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

Chapter 125: Breached, but Not Broken 🔥

He finally looks at me, eyes tired, stormy. "I know."

And maybe that's all he can manage right now. But it's enough.

Night falls and the house becomes a soft hum.

In the VR studio, Tae's working on projection models for Wacha's throne space in my home office.

Kookie pops in with smoothies and a game recommendation for distraction.

Jimin's humming in the shower.

Joonie's on a call with Purple Hope.

Jin oppa is cooking something fragrant in the kitchen.

Hobi is doing breathwork beside Yeontan in the garden.

And Yoongi?

Yoongi is on the floor of my almost bare home office (we had to take a pause with everything happening), surrounded by paper and cables and his laptop, a blanket draped over his shoulders like armor.

I sit beside him, knees touching, both of us watching the code flicker.

"Do you want me to read something to you?" I ask.

"Your report? A random romance novel? My sixth grade diary?"

He smirks faintly.

"Read me the diary."

"Nope. That's classified."

We stay like that-shoulder to shoulder, eye to screen, the quiet glow of the monitor casting faint blue light across his cheekbones.

Eventually, he whispers, "Thank you."

"For?"

"Not looking at me like I broke everything."

I turn my head toward him, heart tugging at the raw honesty in his voice. I reach up and cradle his jaw, thumb grazing the sharp line just beneath his cheek. "Yoongi..."

Then I lean in and press my lips to his.

It starts soft-just a brush of gratitude, of shared weariness-but the moment he sighs into it, something deep inside me unravels.

He tilts his head slightly, lips parting, and I feel his fingers twitch against the floor before one hand rises to cup the back of my neck, pulling me in.

His kiss deepens-gentle but aching, the kind that speaks not just of want, but need.

My breath catches when he sucks softly on my bottom lip, tongue sliding forward in a slow, exploratory caress that makes me whimper into his mouth.

We shift-knees bumping, his hand tangling in my hair now, mine clutching at the fabric of his hoodie like it's the only thing tethering me to the ground.

I straddle his lap instinctively, knees pressing into the carpet on either side of him, and his hands find my waist like they've always belonged there.

We're chest to chest now, mouths hungry and searching, the room thick with the sound of shallow breathing and the quiet rustle of fabric.

When he kisses down my jaw, slow and reverent, murmuring my name against my skin like a prayer, I shudder.

His voice is hoarse when he speaks.

"You're the only thing keeping me sane right now."

I grip the back of his neck and meet his eyes-those deep, storm-dark eyes.

"I'll hold you together, as long as it takes." I whisper.

"You're not a system, Jagi. You're my soulmate. And you don't need to be perfect to be loved."