gets stuck-over my head, twisted in my hair.

He tugs it off with a snarl that sounds more like a moan.

"You're such a menace," he gasps, voice gone breathless already, lips red and glossy from kissing.

I pin his wrists above his head, pressing them into the rug. My body cages him in.

"Say that again."

He blinks, dazed. "Menace-"

I crash my mouth to his, swallowing the last syllable in a kiss that's messy and wet and so overdue.

He groans into me-"Mmmnhh-Koo-"-and bucks his hips up, needy and hot beneath me.

My teeth find his throat, sinking in just enough to mark.

"Ah-f-fuck-Kook," he gasps, his back arching off the floor.

I growl, hand sliding down to grip his thighs, forcing them open.

He moans louder.

"Don't knock the light," he gasps between pants, eyes darting to the ring light wobbling dangerously beside us.

I tighten my grip on his thighs.

"Focus on me."

"Ah-God-Kook-fuck-!"

I kneel between his legs.
Just breathe. Just look.

He's flushed all over, shirt wrinkled up under his arms, chest rising and falling like he's running a marathon.

Hair a halo of dark strands against the pastel rug. Lips kiss-swollen and parted. He's stunning.

"Ten years," I whisper. "And you're still the most beautiful thing I've ever fucked."

He whines, writhing. "Then stop talking and do it."

I drag my fingers down his thighs, then part them wider, spreading him like something sacred.