bee loves bigby

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.

“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.