#the wolf among us imagine

[regrettablewritings]

Fuck it, since nobody’s humoring me with the ship meme thing, I’m just gonna do whatevadahell I want.

So

Bigby Wolf

Who the fuck put the Peeps in the microwave?: Mundies, for all intents and purposes, were just plain fascinating to you. You tried not to think too much of them (after all, you were a Fable for god’s sake, you surely had seen plenty in your ages of existence), but you simply couldn’t help it: Between all the strife and ridiculous affairs they got themselves into, they sure did come up with some interesting ideas! Like putting colorful, bunny and chick-shaped marshmallows into the microwave oven. You heard some kids on public transit talking about how they were gonna “nuke” their leftover Easter candy, and the thought intrigued you. What did they have to gain from it? Why had they tried to sound nonchalant about it while also holding back snickers? Curiosity got the better of you, and you made a pit stop on the way back to The Woodlands. . . . Unfortunately, if curiosity wasn’t going to kill you, then Bigby probably would. Well, maybe not kill. But you knew that look of his, when he crossed his arms and furrowed his brows, turning his head down just enough to emphasis his look of displeasure. It did not feel good to be on the receiving end of it. Suffice to say, the experiment wasn’t worth investing in: The tiny apartment now reeked of hot sugar, and it mingled terribly with the stench of your boyfriend’s cheap cigarettes. Damn Mundies.

Who forgot to put the cat outside before sex?: Y’all don’t have a cat. Thank god. . . .  But you do have a talking pig that, while not a pet, insists on intruding into Bigby’s apartment whenever he’s escaped The Farm on this side of the state. Granted, given that Colin is a full-grown, big-mouthed pig, it’s hard to miss him and accidentally give him a little peep show. But sometimes, he’ll come a-cloppin’ to the door, telling Bigby to open up, he’s parched, and Bigby winds up irritated and has to yell at him to piss off. “Ooohh, I see . . . Pigs have a superb sense of smell, Bigby; are you entertaining your lady friend --” “Colin.” The growl has notes of danger and exasperation. “Okay, okay, fine. I’ll just . . . go down to the business office, I guess.” You hear him grunt lowly as he begins to slowly plod back down the hallway. But you didn’t get the chance to breathe a sigh of relief (or even one of agitation) before you heard that damn pig intentionally holler back your way, “And for Christ’s sake, Bigby, go gentle on her!” And by then, the mood is basically dead. In the end, Bigby has to use the sock-on-the-doorknob trick and a bribe of a pack of beers just to keep Colin away when the two of you want to get it on. It’s embarrassing, because you’re still basically announcing that you’re going au naturale, but it’s somewhat less so than having a pig with a grudge hollering at a wolf to not rail you so hard.

Who posts Vines/TikToks of the other doing embarrassing shit?: Neither. Social media didn’t exist yet. But say we fast forward to when it does, you still probably won’t do it. Bigby is like an old man when it comes to technology, and even though there’s some loopholes you’ve figured out with having a social media presence, it’s probably best not to put out videos of anything that might expose you guys as Fables. (That, and you know what a DILF is. Bigby may be the Big Bad Wolf, but if you show any image of him online, the public will eat him alive.)

Who breaks the most phones?: Bigby, absolutely. He and telephones have been one-sided enemies since the dawn of the latter’s creation. When they were cranked? He broke the crank. Landline? He slammed the phone back on into the cradle too hard or, if he had received particularly bad news, ripped it out of the wall in a fit of frustration. Sometimes, the phones getting knocked off the wall weren’t even his: They belonged to whoever owned the establishment in which he was getting his shit kicked in. When the 80s came and introduced massive-sized cellular phones, he didn’t fuck with them. Most Fables didn’t simply because they tended to be expensive. Plus, given his job as Sheriff (which meant, once again, often getting his shit kicked in), lugging that brick around would’ve made his job just a twinge harder. In the modern age, it’s not much better: As stated before, he takes to modern technology like any old man would, and this unfortunately also extends to how aware he is of how costly or important things like smartphones can be. But in an age where everyone has to have some form of portable tech on them, he winds up gifted with one by you. . . . Poor thing didn’t stand a chance. Nor did the next one. Or the third. They either fell out while in the middle of a fight, got crushed by him getting slammed in the middle of a fight, caught the bullet aimed at him, or got beer spilled on them. To be fair, though, most smartphones aren’t made to last, and you always kinda knew that maybe coupling your roughhousing significant other with a tender piece of tech probably wasn’t the best idea. But that didn’t make it any less embarrassing whenever he whipped out the sturdy Nokia flip phone you finally gave in and got him.

Who dies first?: Fables are hard to kill, but it can be done. Bigby is living proof of that, having endured more than his fair share of accidents, incidents, and injuries that would’ve killed any Mundy, and technically should’ve also flat out killed him. But his luck can only go so far and for so long. He might’ve been pushing it that night, but fuck it: He knew that Fables and Mundies were supposed to keep their interactions to a minimum and inconspicuous, but he wasn’t about to let that shitbag keep harassing you. And given that you couldn’t use your magic, lest you draw even further attention to yourself, that meant he had to step up. But how the hell was he supposed to know the little shit had a gun on him? Granted, it seemed like most every punk in New York did. Goddammit . . . Now you were crying. He couldn’t quite see it (his vision was blurring), but he could smell your tears. But he could also feel your thighs serving as a pillow for him, hands trembling as they alternated between frantically carding through his hair and then raking through your own and then pressing a hand against his, and pressing them both against his wound. In a way, it felt nice. Certainly better than the searing pain he felt in his chest, and the scratchy concrete beneath the rest of him. So this was how the Big Bad Wolf was to meet his end? Bleeding out on the concrete? From what he could tell, not if you had anything to do with it. Everything sounded so goddamn loud but he could make out one hand -- the one not pressing against his wound -- leaving to grab your phone and begging for Dr. Swineheart. It was . . . depressing. Depressing because Bigby knew you were trying. He knew you didn’t have the kind of magic in your arsenal to stop it, let alone in a way that wouldn’t draw more attention than what you were probably already about to get, now that the surrounding buildings had enough time to recognize that the gunshots had ceased. He knew that you felt it was all your fault, that this wouldn’t have happened if you’d just smiled at the guy or given him your purse or whatever the hell it was he wanted. But it wasn’t your fault. It never was, and never would be even when enough time would pass after the fact. Bigby chose to protect you, and even if he’d known about the damn gun, he would’ve done it still. And he wanted you to know that. He opened his mouth to tell you, only for blood-flavored gurgles to come out instead. He heard you yelp at him to not talk. “Y-you need to save your breath, okay?” you said, voice shrill and quivering. “Just until Swineheart . . .Until he --” He’s not gonna make it. Bigby thought. I’m not gonna make it, he wanted to say. But clearly, you wouldn’t allow it. And at this rate, he knew he probably missed that window anyway, what with the blood and all. But there was maybe . . . one thing he could do. Could still do. It took nearly every iota of strength he still had in his body, nearly forcing him to heave up the blood welling in his abdomen, but he managed to lift a hand. It trembled; something Bigby never did in all the years you had known him. Granted, it was because of his current predicament, but still: the sight unnerved you. If he squinted, his vision could focus on you just enough to better recognize you beyond the blur you had quickly become in his eyes. Your own were widened and wet, dampening your cheeks and wobbling lip. One of the last things he truly felt, though, was your hand slowly answering to his own. His large palm felt so heavy in your own, if only because his strength then left him. Felt nice to him. Felt . . . comforting, sick as it was. But maybe it was also the overwhelming need to sleep that began to blanket over him. Bigby was always so tired . . . And as much as it pained you to, you let him rest. He always deserved rest, what with all the protecting he did . . .

Which one I could see as being lactose intolerant: Food allergies and digestion issues aren’t exactly commonplace amongst Fables, but they can happen. And given your longevity, it also wasn’t unheard of for cases of food intolerance to ebb in and out of a person -- or animal’s -- life like the tide. But it still bothered you when the 80s hit and you began to develop stomachaches whenever you ate ice cream or cereal. At first, you just assumed the milk had gone bad, especially whenever you spent the night at Bigby’s apartment. But when the pain persisted even when you bought new cartons of milk, and when you dragged Bigby to the new ice cream parlor you’d been dying to try, Swineheart presented you with a diagnosis. “You need to stay away from dairy. We can find you some supplements, but --” “You can’t supplement the taste of strawberry ice cream!” But supplements, you had to make and take. Thankfully, one of the other, more experienced witches on your floor took pity on you (“I had my time in the 1860s, I know your pain,” she told you) and offered you a script of a spell made to make certain foods taste similar to the dairy-containing ones you were now forbidden from eating. It did alright, but it wasn’t quite the same. Unfortunately and ironically, Bigby was one of your biggest obstacles when it came to trying to sneak things. Sure, the big oaf could completely disregard Fabletown’s doctor when it came to getting a bullet shot in the ass or whatever, but God forbid you eat a spoonful of yogurt as a little snack! Those Huff-n-Puffs may be able to block out enough stimuli, but Bigby’s nose can’t be fooled all the time: He can smell the lactose on you. And if that’s not enough, your literal bellyaching that inevitably follows soon after bemuses him to no end. Whatever . . . At least you learned that chilled Cool Whip was a decent enough supplement. For now.

Who thinks they can do something really well even though they can’t?: In all the centuries the Fables had existed, nobody really understood why or how you and Bigby got together: Witches and wolves weren’t unfamilar with one another, but it just seemed strange. Especially given how Bigby was more no-nonsense and you tended to try and be a bit on the kinder side of things. Gren and Holly weren’t really open people, but your ability to make even them crack a smile wasn’t anything to sniff at. That might’ve built up your ego a little, though, considering you pouted whenever you’d regale Bigby the same stories or jokes that killed down at the Trip Trap, only to be met with a blank expression or a confused head-cock. Whatever, Bigby has no taste: the wolfman technically has a bedroom but barely uses it because he prefers to sleep in the den -- the literal den of his tinyass apartment. He doesn’t seem to be amused by your noting of this, even as you grin about it. “. . . Gren and Holly thought it was funny.” “Gren and Holly like anything that makes me look like a dick.”

Who is more likely to get kicked out of bed?: You love Bigby, you really do, but you’d be lying if ever told anyone that being with him was easy. He may be a sweetheart trying to atone for his past, but that doesn’t not make him a slob, scary, and extremely rough around the edges. And sometimes, he says things that really sit with you wrong because he didn’t think to sit with those words before saying them in the first place. He rarely uses the bedroom, but tends to use it more once you come into the picture. After all, his armchair doesn’t exactly make a great bed for two. Really, it’s odd that you’d kick him out of his own bed when you not only live in the same apartment building, just on a different floor -- you could really just leave and go back to your place and leave him to his own devices. But for as kind as you can be, you can also be a bit petty: Staying but kicking him out of his own room was about power. You wanted him to know you were upset with him. And unfortunately, Bigby and emotions are constantly doing an awkward shuffle around one another, so he doesn’t always know what to do. He’s used to sleeping in his chair, but it feels wrong doing so when you’re in the next room. It feels lonely, like every night before you did. He can’t quite find a good position to get into, either, not when he feels this guilty. Though sometimes, the loneliness leaks into the bedroom with you. Because yeah, you can’t sleep, either. It feels just as weird being in a place you know Bigby is in without actually being around him. And when that feeling gets bad enough, you can’t stop yourself from gathering the old comforter blanket and shuffling into the den. His eyes may be closed, but you know Bigby’s still awake. He only opens them when he feels you climbing into his lap and trying to make yourself comfortable, blobbing the blanket around the both of you. And aside from the faint sounds of the city being alive outside the window, all is quiet. “. . . I’m sorry,” you hear him say. It’s low, as though he were afraid of destroying the quiet. Like his reputation as a walking mass of destruction would carry over to the potentially tender moment. But you yawn and nuzzle into his chest, finding the scent of his cheap cigarettes and cheap soap oddly comforting. “We’ll talk about it in the morning,” you murmur. The agreement is done in silence. Of course, you both wake up with aching bones due to how uncomfortable sleeping in the chair ultimately can be. But neither one of you wanted to break the comfort of being close in that exact way by getting up and moving back to the bed.

Who uses the computer the most?: You. Just. You. Go back to the phone bit and remember that Bigby is an old man.

[elaboratedbee]

Bigby x Reader

Request For: @awfullest​

Rating: E

Summary: The Mundies think that there are five love languages, and Bigby’s going to need to learn how to speak every single one of them if he’s going to get you to understand how he feels.

Word Count: 4623

Note: i loved this prompt!! i thought it would be super cute to come up with all the ways bigby could try and get the reader’s attention without being obvious :’) big thank you to @punxgal​ for teaching my dumbass what a taglist is, so i started one! just hit me with a message if you want to be added (or just want to rant about bigby lmao) ily guys!!

Taglist: @punxgal​

Five Ways To Say I Love You

 “You know, the Mundies think that there are five love languages,” Snow informed him, watching with a faint smile of amusement as Bigby quite literally banged his head against the wall of the Business Office. While usually she didn’t enjoy dispensing love advice; after all, she was a very busy woman, watching Bigby experience any kind of emotion, let alone love, was more than worth it. His pining was probably the most amusing thing that had happened in Fabletown in a long while, so she was happy to be his confident. 

“And I can think of five ways to tell Mundies how that sounds fucking stupid,” came Bigby’s gruff response, but he did finally move away from the wall and come around to join her at the desk, which she could only assume was Bigby Speak for her to continue. 

“Words of affirmation, acts of service, receiving gifts, quality time, and physical touch.” After Snow had revealed them, the wolf repeated the list under his breath as he committed them to his memory, before he huffed in frustration. 

“Nothing I do works! Nothing I say comes out right and they’re just so –”

“ – perfect, I know,” Snow cut him off, more than familiar with this particular rant, “maybe if you ever did something about it and made it clear that you were interested, they might actually respond positively. You’ve been pining for months, Bigby! It’s getting embarrassing.” His scowl was lost on her, as she was more than used to dealing with an angry Bigby and his frustration at his own love life certainly wasn’t the worst she had dealt with. 

“Fuck off, it’s not pining,” Bigby growled at her, as he produced a cigarette from his pocket and placed it between his lips. Snow didn’t bother to argue the point, because she could tell by the long and hopeless drag he took of his cigarette that the Sheriff already knew that it was true. “I’ll try that Mundy thing.” Bigby admitted after a long time, before he nodded at her and stalked out of the office to patrol the streets of Fabletown, or whatever else he got up to whenever there wasn’t some major emergency that he contacted her about. Well, that was about as much thanks as she could expect. She sighed, and rolled her eyes as she watched him retreat. Men. 

Words Of Affirmation

Bigby was head over heels for you. Since Snow had become the Deputy Mayor, there wasn’t much about Fabletown that hadn’t improved. Not everything had changed drastically of course, and there wasn’t a night that went by on the job that the wolf didn’t wish that things could be better for all of the Fables that lived here, but he could console himself with the fact that they were getting better. Slowly was better than not at all, after all. He supposed that he should apply that same philosophy to his feelings for his current infatuation, since he did think that he was making slow progress. You had taken a job casting spells and creating glamours on the thirteenth floor almost half a year ago, now, and it had taken barely any time at all for Bigby to realise that you were everything he had ever wanted.

Every so often, a crime occurred that could benefit from the help of someone who was proficient in magic, such as covering up the scene of a particularly noticeable crime from Mundies or assisting with the aftermath. Bigby had recently found himself running to you every single time a matter like this befell, with the whispers and teasing from some of the other staff at the Business Office being more than worth the chance to spend so many prolonged hours working with you and witnessing your gift. This often came with the additional bonus of being able to show you that he was made the Sheriff for more than his strength. Most of the Fables thought that he was given the position purely due to his violent streak, so to be able to display his prowess at investigating crimes made a nice change.

Tonight, was one of those nights and the two of you had ventured out to cast a spell over a building that had been set on fire by an arsonist. Although the fire had been combatted with the help of some water nymphs, the plumes of black smoke obscuring the horizon were sure to pique the interest of any Mundies within a couple of miles radius. It struck the Sheriff that now was the perfect opportunity to use the first of Snow’s techniques as he walked you back to the Business Office, enjoying the pleasure of hearing you rant and rave about howof all of the possible crimes, arson was certainly the most pointless and dangerous. Bigby loved how passionate you were, how you could probably form a strong and justified opinion on almost any topic. He loved the way you used your hands and gesticulated wildly without even realising, like you were always casting a spell. It certainly felt like you had cast one over him, after all, he was constantly thinking about you. The first thought on his mind in the morning, and the person running through his mind whenever he attempted to sleep.

The two of you reached the business office and entered the deathtrap elevator. He took the opportunity to employ his first method as you had fallen silent when pressing the button for the thirteenth floor, before hitting the one for Bigby’s Office, too. The wolf felt a spark of happiness as he noted how well you knew him, his routines and habits. Although he hadn’t known you for very long, it was obvious that the Sorcerer was the kind of person that noticed the little things, that cared for each and every person that came into the Business Office looking for help, whether it be a standard glamour or something with far higher stakes. The dedication to their job was something that Bigby could very much relate to, and the fact that you often complimented the Sheriff on his duty to Fabletown made his heart warm in his chest – not many people did.

The only problem was, every time Bigby had tried to compliment you back, he failed miserably. Either it came out completely wrong, or it didn’t come out at all. But this time, it would be different. He had used the entire walk to plan what he was going to say, and now was the time to implement it. As the elevator rose, Bigby removed his cigarette from his mouth and met your eyes, trying not to focus on your mesmerising beauty. “Thanks,” he managed to get out, his voice rough, “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re the best Sorcerer I know.” The words were genuine, even if they were a little bit gruff and came out a little fast, and the Sheriff internally celebrated. Finally. He watched closely as your eyes lit up with joy and pride and you stood up just a little bit taller than before. It had made every bit of stress worth it, in Bigby’s eyes.

“Thanks, Bigby. I’d say you were the best Sheriff I know, but you’re sort of the only Sheriff I know,” you teased him with a smile, and leaned forward to punch his shoulder gently. God, everything seemed to come so easily to you, he noted. The way you spoke and joked with him, managing to drag a smile out of him even on his darkest days, the way you touched him so casually. Perfect. The elevator doors slid open, and you flashed him one more bright smile before you were gone.

Taking a deep drag of his cigarette, Bigby slumped against the elevator wall and luxuriated in the feeling for a long moment. On some level, he could recognise that it was mildly insane to feel such euphoria over such a minute interaction, one that you probably wouldn’t even remember when tomorrow arrived, but he didn’t care. The elevator arrived at the Business Office and the door opened to reveal Bluebeard standing there. His eyes narrowed when he saw the Sheriff, and his mouth opened, but he was cut off as the wolf walked right past him, dropping his cigarette at the man’s feet.

“Fuck off, Bluebeard.”

Acts Of Service

“Bigby, you really don’t have to do this,” your voice came from behind him as continued his way down the hall, carrying the large wooden desk in his arms. Considering your hard work, it was really only a matter of time before they got promoted, and Bigby was incredibly pleased that your talent was being recognised. Along with the promotion came a brand-new office, that Bigby was currently help you move your things into.

“It’s no trouble, really,” he insisted once again and that was telling the truth. The desk was really no problem for the wolf to manage, but the praise made it feel even lighter. You followed along behind him with a box of personal affects, pictures and stationery, along with a little cactus that, to quote you, ‘even you couldn’t kill.’

They entered the office, which, like most of the Business Office, was somewhat in a state of disrepair. The lighting was dim, the window dirty and the paint a faded, peeling yellow. Even still, he watched you regard it as if it were a silver palace, a spark in your eyes. Unlike Bigby, you were an optimist, always able to see the bright side of life and the best in people. It was a refreshing change to the wolf, who very rarely had a reason to give people the benefit of the doubt in his line of work. You saw the best in him, having never been afraid of him for a second, and throwing him a bemused look whenever he tried to pull his ‘big, bad wolf’ act around you.

“Thanks for helping me,” he felt a hand on his arm and the warm pressure grounded him, causing him to meet your eyes, “there was no way I could’ve dragged that heavy ass desk down this hallway. You’re handy, you know that?” The compliment was strange, and Bigby huffed at the word. Handy. There was something almost domestic about it, which caused a warmth to spread through his chest.  

“Yeah, well, I’m only downstairs if you need me,” Bigby reassured you, the feeling of being needed satisfying the more primal parts of his nature. To be able to help you, provide for you, was what the wolf inside him desperately craved.

“Good to know you’re not just a pretty face,” you teased him with a wink and Bigby almost choked on his own spit. He felt hot under the collar all of a sudden and he cleared his throat before he was able to answer, much to his enchantment's clear amusement. Even though you were clearly fucking with him, the implication that you thought he was attractive was enough to imprint this very moment on his mind for what he was sure was the rest of all time.

“I’m a man of many talents,” the Sheriff managed to reply, his voice rich with sarcasm as he bumped his cigarette packet, making one shoot up out of the box. He raised it to his lips, quirking his eyebrows at the other Fable as means of asking for permission, a very rare honour that was not often bestowed upon. You nodded their approval and the wolf sparked up, taking a deep drag. After all, he was fairly sure that if he didn’t find something to focus his thoughts on, he was going to kiss you here and now. The way that you were leaning against the desk, the one that he had moved for you, was testing his self-control in ways that he hadn’t expected. What he wouldn’t give to just push you over the desk and –

“I think it just needs a new coat of paint,” your voice (thankfully) interrupted his thoughts before they could spiral any further. Bigby grunted and exhaled his smoke.

“I can help with that.”

Receiving Gifts and Quality Time

It had taken him forever to find, but Bigby didn’t plan to admit that to anyone else. He held the cassette tape in his hands, remembering so clearly the first time you had showed him one. One late night, he had caught you leaving the Woodlands as he approached, bruised and tired after a long day. He wasn’t particularly happy that you were here at such a late hour, you work ethic concerning at times; it made him worry that you didn’t get enough rest, which was more than ironic coming from him. Despite how battered he must have looked, it didn’t stop the smile from breaking out on your face at the sight of him, and it made his long day seem just a little less long. As you walked through the glass doors, Bigby noted a strange device in your hands, with wires that followed all the way up to your head.

“What the fuck is that?” He asked, amused at the sight of it. It was cold on the street, but the Sheriff was more than happy to linger outside for a little more time as long as it meant he got to speak to you.

“It’s a Walkman,” you informed him brightly, and it was immediately clear from your tone that this little device brought you no shortage of joy, “it plays cassette tapes.” The wolf had some vague recollection of what a cassette tape was, although he had never heard of the “Walkman,” so he could gather that it had something to do with music at least. His brows furrowed as he tried to decipher the little thing, when suddenly you were stepping forward into his space. With bated breath, Bigby tensed as you pulled off their headphones and held them up between the both of you, leaning close.

Don't leave me this way.

The music played and provided him with something to focus his mind on and flood his senses with, which was a welcome release now that your scent was flooding his nose so distractingly. When you were this close, Bigby could see every little detail of your face, and he found himself committing every last detail to his memory. The faint scar you had just above your eyebrow that he so desperately wanted to know the story behind, the permanent imprint on your lower lip that you had left from biting it so much, every shade in your eyes.

I can't survive, I can't stay alive.

You met his eyes, clearly waiting to hear his judgement, but Bigby didn’t offer one, wanting to prolong the moment of intimacy for as long as he could get away with it. He couldn’t help it, after all, having you so close to him was intoxicating. It was a feeling of pride and accomplishment to him, that you had chosen to share this part of yourself  with him.

Without your love, no baby.

“I like it,” he admitted, although what he really liked was the way his approval made a smile emerge on your face, illuminated by the soft yellow lights of the Woodland. The simple praise was enough, although Bigby wished that he could find better words, more impressive ones. You had a way of making him feel like that way; of making him feel that for all of his inadequacies, he was enough. It was a more addicting feeling than smoking his damn cigarettes.

Don't leave me this way.

Bigby knew that if he stayed stood there for much longer, he would inevitably do or say something that was going to get him trouble, so he cleared his throat and stepped back, watching you click a little button the stop the cassette from playing. You looked almost disappointed that you had to go, but it was late and cold, so Bigby was glad you would finally go home and get some rest. The song’s words came back to him as you bid him goodnight and retreated into the night, hailing a cab. Don’t leave me this way.

He didn’t want you to leave at all.

The Sheriff had laboured over finding the perfect gift for you after that, stopping by many Mundy places whenever he had a spare moment, or his work brought him close to the edge of Fabletown. Gently, he placed the cassette down on your desk, wrapped carefully by Snow after she had seen Bigby’s attempt at it and laughed outright.

Even better, it had become a habit of yours to sit side by side in his office every so often and listen to whatever song had become your recent obsession. He would listen to you talk about what made it good, or why you loved the band and enjoy your company much more than he enjoyed the songs themselves. It had been a long time since Bigby had done something just because he enjoyed it. Not to escape, or distract himself, or to forget, but something that made him grateful for the here and now. Sometimes, he was in a good mood and he offered his opinions, which slowly became more informed over time as you listened and asked for his favourites. Other times, he was exhausted and broken after a day of dealing with the worst that Fabletown had to offer, and he would sit in silence, letting the sound of your music and your voice wash over him. It was like the tide, eroding a jagged stone smooth, corroding away all of his edges and damaged parts so gently that he hardly even noticed.

Stepping back, the wolf smiled proudly to himself and propped a cigarette between his lips. This whole love languages thing was getting easier all the time.

Physical Touch

For all his success, this was certainly the one that Bigby was most nervous about. After all, he wasn’t exactly known for his ability to be gentle. A good chunk of the Fables probably thought that the Sheriff was directly synonymous with bruises and a ringing pain in their heads after he had used force to encourage them to comply with the law so many times.

The ballroom spread out before him, as picturesque and charming as it was every year. Bigby was so nervous that he regarded it more like a battlefield than a ballroom, the polished wood floor masking countless traps and landmines, the spinning and smiling Fables his enemies, waiting for him to slip up. The many twinkling lights gave the room an iridescent glow, but he felt like they were interrogation lights, his nerves rising in his stomach as he waited for you to arrive.

It had been the first year of the Remembrance Ball that Bigby had been the one to convince somebody else to go, considering he was usually the one to be dragged along so unwillingly by Snow. Not this year. This year, he was prepared. He had sacrificed his pride and given up far too many evenings to twirling around the Business Office with Snow once the building quietened at night and while he still lacked a fundamental sense of grace, he was now at least proficient enough that he wouldn’t stand on your feet. For the first time in centuries, Bigby had sought out a brand new suit, one that wasn’t as terribly dated as his previous one, although it was still a simple and understated design. Goddammit, Bigby had even been extra careful on the job the evening before, carefully avoiding taking any hits to the face, so that he wouldn’t be bruised and bleeding. There was nothing else he could do; he was ready.

At least, he thought he was. But no amount of preparation could have prepared him for seeing you walk through the ornate doors. He imagined that the feeling he experienced must have been akin to being struck by lightning, as it travelled through his entire body within the span of a second and paralysed him. It completely broke his brain trying to process how completely and utterly perfect you looked when you were dressed to the nines and he suddenly understood why the other Fables enjoyed this damned dance so much. For in that instant, Bigby would have done it all over again, a million times and lived a million miserable lives just to be given the chance to dance with you tonight.

To his delight, your eyes scanned the crowd and settled on him, so he lifted his glass as a means of greeting, beginning to cross the dance floor so that the two of you could meet in the middle. He quickly lost sight of you in the crowd, but eventually, he felt a tap on his shoulder. “Well, you clean up nice,” the voice was familiar and teasing, which made Bigby feel hot under the collar.

“I could say the same about you,” he returned easily, gesturing to your elaborate clothing. The Sheriff wanted to vocalise it so much better. You looked positively divine, to the point where the other Fables within a visible radius had their eyes stuck on you, either jealous or starstruck. Bigby was overcome with the overwhelming desire to make sure they all knew who you had come for and it was the push he needed to step forward and take you in his eyes. He watched your eyes widen slightly, clearly surprised that Bigby had been so forward and so confident in leading you into an, albeit very simple, dance. All those evenings were certainly paying off.

Emboldened, Bigby made a second and better attempt, “you’re breath-taking. Nobody can take their eyes off of you.” Watching the blush break out on your face, coupled by your closeness, was enough to make Bigby feel that he was in heaven. Your scent was in his nose, even sweeter tonight with whatever scent you were wearing, and you were safe in his arms, his and only his, even if it was just for tonight. Physical touch, he thought, was quite possibly his favourite love language in the world.

It wasn’t enough, he could never get enough of you. He wondered if he would ever be fully satiated, surely not when felt like he wanted to drown in you. Pulling you close, he could feel how rapid your heartbeat was in your chest, and a smile crossed his face. “I didn’t take you for a dancer,” the surprise was evident in your tone, and not at all unjustified. After all, the Sheriff had refused to dance at this damn thing for quite literally centuries, so he supposed he was equally responsible for the stares they were receiving as you spun on, unphased.

“Like I told you, I’m a man of many talents,” Bigby repeated the sentiment from one of your older conversations, which earned him a laugh that he could feel resonate through his body, which was even better than simply hearing it.

“Alright, alright, be all mysterious, then,” you didn’t push him for a real answer any further, which filled him with a sense of relief, because he was certain that once he admitted to begging Snow for lessons, he was never going to live it down. His reputation as the big, bad wolf was already sure to take a large enough hit just from the fact that he had now been seen by almost every Fable dancing, so he really didn’t think it would be able to survive that on top of it all. Slowly, he could feel you relax into his arms as one song turned into two, then three. The orchestra played beautifully, but after a few songs, he felt a murmur in his ear.

“Man, they should have let us pick the music for this thing,” you joked quietly, as not to offend anyone in the near proximity, and Bigby fought to prevent himself from laughing too loudly and causing them to gain any more attention. The novelty of seeing the Sheriff dance had mostly faded by now, the whispers and comments over with for the most part, so he was eager to retain your low profile. He nodded his agreement, struck by how pleasant he found it that you were so similar to him in some ways and different in others. You were not the type to be overly enamoured by the illusion of glamour that the Fables created for Remembrance every year, but more the type to focus on the simple and understated beauties of everyday life. That, Bigby thought, was something truly rare and special and he intended to never let it escape him.

Bigby knew that he wanted to be with you forever. For the first time, he could imagine waking up next to someone every day and falling asleep with them at night. He wanted to be the person on your mind at all hours of the day and the one to comfort you after a terrible day or listen to your stupid jokes after a good one. Bigby wanted to come home to music blaring out of the tape player, instead of the silence and damp of his apartment. He wanted to part ways not just with a smile when you shared the elevator ride to the Business Office, but with a kiss. God, he was head over heels, and no matter how he said it, any one of the godforsaken five ways, he no longer cared. He just had to say it. He needed you to know.

You moved your hand from his shoulder to straighten his tie with a fond smile and that was it for Bigby. Pulling you close, one of his rough hands came up to cover yours, pressing your hand against his chest so that you could probably feel his heartbeat, rapid and strong. The other cupped your jaw, his touch gentler than he ever thought a monster could be capable of. He watched a thousand different emotions flicker through your eyes as he leaned in, too fast for even the Sheriff to be able to process and recognise them all. Your lips met and everything just stopped. It was like Bigby’s mind went completely blank of thoughts and all he could do was feel. His arms tightened around you as he tried to put all he had into it – every last word that he could never find, every smile that he had wished were a kiss, every song that he would never be able to hear and not think of you and this very moment.

Eventually, you pulled back from one another, but not far. You stayed close, your foreheads pressed together as you recovered, breathing together. “The Mundies say that there are five ways to show someone you love them,” Bigby informed you, after a long moment of silence, not entirely sure why he had said it.

“That’s so fucking stupid,” you replied, your voice much breathier than it had been a minute ago, and Bigby grinned widely at how closely your response had echoed his own. It was stupid, and he didn’t care. He didn’t care because it had worked, and he had you in his arms and he had kissed you, and he was never going to let you go. You began to sway again, finding your way back to the music and to reality, as much as he wanted to stay wrapped up in that moment forever.

It didn’t matter how many ways there were, Bigby thought, because he was going to discovery every, damn one.

[otterbeesfanficblog]

Enough to make a wolf howl

Bigby x Male reader

A/n: I’ve wanted so badly to write an x male reader for so long, bc let's be honest, there is not enough of these in any fandom. I’m genderfluid but that doesn’t mean I haven’t fallen into the ‘Only female’ writing. so here is something for our favorite Big Bad Wolf bc come on, there ain’t enough fics about him anyway.

{Gif is not mine}

“Y/n? Could you help me for a moment, I need you to translate this.”

You turned your head to your good friend Snow, who at the moment had four or five ancient tomes open on her desk. 

Since you started working for Snow, who had taken Crane's place, everything was going well as her personally magic provider. Though people were still recovering since those terrible events back a few months ago, things were slowly getting better. 

You were tasked with supplying fables their well-needed glamour, being the sorcerer that you are, even the ones at the farm. 

You had made it a thing that you would give each fable a free bottle of glamour, and they could all get a free refill every other month making them use it sparingly. 

And you were a man at your word, the quality of the spell would get them over their refill time if they used it wisely. You're too offended by the idea of a bad quality spell, you often went weeks without sleep to make sure spells were better than best. 

It was a good thing that you are proud you came up with, it not only told them that you were far more giving than the other witches that sold them before but also teaching them not to take you for granted. 

All in all, you walked hand in hand with Snow and Bigby a lot, which had lead to you and Bigby's eventual relationship. 

You both were quick to like the other, you both favored alone time together with someone, and it didn't take long for you both to put a label on it, and it was a little daunting at first. Not only was the sheriff of the town dating his coworker, but a dating a man nonetheless. 

It wasn't like it was forbidden or frowned upon for men to have a relationship, but it wasn't quite often you would see it. Especially in Fabletown. 

Nevertheless, everyone mostly grew used to it, mostly knowing you as the only one to be able to… Tame the big bad wolf. 

Snow was the first was to quell those who teased, but she herself seemed to love to ferret out the juicy gossip from you while you both worked together. 

There was one time you had told her something along the lines of scandalous about Bigby just as Bigby himself walked in the room. 

The blush on her face turned her white as snow skin to red as strawberries as you both giggled away, while your boyfriend stood in a bemused state, which only made you two laugh even more as he titled his head like a confused puppy. 

Snow was you and Bigby's best friend, having known you both for a long time. While knowing you, she and Bigby also know of your… Interesting sense of humor. 

Sometimes they would understand it, sometimes they couldn't, sometimes it was crude, and sometimes it was just downright not amusing (but the face you make is what pulls out a smile from time to time). That didn't stop you, however, to make jokes at your two favorite people. 

Ever. 

“How may I help ya, Snowflakes?”

She rolled her pretty eyes and shook her head at you while you strolled over, coming to a stop next to her. She pointed at the books on the table, waving her hands about while doing so. 

“I know you have studied all kinds of magic, so I was hoping you could translate all of this for me. Bufkin is asleep, drunk. And I would have gotten it done myself by now, but,” she let out a sigh and straightened up turning to you. 

“The place I am ordering the print from went under construction.”

You smile at her, waving a hand in the air, glancing the books over then turn to her once again. 

“Oh, don't worry too much, I'm sure… “ 

You then smirk at her, which was a telltale sign to anyone that a joke comes soon after. 

“Someday your prints will come~”

You could feel your grin take over your face as you bit your lip and try so desperately to keep in your snickers, but alas, the look on her face was far too much for you and you gave into the bubbling feeling in your chest. She watched you reel back and grab the table for support of your laughing fit as she brought her hand up her face, giving a little facepalm. 

Despite her best efforts, she couldn't overcome the blush rising to her face, or the smile that took over her face. 

“ Ha ha, Y/n. Very funny.”

“Thank you!”

 You quick stand back up, the same bright smile on your face that told her you were more than ready with another one. She gathered up her papers while you spoke.

 “I knew you would be the best judge for my jokes.”

She lets out a sigh from her nose, turning to see you waiting for her to speak. The door opened right as she does speak. 

“And why is that?”

“Because! You're the fairest of them all!”

You then break into another fit of laughter as Bigby comes and stands behind you, a brow raised at you then to Snow who shaking her head as she passed by him to the office door. 

“Very funny, thank you for translating them for me, I'll be back for them later.”

You had tears in your eyes from laughing too hard as you turn to her direction, Bigby moving out of the way a little so you could see her and only watching you as you called after her. 

“Oh yeah, it's snow problem!”

She groans as she closed the door leaving behind a giggling sorcerer and his wolf boyfriend who at the moment only shook his head, a ghost smile gracing his face as he looked onto you. 

“Are those really that funny to you?”

“Of course they are,” you blinked away the tears, giggling a few more times then look to the books with tired eyes, holding your hands above the books on the desk. 

Your hands glow a bright blue, the color taking over and shining out of your eyes as well. Bigby has seen you use your magic on occasion, it was never very often as you had told him it makes you tired quickly. 

The words peel off the pages over the book in light blue color then start being translated mid-air as you speak to him, a smile still on your face. 

“So, howl ya doin' today, Wolfie?”

Bigby rolls his eyes, taking out his pack of Huff & Puff and taking one in his mouth, sitting down in the chair at the desk. 

“Broke up another fight today. You'd think after all that shit a few months ago people would change, but no. We all stay the fuckin same.”

You hum, moving your hands over the sheets of blank printing paper Snow had left out for you, transferring the translated words onto the page. And all too familiar smirk graces your lips Bigby lights his cigarette. 

“Hmm, sounds Ruff darlin'. Hope they didn't dog you too badly.”

“Do you write these down somewhere and memorize them?”

You chuckle at his reaction, letting your hands drop as you finish the transfer. You close all the books and turn and layout on your back on Snow's desk, smiling tiredly up at your big bad wolf. 

“I do sometimes, just if I know I won't see that person soon. I have puns for everyone, but my mind is a maze of magic spells and positions, but don't worry,” 

Even upside down you can reach his nose, that you give a little tap with your finger.

“Half my mind is full of you.”

Bigby pulled out his cig and blow the smoke in the air instead of at you, he knows how the smoke can give you headaches. He smirks down at you, bringing his face very close to yours, to the point you can feel his breath and smell his intoxicating cologne. 

“Only half? Maybe I'll have to change that to all of your mind.”

You smile, half-lidded eyes staring up at him as he takes another drag and blows it out. 

“Oh, and how's that sheriff? I'm afraid you'll have to spell it out for me.”

He reaches over you and puts out his cigarette, gently taking you head by the back of your neck so your head wasn't hanging over the side and smirked down at you. 

“Gladly, sweetheart.”

Then you feel his lips on yours, albeit you were upside down, but it wasn't being upside down that made blood rush to your head. You reach your hands up and pull him closer by his cheek, brushing over his ever-present stubble, making his chest rumble in satisfaction.

That was until the office phone started ringing, which made him growl and your groan in disappointment. 

He gently let your head go and stood up, walking around the desk to the phone. 

You sat up on your elbows as you stopped him from picking up the phone by putting your leg over it. Bigby raises a brow at you as you tilt your head to the side. 

“What? Can't you see I'm already on the phone, Bigs?”

With that, you chuckle as he pushes your leg off and answers the phone. 

“Sheriff Wolf here, how can I help?— And where is this? —.” You see him drag a hand down his face, a sigh leaving his lips when he nods his head. 

“Alright, I'll be right there.”

Hanging up the phone you watch Bigby ran a hand through his long hair, you scoot closer to him on the desk and kiss the back of his arm before he can drop it down to his side. 

He gives you a look and pulls out his Huff & Puffs, you smile at him. 

“What is it this time?”

He sighs and lights his cig, taking a drag from it and blowing the smoke before looking at you again. 

“Some magic users are getting rowdy at the ‘Open Arms'. Apparently, it's a big problem.”

“How Bigby?”

He doesn't even bother rolling his eyes as you giggle away, him turning to the door and walking to the exit. 

“Are you coming, or are you going to stand around telling bad puns all day?”

You giggle again, straightening your dress shirt and tie as you follow close behind, smirking. 

“Depends. Would standing around making bad puns get me to come, or does a big bad wolf want that privilege himself?”

You could tell the dirty joke worked as he took a long drag of his cig and his cheekbones started to turn a slight shade of red every passing moment, and you simply laughed and latched on to his arm as you two make your way to the elevator. 

“Hehe, we’ll continue this when we get home.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It didn't take you two too long to get to the Open Arms, but you could hear the fighting from outside. You could also see flashes of magic from the window facing the street, which made your grip on Bigby's hand a little tighter. 

You were never a fan of other magic users especially witches, their name is even one letter off from what they really are. Every witch you have ever met always wanted something from some, their greed and pompous attitudes left you with a sour taste in your mouth.

 However, there weren't many male magic users in Fabletown, so your ‘magic family' was limited to all females. It's wasn't fun to know the only ones you can talk to about magic are them. 

“You okay to go in?” Bigby’s broke your inner thoughts, pulling you back to reality. “You can wait out here if you want, I know how much you hate other magic users.”

“Hates a strong word, Bigs” you smile at him, running a hand through your head, then set a glare on the building, specifically the widow of flashing magic. 

“I prefer the word ‘loathe', much stronger than ‘hate'.” You sigh then turn your gaze back to your boyfriend, who was looking at you with a ghost smile. 

“No, I'll go in. Who am I to not want to watch someone get witch slapped.”

At this Bigby groaned, lightly pushing passed you and opened the door, waiting for you to go in first. 

As you walked through the door you gently kissed his nose, giving him a thank you which you knew he was trying so desperately not to jump you at the moment. 

Going up the stairs and into the open hallway, you saw the door at the end of the hall flashing lights from under the door. You both took long strides to get to the door, Bigby balling up his fist and banging on the door. 

“Hey, open up!”

The door swung up not because someone was opening it, no, one of the witches who was fighting pulled the door off its hinges with her magic which made you and Bigby take a step back. She flung it at the other witch, who used a disintegration spell and the door fell to ashes on the floor, which only made both girls even angrier. 

“HEY!” Bigby used his booming voice, stepping into the room and standing between the two. “That's enough! Now what the hell is—”

“STAY OUT OF THIS!!”

 Both witches cried out, throwing up their hands and pointing it at Bigby, and before you could do anything, they sent him flying out the window. 

“BIGBY!!” 

You called out in fear, but that fear was quickly replaced by rage. You hair started floating and your eyes burn a bright red, you glared at them and used your magic to pick them up. 

“Don't. You. Dare. Touch. My. Man. You. Bitches.”

You lifted your hands and smacked their heads on the ceiling, the clapped your hands together making the slamming into each other. Knocking their head on the ceiling and the other one's head, they were knocked out cold as you dropped their limp bodies to the floor. 

They weren't dead, you made sure of that, but just in case they did wake up, you traced a dispel magic rune on them that can only be broken by you. You ran to the broken window to see Bigby still lying on the ground, moving slightly, but still. 

You use a levitation spell as you jump out the window, letting yourself down gently before running over to Bigby, kneeling down and frantically checking him. 

“Bigby! Are you okay?!”

“Yeah… “ he groaned on the ground, shaking his hand around. 

“I'm fine… Why is it always windows with people?” 

You gasp as he sits up, a large piece of clear, now blood covered, glass was jutting out of his side, and though you have seen Bigby hurt before, it still doesn't mean you get used to it. 

“Bigby! Don't move, I can—”

“I got it.” And with that said, he grabs the end of it and pulls it right out, which make you quickly put your hand over the wound and gasp. 

“BIGBY!! You can't just pull it out! Are you crazy?! Do you want to bleed out?!”

“Sorry sweetheart,” he chuckles, then puts the glass between you and him, making you look at him through the glass. 

“Guess you could… See right through me.”

. . . . . . . .

. . . . . . .

. . . . . .

. . . . .

. . . .

. . .

. .

.

Bigby bursts out laughing, a hearty chest laugh that you don't often get to hear. 

You, hands now covered in your laughing boyfriend's blood, look at him in astonishment. 

Then you punch his arm. 

“Ow, what—”

“Really?! Right now?!” 

Bigby was expecting another hit as you lifted your arms, but you only threw yourself into his chest in a deep hug, a laugh now coming from you. He hears you sniffle once, then you pull away from him. 

Your eyes glossy with tears to be, but that amazing smile that Bigby loves so much was also gracing your face. 

“you're an idiot… But that was a good one.”

“Ha, yeah, you could say it was… Enough to make a wolf howl with laughter.”

“I will put that piece of glass back in.”

“Hey, Y/n?”

“Yes, Bigby?”

“I love you.”

“Then shut up and show me, wolf.”

[elaboratedbee]

Bigby x Reader

Request For: @problematiic (hey u were one of my first followers so thanks!!)

Pairing: Bigby Wolf x Reader (gender mentioned once i think!)

Summary: Bigby’s never been on a date before, but something about you makes him want to change that.

Rating: E

Word count: 3862

Next Time

Bigby took a deep drag of his cigarette before exhaling, letting the smoke curl into the air before his face. The dark grey smoke mingled with his frosty breath in the cool night air, as the New York traffic flew by in front of him. The somewhat acrid scent of the smoke washed over him, blocking out some of the many others that were constantly berating his nose and distracting his attention. He was thinking about you again, and the day had been rough enough that he didn’t have the energy to expend in an effort to school his thoughts. 

The Sheriff could hardly handle seeing you as often as he did, and now that he was consulting you on a case, it had only gotten worse. You were the owner and bartender at a bar downtown that had recently become Bigby’s favourite place to drink, for completely unrelated reasons, of course. Before he had met you, at the end of a long day, he preferred to drink alone in his apartment and luxuriate in the silence, in the solace. Now, however, it always seemed to be worth putting up with the noise and the interaction with numerous other Fables just to sit at the bar and steal quiet conversations with you whenever the bar died down just a little. If he closed his eyes, he could see your face perfectly. You were beautiful, he didn’t know how anyone managed to keep their eyes off of you. 

There was a cold wind assaulting him, and even the wolf was beginning to feel the chill. Still, he didn’t know if he could face turning around and going into the Woodlands. He knew that you were inside, talking to Snow about the financial reparations to your bar that would be made now that it had been used for a drug set-up, and essentially ripped to pieces by Bigby and the guilty Fables in the ensuing fight and arrest. When you had entered and seen the damage, he remembered how the guilty feeling had twisted his stomach. You had only been flustered at his apology, waving your hands frantically and insisting that it was fine. The Sheriff had wanted to kiss you right then, wrap you in his arms and take you as far away from this dirty town as possible. It didn’t deserve you. 

“Sheriff.” He was jerked out of his thoughts by his address, and he turned on his heel sharply to be confronted by you standing there. Your hair fluttered in the wind as you turned up the collar on your coat to protect yourself from the chill, and Bigby tried to lock all of his inappropriate thoughts down as fast as possible. It was a fruitless task when the sight of you had been sprung on him without so much warning, and he was hopelessly drowning in fantasies of pulling you close, using his large frame to protect you. You were so much smaller than him, he couldn’t help but be acutely aware of the size difference. 

“You get what you wanted out of Snow?” Bigby asked, dropping his cigarette and crushing it into the concrete below. It was a mistake, because then he was able to take in your scent fully, but he was a masochist and unable to resist the temptation. The guilt was gnawing at him again at the mention of the damage, but he had to put his mind at rest. 

It was as if you could read his mind, and you gave him a placating smile, nodding quickly. “Yep, it’s all sorted!” Your voice was rushed when you reassured him, always just a little nervous. Bigby wasn’t surprised, you had every right to be scared of him, even more so after you had directly witnessed the destruction he was capable of. Hell, he was surprised that you hadn’t already added him to the list of thugs and assholes that were banned from your bar. He could hear your heartbeat, too, strong but rapid, beating fast like a hummingbird when the two of you spoke. 

“Alright,” Bigby didn’t pursue the matter, sensing that the feeling wouldn’t go away until the bar was fully restored no matter what. Instead, he stuck his hand out to hail down a taxi that would take you safely back to the bar, as you lived in the apartment right above the place. To his immense surprise, he quickly felt two hands on his, tugging it down toward his side again. Bewildered, his eyes met yours and a blush broke out across your face, causing you to quickly jump back from him. 

“Sorry!” You apologised to him quickly, “I was just planning to walk! I don’t need a cab, it’s just a few blocks.” Bigby was desperately trying to kickstart his brain into working again, while it was hyper focused on the fact that both of your hands had just been on him. 

“No,” he managed to get out, before realising how aggressive and rude that had come out. The Sheriff often needed to check his tone around you, remembering that the way he addressed most of the Fables he interacted with wasn’t exactly going to help him make you less afraid. “It’s late and dangerous. I’ll walk you home,” Bigby added, avoiding meeting your eyes. A moment of silence, and then another, softer correction followed, “let me walk you home.” The lack of imperatives made it sound much more like an offer than a command, and he was satisfied with that. 

To his annoyance, despite his considerable effort, you still shook your head rather frantically.  “No, no, no! Sheriff, please, I know how busy you are. I couldn’t possibly -” 

“I’ve got time,” Bigby stopped you mid-sentence, certain that he was not going to let you walk through Fabletown alone at the late hour, especially in light of everything that had just occurred. He watched as another pink flush broke out across your face, a feature that he often witnessed on your features. It suited you, but he couldn’t explain why. Every time he saw it, his heart pounded a little harder in his chest, as if he’d accomplished something by being the one who had put it there. 

Silently, you nodded your assent and Bigby fell into step beside you, having to slow his walking pace considerably so that his long strides didn’t quickly outpace your smaller ones. Internally, he felt a sense of gratitude as the walk would be prolonged, giving him more time in your presence. The two of you weren’t the most talkative of people, as Bigby spent the most of his day in a brooding silence and you were introverted and shy. Every so often, if Bigby stayed at the bar for long enough, and it was quiet enough that he could sequester your attention, you would relax a little more around him, and let yourself talk. He adored nothing more than to watch you speak, whatever the subject was. The wolf always felt like you had bestowed a gift upon him, as he got to see a side of you that not many others knew. Your laughter was music to his ears, and he collected them like treasures on the rare occasions that he witnessed them.

“You think you’ll open tomorrow?” Bigby asked, wanting to hear your voice even if it was a mundane question. 

“Sure, the bar is still standing. Besides, I wouldn’t want your business going elsewhere, Sheriff.” There was a cheeky undertone to your voice, and Bigby looked at you to catch a glimpse of your shy grin. You refused to make eye contact with him as you teased him, which the wolf counted as a blessing because he couldn’t hold back his smile. It was a wonder how you run the bar, sometimes. He couldn’t help but worry about your safety, considering that the general rude and violent population of Fabletown coupled with your quiet and kind disposition was a recipe for disaster. Still, nothing aside from the occasional scrap had occurred in your establishment, and Bigby  assumed that it was due to you being so sweet and innocent that even the assholes would have felt bad making trouble in your bar. There wasn’t a person in town that didn’t have a good word to say about you, making you the complete opposite of the Sheriff himself. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” was Bigby’s sarcastic response, which earned him one of those sought after giggles from beside him. When the two of you talked, Bigby could almost swear that there was a fondness in your eyes, when he managed to meet them. He could imagine that your hands lingered on him for just a moment or two longer than they needed to whenever the two of you touched, and that you laughed a little more easily at his jokes than anyone else’s. It was delusional, and he knew it, but it didn’t stop his mind from playing tricks on him. 

The two of them arrived at the bar, and Bigby watched as you opened up the place, flicking on the lights. Your outline in the doorway was angelic as he lingered on the street, not wanting to say goodnight. “Thanks for walking me back, Sheriff.” Your smile was so sweet, and your tone was so soft, the wolf couldn’t help but step closer. 

“Call me Bigby,” as much as his title sounded perfect in your mouth, he wanted to hear you say his name in your gentle voice, “if I can do anything to make up for the mess, let me know.” His voice was low, and it sounded more like a plea than an offering of kindness. Bigby could hear your heart rate spike, and he cursed himself for frightening you with his intensity, but he couldn’t bear to pull his eyes away from yours. 

“Thank you, Bigby.” The wolf practically shivered at the sound. He watched you hesitate for a long moment, clearly debating whether or not to say something, and he waited anxiously, willing you silently to let him in on your thoughts. “Tomorrow night, after the bar closes I’ll probably fix the hole in the wall. I completely understand if you’re too busy, but if you’re free, I could always use an extra pair of hands.” 

Without even hesitating, Bigby nodded, “Of course. I’ll be there.” The stupid, primal voice in the back of his head was positively ecstatic, over the moon about the fact that you needed him and he was going to be able to help you, to care for you in some way. The more human part of his brain was pointing out that it was only because he had put the hole in the wall in the first place that she was asking for his help, but the wolf in him was stronger. He felt victorious. With all this going on, he barely had time to react when you were suddenly close, stepping forward and standing on the tips of your toes in order to be tall enough to press a soft kiss to his rough cheek. 

“Goodnight, Sheriff!” When you pulled away, your tone was high in pitch and your cheeks a bright pink, clearly embarrassed. Bigby was starstruck, vaguely managing to choke out some sort of reverse greeting before the door shut between the both of you. For a long moment, he stayed frozen on the doorstep of the bar, before he touched his cheek gently where your mouth had just been. He felt like his whole head was on fire, as his mind raced to process the little sign of affection that he was completely unused to. Eventually, he managed to get himself together enough to turn around and begin walking home. 

Silently grateful that it was a quiet night, Bigby didn’t have to worry about someone seeing smile that settled on his face the whole way home. 

The next day was thankfully slow. It always was on the day after Bigby had to arrest a Fable forcefully. For a short while, the destruction, the injuries and the fearful retellings of the event would remind everyone in Fabletown exactly why the big bad wolf had been made the Sheriff so long ago. The peace, or cloak of fear, wouldn’t last for very long, he knew, but he would take the respite gratefully while it was being offered. Time crawled by, as it always did whenever he wanted it to go fast, but eventually night fell. 

All day, Bigby had ignored Snow and Collin’s teasing that he was about as romantic as a brick wall if this was his idea of a first date, but the teasing alone was enough to make him wonder if that’s what it was. He couldn’t help but hope so. Before heading over to the bar, Bigby made his best attempt to clean himself up, shaving his face carefully with a razor, although the act was mainly pointless. He showered and attempted to pick his least creased white shirt, tying his knot tightly and straightening his tie. Catching sight of himself in the mirror, he scowled, feeling a sense of embarrassment coil in his gut. It was ridiculous to act the way he was, but he couldn’t help it. After what he had done to your bar, he wanted so desperately for you to see him as anything other than a monster.

The bar had already quietened when the Sheriff arrived, but whether that was due to the state of disrepair the place was in, or the late hour, he wasn’t sure. He watched your face light up when you saw him, which made a sense of warmth spread through his chest. He couldn’t help but smile back, even if it was only slightly. Your smile was infectious. By the time he reached the bar, you had already poured him a drink of whiskey and pulled an ashtray from further up the bar down toward Bigby’s favourite seat. 

He loved the way that the actions you probably performed mindlessly spoke volumes about you.  The way that you knew him so well even through the relatively brief interactions the two of you had expressed your quiet intelligence, and the care you put into the service you provided showed your thoughtfulness and kindness. He couldn’t help but fall for you, when everything about you just begged him to. “Busy night, Sheriff?” You voice broke him out of his thoughts as you inquired about his day, sliding the drink toward him with a smile.

“I’ve had a lot worse,” Bigby curled his hand around the drink, feeling a spark of electricity when his fingers brushed against yours.

“Oh,” he watched your eyes glint as you looked up at him, “I know.” He scowled playfully as you gestured to the huge hole that was currently in your wall and took a long drink before setting the empty glass back down on the bar.

“Ha, ha,” his sarcastic laugh earned him a real one from you, and Bigby was hit with the fact that he had all evening to hear it again and again. He waited patiently as the last few of regulars finished their drinks and left the bar, wishing you a good night as they did so. Bigby was pleased to see everyone minding their manners, but whether that was affected by his presence or not he had no real way of knowing. After all, he couldn’t exactly imagine you defending yourself if someone was being rude or something bad were to happen, which only strengthened his desire to be here more often.

Once the bar was empty, Bigby became acutely aware of the fact that the two of you were finally alone. The scent of whiskey, warm and comforting, mingling with yours was a combination that he adored, and he inhaled deeply. He watched as you wiped the bar down, cleaning the last few glasses. When you returned the alcohol to the top shelf, he couldn’t help but smile watching you stand as tall as possible, struggling to reach. It was adorable. 

Turning back around, he watched you shift nervously, and he wondered if it was strange for you, too, to finally be alone with him. Standing from the bar, he walked over to the dent he’d made in the wall and surveyed it, from the crack itself to the mess of plaster on the floor below. You had already placed the necessary materials for fixing the mess against the wall, and he admired your preparedness, noting that you were capable in so many other ways than physical ability. He felt your presence appear at his side a moment before you grabbed a broom and started sweeping away the plaster and dust on the hardwood. “I am really sorry, for the damage.” Bigby expressed as he leaned forward and set about correcting the damage. 

“You know, I didn’t expect the big bad wolf to be so apologetic.” You pointed out shyly, and the Sheriff shrugged his shoulders. He knew what the other Fables said about him, and he could only imagine the contents of the drunken rants that you must have heard on a daily basis while doing your job. It was as if you could sense that what you had said stirred up bad thoughts in Bigby’s head, because he felt a hand on his shoulder after that, which made him tense up. Immediately, he wished he hadn’t, because you mistook that for discomfort and stopped touching him in a hurry. 

“You know, I think everyone is wrong about you.” Bigby finally forced himself to turn away from the wall and meet your eyes, overcome with the desire to see them, properly. Your cheeks coloured pink again, but for the first time, you didn’t turn your gaze away either. 

“Yeah?” His voice was rough and he failed to sound as disbelieving and sarcastic as he meant. 

“Yeah. The ‘big bad wolf thing’? I don’t think it suits you as much as you want everyone to believe.” Bigby was drawn to you, unable to resist stepping closer. Your cheeks were a bright pink, but you had a determined look in your eyes, as if you had resolved to tell him this very thing if it was the last thing you did. He could hear your heartbeat going at a thousand miles an hour, and the sound was echoed in his own chest. 

“Are you sure about that?” He towered over you, trying to make you understand that he would undoubtedly be a threat if he chose to be. The wolf couldn’t believe that you weren’t moving away from him, that you weren’t afraid. His voice was almost a growl, as if he wanted you to be. Maybe he was just so used to everyone thinking the same way about him that he wanted you to, as well. Bigby had become comfortable with being feared, being hated, even. It was pretty much all he had ever known. Despite his feelings for you, he had never really believed that it was possible that you could think of him as anything else than the Sheriff at best, and a monster at worst. Now that you were in front of him, speaking the words he had never expected to hear outside of his own mind, it was overwhelming and he wasn’t sure that he could bear it.

Bigby could tell that you were nervous, but your eyes never left his. “I’m sure,” there was a slight tremor in your voice, but the determined look in your eyes never wavered. The wolf couldn’t control himself any longer, and he was so tired of pushing you away when it so clearly wasn’t working. You saw right past his pretences and the way you were looking up at him made Bigby feel like he was laid bare before you, that there was nothing he could say that would surprise you. No, he couldn’t resist; not when you were so close, staring at up at him with those eyes. His hand came up to cradle your face as his lips crashed onto yours. A small noise of surprise escaped your lips, before your mind cold process everything that was happening and you reciprocated.

In that moment, Bigby felt that for the first time in his life, everything was exactly perfect. You rose up on your tip toes to be able to kiss him properly, and he was again struck by how small and delicate you were. His other arm reached down to wrap around your waist, pulling you close and tight against him, and he felt you relax against his chest. His kiss was a promise, to care for you, to protect you. It was a realisation of the primal instinct that he was constantly battling as his kissed turned more rough, more passionate. When he finally pulled away, it was only because he needed to prove to himself that he was capable of it.

“Oh,” you breathed out, looking completely shell-shocked and still totally enveloped in his arms. Bigby didn’t think that he would ever be truly at peace again if you left them. He didn’t know what he could say; the Sheriff would have apologised again, but he couldn’t say that he was truly sorry. He didn’t think he would ever be sorry that he had kissed you. You were blushing harder than he had ever witnessed - even the tips of your ears were pink and Bigby didn’t think that you had ever looked so cute, but at the same time he was worried you were about to faint. Shakily, you extracted yourself from his arms and the wolf mourned the loss immediately. 

Relief flooded his mind when he watched a smile slowly break out over your face, the colour in your cheeks starting to fade. “Now I’m really sure,” you flashed him a bright smile, and he ached with how beautiful he found you. To his disappointment, he couldn’t kiss you again right away due to you turning to face the wall and picking up a paintbrush, ready to repaint over the wall Bigby had filled. 

“We still have to do this?” He raised his eyebrows and folded his arms in protest. He couldn’t say mad for long however, cracking a smile when you simply handed him a paintbrush in response. 

“I can’t just have a hole in my wall, Bigby. And if you recall, we’re only doing this because someone threw a drug dealer into it.” You glanced at him pointedly, and Bigby realised that the guilt about the situation had finally eased up enough for him to be amused by the teasing. 

“You could just hang a picture over it,” he suggested, even as he picked up the other paintbrush and got to work. You flicked paint at him in response and he turned to look at you incredulously at the childish behaviour, unable to resist the temptation to get revenge, tapping you on the nose with his paintbrush. Another soft giggle escaped your lips, and he knew that you were exactly what he needed. When he was with you, it was like he finally remembered what life was. What it was beyond surviving another fight and waking up the next day. Your child-like innocence was a treasure that he vowed to preserve and never let fall victim to the violence and danger of Fabletown. 

Bigby reached up to paint up where you wouldn’t be able to reach, much to your annoyance. “Next time,” Bigby glanced at you, as the two of you worked away, beginning to fix up the bar at last, “I’m just taking you to dinner.” 

Next time. The words felt right in his mouth. Next time. There was going to be a next time, he was sure of it. Now that you had given him a chance, he was going to prove to you that he was worth it. Leaning down, he pressed another kiss to your forehead, just to watch you turn pink and stutter. 

Yeah, he could get used to this. 

[elaboratedbee]

Bigby x Reader

A/N: this is my first imagine, so let me know what you guys think and if there’s anything you guys want me to write! :)

Prompt: “What’s with the box?”

Summary: You introduce Bigby to the wonders of vinyl, and he hates it (or so he says)

Rating: Mature-ish! There’s implied sexy times but nothing actually innapropriate in this one! :)

Ship: Bigby x Reader (unspecified gender)

Word count: 2,168

A Little Quiet

“Ta-da!” You proclaim proudly, placing down a box onto Bigby’s desk. You were careful to avoid moving or covering any of the case files and scattered paperwork that littered the surface. To the casual observer, it would look like a mess of papers with no rhyme or reason, but Bigby was funny like that. His apartment was disorganised and unclean to put it lightly, but when it came to his cases, everything was just how he liked it. It all made sense to him.

At first, Bigby acknowledged you with nothing but a grunt, his brows furrowed as he continued to stare at the case file in front of him as if he thought that if he glared at it hard enough then it would start to make sense. “The whole ‘big bad wolf staring into your soul thing’ works better if whatever you’re intimidating can talk, you know that, right?” You teased him, waiting for him to finally turn his attention to you and your announcement. 

This broke through to him, and he looked up at you with tired eyes. He was always so tired, especially when he was in the middle of any kind of case. This time it was a string of B&Es that he just couldn’t seem to pin anyone for. His immediate and most obvious suspect Jack had been quickly ruled out due to his presence at the Lucky Pawn being accounted for at the time of almost every single event, so it hadn’t been the simple open and shut that you thought the wolf may have been hoping for, and with the pattern continuing, you could feel the Sheriff’s frustration mounting over the last few weeks. As much as he would pretend otherwise, you knew that the opinion of the Fables affected Bigby much more than he cared to admit, and the growing unrest amongst the citizens of the town only festered his frustration. Their eyes would be on Bigby, and Bigby’s eyes would be tired. That was the way it always seemed to be. “What’s with the box?” He inquired, even a shortage of sleep not enough to kill his curiosity. 

“It’s a record player,” you reveal, removing the box to properly show off the contraption. 

Bigby looks confused for a moment, his nose scrunching ever so slightly as he formulated his response. “Why would you want one of those?” He asks eventually, raising an eyebrow at you. 

“Bigby!” 

“What?” He leans back in his chair and makes a vague gesture with his hands, “I just don’t understand why anyone would want to come home every day and then be surrounded by more noise.” 

For such a powerful beast, Bigby really was a creature of habit. Before the two of you met, you supposed he spent all of his evenings in silence, accompanied by whiskey and cigarettes as he worked the night away. With the job that he had, which seemed to mainly involve yelling at, or getting yelled at by, other Fables on a daily basis, you could see why the man would appreciate a little quiet when he was finally alone. 

But this was different, music was something that you wanted to share with him. It was another one of the many differences that set you apart, that often prompted other Fables to give the two of you funny stares or to whisper among themselves about just how exactly the two of you managed to make it work. Bigby was comfortable in silence, used to it. You, on the other hand, thrived in chaos and colour and noise. You love music and the sprawling city below your window that was never really quiet, never truly asleep.

“You’ll see,” you promised him determinedly, before leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. It was a simple gesture, but it drew the tension that he didn’t even realise he was holding out of his shoulders, and he melted into your affections. “Come to bed,” you appeal to him quietly while you have his attention, straddling his lap with one leg either side of him. 

“I can’t,” he refuses, but his voice is strained as you run one of your hands through his hair, and begin to place slow and deliberate kisses over his jaw. 

“Come to bed, Bigby,” you repeat, your voice more firm the second time, and he wordlessly agrees, his body melting into yours in his submission. He rests a head on your shoulder and sighs. 

“Okay.” 

Effortlessly, despite his lack of sleep, he stands up and carries you with him and you wrap your legs around his waist. He places you down onto the bed and you try to tone down your smile, internally celebrating your victory. Looking all too happy with your success would only drive him back to his desk, so instead, you sit up and tug him closer by his tie. He allows you to slip the knot undone and pull it away from his body and undo his wrinkled shirt buttons one by one, sliding it off his broad shoulders. It’s an intimate act, but not a sexual one as you undress him and you follow your actions with kisses, gentle and certain. 

When he finally falls into bed next to you, pulling you close into his arms, you think to yourself that this is worth it. It doesn’t always go like this, where Bigby concedes so beautifully and with so little coercion. It’s more often a hell of a lot more difficult. And there are nights when it’s an impossible task, where you push too hard and he snaps at you. But on the nights that you lay together, breathing together, being together, you would make the trade a million times over. 

The next morning, you implement your plan. Fabletown seems content to hold off its daily disasters for a few sweet hours, so you slip out of bed early and start making breakfast for the both of you. Accompanied by the lilting tone of Frank Sinatra, you waltz about the cramped kitchen as much as possible as you mix ingredients and avidly look over frying pans. Before long, the smell of bacon lures the wolf out of your bedroom and he stops in the doorway of the kitchen, regarding you in silence for a long moment before he speaks. 

“I don’t deserve you,” Bigby says, watching you lay down bacon, scrambled eggs, pancakes and a steaming pot of coffee. It’s a sentiment that he shares a little too often for your taste. 

“You deserve better,” you argue as he makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind and letting his headrest on your shoulder. 

He growls uncomfortably at your response and you laugh, “Now you know how stupid you sound when you say that.” You point out and the two of you sit down to eat. The vinyl player spins on unobtrusively as Bigby enjoys your offering with a smile on his face, a rare and beautiful sight for such an early hour. Still, he eats quickly and stands, dropping a kiss to your forehead and grimacing. 

“I have to go,” he states.

“I know.”

With one last to kiss to your lips, he turns around to leave, before he stops and turns to face you once more. “You know, the only thing that could have made this breakfast better would have been if you turned that damn thing off.” He gives you a sly grin and disappears out of the door before you can come up with a rebuttal.

That bastard. 

For the next couple of weeks, the record player becomes almost a form of competition between the two of you. You turn it on whenever you’re at his apartment, bringing different records over with all kinds of genres (some of which Bigby despises a lot more than others) and trying to coax him into singing or humming the lines along with you, or giving you a twirl. In return, he attempts to take the needle off whenever you look away for too long and even resorted to putting a large scratch in the absolutely deafening heavy rock record you had bought over. 

“Oops,” had been his deadpan response when you showed him the very suspiciously fingernail looking scratch on the disc. 

Occasionally, you think you have him. One night, he arrives home delightfully early and calls you to share the good news. As soon as you’re finished with your work, you go straight to his place. Arriving home before the dead of the night puts Bigby in a comparatively joyous state compared to his usual broodiness, and you put on a record as soon as you enter. It’s almost force of habit by now. He lets out a totally overdramatic groan of disapproval at your action, but you ignore him completely and take him in your arms. 

Pulling him close to you, you begin to sway lightly to the sound of Paul Anka’s rendition of Put Your Head On My Shoulder. Bigby stiffens, shaking his head a little as you wind your arms around his shoulders. “I can’t dance,” he grumbles. 

“Neither can I,” you confide, “not a fucking clue,” which pulls a small smile out of him. The two of you turn about the cramped living room with a complete lack of grace and even rhythm at times, occasionally standing on one another and muttering hurried apologies. Eventually, Bigby starts to loosen up slightly, holding you closer to him and allowing you to pull him around the room. By the end of the song, he’s even bold enough to invite you to twirl and you do so as a finishing flourish. 

The music fades, but neither of you pulls away for a long moment, staying entwined in the centre of the living space. “I like having you close. Right here, right in front of me where nothing else can interfere. Mine.” Bigby doesn’t meet your eyes as he confesses his inner thoughts, his voice deep and his words slow. He emphasises his point by tightening his grip on your waist and pressing a hard kiss to your lips. It’s not often the wolf lets slip how he feels, especially when its a somewhat primal and basal thought, but you love it.

You cup his rough jaw with one hand and kiss him back, bodies pressed close and reassure him.

“Yours.” 

It’s only after a long moment that you pull away from the kiss and Bigby murmurs more lowly in your ear, “I can think of another way I get just as close to you, without that damn machine.” He presses himself closer to you and smiles suggestively, but it’s warm love in his eyes before burning desire and you grin. You know that you’re winning. 

It’s another week before you catch him, taking him by surprise as you turn up at his place. He swings the door open with a frown already fixed into his face, sure it was going to be some Fable asking for one favour or another. The frown clears when he sees you standing on his doorstep and his eyes brighten. Without hesitating, he pulls you inside and closes the door before promptly pushing you up against it. His actions are urgent and forceful, but he waits for you to kiss him first before he allows himself to place a hand either side of your head and devour your mouth. 

His teeth, quickly sharpening, bite at your lower lip before his tongue soothes the sting away. Your own hands are soon twisted in his hair, his curls soft between your fingers as you tug on them, trying to pull him impossibly closer. When he finally allows you a moment, you grin at him. “Bad day?”

“Bad day,” he confirms, “about to get a lot better.” 

Finally able to think straight now that Bigby’s mouth wasn’t on yours, you register the sound of music floating through the apartment. An expression of pure, unadulterated joy appears on your face and the Sheriff baulks, realising his mistake as it dawns upon your face. 

“You’re listening to music!” It’s almost an accusation as you cry out victoriously and Bigby hangs his head.

“Alright, alright. I put it on when I got home. It’s kinda like a cigarette,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand shamefully, “it’s a noise that blocks out the other shit.” You notice that the usually overflowing ashtrays have depleted somewhat, an additional bonus that you had not expected.

“It grows on you, right?” You punch his shoulder lightly and he rolls his eyes and nods.

“I guess you could say that.” 

As he pulls you in for another kiss, more concerned with getting both of you out of any clothes that will prevent him from turning his day around, he keeps to himself that it wasn’t that he liked the music, and it wasn’t that he preferred it to his cigarettes.

It just reminded him of you.