#bridget summers

For Brynden, the chances of waking up to a wolf in his bed were low, but never zero. Still, the furry presence near his head managed to catch him by surprise.

He knew his wolfy wife liked her solitude when transformed. Bridget had gotten used to isolating herself on those nights when the moon’s call was at its strongest— it was her way to protect both herself and the humans she cared for. Though it was no longer necessary to isolate during transformations while she resided in Neverwhere Castle, it was hard for her to let go of old habits.

Bridget’s presence in his bed while walking as a wolf brought a grin to Brynden’s lips. He snuggled closer to her, letting his head fall against her side and feeling all fuzzy at the way her fur tickled his cheeks. A soft huff echoed beneath his ears as her fluffy tail swung up to rest across his abdomen. It landed in much the same way her arm might have, were she cuddling him in her human form.

It didn’t take long for sleep to once again claim Brynden.

When he woke again, his cheek was pressed against skin, not fur. He felt Bridget’s fingers card through his hair as he stirred.

“You used me as a pillow.” She chided, tugging playfully at his fiery hair.

“Sorry.” Bryn grumbled back, rubbing his cheek against her belly with no remorse.

“What sort of vampire are you, cuddling up to a wolf like a child seeking out their cloth doll in the night?” Bridget teased.

“The kind that very much wishes you would stop digging up his garden every full moon.” Bryn replied.

“You’ll be pleased to know I spent the night inside the castle. The rain was absolutely miserable.” Bridget chuckled. “Your peonies are undisturbed.”

“My marigolds, you mean?”

Bryn couldn’t help but smirk when Bridget smacked him lightly.

“I may not know my flowers, but I know a smug little prick when I see one!”

Laughing, Brynden pulled away from Bridget’s stomach and collapsed back on the bed beside her. “It’s still early. Let’s get a few more hours of sleep before breakfast.”

2. With another oc // 3. Wearing another ocs clothes

31. First time holding hands

He wants to be there when she wakes up.

Bryn’s fought tooth and nail to get himself assigned to the prison infirmary so he can monitor Bridget’s recovery. He’s kept them from pulling the plug, has worked his ass off to save her, and has made sure she’s gotten the best care possible. He wants to be there when she wakes up.

He has to be there when she wakes up.

Charming the infirmary staff was easy enough— all that he needed was a smile. The guards were a little harder, but once he let his wallet do the talking, they were eager enough to turn a blind eye. The other prisoners in the infirmary were also more than willing to keep their mouths shut when he plied them with generous donations of funds to be placed in their commissary accounts.

His efforts allow him to stay late into the night with Bridget, reading to her from a well-worn copy of Finnegan’s Wake. At this point in his life, it’s the only thing that’s more absurd than his own reality, so he reads it to Bridget in the hopes of her waking up and asking him what in the fuck kinda dumb bullshit he’s reading.

As he reads, he reaches out to hold her hand. He squeezes it lightly, searching for comfort against the warmth of her skin. He nearly jumps out of his chair when she squeezes back.

“Bridget?” He asks shakily.

“Bryn.” She manages to force out, voice hoarse from disuse. “What in the fuck kinda dumb bullshit are you reading to me? Did you join a fucking cult?”

Bryn could almost explode with laughter. Instead, he squeezes her hand tighter and puts the book away. “I was hoping I’d hear you say that today, mate.”

He could easily let go now, but the way she blinks wearily up at him and then softly smiles is enough to keep him glued to his seat.

“Stay with me? At least until the fuzz in my head goes away?” Bridget asks.

“Of course.” Bryn replies.