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defectivevillain · 27 days

Text

rest for the weary

pairing: Bigby Wolf/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: There is silence for far too long. You’re intently focused on wiping his skin clean of the dried bloodstains, making sweeping gestures with infinite care. Bigby wants to reassure you that you don’t have to be so careful, that he’s used to cruelty and maleficent gazes and bloodied knuckles. But the words feel caught in his throat. This compassion is so foreign to him; he can’t help but instinctively wonder if there’s something you’re getting out of this.

word count: 2.3k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood and violence, exhaustion/fatigue

After his long patrol, Bigby wants nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up. He manages to get to his apartment, albeit with a bit more clumsiness and lethargy than usual. When he finally opens the door, he’s greeted with Colin’s irritated expression. The annoyed look on his face fades when he evidently gets a full glimpse of Bigby’s injuries. The wolf knows he must look horrible; he doesn’t have to look in the mirror to know there are dark circles under his eyes and dried bloodstains on his clothes.

“You look like shit,” Colin remarks helpfully.

“Thanks.” Bigby responds tiredly, limping towards his armchair. Colin is merciful today, and doesn’t even utter a word of argument as he gives up the seat and moves to sit on the floor. Bigby sinks into the armchair and just barely holds back a pained hiss. He tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling, still reeling from the events that occurred on his patrol today. His adrenaline carried him through multiple fights, and it isn’t until quiet moments like these that the gravity of what he’s been through dawns on him.

Bigby’s eyes are slipping closed when he hears a harsh knock on his door. He groans and shuts his eyes again, wincing at the pain concentrated in his temple that is gradually migrating to his jaw. A nasty headache on top of his injuries—somehow, that tracks. Bigby waits to hear the sound of footsteps gradually growing further away.

Instead, there’s another knock—even louder than the previous one. Bigby groans again and Colin raises an eyebrow, as if to ask if he’s going to answer the door.

“Bigby.” The wolf’s heart skips a beat as he recognizes your voice. You live in the apartment below his: 104. You’re one of the only people who is nice to him, aside from Snow and Beauty. You never seemed to be afraid of him, which was refreshing. Selfishly speaking, Bigby doesn’t want you to see him in this state—doesn’t want you to start thinking of him as the Big Bad Wolf. You continue, immune to his internal dilemma. “I know you’re in there. Open up.” You say insistently.

Bigby doesn’t make a move to get up. He doesn’t think he can get to his feet and walk over to the door, even if he wanted to. Exhaustion is settling in his bones and he is close to drifting off into unconsciousness once he realizes that the knocking has stopped.

Suddenly, there’s a loud crash. Bigby is mercilessly tugged back from the throes of sleep as his front door swings open and crashes into the adjacent wall. He blinks slowly and pushes himself up in the chair, glancing at the front door to find you stumbling forward with uneasy balance. The two of you exchange looks and Bigby sees a flicker of regret and guilt appear on your face, before the emotions are replaced with a mischievous grin.

“That was fun,” you remark with a look of surprise. Then you glance around the room, murmuring a quick greeting to Colin, before looking back at him once more. The wolf stares at you in disbelief. “I can see why you do it so often.”

“What the hell are you doing?” Bigby asks, once he manages to process everything that just happened. He’s usually the one kicking doors down—he’s never been on the other side of the situation before. Bigby can’t say he likes it much.

“Checking in on you, obviously,” you answer, crossing your arms over your chest. Bigby realizes that this is the first time you’ve been in his apartment; typically, he visits you at yours or the two of you meet in the lobby. He’s mildly embarrassed by the dirty clothes and empty bottles laying around. The pain makes it easy to forget any potential humiliation, though. “I can see I was right to be worried.” You say as you study him, your lips pressed in a thin line.

“How did you-” Bigby chokes out.

“You were a bit louder than normal,” you respond easily. You’re looking at him with a scrutinizing gaze, as if you’re able to see straight through him. Bigby feels strangely exposed. “And your footsteps were… uneven.”

That’s it? Bigby thinks to himself. While he doesn’t utter the question, the sentiment must be clear on his face.

“I just knew something was wrong, okay?” You say defensively. You take a step forward and look him up and down, evidently concerned for his wellbeing. Bigby wants to remark that he’s suffered worse, but he knows that wouldn’t reassure you.

“Well, I’m fine,” Bigby remembers to say moments later. It’s getting a bit hard to breathe around his bruised ribs and he has to put conscious effort towards inhaling slowly.

You don’t seem to believe him for a moment. “You sound like a broken record,” you huff, rolling your eyes. “Come on.” You act as if you own the place, pacing past the entryway and moving towards the bathroom. Bigby watches you for several moments, before giving in with a sigh and pushing himself off the armchair. Every small movement sends pain shooting through him. He takes an uneasy step forward and stumbles, but Colin wordlessly pushes against his left leg and corrects his balance before he can fall. Bigby murmurs a word of thanks and heads to the bathroom.

When he finally makes it to his far too-small bathroom, you’re waiting for him. You gesture for him to sit on the toilet seat, which he does after a moment of hesitation. You have a damp cloth in hand and, once he sits, you’re washing the blood and dirt from his face with a gentle touch. Bigby flinches at how cold the water is, and you murmur a quick apology before continuing.

There is silence for far too long. You’re intently focused on his skin beneath the cloth, making sweeping gestures with infinite care. Bigby wants to reassure you that you don’t have to be so careful, that he’s used to cruelty and maleficent gazes and bloodied knuckles. But the words feel caught in his throat. This compassion is so foreign to him; he can’t help but instinctively wonder if there’s something you’re getting out of this.

Eventually, you finish with his face and begin cleaning his forearms. You push up his sleeves, wiping away the blood before staring at him with an unreadable expression. When you break the silence, Bigby notices that you’re suddenly averting your gaze. “You may need to… take off your shirt.”

Bigby stares at you for a moment, before comprehending the question. “Right,” he mutters, moving to unbutton his shirt with trembling hands. You don’t comment on how long the effort takes him, but Bigby does hear the stifled intake of breath that escapes your lips as your eyes rove up and down his torso. He looks down, finding the gaping wound at his side that you can’t seem to look away from.

You almost look sick to your stomach. But Bigby knows it can’t be from the grotesque nature of his wound—he knows you’ve seen your fair share of blood and violence. You live in the Fables, after all. Violence is an everyday occurrence. The wolf watches as you take a slow breath, as if to steady yourself, before grabbing the cloth and bending down to dab at the wound. Your equilibrium seems to be off, as you lurch forward with the movement. Bigby steadies you with a hand on your shoulder and you place your free hand on his side to steady yourself. He promptly ignores the heat that spreads across his skin at the casual touch.

A seemingly endless time later, you lean back and Bigby can breathe again. You assess his wound once more, eyebrows furrowing. “Do you have bandages?” Bigby shakes his head imperceptibly. You seem to be expecting that answer, as you sigh exasperatedly. “I’ll be right back.”

In the blink of an eye, you’re standing in front of him once more—holding a nondescript tube of ointment and a roll of bandages. At his questioning look, you explain that the ointment will prevent infection; you then apply a small amount on his wound, before placing the bandage on his skin and slowly wrapping it around his chest. Bigby remains silent the entire time, at a loss for words. Admittedly, this feels like a dream. He wouldn’t be surprised if he woke in a few minutes, staring up at the ceiling from his armchair in his bloodstained clothes.

But this is no dream. Your touch is all too real. Bigby feels as if his skin is doused in flames. Time seems to drag on with unrushed lethargy, trapping him in this horrible, incredible feeling. You step away too soon and too late.

“Sorry, I’m afraid that’s the best I can do,” you say with a frown. Bigby looks down at the bandage. His gaze returns to you. This is more than anyone has ever done for him. He has never been treated so delicately before. The warmth of your skin still lingers and Bigby thinks he wants it back. Your eyes are bright in the dim lighting of his bathroom and the realization comes crashing down on him. He thinks he wouldn’t mind if every day were to go like this, if he could return home to you every day. Indulgently, selfishly, he wants to drown in this very moment.

Bigby doesn’t know how it happens. One moment, you’re breathing a question he never imagined he would hear—not even in his wildest dreams. The next, he’s tugging you closer by the collar and kissing you. You lurch forward and place a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself. Bigby pulls you impossibly closer, relishing in the surprised sound that wrenches its way out of your throat. Your fingers run through his hair and goosebumps prickle along his forearms.

“I’m still here,” Colin announces from the living room. The moment is immediately broken, and Bigby regretfully lets his hands fall from your face. Your hands slip from the nape of his neck and the wolf feels a shiver roll down his spine. You’re staring at him again.

“I should get you some clothes,” you then announce, stepping out of the bathroom. He hears you pacing around the apartment until you find his closet; you return moments later with a shirt and sweatpants in hand. Admittedly, Bigby hasn’t worn that pair of sweatpants in years—he forgot he owned them. You then close the door and leave him to change. The effort isn’t painless, but within a few minutes, he’s in infinitely more comfortable clothing. Bigby gets to his feet and opens the door, walking out to the living room.

You look over from where you’d been speaking to Colin. “Now you should rest,” you order, walking towards him. “Let me get you to bed.” You place a reassuring hand on his shoulder and start looking around the space.

A maelstrom of unsavory emotions hits him all at once. “I don’t have a bed.” Bigby blurts out within moments. Your gaze snaps to him and your eyes are blown wide.

“What?” You exclaim. “You don’t have a bed?” You then look to Colin for assistance, as if waiting for him to disagree. Colin makes a gesture similar to a shrug. Bigby tries to explain that he simply never needed one, but he fears it’s too late—your eyes are already gleaming with resolve. “Then you’re coming downstairs with me.” You assert, taking a few steps towards the front door before turning back around. “It was nice talking to you, Colin.” You say with a small smile.

“See you,” Colin murmurs, sending Bigby an unreadable look when you turn your back. Bigby just shrugs and follows after you, knowing there’s no point in arguing. This is not a debate he would win and, frankly, he’s too tired to refuse the offer of a soft mattress. The wolf closes his apartment door and heads down the hallway after you. Now that his adrenaline has died down, he feels his exhaustion setting in. When the two of you make it to the elevator, Bigby grasps at the railings and closes his eyes.

“Almost there,” you say, breaking him from his thoughts. Somehow, the elevator is on the first floor already. The wolf takes a deep breath and manages to summon enough energy to make it to your door. You unlock it quickly and push it open. From there, you guide him to your bed. Bigby doesn’t have the awareness to think anything of sleeping in your bed at the present moment, but he’s sure it’ll dominate his thoughts in the morning.

He reclines in your bed and is abruptly thrown back into the past, into a different bed in a cabin in the woods and a different identity—

“Rest,” you remark, breaking him out of his thoughts. You step back and, for a fraction of a moment, Bigby thinks you’re leaving. But you simply walk around to the other side of the bed and turn on the small deskside lamp, grabbing a book from the nightstand. “I’ll be here.”

The knowledge that you’re watching over him makes him feel… cared for; valued; appreciated; and seen for who he truly is. Bigby takes a shuddering breath, pretending his heart isn’t racing out of his chest. He feels incredibly vulnerable. His throat is burning with unshed tears. A small part of him still fundamentally distrusts your kindness, no matter how much of it you have shown him. That small part of him beckons him back to the shadows, proclaiming that no one will ever love him, that he isn’t worth loving. As if sensing his spiraling thoughts, you reach out and clasp his hand. “It’s alright.” You speak with such certainty that Bigby finds himself instantaneously relaxing, his shoulders loosening as he practically sinks into the mattress. For the first time, he wholeheartedly believes that maybe, just maybe, everything will actually be alright.

[obligatory bigby wolf playlist]

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lil-ms-darkness · 8 months

Text

A Treasure Not Worth Finding - Bigby Wolf x Goldilocks!Reader

A/N: Okay, so here's the next part! Sorry it took so long, I had it sitting in my WIP folder for quite some time, just needing to be edited and instead of editing it, I started working on my manuscript. But, it's here now! Slightly based off Faith from TWAU video game. The music playing in the apartment can be anything you want, as it's technically YOUR apartment haha

Content Warnings: Mild angst, description of death and dead bodies, perceived reader death.

That about does it, hope you enjoy! Feel free to comment if you'd like

Lil_Ms_Darkness

“See you again, soon.”

That was the last thing she’d said to him. Her voice was soft, light and her eyes matched. It unnerved him, but it was also a welcome sort of discomfort, a kind that he’d come to appreciate. After he caught the asshole trying to poison Snow White - weirdly enough, it was Leland Mouse, of the Three Blind Mice, glamoured into a man [Y/N] wouldn’t recognize, nor would she have suspected to be one of the mice. She had helped him find the perpetrator responsible for trying to take Snow White’s life, purely for greed and satisfaction of being the one to kill the Deputy Mayor for not prioritizing his cases, and for not bowing to his whim when he wanted. And, as she had asked, Bigby had returned to visit her. But, it didn’t become a consistent thing. He mainly visited for information, and was met with some kind of story, a conversation, a muffin or a slice of banana nut bread, she’d offered him a brownie once but he’d denied it.

He hadn’t expected to see her again so soon, especially not like this. He had gotten a call from Jack about a body dumped into a back alley dumpster. He was nervous, having seen only a leg hanging out.

Bigby arrived on the scene quickly and found the dumpster, a leg hanging over the lip with the lid flattening it. He grabbed the edge and lifted the lid open, looking down to examine the victim. He felt his mouth fall open in surprise, shock, and pure white hot rage. It was her.

“See you again, soon.”

He carefully fished her out of the dumpster and laid her down on the rough asphalt of the street, hidden in the darkness away from the street lights. Her hair was soft in his hand as he held her head to lower her.

Now, he looks down at her face, her once golden hair is messy and pale as it cushions her head like a pillow. Her eyes are half lidded and lusterless in death, her skin lacking the warmth- her hands clenched tightly in fists. He notes the deep purple and black bruising on her throat, so thick that it couldn’t have been a cord. He crouches next to her, noting the various wounds around her body- she had fought back.

He closes his eyes for a moment before he hears footsteps shuffling towards them and he looks up, spotting Jack at the mouth of the alley. The blonde man approaches him, a solemn and uncomfortable look on his face.

“Any luck?” He asks

Bigby sighs and looks at the body again,

“Did you see anyone around when you found the body?” The words felt like bile in his throat as he speaks them

“No, I didn’t.”

Bigby isn’t surprised to hear that, Jack was about as observant as a thumbtack. He examines her hands, noting the clean fingernails, but there is bruising underneath- someone made sure to clean up any DNA traces.

Damn

He takes a closer look at her throat, finding the rope burns in between the bruises and the broken veins underneath. He can feel his claws threaten to elongate and he actively keeps them retracted, turning his attention to her face, his eyes linger on her swollen, bluing lips. He can’t help but feel guilty, wondering if she’d been murdered because she was helping him. Whether it was to keep her quiet, or for some other reason, he’ll be sure to get to the bottom of it. He will find the bastard that did this.

Bigby looks back to the body and notices her clothes now. She’s dressed in her Trip Trap uniform, an emerald green dress that was similar to Holly’s, with black wedge heels secured with a strap around the ankle. She had told him how she loved the dress, because it was high quality material without being too expensive and felt nice on her skin, but he can’t recall what material. Now that he can touch it, it’s smooth under his rough hands, thick but not scratchy at all- and it’s dirty from the garbage she was thrown into.

“What were you doing over here, Jack?” Bigby asks, cautiously.

“I was coming to visit a friend of mine.” Jack says, shifting from foot to foot.

“A friend?”

“He said he was going to give me $1,000.”

“What a generous friend, what are you up to?”

“Nothing, honest!” Jack holds up his hands in surrender.

Bigby looks from him, down to the body, then Jack again. He doesn’t have time to deal with the get rich quick fails of the century.

“I need to go see Holly, she should be working tonight, and Jack? Stay out of trouble.”

Bigby walks down the concrete steps to the heavy door of the Trip Trap, pushing it open and stepping through. Holly stands behind the bar, dressed in her brown dress. She lifts her gaze to look towards the door, preparing to greet a customer, but her face sets into a flat glare when she sees Bigby. Gren glances over his shoulder towards the Sheriff and shakes his head, looking back to his small glass of rum on the countertop.

The sheriff approaches the bar and looks at Holly,

“I’m not here to start problems, I just need to ask you some questions.” He says, simply and sits down at the bar a few seats away from Gren.

“You’re always here to start a problem, even when you don’t try to.” She digs her nails into the bottom lip of the bar.

Bigby shakes his head, “When was the last time you saw [Y/N]?”

“She was here for her shift the night before last. Why? What do you want with her?” Holly’s eyes narrow.

“She’s dead…” Bigby wills his face to be emotionless, as he watches Gren drop the glass to the counter, tipping over and spilling onto the bartop as Holly stares at him with wide eyes. Bigby couldn’t hope to understand what she was feeling- first, her sister was murdered, and now her friend was dead, the friend who was working with her so that she could grieve.

“How?” Gren growls, fists clenched tightly on top of the bar

“She was strangled.” Bigby says, impassively, but inside he is anything but. Inside, he is raging and tearing apart all of New York to track down the next murderer, because who knows who may be next. And if [Y/N] was a target, with how likable she is- was- who knows who else may be on a list.

“DAMNIT!” Gren stands and turns on Bigby, who only regards him with a stoic guise, “How many have to die before you do your damn job?!”

“I am doing my job.” It’s all Bigby can do not to slam his face into the bar- his patience is fading, and quickly. “I’m trying to find the person that did this, and I’m starting by finding out the timeline of when she died, and where she was taken from. If she hasn't been here since two nights ago, then there’s nothing else that I need.” He stands and Gren steps in his way. Bigby squares his shoulders.

“Knock it off,” Holly snaps, and Bigby looks her way. She sounds sad, “just go, Sheriff. I need…need to figure out what to do.” She sighs and walks out from the bar, vanishing into the back room. Bigby notes a missing attendee-

“Where’s Woody?” He asks, still looking towards the room Holly escaped to for a moment longer before looking back to Gren’s fury laden face.

“How the hell should I know?” He growls, “I ain’t his dad.”

“For someone claiming to want me to do my job, you’re making it awfully difficult.”

Gren’s eyebrows twitch and his jaw sets, Bigby prepares to dodge a punch, but it doesn’t come, to the Sheriff’s surprise. “He hasn’t been here in a couple days. He left with [Y/N] after her last shift.”

Bigby’s not surprised that Woody left with her, but the fact that he left with her the same day she was last seen….

“And he hasn’t been back since?”

“No.” Gren bites out through gritted teeth, “Now if that’s all you need, get the fuck out.”

Bigby walks out without much of a fuss, and pulls out his pack of cigarettes. He lifts one and lights it, walking down the street towards [Y/N]’s apartment.

He walks down the hall and stops in front of [Y/N]'s door, but something isn't right. He presses his ear to the door- music?

That can't be right..[Y/N]'s time of death was hours ago, why was music still playing?

He hears shuffling, and his teeth grit together. He grabs the doorknob and very slowly turns it- it's unlocked.

He throws the door open and rushes inside, seeing the silhouette and diving on him. He shoves him face down into the carpet, wrists behind his back.

"Hey hey hey!! GET THE FUCK OFF ME, WOLF!"

The Woodsman

"Not until you tell me what you're doing here." Bigby digs his knee into the big man's spine as he squirms.

"I was helping [Y/N]!"

"Don't lie to me, Woody!"

"Fuck you, I ain't lyin'!"

"What's going on- Sheriff! Get off of him!" Small hands grab Bigby's shoulder and he turns, ready to push them back; and he stops.

He climbs off the big man and stares-

"[Y/N]?"

"You listen here, Sheriff," she warns, her honeyed eyebrows furrowed in concern and anger as Woody stands up behind her, "out there you might be Sheriff Bigby Wolf and think you have to be mean to get your way, but not in my home! If you lay a hand on my guests again, you can forget about my offer to help you!"

She's angry, so very angry, he can see it in her eyes, in the way the wrinkles between her brows crease her skin. The fire in her eyes. But she's here, standing, yelling, breathing.

"We found your body," Bigby says, carefully and the crease between her eyes lifts. "We all thought you were dead. And I came by to see if you'd been murdered here. When I saw Woody-"

"You thought Woody killed me?" She frowns, incredulously, "He'd never."

Woody puts a large hand on her shoulder. She looks over at him, then at Bigby again.

"I'm not dead..." [Y/N] muses.

"Clearly." Bigby huffs and can feel pressure forming behind his eyes. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes when her small hand covers his holding the pack. He looks at her.

"I'd rather you didn't smoke in here. What with my work and all..." She says, quietly.

Woody snorts and Bigby considers lighting one anyway-

"Bigby does whatever he wants." He grumbles.

Woody was right. Bigby did do whatever he wanted. But one look into her kind eyes and he resigns with a sigh, tucking the pack back into his pocket. He feels naked, and uncomfortable. He ignores it.

Woody casts him a quirked browed look and Bigby ignores that, too.

"[Y/N], where were you last night?"

"Home? Asleep?" She shakes her head. "I finished dropping off orders early, stopped by the store to pick up some more fabric and flour, then came home and went to bed."

"And you, Woody?" He asks, moving his gaze to the bearded man.

"I was at the Trip Trap."

"Really? Because Gren says he hasn't seen you in a couple days.."

"Bigby," [Y/N] warns and he casts her a cold look, warning her in turn not to interfere with his investigation. He watches her brows slacken a bit as her expression becomes one of concern. He looks back to Woody. "Let's try that again, where were you?"

Woody sighs,

"I was with a woman..." He grumbles.

"Who was it?"

"Can't a man keep his personal affairs personal?"

"Not when he's a suspect in a murder." Bigby says and folds his arms.

"I told you already he didn't do it." [Y/N] pipes up again and he ignores her completely. She was kind to him, but she is trying his patience.

He looks at her, "[Y/N], a woman is dead. She could have been you-"

"But she wasn't.." she interrupts, her frown deepens, her look of concern deepening the wrinkles in between her brows and on her forehead.

"-but it could have been. Doesn't matter that it wasn't, a woman is dead. Dead and gone. And I need to find the one responsible. Now you offered your assistance, but so far you've only made my investigation harder. Either keep it down, or I'll take him in to question him at the Business Office."

Her eyes widen and she looks at Woody, then Bigby again. The hurt in her eyes was clear as day. She steels her expression and nods, once. She looks at Woody before she walks over and sits on the love seat, legs folded and looking out the window.

Bigby feels a little guilty, but only a little. He shoves it aside and focuses on the task at hand.

Woody looks at [Y/N], then Bigby again, a look of anger in his eyes.

"You're a piece of shit, Wolf."

"I hear that a lot, now who were you with?"

#twau bigby #twau #fanfiction #bigby wolf x reader #x reader #wolf among us #bigby wolf #telltale games

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