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

Chapter 120: This Quiet, Loud Love. 🔥

Hyung is shaking above me.

The kind of trembling that starts at the center and echoes outward-like the body trying to hold the soul in place after it's burned too hot, too fast.

"H-Hyung-" I pant, barely able to get the words out around my own breath.

My chest rises and falls like I've run through warzones just to get to him.

And maybe I have. Maybe we have.

Because this-this moment, this man, this storm of sweat and skin and rhythm and sound-is the battle and the homecoming.

His thrusts get rougher. Sloppier.

Each one sends another lightning bolt through my already fried nerves.

I'm wrung out. Boneless.
Wrecked in the best way.

"F-Fuck," he gasps, forehead pressing to mine. "I'm-fuck, Koo-I'm gonna-"

His fingers grip my wrists, pinning them down against the rug.

"Mine-" he groans, chest heaving. "You're mine-say it-say it again-"

"Yours-yours-always-Hyung-please-let go-"

His body locks above me.

One last brutal thrust-and then he breaks.
It's not quiet.
He screams.

A sound that rips through him-pure, primal, raw.

"JUNGKOOK-!"

I feel him let go like thunder inside me.

His entire body shakes, lips parted around a gasp that never fully leaves.

His moans become sobs-each one quieter, breathier, until all that's left is the echo of his collapse.

And then-He falls.
Not hard.
He sinks into me.

All of him.
Every trembling inch.
Every beat of his frantic heart pressed to my chest.

The room still thrums with the aftershock. Lavender and sweat. Heat and heartbeats.

My hands move automatically-stroking up and down his back in slow, grounding sweeps.

He shudders again and exhales against my collarbone, like his lungs are only just remembering how to work.

"Breathe, baby," I whisper. "Just breathe."

"Fuck," he croaks, voice cracked. "Jungkook..."

I tighten my arms around him.

"I'm here."

He kisses my chest-slow, tired. His lips are so swollen, they barely brush.

"I-I don't have words," he mumbles into my skin.

"You don't need them."

He melts. Literally sinks deeper into my hold, head tucked under my chin like he belongs there-and he does.

My fingers run through the mess of his hair, still damp with sweat.

"I got you," I murmur, lips brushing his temple. "All of you."

He hums, quiet and fragile, a sound more comforted than anything I've ever heard.

I pull the edge of a nearby throw over us, sticky and tangled as we are.

The room smells like us.
Sex, sweat, the faint perfume of lavender candles we forgot to blow out.

The air is warm. Heavy. Sacred.
He doesn't move.
Just breathes.