#bigby fanfic

[elaboratedbee]

Love at first fight? Just a funny and cute thought for a Bigby x S/O 🥺

LOVE AT FIRST FIGHT (BIGBY X READER)

hi! this is probably going to be short instead of a fully fledged x reader but i have a lil muse left tonight and this idea is so cute :)

Imprinting was a funny thing.

Bigby's mother had described it to him when he was just a cub, but the concept was always vague. A bedtime story. A fantasy. Some would even call it a fairytale. He would curl up next to her, fidgeting and kicking until he wasn't being crushed by his brothers and sisters, listening to her sweet voice as she lulled him to sleep. Imprinting, when a wolf found their perfect mate. When your eyes locked together, and the world stopped turning, when your heart rearranged itself to make room for somebody else. One singular moment, that changed your entire life's trajectory.

Bigby wasn't a cub anymore, and he had bigger things to worry about than finding a mate. Unlike certain delusional individuals, Bigby was able to accept reality, and accept the shittiness of that reality. He didn't need to coddle himself with religion, or bedtime stories, or some fantasy of true love that didn't exist. Nobody who had seen the things that he had would believe in any of that.

He shoved his free hand into his pocket, taking a long drag of the cigarette perched in the other. He felt the smoke crawl into his lungs, fill up the hole in his chest for the briefest of moments. He held it there for a second, clinging to the feeling before he blew the smoke out. It rolled over his lip, spilling into the night air as he leaned against a lamp post. Even as he took the moment to relax, his eyes were roving the street, searching up and down.

The scream that cut through the air didn't surprise him, but he straightened up immediately. The cigarette fell from his hand, the end glowing orange as he abandoned it on the tarmac below, sprinting toward one of the numerous dark alleyways. He knew something was off -- or maybe something was just always off in Fabletown. He rounded the corner and screeched to a halt, immediately taking in the scene.

"Hey!" He growled, drawing the attention of the mugger who was trying to wrench the bag from your hands. Bigby ran forward and drew his arm back, but before he could even make contact, you beat him to the punch, literally. Your knuckles crashed into the petty criminal's nose with a satisfying crunch, which turned into a fountain of blood.

"Ugh!" You grunted, following it up by grabbing both of his shoulders and driving your knee upward with all your strength, straight into his groin. The man collapsed like oragami in the rain, crumpling to the ground with a choked off noise. He curled in on himself, his eyes practically rolling into the back of his head. You readjusted your bag onto your back, scowling down at the figure.

Bigby stared, looking remarkably awkward. He had charged forward, adrenaline pumping, prepared for a fight, and now the energy had nowhere to go. It thrummed in his veins, his blood hot, his eyes a little wild. Sometimes, he felt like an addict. "You alri--?" He began to ask gruffly, but he was quickly cut off by you.

"I had that," you snapped at him, brushing yourself off and glaring in his general direction, "I had it handled, I didn't need you to get involved."

Bigby's face soured, and he clenched his fist. He was no stranger to ingratitude for his work around Fabletown though. "Looked like it," he muttered sarcastically, bending down to drag the whimpering criminal's hands together behind his back and cuff them tightly.

"Excuse me?" You stepped closer, putting your hands on your hips and staring down at him.

"Nothing," Bigby said. And then, after a beat, "just that if I hadn't have distracted him, he would have snapped your damn neck. But sure, you had it."

"Oh, and you charging in here like that was smart? It was a robbery! If he hurt me, it would've been because you stormed in here and spooked him," you accused huffily, "do you even fucking think?"

"I'll tell you what I fuckin' think--" Bigby growled, his eyes flashing yellow at being provoked and he stood, dropping the perpetrator flat on his face and standing up straight. He glared at you, this time looking directly into your eyes.

It hit him like a punch, at first. It was nothing like his mother had described, so much so that he didn't recognise what was happening to him. For a second, he wondered if he had taken a silver bullet to the heart. There was a dull pain in his chest that spread outward, as if his heart was cramping, or twisting. He clutched his chest, almost tearing the buttons of his shirt. The feeling spread, becoming nausea in his stomach, like hundreds of butterflies were trying to escape. His legs felt weak, his arms felt shaky, and before he knew it, he was leaning forward. Like a magnet, unable to resist the pull, he found himself drawn in and in and...

"What the fuck are you doing?"

The question snapped him out of it, and he jerked back. He could feel prickly heat from shame and embarrassment crawl down his neck, and he felt vaguely dizzy. How could he even explain himself? How could he tell you that he wanted to pick you up, throw you over his shoulder and take you somewhere safe for the rest of your life? To wrap you up in his arms and breathe in your scent. To experience the press of your lips on his. To consume you whole, until you were one.

He had never experienced something like this, and he felt terrified. Vulnerable. With one look, you had ripped him open and examined him, had rearranged his anatomy and made room for yourself. Not just in his heart, but in every part of his body. In every cell, in every atom, you were part of him. You were his mate.

Bigby cleared his throat, "nothing. Do you want to come by the Sheriff's Office tomorrow and make a statement?" He asked flatly, "uh...?" He raised an eyebrow questioningly and gestured vaguely, searching for your name.

"(Y/N)," you supplied with a nod.

Bigby felt like if he didn't know he would see you again, his body might spontaneously combust. "So?" He asked, sounding impatient and bored of the interchange.

"I'll stop by in the morning," you agreed, "and I'll give you a statement telling you exactly how I had it handled..." You winked at him and turned, walking off. Bigby watched you go until you were out of sight.

[ilovetheriddler]

Requesting a Bigby Wolf + fem reader in the corn maze smut for your Halloween fic post pretty pls 🫶✨

This is my first time writing a bigby fic! Yay! I hope that you enjoy it!

Halloween Fic Event.

Howling in the Corn Maze.

(Bigby Wolf x F!Reader.)

Contents: NSFW 18+ 🔞🔞🔞 rough sex, neck biting.

Bigby took a deep inhale from his cigarette as he watched you as you attempted to find a way out of the corn maze that you insisted that you go to. You thought it would be fun... it was not fun, and now you were both kind of lost.

"So... do you still think this was a good idea, sweetheart?"

"...No, but how was I supposed to know that the stupid maze was going to be so confusing?!"

It was already getting late, and there seemed to be no end in sight, just rows and rows of endless corn! As you glanced up at the sky, you noticed the moon had started to rise for the evening. It was a full moon, and suddenly you felt a little... concerned. You had never really asked your boyfriend how much the full moon affected him, if it did at all, and you found yourself hoping that it didn't.

"Hey, um... Bigby?"

"Hmm?"

"... How much... does the full moon affect you exactly...?"

He paused for a moment, thinking about it for a bit before letting out a sigh.

"I'm going to be entirely honest with you, sweetheart, certain... urges usually get a lot stronger.."

"Certain urges? Like what?"

".....I'm going to be blunt. What i mean is my sex drive increases considerably... and well... I'm a bit worried about you being near me like that because I don't want to be too rough on you..."

"Oh....."

You felt your face get incredibly flustered at his words. Yes, you'd had sex with Bigby several times before. You'd been dating for a few months now, after all, but this did make him always refusing to let you stay at his apartment during previous full moons make a lot more sense.... but you'd be lying if you said that you weren't interested in seeing how he was when he was worked up like that...

"Um, well.... I'm not really worried about that... i mean, how rough could you possibly be?"

".....Darling, that's an incredibly dangerous thing to say to me while I'm like this...."

Something about his tone of voice in that moment nearly made your heart stop, damn... maybe being near him during a full moon wouldn't be so bad? You watched as the sunlight finally fully faded, being replaced by the light of the full moon. You jolted slightly as you heard a deep and low growling sound coming from behind you. You didn't even have a chance to turn and look at him before you were being pinned to the ground.

You were a bit startled at first. You didn't mind bigby being a bit more forceful and rough with you. It just simply caught you by surprise. You let out a somewhat embarrassed squeal as the sound of ripping fabric reached your ears, both your dress and underwear being torn off faster than you thought possible.

He moved you slightly, pushing you to rest on your hands and knees facing away from him. He ran his hand down your back, his now decently sharper claws almost drawing blood as you winced. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth leaving harsh and slightly painful hickeys in their wake.

You hadn't even realized that he had undone his pants until he without warning thrusted his cock inside of you, causing a mixture between an embarrassingly loud whine and moan to leave your lips.

"Does that feel good, sweetheart? Do you like being stuffed full of me?"

You could only manage a nod as he continued to thrust into you relentlessly with a rough and uneven pace, sinking his claws into your hips as he held you in place.

You were incredibly overwhelmed in both a mixture of slight pain and a lot of pleasure to the point where you were a bit worried you might pass out. In all honesty you couldn't really complain about the idea of being fucked by a Wolfman in a corn maze all night long.

[little-strawberry100]

I NEED an opinion, or options really. But I have been obsessed with this TellTale Game called "The Wolf Among Us" for the past WEEK, and have been especially obsessed with Bigby Wolf. I've been reading a fic on him on Wattpad and it's made me want to write on there again. The thing is, the Author of that Fic has the Reader as Red Riding Hood, WHICH TOTALLY FITS. I'm just struggling on what other Fable the Reader would be if I were to write an X Reader or X Male Reader, cause I feel like if I were to also go with Red Riding Hood I'd be plagiarizing them AND THATS THE LAST THING I WANT!!

(Bigby X Reader fic by OneArtsyGamer03 on Wattpad, I'd check it out, it's SOO GOOD!!)

[ladyantiheroine]

Double Shot of Midas

Summary: Bigby has one too many drinks at the Trip Trap. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x Snow White

Warnings: Alcohol

Word Count: 2.9k words

Tags: drunk confession, declaration of love.

It had been a hard day.

Most days were hard. Being the Fabletown sheriff was no walk in the park, Bigby had worked it long enough to know that. Trying to keep a town that didn’t have much respect for you in check wasn’t easy.

By the time he got off work, his head felt like a deadweight and his body ached for rest. It started raining as he made his way from the Bronx back towards the Woodlands Apartments.

The bar was warm inside compared to the cold rain pattering on the streets. But warm didn’t exactly mean welcoming. Bigby hadn’t been back at the Trip Trap in months, and the last time he was there, things hadn’t exactly been…friendly. But he was exhausted, and cold from the rain, and his tongue craved something strong.

Inside the air felt as thick and sticky as a freshly-emptied pint glass, and a jazzy tune ballooned from the jukebox in the corner. The bar’s owner, Holly, glanced up at him from her place behind the counter. She gave him a sour look.

“Well, look who’s back,” she said.

Bigby was in no mood for Holly’s sarcasm. The door shuttered close behind him.

“Was expecting a bit more fanfare,” Bigby sniped back.

Holly rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the cash register.

Bigby raised an eyebrow.

“Not gonna tell me to fuck off this time?” he said

Holly crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

“As long as you don’t break anything in my bar this time, I don’t care what you do.”

She wasn’t trying to kick him out, which was more cordial than most of their interactions. Bigby decided to take that as a sign of progress. He took a seat at the end of the bar by the jar of pickled eggs. On the far other end, Grendal sat with his head down on the table and a half-empty glass in his hand.

“I wouldn’t bother him if I were you,” Holly said. “He’s been knocked out for hours.”

“I’m not interested in starting anything,” Bigby said. His gold eyes sharped. “At least, not tonight.”

Holly gave him a look, then grabbed a dirty glass from behind the bar and started cleaning it down with a ragged cloth.

“And what are you interested in tonight, sheriff?” she said. “No offense, but you kind of look like shit. I mean, you never exactly look spiff and span, but you look like you just got hit by a bus or something.”

“Just a long day,” Bigby grumbled. “I just need a drink to wind down.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” Holly tossed aside the rag and set the newly cleaned glass on the bar. “What’ll it be tonight, sheriff?”

Bigby lowered his eyes down to the glass in her hand.

“A Midas Gold,” he said. “Double.”

~

Snow had just finished getting ready for bed when she heard the knock on the door. As soon as she heard it, she sensed something was wrong. She pulled a bathrobe over her pajamas and made her way towards the door. The knocking turned into a fist pounding on the door, and a familiar voice croaked from the other side.

“Snooow, ” it moaned.

Snow knew that voice anywhere. But why would he be here at this hour? Was there some emergency she needed to know about? The thought made Snow’s stomach twist with dread.

She opened her apartment door, and there he was. The Fabletown sheriff stood outside her door, shirt rumpled, tie loose, belt gone, hair a haphazard mess, and a foggy look in his eyes. He stood with one hand pressed against the doorframe, unable to stand straight.

Snow’s eyes widened as she looked him up and down.

“Bigby,” she said. “Are you okay?”

“Hey, Snow,” he said. His words came out like a slurred smear. “Sorry to bother you. Just thought I’d stop by.”

He removed his hand from the doorframe, and that’s when Snow noticed the way he swayed when he stood. His weight shifted from one foot to the other, like he couldn’t stand straight.

“Bigby…” Snow said carefully. “Have you been drinking?”

Bigby snorted.

“Only a little,” he said. “Just a couple Midas Golds down at the Trip Trap.”

The unsteady way he was standing and the sloppy way he was speaking made Snow think he’d had more than just “a few.”

“Hate to bother you this late,” Bigby said. “Just wanted to stop by.”

Snow looked him up and down. She wanted Bigby to go back to his apartment where he was safe. But she didn’t want to close the door on him. What if he hurt himself? What if he went out again and a Mundy saw him?

She sighed and opened the door. Bigby stumbled his way in. He was only a few steps in when he stumbled towards a table and gripped the top of it to maintain his balance.

“Come on,” Snow said as she took his elbow. “You need to take a seat.”

Bigby let Snow guide him into the living room and sat him down on the couch. He looked at her with a strange, dreamy look as she sat on a chair across from him.

“Thanks, Snow,” he said.

“Bigby, why are you here?” she said. “You’ve never shown up drunk at my door before.”

“I’m not drunk—“

“Yes, you are.” Her voice was firm. “I can smell the liquor in your breath and you can barely stand.” She sighed. “Bigby, I don’t care what you do when you’re off duty, but I’d like to know why you’re at my door at a quarter to midnight in this state.”

Bigby’s eyes suddenly dimmed, and Snow wondered if her words came out harsher than they intended. It was late, and she was tired, and she’d never been in this scenario before with a co-worker. Before she could speak again, Bigby broke the silence.

“I…had nowhere else to go.”

This made Snow pause.

“You have an apartment in the Woodlands,” Snow said. “Why didn’t you just go there?”

Given how hammered he looked, anywhere that wasn’t his apartment wasn’t safe for him in his current state.

“I didn’t want to go back there,” Bigby said. “Too quiet. Too tight. I wanted to talk to someone…” He gave her a look. “And you’re the only person I can talk to.”

Snow felt her heart sink a little.

“Bigby, that can’t be true.”

“But it is.” He told his eyes. “I mean, I guess there’s Bufkin, but he was back at the Trip Trap and he looked more sloshed than me.”

Snow crossed her arms and sat down in a chair across from the couch. Her Woodlands apartment was a modest one. Not as small as Bigby’s, but not as glamorous as Beauty and Beast’s. She watched Bigby tip his head back, a cloudy look in his eyes.

“We have to get you back to your room so you can rest,” Snow said. “Is there anyone we could call?”

“You can try calling Colin. The bastard snuck off the Farm again. But I doubt those hooves of his can pick up a phone.”

Bigby snort-laughed, then lowered his head down onto the couch with a groan. He pressed his face into a throw pillow and coughed, and for a moment she thought he might throw up.

“Sorry,” he groaned.

“It’s fine,” Snow said. “Let me get you some water.”

Snow retreated into the kitchen and grabbed a glass. As the glass filled, Snow glanced back at Bigby. She always figured Bigby drank when he was off duty. She couldn’t really blame him. Being the Fabletown sheriff was no easy task. But he’d never shown up at her door at this hour before. She wondered what made him come tonight, and why her apartment of all places.

When the cup for full, she returned to the living room. She offered him the glass of water, and he reached out and took it. As he drank Snow looked him up and down. She was not used to seeing the sheriff in such a state before. He was normally so stoic, walking around with icy walls around him. Seeing him like this, his clothes more ruffled than usual, his tie loose, his hair a mess, his body so weak he could barely sit up…she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen him like this. He looked so vulnerable. Like a lost puppy.

Bigby sipped the glass dry and then handed it back to her.

“Thanks, Snow,” he mumbled. 

“No problem.”

She set aside the glass.

“I’m sorry,” Bigby mumbled. “I shouldn’t be here.”

“No, it’s fine,” She assured him. And it was true. She and Bigby had been partners for a long time, and partners helped each other out. The only thing that bothered her was…

“Why are you here?” she asked. 

“I said I wanted to drop by.”

“You’ve never shown up at this hour before. Did something happen?”

Bigby groaned and turned his face back into the pillow.

“Nothing,” he sighed. “Just…just didn’t feel like being alone.”

Snow paused.

“And so you came to me of all people.”

“Of course,” Bigby said. And then, Snow saw the hint of a grin on his face. “Who else would I go to if not Fabletown’s saving grace.” He turned and looked at the ceiling. His words were a boozy trail from his lips. “The fairest of them all.”

Snow felt a small flush in her face then glanced down at the floor. She lowered herself back into the chair.

“It’s nice to know you think that,” she said softly. “To most people, I’m less princess and more ice queen.”

“That’s only because they don’t know you,” Bigby said. His words were slurring more by the minute, but Snow could understand him. “They don’t spend every day in the office with you.”

Bigby’s eyes lingered on her then kept speaking.

“That’s what I’ve always admired about you, Snow. No matter how bad things get, no matter how many shitty people we meet, you always stay in control. You’re only mean because you have to be in this job. I know I’ve had to.” He scratched his face. “Besides, you give way more of a shit about this town than most do.”

His words warmed her. Snow glanced down at her hands in her lap.

“That’s nice of you to say, Bigby,” she said.

She was frozen in her seat. His words were…oddly sweet. Unusually sweet for him. But this scenario felt strange. Like she was hearing something she was never supposed to hear. Like he was showing her something he never intended to show anyone.

Bigby stared at her for a moment, with something in his eyes she couldn’t quite identify. His eyelids fluttered and he slowly collapsed back onto the couch. The booze was finally getting to him. He was not getting up any time soon.

Snow sighed. If he wasn’t going back to his apartment, at least he was somewhere safe. In here she could keep an eye on him, make sure he didn’t hurt himself.

She stood up and grabbed a blanket from one of the other chairs. She approached the couch, her eyes lingering on his sleepy, drunken face. His eyes watched her, barely able to stay open. Snow gently draped the blanket over him.

Bigby suddenly took her hand in his. Snow looked at her hand, then looked at him. His eyes had a soft expression she rarely saw in him.

His next words fell from his lips in a whispery breath.

“I love you, Snow.”

His eyes fluttered shut as his head fell back onto the pillow. He dropped her hand, leaving it suddenly cold. In seconds he was fast asleep, and Snow stood there wondering if she had heard him correctly. The words he said played over and over in her head, like if she examined them enough she’d find a mistake. Maybe she misheard. He was drunk and slurring and his speech was incoherent. Maybe she was just tired and her brain wasn’t processing information like it should because she swore he said—

I love you, Snow. 

Bigby was snoring on the couch, fresh out of consciousness. Snow slowly backed away into her bedroom and shut the door. She collapsed onto the bed, listening to the soft sounds of Bigby’s breathing in the other room, her heart and thoughts racing too fast for her to sleep.

~

Snow woke the next morning before Bigby did. She wandered out into the living room and saw him still on the couch, breathing softly under that blanket. Morning sunlight spilled from the windows and onto the back of his head. As soon as her eyes found him, his words from the night before echoed through her head: I love you, Snow. 

She shook the thought from her head and made her way into the kitchen. She started making coffee and poured a glass of water with some painkillers, knowing Bigby would be in a world of ache when he woke up.

As soon as she had two full mugs, she heard a long groan from the living room. Snow shook her head with thoughts from last night and wandered into the living room. Bigby was seated up on the couch, clutching his head like it weighed too much for his shoulders.

“Good morning,” she said, setting a mug on the coffee table in front of him. “Sleep well?”

Bigby lifted his head to her. His eyes squinted against the light coming from the window. His eyes flickered around the room as he took in where he was. 

Bigby shut his eyes and groaned.

“Fuck,” he said. “Did I come here last night?”

“Yeah,” Snow said. She sat in the chair across from his, her steaming mug in her hand. “You showed up around midnight. Don’t you remember?”

Bigby ran his hand through his hair and shook his head.

“No,” he said. “I remember…I stopped by the Trip Trap after I left the office…everything after that is fuzzy.” He lifted his eyes to Snow’s. “I’m sorry, Snow, I shouldn’t…”

Snow shook her head.

“No, it’s fine,” she said. “I mean…I’m just happy you ended up somewhere safe.”

Bigby gave her a small nod.

“Yeah,” he said. “I ended up somewhere safe.”

Snow felt a flush in her face, and she hid it with a sip from her mug.

“You were no trouble,” she assured him. “You came knocking on my door. I let you in, gave you some water, and then you passed out on the couch.” She gave him a small grin over the rim of her mug. “You were the most polite drunk guest I’ve had.”

“That’s good to hear.” Bigby ran a hand down his face. “I just hope I didn’t do or say anything too embarrassing last night.”

Snow’s mind flickered back to the night before. Bigby knocks at her door, his words slurring from his mouth. The way he spoke like his words had an autonomy of their own. Words that said…

I love you, Snow. 

Bigby was looking at her, expecting a response. Snow didn’t know what to say, the memory of his words replaying in her head. 

“Nothing, really,” she said. “You were slurring your words so much I couldn’t really understand anything you said. You came in here and passed out on the bed. That’s all.”

Bigby nodded, then took a long sip of his coffee. Once they both finished, Bigby stood up.

“What time is it?” “About eight.” “We should head to the office soon.” “Agreed.”

Snow took both their mugs to the kitchen and began washing them in the sink. As she ran a soapy sponge through the cups, she sensed Bigby at the doorway watching her. He spoke just as she set the mugs aside to dry.

“Do you wanna get breakfast?” he asked. “We’ve got an hour before we have to be at the office. I’ll buy us something quick on the way over.”

Snow turned to face him.

“Oh,” she said. “Bigby, you don’t have to do that.”

Bigby lifted his hand and shook his head.

“You let me spend the night after I showed up at your door pissed drunk in the middle of the night,” he said. He looked her in the eye. “The least I can do is buy you breakfast.”

Snow felt something warm in her chest.

“Thanks, Bigby,” she said.

Bigby turned and glanced at a clock on the wall.

“That breakfast place that sells pancakes is about ten minutes from here. If we leave soon we can still get to the office early.” His eyes flicked to her. “You like yours with blueberries, right?”

Snow gave him a look.

“How do you know I get mind with blueberries?” she asked.

Bigby shrugged.

“Every time you bring breakfast to work, you always bring a to-go order, and you always have blueberries with yours. That and a coffee with two sugars.”

He said it nonchalantly like it was no big deal. But Snow felt something warm inside of her. She never knew Bigby noticed things like that. Her coffee order, what she had for breakfast. She couldn’t think of any reason why he’d bother to notice or care.

Then those four words came floating back to her:

I love you, Snow.

Bigby turned on his heels and then glanced over his shoulder at her.

“Are you ready to go?” he asked.

Snow felt a smile threaten to stretch on her face.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’m ready.”

[lil-ms-darkness]

Skin Like Gingerbread - Bigby Wolf x Fem! Goldilocks! Reader

A/N: Hey, hello, hi, so I did not intend for this to become a full blown story, it was meant to just be a couple of sweet one shots because Bigby Wolf and Fables by Bill Willingham is awesome. Yet, here we are, on part three of an unexpected series.

I don't really know how many parts are going to be in this, but I hope you enjoy. I'll create a post linking all of the parts and I'll update it as I post new chapters, that way they're all in one place for all of you who enjoy this series. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. 'Til Next Time! ^.^

Lil_Ms_Darkness

Content Warnings: Description of dead bodies, description of anxiety/panic

Bigby walks up to a squat brown building sandwiched between two five-story tall buildings. A metal framed door with a small frosted glass window is propped open with a chair under a worn green canopy. There is graffiti on the walls around the two larger buildings and some on one of the windows. Bigby approaches the small building and inside he finds 20 tables pushed side to side to make three long tables. Plastic chairs have been pushed to the tables, where Mundies sit and enjoy plates of food. 

He looks over to his right to find another table with an array of paper plates, plastic utensils, paper cups, and four people work quickly to fill the plates with green beans, mashed potatoes, a large piece of fried chicken, and a small scoop of mixed fruit. The cups are filled with juice that smells of too much sugar. People move around the space, people coming out with more food from a back room, but his gaze lands on a young woman. Her hair is tied back into a ponytail of dirty blonde hair that falls out of a navy bandana with stars and crescent moons, exposing her strong jaw and high cheekbones. Vibrant blue eyes focus on the food as she works, her slender gloved hands generously filling the plates, and by extension, many hungry bellies. He wonders how [Y/N] has never met her, they’re extremely similar. Almost eerily so. 

”Her name is Amelia.” Woody said, looking away from the Sheriff. He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Where does Amelia live?” Bigby asked, arms folded.

“Why do you need to know that?”

“To corroborate your alibi, you’re still a suspect. Be grateful I’m not taking you to the Business Office for holding, until I can prove your innocence.”

Woody glared at him and his nostrils flared,

“I already told you, Wolf, I’m not a murderer! I’ve said it, [Y/N] has said it!”

“Where does she live?” Bigby asked again, his thick brows pulling together in annoyance.

Woody squared his shoulders and Bigby clenched his fists, but both of them could feel silent eyes on them, warning them against brawling without a word. Woody sighed, “I won’t tell you where she lives, but she volunteers at a soup kitchen in the Bronx. It opens at nine, and she never misses it.” 

“What’s the name of it?”

“The Cozy Spot.” 

Bigby nodded and his gaze had drifted back to [Y/N], sitting quietly on the couch. She continued to stare out the window after the two didn’t start exchanging blows.

“[Y/N],” he called, and she turned to look at him slowly, silently. Her eyes were distant, wounded. He hated the look of that distance, “-go to the Business Office. Tell Snow you’re to stay there until I get back. You’re under watch until I’m convinced your life is not in danger.” 

She pushed herself up and walked away towards the front door, stopping briefly at Woody’s side. She looked up at him, offering a small smile.

“I’ll see you later, thank you for your help today.”

Now, Amelia briefly looks up at him as he approaches. She offers a kind smile, grabbing a plate before her brows furrow in recognition, then widen slightly.

“Oh, Mr. Wolf,” her voice is warm and inviting, but he can tell she’s nervous. “I, uh, how can I help you?”

“I need to ask you some questions.” he answers, gaze drifting to the others still filling plates. A young man looks up at them, curiously, then focuses on Amelia.

“It’s okay, Mel, I’ll cover for you.” he smiles, softly. She smiles at him in return and his cheeks tint before he returns to work. Amelia removes her gloves and drops them in the trash, then she unties her apron and hangs it on the wall hook. She guides him to the back room, through the kitchen and into a small office like room. She closes the door and looks at him. 

“What can I do for you, Mr. Wolf? I don’t think I’ve ever been visited by you before.” she says, regarding him, cautiously. She takes a step back and sits in the chair, folding her legs and keeping her hands close to herself. He isn’t surprised by her defensive body language, everyone in Fabletown keeps their guard up with him around. It’s both beneficial and a pain in the ass.

“Were you with the Woodsman last night?” 

“Yes, why?”

“He’s a suspect in a case, when were you and the Woodsman together?”

“Oh, uh, I’d say from seven, yesterday evening, to seven this morning,” she examines his face, concern written across her face, “What kind of case is it?” she asks, voice wavering slightly. 

“Don’t worry about it. That’s a long visit, why did he leave so late?” 

“His friend called and said she needed his help. I didn’t ask too many questions,” she shifts, uncomfortably under his gaze. “I’d like to know what he’s a suspect in.”

Bigby shakes his head, “You’re not getting it out of me, so don’t bother unless you want to piss me off;” she frowns as he continues, “Have you noticed anything strange?”

“Like what?”

“Strange people hanging around that you haven’t seen before, an old friend who you haven't heard from in a while suddenly appearing, anything out of the norm?” he asks but she only shakes her head.

“No, nothing like that.”

He nods, She doesn’t seem to be a target. Yet, anyway. But that clears Woody “Thank you for your time.”

She nods and stands, walking to the door to walk him out, but he stops her. “You know you’re not supposed to be interacting with the Mundies like this.” 

She glances over her shoulder at him, “I give back to anyone who needs it, Mundies are no exception.” and she’s out the door. He sighs, not wanting to bother with this when he has much more pressing matters to attend to. As she returns to her station, he makes his way out the door. Standing outside, he walks down the street towards the main street before waving down a taxi. He climbs in the back, gives the address and leans back into the seat. He looks out the window at the passing buildings and people, other cars and street signs. In his mind, a murder map begins to take shape- 

Whoever the killer is, knows [Y/N] well enough to know what she wears to work, knows her scent. Red, the Woodsman, the Bears - but the Bears are at the Farm, if they had left Snow would know about it. Woody was cleared by Amelia, and Red hasn’t been seen in at least a century. He digs a knuckle into his temple as he traces the lines of the map along the glass with his gaze. Who else knew Goldy personally? He thought about her soft eyes, the muffin with butter, the way she spoke to him without a care. He sighs, Who doesn’t know her? She’s not exactly subtle.

The taxi slows to a stop outside the Business Office and he climbs out, steps to the passenger side and holds out some cash.

“Keep the change,” he muses, and the driver snorts.

“Thanks,” the driver grumbles, pulling off. Bigby pushes open the gate and closes it behind him. Trusty John, the doorman, smiles and opens the door for him,

“Good morning, Sheriff.” 

Bigby nods his greeting and steps inside, where Grimble sits, arms folded and eyes drooping. When he sees Bigby, he perks up and nods a greeting, but Bigby has already seen him. He says nothing, though, he’s used to Grimble falling asleep on the job. He makes his way to the large room where King Cole and Snow White keep the Fable community running and beyond human detection. Snow sits at her desk, sifting through papers. King Cole is not here, which is not surprising. 

He looks around, but is surprised to find that [Y/N] is not present, either. A knot in his gut begins to tense. He approaches Snow, and she lifts her face from her work as he steps up.

“Bigby,” she sighs in what sounded suspiciously like relief, “I’ve been waiting for you, a woman is here. She said you told her to come here and wait for you.”

“I did, where is she?”

“Waiting in your office,” He nods, comforted that [Y/N] made it safely, the knot releasing slightly. He turns to walk back towards the door, but the sound of Snow’s chair scraping against the floor as she stands stops him in his tracks, “Do you have any leads on the murderer yet?”

Bigby turns halfway and looks towards her, “I’m still working on it. I have a few possibilities, though. Are all non-human looking Fables accounted for on the Farm?”

“As far as I’m aware, none of them have left, but I’ll call and double check.” she pushes in her chair and a strand of coal black hair cascades past her shoulder. Bigby watches her for a brief moment before he turns and walks out the door, making his way down the hallway towards his office. 

Inside the small room, [Y/N] sits in one of the small chairs in front of Bigby’s desk. She reaches over and gathers some of the pens littering his desk and the pair on the floor. She caps them and carefully drops them back into the pen holder that was laying on its side when she’d entered. She leaves the folders and papers scattered around his desk as they are, lest she make more work for him, or ruin his train of thought for other cases. 

She twirls a strand of hair in her fingers, looking around the room. It smells of cigarettes and must, although it’s not a body odor kind of must. It’s not pleasant, but it’s not unbearable either. She stands and walks around, touching the metal filing cabinets and the lip of the wooden desk. With a bored sigh, she walks around the desk and sits down in Bigby’s chair. It’s not comfortable, and she feels bad for his back and butt. She looks at the files and her hand traces the edges of one of the manila folders, his words echoing in her mind. ”-a woman is DEAD. Dead and gone.” 

She feels her throat tighten and the back of her neck feels suddenly cold. A woman was dead, and everyone thought it was her. Her hand slips up to her throat, as if trying to feel her pulse and prove that she’s still alive. 

She feels bile rise in her throat and the edges of her jaw feel tight, like she’s sucking on something sour. Nausea hits her quick and hard and she leans over, trying to get her breathing under control. She closes her eyes and tries to inhale and exhale, slowly. It calms her after a good few breaths, and she leans back in the chair, desperately trying to keep away thoughts of her own dead body. She wonders if she’s any better than the murderer, the woman was murdered and glamoured to look like her. The woman was a message, and it was her fault. That woman died because of her. 

She wheezes again and the bitter pucker of her jowls returns, Is it the Bears? Are they coming after me after all this time? Could it be-

A low groan from the door startles her and every muscle in her body tenses, goosebumps raising on her flesh as she stands on instinct. The Sheriff steps through the door and she sighs quietly in relief, but then the memory of his rudeness at her apartment comes back up. She doesn’t miss the quirked brows as he notices her on the other side of his desk, but glancing at his desk, he makes no remark about it. She walks around as he nods a greeting before closing the door. Any other time, she’d be delighted to see him, relieved by his presence she found oddly comforting. Despite what everyone said about him, how they made him out to be, he made her feel safe. But now, she’s upset by the familiar relaxation crossing her shoulders. She wants to be upset with him, she has every right to be, doesn’t she?

"A woman is DEAD. Dead and gone" Her chest feels tight again, and she folds her legs as guilt creeps out from her bones. She smooths out the skirt of her dress, “What do we do now?” she asks, quietly. 

Bigby examines her, the slump in her shoulders, the uncertainty in her eyes, the subtle shake in her voice. He reaches into his pocket and grabs his pack of cigarettes, momentarily deciding whether he wants to smoke in front of her or not. It’s his space, but she doesn’t like smoke- since when did he care if someone liked smoke or not? He pulls out his pack and pulls out a cigarette. 

“Now, I decide who’s going to shadow you.” He muses as he tucks the pack back into his pocket, walking around and sitting in his chair. He ignores the low moan the chair gives out under his weight. 

She nods, slowly and avoids his gaze. “Do you have any idea who did this?”

“I have a few theories, but no solid lead yet.” he answers and leans in to examine her. She shrinks back slightly under his intense gaze. 

“Sheriff, I-” she starts and he waits for her to finish, already able to tell she’s trying to find the proper way to say it, “I’m sorry…It didn’t really hit me that someone is…dead. I didn’t mean to make your job harder for you. I really don’t think Woody is the killer, but I’ll stay out of your way.”

He’s surprised to hear her apologize, even more so to find that it sounds genuine. He doesn’t think Woody is the killer, either, and Amelia’s testimony that he was with her is enough to prove he was with her until [Y/N] needed him. Then again- “You were protecting someone you care about. Loyalty like that is hard to come by. I do have a question, though.”

She looks up at him, finally, “Okay.” 

“What time did you call Woody for help?” 

“Oh, I think around 6:30 am? I can check my phone, just a minute,” she reaches into the pocket of her dress and pulls out a small flip phone, navigating through it quickly. Even with how efficient she is, he’s amazed, technology always seemed to be against him, so he chose a mostly tech-less life. As she pushes buttons on the device, she trembles slightly. The realization must have hit her hard “-6:48 am, Sheriff. That’s when I called him to ask for help. He said he was with a friend but he’d head over to help me.” 

He nods, “Alright.” he moves to take a drag off his cigarette, but his eyes spot it- unlit. He’d forgotten to even light the damn thing. He reaches into his pocket to find his lighter. 

“If I may ask, who are you thinking of watching over me?”

“Haven’t decided yet. Woody, most likely.” he pulls out his lighter and lights it, but before he can bring it to the tip of his cigarette, she speaks up again.

“Can I make a request as to who?” her eyes move up to him and he tries to hide his surprise, but he isn’t very successful.

“Depends,” he says, finally lighting his cigarette, “who do you want?”

“You?” her voice is quiet, again, as she looks at her hands in her lap.

“Me? I’m going to be too busy to keep an eye on you.”

“I can come with you to the crime scenes, maybe even help you.”

“You could damage evidence.”

“In my line of work, I know how to avoid leaving fingerprints on icing, and I’m not as clumsy as most people think. Besides,” she nervously shifts in her chair, “you’re the only person I feel genuinely safe with.” 

He takes a drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke to the side before looking at her again. He knows it’s best to say no, to refuse and send her to Woody, but part of him is intrigued. He meets her gaze, and he sighs, wanting to allow it, but it’s not safe. If he’s too distracted by her, he won’t be able to do his job. Flicking some of the ash into an ashtray on his desk, he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry, I can’t. What about Red? It would give you both a chance to catch up.” he says, leaning back in his chair.

She frowns and sighs, but she doesn’t seem all too surprised, as if she’d expected him to say no. “Maybe you’re right, I haven’t seen her in a while. Am I free to go now?” 

He nods, “If anything happens, call the Business Office. Have Woody accompany you to Red’s.” 

She stands, examining him for a moment before she heads for the door. She pauses and looks over at him,

“Please find the person who did this?”

“I will.” 

She smiles, somberly and walks out, closing the  door gently behind her.

He groans quietly, rubbing his face with one hand, a cherry dropping onto the floor by his shoe. 

The body of the glamoured Goldilocks was taken to the Business Office, discreetly, and had been laid on a stone slab with intricacies carved into the body, and a triquetra chiseled into the sides. In the Witching Well chamber, only King Cole, Snow White, Boy Blue, and Ichabod Crane would disturb him, but he knows none of them will do so. The silence is heavy as his steps echo through the chamber, the only sound to keep him grounded. 

As Bigby walks up, he can smell gingerbread and baked bread, sweets, and death. Her skin is paler than when he’d first seen her, and he takes a breath before he examines her body. He brushes some of her curls aside to get a good look at the bruise around her throat, it is darker than the last time he’d seen her. Her right shoulder sits lower than her left, and he wonders how he missed it. He takes a closer look, 

“Dislocated,” his gaze drifts up to her throat, “did the attacker come from behind? When she fought back, her shoulder got dislocated on purpose or by accident?” He carefully pulls down her dress just enough to check for more injuries without leaving [Y/N] indecent. He stops and corrects his thoughts, It’s not [Y/N]. It’s just a glamour. He quirks a brow as he spots a lump in her left breast, and he hesitates, then examines her face. He considers calling for Snow, briefly, then lifts the top of her dress and reaches in. He finds the more solid fabric of her bra, and reaches further before he grabs the item and quickly pulls it out of the victim's undergarments. He looks at her lifeless face, “Sorry, I had to if I want to find your killer.”

He lifts up a small tube and twists off the top, dropping out a single strand of [Y/N]’s golden hair and an incredibly small sack doll that looks like her. His jaw sets and he looks at the two items before the body glows bright green, illuminating Bigby’s shadow on the ground behind him, and bouncing off the wall on the other side. A woman with dark brown hair and pallid olive skin takes the place of the glamoured Fable, and his eyes widen as he takes in the scent.

She’s a Mundie

The bruises around her throat remain just as gruesome as they did before the glamour faded. 

A Mundie was taken, glamoured to look like a Fable, and then murdered. He clenches his jaw, as everything settles in his mind. It’s worse than he thought at first, so much worse. He looks over her body and sighs, not even knowing who she is. He sighs, and his gaze lands on her clenched fists. He reaches down and tucks his fingers under hers, but her fingers are hard and stiff- rigor mortis. He tries to be as gentle as he can before giving up and forcing her hand open, hearing a grotesque crunch as he does so. A small crumpled paper falls out onto the stone slab. He picks it up, unfolds it and reads it. His eyes widen and he growls, “DAMNIT!” He turns and sprints out of the Witching Well chamber- 

We know what you did, Wolf. Your hands are stained. -Red Riding Hood

[stickycave]

Soft and Plush

Summary:

Bigby comes home after a long day to find you've left a small gift for him in his chair.

Pairing: Bigby/Reader

Tags: plushophilia, masturbation

CW: none

Shouldering the door open, Bigby’s senses are met the stale air of his own little box he calls home, wrinkling his nose. Taking the phone off the receiver and pushing the door shut behind himself, he glares at nothing as he reaches for the window–

Sweet.

He smells something musky and sweet just under the usual scent of his home, as if it had been disturbed just from him opening to door before lazily reaching his nose.

Walking deeper into the apartment, which is only about five steps, something small is perched in his chair, waiting patiently for him.

A little wolf plush with grey matted fur. Picking it up, he turns the toy in his hand. The scent is definitely coming from this. Putting the toy under his nose with a deep inhale, he knows exactly what the fur is matted with.

You.

The picture of you in his mind grinding on the toy wolf and coming over it, hopefully thinking of him, already has his shaft beginning to strain against his pants.

He sits heavy in the sofa chair, legs spread wide as he undoes his zipper in a hurry. He takes a deep inhale of the intoxicating scent of your arousal and undoing, which is enough to get his hardening cock ready for his hand. He curses under his breath, this is perfect, you knew exactly what he'd need to relax after another day of being treated like shit, whether he deserved it or not. He squeezes the base of himself as he wonders if you’re having your own little round two right now, if you're imagining him finding your little gift.

He presses the wolf hard against his face to breath in your scent as much as he can as he pumps his cock hard, no need or want for foreplay or dragging this out, the stress of the day and exhaustion seated deep in his bones demanding he doesn't take his time, but release this tension now and rest after. He growls and groans, cock leaking precum and aching. With a snarl he wraps the toy itself around his shaft, making sure the matted fur is pressed against him, your release against weeping, twitching cock, thrusting his hips against it.

With a deep rumble, he comes undone with jolting hips, coating the plush toy in his seed. His breath shudders from the after shock, breathing strangled. He pants as the soiled toy falls to the ground and he sits back limp in his chair. A nice change from the way he usually sleeps in it, muscles still stretched taunt, but now he’s truly relaxed. He chuckles to himself and brushes a hand through his hair.

This is the true gift you wanted him to have. To just be relaxed for a few spare moments. He chuckles at the thought and doesn't fight it, tucking himself back in his briefs he heaves one last sigh and closing his eyes.

[ghcstpyre]

ash 💚 25 💚 she/they 💚 reader insert writing blog 💚 keanu reeves brainrot

*•.¸♡ guidelines. masterlist. muse list. about me.

requests: OPEN! 🧡 asks: OPEN!

follows back from @ashtnketchup

currently writing for: ted "theodore" logan / eddie munson / john constantine

divider by @/strangergraphics

[i-am-mystic]

Peter discovers a new kink.

Bigby can turn green

Reynauld limit breaks

Dismas says IGNIS

[voidscarredadjudicator]

FABLES IS PUBLIC DOMAIN NOW, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!!

[press-f-to-rat]

So. I might have done a thing. A friend (LOOKING AT YOU @kingassblast ) got me into Darkest Dungeon. And I got attached to Bigby and now I've been writing about my new favorite little scrungly pretty much non-stop.

We were just rambling to each other in DMs when suddenly, I had an idea for a prompt: "Paracelsus' research of the Beast finally amounts to something."

And so, I got to writing a little bit :))) Naturally, this isn't canon compliant, but simply a little what if. I know a lot of people (Myself included) really like to make Para and Bigby friends, so. I wanted to write a little something that perhaps would create a rift between them :) a little angst, as a treat :))

Anyway, that's enough rambling from me. Hope you enjoy!! It's below the "read more" :)

'Y-you created your own?!" Bigby's voice thundered through the air, shaking all the delicate glassware Paracelsus kept in her laboratory. "A-and not just that, but—You...you inflicted it upon yourself? V-Voluntarily?!" His voice trembled with some form of horrified rage, that anyone would willingly bring his own wretched curse upon themself.

Paracelsus, on the other hand, spoke with her typical level-headedness, though she could not stop the flow of cool indignation bubbling up from deep within her. “But think of the progress that will come of this! Should you not be glad that perhaps your curse might bring about some good?"

“What g-good could outweigh the d-damage done by bringing another m-m-monster into the world?!"

She could see the green ichor bulging in his veins with every word, the outlines only growing more apparent with his rage.

“Bigby," the Plague Doctor countered, "I have it entirely under my control. My experiments have made sure of that. It cannot harm anyone unless I will it.”

“Th-That is what it wants you to think! And then—wh-when your guard is down—it will exact i-its vengeance!" His voice felt edged with the bile of his blood, seeping from the dark recesses of his mind, where the Beast lurked. Betrayal—That was what this was! She had betrayed his trust! He had thought she would help him—Use the Eldritch poison in his veins to ease the curse. But this! No, no good could come of this. This was madness.

“If I knew that th-this is what y-you were going to use m-m-my blood for, then—I n-never would have let you h-have it.” The words burned in the air where they hung, hot with fury and pain.

There was a pang in Paracelsus’ chest—Was that guilt? Oh, but she knew guilt, and she knew how to bottle it away in her mind like any other poison she’d dealt with. “Then you’re simply ignorant to the potential it holds.” She hissed.

Bigby said nothing. Instead, his blood boiling with rage, he stretched his lips into a snarl, showcasing row after row of sharp, animalistic fangs. A roar erupted from his throat as he tore out of her laboratory, nearly ripping the door off its hinges and slamming it behind him so hard the building shook.

The Plague Doctor sighed wearily, removing the thick, leather gloves she wore to reveal her own hands, unexpectedly transfigured into scaly claws. She flexed her fingers and clicked her ebony talons against one another, feeling her brows furrow beneath her mask. Perhaps that conversation had affected her more than she thought.

Perhaps… perhaps this was a mistake.

But there was no going back from here. Her choice was made, and no matter what happened, she would have to live with it.

It was only now that she took the time to question… What had she done?

[elaboratedbee]

As a fellow Bigby lover, I must share my latest thought: I’ve been unable to shake the thought of Bigby being super reluctant to discipline his kids as youngsters. It HURTS to be the one to say no or have to send them to time out, especially when they cry about it. 🫠

idk how i didn't see this but you are sO INCREDIBLY CORRECT

everyone expects bigby to keep his kids on a tight leash and be pretty harsh with them (because does he have another setting?) but they're all very very wrong

bigby literally is obsessed with his kids, but he has a lot of insecurities and anxiety about being a father, which he hates talking about because he's repressed as fuck. he sees himself as a monster, and he's terrified the whole time before becoming a dad that he's going to struggle with staying in control around them, or that he's not going to be around for them like his father wasn't. he doesn't want his kids to turn out like him, he wants them to be better

this basically manifests itself in bigby... being a gigantic softie for his babies

he cannot say no to them for the life of him, especially when they get upset or beg or cry, he gives in 9/10 times which is absolutely awful and just causes more problems because they're used to getting their way lmao.

he is very very soft with them, he's the kind of dad who cannot handle his children growing up whatsoever, he literally carries them everywhere and he hates when he has to step in and discipline them, but he does reluctantly do so when they're fighting with one another. even though he knows logically he is in the right, and would be actively letting them down if he didn't parent them, his insecurities play on their mind when they're upset and he feels like a monster. he feels super guilty whenever they're sad or unhappy with him. it’s pretty funny, because he’s the sheriff, so he should be good at handing out punishments, he’s just not when it comes to his little ones

if anyone comments on his parenting or even WORSE?? his kids behaviour, he literally picks them up and puts them on his hip and becomes that 'don't talk to me or my son ever again' meme because his kid did NOTHING wrong you fuckin prick

bonus: bigby has an extra soft spot for the runt of the litter like his mother did for him (darien calls winter the runt a lot), and would be extra extra soft and always pay them special attention, just giving them a little bit of extra love and protection to make sure they know how loved and cared for they are, maybe taking their side a little more often than is justified :')

[ilovetheriddler]

Fanfiction Request Info.

Hello! I enjoy writing Fanfic's. Please feel free to request one if it falls into what I'm willing to write.

I'm not the most confident in my writing capabilities, so I thought this would be a good way to improve and practice!

Characters I'm Willing to write.

Batman Media.

The Riddler. (Gotham, BTAS, Arkham, Telltale, 2022, Zero Year, Young Justice, BTAA, General.)

The Penguin. (Gotham, Telltale, BTAS, 2022, The Caped Crusader, BTAA, General.)

Scarecrow. (BTAS, BTAA, General.)

Star Trek.

Data.

The Evil Within.

Joseph Oda.

Fallout 4.

Nick Valentine.

Ghostbusters.

Lars Pinfield. (Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire.)

Egon Spengler.

The Wolf Among Us.

Bigby Wolf.

The Legends of Vox Machina.

Percy De Rolo.

What I'm Willing to Write.

Fluff, Romance, Platonic Friendships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Yandere, Jealousy, Obsessive Themes, Pinning, Unrequited Feelings, Smut.

Praise Kink, degradation kink, begging, Oral Sex, Rough sex, Light choking, masturbation, breeding kink, shower sex, light bondage.

Gore, Violence, Death.

I mostly write X readers. However, if the ship interests me enough, I could write it.

What I'm not willing to write.

Age Play.

Underage Characters.

Incest.

Extra Info.

Fanfic's will be really short, unless I get a really good idea that I like. If you do make a request, thank you, and please be patient with me. Also Please Specify The readers Pronouns or Gender in the request. If not specified, it will be a female reader.

Current Anon's being used by someone:

:) (Smiley Face anon)

[little-strawberry100]

I fear I may be very VERY OBSESSED with game 'The Wolf Among Us' to the point of actually doing school work on it.

I'm writing a whole argumentative essay for "Is Black Market Glamour as bad as the Fables think it is?" In my AP English class, and in Crative writing we are working on character development in which I made an OC which is basically just the Reader in the Fanfic I'm writing for Bigby on Wattpad and Ao3. (It's to help me understand how I want the Reader to act and why she is helping Fabletown as the Deputy.)

[ladyantiheroine]

What A Princess Dreams Of

Summary: Snow White rarely dreams, but when she does, it's always the same face she sees. Read on AO3.

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x Snow White

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 728 words

Tags: Wet dream, lust, pining

Author's Note: Inspired by fan art by @lornaka and fanfiction by @aspio on Tumblr.

Snow White rarely had dreams anymore. Ever since moving from the Homelands, nights were restless and her mind found no room for dreams. Aside from the occasional nightmare about her time back home, her mind was mostly concerned with thoughts of her deputy mayor duties.

But when she did dream, it was always the same subject that haunted her nightly visions. She was lying on a bed in some strange apartment, possibly hers, but it was dark enough that it was hard to tell. The only light came from a neon sign just outside her window that sent beaming red light into the room. She turned her head in the direction of the window, and there he was.

Bigby Wolf stood in front of the window gazing out between the cracks in the window blinds. In the dim light, he was only a silhouette, his broad shoulders traced by the red light emitting from outside. Upon closer look she realized his usual white buttoned-down shirt and black tie were gone, leaving only bare, hairy flesh.

And she could smell him too. The sweet, thick scent of Huff n’ Puff, the scent that always alerted her that the Big Bad Wolf was nearby, that crap brand only he smoked. The scent overwhelmed her nose.

He glanced over his shoulder to look at her, then turned around. Snow saw the small orange glow of a burning cigarette and a wisp of smoke shrouded him. He lifted the cigarette to his lips and took a long drag.

My god, he was handsome. Snow couldn’t help but glaze her eyes down his body. He was half-naked, wearing only a pair of dark jeans. Her eyes rolled down his hairy chest, his well-defined torso, and arms, the dark whiskers along his face. His wolf eyes gleamed gold in the dark.

Bigby pressed out the cigarette on the window sill then flicked it to the side. He took slow steps close to the bed, his eyes boring down on her. Snow glanced down and realized she was wearing his shirt. Only his shirt. His white buttoned-down was too big for her and covered her body down to her hips, just enough to cover her underwear. There was a chill in the room, but his shirt kept her warm. She could feel his body heat lingering on it, and smell his scent on it.

Bigby stood at the end of the bed. He pressed a knee onto the mattress, and then leaned down and crawled across the bed with canine-like movements. As he crawled on top of her, he slowly brushed his lips from her stomach, up her chest between her breasts, and up her neck. He paused at her face, hovering his lips just over hers, tempting her with a promise of a kiss. Snow felt an itch to close the space between them, press her lips to his warm stubble, but she was frozen in place. She could feel his breath on her mouth and she could practically taste him: cigarettes and whiskey.

Her eyes were fixed on his, but they wandered down the rest of his body. The heat wafting off his bare chest was enticing, and his jeans slid down his hips in a way that made her shiver with desire. 

He saw her eyes exploring him, and she could sense a slight grin on his face. His whiskers brushed against her neck and cheeks, sending a spike of heat down her body. His lips traced up her neck to her ear and whispered in a low, gravelly voice.

“I love you, Snow.”

The words sent a flutter through her heart like never before. She looked at him in the dim red light, the golden glow in his eyes. She wanted to reach up and touch him, run her fingers through his hair, bring him closer and kiss him until…

A light struck Snow’s eyes and they shuttered open. She lifted her head up and looked around. The red neon light was gone, replaced by harsh moonlight streaking from her apartment window. Bigby was gone, and she was all alone in her bed.

Snow let out a sigh and dropped her head down on the pillow. She closed her eyes as if she could bring herself back to the dream, find a way back to him…

“I love you too, Bigby…”

[coffee-in-veins]

Day 30: Horrors of the Deep

an entry for darkest prompts promptober 2022  

previous days: 1, 2, 3,  4, 5, 6,  7,  8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28, 29

now available on ao3 too

Horror NOUN - an intense feeling of fear, shock, or disgust; a thing causing a feeling of horror.

* * *

I sleep like the dead, nonetheless, I am lucid If dreams have a meaning, perhaps I should tune in To the signal that beckons, familiar it seems Be silent, you might see yourself in its beams

-- Nightmares never End by JT Music

When the scariest thing he had ever met that pretended to be an aristocratic woman offered him payment for going into some sarded bowels of fuck-knows-what infested Estate, Dismas was pretty sure he read the contract carefully and it didn't say anything about herding some cats. Sure, being in a group required some adjustment to both team’s tactics and personal performances. Required communication skills most of them – solitary by either life, rank or choice – sorely lacked. But it was doable for the most part. Those who couldn’t find someone who would’ve tolerated them at the very least, quickly found themselves to be conveniently sacrificed to keep others alive.

And yet, when he looked at his current predicament, this was the only thing that came to mind. Being set up as a fucking cat herder. And he hated the bastards! Cats. Not his teammates.

Well. Usually.

Because currently he was stuck in a cave with three people who were dead-fucking-set on drowning in brine as he drowned himself in the remainder of whiskey which was mercifully spared from the sad fate of being used for cleaning wounds by being quaffed first.

“Pathetic,” he heard a hiss behind him, followed by a smack. “You lack the will of the Light. How dare you even call yourself the sister of battle?”

“Pain is a gift from the holy Flame,” came an immediate answer, fifth if the highwayman was counting properly which he most likely wasn’t. “I cherish it! Again! I beg you, the messenger of the blessed Light, I… I sinned so grievously!”

Dismas rubbed his face tiredly and took another swing, shaking a few straggler drops of whiskey from the empty flask on his eager tongue. He had an odd respect for teachers and parents now. They only slapped their kids with their hands or maybe rods. Currently, he wished he could strangle this whole moron circus, but even more than that he wanted to come back to his pillow alive. He would sleep it off and drown himself in enough whiskey to forget this all like a nightmare, and he cared not if he had to steal some of Rey’s cut to be able to afford so much booze. Or if he could survive such intoxication. Or how the insufferable knight would have to put in the actual elbow grease to pull him back from the blackout this time. Anything that was capable of bleaching this all from his head and eyes was fair game by this point. And frankly, this was Reynauld’s fault, so it was only fair that he would have to clean up the mess.

Another smack, followed by the feverish:

“Pain is the gateway to divinity! It hurts, yes… B-but also… oh, sweet Light, go through me through your messenger!”

Sure, the brigand was in no way, shape or form a religious man but even he knew that was not a tone for a holy prayer.

“Eyes down while addressing a holy man, you cowering sheep!”

Another slap.

Despite his better judgement, Dismas’ already hard dick made an appreciative twitch, which only added to his mounting irritation. And that same holy prick had the audacity to chastise him for “degeneracy” when the ex-brigand asked for a mere slap on the face! Or the balls to have a freak out when he caught the rogue with a knife and fresh cuts on the back of his arm – oh, that one was a disaster that ended up in a shouting match and Dismas being dragged first to Cloister and then to Paracelsus to make sure that he wasn’t insane and dangerous to himself. Which he obviously was – duh, why else would he end up in Hamlet otherwise? – but not by the measurement which sufficed his hospitalization, much to Rey’s surprise.

And now that same bloody knight was doing things that Dismas wanted him to do to him for so long and while he was sitting right fucking there, Reynauld, for sard’s sake, to his face, literally, with someone else--

Now, he shouldn’t finish that thought if he knew what was good for them both, tempting as it was. And as if he was even more cursed than he usually was, there was not even a drop of whiskey left to shut up his mind. He wasn’t hurt! Why would he be hurt if Reynauld was slapping around someone else, stressed out of his goddamn zealous mind – enough to make all the church glisten fall off and reveal an ugly, cracked core?

Dismas wasn’t hurt.

And that was the point of him being pissed off so much.

He wanted some de-stressing too, for sard’s sake.

The ex-brigand took a calming breath, trying to switch his irritation to something else. Like the smell of a rotting urca carcass. Or that the map was washed away by the tide. Or that he was out of gunpowder. Or that the supposed monster of a man, chained and insisting that he was dangerous for everyone involved, fell into sobbing melancholy when Rey snapped at him one too many times and was now covering near one of the stalactites. Or that this is what their supposed soothing camping quickly dissolved into.

Oh, sod it.

“I fear I am trapped inside of it,” he heard a weak voice beside him. Bigby was rocking back and forth, rattling his locks and chains. “An eternal nightmare…”

Dismas shook his trusty flask, hoping to hear some drops splashing inside, but alas, so he hid it and patted the dangly man’s shoulder.

“Relatable, man.”

“Better that someone strong face these monsters,” the man repeated, hiding his face in his knees. “I don’t want to see those nightmares, I don’t want to…”

The ex-brigand winced at the sound of another smack, feeling that his pants will need a wash not only from all the blood and mucus, and forced himself to look away from the scene which was more suited for a brothel than for two supposedly holy people:

“Ya n’ me both, pal, ya n’ me both.”

“Soon my fate will be upon me,” Bigby finally spared him a glance. “And you.”

“Well, ain’t ya the ray of sunshine in this shithole, feh.”

Unfortunately, the cursed one refused to acknowledge his prodding and the highwayman remained alone with accompaniment he would rather not acknowledge. Oh well. It wasn’t like the knowledge that his life was bent over a crooked fence was anything new to Dismas. He just never imagined it was that bent over.

With yet another irritated sigh, Dis tried to relax his tense muscles and have some respite during this mixed bag of insanities, but there was an irritating tapping of dripping water on his shoulder. He moved to the side, but the tapping remained. So he moved once more, cussing the piss-sprinkling brine and the humid caves, but the water grabbed his shoulder and—

Wait, what?

“Dismas, by Light’s grace, how can you behave in a manner so undignifying? Being tossed out of that den of sin and into the mud does not befit a warrior!”

Ow, his head. Ow, why was the crusader so fucking loud? No, he was usually loud but… ugh…

“Where’s… Junia?” Dis slurred as the knight tugged him up and onto his shoulders.

“In the transept where she should be.”

“n’… Bigby?”

“I care not where that atrocity dwells,” Rey grunted as he lifted him and stomped angrily towards the barracks. “Light, grant me your strength. Dis, you reek.”

“Of brine?”

“Of booze!” the crusader snapped and complained. “I just washed that shirt for you! Do you know how hard it is…”

But all Dismas could think about was the existential crisis of having a stiffy to a nightmare about a religious sadist slapping a religious masochist while having a nightmare of not having any booze and yearning for a pillow.

What the fuck was even his life.

[sleeping-galaxy-cupcake67]

This gotta be the best TWAU fan story I've ever read 😭😭

Of Words Silently Spoken | Bigby Wolf X Reader

Word Count: 5,300 Cross Posted Here On AO3

It's a stormy Thursday afternoon when you have your first encounter with The Big Bad Wolf.

A downpour had caught you off guard when you got off work, and Holly had been kind enough to invite you into her bar and offer you a drink until the storm slowed. You had been there for a few hours, idly chatting with Holly and her two most loyal customers, the Woodsman and Gren, about Fabletown drama. You're usually not that interested in the drama that surrounds other fables. A majority of it isn't even worth hearing, but thankfully Holly only tells you the stuff that's worth retelling.

"...and just like that, Snow White got back together with Prince Charming," Holly leans against the side of her bar, judging your reaction.

Your eyes go wide. You were vaguely familiar with Snow White. Enough so that you knew very well that she was working really hard on being independent and not relying on a man for anything more than the muscle Bigby Wolf provided at the Business Office.

'All of that fuss about being independent, and she just goes right back to him? ' Your hand is scribbling across the notepad in front of you before you know it.

Holly chuckles at your hurried writing. "Can you expect anything more out of a Princess?"

'I thought she had a thing for the Sherrif?'

"No, I think she had a thing for leading the Sherrif on," Holly leans over the counter to refill your drink. "She was shutting him down at every turn, but according to Nerissa, Snow was pretty damn pissed off when she saw them together in his office."

"Still think it should have been her dead instead of Lily," Gren slurs. He's past drunk, bordering somewhere between blacking out and alcohol poisoning. Lily cut him off nearly an hour ago, but it hasn't done him much good.

The new door chime jingles, its delicate tune carrying through the small bar, alerting the presence of a new customer.

"Well, speak of the devil," Holly reaches under the bar to find another glass, but her hands return empty. "Dammit, I need more glasses."

Wordless, you tip your glass back, the lemonade flavored vodka burning its way down your throat. If you could access your voice, you probably would have gagged, but this is one of the few times being cursed has worked out for you.

"Thanks, kid," Holly plucks the now empty glass from your hand. "What're you doing here, Sherrif?"

"I need to know the last time you saw Jersey," you recognize the voice, but you have to turn around just to make sure.

There he is, Bigby Wolf, in the flesh. It's clear based on his clothing that the rain hasn't slowed in the slightest. The thin material of his white shirt is positively soaked, clinging to the rippling muscles that lie hidden under the clothing. You can see almost every muscle move as he walks toward the bar, taking a seat on the stool right next to you.

"Last I saw of him, he was closing the pawnshop," Holly places the now clean glass in front of the wolf, filling it to the brim with bourbon.

Just the mere mention of Jersey has you wishing you'd ordered a round of shots.

"You work for him, right?" It takes you a moment to realize that Bigby's talking to you now.

The alcohol settling warmly into your system makes it a little hard to meet his eye. How are you supposed to, when he's got a massive bicep propped up next to you?

You nod your head in the affirmative, fingers itching to flag Holly down for a shot of something. Anything.

"Any idea where I can find him?" Bigby gives you a long look, his head tilting to the side like a curious puppy. But, God, you've just met the guy, and you already think he's cute.

'I need a shot of the strongest thing you've got,' you begin to write, 'and then I need you to cut me off.' You place your credit card on top to pay for the drinks you've already had and then slide it to Holly.

"Will you answer my question?" Bigby asks, a little harsher than he sounded earlier.

"Hold your horses, Sherrif; the kid can't talk," Holly thankfully pulls a shot glass out from under the bar, fills it with a brand of rum you've never seen before. "I'm sure they'll answer you as soon as this shot knocks the fear out of them."

Now Bigby's intrigued, turning his body to face you a little better. He doesn't speak, thankfully, but you feel him watching intently as Holly hands you the shot. The drink is strong, burning much more harshly than the lemonade vodka you were just having. Your jaw clenches as it goes down, but you manage not to cough or make a fool of yourself in front of the Sherrif.

Your throat is still burning as you reach for your notepad again. 'If you can guarantee that this won't come back to bite me in the ass, I'll tell you anything you need to know.'

Bigby stares hard at the notepad when you slide it towards him. For a moment, you're almost concerned that the wolf cant read.

"Y/N snitched on Jersey once before," Holly offers, solemn. "When he found out, he sent a witch to curse them into silence."

"Well, in that case," he sounds a tad frustrated, but at least he isn't angry with you, "would you rather talk in private?"

You're not quite sure if there's even an option to decline, but the alcohol is kicking in, and all you can really care about is hearing more of his rough voice. Pocketing your things, you hop off the barstool. You don't exactly wait for Bigby, though. Out of habit, your legs begin to carry you out of the bar. You're too awkward to stop and wait in the middle of the room, so you continue out the door.

The rain has slowed considerably, at least. It's still sprinkling, but it doesn't make much of a difference considering your clothing is still a bit damp. The Lucky Pawn is quite literally next door to the Trip Trap, and you find yourself leaning against a street lamp, staring through the window.

"You forgot this."

You jump at the sudden voice, spinning to face its owner. Your shoulders relax when your eyes land on Bigby. He's holding out your tattered notepad, the pages almost looking tiny in comparison to his massive hand.

Mouthing thanks, you reach out to take the notebook from him. His fingers brush against yours; the skin there is warm, hot, even. You almost dare not to pull your hand away at all.

He starts walking, and you're not quite sure where you're going, but you follow anyway. "So he silenced you, huh?"

You reach into your pocket, withdrawing a wooden, star-shaped trinket. There are many tiny carvings on it, including some sort of text from what you assume is an old fable language. There's no use in carrying it. The curse is already there.

Bigby opens his palm, and you place the trinket in his hand. You're again struck by how tiny it looks in his grasp.

"This certainly isn't something from the 13th floor," he observes, flipping the trinket back and forth. "Do you know who made this?"

Aunt Greenleaf, of course. You just don't know how to tell him that without stopping and finding a place to write on your notepad properly. Up ahead, though, is one of the new saplings that have been planted around Fabletown. On it are green leaves.

You pick up your pace, almost power-walking towards the tree.

"You're not trying to run away from me, are you?" Bigby almost sounds amused by your little speed-walk. You can't help but notice that he hasn't really changed pace, but he's still right next to you.

The first attempt you make at communication is pointing at the tree. Then, when Bigby doesn't understand, you pluck a leaf from the tree and hold it out to him.

"Why a leaf?" He flips the leaf around, much like he did the trinket that he's still holding. A heavy sigh escapes you, one of the few noises you're still capable of making. His eyebrows furrow with thought, almost knitting together with how hard he seems to be thinking.

"Oh."

It's hard for you to keep looking annoyed, and soon a grin is inching its way across your face as you watch the realization hit him. There's a clever remark sitting on the tip of your tongue, dying to be used.

Taking out your pen, you place your notepad against the stone wall that stands right next to you. It's harder to write, now that the alcohol has fully begun to work, but you manage.

'You suck at charades, Sherrif.'

---

Bigby takes you to the Business Office before asking any more questions. If he had been in a rush, he would have just questioned you outside the bar and been done with it. However, this is the only case he has right now, and he isn't as concerned with solving it as he is curious about you.

It's been a minute since he's last encountered someone with a curse like yours. The last one that he remembers dealing with is the ribbon that silenced the Puddin and Pie girls. Yours is so much different, though. You cannot make a peep, but you are free to write whatever you want, without consequence.

"Did you see anything strange in the display cases? Maybe a trinket that belongs to one of the old Princesses or a spellbook that shouldn't have ever left its owner." It's cute, the way you sleepily shake your head and rub at your eyes. But, unfortunately, the alcohol has drained you of any energy you may have had left, leaving you barely awake as you answer his questions.

"If you're too tired to keep going, there's a couch in the corner if you'd like to take a nap," he offers. This investigation isn't so dire that he needs to keep you at the office, but he doesn't feel comfortable sending you home this late either. "We don't have to do this all at once."

The pen in your hand starts to scribble again, slower this time, barely moving at all. 'How many more questions do you have?'

"Not too many," his hand finds its way up to the back of his neck, "Bufkin is still translating the branding on your trinket, though."

The tiniest of yawns escapes you, your sleepy eyes scrunching shut with it. Then, finally, the pen falls from your hand, rolling towards the edge of Bigby's wooden desk. He catches it first, but by the time you seem to realize that he has, your hand is on top of his.

God, your hand is so small on top of his.

Bigby expects you to jump away the moment you realize that you've touched him. It's a very normal reaction, actually. Every time he finds himself reaching out, hoping to comfort someone, they recoil, and it makes it all worse. You don't, though, and Bigby finds himself intrigued by that.

Your index finger runs across the top of his hand, tracing an old scar that lies there. He lets you take hold of his hand, turning it and sleepily examining every wrinkle, bruise, cut, and scar that it has to offer. It's foreign to be touched like this, with such care and gentleness. Bigby doesn't remember the last time someone was so genuinely caring. The only person he even recalls doing so is his mother.

As quickly as your hands appeared, they retreat into your lap. He wouldn't quite classify you as frightened, though. No, your ears are tinted red.

"I got this one from my last fight with The Woodsman," He croaks, pointing to a long, thin white scar that runs along his forearm. He's trying his best not to come off as harsh. It's nice having someone that doesn't treat him like a ticking time bomb.

He extends his arm, encouraging you to reach out once more. Your fingers are soft, just barely tickling over the length of the scar. Bigby's caught off guard when you suddenly flip your own arm over, revealing a similar scar of your own.

'Fell out of a tree when I was a teenager.'

Bigby finds himself chuckling at that. "Why were you in a tree?"

There's a sleepy smile that worms its way across your tired face as you write your response. 'The Big Bad Wolf was walking by.'

"Well," he touches your scar, the pads of his fingers not as gentle as yours were as they attempt to memorize the slightly raised scar, "I'm sorry I scared you into a tree and wasn't there to catch you when you fell."

Your eyes roll, and he doesn't need to see you writing down a response to know there are no hard feelings. The both of you laugh after a moment, unable to maintain much seriousness. He's so wrapped up in wondering what your laugh must sound like that he doesn't notice his office door opening until its hinges squeak.

"Care to knock?" His smile is gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with his trademark scowl.

"Bigby,...." It's Snow. She hasn't been in that great of a mood lately, and quite frankly, Bigby's almost tired of it himself. "I asked you to go and find Jersey so that we can interrogate him about his recent acquisition of some stolen heirlooms. Not to laugh with your new best friend in your office while Bufkin goes through old books."

Bigby's hand is still wrapped around your arm; he doesn't make any move to let go, either. "That's what I'm doing," he doesn't like how your head immediately begins to hang low, "this is Y/N; they work down at the Lucky Pawn."

Snow crosses her arms in front of herself. "And you couldn't question them at the pawnshop?"

"I brought y/n here because Jersey paid Aunty Greenleaf to curse them," he says, locking eyes with her as she lingers in the walkway, "and Bufkin is trying to translate what's written on the trinket box."

You're already scribbling away on a new sheet of paper when Snow asks her next question.

"Cursed?"

You rip the page from your notepad, turning in your chair to properly hand it to her. 'I can't fucking talk.'

Maybe, Bigby thinks, just maybe, he can talk Snow into keeping you around the Business Office. —- Not much comes out of your interrogation with Bigby. He walks you home in the morning, thanking you for putting up with his endless questioning, before disappearing into Fabletown before you register just what's happened. Your slight hangover prevents you from doing anything more than going right back to sleep the moment you enter your apartment. In fact, it almost takes you three days to realize that you left the little curse trinket at the Business Office.

You don't see or hear from Bigby for almost two weeks, but you find yourself wanting to. For a man so well known, you would expect to see more of him. Even though you don't even remember a ton of your first interaction, you cling to every memory you do have. Slow hours at the Lucky Pawn are spent daydreaming about hypotheticals and what if's. He could show up and destroy the entire pawn, put you clean out of a job, and you wouldn't be able to be mad.

It's a Friday, this time when you run into him again.

You've just left the pawnshop after Jack showed up early to relieve you of your shift, and you're dying to go home, cuddle up on the couch and watch a movie or twelve. Instead, you'd just gotten chewed out by another customer who was irked by your silence. All that money Jersey put into having you silenced hasn't been his best business move.

"Y/N?"

You know that voice.

"Bigby," you mouth, turning on your heels.

There he is. Sheriff Bigby Wolf. His thumbs are tucked into his pockets, and he's wearing a worn leather jacket on top of his usual white shirt. Cheeks heating up, you approach him, eyes trained on the ground.

"I forgot to give this back to you." He produces something from his pocket—your trinket.

You take it a little too quickly, happily looking down at your newly returned possession. You like to run your fingers along the grooves when you're nervous. It's been a long few weeks without it.

"I got permission from the Business Office to help you find a way out of this curse," he tells you, "Jersey paying Greenleaf to curse you is now considered a part of this investigation."

Your fingers are plucking your favorite pen from your hair before you're aware that you're doing it. 'Are you serious?'

And that's how you find yourself on the other side of town, in a questionably safe apartment building. Bigby's leading the way, allowing you to fall into step just behind him. You're not so much scared as you are just a little unnerved. It feels safer to remain behind him than anything else.

Aunty Greenleaf doesn't look all that thrilled to see either of you at her front door, but she sees you in any way.

"Snow White send you to burn my tree finally?" She quips, shutting the door behind the two of you.

"Do you recognize this?" Bigby cuts straight to the chase, and you present the little wooden trinket that once belonged to her.

Aunty Greenleaf studies the carving, bringing out a magnifying glass to examine it further. "This looks like my work."

"A while back, the Jersey Devil paid you to cast a silencing spell on Y/N," Bigby continues, "we're trying to find a way to break it."

Aunty Greenleaf nods her head, muttering something in a language you don't understand. "All of my curses have a way to be broken," she answers, "but this particular one is a bit unique."

She taps your throat, her wrinkled fingers applying pressure on your esophagus for a brief moment. She looks at the trinket again, then inspects your hands and eyes.

"The trinket is missing some of its identifiers," Greenleaf concludes after a minute. "I've narrowed it down to one of three spells."

She places the trinket back in your hands. "All of these spells can be broken the same way."

"And that is?"

"True loves kiss," Aunt Greenleaf chuckles, "these specific spells are a variant of the ones used on princesses like Sleeping Beauty."

Of course. Your head finds its way into your palm. How the hell are you supposed to find and court someone when your only methods of communication are charades and writing on a notepad?

"Just because we left the Homelands doesn't mean our stories quit being written," says the witch, gently, "when the time is right, your voice will return to you."

She sells you an enchanted pen at a considerable discount, one that doesn't require paper for words to be written. Simply scribbling in front of yourself will produce words, like subtitles to a movie.

Genuinely, you expect this to be the last interaction you have with Bigby Wolf. Yet the next day, you run into him in the same spot.

'I'm starting to believe that you're running into me on purpose, Sherrif.' You write, smug as can be.

"And so what if I am?"

He takes you back to the Business Office to ask a few more questions, but it isn't hard for you to figure out that he really didn't have any questions, to begin with. Within an hour, you find yourself sitting on a spare desk as Bufkin flutters about the main office. He brings you all sorts of books about fables whose curse could not be broken until they were kissed, showering you with so much information that you almost mistake yourself for a cursed royal too.

'Consider me The Silent Prince(ss), or something else equally dramatic.' You can't seem to get enough of the sparkling lettering that leaves the pen. The words remain in front of you until you fan it away like dust.

"Do I cameo as a cute lap dog or the evil wolf in this story?" Bigby's standing next to you, nose deep in the most recent book Bufkin has brought along.

With a silent giggle, you reach over to pat his head with your free hand. 'Good puppy.' You pause for a moment and then add, 'You're such a good puppy for killing all of my guests. Yes, you are.'

Bigby's eyes roll into the back of his head with a heavy sigh, "I should have seen that one coming."

You run into him at the store on a Saturday, but this time, it's because you were actively looking for him whilst you were out. You'd rented a few mundy movies, and when he's interested in one of the covers, you offer for him to visit you. He shows up an hour later, two bottles of liquor in tow.

By the time you two make it into the second movie, you're both tipsy. The horror movie you picked is enough to have you jumping at first, but all of that changes the moment Bigby's arm slides around your shoulders, pulling you into his chest.

"Scared of a mundy movie but not the Big Bad Wolf, eh?" He teases, taking another sip of his drink.

You stick your tongue out at him, too comfortable to fumble around and take your pen off the coffee table. He's impossibly warm, his embrace comparable to hugging a furnace.

By the third movie, you're out cold, and Bigby is left dealing with you, lying sleepily snuggled into his chest. He's not so drunk that he can't control himself, but it's enough to let his thoughts run rampant.

You look so small curled up against him, like a pup who's snuggled up to its mother. His heart swells as you reposition yourself, fully resting your head against his chest now. You're so delicate, so...not him. He almost chooses not to sleep, wanting to savor every moment of such a rare moment.

He doesn't intend to. It's like blinking; one minute he's got you all wrapped up in his arms, the next, you're nudging him awake, and there's a small plate of breakfast on the table. Bacon, eggs, sausage. All things he's had before, but somehow, it tastes better knowing that you made it.

It becomes a routine. Him meeting you every Saturday evening, sometimes food, sometimes alcohol in tow. Most nights, he stays with you because in the mornings. You love to make a game out of who can cook breakfast first. Somehow, he isn't that shabby of a cook.

Though it requires the burning of several dozen eggs for him to get to that point.

Sometimes you show up to his work with food because lord knows how he manages to go without eating for so long. Snow doesn't appreciate your presence at first, but she does eventually warm up to you. Sometimes, you bring extra and drop it off outside her office. A peace offering, if you will.

It's June when Bigby realizes that he's absolutely head over heels for you.

He's sitting on a rickety barstool at the Trip Trap, bruised knuckles clenching a Midas Gold as he listens to Gren and the Woodsman make bets on who can win at a game of darts. He's not even interested in the game; he just needs a drink and some sort of distraction that isn't Colin.

Snow had sent him to respond to an emergency call earlier, and it had gone terribly wrong. Had he known guns were involved in this fight, he may have acted differently when he showed up. Hindsight is 20/20, though, and no amount of pondering about how he should have done things differently will make the bullet wounds in his aching chest disappear.

He isn't sure how long he sits there, staring into the golden liquid without a single thought appearing in his mind, isn't sure how you even manage to find him.

"How the hell did you know I was here?" He doesn't even recognize that it's him that's speaking until the words have already left his mouth.

You make no move to pluck your enchanted pen out from behind your ear. It's as if you already know exactly what he needs because you're picking up one of his massive hands, holding with both hands, and you're gently leading him out of the bar.

Vaguely, he registers Holly remarking him being smitten.

Huh.

You bandage him up at your apartment. It's pointless, really, considering that he will be completely healed within a day or so. Bigby makes no effort to stop you as you apply ointments to his open wounds, too deep into his thoughts to be concerned with stopping you.

'I wish you'd take better care of yourself.' You eventually scribble when you're focusing on the deep laceration on his bicep.

Bigby thinks that his favorite look on you is when you're focused, especially when you're focused on him. You're always so attentive, so thorough with everything you do; he bets that if you did his job for a day, Snow would fire him and keep you instead.

"Still got those movies?" He's barely awake by the time you're satisfied with your work, but he would feel like an ass if he were to go to sleep on your couch immediately.

That's how you end up curled up on the couch together, Bigby laying on top of you, for a change. The gentle pitter-patter of your heartbeat lulling him to sleep like he's a needy pup. He dreads the thought of one of you having to get up and break the comfortable atmosphere that's surrounded the two of you.

God, maybe he really is a little bit smitten.

It's July when the fireworks kick up.

Bigby isn't too big on the idea of going out just to watch fireworks, but when you bat those pretty eyes of yours and write an extra swirly, 'Please?', he doesn't have it in him to keep telling you no.

"Forgive me if I get a little jumpy," he tells you, as you walk to the park that the fireworks are being launched from, "the ears aren't too fond of loud noises."

'I'll protect you.' You write, earning what has now become his trademark eye-roll.

The park is absolutely riddled with mundies and fables alike. There are so many sights and smells that he has to light up a Huff & Puff to dull his senses. Massive crowds like these are overwhelming, but he puts up with it if it means that he gets to do something with you.

He's come to terms with it by now, that he's absolutely head over heels for you, like in those cheesy romances you sometimes rent. He likes to think that you look at him a little more fondly than other men, that your heart is reserved just for him. Of course, it's wishful thinking, and he can't fault you for not feeling something for you in return.

The two of you settle towards the back of the crowd, where the fireworks aren't so loud, and the tree line is right behind you. Bigby finds a small inchworm to play with while you take everything in, watching intently as the tiny bug inches across his hand.

Crack_

You jolt as the first firework goes off, catching the both of you off guard. They're slow at first, shooting off one by one and giving Bigby enough time to prepare for the ear-splitting noise that comes with the pretty explosion.

But then they get louder. Faster. One after another, back-to-back explosions. Bigby grunts, clenching his jaw as tightly as he can manage. One moment, he's watching fireworks, and the next, he's back in that alleyway with Tweedle Dee and Dum firing round after round of bullets into his flesh. Bloody Mary is behind him before he even realizes, a silver bullet ripping right through his muscle and lodging in his stomach.

Beside him, you've already begun to notice the sudden change in his attitude. He's staring blankly at the fireworks, jaw wrung tight and fists clenching. He's panting through his nose like a rabid dog. God, this was a bad idea.

Even if you could speak, you're not sure that he would be able to hear you over the heavy sound of fireworks.

"Bigby," you mouth, still. Scrambling to your feet, you grab him by the forearms, using your entire body to yank him up from the ground.

It's enough to snap him from it, but you don't stop there. Moving quickly, you tug him away from the fireworks, wrapping your hand around his as not to lose him. You don't stop until you're certain that the fireworks aren't going to trigger anything else—Bigby's silent the entire walk.

"I'm sorry," he mutters, rubbing his hand across his face. He looks like he's in another world. Like he's just come back from war. But then, a lone firework goes off in the distance, grasping his attention.

You squeeze the hand that you're still holding, offering him a forced smile. "It's okay," you mouth, reaching up to cup his cheek. He leans into it.

Those pretty brown eyes of his meet yours, searching, gentle. Finally, he leans down to connect your foreheads, smiling weakly. "I'm sorry," he says again, weaker.

You shake your head, releasing his hand to cradle his face with both hands properly. Your thumbs brush over the thin skin under his eyes, rubbing gently. His eyes become downcast again, arms wrapping around you to reel you in as he buries his face in your shoulder. All you can do is hold him, raking your nails up and down his back.

Eventually, though, you're the one to pull back, hands finding their way back to his face again. His eyes are a little red, but you can tell he's about one straw away from breaking into tears.

Pushing your noses together, you close your eyes, sigh. He chuckles at that, rubbing your noses together in a small nose kiss. And then you can't take it anymore.

You lean up and properly slot your lips together. Bigby grunts, but he makes no move to push you away. Instead, one hand finds its way into your hair, the other resting around your waist. He kisses you with a gentleness you didn't know he had in him, humming as you pull away for air.

"Wow." Is all he can say.

And then you laugh. A gentle, melodic giggle that dissolves into full-blown laughter.

"Holy shit." You nearly miss Bigby's whispered swear.

"Oh my god," your hands cover your mouth as the words dance off your tongue. You just made a noise. "Bigby!"

Bigby's hands draw you back in by your waist, leaning down to kiss you again, and again, and again. Short, sweet little kisses broken by smiles and giggles.

"You mean to tell me that this was all it took?" He chuckles against your lips.

"I guess so," your voice feels foreign to your own ears. You'd almost forgotten what it sounded like. "You do know what that means, don't you?"

It means a lot of things. First, it means Aunty Greenleaf was right when she said that your stories hadn't quit being written. Second, it means that you and Bigby Wolf have something special, something that other fables might target. Everything just changed, for better or for worse.

"Is that a bad thing?" He teases, pushing your hair out of your face.

"Not necessarily."