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

Chapter 122: In Every Universe, It's You 🔥

"That wasn't choreography, Jiminie. That was me choosing you."

His hand cupped my jaw.
His thumb brushed under my eye.

"In every timeline."

My breath caught.
My heart squeezed.

I leaned forward, kissed him again-this time firmer, more sure.

My hands slid up under his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin.

His fingers slipped beneath the collar of mine.

We weren't rushing.
We weren't timid.
We were unraveling.

There was nothing performative about this.
No spotlight. No stage.

Just us. Raw and real and still vibrating from the art we'd shared.

Every touch was deliberate.
Every sigh a confession.

Tae's lips found my neck.

My fingers tangled tighter in his shirt.

I pulled him closer, and he came willingly-always does-hips pressed to mine, breath mixing.

His voice was a whisper against my throat. "You feel like home."

I didn't reply.
Just kissed him harder.

We didn't need music.
We'd already danced.

Now we were the stillness after the crescendo. The held breath before dawn.

He pressed his forehead to mine, lips parted, eyes full of something holy.

"I love you," he said, voice cracking.

My chest broke open.

"I love you," I breathed, voice trembling with everything we'd held back for months.

He kissed me again.
And again.
And again.

Until the world outside the room no longer existed.

Until the stars above us weren't from the projector-they were us.

And when he pulled me toward the bed, fingers laced with mine, I didn't resist.
Because nothing about this was performance.

This was reunion.
This was promise.

This was every version of us choosing each other again.

We didn't speak. Not for a while.

The quiet between us wasn't awkward-it was alive. Like a string pulled taut between two hearts, vibrating with every breath, every glance.

Tae stood by the side of the bed, hair messy from my hands, lips swollen, eyes glazed over like he could still see stardust in mine.

I reached for him again, this time slower.

Shirts peeled away like petals falling-deliberate, careful, reverent.

I gasped when his fingertips brushed over my waist, hot and soft and sure.

My hands slid up his spine, pulling him flush to me.

His breath ghosted against my collarbone as I pressed kisses there, tasting skin and the echo of his name.

He pushed me gently toward the bed, but I stopped him.

"I'm not done," I whispered.

I gave him one last kiss, slow and deep, before nudging him backwards, palms flat against his chest.

He let himself fall back, arms open, eyes locked on mine.

And I climbed into his lap.

Straddling his thighs, knees bracketing his hips, I kissed him again-hungrier this time.