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 get away.
Best Rankings
#3 strip
#4 jiminff
#41 rich girl
#119 bulletproofboyscouts
#202 stripper
#228 fanfi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The kitchen was bathed in the soft, golden glow of midday, the sunlight filtering through the gauzy curtains and casting delicate reflections across the calcite marble countertop. A clock hung above the sink, its relentless ticking a steady heartbeat in the quiet room, marking the passage of time as it crept past noon. In your hand, a glass of Pinot Noir tilted gently, the deep ruby liquid catching the light as it swirled, releasing faint notes of black cherry and spice that mingled with the warm air. You sat perched on a bar stool, your legs crossed beneath the table, while across from you, Park Jimin occupied his own stool with an ease that belied the sharpness in his gaze.
You'd been talking for hours—or so it felt—though the wine had yet to blur the edges of your senses. Instead, it heightened them, making you hyper-aware of the man before you: the way his light hair fell just slightly into his eyes, the subtle flex of his fingers as they rested on the countertop, the quiet intensity that seemed to hum beneath his casual demeanor. For the past twenty minutes, you'd filled the space between you with stories about the house—its creaky doors, the stubborn leak in the upstairs bathroom, the way the living room windows framed the sunset like a painting. Anything to keep the conversation flowing, to distract yourself from the way his eyes lingered on your lips whenever you paused to take a breath.
Jimin listened with a patience that surprised you, nodding at the right moments, his lips twitching into a faint smile whenever you stumbled over your words. But there was a restlessness in him too—a quick tap of his fingers against the counter, a shift in his posture—that suggested his mind was elsewhere, drifting to thoughts he didn't share. You wondered what they were, but asking felt like crossing a line you weren't ready to breach.
"So, the skylight in the bedroom," you said, gesturing vaguely upward with your free hand, "it's amazing for stargazing. On clear nights, you can see Orion's Belt without even trying. But fair warning—you'll need blackout curtains unless you're fine with the sun blasting you awake at dawn."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table, and a smirk played at the corners of his mouth. "Good to know. Though I don't mind waking up early if it means a view like this." His gaze flicked toward the window, where the backyard stretched out in a tangle of overgrown grass and wildflowers, but the low, velvet timbre of his voice made you question whether he meant the scenery—or something closer.
A flush crept up your neck, and you took a quick sip of wine to steady yourself. He's just teasing, Y/n. Don't overthink it.
Jimin was a flirt, effortless and deliberate, his charm a polished blade he wielded with precision. You'd seen it in the lingerie store when he'd complimented your taste with that sly grin, and now here, in the intimacy of your own kitchen. It was his nature, not a signal. Still, the air between you crackled, a quiet electricity that made your skin tingle.
You cleared your throat, steering the conversation back to neutral territory. "The backyard's a bit of a jungle right now—needs a mower and some elbow grease. Oh, and there's a pool out there too, but it's been neglected. Green water, leaves everywhere. Nothing a good cleaning can't fix."
