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

Chapter 64: Spoiled and Spellbound

Waiters greet us immediately, ushering us to a private corner table with plush velvet seats, far enough from the crowd to make the space feel like ours.

I blink as the table is already half-covered with plates-steam rising from beautifully arranged dishes.

Chicken adobo, lengua, bicol express, palabok with crisp chicharrón sprinkled on top, and even a tall mango shake glistening with condensation.

"Tae." My voice cracks slightly as I turn to him, stunned. "You remembered all my favorites."

He grins, sliding into the seat across from me, casual but with a glint of pride in his eyes.

"Of course I did. You've been taking care of me and the others for months. It's time someone took care of you."

I stare, heart skipping.

"And, noona," he continues, leaning forward, resting his chin on his palm, "you're so easy to remember. Every little thing about you sticks with me."

Dangerous.
He's dangerous.

My pulse is sprinting, but I try to play it cool. "You did all this... just for me?"

His smile softens, but there's a heat behind it. "You deserve it."

I want to melt into the chair.

When I don't respond fast enough, he chuckles and motions to the spread. "Let me feed you, noona."

"Feed me?" I squeak.

He's already picking up his utensils.

"Mmm," he hums, carefully scooping a perfect bite of palabok, complete with shrimp, noodles, and just the right amount of sauce. "Say 'ah'."

I almost combust on the spot but somehow open my mouth and let him feed me.

I close my eyes, savoring the familiar flavors-the salty, savory richness, the crunch of toppings-and when I open them again, he's staring at me like I just painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel.

"Perfect," he murmurs, voice low. "You're perfect."

I choke on my bite.

"T-Tae-"

"You look so pretty when you're flustered," he teases, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

I try to collect myself, but it's hard when he's sitting there looking like every forbidden fantasy I've ever had.

His jacket draped at one side and the other side revealing his muscles, his hand lazily swirling his mango shake like he's got nowhere else to be but here, worshiping me.

He serves me next. A delicate spoonful of bicol express, creamy and spicy, the kind of dish that always feels like home.

"Is it enough?" he asks quietly, watching me eat. "Do you want more?"