Words: 7k i swear i tried to make it shorter Genre: stripper!reader, neighbor!jk, angst, smut Warnings: mention of suicide, dom!jk, dirty talk, overstimulation kinda, fingering, cursing, spanking, a li'l handj0b, jk w/ a prince albert :o, no protection cause they're careless Playlist: (link in my desc lol i cant link here ugh)
Summary: Being an exotic dancer was never easy. Every day was the same for you, until you reached that one breaking point you've been avoiding since your miserable life started. On a rainy night, Jungkook and his yellow umbrella were your last call of hope.
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Most people would wish for nighttime to be longer, and you're not most people. Nighttime is a nightmare you have to live with every darn day of your life. Daylight was kind of a savior, the sun rising only means the dark is over and you're getting up to become a waitress at Lonepine's Diner near your small apartment.
When the sun settles down, and the moon takes it shift, you're in for a dirty long ride. Hot dark strings of lingerie replace your modest archaic uniform, it doesn't matter how cold the night gets. That's just how every day goes for you, waitress by day and an exotic dancer by night. Sometimes, you would think that your life is a ridiculous fairytale, like you're a cursed princess and you wish for nothing but a prince to break this stupid spell.
It started during college, when you found out Aviation just wasn't for you. Never had passion for it, never liked it. You were young and confused, easily influenced by people that surround you. Your ex-boyfriend however, loved planes. You had no clue that after following his course in college, the little fucker would cheat on you. Next thing you knew, two years later, you're dropping out with no one by your side. Not a penny in your pocket, just broken promises from Jung Hoseok.
It's been five years since that happened, hell you're confident that you've forgotten every single memory of Jung Hoseok. In those years, you've made a living out of serving irritating customers in Lonepine. Not until you realized the cost of actual living. The minimum wage was enough to keep you under a roof, but starved. You needed more income of course, so you asked for suggestions from Monty, your perverted forty year old boss. He knew a good-looking woman like you would do just great in his best friend's pub. Your bones were already visible before you could reject his offer.
Inside a compact stall, filled with graffiti and lingering smell of old drunk men, your figure sways in front of a thirty year old man. Under the fluorescent lights, he looked almost like Ian Somerhalder, you were lucky to get him tonight. Though his nose was a little crooked, and his eyes have a wider gap. His rough hand skims over your ass and you were quick to slap it, earning a throaty chuckle from him.
"No touching," you warned, emotionlessly making contact with his eyes.
You rub against his clothed crotch, the fly of his ripped blue jeans nudging your clit. He sure knows how to stare at a woman, or maybe he was just drunk and his hooded eyes looked a little dreamy. It's not a rare case you find a customer attractive.
