Kinktober 2024

【 𝑆𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑜𝑓 𝑆𝑖𝑛 】

〖 𝑇𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑒 〗: 𝑆𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑟

〖 𝑆𝑦𝑛𝑜𝑝𝑠𝑖𝑠 〗: Going undercover at a strip club has its benefits, especially if Bigby is in the audience

〖 𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 〗: nsfw 18+, dry humping, oral sex, plot w/ porn, a bit of cock worship, red riding hood!reader, one (1) instance of dirty talk, teasing

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"How will I know it's you?" he asked as you stood outside the club, watching as patrons entered.

The bright neon pink sign buzzed above the two of you, and your high heels scraped against the pavement as you shifted on your feet.

You tilt your head to look at him, "You'll know."

He raised a brow, wondering what exactly you had up your sleeve tonight. "Just try not to make a scene," he grunted, lighting a cigarette and bringing it to his lips.

You scoffed, "That's rich coming from you. I'll see you on the inside."

He watched as you entered the club, duffle bag in hand. The plan was simple: get in, grab the right person's attention, get some dirt on said person, and hightail it out of there.

Simple.

Bigby took his place at the bar and waited for you to make your appearance. He watched as the man you were after, a sleazebag named Harvey, sat at one of the private tables, far away from the bustle of the crowd but with a perfect view of the stage. His dark eyes surveyed the dance floor and he pulled a cigar out of his suit jacket. Various girls came onto the stage, dancing to one song or the next. Bigby watched as Harvey motioned with his hand and some of the better, prettier dancers were led to his table.

A low murmur of interest rippled throughout the crowd as the lights dimmed further, casting the stage in an almost otherworldly glow. The DJ announced something about a "special guest," and Bigby felt his eyes drawn to the stage, his curiosity piqued by the sudden change of atmosphere.

A slow, sultry song filtered through the speakers as a spotlight illuminated the curtains as they parted. The audience let out an eager murmur as the dancer stepped onto the stage, their heels clicking against the floor. The dancer was draped in a rich, velvety crimson cloak that cascaded over their form like a river of blood. It caught the light in waves, almost liquid in the way it moved with each graceful step. The edges were lines with subtle, intricate embroidery that Bigby hadn't seen in what felt like eons. He could almost feel the stitching under his fingertips and the velvet slipping through his grasp.

He inhaled, and his heart skipped a beat in his chest. He'd know that scent anywhere.

You pulled back your hood, revealing the lacy mask on your face, and his suspicions were confirmed. You walked with confidence, every movement controlled and calculated. There's an edge to your posture as you near the edge of the stage— something playful, almost dangerous. You glanced his way — just a flash of your gaze but he caught it.

You turn your back to the crowd and reach up, slowly undoing the ties on your cape. Whistles and cheers erupted from the crowd as your cape fell from your shoulders, revealing a fitted corset and short skirt, deep red against your skin.

Heat climbed into his chest and nestled between his ribs as you dragged your hand up the pole at the end of the stage. His eyes were fixed on you, watching every flick of your wrist and twirl of your form around the pole. A rumble of jealousy, hot and primal, crawled up his spine at the way the other patrons stared at you.

A low growl built in his chest as you crawled near the edge of the stage and leaned down, your face close enough for your breath to brush against the patron in front of you. The patron's eyes wandered everywhere but your face as he shoved a few dollars into the top of your corset. He swallowed hard, gripping the glass in his hand so hard he was surprised it didn't shatter in his hand.