Play with fire and you'll get burned. Dance with desire and you might just fall in love.
The story of a stripper and a guy who can't seem to stay away.
Best Rankings
#3 strip
#4 jiminff
#41 rich girl
#119 bulletproofboyscouts
#202 stripper
#228 fanf...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Jimin POV
My keys dropped with a soft clink onto the hallway table. The apartment was dark and quiet. Finally. I took off my shoes and walked into the living room, tension curling around my spine like a second skin. The day had stretched too long with the PR nightmare that ensued. I wasn't in the mood for people. I wasn't in the mood for her.
And yet there she was.
Curled on my couch, in my hoodie—my favourite hoodie—with her legs tucked under her and a bowl of popcorn balanced between them like she owned the place.
"Hey," she chirped, cheerful and oblivious. "You're back! I thought I'd wait up. I made popcorn, want some?"
I just stared at her blonde-haired and blue-eyed self. Not because she was beautiful—though she was, God, she was—but because I couldn't decide if she was insane or just dangerously unaware.
"Why are you here?" I snarked.
Her smile faltered. "Uh- you gave me your keys?"
"You were supposed to lock the place and leave them at reception," I muttered, tossing my coat over a chair.
She frowned, glancing down at the popcorn like it might explain itself. "I thought— Never mind. You look like you had a rough day."
My jaw ticked. I sure as hell didn't want to talk about it. Didn't want to sit next to her and pretend like I wasn't still buzzing from being bombarded with questions from a frantic team for 6 hours straight. I didn't want to deal with the smell of her sweet and sharp perfume, and the way it made my stomach coil.
She moved the bowl to the coffee table. "Okay. I'll leave."
I should've let her, but as she stood, something clenched in my chest. Something softer than I wanted to feel right now. Something I assumed to be guilt.
"Stay," I uttered before I could stop myself.
She blinked. "What?"
"I said stay," I repeated, more evenly. "Just—stop talking for a minute."
She sat, wordless. Silence wrapped around us like cotton. I dropped onto the other end of the couch, pressing a cushion between us like it might guard me from myself. I could still smell her. The faint vanilla of her lotion, the buttery salt of the popcorn. She wasn't doing anything. Just existing. Just being. And it was annoying. And... not.
"You don't have to fix things, you know," I said finally, surprising even myself.
She turned toward me, brows furrowing. "What do you mean?"
"Every time I'm quiet, or upset, or not immediately smiling, you act like it's your job to cheer me up. But I didn't ask you to do that."
Her lips parted, then pressed together. "I wasn't trying to fix anything. I just... like being around you."
