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

Chapter 68: Clay-Stained Kisses

A private pottery class setup, right inside the museum. A long table filled with smooth clay, tools, and pottery wheels, bathed in soft golden light.

The scent of earth lingers in the air, grounding, inviting.

Tae turns to me, his smile stretching wide.

"Surprise!" he exclaims, his voice carrying that signature lilt, the one that always makes my chest feel like it's expanding too fast.

"You're unbelievable," I murmur, shaking my head, already in love with the idea.

Taehyung smirks, leaning in slightly. "Didn't I tell you we'd be getting down and dirty tonight?"

I choke on a laugh, nudging his side as a few of the other participants glance over, curious. "I don't think that means what you think it means in a pottery class, Tae."

He winks. "Oh, I know exactly what it means."

God, he's ridiculous. And I'm completely gone for him.

A woman in an apron, our instructor for the evening, claps her hands to gather everyone's attention.

"Welcome, everyone! I hope you're excited because tonight, you're not just making pottery-you're making memories."

Tae hums, nudging my arm. "Did you hear that? We're making memories, hyung."

I squeeze his hand. "Every second with you is a memory, baby."

His eyes flicker with something soft, something warm, but before he can reply, the instructor continues.

"We'll start with hand-building, just to get a feel for the clay, and then we'll move on to the wheel. Trust me, you'll all be covered in clay by the end of the night, so don't be afraid to get messy!"

Tae turns to me, grinning. "You heard her. Get messy, Joonie hyung."

I sigh dramatically. "I should've known you'd love this part."

The instructor hands out the first chunks of clay, demonstrating how to knead it, pressing her palms into the soft earth.

Taehyung watches closely, lips slightly parted in concentration. I try to focus, but I can't stop watching him.

He pushes his sleeves up, revealing his forearms, and I swear I forget how to breathe.

"hyung" Tae calls, already flattening his clay, "stop staring and start molding."

"You're very distracting," I mutter, but I obey, pressing my hands into the cool, pliable surface. It's oddly soothing, the way the clay gives under the pressure of my fingers.

For a while, we work in comfortable silence, just the quiet scrape of clay against wood, the occasional laughter from other participants filling the air.

Then Taehyung, because he can't help himself, flicks a clay onto my face.