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

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

Desperate, maybe.
But not rushed.
There was time now.

Time to unlearn the audience and relearn each other.

Our bodies moved together in slow, grinding waves.

It wasn't about rhythm. It was about pressure. Friction. Heat.

The way our breath caught and tangled, like we were singing some private duet.

His hands gripped my waist, grounding me.
Mine cupped his face, memorizing it.

This was the version of us that didn't have to perform.

The version that bloomed in the dark when no one was watching.

"I see you," he whispered.

"I've always seen you," I murmured back, nose brushing his.

I pressed my forehead to his, lips barely apart. "You gave me the stars, Tae."

I slid slowly down his body, hands tracing every inch of his chest, every line of tension in his abdomen, the sharp edges softened by moonlight.

"Let me give you this."

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

The words leave my mouth softer than breath, but Taehyung hears me-feels me.

His entire body stills, his lips part, and for a heartbeat, the world tips on its axis.

His eyes never leave mine as I trail down his body, palms skimming over the ridges of his abs, the warm span of his waist, the soft curve of his hips.

I kiss every inch like it's sacred.
Like he's made of stars, and I'm tracing constellations with my lips.

He exhales hard when I settle between his legs, the weight of the moment thick between us.

My hands wrap around his thighs-taut, trembling-and I press a kiss just above his knee.

Tae's breath catches.

"Jiminie..." he says, voice already fraying at the edges.

I look up at him.

His chest is heaving, his fingers clenching into the sheets, his eyes half-lidded, blown wide with need.

It's not just desire-it's emotion.
It's history. It's everything we've survived.

"You gave me the stars," I murmur again, voice deeper now.

"Let me show you what it meant."

He swallows. Nods. Can't speak.

My mouth trails upward-slow, deliberate. Each kiss is its own kind of vow.

Each flick of my tongue, a song only he'll ever hear. His hips twitch under my hands, his breath stuttering with every inch I claim, every moment I prolong.

And then,

"Ah-God, Jimin-"

he gasps, a broken sound from deep in his throat. One hand fumbles for my hair, tangling tight.

I glance up. "Too much?"

"Not even close," he pants. "Just-just don't stop. Please."

His voice cracks on the last word.
So I don't stop.
I drag it out.

I held his cock and wrapped my tougue around the tip.

Every motion slow, sensual, hungry but controlled.