𝗥𝗲𝗱 | JJk ✔️

28| Dancey Dance

"There are six guards in this room," he says. "There's no way out unless we take them down." Only now you know why he never intended on entering through the front.

Jungkook pauses briefly to grab a cocktail from a waiter. "I say we ask Namjoon to turn down the lights before we attack them."

You shake your head at the idea and Jungkook tapers his eyes at you. "Are you scared to fight or do you have a better plan?"

At his presumption, a clever idea pops in your head the moment your eyes catch a dancing pole on the stage. You inwardly smirk.

"No need for violence," you say. "A little dancey dance is all it takes."

Jungkook follows your gaze to the stage where the dancing pole stands. He snaps his gaze to you instantly. "No." His voice is ice. "You can't be serious."

Ignoring him, you unhook your arm from his before bending to tear your dress so there are two splits on it.

Jungkook's expression is enraged. "Red," he hisses through gritted teeth. "What are you doing." 

Annoyed, you stand upright, scowling at him. "Do you wanna get out of here or not?"

Jungkook scoffs at you. "You think dancing like that is going to distract them?"

A wicked smile beams on your lips. "Oh, not just them."

At his confusion, you break away from his grip, leaving him standing as you trudge towards the stage with both your legs exposed with the split you drew on your dress.

"Nam—Coochie Destroyer," you say through your earpiece. "Turn down the lights of the auditorium when I tell you to."

You smile at the realization that Jungkook cannot stop Namjoon because he doesn't have an earpiece anymore. Thanks to your curly hair, you were able to hide the little devil under a fist full of hair.

"No," you hear Junghyun grunt instead, making you roll your eyes. "Don't listen to her. She's insane."

"Insanely clever," Namjoon retorts. "Your wish is my command, Red Riding Hood. Do what you have to."

You smirk.

With a sharp inhale, you step towards the DJ who's currently slouched on a stool with his big headphones around his neck as he dozes off. You poke him twice on the shoulder, and his eyes snap open.

"Earned it," you whisper a song in his ear, and he stares at you like you're mad.

"Que?" He asks, and that's when you mentally curse. Of course, he only speaks Spanish.

"Um." You struggle to form sentences in Spanish. "Tu. Play. Musica," you tell him dumbly. "Yo danceo." His face scrunches further into confusion but he shakes his head at you.

"No es el momento para mi de tocar musica," he says, and you know he's declining your offer.

"I pay you dinero," you say, pathetically adding, "Mil dolares."

You don't even have two cents in your pocket.

His eyes light up before a toothy grin breaks onto his lips. You sigh in relief. Money really is everything.

Mustering all your courage, you step onto the stage, staring hard at the pole in front of you. You've always been a good dancer. Not a pole dancer but a dancer.

No one notices you as you position yourself next to the pole, waiting for the DJ to play the song Earned it from "Fifty Shades of Grey."

And when he does, you're awkwardly dancing to its beat, knowing very well Jungkook is out there, judging your flirty dancing. But once the refrain of the song starts to play, more guests turn your way, maintaining their cool gaze on you as you grow comfortable on the pole.