𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

The Saviour

Parings → Peter Parker x Pole Dancer! Reader

Warnings → Harassment, attempted assault, violence, panic, fear, language, mild trauma, fluff, awkwardness, identity reveal.

Summary → Peter saves the reader from an assault. Later on, he met her again at a cafe.

          ｡･:*:･ﾟ★｡･:*:･ﾟ☆  ｡･:*:･ﾟ★

The air was heavy tonight, laced with the typical mix of cigarette smoke and alcohol that clung to the atmosphere outside the strip club. The neon lights blinked in time with the low thrum of the music from inside, but you were far from feeling the pulsing energy the others seemed to absorb. For you, it was just another night. Another long night.

You stepped onto the stage like you had countless times before, your body moving with a familiar grace despite the hollow feeling in your chest. The audience barely registered to you anymore—just a sea of nameless, faceless men who came to gawk, to drool, to fantasize. You blocked them out as best you could, focusing on the rhythm of the music as it filled the small, dimly lit space.

The pole was cold beneath your fingers, grounding you as you spun around it, letting the practiced movements flow through you. You weren’t there to enjoy it, not like some of the other girls. No, for you, this was survival. A means to an end.

By day, you served coffee and pastries at a quaint café, blending into the crowd like any normal person. No one there knew about your night job. No one could ever know.

It wasn’t exactly a dream life, but it was the only one you had. Bills needed to be paid, and rent in the city didn’t come cheap. You weren’t stripping completely naked like some of the other dancers. That, at least, was a small mercy. You had your lines, and you weren’t willing to cross them, no matter how tight money became.

The night dragged on, as it always did, but eventually, your set ended, and you breathed a sigh of relief as you stepped off the stage. Your body was exhausted from the day’s work, a deep fatigue settling into your bones. You quickly gathered your things, throwing on your long coat to hide the revealing outfit underneath before heading to the back to collect your pay for the night.

"Another good night, hon," the club manager said, handing you an envelope. His eyes lingered a bit too long, but you ignored it, used to the feeling by now.

"Thanks," you muttered, not bothering to make eye contact. You stuffed the envelope into your bag and walked out the back door into the cold night air.

The city streets were quieter now, the usual bustle of people heading home from work replaced by the occasional late-night straggler or group of drunks wandering from bar to bar. You pulled your coat tighter around yourself, wanting nothing more than to get home, take a hot shower, and forget about the night.

Just as you rounded the corner, two men staggered out of the club behind you, their laughter loud and obnoxious in the quiet street. You didn’t give them a second glance, keeping your head down and walking faster. But their voices carried easily.

"Hey baby, don’t run off so fast!" one of them called, a sharp whistle following his words.

You ignored them, as you always did when you were harassed. You’d gotten used to the catcalls, the comments, the sleazy looks that followed you whenever you stepped out of the club.

But these two didn’t seem content with being ignored.

"Come on, sweetheart, give us a show!" The other man jeered.

Your heart started to race.

You quickened your pace, hoping they’d lose interest, but instead, they matched your speed, trailing behind you like predators stalking their prey.