lil-ms-darkness - Tumblr blog

lil-ms-darkness · 7 months ago

Text

𝓢𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓒𝓵𝓸𝓾𝓭𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓦𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓦𝓪𝓻𝓶𝓽𝓱 - Barnaby Brooks Jr. x GN!Reader

If anyone knows who drew this beautiful artwork, please let me know so i can give proper credit. I found this in an old phone from like 11 years ago, and I couldn't find the artist.

Warnings: Implications of sexual interactions, minors DNI

The fog in your mind seems to recede as your senses return to the forefront, cold air licking viciously at your nose. You bring the dark gray blanket up and over your nose, mind urging back towards the euphoric relaxation of sleep. You sink into the bed, relishing in the plush bed sheets beneath your bare skin.

Risking the barest crack of your eyes, you find the view outside the window. Sternbild still sleeps in the hushed, early morning, blanketed by low hanging slate colored clouds, snowflakes fall towards the ground rapidly, and the large window is frosted with the cold outside. The space of the bed beside you is empty, sheets tucked in neatly and pillow fluffed. Glancing past your coworkers pillow, the small clock illuminates a soft yellow "5:45".

You want to groan, flabbergasted by how he can be up and about so early. Your nose crinkles a bit as a buttery, caramel-like aroma drifts into the bedroom from the kitchen. Rolling over, lazily, you face the door and inhale the sweet roasted scent. Coffee? It has to be.

You want to let your eyes drift closed again, to float in the fuzzy lull of the quiet room, stillness and patience and the cozy bedding embracing you. After long, hard days of danger and pain and buried deep fear, relaxing in a warm bed on a cold morning with the smell of coffee floating around you, it felt like pure euphoria, a long breathy sigh of delight-

The door opens and Barnaby walks through, two mugs in his hands. He steps softly over to the bed, dressed in his black t-shirt and a pair of crisp black slacks. His glasses glitter with the light starting to peek through the clouds behind you, before the rays are subdued by hushed darkness again.

He smiles softly as he sees your open, curiously tired eyes.

"Morning." he whispers, watching as you sit up, slowly, keeping the blanket close to cover your intimates, pressing fingertips into the corners of your eyes to rub the sleep away. He stifles a nervous chuckle, cheeks pinkening just a touch but doesn't look away. He offers you the white mug, liquid steaming deliciously inside.

You take it, gratefully, not doubting that your bed hair and morning breath more wild than he had ever seen you. "Morning." you murmur, blinking blearily down into the contents of your mug. You blow into the dark liquid, then take a sip, sweet and chocolatey with the most subtle hint of peppermint and caramel.

You close your eyes in delight, "I've never had hot cocoa like this before."

He settles on the edge of the bed beside you, "My mother would make this for my Father and I all the time. It doesn't quite taste as good as hers, but. . .I got pretty close." he lifts his own mug to his lips, a warmth blooming in your chest at the vulnerability in his display. You take another sip, wondering how Emily and Barnaby Brooks would have reacted to you, if they would have accepted you.

The warm cup soothes the cold numbness aching your fingers, as you look over at the window. The skyline breaks against the slate gray clouds, shining lights of the Gold Stage, wonderous and extravagant and everything that Barnaby was. While the lights glitter like stars, homes rest behind gates and fences, dogs lifting their legs or squatting in the snow before retreating back into the warmth of their homes, a few cars drive down the highway, headlights illuminating the already illuminated streets.

"You get to see this view every morning?" you whisper, almost breathless.

You can feel his weight shift as he turns to look out the window with you, "Not really. I usually don't give it much mind. The lighting that comes in through that window gets to be really finicky sometimes."

The corners of your lips lift and you quirk a brow at him, "I imagine the sun doesn't listen to your suggestions, either."

"Not yet, anyway. But Kotetsu taught me a thing or two about being persuasive. And stubborn."

You can't help but laugh quietly, and you don't miss the way his eyes soften at the sound. It makes your heart flutter in your chest. "I'll help file your complaints."

Looking up at him, you smile to yourself, settling in to enjoy the cold and quiet morning with Barnaby. Leaning over, you rest your temple against his shoulder as he takes another sip of his cocoa, taking in the skyline for the first time in a long time.

It's a chance for him to breathe, too.

Hello everyone, I know it's not M&P (again), but I've been having so many other ideas that are easy to just throw into a word document, edit real quick, copy, paste, and post. Barnaby is also my comfort character, so I had to post something. It's not as long as I would have liked, but oh well.

I intentionally left the state of the relationship ambiguous, whether it's the first time you and Barnaby were intimate, an ongoing relationship, one night stand (I can't imagine it being a one night stand, but again, interpretation).

Hope you enjoyed,

𝕷𝖎𝖑 𝕸𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 🥀

#tiger and bunny #barnaby brooks jr #x reader #bbj x reader #romance #sternbild #fanfiction #comforting #comfort #relaxing

11 notes · View notes

lil-ms-darkness · 7 months ago

Text

ℜ𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯 Angst

You remember his lips on yours; warm, fierce, skilled. His breath always smelled of whiskey and smoke, and when he touched you, it always sent a wave of excitement through you, fluttering like an earthquake.

You remember the way he would nibble on your earlobe, or tease you on a mission. The way his voice switched between cocky ladies man and the veteraned soldier; the way he held you in his arms as if you could keep the nightmares away and you alone could save him from the dark.

There was something intoxicating about him, something that drew you in. Maybe it was his courageous heart, or his drive to protect, or maybe it was something as simple as his kind, yet dominating and intense blue eyes.

The eyes that could never hide from you, the eyes that saw through you just the same. You remember the feel of his calloused fingers draped over your slender knuckles at his favorite steakhouse. The fingertip that grazed over your bottom lip when all was quiet and he drunk in the sight of you.

You remember the anger and tears that followed the Arklay Mountain incident, after losing Jill on Rockford island, after the massacre in China, after his entire team, after Piers. You remember the tense muscles and twitching fingers as he fought to contain his rage in your arms, as he fought to stay in the present and not let the memories whisk him away into the pain and helplessness again.

You remember the man you promised your heart to.

Not once did he look at you with such fright in his eyes. Not once did you feel his hands stutter with uncertainty.

"No, no, no. . ." he groans as he holds you in his arms, scratchy shoulder straps digging into your already itchy flesh. Your skin boils, every touch akin to dragging broken glass across rubbed raw tissue. Your throat feels deliriously dry, and somewhere deep in your gut a twisting stirs. The itch in your flesh draws your focus from everything else, and no matter how much you had itched, it wouldn't go away. Not even when your nails dug away flesh from your arms. "please not her. . ."

His voice is so far away, as you cough into the back of your hand. Pulling it away, you spot the splatter of blood across palid skin marred by black veins, exploding like a lightning strike across grey clouds.

You look up at him, the man who stole your heart, and want to ask him what's happening to you. You remember every nightmare he had ever told you, of him losing you, of him succumbing to Umbrella's experimentation, and worse.

As you rewind your memory, splotches of black drown out bits and pieces, once peaceful memories drift from your mind as the ache and burning in your body becomes worse.

You're exhausted, but calm. Somehow, you don't feel afraid, you had always been his rock, his comfort. Cool drops land on your cheeks and when his hand guides your face up to meet his, you find that it was his tears that fell. He speaks to you, but all you hear is the dull heavy thrum of your heartbeat.

You blink, slowly, the thirst and hunger stronger than ever as you look at him, the thick column of his neck, the juicy thickness of his biceps. Your mind drifts away, slowly, and you feel the pain ebb away as you give in.

You're not frightened.

You're hungry.

You're itchy.

What were you supposed to remember?

Remember. . .

Hey everyone, I know it's not the next part of M&P, but I was playing RE4 Remake and this came up in my mind, and I had to write it down.

Resident Evil is one of my lifelong hyper fixations and I just love Chris so much, even if he's a womanizing butthead sometimes. I have a cold heart, and angst always has such a macabre beauty to it, and in this instance, I felt like after losing so many people, Chris likely wouldn't want to get close to anyone, but what would happen if he did and then they got infected?

Imagine Claire calling to check in, only to find out what happened to you? I would imagine she'd love you and be devastated, as well. Maybe Jill, Claire, Leon, Chris, Sherry (and by proxy Jake) all came to your funeral?

Idk, I'm just word vomiting at this point. Hope you like, and if not, I'm sorry.

If you're waiting for the next part of M&P, it is in production, I promise.

Thanks for reading,

𝕷𝖎𝖑 𝕸𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 🥀

#resident evil #chris redfield #umbrella #angst #resident evil x you #x reader

15 notes · View notes

lil-ms-darkness · 9 months ago

Text

Crumbs - Bigby Wolf x Fem! Goldilocks! Reader [Part Seven]

The sunset behind her illuminates the apartment as Bigby examines her closely. The way her hair is tightly pulled back rather than gently gathered, the strain in her jaw, and the darkness under her eyes. She blinks in confusion as she looks at him,

“Sheriff? What’re you doing here?”

“It’s been a couple weeks and nobody has seen you come out of your apartment, so I figured I’d bring food.”

“I- uh, thank you.” she steps aside to let him in, more confused by his sudden visit than anything. He steps inside and she closes the door, following him through the small entrance hallway and into the rest of the apartment.

He glances onto the kitchen island, where he spots the accumulation of her baking. He gets a whiff of fresh baked pecans and dull baked-in brandy. His eyes follow his nose, spotting a pie resting on a mesh-metal dual platform he assumed was for cooling multiple pies at once. He tears his gaze away and heads to the love seat, setting the bag of food on the pony wall. She watches him, not moving but he can tell by her body language that she’s getting antsy.

“I didn’t know what you like, so I just grabbed you orange chicken, rice and some veggies.”

She nods and, after a moment of hesitation, makes her way over to him, sitting down on the love seat as he skillfully fishes out the white temple paper boxes full of inauthentic Chinese food. In his time in Europe, he’d found Chinese food to be his least favorite, not by any fault of their own. They certainly enjoyed their delicacies, and prided themselves on their cuisine, as it is a part of their culture. The multitude of spices were delicious to other Fables, but to his wolfish tastes, he preferred pork with the slightest bit of chicken hearts, if any at all, too many spices were overwhelming. Of course, ever since Snow cut him with that knife, he’s been able to adapt his tastes to blend in mostly, and get him by in the Mundie world. Even so, this was most definitely not authentic Chinese food, it’s as processed as the McDonalds around the corner.

He hands the blonde woman two of the containers and a fork, then grabs his own. He doesn’t miss the excessive bounce of her leg, or the way she repeatedly switches which leg is crossed- left over right, right over left, left over right again.

“What have you been working on?” he asks, pretending to be interested in how the crinkled piece of wanna-be steak clings to his plastic fork.

“Orders.” she says without looking up, and his eyes look her over. She’s spotless for having been hard at work, but he can smell the salty must of sweat and the way the buttercup curls stick slightly to her temples confirms it.

“I thought most of your orders were completed.” he probes

“I wanted to get a headstart,” he doesn’t miss the subtle edge to her voice. “Please stop beating around the bush, why are you here?”

“I was checking in on you, like I said, nobody has seen you around for a while.”

“So the Fabletown Sheriff is also responsible for performing wellness checks?”

“I have a lot of responsibilities, but yes, making sure Fables don’t kill each other is one of them.”

He watches her mouth open, tremble for a moment, then close tightly. She wanted to say something, but it seems she thought better of it. Looking from her face back to his own dinner, he caught a look at her own container, she hasn’t eaten any of it. Before he can ask if she has eaten already, the oven beeps. She stands, setting the takeout on top of the pony wall, again and makes her way to the oven. She slips on her mitts, reaching inside and pulls out the fresh pie. Even from where he is, he can smell warm caramelized sugar, molten blackberries and hear the crackle of the cooling crust on top. She slips the fresh pie underneath the first pie, eyes lingering on the pie on top.

“Whose order is that? Seems like you aren’t happy with it.”

For a moment, he doesn’t think she’ll answer and only intends on remaining transfixed on the pie, but she surprises him with a response.

“It was Woody’s favorite. Brandy Pecan Pie.” he watches her lips tremble again, eyes fluttering slightly with tears threatening to spill over, but she swallows and takes a breath, looking over at him. “Did you want a piece?”

“I’m not much of a sweets person,”

“Please? I know you and Woody didn’t really like each other, but I don’t want to eat this pie alone. I’ve managed to keep the tears away for a while, but if I’m alone eating this…” she pauses, and snorts quickly, looking down and tucking her chin against her chest, as if laughing at the absurdity of what she was asking of him. “Nevermind, I shouldn’t have made it.” she reaches down, now cooled enough to touch the pie tin, she grabs it with both hands and walks to the trash can.

He has only a second of shock before he’s on his feet. He clears the small distance, grabbing her hands just in time to force them not to let go. She lets out a startled noise and looks up, eyes wide.

“Don’t throw it away just because it’s a painful memory.” he holds her gaze and can see the pain behind them. He tightens his hold on her hands, momentarily before she lifts it, and only then does he let her hands go to watch her set it back on the island. She leans against the counter, gripping the edge until her nails dig into the wood underside, closing her eyes tightly as she tries not to cry, again. He watches her, unsure of what to do for a moment. She isn’t afraid of him, but does he dare risk a hand on her shoulder? The worst that could happen is she recoils, which he’s used to. Somehow, he has a feeling that her recoiling from him, be it from disgust or fear, would ache like a healing bruise.

He reaches out, tentatively, and rests a hand on her shoulder, anyway. Under his hand, he feels her muscles stiffen, and she looks up at him. Her eyes are glassy, but she tries to prevent them from falling by blinking them away. The hurt, anger and frustration in her eyes raises memories of white fur splattered in red, dripping and muzzles snapping flesh, tearing. Growling, low and menacing, clacking teeth, and the feeling of utter helplessness and the birth of his ambition to become who he had succeeded in becoming.

Without thinking, he moves his hand from her shoulder to the side of her head. Her hair is soft, and the free strands brush his calloused skin gently, reminding him of a faceful of his mothers fur. His hand slides around to cup the back of her head, pulling her forward. She follows, still surprised by his gentleness, until her face touches his chest. She inhales deeply against his white dress shirt, and he can feel her hesitance to touch him back. But when his other arm loops around her shoulders, she sniffles and wraps her arms around his middle, clutching the back of his shirt as she sobs into him. She clings tightly onto him for long moments, soaking through his white shirt with her tears.

He holds her firmly, but doesn’t move otherwise as she weeps. Closing his eyes, he thinks about his mother and all that she deserved, the kindness and love she’d shown him. He remembers what she smelled like after the winter snow, the warmth and weight of her paw, the-

“Sher-iff?” he looks down as she pulls from his thoughts. He hums questioningly as she looks up at him, eyes puffy and pink, nose red and cheeks wet. He hadn't even noticed her crying slow, or feel the hiccups that now wrack her throat and chest. She lifts her hand and gently touches his hair, just as gentle as he had been. “I think I'm hungry.”

He blinks and rolls his eyes, stepping back slow enough for her to let her arms release and return to her sides. He leads her back to the loveseat and grabs her food, offering it out to her. She takes it and sits on the couch, turning to lift her legs up and tuck them into the gap between the cushion and arm of the loveseat. He sits beside her and resumes eating as well, partway through her container of takeout, she gently sets the food down, again, rubbing her eyes.

“Tired?”

“I couldn’t sleep last night, every time I closed my eyes all I could see was…”

“I can stay here while you take a nap, if I can use your phone.” she looks up at him, examining his eyes as if she could read him as easily as he can read her.

“You won’t leave?”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“And you won’t let anyone get me?”

The sound of hungry maws gnawing on bone drifts through his ears, “No, I won’t.”

She’s quiet, considering it for another moment before she stands up, grabbing her food. She puts it away in the fridge, grabbing her cell phone from its place on the counter against the fridge. Unplugging it from the charger, she brings it back to him and holds it out. He reaches out to take it, and she reaches further forward so that the back of her hand rests against his palm momentarily before pulling back and leaving the phone in his hand. He knows she did it on purpose, but she doesn’t look at him. Instead, making her way over to her bed and sitting down, pulling the hair tie from her hair and replacing it with a different, thicker one? He doesn’t understand, but as she lays down and pulls the blanket over her body, she rolls over to face him, offering a soft smile as she grabs one of the stuffed animals- a wolf. Now that he’s looking closer, the commonplace stuffed bear is nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t have a single stuffed bear, but he isn’t surprised. He doesn’t move, listening to her breathing slow more and more until her heart rate reaches rest and her breathing is slow and rhythmic.

Bigby opens up her phone, not surprised by the fact that there’s no passcode, as she wasn’t even worried about her door being unlocked when they first met. The wallpaper was a picture of Woody and herself years ago, based on the shorter length of hair that hovers just above her shoulders. He thumbs the button of the receiver, and begins to scroll through her contacts, finding a contact for B. Rose, Bo, then Beast followed immediately by Beauty, then Boy Blue which caught him by surprise.

Why would she need Boy Blue’s number, unless she was doing an order for him? He had never commented on expecting an order from her.

He scrolls on, deciding on the irrelevance of his contact being saved. Underneath his contact was the Business Office number.

Cindy, Dr. Swineheart, Jack H., Ozma- Ozma? How did she manage to get a phone number from the witches on the 13th floor? He makes a mental note to go and ask her some questions. The list continues; Rapunzel, Snow, Totenkinder, and Woody.

His eyes linger on the list of names before they drift over to [Y/N] asleep in her bed, then back to her phone. He thumbs the receiver icon and enters the number of his home phone before titling the contact “Bigby Apartment” and then creates a second one for his office titled “Bigby Office”. While it is his job to keep the residents of Fabletown safe, undiscovered, and not dead, he can’t deny that he has a soft spot for the baker.

Walking over to the pie, again, after a long moment of pondering on the case, he examines the crust, closely. The scent of roasted sugar on the fresh pie, the baked pecans of this one, and the melted white chocolate drizzle over some kind of raspberry sweet, he wonders how she doesn’t always have stomach pains being surrounded by candy and sugar.

He pauses for a moment, “candy. . .” he lifts her phone and scrolls through the contacts one more time before calling the Business Office line. It rings three times, then connects as someone picks up the other end.

“Fabletown Business Office.” It's Boy Blue.

“Blue, I need you to dig up everything you can on Hansel and Gretel. And I mean everything. I need you to bring it to me, I’ll give you the address in an hour.”

“Oh, right away, Mr. Wolf!” and the line clicks. He examines the pie, again.

Slowly, her senses become more aware as the sleep recedes and she can smell her empty apartment once more. A hollow feeling remains in her chest, but the clinking of silverware and dishes raise hope in her belly. Her eyes flutter open and she sits up, expecting to see Woody, prepared to push away the pain from a nightmare. But no, it was the Sheriff standing in her kitchen, cutting two small slices from the Brandy Pecan Pie she’d made. It wasn’t a nightmare, Woody was really gone. She frowns and he speaks up from his place in her kitchen without looking up,

��Have a nice nap?”

“I did. Until I had to wake up,” she rubs her eyes and sets her stuffed animal back in its spot against the pony wall. Turning, she drops her bare feet to the carpet, walking around to meet him in the kitchenette. He gently pushes a plate towards her, it has the slice of pie on it. Part of her doesn’t want to deal with this right after waking up, but she realizes that it’s not about dealing with it when she first wakes up, it’s something she doesn’t want to deal with in general. Still, the fact that he had cut it, and now has a piece on a plate for himself made her feel seen and understood. She looks up at him,

“I thought you weren’t a sweets person?”

“I’m not; Woody and I had our history, but he didn’t deserve what he got.”

She examines him, sees the tired and somber look in his eyes, and picks up the fork, taking a small bite from the end of the slice. It’s wonderful, nice and moist on the inside but crumbly and crunchy with the pecans on the top layer. The caramel glaze and the baked flavor made the pecans taste more nutty, giving the overall flavor a sweet and savory cacophony with every bite. No wonder Woody loved it. She opens her eyes, not sure when she closed them, and watches as the Sheriff takes his first bite. He nods his approval, and she feels the familiar swell of pride in her chest.

“It’s really good.”

“Thank you, Sheriff.” her voice is soft, just barely above a whisper. She takes in his appearance, the tie he normally wears has been removed and the top button is unclasped, allowing a bit of his chest hair to peek out from between the folds. “What was your history with Woody?”

He pauses, looks at her and lowers the fork a bit. “We lived in the homelands together, like you did.”

“But what happened that caused the tension between you two?”

“I thought you didn’t read other Fables’ stories?”

“I don’t. But I’m asking now to understand more about Woody. More about you.”

He stares at the pie for a long moment, “I’m the big bad wolf, I was doing bad things around Red’s grandma’s place. Woody and I got into it, it wasn’t a particularly good day for me, and it ended with him cutting me down the middle, shoving rocks in and kicking me into the river. We've been going rounds ever since.”

[Y/N]’s eyes widen as he recounts events casually and takes a bite of pie after he finishes speaking. “Oh wow…I can see how that would leave a bitter taste in the mouth. Were you going to hurt Red?” She's not sure she wants the answer, but the question is out of her mouth before she can even stop it.

“I don’t know. It was a long time ago, and like I said, it was a bad day.”

She hums in response, catching onto the clear message that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Did you finish with my phone?”

“Yeah, I put it back on the charger.”

“Thank you,” she sees a manila folder on the counter, underneath her phone.

“What’s the folder for?” she glances at him, curiously.

“I think I have a lead in the case.”

Her eyes become round with excitement, “really? Let’s go talk to them! Maybe we can stop them from hurting anyone else!”

“Not yet, I have to investigate first and see if it all lines up before I go accusing.”

“Who do you think it is? How did you find out so quickly?”

“It’s confidential.” he takes another small bite of his pie

“What?” Her voice comes out more incredulous than she meant it to, “Sheriff, someone I love was just murdered in cold blood and I was the one to find his corpse.”

“I don’t need you going on a revenge mission.”

“Somebody murdered an innocent Mundy woman and glamoured her to look like me to scare those close to me, and I don’t even know if I am really safe, but you’re going to refuse to tell me who you suspect is guilty of the crime for what? Because of the rules in the Business Office that you don’t even agree with? What if they come after me and I don’t know because you didn't tell me who to watch for?”

He examines her, closely, then the crumbs left on his plate. She prepares herself for a scolding, or him to just flat out refuse, but instead, he nods,

“You’re right, keeping you in the dark wouldn’t help. Just don’t go around talking about the case to anyone without me, anyone. That includes Red.” she nods, “I think it may be Hansel, Gretel, both of them, or perhaps Totenkinder has something to say for herself.”

“You think it’s-? But I haven't seen Hansel around in centuries? Isn't he still in the Homelands?”

“Either way, I need to find him and talk to him. Same with Gretel. Both bodies smelled like you, or at least your work, and with their history it could be a possibility.”

“But what reason would they have to glamour a Mundy to look like me or to kill Woody?”

“I’m not sure just yet. But I will figure it out.”

#bigby wolf #bigby wolf x reader #twau bigby #fem reader #mysteries and pastries

75 notes · View notes

lil-ms-darkness · 9 months ago

Text

Mourning Bundt Cake - Bigby Wolf x Fem! Goldilocks! Reader [Part Six]

A/N: Hello, my lovelies. Here is the next part of the story. Sorry for the delay, but I hope you enjoy this part.

-𝕷𝖎𝖑 𝕸𝖘 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 🥀

The light cut through the canopy of trees like Charming’s sword, speckling the forest floor with radiant sun rays, illuminating brilliant foliage. His footsteps land heavy, the rhythmic thump of the ax handle against his belt comforting his steps. He runs a hand through his beard, trying to recall the last time he’d been through this part of the woods. Had it been two centuries? Four?

He lowers his gaze to the leaves beneath his hefty boots, scouting the path ahead when his footfalls still, eyes lingering on the sloppily tied snare trap barely covered by soggy, rotten leaves. He steps around it, raising an inquisitive brow when his foot dips past the forest floor. He slaps his hands against the lip of the chasm with a howl, nails biting into the dirt and gnarled tree roots that barely reach the far edge of the hole. He kicks the toes of his boots against the wall of the hole, chipping away at the dirt until he can rest his foot in the new alcove, readjusting his fingers to pull himself up. Hoisting his weight back onto solid ground, he shambles to his feet, panting and wiping sweat from his naked forehead. A shadow darts through the trees to his left and, rage bubbling to the surface, he snatches the ax from his belt, giving chase.

The shadow is small, quick, and lythe, but his long strides easily close the distance and, in the end, he swings his mighty ax, stopping just barely in time before the gleaming blade slices through the tender flesh of their throat to the tree behind them, keeping them pinned between the trunk and the blade. A thin ribbon of blood coats the length of the blade and the rest slips down their deep set collarbones. He takes a moment to catch his breath and examines the face of the shadow. A young girl, no more than 8, with a filthy face, hungry, frightened eyes and mattes of sunlight clung to her head. He considers pulling the blade away, and only after a moment does he do so, only to replace it with the toe of his ax, instead. She swallows and bares her teeth in pain and fright.

“Who are you?” he grits out.

She coughs and examines him, “Goldilocks. . .” her voice is a rasp of syllables

“Why did you try to knock me into a pit, Goldilocks?” he pushes the toe of the ax closer into her skin. She may look like a child, but the Homelands are full of tricks and puppetry. While he might be a fool, he isn’t foolish. Wait, that’s not how that saying goes, is it?

“Not for you. For food. And bad people. Are you bad?”

He blinks at her, and leans in close, “don’t move, or I’ll cut you down before you can get two steps away.” he lowers his ax, slotting it in his belt, and pulls out his waterskin, dumping a small amount onto his hand before wiping it across her face, the dirt spreading across her face and onto him. He swipes his hand across his shirt before spitting onto it, rather than waste more water, continuing to clean her face. She hisses and groans in disapproval, but he holds her in place with his other hand. She’s younger than she looked at first, maybe 6 or 7. “Where are your parents? Dead?”

“Mama never come back.” is all she says about it, “found a house and eated, the bunnies and birds don’t taste as yummy as the food there did. The bears chased me away.”

He can feel a pressure form at his temple at her words. Kids can give him such a headache.

“You said bad people, what kind of bad people?”

“Mhmm, bad people with long pointy pokies. The pokies hurt.” she grumbles.

“Long pointy pokies? Do you mean swords?”

She only blinks owlishly at him, and he can only groan. He takes in her face, sunken in and pallid.

“When did you eat last?”

“Mmmm…two days ago. M'tummy hurts.”

He can hear a quiet snap somewhere to the East and he pushes her down into the shrubbery around the tree. She crouches down and looks up at him with wide eyes, her hand moving to cover her mouth.

He crouches down and stalks towards the sound, finding a doe with her head bent, enjoying the grass below her. He sees her, and at first he moves to stand, but stops. ‘Two days ago’. He rolls his eyes and closes them before he lunges forward, plucking his ax from his belt quickly.

She hears the sound of slashing meat, the bawl of an animal, and the man from before grunting. Then, silence. Twigs snap and dehydrated leaves crunch moments later, heavy steps and she crouches further into the underbrush. Something pokes her and she jumps, looking up, but it’s the man from before, the wooden handle of his weapon being used to prod her and get her attention. On his shoulder, a large animal she could stuff her belly full of. Her mouth waters and she looks at him, questioningly.

“For me?”

“Let me show you how to cook this, at least. The skin can make a blanket. Or clothes, so you don’t freeze to death. After that, you’re on your own.”

But that was a lie, even after he’d showed her how to skin and gut the animal, cook and use salt to preserve it, he helped her make a simple tunic and pants, enough of the pelt left over for a small blanket. He left that night, but she wasn’t on her own. He came back to that area the next day, then the following day, and then the day after. After a while, she began to look forward to his visits, her unexpected first friend, her mentor. He taught her to hunt properly, to wield an ax, to build a fire, and after she’d told him of finding large paw prints in the dirt around her dwelling, how to build a tree house high in the trees, above any predators. She didn’t know it at the time, but there was a danger much, much fiercer than those men with swords, much larger than the Woodsman and his ax, and much, much more hungry than she ever felt those two long days.

“[Y/N].”

She blinks and looks up from her clasped hands in her lap, deep earthy eyes greeting her. “I’m sorry, I-” a heavy pale hand, a body stuffed behind a dumpster, violent slashes across his chest. “Keep-keep going, please.”

“You should be going home to rest, not being interrogated!” Holly barks from the pool table, fists clenched as she looks between [Y/N] sitting stiff in her wooden chair, eyes far away and lost, Bigby sitting across from her in his own seat, more relaxed but focused.

“The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can do just that.” [Y/N] says, voice trembling and quiet. She looks up at Bigby, “please, can you repeat your question?”

“Did you see anyone when you found the body?”

She wipes her eyes with her fingertips, “No-no, I didn’t. It was dark, and I wasn’t really paying attention, I was lost in thought and tripped, I turned around to look and…and I…”

“I know,” he murmurs. She lifts her still watering eyes to his. “I’m going to go look at the body, I need you to stay here just in case I need to ask anything else.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Gren yells from his place against the wall behind [Y/N], and Bigby looks over her at him, “She’s in mourning, traumatized, and you’re still going to keep her here?!”

“She’s the only witness I have.”

“That’s a crock of shit, all three of us saw him, Wolf, three large slashes across his chest, how clear is the answer?”

Bigby squares his shoulders and stands, a hand on his wrist drawing his attention quickly to the blonde woman sitting in her wooden seat still, “Don’t-”

“I’m just going to check the scene, I’ll be back.” he looks up at Gren again, as [Y/N] drops her hand from Bigby’s wrist.

Three large gashes

“- it was so scary! He had teeth almost as big as my body! Oh, you should have seen his claws, too, no wonder Colin was so afraid!” Red sits in [Y/N]’s wide bed, nestled underneath a wooden ladder that she and Woody built together in her treehouse. [Y/N] sits at the top of the loft above her bed, gazing out the large window to the grass below. Red looks at her blonde friend's collection of books on the shelves behind the stairs to the loft, standing off the bed, climbing onto the second floor without needing the stairs.

{Y/N], now 14, looks out the window towards the grass below, only quarter listening to her friend's horrific tale of a badger or something that tried to break in, but Woody had dealt with it, as he often did. Part of her felt guilty not giving her friend the attention she deserved, but her mind raced with memories of a familiar voiced woman trying to climb her way into her treehouse. A face she’d missed since she lost her in the woods. She moves a jaw-length coil of gold behind her ear, redirecting her thoughts, as that’s not what really happened, as [Y/N] knew now.

“Goldy?” Red calls, tilting her head, her lovely brown waves falling just slightly past her shoulder. Her friend's high cheekbones and vibrant eyes always seemed to comfort her, “what’s on your mind?”

“I. . .found my Ma trying to get into my treehouse a fortnight ago.” [Y/N]’s voice was more soft and uncertain than she meant to be. She was certain it was her, even after all these years.

“What? Are you sure? What happened?”

“It was really dark, I don’t know. I am near certain it was her, but still. Why now? After all this time? How did she even find me?”

“Nana always says a mother can find her babe even in the deepest of pits. Maybe she used magic?”

“Ma has never been adept with magic.” [Y/N] sighs, looking out the window again, her hand resting against the thick wooden wall. “Whatever happened with that. . .wolf? You said Woody dealt with him? Did he kill him?”

“I hope so, last I heard, the Woodsman cut his belly open and threw him in the river, he said he used large rocks to pin him down, but he was way too big, I don’t really know if it will keep him away. I’m worried he’ll come back, and maybe claw both Nana and I open…” Red shivers, hugging herself, but again [Y/N] can only focus for a short time. Only long enough to get the mental image of a hungry wolf slashing a poor fellow open with mighty claws.

Bigby steps into the alley, finding the dumpster the body is stuffed behind. He carefully steps over the arms, pushing the dumpster aside until he has enough space to examine the victim. He kneels down to look at him with a sigh, “damn.”

Woody’s eyes are half lidded, milky white, and his lips lay open enough to show his teeth. Looking further down the body, he sees the grizzly scratches that desecrate the big man’s torso, leaving his shirt in tatters as the flesh curls away to leave pale pink muscle tissue, and just beyond that cream-white ribs. Bigby quirks a brow at the slashes, looking around the ground around the body-

“No blood?” he scrubs a hand down his chin. He looks at Woody’s hands, finding them limp, empty and stiff. He’d been dead for some time, and his ax is nowhere to be seen. Bigby knew well enough that Woody wouldn’t just leave his precious ax somewhere, even if for a late night romp. No, he was deliberately placed here. But why? He leans in, taking in a good long whiff, only to find the smell of wet soil and fresh cut grass. How brows knit and he takes another breath, and he smells fresh cookies, baked bread, muffins? [Y/N] said nobody had seen him in days, so why does he smell like her home? And firewood and soot.

He looks down the bottom of the body, dirty pants and even dirtier boots. Nothing abnormal there- only, he looks closer and finds blood on the right pant leg cuff. It’s dried, two small droplets, but it’s enough to prove his theory that Woody’s body was placed here for the employees- for [Y/N] to find. He clenches his fists and stands up, heading back inside the bar.

Holly is sitting in silence in a stool pulled over to [Y/N], gently rubbing her back as the blonde woman hugs her knees, eyes far away and tired. Bigby walks over, “I know this is hard for you, but I need to ask one more question.”

Holly grits her teeth but says nothing, Gren sneers at Bigby but also stays silent. [Y/N] nods, slowly, but doesn’t look up.

“You said you hadn’t seen Woody in three days, but he smells like your apartment.”

She lifts her gaze to look at him then, expression hurt and eyes threatening to weep, again.

“You think I did something to him?”

“Either that, or he was in your apartment without your permission- or knowledge.”

“Possibly, he does have a spare key. But he always tells me when he’s there, for any reason. He wouldn’t just go to my apartment without telling me.”

“Are you sure?”

Her mouth falls closed and she sighs, “I answered your question. Now, I’m going home.” she stands and looks over at Holly with an apologetic look, not even smiling. She nods and turns, grabbing her coat and heading out the door. The three Fables in the room don’t try to stop her.

The setting sun dances between the buildings outside of her apartment, gently gliding through her blinds and landing on the floor at the foot of her love seat. The tv plays a random video on YouTube that she has since stopped paying attention to, more preoccupied by the pumpkin crepes baking in the oven, the nine orders on the counter cooling, putting away the dishes that were resting in the strainer as she cleaned between uses. She grabs the wire rack from the far side of the island, placing the cookies onto a flat tray and snipping the tip of her piping bag full of cherry blossom pink frosting. Briar Rose was always a fan of her pink double chocolate sugar cookies, but even for her 200 cookies was excessive. Oh well, it’s been keeping [Y/N]’s mind busy, and so she’s content.

Her hair is tied up in a tight bun, baggy gray sweatpants and a light brown tank top underneath her trusty pink apron that is somehow spotless, despite how much cooking she had done recently. She wraps up a few of the orders, stealing a peek at the calendar on her fridge. Only a few of the orders are for within the week, but knowing Beauty and Beast, they won’t mind getting their delivery early.

And then there’s Jack’s request, but does she even give him the pleasure of considering his order, considering his attempt at reselling her hard work two years ago? Her nose crinkles at the thought, certainly not. He’d lost his privilege to eat her tasty treats when he betrayed her trust.

A knock on the door draws her from her tasks and she washes her hands, patting them dry on the pink hand towel hanging on the hook above the sink, before walking to the door and opening it. Standing in the hallway, with a bag of Chinese takeout, is Sheriff Bigby Wolf.

#bigby wolf x reader #fem reader #twau bigby #fanfiction

39 notes · View notes