#Colonel Brandon x Reader

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 1 - DECEMBER MOON [A1]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC

Summary : During a night on December, Colonel Brandon meets a young woman who captivates him instantly. He then realises that what he had mistaken for love when he met Marianne had never truly been love.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness, mention of depression and loneliness.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 I'm so excited to write for my first Rickmas hosted by the amazing @deepperplexity ! I stumbled upon Rickmas last year... after Christmas, but I was in a very bad phase at the time and all those amazing stories helped me so much and I also discoverd the incredible trilogy "Judge and Sentenced" from @deepperplexity that I advise you to read because it's probably the best Turpin's fiction I've ever read ! Anyway, I'm doing my Sinclair by rambling here, therefore, let's begin Rickmas !

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Poor Colonel Brandon was returning from London, exhausted. He, who usually preferred to be perched on his stallion was comfortably installed in the shelter of his carriage. At 38, he had never felt so old and yet, he was still so young.

But a small voice, which strangely had the same intonations as a lady he knew, told him that he was just an old man full of rheumatism. It was not entirely false. He had an old soul since birth, fuelled by the mistreatment of a violent and unloving father and by a protective mother who died too early. As for the rheumatism, it was more a vestige of his life in the army, but also of an accident in India involving an elephant, which had almost cost him an arm and had left him with a painful shoulder, especially in rainy weather.

But beyond his 38 years that he carried like a burden, there was the memory of his sweet Eliza and te one of the mischievous Marianne. Two women who had broken his heart. The first without wanting to, the second on a whim.

Eliza, tender, intrepid and in love with him, this beauty with whom he had fallen in love while still very young and whom his father had taken away from him without scruples before sending him, at only sixteen, to join the ranks of his majesty's army. 

Fortunately, in India he had met John Middleton who had been more than a friend, almost a surrogate father. Indeed, 20 years older than Brandon, he had immediately taken a liking to the young man and his situation, helping him to climb the ranks of the army thanks to his influence.

Later, when he returned to England, he met his mentor's mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings, an intrusive woman who had an unfortunate tendency to meddle in things that didn't concern her, but for whom he nevertheless had infinite tenderness. Her intrusive nature came from the pain of having lost his eldest daughter, John's wife, while she was expecting a child. A haemorrhage in the middle of the night, an incompetent doctor, and in the morning, the mother and child had gone to join the heavens. Mrs. Jennings reminded him of his own mother with the gentleness she showed him and if she was not known for her subtlety, she had always had the delicacy to never mention Eliza in front of him.

As for Marianne... This pretty devil who had reminded him of her deceased Eliza had hurt him much more than any whipping given by his father for an unimportant misdeed.

He had loved her at first sight, finding in her his first love and it had taken him time and a little too much of a difficult lesson to realize that she wasn't even the shadow of his Eliza. Eliza would never have shown the wickedness that Marianne had shown by letting him hope just after his infectious fever, graciously accepting his gifts and demanding his presence. No, Marianne, full of malice, had felt no remorse in making him suffer as she did with all those around her when she could no longer get anything from them.

She had let him believe that she was his just after this fever that had almost taken her, but when he had asked her to marry him, she had hesitated, giving him an ambiguous answer, a "maybe" more than a "yes". It was during a social event organised at Barton Park that he had understood that the young woman had set her sights on another man of barely 23 years old. A young and dashing high judge of London with a cold and severe look, but rich and powerful, much more than him, much more than anyone in Devonshire.

The next day, he had asked Marianne for an answer to his question and when she had still hesitated, he had told her that he knew and that he was freeing her. He didn't yet know that it was him that he was freeing.

Marianne was now married to this man that all of London nicknamed The Death's Judge, and if she was happily married or not, Brandon didn't know, all he knew was that she was expecting her first child while he was still alone, with no one to love. No loved one and no descendants.

Alone with his heavy thoughts and this feeling that he would end up alone, he who had so much affection to offer, so much love to give, if only a woman with enough spirit but also a certain reserve could make his heart beat again that he now thought would be cold forever, he would cherish her as no man could.

Two years had passed since the injury inflicted by Marianne and with time, his heart had calmed down, and his old governess, full of wisdom, had gently made him understand that what he had taken for love towards Marianne had in fact been only an illusion nourished by this vague resemblance of character that the young woman shared with Eliza.

It was then that the carriage stopped abruptly and Christopher had just enough time to put his hand in front of him so as not to crush his hooked nose against the empty seat in front of him.

"What's going on ?" he asked in his baritone voice as he got out of the carriage.

The icy wind immediately bit his cheeks as night fell gently, promising new frosts.

"A dog, Colonel Brandon, I wanted to avoid a dog," the coachman apologized.

Christopher saw it. A little further away. A dog with a red coat was curled up.

"Is it hurt ?" Christopher asked, genuinely worried.

"No, I avoided him," the coachman replied, "I think he got scared."

Christopher approached the animal cautiously. Medium-sized, the dog looked fierce, ready to bite, but Christopher was reassured to see no injuries.

"Are you lost, little boy ?" he asked the dog, hoping to calm him down.

As if to answer his question, a young woman's voice was heard behind the trees that lined the road.

"Henry ! Henry !" she shouted urgently.

That's when you appeared from behind the trees at the very moment the moon was hitting the night with its first rays. Christopher couldn't take his eyes off that angelic face, fine features that gave off great gentleness and eyes... eyes as deep green as the woods you had just left, green like when summer brought the trees back to life.

You stopped dead when you saw the carriage and your face went from surprise to terror.

"HENRY !" you shouted as you ran towards the dog.

Without even a glance at Christopher or his coachman who had just dismounted, you ran towards the dog who immediately stood up to run towards you.

"Henry, are you okay ?" you asked as if the dog could have answered you.

You examined him carefully, looking for an injury or a trace of blood.

"My coachman avoided it just in time," Christopher reassured you.

You stood up, turning towards Christopher who was slightly disconcerted by your gaze, deep, vibrant, eyes that reflected a thousand emotions at the same time... and who seemed to judge him.

"I promise you it was an accident, the dog rushed in front of the carriage," he felt obliged to justify himself.

You still said nothing, watching Christopher carefully. He did the same, although a little uncomfortable by the sudden silence of this young woman who had been so vocal when she had thought her dog was injured. He too looked at you. He had never seen you before, not that he knew everyone living in Dorsetshire, but he could at least boast of knowing everyone living around Delaford, most of them working for him.

"I am Colonel Christopher Brandon," he finally introduced himself with a bow.

"[Y/N], [Y/N] [Y/S]," you answered in a soft voice, bowing back.

You seemed a little shy, perhaps due to your youth. But the more Christopher looked at you, the more he doubted that you were as young as you looked. A certain seriousness in your gaze, like a deep-seated pain that only someone who has lived long enough to know the true pangs of life could have.

"I have never seen you here before," he said in spite of himself.

"My father was hired as a gardener by the Hawthorns, we arrived a month ago," you answered without trying to appear for what you was not.

Christopher knew this influential family from Devonshire well, John's neighbours. You were far from their home, more than four hours on foot, maybe five if the rain started to fall on the ground that was freezing at full speed.

"You are far from home," he pointed out.

The moonlight prevented him from hiding a slight blush on your cheeks.

"It's Henry, he ran away this morning and I wanted to find him before nightfall. I was afraid he would die of cold tonight," you explained, glancing at the said Henry.

The dog, totally unaware of the fright he had given his mistress, amused himself by teasing Christopher's coachman who was not at ease in front of the animal, much to the amusement of the Colonel.

"You came all this way for a dog?" he asked, surprised.

"Henry isn't just a dog ! He's a full-fledged member of the family," you replied briskly.

Christopher apologized quickly. He hadn't meant to offend you, he had been sincerely surprised. In his world, full of nobility, a woman wouldn't have ventured so far, so lightly covered, to find a runaway dog.

"Aren't you cold, miss ?" Christopher asked, seeing you suppress a shiver.

"I'm used to it," you replied, looking away.

That was all it took for him to understand. He had already understood your modest condition, but he assumed, probably rightly, that your family had probably couldn't afford a proper coat.

Without hesitation, he took his off and before you could protest, he placed it on your shoulders.

"I insist," he said gently but firmly when you wanted to give it back.

A new silence settled between you. Christopher couldn't help but notice your similarities. You didn't speak much, looked serious but you had a certain dignity and you seemed deeply kind even if he guessed a volcanic temperament if you attacked those you loved, as you had shown when he dared to say that your dog was just a dog.

"Henry, that's a funny name for a dog," he finally dared to say.

"I called him that because when I found him, I was reading a book about Henry VIII."

"Found ?"

"Yes, an old farmer had abandoned his dog's entire litter in the middle of the woods. It was in the village where I used to live. Henry was the only puppy still alive. I brought him back and my father didn't have the heart to abandon him when he found him hiding in my room," you said before stopping suddenly, feeling like you had said too much.

But Christopher didn't judge you, not for your modest condition. He found you endearing, refreshing even in your own way.

"Can I drive you and Henry home ?" he offered kindly.

"That's nice, but we're going for a walk," you replied.

Christopher's smile immediately faded.

"Miss [Y/S], I insist, it's already pitch black."

"I don't think it's right for me to sit alone with you in your carriage," you said softly.

Christopher's eyes lit up with a flash of understanding. You had no chaperone to accompany you in the carriage and propriety shouldn't have made him insist, but it was cold, you were far from home, and he would not have been able to sleep properly tonight without being sure that you had returned home safely.

He was about to insist when, without warning, the rain began to fall, hammering the ground severely. He almost pushed you into the carriage before grabbing Henry and making him climb in at the same time as himself.

"You can't go back alone, by foot, in this weather, you will catch your death," he said in a tone that left no room for contradiction.

He told the coachman your destination and the carriage set off again. He wouldn't return home tonight finally, to his estate that he had so longed to return to, he wouldn't find his firm and comfortable bed and his governess's lemon cakes. He already knew that you would arrive home late, but he had no doubt that John and his mother-in-law would welcome him with open arms, even if he was not expected. It bothered him a little to impose himself like this, but he knew that the horse, and also the coachman, would not have the strength to make it all the way to Devonshire, then to Delaford.

The journey took place in comfortable silence. You were shivering slightly from the cold, snuggling in spite of yourself in the Colonel's oversized coat that smelled of cologne and another perfume whose name you did not know but that you had already smelled on your father's employer.

"May I ask you if you live alone with your father ?" Christopher dared to ask.

His intention wasn't entirely innocent. He wanted to know if you had a fiancé.

"Yes," you simply replied.

He wondered how old you were and what you did with your days, but he felt you were reserved and he himself was not a man who spoke easily about himself, he preferred not to bother you any further.

It was almost 10 pm when the carriage finally arrived near the modest cottage that the Hawthorns rented at a ridiculous price to your father. The place was small, modest. There were only four rooms: two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen as well as a small cold and poorly lit room that you used to take your baths.

Although you didn't know who Christopher really was, you guessed that he was important... and rich, and you couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by the smallness of your means, but at no time did Christopher seem to be bothered by it. He helped you down before handing you Henry.

"Come inside and get warm, [Y/S]," he said, bowing before adding, "it was a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you Colonel Brandon, really," you replied before disappearing inside, not without one last look at the man who still had his hazel eyes fixed on you.

Christopher then headed to his old friend John's, his thoughts filled with your face, your soft voice, that strange feeling you had awakened in him but that he tried to stifle at all costs. He didn't want to suffer, not again. He had finally learned his lesson. Love wasn't for him, you wouldn't make him suffer, not you too.

"Brandon ! My old friend, I didn't know we were expecting you !" John exclaimed when the butler announced Christopher.

"I'm sorry to intrude like this..." he began before being interrupted by Mrs. Jennings who told him with her usual joviality that he was always welcome at their home.

John invited him to drink a glass of his best whisky, a Scottish vintage that he particularly cherished, in his office. Christopher hesitated to confide in him about the intriguing encounter he had had, and wisdom made him hold his tongue. Until the next day, when at breakfast, when he ventured a few questions to Mrs. Jennings.

"Last night, as I was heading to your place, I met a young woman. A certain [Y/S]. Do you know her, Mrs. Jennings ?" he asked casually without telling the whole truth about your encounter.

"Oh, Miss [Y/S] ! I don't know her very well, she's a very private young lady, but..."

She knew a lot for someone who didn't know you and she was able to tell Christopher that you were a 28 year old spinster with no known fiancé. You were rather private although often seen with your faithful Henry.

"She sometimes walks on my land," John informed Christopher as he took a bite of bread, "I've never had the heart to tell her she walks on private land, she's so reserved that I don't want to make her uncomfortable," he added.

"Oh, and she seems so respectful and she's not doing anything wrong walking here with her dog. Poor child, she's always so alone." Mrs. Jennings said theatrically. "She sometimes helps out at the Hawthorne manor with the children. I did try to invite her to have tea with me once, but she told me she didn't think a girl like her belonged at my table."

"Nonsense !" John exclaimed, "Any pleasant and well-mannered person is worthy of being part of our acquaintances."

His mother-in-law nodded vigorously before continuing with the latest gossip, but Christopher was already no longer listening, his thoughts lost in a December night where the moon lit up your eyes a deep green.

Finally returning home, Christopher settled into his old worn fabric armchair, a book in his hand, but he wasn't reading. You were still there haunting his thoughts. He had felt this feeling before. Not like with Marianne, no. But like with Eliza.

He shook his head vigorously as if to get your image out of his head. He couldn't afford to have heartbroken, he wouldn't survive it, not when he had finally come to terms with the idea of ​​being alone for the rest of his life, in the comfort of the Delaford, with his dogs. And yet, he didn't see his day go by. Not because he had been busy with his fishing trip and his horseback ride, but because his mind had been busy. Busy with you.

And for no real reason, he found himself visiting his friend John two days later, under the pretext of proposing a hunting trip. John accepted enthusiastically, unaware that his friend's real intention was to see you again. And it didn't take more than two days for him to come across you near the small river that crossed John's land. Recognising him, Henry ran towards him, barking happily.

"Miss [Y/S], what a nice surprise to see you again," Brandon said politely, bowing.

"Colonel Brandon, this is a surprise indeed," you replied, giving him a slight bow.

"You don't have any gloves," he remarked, a little concerned.

However, what he didn't mention, although he noticed it right away, was that you were wearing his coat, the one he had forced over your shoulders a few nights earlier and that you had forgotten to give him back. The fabric still smelled like him, in addition to being of undeniable quality, giving you a welcome warmth. Christopher was kind enough not to say anything, happy that you had something decent to cover yourself with.

"I never wear them," you replied, shrugging, "I can't turn the pages of my book with gloves," you added, showing him the book with the worn cover that you were holding in your hands.

"Can I accompany you on your walk, Miss [Y/S] ?"

You nodded shyly and you walked along the small river together, Henry at your side. The Colonel didn't seem bothered by your four-legged companion who regularly jumped on him, leaving his footprints on his black pants. When you apologised, a little embarrassed by Henry's behaviour, Christopher replied with a smile that he loved dogs and that it didn't matter to him that Henry decided to repaint his pants.

When the sky began to darken in the late afternoon, you politely excused yourself, stating that you should go home before nightfall.

"Can I walk you home ?" Brandon suggested, genuinely worried about letting you walk home alone.

You bit your lip, hesitant. On one hand, you didn't want to risk being seen with a man and having rumors spread about you, but on the other hand, you didn't want to risk hurting the kind Colonel Brandon. You finally agreed, praying inwardly that no viper's tongue in the village would see you two. Your wish seemed to have been granted and it was with the manners of a gentleman that Colonel Brandon wished you a good evening before waiting until you had closed the door behind you to turn on your heels.

In love. He was in love, for sure. And it wasn't an illusion this time. You were nothing like Eliza. You were neither lively nor spontaneous. In fact, you were more like him: thoughtful, calm and sparing with words. But you also had a certain depth, a certain culture and a natural curiosity to feed your mind. He knew that with you, he would always have a subject of conversation, whether it was books, poetry, art, theatre or music. He had understood it when, despite your lack of education on the subject, you had taken an interest in his life in the army and when you had started to drown him in questions not about him but about India, the different cultures and people he had met there, he had found it refreshing.

At no time had you asked a question about his field or made any allusion to his status. But that was where the problem lay in Christopher's mind. His status. He had never really given importance to social class differences. Not with Eliza. Not with Marianne. His father had taught him a first lesson, Marianne a second, more bitter than the first one. What would he do if you were also a dowry hunter?

Christopher wanted to be loved. Loved for himself, not for his wealth, not for the Delaford. Of course, if you were his he would spoil you like never before. You would have the most beautiful dresses, your own coats, gloves, clothes for every season and jewellery to match each dress. 

You would have access to all the books you wanted and he would teach you to draw and play the piano so that you could occupy your time in his big house. But it was not for all that he had to offer that he wanted you to love him in return. It was for himself and a small, vicious voice told him that a girl like you, a girl of little condition, penniless, a gardener's daughter, an old maid at that, could never truly love him for himself. But another small voice, weaker but still there, told him that he must not let himself be swayed by a bad experience. 

After all, Marianne was just a child, a capricious and changeable little girl and he wasn't even sure that her real interest in his love stories was money. With her impulsiveness, Marianne fell in love as easily as one falls off a chair and he wondered if she would keep her promise made before God to be faithful to her high judge. Although he knew the latter well enough not to doubt that he would hold this little demon with an iron fist.

Several miles from the Delaford, your thoughts were haunted too. Haunted by a tall man with dark blond hair and hazel eyes. His eagle-beaked nose that made him even more distinguished and his shy smile haunted you. You knew exactly what you felt for him. You had known it the moment he had wrapped you authoritatively in his coat before forcing you into his carriage to take you home on that December night lit only by the moon.

You loved him. You loved him as you had thought you loved twelve years earlier. But you realized today that what you had taken for love at only sixteen had nothing to do with what you felt for the dark Colonel Brandon. This time, you were experiencing true love, the kind that burns you from the inside, consumes you, haunts your nights and fills your days.

But you had no right to love him. By discreetly asking around at the old bakery, you had learned who Colonel Christopher Brandon really was. A man who wasn't for you. A man too good, too important, too rich. How could a man like him ever be interested in a woman like you ?

But that wasn't all. Even if, by some totally improbable chance, Colonel Brandon could have the slightest interest in you, you were hiding something. A secret that would repel any man, even a man of your status. A secret that only your grandmother knew and that she had taken with her to her grave. A secret that would die with you but that condemned you to remain alone forever.

A few days later, you were alone outside in the middle of the night, frozen to the bone as a pure white snow fell on Dorsetshire. Henry was sheltered in your coat, or at least the Colonel's coat. The little rascal had burrowed away again and now you were both going to catch bluetongue. If it hadn't been for the full moon, you would never have been able to find your way through all that white. Just then, in front of you came a man on horseback, a magnificent black stallion with a fine appearance.

Inwardly, you felt anxiety take hold of you. It was late and you could tell that the rider was a man, and you hoped that he was a man with good intentions.

The closer the horse got, the more familiar the figure on it seemed to you. But it was only when he was a few steps away from you that you recognized Colonel Brandon, dashing in his long wool coat.

"Miss [Y/S] !" he exclaimed in an almost angry tone, "what are you doing out in this weather ? You're going to catch your death !"

"It's Henry, he disappeared again himself again," you replied in a very small voice.

Hearing his name, the dog stuck his head between the flaps of the coat, his tongue hanging out trying to catch the snowflakes that were falling on you.

"Maybe we should build a proper barrier to stop your companion from scaring you to death... and freezing."

Brandon had said this with a firmness that left no room for any kind of humour. You nodded timidly, shivering despite the warmth of his coat.

"Give him to me," Brandon ordered.

You hesitated for a moment but when he held out his gloved hands towards you, you handed him Henry without fear. Deep down, you knew he wouldn't hurt your best friend. Christopher placed your dog inside his own coat, then he held out your hand.

"Ride with me, I'll take you home !"

You placed your hand in his hesitantly and he hoisted you up without any harm behind him before setting his horse into a gallop.

Your hands hooked on his hips, you gently rested your head against his back. You could feel the warmth emanating from his body pierce you and for a moment, you imagined what it must be like to be loved by a man like him.

When the horse stopped in front of the cottage you shared with your father, the snow had stopped falling and it shone like millions of diamonds under the benevolent gaze of the moon.

"Your father isn't here ?" Brandon asked worriedly, seeing no candles lit in your candle, nor the smoke of a warm fire burning in the fireplace.

"No. The Hawthornes are having a small party for the staff and he was invited," you replied as he helped you dismount.

Christopher dismounted as well, Henry still sheltered against his chest.

"Do you need help lighting the fire ?" Brandon asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, thank you Colonel, but I'll be fine."

The truth was that you couldn't start the fire eight times out of ten, but if anyone found out that a man had come into your house while your father wasn't there to chaperone you, it didn't matter that you were already 28, the rumour that you were a girl of easy virtue would spread like wildfire in the village and your father would risk losing his job with the Hawthornes, people of great kindness but who couldn't stand to be the object of mockery, especially at the fault of their employees.

"Good evening, Miss [Y/S]," Brandon murmured, his gaze tender.

"Colonel, I can't go home," you murmured.

"Why ?" Christopher asked in a whisper.

"Because you're still holding my dog in ​hostage," you replied with a slight smile.

Christopher chuckled before handing Henry back to you, but as he placed him in your arms, his fingers lingered longer than necessary on your icy hand.

Gently, he untied the silk scarf that brought a little more warmth to his throat and chest to place it around you, adding a touch of modesty to your fragile form in the face of his imposing stature. The scarf, light and delicate, immediately offered you an additional touch of warmth, a touch of warmth that manifested itself in a delicate blush on your cheeks, a touch of warmth caused by the violent feelings you felt for Christopher Brandon.

"I offer it to you. As well as the coat. They will keep you warm this winter," Brandon said softly, almost as if he were reciting poetry.

"Colonel..." you murmured, too moved to add a thank you.

"Miss [Y/S]..."

He hesitated for a moment. What he was about to say would change the destiny of both of you forever. He wasn't going to offer to be your friend. No, he was going to take a risk, a new one.bet against the reason that pushed him to make you a mere memory, against his heart that screamed at him that he would suffer again, against the love that seemed to refuse him with force, leaving him a little more broken each time.

"Miss [Y/S], do you allow me to court you ?"

A million emotions crossed your gaze and he could not name any of them. Inside, you screamed with joy while your heart beat so hard that you wondered if it would not explode with love. But there was this secret. This secret that could destroy the slightest illusion that you could nourish towards the slightest spark of love between Colonel Brandon and yourself. Yet, if your head told you to say no to him immediately so as not to hurt him later, so as not to hurt this man who seemed sincerely good and kind and who deserved so much better than you, it was your heart that answered.

"Yes."

You said it in a breath, your eyes diving into his. With tenderness, he caressed your face, a slight smile softening his features so often severe while you allowed yourself a sincere smile that hid your fear that he could learn what had haunted you for more than twelve years.

"I promise to always respect you miss [Y/S]," Christopher murmured, confusing your apprehension for what you were hiding with the fear that he was playing you.

"Colonel, please, call me by my first name," you asked him candidly.

"Only if, in private, you call me Christopher."

You nodded with emotion. He squeezed your small hands in his, smiling slightly at Henry's antics who was impatient at the idea of ​​going back to get warm.

"Come back, [Y/N], get warm. I'll come back to see you tomorrow and talk to your father. I'll ask for his blessing to court you properly." 

And without waiting to answer, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, while on this December evening, only the moon was witness to this hope that you both nourished. The hope of a new chance, of redemption, of finally knowing true love.

[muiitoloko]

If that’s okay for you if I may request

Colonel Brandon If that’s okay? Cause I read all your Alan rickman stories and I love them all so very much! ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you for writing those

Title: You are you

Summary: You are everything he needs, even if he doesn't realize it initially.

Pairing: Colonel Brandon × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, Madness, Self-criticism, inferiority complex, unrequited love, anguish.

Author's notes: I've been wrestling with writer's block for a while, trying to figure out how to craft a one-shot with Brandon. Then, a spark of inspiration hit me while watching the Netflix series "Queen Charlotte." Drawing from her character and that of King George, I found the muse I needed to create this piece. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you for your support!

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

Colonel Brandon stood on the sprawling grounds of his estate, his thoughts consumed by the recent turn of events. Marianne had chosen John over him, and though he felt a pang of sadness and disappointment, he knew he had to respect her decision. Seeing her happy with another man brought him a bittersweet sense of contentment, knowing that she had found the love and happiness she deserved.

But as the days passed, Brandon couldn't shake the lingering emptiness in his heart. He knew he needed to move on, to find a wife who could give him children and heirs to carry on his legacy. And so, he reluctantly resumed his search for a suitable match, his heart no longer seeking love, but rather a practical solution to his need for a family.

It was during one of his social engagements that Brandon encountered you, the eldest daughter of the duke and duchess, a woman living in seclusion on their vast estate. He had heard whispers of your eccentricities, but he paid them little heed, his focus solely on finding a wife who could fulfill his need for heirs.

As Brandon got to know you better, he discovered the truth behind the rumors surrounding your behavior. Your parents, the duke and duchess, confessed to him the challenges you faced, the periods of aggression and madness that plagued you intermittently. Despite their wealth and connections, they had been unable to find a solution, leaving them resigned to your fate.

But Brandon was undeterred by the revelation, his pragmatic nature guiding him forward. He saw in you the potential for a suitable match, a woman who, despite her flaws, could provide him with the children he so desperately desired. And for your parents, you represented a burden they were eager to unburden themselves of, a means to secure your future and their peace of mind.

For Brandon, it seemed like the perfect compromise—a marriage born out of duty rather than love, but one that could fulfill both his and your parents' needs. And so, he approached you with a proposal, his demeanor calm and composed as he laid out his intentions with unwavering clarity.

As Colonel stood before you, awaiting your response to his proposal, you couldn't help but feel a whirlwind of emotions coursing through you. Despite your eccentricities and the challenges you faced, you couldn't deny the practicality of his offer. It was a solution that could benefit both parties involved, easing the burden on your parents while providing Colonel Brandon with the heirs he desired.

Lost in thought, you retreated to the comfort of your study, surrounded by shelves filled with notebooks containing your innermost thoughts and musings. Dressed in your usual attire of men's clothing, a reflection of your unconventional nature, you pondered the implications of Colonel Brandon's proposal.

As you delved deep into contemplation, the weight of your decision pressed heavily upon you. You knew that accepting Colonel Brandon's offer meant relinquishing any hope of a love-filled marriage, resigning yourself to a union of duty and practicality. Yet, the thought of bringing relief to your parents, sparing them the burden of dealing with your unpredictable episodes, tugged at your heartstrings.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of introspection, you made your decision. Stepping out of your study, you faced Colonel Brandon with a mixture of determination and resignation in your eyes.

"I accept your proposal," you announced, your voice steady despite the turmoil raging within you. "But under one condition." Colonel Brandon regarded you with curiosity, awaiting your terms with an air of patience and understanding.

"I ask for a cabin of my own on the estate's land," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "Far from the mansion, where I can retreat during my periods of madness. It is my only request."

Brandon considered your condition carefully, weighing the implications of your plea. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded in agreement, a hint of understanding softening his features.

"I see no harm in granting your request," he replied, his voice calm and reassuring. "In fact, it may prove to be beneficial for both of us. A space of your own, away from the confines of the mansion, where you can find solace during difficult times."

A sense of relief washed over you at his understanding, grateful for his willingness to accommodate your needs. With a silent nod of gratitude, you accepted his offer, knowing that it was the best course of action for both you and your family.

Brandon didn't see anything wrong with granting your request for a cabin of your own on the estate's land. In fact, he saw it as a practical solution to ensure both of your well-being. If you were to experience periods of madness, it would be best for you to have a space where you could retreat and find solace without causing disruption to the household.

So, Brandon accepted your condition without hesitation, understanding the importance of accommodating your needs. However, he didn't anticipate just how distant you would be after the wedding. Days turned into weeks, and Brandon found himself growing increasingly impatient with your absence from the main house.

Despite his frustration, Brandon respected your need for space and independence, trusting that you would come to him when you were ready. However, as the days stretched on without any sign of your presence, Brandon's patience began to wear thin.

One night, overcome with loneliness and longing for your company, Brandon made his way to the cabin where you spent most of your time. He approached the door with a sense of trepidation, unsure of what he would find on the other side.

As he entered the cabin unannounced, Brandon was greeted by the sight of you standing by a telescope, your eyes fixed on the starry night sky above. Books and notebooks were scattered around the room, evidence of your scholarly pursuits and intellectual curiosity.

You turned to him with a smile as he walked in, your expression one of genuine warmth and affection. Your nightgown billowed around you, your hair cascading in loose waves down your back, and Brandon couldn't help but think how beautiful you looked in that moment.

But despite the tenderness in your smile, Brandon couldn't shake the frustration that simmered beneath the surface. He had missed you, missed the sound of your voice and the touch of your hand, and he couldn't understand why you chose to spend so much time away from him.

"Good evening, Colonel," you greeted him politely, your tone casual and unaffected by his unexpected visit. "What brings you to my humble abode tonight?"

Brandon struggled to contain his frustration as he responded, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation. "I've come to see you, of course," he replied curtly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of emotion. "I've missed you, [Your Name]. It's been weeks since I last saw you, and I couldn't bear to spend another night alone in our bed."

Your smile faltered slightly at his words, a flash of guilt crossing your features when you met his gaze. You knew you had been neglecting him, consumed by your own thoughts and passions, but you hadn't realized just how much your absence had affected him. Pushing aside your feelings of guilt, you tried to divert the conversation, eager to steer clear of any discussion about your relationship.

"So, Colonel," you began, your voice light and cheerful as you gestured towards the telescope beside you. "Have you ever gazed upon the stars and wondered about the mysteries of the universe? It's truly fascinating how much we have yet to discover out there."

But Brandon wasn't so easily swayed by your attempt to change the subject. He could sense the underlying tension between you, the unspoken questions hanging in the air, and he knew they needed to be addressed.

"Indeed, the stars are a wonder to behold," Brandon replied diplomatically, his tone measured as he studied your expression. "But I believe there are matters closer to home that require our attention."

You paused at that, your smile fading as you met Brandon's earnest gaze. His words hung between you, heavy with unspoken implications, and you knew there was no avoiding the conversation any longer.

"What do you mean, Colonel?" you asked, your voice tinged with apprehension as you braced yourself for his response.

Brandon took a step closer to you, his expression serious as he met your eyes with unwavering determination. "I married you for one reason, and one reason only: to have heirs," he said bluntly, his words cutting through the tension like a knife. "And how can we achieve that if the two of us barely see each other?"

You stopped at that, your gaze locking with his as you took in the gravity of his words. For a moment, you felt a pang of guilt at your own negligence, knowing that you had failed to uphold your end of the bargain. But then, a sense of determination washed over you as you realized what Brandon was implying.

Was he demanding that you fulfill your duty as a wife? Did he want... sex?

The thought made Brandon blush slightly, his cheeks tinged with embarrassment as he struggled to articulate his desires. But you weren't embarrassed; you were a 28-year-old woman, well aware of the implications of marital intimacy. Despite never having been intimate with a man before Brandon, you had spent enough time reading and learning from your already married sisters to understand the mechanics of such encounters.

And your first time with Brandon had been surprisingly pleasant. He had been kind and patient with you, guiding you through the experience with a gentle touch and reassuring words. In the aftermath, you had distanced yourself from him, convinced that it was for his own protection. But now, faced with his unspoken request, you realized that you couldn't continue to avoid him indefinitely.

With a resolute nod, you dropped the notebook in your hand and approached Brandon, closing the distance between you with determined steps. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as you reached out to touch his cheek, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw with a tender touch.

"Why not start today, then?" you suggested softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "After all, it is our duty as husband and wife to fulfill each other's needs, is it not?"

Brandon's blush deepened at your boldness, but he nodded in agreement, his eyes filled with a mixture of anticipation and embarrassment. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to proceed.

You took the initiative, stepping closer to him until there was barely an inch of space between your bodies. Leaning in, you captured his lips in a gentle kiss, your heart racing with anticipation as you felt Brandon respond eagerly, his arms encircling you in a warm embrace.

And as you melted into his embrace, you knew that despite the unconventional nature of your marriage, you were determined to honor your side of the bargain. After all, you were both bound by duty and obligation, and it was time to fulfill the promises you had made to each other, no matter the cost.

As Brandon and you stood in the dimly lit cabin, the air thick with anticipation, he couldn't help but feel a sense of trepidation mingled with desire. His heart still belonged to Marianne, his unrequited love for her a constant ache in his chest. But as he looked into your eyes, he saw more than just a means to an end; he saw a woman who deserved his respect and consideration, despite the circumstances of their marriage.

With gentle hands, Brandon began to undress you, his touch tender and reverent as he revealed your delicate form beneath the fabric. He couldn't help but admire the curve of your body, the softness of your skin, as he trailed kisses along your neck and collarbone, his lips leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You responded eagerly to his touch, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer, urging him to explore every inch of your body. Brandon's heart raced with excitement as he felt your arousal building, his own desire growing with each soft moan that escaped your lips.

As Brandon guided you to the bed, he felt a surge of anticipation coursing through him, his body responding instinctively to the intimacy between you. He couldn't deny the pleasure he felt at being so close to you, the warmth of your skin against his own igniting a fire within him that he hadn't felt in years.

With practiced hands, Brandon explored your body with a gentle touch, his fingers tracing patterns of desire along your skin as he elicited soft gasps and moans from your lips. He marveled at the way you responded to his touch, the way your body arched and trembled beneath him, as if seeking more of his affection.

And when he finally entered you, it was with a reverence and tenderness that took your breath away. Brandon moved slowly, savoring each moment as he lost himself in the sensation of your bodies moving together in perfect harmony. He felt a sense of connection with you that he hadn't experienced in years, a bond forged in the heat of their shared passion.

But even as Brandon surrendered himself to the pleasure of their union, his thoughts strayed to Marianne, his beloved lost to him forever. He couldn't help but wonder what it would have been like to make love to her, to hear her soft moans of pleasure as he brought her to the heights of ecstasy.

But Marianne didn't want him, that much was clear. Despite Brandon's unwavering love and devotion to her, she had chosen another, leaving him with a heart heavy with sorrow and longing. But Brandon was a man of honor, and he knew that he had to be content with what he had, which was you.

You, the woman whose mind was plagued by bouts of madness and unpredictability, yet whose heart was filled with kindness and compassion. And as Brandon lay beside you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of their lovemaking, he couldn't help but feel a sense of guilt wash over him. He knew that he should be focusing on fulfilling his duty as a husband, on siring heirs to carry on his legacy, but a part of him couldn't deny the pleasure he found in being with you.

But even as Brandon reveled in the intimacy between you, he couldn't shake the lingering sense of unease that gnawed at him. He knew that his feelings for you were born out of necessity rather than passion, that he was simply using you to fulfill his own needs. And yet, a part of him couldn't help but enjoy the pleasure you brought him, the warmth of your body against his own.

As the days went by, Brandon found himself spending more and more time in your company, seeking solace and companionship in your presence. He tried to convince himself that it was all in service of their shared goal of starting a family, but deep down, he knew that he enjoyed being with you, in spite of everything.

He admired your resilience and admired your intelligence and creativity, seeing beyond the surface to the kind and compassionate woman beneath. You, in turn, found solace in Brandon's presence, grateful for his unwavering support and understanding. He treated you with kindness and respect, never once judging you for your eccentricities, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude towards him for accepting you as you were.

But as the saying goes, all good things are short-lived, and Brandon saw this firsthand when he witnessed one of your episodes of madness. One night, he woke up to the sound of whispers and found you in the bedroom, talking to yourself and drawing on the wall.

Brandon's heart clenched with concern as he approached you hesitantly, calling out your name in a gentle tone. But when you turned to him, your eyes unfocused and distant, he realized that you didn't recognize him.

"Are you Venus?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper as you regarded him with a mixture of awe and confusion.

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the realization dawning on him that you didn't recognize him as your husband. He took a step closer to you, his voice calm and reassuring as he reminded you of his true identity.

"No, my dear, I'm Colonel Christopher Brandon, your husband," he replied softly, his eyes pleading with you to see reason. "Please, come back to me."

But you shook your head stubbornly, dropping the chalk in your hand as you turned away from him, your mind set on a singular purpose. Ignoring Brandon's protests, you left the bedroom, navigating the dark hallways of the mansion with determined strides.

Brandon followed close behind you, his heart pounding with fear and anxiety as he called out to you, hoping to bring you back to your senses. But you paid him no heed, your mind consumed by delusions of Venus coming to take you away.

As you stepped out into the garden, your eyes fixed on the starry sky above, you spotted the bright gleam of Venus shining in the darkness. With a sense of urgency, you called out to the celestial body, your voice filled with longing and desperation.

"Venus, my love, please come get me," you pleaded, your voice echoing in the stillness of the night. "I'm ready to go with you."

Your screams alerted the mansion's employees, who came rushing outside to see what was causing the commotion. Brandon watched helplessly as you shed your nightgown, revealing your naked body to the world as you continued to call out for Venus.

Unable to stand idly by any longer, Brandon sprang into action, moving to cover you. But you pushed him away angrily, refusing to let anyone come between you and your imagined lover.

"Get away from me!" you cried, your voice tinged with frustration as you brushed him aside. "Venus will come for me, you'll see!"

Seeing that you were beyond reason, Brandon turned to the servants, instructing them to fetch a blanket to cover you. The maids obeyed without question, rushing to fulfill his command as Brandon's butler stepped forward to assist in calming you down.

But despite their efforts, you continued to scream and cry out for Venus, your mind lost to the grips of madness. It wasn't until Brandon made a bold declaration that you finally seemed to calm down, your eyes focusing on him with a newfound clarity.

"I am Venus," Brandon announced firmly, his voice filled with conviction as he met your gaze with unwavering determination.

For a moment, you stared at him in confusion, uncertainty flickering in your eyes. But then, as if a switch had been flipped, you seemed to accept his words, your body relaxing as you allowed the maids to cover you with a blanket.

Brandon wrapped the blanket around you protectively, his heart heavy with relief as he gazed down at you with a mix of sadness and concern. Taking your hand in his, he led you toward the cabin, his mind racing with thoughts of how best to care for you in the coming days.

As you walked beside him, your gaze fixed on him with newfound adoration and confusion, you couldn't help but question the reality of the situation. Was Brandon truly Venus, the god of love and desire, come to whisk you away to a world of eternal bliss? Or was he simply a mortal man, doing his best to care for you in your time of need?

"Are you really Venus?" you asked hesitantly, your voice tinged with uncertainty as you looked up at him for answers.

Brandon met your gaze with a gentle smile, his eyes filled with warmth and compassion as he squeezed your hand reassuringly. "Yes, my dear," he replied softly, his voice filled with tenderness. "I am Venus, and I'm here to take care of you."

And as you clung to him, expressing your belief that he was Venus and how you had waited so long for him to come for you, Brandon felt a pang of sadness tug at his heart. He did not like the hope he saw in your eyes, the desperate longing for happiness that seemed to radiate from your every word. While he was relieved that you finally seemed content, he could not help but feel conflicted about perpetuating the illusion that he was Venus.

Leading you gently to the cabin, Brandon guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of you as you looked at him with such love and adoration, still addressing him as Venus. The realization that the duke and duchess hadn't mentioned this aspect of your condition left Brandon feeling unsettled. He had been led to believe that you were simply isolated in your cabin, dealing with your episodes of madness alone, but he hadn't expected this level of delusion.

Should he continue to play along with your delusions, maintaining the facade of being the god of love in order to keep you calm and prevent any further aggression? Or should he confront the reality of the situation, risking triggering another episode?

Sighing inwardly, Brandon decided to prioritize your well-being above all else. For now, it seemed best to go along with your belief that he was Venus, at least until he could figure out how to help you through this latest episode.

"Of course, my dear," Brandon replied softly, his voice filled with warmth and compassion as he took your hands in his. "I have waited for you just as eagerly. Now that we are together, I am here to take care of you, always."

Gently, Brandon helped you lay down on the bed, tucking the blankets around you to keep you warm. He listened quietly as you spoke, your words filled with a mixture of hope and desperation. You reached out to him, pleading for Venus to take you to the stars, to make you happy and relieve you of the burden you felt you were to others.

"Venus, my love, please take me away with you," you murmured, your voice soft and filled with longing. "I want to love you, and if you love me in return, I won't be a burden to anyone anymore."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to comfort you and reassure you that you were not a burden, but he knew that now was not the time for such revelations. Instead, he remained silent, his gaze filled with compassion and understanding as he listened to your pleas.

"I understand, my dear," Brandon said softly, his voice gentle as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your forehead. "Venus loves you deeply, and he would never see you as a burden. You bring light and joy to his world, and he cherishes every moment he spends with you."

Your eyes shone with tears as you looked up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Despite the turmoil in your mind, you found solace in Brandon's words, finding comfort in the belief that Venus was there to guide you to happiness.

"Thank you, Venus," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude as you closed your eyes, surrendering to the warmth of sleep. "I love you."

Brandon watched over you as you drifted off to sleep, his heart heavy with guilt and sorrow. He couldn't shake the feeling that he was deceiving you, allowing you to believe in a fantasy that could never be true. But for now, all he could do was be there for you, to offer you comfort and support in whatever form you needed.

And as Brandon lay down next to you, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air. Despite his best efforts to reassure himself that everything would be alright, a sense of foreboding settled in the pit of his stomach, a silent prayer escaping his lips as he hoped you wouldn't have another episode of madness.

Closing his eyes, Brandon tried to push aside his worries, allowing exhaustion to finally overtake him as he drifted off into a fitful sleep. But even in slumber, his mind remained troubled, haunted by visions of you lost in the throes of delusion, calling out for a love that could never be.

The next morning, Brandon awoke to the soft light filtering through the windows of the cabin, his eyes lingering on your sleeping form beside him. For a moment, he allowed himself to revel in the tranquility of the moment, the gentle rise and fall of your chest a reassuring presence in the stillness of the room.

But as the events of the previous night came rushing back to him, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt and sorrow. He knew that he couldn't continue to ignore the reality of your condition, that he needed to take action to ensure your well-being and safety.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon rose from the bed, careful not to disturb your peaceful slumber. Quietly, he dressed himself, his movements slow and deliberate as he prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead.

Leaving you sleeping in the cabin, Brandon made his way to the main residence, his mind racing with thoughts of how to best care for you in the days to come. As he entered the familiar halls of the mansion, he was greeted by the sight of the butler, who had served his family faithfully for years.

Without preamble, Brandon approached the butler, his expression grave as he relayed the events of the previous night and his concerns about your condition. He instructed the butler to pass on the information to the other servants, emphasizing the importance of treating you with kindness and understanding.

But as Brandon spoke, he couldn't help but notice the disapproving look that crossed the butler's face, a hint of disdain lingering in his gaze. It was clear that the butler harbored reservations about you and your suitability as Brandon's wife, a fact that didn't sit well with Brandon.

"Is something the matter, Jenkins?" Brandon inquired, his voice tinged with a note of concern as he regarded the butler with furrowed brows.

The butler hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "Forgive me, sir, but I cannot help but express my concerns regarding your choice of wife," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze.

Brandon's jaw tightened at the butler's words, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to contain his frustration. He knew that the butler's opinion held weight among the household staff, and he couldn't afford to have any doubts cast upon your character or his decision to marry you.

"I understand your reservations, Jenkins, but I would appreciate it if you refrained from passing judgment on [Your Name]," Brandon replied evenly, his voice laced with a hint of steel. "She is my wife, and I expect her to be treated with the respect and dignity she deserves."

Jenkins bowed his head slightly, a contrite expression crossing his features as he acknowledged Brandon's reprimand. "Forgive me, sir," he murmured apologetically. "I spoke out of turn. It's just... I never imagined that you would choose to marry someone like her."

Brandon's jaw clenched at Jenkins's words, his anger flaring anew at the implication behind them. "And what, pray tell, is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice tinged with indignation.

Jenkins hesitated for a moment before responding, his tone hesitant yet tinged with thinly veiled disapproval. "I had heard rumors about her, sir, but I never thought they were true until last night," he admitted reluctantly, his eyes darting away from Brandon's gaze. "I cannot fathom why you would willingly take on such an unnecessary burden, sir. It would have been far wiser for you to marry Miss Dashwood."

As the butler's words hung in the air, Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him. How dare Jenkins question his choice of wife, especially in such a callous manner? Suppressing his anger, Brandon took a deep breath, his voice measured as he addressed the butler once more.

"Jenkins, I understand that you may have reservations, but it is not your place to pass judgment on my decisions," Brandon stated firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I married [Your Name] out of necessity, not out of choice. Miss Dashwood made her feelings clear to me, and I must respect her decision. As for [Your Name], she may be a burden, but she is a necessary one. I need a wife to conceive children, and she is the one I have chosen for that purpose."

There was a heavy silence in the room as Brandon's words sank in, his gaze never wavering from Jenkins's face. He could see the butler's discomfort, the conflict evident in his expression as he struggled to come to terms with Brandon's assertion.

But before Jenkins could respond, Brandon felt a shift in the atmosphere behind him. Turning around, he was met with the sight of you standing in the doorway, dressed in men's clothes, your expression unreadable as you listened to the conversation unfolding before you.

For a moment, Brandon's heart clenched with guilt at the thought of you overhearing the disparaging remarks about you. He opened his mouth to call out to you, to explain himself and reassure you of his commitment, but you brushed him off tiredly, expressing your need to retreat to your cabin for a few days.

"If the servants could bring me something to eat, I would be grateful," you added, your tone weary as you turned away from him and made your way towards the cabin. You were tired—tired of the constant struggles with your own mind, tired of being a burden to those around you, and tired of the expectations placed upon you as Colonel Brandon's wife.

Brandon followed closely behind you, his brow furrowed with worry as he tried to catch up to you. "Please, let me explain," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "I didn't mean for you to overhear that conversation. You're not a burden, [Your Name]. You're my wife, and I care about you deeply."

But you kept walking, your steps determined as you refused to meet his gaze. "It's okay, Colonel," you replied softly, your voice tinged with resignation. "We didn't marry for love, that much was always clear. You don't have to explain anything to me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the weight of your resignation heavy on his shoulders. He reached out to you, his hand hovering over your shoulder, but you shrugged him off gently, your eyes filled with sadness.

"I know I've always been a burden to everyone," you continued, your voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe I always will be. But I'll fulfill my role in our agreement, Colonel. And I'll try not to be such a big burden to you."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your tone piercing him to the core. He wanted to reach out to you, to tell you that you were more than just a burden to him, but he knew that now was not the time for such declarations.

Instead, he watched helplessly as you disappeared into the cabin, the door closing softly behind you with a finality that left him feeling hollow inside. For a moment, he stood there in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of what could have been and what still might be.

But as the days turned into weeks, Brandon found himself growing increasingly restless in your absence. He missed you, deeply, your presence a balm to his weary soul in the midst of life's uncertainties. And so, despite his reservations, he found himself seeking you out, longing to be near you once more.

Every night, he would wait for you to come to him, the anticipation building with each passing hour until he could no longer bear the silence of the empty bed. And when you finally arrived, he would hold you close, cherishing every moment of your fleeting embrace before the morning light came to steal you away once more.

Today was another one of those nights, and you arrived at the agreed time, wasting no time in starting to undress your male clothes, as you always did every night, while Brandon waited for you in bed, watching you undress, revealing your body to him. The routine had become familiar, almost comforting, in its predictability.

As you climbed into bed with him, Brandon couldn't help but notice the exhaustion etched into your features. He longed to hold you close, to lose himself in the warmth of your embrace, but he knew that tonight was different. Tonight, he needed to talk to you, to address the elephant in the room that had been looming over their marriage for far too long.

"Are you alright, [Your Name]?" Brandon asked softly, his voice filled with concern as he reached out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. "You seem tired."

You sighed wearily, the weight of the day's events settling heavily on your shoulders. "I'm fine, Colonel," you replied, forcing a smile despite the fatigue evident in your voice. "Just a little tired, that's all."

Brandon studied you intently, his gaze searching your face for any sign of hesitation or discomfort. He wanted you, desperately, but he could see the weariness in your eyes, the toll that their arrangement was taking on you.

"Perhaps we could talk before... before we... make babies," Brandon suggested tentatively, his words carefully chosen as he broached the delicate subject. "I know it wasn't what we originally agreed upon, but I can't help but feel like we should talk to get to know each other better."

You nodded in agreement, grateful for the opportunity to postpone the inevitable for a little while longer. Pulling the covers over yourself to protect yourself from the cold of the night, you settled into the bed beside Brandon, your mind racing with thoughts of what you were going to talk about.

Brandon turned to look at you, his expression softening with affection as he regarded you. "How did you... how did you start to like astronomy?" he asked, his tone gentle as he broached the topic of conversation.

You smiled at the question, a fondness evident in your eyes as you recalled your childhood fascination with the stars. "For as long as I can remember, I've been fascinated by astronomy," you confessed, your eyes sparkling with excitement. "I found a telescope in my grandfather's things when I was a child, and ever since then, I've been hooked. There's just something about gazing up at the night sky that fills me with wonder and awe."

Brandon nodded, captivated by the passion in your voice as you spoke. He admired your thirst for knowledge, your willingness to pursue your interests despite the constraints placed upon you by society. In that moment, he felt a surge of affection for you, a newfound appreciation for the depth of your character.

"It sounds like you had quite the adventurous childhood," Brandon remarked, his tone laced with admiration. "Your parents must have been quite liberal in letting you learn whatever you wanted."

You nodded in agreement, a smile playing at the corners of your lips as you recalled the support and encouragement you had received from your parents throughout the years. "Yes, they were," you replied, a hint of pride evident in your voice. "They always encouraged me to follow my passions, no matter where they led me."

Brandon's heart swelled with affection as he listened to you speak, the warmth of your words washing over him like a soothing balm. He liked how you lit up, the sparkle in your eyes when you talked about astronomy. He found himself captivated by the passion and enthusiasm in your voice, admiring the way you spoke with such fervor about something that brought you joy. It was a side of you he hadn't seen before, a glimpse into the depths of your soul that left him feeling strangely drawn to you.

But as the conversation shifted, Brandon hesitated, his brow furrowing with concern as he broached a more sensitive topic. "When did your... episodes of madness start?" he asked tentatively, his voice barely above a whisper as he searched your eyes for answers.

The heat in your eyes disappeared as the tiredness returned, and you fell silent, your gaze drifting away from his as you struggled to find the words to explain. It was a painful subject, one that you had long tried to bury deep within yourself, but you knew that Brandon deserved to know the truth.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come as you recounted the events that had changed your life forever. "It all started when I was 15," you began softly, your voice tinged with sadness. "I was out riding with my father and brothers when my horse was startled by a snake. I fell off and... I hit my head on a rock."

You paused, the memories flooding back with painful clarity as you struggled to compose yourself. "I don't remember much after that," you continued, your voice trembling slightly. "But my brothers told me that I was in a coma for five days before I woke up."

Brandon listened intently, his heart aching with sympathy as he imagined the pain and confusion you must have felt during that traumatic time. "And then?" he prompted gently, his voice barely above a whisper as he waited for you to continue.

You shook your head, a tear slipping down your cheek as you recalled the horrors that followed. "Things were normal for a few days," you admitted reluctantly. "But then... the first episode of madness began."

Brandon's heart clenched with sorrow at your words, his mind racing with questions and concerns. "What... what kind of treatments did you undergo?" he asked softly, his voice filled with apprehension as he braced himself for your response.

But you shook your head, the pain evident in your eyes as you diverted the conversation. "I... I don't think you want to know," you replied quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's not something I like to talk about."

Brandon's heart ached with frustration at your reluctance to share, but he knew that now was not the time to press you further. Instead, he reached out to you, his hand gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you tenderly.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he murmured against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. "But know that I'm here for you, [Your Name]. Whatever you need, whatever you're going through, I'm here."

You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his words washing over you like a soothing balm. In that moment, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you, a glimmer of light in the darkness that surrounded you.

With a soft sigh of contentment, you pulled Brandon closer, your lips meeting his in a tender kiss as you whispered softly against his mouth. "Don't make me wait any longer, Colonel," you murmured, your voice filled with longing. "Let's just get this over with."

Brandon's heart skipped a beat at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the passion of your embrace. In that moment, there was only you and him, lost in the intensity of their shared desire as they sought solace in each other's arms.

Brandon pulled you closer, his arms wrapping tightly around your waist as he guided you onto his lap beneath the covers. You followed his lead, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest, your lips meeting his in a hungry kiss that conveyed all the pent-up desire between you.

The kiss was intense, fueled by a longing that had been building between you for far too long. Your tongues danced together in a passionate tango, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies as you lost yourselves in the heat of the moment.

Finally breaking away from the kiss, you reached between your bodies, your hand wrapping around Brandon's hard length as you positioned yourself above him. With a breathy sigh, you guided him to your entrance, the anticipation of being filled by him sending shivers of excitement down your spine.

Brandon groaned softly as he felt you take him in hand, his desire for you reaching a fever pitch as he watched you sink down onto him. He was big and you weren't quite wet enough to receive him fully. But the sensation of being stretched by him was exhilarating, and you couldn't help but moan in pleasure as you sank down onto his cock.

As you sat down completely on him, a low, guttural moan escaped Brandon's lips, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he relished the feeling of being buried deep inside you. And when you moaned his name in a breathy whisper—Christopher—Brandon's heart skipped a beat, his desire for you reaching new heights at the sound of his name on your lips.

"God, [Your Name]," Brandon breathed, his voice thick with desire as he savored the sensation of you surrounding him. "You feel so good, so tight around me."

You whimpered in response, the pleasure of having him inside you overwhelming as you began to move your hips in a slow, steady rhythm. Each thrust sent waves of ecstasy coursing through your body, the pleasure building with each passing moment as you surrendered yourself to the intensity of your union.

Brandon matched your movements with his own, his hands guiding you as you rode him with increasing urgency. He could feel the tension building within you, the need for release growing more urgent by the second as you chased the elusive peak of pleasure together.

And as you continued bouncing on Brandon's dick, you experimented with new movements, gyrating your hips and watching the pleasure written all over his face. It was a sight that books and stories of your married sisters' experiences could never fully describe—the indescribable pleasure of seeing Brandon lost in ecstasy, his features contorted with pleasure as you rode him with abandon.

He was absolutely beautiful, his handsome face twisted in pleasure as he surrendered himself to the pleasure you were providing him. But despite his beauty and kindness, you pushed aside any thoughts of unworthiness, focusing only on the here and now with Brandon, on the pleasure you both felt.

Taking his hands that were on your waist, you guided them closer together, intertwining your fingers with his as you held his hands above his head. The feeling of his strong hands in yours only fueled your desire further, adding an element of intimacy to your passionate encounter.

And as you continued to ride him, lost in the sensation of being filled by him, you couldn't help but let out a torrent of praise and moans, your voice echoing through the room in a symphony of pleasure. And Brandon loved every moment of it, reveling in the sound of your moans and the sweet compliments you bestowed upon him.

"You feel so good, Christopher," you gasped, your voice filled with longing as you rocked your hips against his. "I never want this to end."

Brandon's heart swelled with pride at your words, his desire for you burning hotter than ever as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. "You're amazing, [Your Name]," he murmured, his voice thick with desire as he watched you move above him.

You smiled at his words, your heart overflowing with love for him as you continued to ride him with increasing urgency. You let go of Brandon's hands, your fingers curling into his chest as you rode him harder, your movements fueled by a desperate need for release. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, the tension building with each passing moment as you chased the elusive peak of ecstasy.

Brandon watched you with rapt attention, his eyes filled with desire as he surrendered himself to the pleasure of your union. He groaned softly as he felt you tighten around him, the sensation driving him closer to the edge with each passing moment.

At the sight of you throwing your head back in ecstasy, Brandon felt his own climax approaching rapidly. With a guttural moan of pleasure, he let go of all restraint, surrendering himself completely to the overwhelming sensation of release. As you reached climax, your body shuddering with the intensity of your pleasure, Brandon held you close, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he supported your weight. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he rode out the waves of his orgasm with you.

And as he came deep inside you, filling you with his seed, you felt a surge of contentment wash over you, knowing that you had given him everything he desired. You melted into his embrace, your bodies entwined in a tangle of limbs as you basked in the afterglow of your passionate encounter.

As you both calmed down, Brandon pulled you to lie down next to him, his arms wrapped around you protectively as he held you close. You snuggled into his embrace, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. But as Brandon fell asleep beside you, a wave of sadness washed over you, threatening to engulf you in its depths. You knew that your relationship with Brandon was built on a foundation of duty and obligation, not love. He had made it clear that you were here just to give him children, nothing more.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, leaving you feeling empty and hollow inside. You didn't deserve him, you didn't deserve Brandon's love. He was kind and compassionate, everything you could ever want in a partner, but you knew that he would never love you the way you longed to be loved.

And as you stood up to get dressed, ignoring the sticky remnants of his cum running down your thighs, you couldn't help but feel a sense of despair wash over you. You cast one last look at Brandon's sleeping form, the ache in your heart growing more unbearable with each passing moment.

But as you turned away, tears streaming down your cheeks, you made a silent vow to yourself. You would bury your feelings deep within yourself, locking them away where no one could find them. You would continue to fulfill your duty as Brandon's wife, even if it meant sacrificing your own happiness in the process.

With a heavy heart, you slipped into your clothes and made your way back to your cabin, back to your books, and your stars. It was the only solace you had left, the only thing that could distract you from the pain of knowing that you would never have the love you so desperately craved.

Brandon woke up the next morning with a satisfied sigh, his body still tingling with the lingering sensations of their passionate encounter from the night before. He reached out instinctively, his arm seeking the warmth of your body as he pulled you close, his heart swelling with affection at the thought of waking up beside you.

But to his dismay, Brandon's hand met only empty space, his fingers brushing against the cool fabric of the pillow beneath him. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment as he blinked away the remnants of sleep, his eyes scanning the room in search of you.

And then, with a sinking feeling in his chest, Brandon realized the truth—you were gone. Once again, you had left him alone in the marital bed, slipping away in the darkness of the night without so much as a goodbye.

Disappointment washed over Brandon like a tidal wave, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence. He had hoped that last night's passionate encounter would bring you closer together, that it would be a step towards building a deeper connection between you.

But as he lay there in the empty bed, Brandon couldn't shake the feeling of loneliness that settled over him like a shroud. He longed for your presence, for the warmth of your body pressed against his, but he knew that you were gone, leaving him to face another day alone.

With a heavy sigh, Brandon turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling with a sense of resignation. He was tired of this—tired of the constant cycle of intimacy followed by solitude, tired of feeling like he was always left wanting more.

Rubbing his face tiredly, Brandon knew that he couldn't continue like this. He had to talk to you, to address the underlying issues that were driving you apart. He couldn't keep ignoring the elephant in the room, pretending that everything was fine when it clearly wasn't.

And so, with a sense of determination, Brandon promised himself that he would broach the subject with you when you came over again that night. He couldn't let things continue like this, couldn't let the distance between you grow any further.

But for now, Brandon pushed aside his worries, forcing himself to focus on the tasks at hand. There were duties to attend to, responsibilities to fulfill, and he couldn't afford to let his personal struggles interfere with his professional life.

With a deep breath, Brandon pushed himself out of bed, steeling himself for the day ahead. He didn't know what the future held for him and you, but he knew that he couldn't keep living like this, trapped in a cycle of longing and disappointment.

Brandon longed for more than just stolen moments in the dead of night; he wanted to be with you, truly and completely, in every sense of the word. And so, he resolved to confront you, to lay bare his heart and soul in the hopes of finding solace in your arms once more.

And so, on that fateful night, as the hours stretched on without any sign of your arrival, Brandon found himself growing increasingly anxious. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that you needed him now more than ever.

With a sense of urgency, Brandon made his way to the cabin, his heart pounding in his chest as he prepared himself for what he might find inside. And when he entered, he was met with the sight of you lost in another one of your episodes, drawing intricate constellations on the wooden floor as you mumbled to yourself.

"[Your Name], it's me, Christopher," he called out softly, his voice filled with concern as he approached you cautiously. "Can you hear me? It's going to be alright, I'm here."

You looked at him and smiled, beckoning him closer. Brandon realized that you weren't in one of your manic episodes, at least it didn't seem like it. He approached cautiously, a mix of relief and confusion flooding his senses. "What are you doing?" he asked gently, his concern evident in his voice.

You glanced up at him, your eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm drawing my favorite constellations," you replied, a hint of excitement in your tone. "The sky is beautiful tonight, don't you think?"

Brandon felt a surge of frustration bubbling within him, his worry dissipating into annoyance. "That's it?" he exclaimed, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "You didn't come to me because you were drawing constellations?"

You looked at him, confusion clouding your features as you processed his words. "I'm sorry," you murmured, your voice tinged with regret. "I didn't mean to dishonor our agreement, but I just... I lost track of time."

But your words only seemed to frustrate Brandon even more, his patience wearing thin as he struggled to comprehend your actions. "Is that all this is to you?" he demanded, his voice tinged with bitterness. "Just a deal?"

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you struggled to find the right words. "How should I see it then?" you questioned, your voice barely above a whisper.

Brandon looked away, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "Maybe... maybe I want something more," he admitted quietly, his voice filled with uncertainty. "I... I think I'm in love with you."

You interrupted him, shaking your head in disbelief as you backed away from him. "No," you whispered, your voice tinged with sadness. "You barely talk to me, Colonel. How could you possibly love me?"

But Brandon insisted, his gaze unwavering as he met your eyes with determination. "I see you, [Your Name]," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "I see you helping the servants when you're not alone in the cabin. I see how you light up when you talk about astronomy, how passionate you are about the stars. And those nighttime conversations we have... they mean more to me than you'll ever know."

You remained skeptical, your gaze fixed on him with a mixture of disbelief and resignation. "You can't love me," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you turned away from him. "It would be better if you extinguished that love now, before it consumes you. Fall in love with another woman, but not with me."

Brandon's heart clenched at your words, the pain evident in your voice cutting him to the core. "No," he protested, reaching out to you desperately. "I don't want to be in love with anyone else. I want to be with you, [Your Name]. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what you were about to say. "I heard rumors that Marianne Dashwood will no longer marry John Willoughby," you explained, your voice tinged with uncertainty. "Maybe you can ask for an annulment of our marriage, claiming that I am crazy, so you are free to go after Marianne."

Brandon's eyes widened in surprise at your suggestion, his mind racing with conflicting emotions. "How do you know about Marianne?" he questioned, his tone laced with disbelief. "And why would you suggest such a thing?"

You smiled sadly at him, the weight of your words heavy on your heart. "I heard Jenkins happily commenting on this with other employees," you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. "He seemed eager to see you away from me."

Brandon's expression darkened at the mention of Jenkins, his frustration mounting as he struggled to come to terms with the implications of your words. "Jenkins has no right to meddle in our affairs," he muttered, his voice tinged with anger. "And Marianne... Marianne is not the solution to our problems."

You looked at him, uncertainty flickering in your eyes as you processed his words. "But you love her, don't you?" you questioned softly, a hint of sadness in your tone.

Brandon's gaze softened as he met your eyes, his voice filled with sincerity. "I thought I did, once," he admitted quietly. "But that was before I met you."

You looked at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But how can that be?" you questioned, confusion evident in your voice. "I'm nothing like Marianne. I'm not beautiful, or charming, or witty."

Brandon reached out to you, gently cupping your face in his hands as he met your gaze with unwavering determination. "You may not be Marianne, but you are everything to me," he replied softly, his voice filled with sincerity. "You are kind, compassionate, and brave. And who says you're not beautiful? You are simply stunning."

You push Brandon's hand away, your heart heavy with disbelief and self-doubt. "You don't know what you're talking about," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper. "I'm just a crazy woman, Colonel. You shouldn't waste your time on me."

But Brandon refuses to back down, his eyes filled with sincerity as he reaches out to you once more. "It doesn't matter if you're crazy or not," he insists, his voice unwavering. "You're my wife, don't you see? I want you, all of you."

You shake your head in disbelief, unable to comprehend his words. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty. "Why would you want someone like me?"

Brandon's expression softens as he looks at you, his gaze filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with conviction. "You're kind, and compassionate, and brave. And I... I think I'm falling in love with you."

You stare at him in shock, unable to believe what you're hearing. "But Marianne..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words.

Brandon interrupts you gently, his voice filled with understanding. "Marianne sent me letters, asking me to visit her," he admits quietly. "But I refused, because... because of you. I want to explore this love, this connection that I feel with you. Marianne is not the solution to our problems. You are. Give me an occupation, [Your Name], or I shall run mad.”

Tears fill your eyes as you look at him, the weight of his words sinking in. "I don't deserve you," you whisper, your voice barely audible as you turn away from him.

But Brandon refuses to let you retreat into your self-doubt, reaching out to you and gently turning you back to face him. "It doesn't matter," he insists, his voice filled with determination. "It doesn't matter if you think you're not worthy of love. Because to me, you're everything."

You meet his gaze, your heart aching with longing and uncertainty. "But what if I have another episode?" you question hesitantly, your voice tinged with fear.

Brandon's expression softens, his hand reaching out to gently caress your cheek. "Then we'll face it together," he replies softly. "I'll be by your side, every step of the way. Because you're not alone, [Your Name]. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

You look away, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill from your eyes. The weight of Brandon's words hangs heavy in the air, his vulnerability laid bare before you. You want to say something, to reassure him of your feelings, but the words catch in your throat, choked by the fear and uncertainty that have plagued you for so long.

Brandon waits patiently for you to speak, his gaze searching yours for any sign of understanding. But when you remain silent, a defeated look crosses his features, his shoulders slumping in resignation.

"Maybe... maybe it's you who doesn't love me," he murmurs softly, his voice filled with a hint of desperation.

You feel a pang of guilt at his words, a surge of emotion welling up inside you as you struggle to find the courage to speak. But then, before you can stop yourself, the words spill from your lips in a rush of emotion.

"No, Christopher, it's not that," you interject, your voice trembling with emotion. "I love you. How could I not, after all the kindness you've shown me? There aren't enough stars in the sky to quantify how deeply I've fallen for you."

You pause, taking a shaky breath as you gather your thoughts. Weeks ago, when you overheard Brandon referring to you as a necessary burden, it had shattered your heart. You had never wanted to be seen as a burden to him, but your madness seemed to make it unavoidable.

"But I know that I can't make you happy," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "But Marianne... she's young and beautiful. She'll have a much better chance of giving you children and making you happy. And the employees will like her. It will be better that way. I will no longer be a burden to you."

Tears fill your eyes as you speak, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. You know that this is your destiny, to fade into the background, with only the stars for company.

Brandon listens to you in silence, his expression unreadable as he processes your words. When you finish speaking, he reaches out to you, gently wiping away your tears with his thumb.

"You are not a burden, [Your Name]," he whispers softly, his voice filled with conviction. "And I don't want anyone else. I want you, just as you are. Marianne may have her charms, but she's not you. And I love you."

You look up at him, disbelief written all over your face. "But why?" you question, your voice trembling with uncertainty.

Brandon smiles tenderly at you, his eyes filled with warmth and affection. "Because you're you," he replies simply, his voice filled with sincerity. "And that's all I need."

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

A Dashwood Heart

Word count: 4.8k

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Reader

Summary: The eldest Dashwood daughter, devoted to her younger half-sisters, moves with her family to Barton Cottage after their father's death leaves them with little inheritance. She secretly admires Colonel Brandon, who initially favors her sister Marianne.

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The passing of my father, Henry Dashwood, left a weight that settled heavy in the marrow of our bones. His death, unexpected in its swiftness, brought with it the end of comfort and the beginning of uncertainty. I am the eldest daughter of his first marriage, older by only five years than Elinor, the eldest daughter of his second. I had never known my own mother, who died bringing me into this world, and so my father’s second wife was the only mother I had ever known. She was kind and patient, and my sisters and I grew under her gentle guidance.

My older brother John inherited everything when Father passed, as was the law, but with it came his wife, Fanny—a woman whose character was as sharp as her tongue. Fanny Dashwood's arrival at Norland Park was not unlike a frost that comes too early in autumn, turning the leaves brittle and stripping the branches bare. Her presence suffocated any joy that had remained after Father’s passing. It became clear that our new reality, under John's roof, was not one we could endure. Thus, we set our sights on Barton Cottage, a modest home offered by a distant relation, Sir John Middleton.

The cottage was small and plain, lacking the grandeur and refinement of Norland Park. But what it lacked in size, it made up for in charm. We were together, and so it was enough. Elinor, Marianne, Margaret, our mother, and I—all of us settled into this new life with a mixture of trepidation and determination.

I had always been a second mother to my younger sisters, a role that came naturally to me as the eldest girl. I felt a special kinship with Margaret, who, being the youngest, had a particular need for a guiding hand. Elinor, though close in age to me, often bore her own burdens quietly. Marianne, on the other hand, with her romantic ideals and fiery spirit, needed a steadying force. I often thought it was my duty to be that force, even if she did not see it.

As time passed, our days at Barton Cottage grew filled with the warmth of companionship and the quiet joys of a simpler life. I found solace in the small routines—mending, reading, walking along the countryside with Margaret. For a time, I was content, even happy. But then, the company at Barton Park—the home of Sir John Middleton and his mother-in-law, Lady Jennings—brought a new awareness into my life.

It was during one of our frequent visits to Barton Park that I first observed Colonel Brandon. He was a man of quiet composure, with an air of reserve that spoke of unspoken sorrows. He was a gentleman, older than the other men we often met, but with a certain gravity that I found quite compelling. His attentions, however, were firmly fixed on Marianne.

I watched, often from a quiet corner of the room, as his eyes followed her movements, as he listened intently to her musical performances, his expression softening with every note she played. He would sit close enough to speak, yet always waited until she addressed him, his voice low and gentle when he did. It was clear that his admiration for her was genuine, but Marianne, so young and full of romantic ideals, was blind to his feelings.

Instead, she became enchanted by John Willoughby, a young man full of wit and charm. Willoughby, with his easy smiles and impetuous manner, was everything Marianne believed a hero to be. Colonel Brandon, seeing this, withdrew with quiet grace. I admired him for it, though it seemed his heart must surely ache. I began to feel a tug at my own heartstrings—a sense of kinship with him, perhaps, or an unspoken admiration.

One afternoon, as I sat with Elinor on the lawn at Barton Park, I ventured to speak of the Colonel.

"He is a man of remarkable steadiness, is he not?" I said, glancing over to where he stood, a little apart from the others, his gaze fixed on the distant hills.

Elinor nodded, her eyes following mine. "Indeed, he is. I find his company most agreeable, though he speaks but little."

"I have noticed that too," I replied. "Yet, there is much to be discerned in what he does not say. He has a manner that speaks of deep feeling, I think."

Elinor regarded me with a small smile. "Do you think so, sister? I believe you are right."

I could not help but feel a faint blush warm my cheeks. "It is only an observation," I murmured, turning my gaze to the ground. I had grown accustomed to being unnoticed, overshadowed by Marianne's beauty and Elinor's quiet elegance. Yet, I could not help but wonder if anyone had ever truly seen me—noticed me.

Days turned into weeks, and I continued to observe Colonel Brandon from a distance. I knew more about him than he would ever know of me, gleaned from quiet conversations with Elinor and overheard remarks from Lady Jennings, who was forever trying to marry off everyone in her sight.

"He is a good man, but so very serious," Lady Jennings had said one day. "A little dull for my tastes, but a fortune and a fine estate at Delaford. That is something, is it not?"

It was one evening, while we were all gathered at Barton Park, that I saw a change in him. Marianne was at the piano, playing one of her lively sonatas, and Willoughby was near, his admiration evident in every glance. Colonel Brandon, standing by the window, watched them, his face a study in quiet resignation. I saw, in that moment, the precise second his gaze shifted—away from Marianne and, for the first time, toward me.

I looked away quickly, my heart unexpectedly fluttering. Did he see me? Did he see something in me that he had not seen before? But no, it could not be. A man like him, so full of dignity and experience, would never turn his attention toward someone as inconsequential as myself.

The next time we met, it was at Barton Cottage. I was sitting with Margaret, helping her with her stitching, when there came a knock at the door. I opened it to find Colonel Brandon standing there, his expression as grave as ever, yet his eyes—his eyes were softer somehow.

"Miss Dashwood," he said, inclining his head. "I hope I am not intruding. Sir John mentioned that Miss Marianne had been unwell, and I thought to bring some books she might enjoy."

I invited him in, my voice trembling slightly, though I hoped he would not notice. He handed me the books, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest of moments. There was a warmth in his touch that startled me, and I quickly withdrew my hand.

"Thank you, Colonel," I said, mustering a smile. "I am sure Marianne will appreciate your thoughtfulness."

He nodded, his eyes searching mine. "And you, Miss Dashwood—are you well?"

The question took me by surprise, and I hesitated. "I am quite well, thank you, Colonel."

He seemed to want to say more, but just then, Marianne entered the room, and his attention shifted back to her. I could not help but feel a small pang of disappointment, but I knew better than to hope for anything more.

The days passed, and Colonel Brandon continued to visit, sometimes bringing books, sometimes just to call. Each time, he was polite and reserved, his conversations directed more often to my sisters than to me. Yet, there were moments—small, fleeting moments—when his eyes would linger on mine, and I would feel a warmth spread through my chest that I could not quite name.

It was a slow realization, like a bud slowly unfurling in spring, that perhaps, just perhaps, he saw something in me. And yet, I dared not hope, for I had never known what it was to be truly seen or wanted by anyone.

One afternoon, as we walked along the hills near Barton, I found myself walking beside him, a little apart from the others. There was a comfortable silence between us, the kind that comes from a shared understanding. I dared to speak.

"Do you think, Colonel," I began, my voice barely above a whisper, "that it is possible for someone to be overlooked all their life, and yet still hold hope for something more?"

He looked at me then, truly looked at me, and I felt the weight of his gaze settle upon my heart.

"I believe," he said slowly, "that there are those who go unnoticed because they are waiting for someone who sees them for who they truly are. And when that person comes, they will see them more clearly than anyone ever has."

I could hardly breathe. "Do you believe you have found such a person, Colonel?"

His eyes softened, and for the first time, I saw a hint of a smile touch his lips. "I think, Miss Dashwood, that I am beginning to see more than I ever expected."

As we walked on, my heart felt lighter than it had in years. Colonel Brandon’s words lingered in my mind, an echo of a possibility that had never before seemed within reach. I stole a glance at him beside me—his face turned toward the rolling hills, his expression contemplative. What did he see when he looked at me? Could he truly have meant that he was beginning to see me in a new light?

But no—doubts crept in as swiftly as the hope had formed. Perhaps he was merely being kind. Perhaps I had read too much into his words, a desperate grasping for something that was never there. I chastised myself inwardly and forced my thoughts back to the present.

Marianne, who had been ahead with Margaret, suddenly paused on the path. She turned back to us, her curls catching the light of the afternoon sun. “Colonel! Miss Dashwood! You must join us,” she called. “The view from here is quite extraordinary.”

Colonel Brandon’s gaze shifted from the hills to me. “Shall we?” he asked.

I nodded, and we walked the short distance to where Marianne and Margaret stood. As we reached them, I noticed the way Colonel Brandon’s eyes softened as he looked at Marianne. She was his first love here, I reminded myself, and my hopes began to wane again.

The four of us stood together, looking out over the valley, where the sunlight bathed the fields in a warm, golden hue. It was breathtaking, and for a moment, all my worries faded away.

Marianne, however, could never be quiet for long. “Colonel Brandon,” she began with a teasing smile, “you have been in a most serious mood all day. Come, share with us what weighs so heavily on your mind. Or is it that you have a secret you wish to keep hidden?”

He chuckled softly, a rare sound that drew my attention back to him. “I assure you, Miss Marianne, I am quite content at present,” he replied. “Though, perhaps I am simply in awe of the company I find myself in.”

Marianne laughed, a light and melodic sound. “You always know just what to say, Colonel. But I still believe there is something you are not telling us.”

“I assure you, my secrets are few,” he said, his eyes meeting mine briefly before he turned his gaze back to Marianne. “Though I do think some things are best left to be discovered in time.”

Marianne, in her spirited way, rolled her eyes and turned back to the view. Margaret, on the other hand, looked between us with a knowing grin, her youthful mind ever so quick to notice things others might overlook. I gave her a soft nudge, and she giggled, running ahead to explore a small cluster of wildflowers.

That evening, back at Barton Cottage, I found myself lost in thought. I could hardly focus on the book in my lap, my mind drifting back to the Colonel’s words on the hillside. Elinor, ever perceptive, noticed my distraction.

“Are you quite well, sister?” she asked, closing her own book and setting it aside. “You seem troubled.”

I hesitated for a moment. Elinor was always so sensible, so grounded in reality. “I am merely… contemplative, I suppose,” I replied. “I have been thinking about Colonel Brandon.”

Elinor raised an eyebrow, but her expression was gentle. “He is a thoughtful man, and I believe he holds you in high regard. It is only natural to think of him, given how often he is in our company these days.”

“Do you truly think so?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “That he holds me in high regard, I mean?”

Elinor smiled softly. “Yes, I do. I see the way he looks at you sometimes when he believes no one is watching. There is a certain tenderness there.”

My heart fluttered at her words, but I still felt uncertain. “I do not wish to be foolish,” I said quietly. “He is older and has known his share of heartbreak. I wonder if he could ever see me as… anything more.”

Elinor reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “You are kind and steady, and you see people as they truly are. If he does not see that, then he is a fool, which I do not believe he is.”

Her words offered some comfort, and I decided then to wait and see. I had no great expectations—only the smallest glimmer of hope that perhaps, in time, things might become clearer.

The weeks passed, and Colonel Brandon’s visits became more frequent. He brought with him a sense of calm that I found increasingly soothing. Sometimes, he would stay to read with us in the parlor, his low, steady voice filling the room with a quiet intimacy that made my heart ache in the loveliest of ways. At other times, he would invite us to walk, and though his steps often fell beside Marianne’s, his gaze would drift to me more often than not.

One evening, as we sat together after supper, he asked me a question that took me by surprise.

“Miss Dashwood, I have observed that you have a particular fondness for poetry,” he said, his voice low but clear. “Do you have a favorite poet?”

I looked up, startled that he had noticed something so personal about me. “I—I do, Colonel. I have always been drawn to Wordsworth. His verses speak of nature and the human spirit in a way that resonates deeply with me.”

He nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. “Wordsworth is indeed a master of capturing the beauty and complexity of life. Perhaps, one day, you would do me the honor of sharing some of your favorite passages.”

“I would be delighted,” I replied softly, my cheeks warming under his gaze.

Marianne, who had been listening, smiled broadly. “Oh, Colonel, you must hear my sister recite! She has a way with words, truly. You would be enraptured.”

I blushed deeply, but Colonel Brandon’s smile widened ever so slightly. “I have no doubt that I would be,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

As the days grew warmer, so too did my feelings for Colonel Brandon. I could no longer deny that my heart had grown quite attached to him, even if I could not be sure of his feelings in return. There were moments when I believed he saw me as more than just another Miss Dashwood, but I dared not hope too much.

One afternoon, as we walked back from Barton Park, Colonel Brandon lingered behind with me while the others walked ahead. The air was cool and fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers, and the soft rustle of leaves filled the silence between us. I could feel the weight of something unsaid hanging in the air, and I found myself wanting to fill it.

“Colonel Brandon,” I began cautiously, “I have been thinking much on our conversations lately.”

He turned to me, his expression attentive. “And what conclusions have you come to, Miss Dashwood?”

I hesitated, my heart pounding in my chest. “Only that… I value them greatly. More than I had expected to.”

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw something there—something warm and sincere. “I value them as well,” he said softly. “You have a quiet strength, Miss Dashwood. It is… a quality I have come to admire greatly.”

My breath caught in my throat. “You honor me with your words, Colonel,” I murmured. “Though I have done nothing to earn such praise.”

He shook his head. “On the contrary. You have earned far more than I can express. There is a grace in your manner, a kindness in your heart that speaks volumes.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Could it be that he truly saw me? That he valued me not just as a friend, but as something more?

Before I could find the courage to speak, Marianne called back to us, her voice breaking the moment. “Come along, you two! You are falling behind!”

We resumed our pace, but the silence that followed was no longer uncomfortable. It was filled with a new understanding, a new possibility.

It was a few days later when the opportunity for another conversation presented itself. Colonel Brandon arrived at Barton Cottage early, before any of the others were up and about. I was in the garden, tending to some of the late-blooming flowers, when I saw him approach.

“Good morning, Miss Dashwood,” he greeted me, a softness in his tone that sent a thrill through me.

“Good morning, Colonel,” I replied, brushing the dirt from my hands. “You are early today.”

He nodded, looking almost hesitant. “I hoped to speak with you alone, if I might.”

My heart began to race. “Of course,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady.

He took a deep breath, and for a moment, he seemed to gather his thoughts. “Miss Dashwood,” he began, “I have found great comfort in your company these past weeks. You have shown me a kindness that I had thought lost to me. And I find myself… drawn to you in a way I had not expected.���

I could hardly breathe. “Colonel, I—”

He held up a hand, his expression earnest. “Please, allow me to finish. I know I am not a young man. I have lived through much, and I do not offer my heart lightly. But if you could ever see it in your own heart to care for me even a fraction of how I have come to care for you, I would be the most fortunate man.”

Tears filled my eyes as I listened to his words—words I had never dared to hope for. “Oh, Colonel,” I whispered, my voice trembling. “You have seen me when I thought no one ever would. And I… I have come to care for you deeply, more than I ever thought possible.”

His face broke into a smile, the kind of smile that transformed his entire countenance, and he took a step closer. “Then, may I hope, Miss Dashwood, that we might find happiness together?”

As the days passed, I found myself growing closer to Colonel Brandon. Our conversations were filled with a warmth and understanding that I had never known before. He would visit Barton Cottage frequently, bringing with him a quiet sense of comfort and constancy that I had come to cherish. When we were alone or with Elinor, his attention was always on me—his gaze gentle, his words thoughtful. I could feel the beginnings of a deep bond forming between us, a connection that seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

But there was a change in Marianne—a shift in her demeanor that was impossible to ignore. She had always been the center of attention, the bright star that drew everyone’s gaze. Colonel Brandon had once been enthralled by her every word, her every movement. Yet now, his attentions had turned toward me, and though Marianne had been enamored with John Willoughby, I could see the flicker of jealousy in her eyes.

One afternoon, as we all sat in the small parlor at Barton Cottage, Marianne decided to play the piano. She chose a lively piece, one that she knew Colonel Brandon favored. She glanced at him often as she played, her eyes bright with a mixture of mischief and expectation. But though he listened politely, his attention kept drifting back to me, where I sat beside Elinor, quietly observing the scene unfold.

Marianne finished the piece with a flourish and turned to the Colonel, her smile wide. “What do you think, Colonel? Is it not a fine composition?”

He nodded, offering her a small smile. “Indeed, Miss Marianne, you play it with great spirit.”

She seemed dissatisfied with his restrained praise. “But you seem distracted, Colonel. Tell me, where are your thoughts this afternoon? Have they wandered far from this room?”

Colonel Brandon’s eyes flicked briefly to mine, and I felt my breath catch. “I assure you, Miss Marianne, I am very much present,” he replied. “But there is much to contemplate in such company.”

Marianne’s smile faltered slightly. She looked between the Colonel and me, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. “You have been most attentive to my sister lately, Colonel,” she said with a forced lightness. “I had thought your admiration was reserved for more… romantic sensibilities.”

Elinor, sensing the tension, interjected quickly. “Marianne, the Colonel has been a good friend to us all. There is no need to assign motives where there are none.”

But Marianne was not to be deterred. “Oh, I only jest, of course. It is all in good fun.”

I could feel my cheeks warming under her scrutiny. Colonel Brandon, however, remained calm and composed. “I assure you, Miss Marianne,” he said, his voice steady, “my admiration extends to all those whose company I enjoy.”

Marianne seemed unsatisfied with this answer, but she forced a smile nonetheless. I could see the hint of something sharp behind her eyes—a flicker of resentment that she tried to mask with a laugh.

From that moment on, her demeanor toward the Colonel changed subtly. She became more flirtatious, more eager to draw his attention back to herself. She would seek him out in conversation, touch his arm lightly when speaking to him, and laugh brightly at his every comment. It was as if she could not bear the thought of his gaze resting anywhere but on her.

One evening, as we prepared to walk back from Barton Park, Marianne pulled Colonel Brandon aside, leaving me standing with Elinor and Margaret. I watched them from a distance, trying to quell the rising tide of insecurity within me. Elinor, ever perceptive, noticed my unease.

“She does not mean to be cruel,” Elinor said quietly. “She is simply unused to sharing attention. It will pass.”

I nodded, trying to smile, but my heart felt heavy. “I only hope she understands that I would never wish to come between her and someone she cares for.”

Elinor squeezed my hand reassuringly. “Colonel Brandon is not Willoughby, nor is he someone to be swayed by fleeting affections. Trust in his character, sister.”

I tried to take comfort in her words, but the doubt lingered.

It was not long after this that an unexpected letter arrived at Barton Cottage, bearing the unmistakable seal of my brother, John Dashwood. The contents were brief and to the point: he and Fanny would be visiting in a week’s time, bringing with them “important news” regarding my future.

Elinor read the letter aloud to our mother, who immediately grew anxious. “What could they possibly want now?” she murmured, her brow furrowed with concern.

“I can hardly imagine it is anything good,” I replied quietly, already feeling a sense of foreboding.

When John and Fanny arrived, it was as though a cold wind had blown through the cottage. Fanny swept into the room with her usual air of superiority, her eyes scanning the modest furnishings with thinly veiled disdain. John, though more subdued, still carried himself with a certain aloofness that made it clear he considered himself above our current situation.

“Ah, dear sister,” John said with a strained smile, “how… quaint it is here.”

I forced a smile in return. “We have made it quite comfortable, thank you.”

Fanny wasted no time in getting to the point. “My dear, we have come to bring you some wonderful news,” she said, her voice dripping with false cheer. “John has taken it upon himself to find a suitable match for you, as it is his duty as your brother. And you shall be leaving with us for London in a week’s time to meet your future husband.”

The words hit me like a blow. “A suitable match?” I echoed, struggling to keep my voice steady. “But I have not—”

“Of course, you have not met him yet,” Fanny interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “But he is a most respectable gentleman, with a fine income and a comfortable estate. You shall be well provided for, and we have already made the necessary arrangements.”

Elinor’s eyes flashed with anger. “And what if my sister does not wish to marry this man?”

Fanny’s smile was tight and condescending. “Elinor, dear, it is not a matter of what she wishes. It is a matter of what is best for her. And John, as her guardian, has decided this is best.”

I felt a wave of helplessness wash over me. I had no say in this decision, and they knew it.

Colonel Brandon, who had come to call just as the conversation took a darker turn, stood in the doorway, his face a mask of quiet concern. He had clearly heard enough to understand the gravity of the situation. His eyes met mine, and I saw the turmoil there—the unspoken question of what he should do.

That evening, as we sat by the fire, Colonel Brandon pulled John aside for a private word. I watched them from a distance, my heart in my throat, as the Colonel spoke with my brother in low, earnest tones.

“Mr. Dashwood,” I heard him say, “I understand your intentions toward your sister are, perhaps, well-meaning, but I must speak on her behalf.”

John looked startled. “On her behalf? And who are you to speak for her, Colonel?”

“A friend,” he replied, his voice steady. “A friend who believes she deserves the right to choose her own future.”

John’s expression shifted, growing defensive. “I am her brother, her guardian. It is my duty to see her well settled. And the match I have found for her is more than adequate.”

Colonel Brandon’s eyes darkened. “With all due respect, a match is more than adequate when it is chosen with the heart in mind. Your sister deserves more than an arrangement; she deserves happiness.”

John scoffed. “And you believe you know what will make her happy?”

There was a long pause. “I would hope to know her well enough to understand what she needs,” Colonel Brandon said quietly. “And I would ask that you allow her the choice to stay.”

John’s face hardened. “Colonel, I appreciate your concern, but this is a family matter. She will come with us to London, and that is final.”

With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Colonel Brandon standing there, his expression troubled. I watched him, my heart aching with gratitude and frustration. He had tried—tried to speak for me, to stand against the forces that sought to control my fate. But it seemed all for naught.

Later that night, as the household settled into uneasy silence, Colonel Brandon asked to speak with me alone. We stepped out into the moonlit garden, the cool night air brushing against my skin.

“I am sorry,” he began, his voice low and filled with regret. “I tried to reason with your brother, but he is determined. I fear I have only made matters worse.”

“You have done more than anyone else would have,” I replied, my voice trembling. “You have shown me a kindness I did not think possible, and for that, I am grateful.”

He took a step closer, his eyes searching mine. “If you wish it, I would go to London myself. I would speak with this gentleman your brother has chosen and make it clear that your heart is not free to be given.”

My breath caught in my throat. “You would do that for me?”

He nodded, his expression earnest. “I would do anything to see you happy, even if it means letting you go.”

Tears filled my eyes, and I reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I do not wish to go to London. I do not wish to meet this man. I wish to stay here, with you… and with my family.”

[rosebudfics]

Y/N's last night

Y/N is terribly ill and this is their last night, Brandon (or Severus) is deeply shaken but remains by their side that night

Colonel Brandon x ill female! reader

warnings: death, mention of death, coughing up blood, ANGST ANGST ANGST, the illness isnt contagious, the death isnt really realistic, kinda short sorry lol

A/N: OMG MY HEARTTT CANT TAKE THIS ITS SO SAD 😭 i decided to go with colonel brandon because i havnt written for him yet!! However if anyone wants me to, I can also write a severus version!

Colonel Brandon was waiting outside of your bedroom, his hair and clothes dishevelled as he heard the doctors talking. He was breathing heavily, shaking slightly. He couldn't lose you, not like this...

One of the doctors walked out of the bedroom, turning to Brandon with a sorrowful face. "Colonel, I'm sorry to be the bearer of such horrible news, but... miss y/n won't be with us for much longer. This sickness.. It's much worse than we ever anticipated,"

Brandon felt sick himself as he stared at the doctor. "Surely there's something you can do. T-There must be something--anything!" He had stepped closer to the doctor.

The doctor just looked at him sadly. "We've already done everything we can. Doing anything more will cause her more pain... she only has a few hours to live, maybe a day if we're lucky although it's not likely,"

Brandon took a deep breath, turning around as tears stung his eyes. He let out a sob, leaning onto the wall for support as his knees began to buckle.

"Colonel, you must sit down-" The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Does she know?" Brandon asked, not looking up at him.

"... yes, we already informed her."

The colonel squeezed his eyes shut as the pain in his chest increased. How could this be happening?

"Can I see her?" He asked, not realising how quiet his voice was.

"Of course.." The doctor took his hand off his shoulder. "Again colonel, I am... terribly sorry. I wish there was more we could do." And with that, the doctor left.

Brandon took a moment before straightening himself, and walking into your bedroom. He let out a soft sob when he saw you on the bed, how pale and skinny and clammy you were. When you heard him, you weakly lifted your head to him.

"C-christopher-" You tried saying his name before going in a fit of violent gasps for air. You grabbed the handkerchief beside you and coughed into it, pulling it back to look at the blood you hacked up.

Brandon rushes over to your side, getting on his knees beside the bed and starts to push any strands of hair out of your damp face. He tried keeping it together but he could not stop the silent tears that started to run down his face.

You looked over to him and frowned when you saw him crying. "Honey, please don't cry..." You reached your hand over shakily as you caressed his face, wiping away the tears that wouldn't stop. He took the hand on his face in his own as he stroked your knuckles.

"I don't want to lose you... p-please," he let out a sob, leaning into your palm. You smiled sadly as a tear of your own came rolling down your face.

"Christopher, I won't be leaving you okay? I'll be here, always here.." You run your hand down his cheek, down his neck to over his heart. His heart clenched, squeezing his eyes shut as more tears streamed down his face. "Come lay with me... I would rather pass in your arms than be cold," You let out a weak laugh, attempting to shuffle over so he had room, but he quickly stood up and helped you.

Brandon shuffled as close to you as he could, as he looked down at you and caressed your face. "Even in your last moments, you are the most beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes upon."

You let out a soft but weak chuckle, coughing a bit. Once you were done coughing you looked back up at him. "And you are the most handsome man I have ever laid eyes upon.... Christopher?"

"Yes?" He asked, his voice slightly cracking and shaky.

"Can you... read to me?" You asked quietly, resting your head back on the pillow as you breathed heavily, already tired from moving.

"Of course, my love... " He shifted slightly, grabbing a book from the bedside table full of famous poems. Brandon settled back down beside you, before reading out,

"Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind For, from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind, To war and arms I fly. True, a new mistress now I chase, The first foe in the field; And with a stronger faith – embrace A sword, a horse, a shield. Yet this unconstancy is such As you too shall adore; For, I could not love thee, Dear, so much, Loved I not honour more."

You smiled softly, cuddling more close to him. You both stayed like that for a long while, him reading to you as you cuddled him. You were starting to feel more exhausted by the minute, but you were still comfortable. You knew your time was coming to an end.

"Christopher," You interrupted him, your voice raspy.

"Yes, love?"

"...I love you,"

His heart broke as he realised what was happening. Brandon took a deep, shaky breath before replying. "I love you more, darling.."

You leaned up, closing your eyes, then pressing a shaky kiss to his lips. He kissed back, a tear rolling down his face. With that, you fell limp in his arms as he held you. He was quiet for a moment as he looked down at your frail, lifeless body, before letting out a wail in despair.

You were gone.

You were really gone.

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 5. Grave Of Snow [A2]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader & Third, Brandon

Setting: The Lands Around Delaford Estate & Delaford Estate

Continuation of: Prompt 1. Chimney Soot

A/N: This was harder to write than I'd thought it would be. My own greatest death fear is drowning, no other manner of dying scares me more than that but this fic as being buried alive and it's quite a horrendous thing too - and it's Christmas time, what a super jolly way to spend it 😂 Gosh, I hope you weren't expecting Rickmas2023 to be all sweet and fluffy 🙈👍❤

On another note, we're making an ice rink in our backyard (nearly done) and I just realised this year I have no prompt for ice skating 😱 Like, sure, you can connect almost any prompt with Ice Skating but there's no dedicated prompt for it this year - feels a little weird 😂

Tags/TW’s: Buried Alive, Fear Of Being Harmed, Mentions Past Physical Hurt (hand lashing and punishment), Fear Of Losing Someone, Mentions Past/Current Fears (being buried alive) ...and good doggies doing a good job too

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 3.2k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

⩤• You •⩥

You wiped at your face, the soot still clung to your skin, leaving you looking like a bandit raccoon as the handkerchief had protected your lower face. The dusty dress lay abandoned on the floor as you pulled on the rags you’d come to Delaford in. This can’t be happening, cannot, cannot be happening! The colonel! I-, I-, oh, I’m my own ruin!

You banged open the door, and slammed it shut by cheer force while running before you even released the handle. The winding, narrow steps were a death trap in your rush to get away. You were not going to stay for a lashing, for a rough yelling, for any punishment the upstanding man deemed fit for your actions — for your lack of knowledge about the very man himself rendering you unable to treat him correctly even. You didn’t even take the time to say goodbye to Mrs Garber, or inform Cook about you leaving. You just ran out into the snowy winter land outside as the winds whipped around, tossing about that very snow. While the clouds hid the warming rays of the sun, the sky was as grey as your trembling hands.

The night had gifted the world with another few inches of snow the stable boys were helping the other servants to shovel, but the servants’ side wasn’t cleared yet so your legs plummeted into the white cold to your mid-thighs. You shivered and hissed as your dress hiked up, the long underpants you wore upon your arrival were still up in your quarters. Your rush hadn’t allowed for more than your dress, shoes, and cloak to be put on.

You clumsily forced your way through the snow, not knowing where any paths were you only focused on reaching the tree line up ahead. It was far off, but you were determined to get away before anyone could get their hands on you. His gentle eyes still lingered in your head, the sweet warmth his voice spread through you, the slight scrutiny he’d viewed you with — as if he’d been trying to see beyond the soot and covering handkerchief. You’d never felt any tingle like the one he’d made your skin warm under. What was that even? A sudden lapse of judgement? A lust, like other men throw my way when they want to take advantage?No, that thought didn’t sit right with you. His gentleness was too clear, yet you knew nothing about him and you had met people like that before. Kind, caring, sweet — on the outside. Behind closed doors, that was a different matter entirely.

You feel forward, plummeting into the snow as your foot tripped on something. You were crawling forward a second later, determined to reach the trees, to hide among them and get away from the estate you had hoped would have been your salvation through the freezing winter. Now, well, you were even worse off than before. Stupid, stupid, stupid! I shouldn’t have tried so hard! I should have just told Mrs Thatch about the clog!

You reached the trees just as the sound of hounds filled the air. A foreboding dread filled you from within as you picked up the pace and nearly ploughed your way through the snow, your foggy breath heaving out of you while the hounds' yelps and howls seemed to turn louder. You grasped the first low-hanging branch of a pine and pulled yourself forward as the imposing trees sheltered you from the biting winds, the sounds of the hounds half drowned out as you dragged and pulled yourself forward until the snow lessened, burdening the branches above rather than the ground below.

A sigh of relief escaped you as you grabbed another branch and pulled yourself forward one final time before the snow only reached your knees. The relief was felt too soon while you sought to get deeper among the trees. You stumbled forward, snagging your foot on a hidden root below, only to grab a hold of another branch. It slipped through your numbing fingers, the pine needles like cutting blades — hardened by the cold — as they sliced at your palms while you ended up in the snow with a panted breath at the impact nearly burying your face in the white cold. Then you were pummelled.

The branch had been released with such force the tree swayed, its branches being freed of the heavy snow above before the sudden springing rippled through the nearest tree. Snow came crashing down in waves and you could do nothing but shield your face as the weight forced you to lay still — burying you completely without your cry of fear penetrating the deadly mass. Lord, no, you thought as you lay immobile with only a small bubble of air around your face thanks to your raised arms.

Why his chuckle echoed in your head, why the sturdiness of his body against yours filtered through the fear, why the gentle curiosity in his eyes shimmered before your mind's eyes you couldn’t tell. The echo of silver bells, the crackling of a fire, the swirl of dancing couples in wonderful dresses and beautiful frocks seemed like a hazy fog of a dream you’d wished for all your life and were now never to experience. Not even as an attentive maid blending into the scenery without anyone taking notice. In that foggy dream, keeping the horror of your grave of snow at a distance, he stood at the very centre and his eyes — gentle and sweet — were only on you. The tingling warmth in your numb fingers and toes felt as real as the crawling chill along your back while you struggled more and more to breathe and stay conscious.

⩤• Brandon •⩥

“Samson, search!” he bellowed, his voice travelling further than needed. Your dusty handkerchief held tightly in his harsh fist, the hound’s nose just having been buried in it before the other dogs took a whiff. The hound howled, setting the other dogs off with yelps and barks as they dove into the snow, the path your body had cut through it already starting to fill with the swirling snow the harsh winds threw about.

He had never been spellbound before. The way he had seen only your eyes surrounded by black ash ought to have discouraged any sensations within his chest but, alas, the wonder your eyes were and the manner you spoke with had taken him by such surprise his heart had no chance but to pound. He’d never thought sticking his head in a chimney while talking about Santa Claus would have lurched his entire body into a warm pounding. You had spoken so sweetly, your eyes those of someone who knew hardship yet prevailed. He was enthralled with the glimmer in them the second your eyes had connected in the dark of the chimney.

The hound howled again as he stepped out of the protective walls of stone, through the servants’ door, and felt himself sink to right above his knee in the snow. Remembering the disarray of your quarters, the discarded dress, the abandoned second undergarments that should have clad your body to protect against the snow — no matter the horridly tattered state of the thin fabrics — made his stomach twist.

He was not unfamiliar with the cold, the wetness, the dampness of melted snow, and how it would cling to one’s body. He had spent far too many seasons in service of the royals not to have experienced all sorts of weather and their respective challenges. And now you were out there, exposed and frightened given the horrendous look you had offered him before running away in a poof of swirling ash dust. There had been something wrong with that look, the dread of it — and the manner you had wrung your hands before you. what harm has befallen you before? Have hands been laid atop you for such a small thing as spreading ash?

He gave chase, following the loud dogs with servants following behind him with his heart in a harsh pounding. The snow wasted no time clinging to him, seeping through his clothes not suitable for the weather in the slightest. The only thing he’d done was drape a heavy cloak around himself while Mr Barkley had fetched the hunting dogs, his beloved hound at the helm of the pack. He was grateful for having taken that extra second to at least do that as the wind was bitingly cold, nearly clawing at his cheeks while the sky above seemed to darken by the second until the snow being thrown about was so thick the clouds above were no longer visible.

“Samson! Search!” he called, the hound howling back while your trembling shoulders filled his head. Something had been done to you, someone had hurt you for something akin to what had just happened and he could not fathom anyone harming anyone over cleaning, or stumbling, or not knowing the face of a man they had never before met.

Samson howled and came bolting back toward him, Christopher felt his heart stop as the dog kept sniffing the ground at his feet, searching for a fresher scent. The trail you’d left behind was gone, he could barely see an inch before him as the snow stuck to his lashes. He pulled out the handkerchief again, beckoning Samson to take a new whiff — the hound ignored him while sniffing the ground harder, burrowing his nose below the top layer before digging his way through the snow toward the trees Christopher knew lay not far away even if he could not see them.

“Sir Brandon!” Mr Barr called behind him. “Sir! The winds are too strong!” the man called over the howling of that very phenomenon of nature. “We shall find her! Or she will perish out here!” he called back, not stopping his trudge forward despite the snow gripping him nearly to his mid-thighs by that time. I shall not lose her to this storm , he thought while leaning forward to push through the snow faster, following the small dent after Samson and the rest of the dogs. “Sir! It’s too dangerous!” Mr Barr called, but he ignored it. He had faced danger, and the storm wrapping him up was nothing compared to the horrors of his past, or the pain contained within it.

They reached the trees and the thickness of the branches kept the worst of the winds at bay, the snow on the ground lessening for each step until it barely came to his knees and he could move faster. Samson’s howl up ahead caught his attention, he’d found something. Christopher barged forward, running despite the snow and whipping branches, until he found his dogs digging at what appeared to be a mound of snow created by yielding branches.

His heart leapt toward his throat, making it difficult to breathe. Are you in there? His mind had time to wonder before he lurched into action. If you lay buried under such heavy snow, had you any air to breathe? Had you broken anything? Were you crushed? To be buried alive had been one of his greatest fears back in the East Indies, and even before that. When he was a lesser man, fighting in trenches filled with muddy water that could have easily turned into a watery grave in the madness of battle.

He dug, and dug, and dug until his skin felt as if it would slide off his icy fingers and his nails crack with the cold. That was when your fingers appeared, icy cold and unmoving. His lungs stuttered on a sharp intake of air while Samson licked the fingers quickly. He dug with all his might just as the servants appeared behind him. “Dig, men! Dig! ” he demanded with such a dark rumble he barely recognized his frantic voice himself.

A frantic moment later you were dug out from the snowy grave he would not allow to become an eternal resting place. He dragged you too forcefully into his arms, wiping away snow from your cold face, smearing the ash further — hiding your face from him behind a blotchy mess of black and grey — but he could not have cared less as he saw foggy air part from between your lips. His shoulders sank with relief before he held you up and took off his cloak by interchanging his arms. You were tightly wrapped but unresponsive as he stood with Samson by his leg, his entire body wiggling with the motion of his tail as it wagged relentlessly from having found his target.

⩤• You •⩥

You shivered, a wet rag graced your forehead in a rubbing motion while the deep sigh of a woman echoed all around you. “Stupid child, why would you run in such a manner,” Mrs Garber nearly whispered, the familiarity of her voice softening the pounding of your heart. “And from the colonel no less, foolish girl.” You couldn’t tell if your mother’s long-lost friend was angry or worried, her voice didn’t let it slip through fully.

When your eyes blinked open she was leaning over you, and you were almost too warm. “Oh, Y/n,” she said while you blinked a few more times to clear your vision. “Foolish girl, you had me so worried!” she chided, but, perhaps affectionately so. “Mary?” you asked and she sighed but nodded. “Where-, where am I?” you asked as your eyes flicked about the glorious room as you tried to move your stiff limbs. A giant canopy of thick fabric was above you, the mattress beneath was the most comfortable one you’d ever laid upon, and the covers atop you felt lush — like silk, expensive silk.

“Oh, sweet child, you’re in—” “Mrs Thatch,” came that gravelly voice which sent goosebumps along every inch of your skin while your heart picked up the pace a notch as you turned your eyes toward the slightly ajar door. “Give me an occupation, or I shall run mad,” he continued so quietly it shouldn’t have been possible for you to hear the words. But his voice travelled far, even in such a low tone appearing to be far away given the echo to it. “Colonel, sir,” that shrill voice from the grand room before said. “There is little to do but wait. She is in good care with Mrs Garber, sir.”

Your eyebrows scrunched, he sounded anxious — it didn’t suit that voice at all to have such a tone. You found yourself wishing to hear that chuckle of his again. Perhaps you had a fever and were delirious? “You have had the master so worried, Y/n. How could you do such a thing to the good man?” Mrs Garber chided quietly but you couldn’t quite grasp the words. “Now, you lay here and I shall fetch the man before he drives himself to insanity. You apologise, you hear me? He is a gentle soul, I will not have you tormenting the respectable man with your nonsense behaviour. Your mother wasn't able to run away but that does not give you the right to bolt in such a manner.” Her eyes were harsh, nearly glaringly so, as she rose and tucked the cover all the way up to your chin before smoothing out your hair in what you believed to be an attempt at making you appear more decent.

Your heart pounded harder with each step she moved toward the door. When she pushed it open you sat up, the cover pooling around your waist while the nightshirt placed on you kept you covered from your collarbones and down. “She’s awake, sir,” Mrs Garber said and, not a second later, he was in the doorway. “Miss Y/l/n,” he said without taking so much as half a step into the room itself. His voice was that of relief, his gentle eyes warm in the glow of the hearth at the opposite end of the room from where you lay in a giant bed.

You felt your cheeks heat, your fingers gripping the cover atop your legs harshly while your eyes folded from his intent viewing of you. Your heart ran amok as he stood in figure-disclosing attire with his black frock coat nearly clinging to his waist while the shiny boots adorning his feet glimmered in just as black a colour.

“Miss Y/n/l? Are you fairing?” he asked while taking a step closer, making your head jerk up. “I-, I am,” you stuttered. “Sir, I’m-, I apologies, for my behaviour,” you continued while you endeavoured to remember what had happened after you lost your grip on the branch with slicing blades for pine needles. “Not a word about it,” he said as he began moving in, toward the foot of the bed. The light of the fire encased him in a glowing halo, making his hair shimmer and the glimmer in his eyes appeared brighter as his eyes held yours.

Why is my heart running rampant? I’m-, I’m all tingly all over when he views me. Your thoughts were uncertain but your body seemed to react in a wholly new way to the grand man before you. “Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice dipping lower. You could only manage to shake your head. “You were buried in the snow,” he said after a moment. His fingers curled around the footrest of the bed, his knuckles whitening at the force used. Your breath hitched at the sight, so alike hands around a riding crop used for lashings.

Your fingers began fidgeting, your hands wringing and rubbing atop the cover. The memory of the pain was far too fresh. “Miss?” he said, snatching your attention. “Are your hands hurting?” You stiffened for a second before you let go and grabbed the cover anew while shaking your head. “Did someone lay harm upon you?” You didn’t move, didn’t say a thing, only kept your eyes on his whitening knuckles. It was a common thing, after all. Masters laid hands upon their servants as they deemed fit, and you had time and time again ended up at the mercy of such wicked, cruel men and women were either fate or a coincidence.

Your breath hitched as he suddenly pushed off the bed frame, stepping around to stand at your side in less than three long strides. You shrunk into the mattress, his imposing figure hard to take so closely — yet, it wasn’t just fear of retribution that made you do so. No, no there was something else entirely imposing about him that you fought against so as not to be drawn in. If it were his handsomeness, the memory of his sweet chuckle, or those gentle eyes that now seemed to flare with something darker you couldn’t quite say. But he warmed you in places he ought not to have been able to reach at all.

“No matter,” he said quietly, a mere drawl of a whisper. “You are safe here, miss. No harm will befall you within my estate.” “S-sir?” you squeaked out, confused at his sweet words spoken in such a harsh tone. “Are you not to punish me?” you continued with a tremble to your voice that had far more to do with the warmth he spread within you than the question you’d just asked. His eyes flared before his entire face softened. “No, my sweet. No punishment shall ever befall you for breathing life into my heart with those eyes of yours.”

…To Be Continued…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Ugh, theses two... Gosh, I do love it when emotions are instant and soulmate-like 😩👏 And another cliffhanger it is - are we excited to see where this goes? 👀😘

I'm working as hard as I can to make sure I'm as early as possible posting and I'm going to start working on tomorrow's prompt right away, I have a little extra time today (aka I'm taking the time today 'cus I need it 😂) so perhaps I'll start working on Thursday's prompt too - tomorrow we're getting back to Turpin again anyway! 🥰👏

Q: If you had to choose between only listening to Christmas music and no other music or only watching Christmas movies and no other movies through all of December - what would you choose? 👀 A: I'd say I'd choose Christmas music - but, I love it and almost exclusively listen to Christmas music through November and December anyway 😂 Only watching Christmas movies would be harder 🙈

TAGLIST: @mamawolfsmith87 @snowblossomreads @ladykardasi @a-queen-and-her-throne @eternal-silvertongued-prince @lyrixsnape @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight14 @caseydoodles98 @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @imwithyoutiltheendofthelinebucky @sunnylikesfrogs @mamawolfsmith16 @dianilaws @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @sunset90 @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? 💚 You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you! 😍

[Dec:2023]

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Hello how are you?~ What writings are you currently working on or will start working on? Requests and your own plans? I'm just curious because I really like your blog and your works~ 🍃

Hello deary ❤️,

Thanks for asking, currently I'm working on the following down below

Pirates of the caribbean headcanon, how they would react if you're a mermaid.

What it would be like if the goblin king took fascination in you

A mermaid chaptered fic within the potc universe.

Ballet Thranduil chaptered fic x anxious reader

Dancing willows, colonel brandon x reader

Colonel brandon x mermaid reader

Severus snape x mermaid reader

Currently, I have a lot in the works, and I'm working on them vigorously 😁. My job has me busy, but I often try to work on my breaks with them. I love writing, and I'm going to try and get through as many requests as I can ✨️💕😁

[tascha-schwarz]

Sometimes I open the folder with all my written shit and start randomly reading things I wrote like a year ago. Some are so well written, I can't even believe it was me who did it, and I fall for all those characters over again.

It seems to me, I won't be able to finish the tone of my wips or ever write something that good. For some reason, it got harder to find the right mood and energy, and it makes me sad.

[snowblossomreads]

Day 14: A Light in the Night

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Wife!Reader

Summary: We revisit the Colonel and his wife, along with their little dog Tulip as they ready to welcome a new life into the world.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): pregnancy, brief description of child birth, fluff, and wholesomess!

Word Count: 1.6K

A/N: And we are back with these little lovelies from day 10! I have to admit I didn't think to make this a sequel yet my brain was like yes we can use this prompt! So here we are~ I hope you enjoy this little cute fluff 😍😍

Snow melted, flowers grew and wilted, and leaves of all colours scattered the ground before a blanket of snow returned to cover the lands around Delaford Estate with its beautiful brightness that made everything shine brightly.

Some things had stayed the same, like the staff at the estate, and her sweet Christopher, handsome and gentle as he always was. While other things had changed just like seasons did.

Namely [Y/n]'s belly, which was now large and round, filled with the babe that she, and her husband were expecting sometime soon, if the doctor's words were to be taken.

Honestly, while she did get excited at the sight of her belly, she had to admit she was ready to give birth as she felt a bit cumbersome with how large she felt. Dressing took longer in the morning, walking was a tedious task after a few months and don't even get her started about sleeping or the constant need to well...relive herself.

It wasn't all bad though as she had mentioned.

For one, her Christopher had become even softer and doting towards her which she hadn't thought possible considering his naturally sweet disposition. Yet he had.

'Come darling, here let me help you out of bed, I don't wish for you to strain yourself so much. It drives me mad, the thought of you and our babe being hurt.'

'Is there anything you wish for me, or the servants to bring you while I am in town, my love? You need only tell me and I shall retrieve it with haste."

He was so ridiculously sweet, sweeter than any person alive she bet, especially when they would lay in bed at night and he would gently stroke her stomach. Kissing her swollen belly, he would whisper to the child within about how much he was looking forward to meeting them, and how he hoped they were being kind to their mother while she kept them safe as they grew.

She could tell how excited he was as his eyes always lit up when he got to speak about how they were expecting, and his excitement increased as they got closer and closer to the winter season when the babe would be born.

So when the signs of labour began to show, and she felt a small pop below and a gush of wetness in her undergarments, she knew it would not be long before the babe they had waited so long for would be in the world.

"Martha!" [Y/n] cried out urgently as she struggled to her feet from her chair near the fireplace.

Tulip, her naughty but sweet dog that had grown in height, sprang up and began to bark loudly, only to be hushed by [Y/n] who waddled to the entrance of the parlour. She was met with Martha and Christopher who had come to see what the commotion was about.

Looking at both of them, her hand on her stomach, and a dark stain beginning to grow on her nightgown, which the other two seemed to spot simultaneously, she stuttered out a nervous,

"I-I think it's time."

As if her words set something off in him, Brandon’s posture immediately changed into one of a seasoned leader who was ready to command his household to help his wife during this important moment.

"Martha take [Y/n] to the bed now!” He barked, firm yet kind were his words, and Martha answered with an equally firm ‘yes sir!’ ready to take orders from the lord of the house. “I will send a rider to fetch the doctor! Wake everyone up once [Y/n] is in bed!"

"Darling that is unnecessary!” [Y/n] exclaimed, only to wince at the pain the excitement seemed to cause. “Do not wake the house I beg you we just need the doctor and Martha no one else."

"Absolutely not, everyone has been waiting for this day and I will not deprive them of it, and Martha may need some extra hands is that not right?" 

"Of course sir!" Martha answered with glee as her eyes twinkled with joy. “We’ve all been waiting for our lady to give birth! No one will mind being woken my dear! They would probably be quite angry if we didn’t wake them!”

"Good now please there is no time to waste!"

"Oooh, how delightful dear!" Martha gasped, going to [Y/n]'s side and gently guiding the woman while Tulip trotted behind them, tail wagging from the buzzing energy that was around her humans."Come there is no time to waste! You should have been in bed already, but oh you and your strong will my lady!

Both sets of people rushed off in different directions, and soon [Y/n] was in the birthing bed while a rider was running to mount their horse and fetch the local doctor.

Candle lights in each window of the estate lit up one by one, illuminating the dark home in the night as news spread that the lady of the house was soon to bring a child into the world. And it wasn't long before the sounds of birthing began.

Had she thought she knew what she was in for after talking to other mothers and to Martha, herself who was a trained midwife and a mother, she was sorely mistaken when the first pains of labour began.

Even Christopher, her poor dear sweet Christoper was going mad as she cried in pain each time she tried to push the babe out. He sat by her side, refusing to leave even when the doctor said that the process was far too messy for a gentleman of his status to watch.

"Sir I have been in trenches filled with mud and the bodies of good men who are no longer here. I have seen messy, and this doctor, this bringing of  new life, while messy, is wondrous and I shall not leave my wife's side until I know she and our child are safe." He was so stern when he said it, she had thought someone had taken her sweet and mild manner Christopher away with the aghast way the doctor stared at him.

But when he looked at her with such worry and concern, she knew he was still there only wanting her pain to end.

And in the wee hours of the morning, relief come for [Y/n] and all of those in the home who waited with bated breath. With one last push and a loud shout, a sharp wail filled the halls of Delaford estate.

"A healthy baby boy!"

Both the doctor and Martha announced after the babe had been cleaned, examined, and swaddled cosily to keep him warm.

"And my is his constitution healthy indeed! Larger than any one of the children I've delivered this year. Oh, he'll be just fine this winter Colonel, my lady!" The doctor stated as he handed the crying baby to [Y/n] who was eager to hold the little wiggling thing.

"Oh Christopher," [Y/n] whispered in wonder, as she stared in awe at the baby who had calmed immediately when he was placed on her chest. "He's so beautiful oh god-." Her voice wavered as emotion filled her throat and eyes.

"He is beautiful indeed," her husband murmured as he stared in wonder with her at the child who rested against her. "Just like his mother beautiful and marvelous."

She turned to him and was surprised yet not, as she saw his eyes glassy and filled with tears. Her strong and calm love. Steady and unwavering as the English oak trees that dotted the estate, was filled with emotions at the sight of his little family that had grown.

They stayed this way for a moment, silently marvelling at the child, as Martha and the doctor helped clean [Y/n] up. Once done, they bowed to the couple and left to give them a moment of privacy. The Brandons thanked them before they left, and only moments after the door had shut, did husband and wife hear the cheers of the house.

It brought a large smile to both of their faces knowing how much support and love the staff of Delaford already had for their babe.

"You make me such a happy man darling such a happy man," he stated as he kissed her temple and leaned down to kiss the babe's forehead.

The little thing stirred at his father's touch, yet made no noise of protest. This seemed to amuse them both as they let out a watery chuckle at his actions or lack thereof.

"And you my Christoper, you make me such an unbelievably happy woman. Oh goodness our babe, I pray that he is as strong, yet kind and gentle as his father," she whispered stroking the child's cheek. "You and him, you both are my everything darling."

"Woof!"

Their eyes widened, and they turned to look at Tulip, who had been calm and quiet the entire time during [Y/n]'s labour. Only now did she seem interested in reminding them she was still here.

"I do not believe Tulip agrees with her being left off the list as our son's sister," Brandon mused as the dog stared at them with a look of expectancy.

Letting out a delighted laugh at the dog's antics, [Y/n] smiled and giggled.

"And yes, you to my Tulip I could never forget you! You do have a little brother to take care of and protect now."

This seemed to appease the dog who let out a softer bark before she laid her head down and closed her eyes.

Laughter from both was music to each other's ears as they took in the new life they had been gifted with. A new life, in the wintertime to light up the darkness that the season was known for because of its early nights. It was most importantly a new life in the Brandons’ home, one that completed the little family they had both wanted.

A/N: Yaaaay oh goodness Brandon would be such a good father, he's so gentle and soft spoken. I think he doesn't have a mean bone in his body even if he were in the army. Stay warm friends it's getting chilly out here!

[dragon-kazansky]

Everytime she entered a room he looked at her as if she had put the stars in the sky. She was beautiful and kind. Her smile made him feel so many things, especially when she was smiling at him.

His hand accidentally brushed against hers and he nearly flinched away, but her finger reached put and gently wrapped around his. She wanted him there. She wanted his hand there. That was more than enough for him to know he wasn't going to this woman go.

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

December 24: Christmas Party

Colonel Brandon x Reader

Last entry for @deepperplexity 's Rickmas2023!!! The second part of "Snow Prints". Not my best but I wanted to get this finished before new years, lol. I hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas and that the New Year brings you wonderful things.

It was the night of the Christmas party Christopher was hosting. You watched Delaford house from the carriage window. The beautiful house was brightly lit and the warm glow from the windows cast across the surrounding snow, making it look like a chandelier in the night. You were wearing the finest dress you owned, wine red with gold embroidery. You had a very special reason to be excited for tonight and to want to look your best. A few days ago, Colonel Christopher Brandon had come to your house and asked permission to court you. Your aunt and uncle had happily granted their consent and you’d felt like you were walking on clouds ever since. Christopher met you as the carriage with you and your aunt and uncle arrived at door. By the look on his face when he helped you down from the carriage, the lengths you had gone to in your appearance were appreciated and you felt your cheeks heat in a blush under his gaze.

It was a wonderful party. The house was beautifully decorated with garlands and candles, music and chatter filled the air and everyone was in a jovial, festive mood, fuelled by fine food and Christmas punch. As the night went on, he spent as much time as he could by your side. As much as his duties as host would allow him. Young Margaret Dashwood had secured a dance with Christopher at one point and the sight of him dancing happily with the child endeared him to you even more. Since your first meeting where he had rescued you from your long walk through the snow, you had seen each other many times and written often. You knew you were easily and quickly falling in love with him. And while exchanged letters and time spent in the company of your family warmed your heart, you also longed to be close to him again. The feeling of being held close to him as you’d ridden double across the fields that day had stayed with you and you needed to feel that closeness again.

You had danced together several times tonight, happily becoming lost in the music. After a while, when you said you could use a rest from dancing and the crowded room, Christopher offered to show you some more of the house. You walked together and ended up in a picture gallery, lined with beautiful paintings. “Are you enjoying the party?” He asked. “Very much. It’s a wonderful evening. I’ve enjoyed dancing with you.” “I’m glad. You dance beautifully. But I’m afraid most of the popular dances are a bit fast for my meagre skill.” “I think you’re a very fine dancer. You have travelled a great deal, do you know of other dances.” “Well, these is one I like, called the waltz, but I fear it may cause a scandal when it reaches England.” You were intrigued now, “What would make this waltz so scandalous? Please, tell me.” Christopher took your right hand in his, the warmth of it soaking through your glove as his large hand wrapped around yours. “It’s danced between two people, and you must hold each other quite close.” “Show me.” You almost whispered. Christopher took a breath before answering, “You place your left hand on my shoulder”. You did as he said and almost gasped as his right hand settled on your waist and pulled you closer.

Your face was mere inches from his. Your softness under his hands was entrancing and Christopher wanted nothing more in that moment than to abandon all propriety, to wrap you up in his arms and kiss you. You felt yourself leaning closer towards him, drawn to him as if by an invisible spring. Softly, sweetly, your lips met his arms wrapped firmly around your waist as you clung to his shoulders. It was an intoxicating mix, the feeling of warmth and safety you felt in his embrace mixed with the dizzying thrill of his kiss.

A burst of chatter from the nearby doorway startled you both away from each other. Christopher’s expression was hard to read, “I’m…”he stumbled over his words, “I’m so sorry. Please…forgive my transgression.” “There’s nothing to forgive.” You said softly, “I was hoping you would kiss me. I’ve wanted to be held by you again since the day we met. Is that to forward of me?” Suddenly feeling vulnerable at your confession. Christopher took both your hands in his, “No. You are wonderous.” He wanted to kiss you again, but he couldn’t risk your reputation. Thinking clearly now, anyone could have walked passed and seen your passionate embrace. “We should so back before we’re missed.” He said. You nodded, still a bit breathless. And he linked his arm with yours and you headed back to the party, where you found some of the guests had started a game of Snapdragon. As you and Christoper watched the game, amused at the players antics, you thought to yourself how you didn’t need any game of Snapdragon to tell you that you would marry your true love soon. _____________________________________________________

Hope everyone who reads this enjoys it. (Snapdragon was an old party game where you'd light a bowl of brandy-soaked raisins on fire and try to grab them out of the bowl. The one who gets the most was said to marry their true love within a year) Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!!!

[panakinthedisco]

i haven’t updated anything in here coz irl BUT just coming back that people should stop remaking pride and prejudice when sense and sensibility is right there (tho i’m a big fan of ang lee’s S&S)…..

and PEDRO PASCAL AS COLONEL BRANDON 😭

we got the material LIKE SERIOUSLY. GIVE HIM A REGENCY ERA ROLE PLEASE

[mrsseverussnape]

Can I please please please request reader x colonel Brandon as he's asking the readers parents for the readers hand? Like he'd expose his feelings for them and it'd be all cute and fluffy please?💓

I absolutely love your Writings- you so totally deserve this appreciation for your work. 😊

A/n: I finally wrote your request literally another 100 followers later…🥲 But you still love me, don’t you?😇😂 and thank you so much! 💕 I hope you will enjoy that fanfic☺️

Characters: Colonel Brandon x you

Theme: Fluff

A Summer Amour

There was a big rush in your manor for 2 days by now and you were kind of over it. Every year beginning of june your family holds a summer party in your big gardens to celebrate beginning of the summer, this was a family tradition for years. You actually loved that welcoming the summer party but hated the days prior to it since they were extremely chaotic since your mother wanted everything to be perfect, this included you as well. This year wasn’t any different; she made you and your father got dressed an hour before the party. Because last minute jobs were never perfect in her dictionary. You and your father weren’t fans of this behaviour of her but you two have learnt not to oppose her for your own good.

The party has started half an hour ago; you were welcoming the guests with your parents and having small talks with your friends here and there. But your eyes were fixed on the entrance of the gardens all the time. You were expecting to see someone special tonight and you were pretty sure that he would show up but there was no sign of him yet. And the fact that he was very punctual normally, made you worry that he’s not coming. But you decided not to think about it much, you were throwing a party and you wanted to enjoy every bit of it.

You were in a deep conversation with your cousins when you heard the most soothing voice that your ears ever welcomed. This voice was belonged to the man who you were expecting all day long. You excused yourself from the conversation and made your way towards him but not directly to him, you wanted him to notice you rather than you walked up to him. You decided to have chit chats with the guests around him so he could hear your voice, you hoped. Your plan didn’t take very long to work and soon he was in front of you saluting.

“Lady y/n y/l/n.” He bowed with a smile on his lips.

“Colonel Brandon.” You gave a nod.

“Please accept my sincere apologies. I was called to a sudden duty.” He gave you an apologetic smile.

“Your apologies are accepted, Colonel.” You smiled sweetly. How could someone say no to this kind gentleman.

You and Colonel Brandon were seeing each other for couple of months by now. This relationship has started very unexpectedly for both of you though. You and your family were invited to a picnic at Lady Blackbourne’s but it wasn’t a big event so just a few people were there and to your misfortune, none of your friends were invited. At the time you had no idea that your misfortune would turn into the greatest luck you have ever had in your life. Since everyone was older than you, their conversations didn’t interest you at all, so you took a glass of lemonade and made your way to the bench which was under the big, pink magnolia tree. You have guessed that the event might be boring based on your previous experiences, so this time you have brought the latest book you were reading. You were so lost in your book that you haven’t noticed the man who was watching you for a while until he cleared his throat to have your attention.

“Lady y/n y/l/n.”

“Colonel.” You smiled at him kindly.

“May i join you, if you don’t mind a company?”

“Of course. I will not reject a company since i am quite miserable here by myself.” You let out a soft chuckle.

He sat down on the other end of the bench while smiling. His eyes moved to the book you were holding. “What is the book you are reading, Lady y/n? You seemed very interested in it.”

“It is William Shakespeare’s plays. I just finished reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream.”

He smiled and quoted a line from the play. “Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind-“

“And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.” You completed the line he has started. “Oh do you like Shakespeare too, Colonel?”

He hummed with a smile while taking a mini book out of his jacket and handed it to you gently. It was a copy of the same book you were reading.

“What a splendid coincidence!” You beamed excitedly. “I would never think a military man like you would be interested in such things. Forgive my misjudgement…”

“You are forgiven my lady.” I thought for a second and continued. “I heard that they play Romeo and Juliet at the theatre this week. Would you like to see it? With the Duke and the Duchess y/l/n of course.”

“Ah we shall do this! I am sure they will accept your invitation, sir.”

This was how your story has started with Colonel Brandon. The more time you spent together, the more you fell for him. He was nothing alike the other men you know; Colonel was such a gentle, kind and romantic man. He had everything a woman could ask for. And you knew that your feelings weren’t plantonic, his behaviours showed his feelings towards you very well.

The party has ended successfully and your parents were bidding farewell to the guests while you and Colonel Brandon were walking by the fountain. He has requested a private meeting with your father and he has asked him to stay after the party.

“Colonel, shall we go to my study room to talk?” Your father walked towards you while taking a sip from his wine.

“The Duchess and Lady y/n shall join us in my opinion, Your Grace.”

“Very well then, let us go to the living room. Ladies first.” He smiled at you and your mother while stepping aside so you could lead the way.

Now you all were seated at the big living room and waiting for Colonel Brandon to speak. But he seemed a bit stressed which was odd for him since he was a confident man. He fixed his uniform and took a deep breath before starting to talk.

“Your Grace, as you know i and Lady y/n see each other for a while with your permission. During thise time, i had the chance of getting to know your daughter better and i can safely say that she is the most beautiful lady both inside and out i have ever known.”

You blushed madly after his words and excitement ran through your body when you understood where this speech is going. You two have talked about it before but you had no idea thay he was planning to do it today.

“I want to assure you Your Grace, i will take good care of her till the day i die and i promise on my honour i will make her the happiest lady in the whole wide world. But of course i need your blessings before taking this important step. I want to ask for your daughter Lady y/n’s hand in marriage, Your Grace.” Colonel Brandon looked at both of your parents with a shy smile then his eyes met with yours for a second.

The Duke and the Duchess exchanged looks for a minute but it felt like ages for you and Colonel Brandon.

“Y/n, my beloved daughter. Do you wish to marry Colonel Brandon?” Your father asked in a serious tone.

You took a shaky breath and looked at Colonel Brandon for a second then turned to your father. “If you approve it papa, i wish to marry him.”

Your mother rubbed your arm assuringly while your father stayed silent for a moment. But then a smile appeared on his lips.

“Very well. We are going to have a wedding this summer then.”

Taglist:

@snapefiction @lizlil @elizabeth-baelish @misselsbells06 @mais-e @lunnybunny12 @stingingwolf @anfre109 @entirelymesmerising @wolvesofwinter13

If you wanna be on my taglist, let me know!

[muiitoloko]

hello, do you plan to write a part 2 for the Colonel Brandon ? The reader could tell him more about her past treatment as she grew to trust him enough to do so. And Brandon being Brandon, I guess we will have a lot of fluff.

Title: Whispers of Doubt

Summary: Doubts still gnaw at you.

Pairing: Colonel Brandon × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Smut, doubts, fear, inferiority complex.

Author's Notes: You asked, I delivered—well, sort of! Here it is, not exactly what you ordered, but hey, it’s the sequel you didn't know you needed! Enjoy the ride!

First and Second part here.

Also read on Ao3

The days since you and Brandon had declared your love for each other passed calmly, yet there was an undercurrent of intensity. With your newfound openness, your life together had taken on a rhythm both passionate and serene. You now spent most of your time in the main house, a change that brought you closer to Brandon in every sense. Remarkably, the peace seemed to help stave off your episodes, at least for now, and the household settled into a new normal.

However, beneath the veneer of daily life, a fervor burned brightly. The pretense of trying to conceive children masked the true nature of your physical relationship, a relationship that thrived on unspoken desires and mutual need. It became clear that both of you were reveling in the intensity of your newfound intimacy.

Brandon, once the epitome of the disciplined, reserved colonel, had shed his gentlemanly constraints in the privacy of your shared moments. In the throes of passion, he transformed, his demeanor wild and untamed, driven by a raw, primal need that matched your own. The stately mansion became the backdrop to your fervent lovemaking, each room holding the memory of your shared abandon.

One afternoon, you found yourself in the library, engrossed in a book about childbirth and early child-rearing. You were seated at a large oak table, the room's vast collection of books providing a comforting backdrop. Brandon entered quietly, his presence filling the room with an electric charge. He moved behind you, reading over your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck.

"Thinking about our future children?" he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You nodded, unable to speak as his hands found your shoulders, kneading gently. His touch was a soothing balm and a promise of what was to come. One thing led to another, as it often did these days, and soon the book was forgotten, the table's solid surface supporting you as Brandon's need overpowered any pretense of restraint.

He positioned you with firm but gentle hands, bending you over the table as he stood behind you. You gripped the edge of the table, your breath coming in shallow gasps as his fingers traced a heated path down your back. His touch was both a caress and a claim, each stroke igniting a fire within you.

"Do you have any idea what you do to me?" he whispered, his voice rough with desire.

Before you could respond, he entered you with a swift, powerful thrust that left you gasping. The transformation was instant; the disciplined Colonel Brandon was gone, replaced by a man driven by an all-consuming need. His movements were relentless, each thrust deep and demanding, as he held your hips firmly.

The library, a sanctuary of knowledge and calm, was now filled with the sounds of your passion. The table creaked beneath the intensity of your coupling, the bookshelves standing as silent witnesses to the raw, primal connection between you. Brandon's hands roamed your body, gripping, caressing, his lips finding the sensitive spot at the nape of your neck.

"Christopher," you managed to gasp, his name a plea and a prayer.

He responded with a growl, his pace quickening, each thrust driving you closer to the edge. The disciplined veneer of the colonel had given way to the fervent lover, his need for you overriding all else. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts with equal fervor, your shared desire a blazing inferno that consumed you both.

When the climax came, it was a shattering release, your cries mingling with his as you both surrendered to the wave of pleasure that washed over you. The intensity of the moment left you both breathless, clinging to each other as the world righted itself around you.

Brandon held you close, his breath warm against your skin as he whispered, "I love you, [Your Name]. Never doubt that."

You turned in his arms, your eyes meeting his with a mixture of love and awe. "And I love you, Christopher," you replied, your voice filled with a conviction that matched his own.

In the aftermath, you both stood there, entwined, the library once again a place of quiet reflection. But now, it also held the memory of your love, a testament to the bond that had grown between you, stronger and more unbreakable with each passing day.

Brandon stuffed himself back into his pants and helped you get dressed too, his hands gentle yet firm as he fastened the ties of your pants. His touch, though tender, seemed accompanied by an unspoken hesitation. By this time, you knew him well enough to read the subtle tension in his posture and the way his eyes avoided yours.

“What is it, Christopher?” you asked softly, your voice laced with concern. “You seem troubled.”

Brandon sighed, taking a step back as he ran a hand through his hair. “I received a letter this morning,” he began, his tone hesitant. “An old friend of mine from the army is hosting a dance. We've been invited to attend.”

You felt a pang of anxiety at his words. Social events had become a source of fear for you, the thought of being in public, exposed to prying eyes and gossiping tongues, filled you with dread. You had made very few public appearances since your episodes had become known, and the rumors of your condition, though never confirmed, had been enough to keep you isolated.

Brandon continued, his gaze searching yours for understanding. “I know how you feel about being in public,” he said gently. “And I would never force you to go. But I haven't seen my friend in quite some time, and... I miss the camaraderie we shared.”

The apprehension in your chest tightened. You didn’t want to be a burden, didn’t want to hold Brandon back from something that clearly meant a lot to him. Yet, the fear of what might happen, of how you might be perceived, loomed large.

“I understand if you don't want to go,” Brandon added quickly, sensing your hesitation. “I won't attend if you're uncomfortable with it. Your peace of mind means more to me than any social engagement.”

His words only deepened your conflict. You wanted to protect him from the potential scandal of your condition becoming widely known, but you also didn't want to be the cause of his isolation. Taking a deep breath, you tried to steady your thoughts.

“Christopher,” you began, your voice trembling slightly, “I’m terrified of people seeing me… having an episode. I’ve worked so hard to keep my family's reputation intact, and now yours as well. The thought of public scrutiny frightens me to no end.”

Brandon stepped closer, taking your hands in his, his touch warm and reassuring. “I understand your fears,” he said softly. “But you are not alone in this. We can face it together, just as we've faced everything else. I will be by your side every moment. And if, at any point, you feel overwhelmed, we can leave.”

You looked into his eyes, seeing the earnest sincerity there. His presence, his unwavering support, was a balm to your frayed nerves. “I don’t want to be the reason you miss out on seeing your friend,” you admitted. “I can see how much it means to you.”

Brandon's gaze softened, and he lifted your hands to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers. “Your comfort and well-being mean more to me than any dance or reunion. But if you’re willing, even if it’s just for a short while, it would mean the world to me to have you by my side.”

Taking a deep breath, you nodded slowly. “Alright,” you said, your voice gaining strength. “I’ll go. For you.”

A smile spread across Brandon’s face, and he pulled you into a warm embrace. “Thank you, [Your Name],” he murmured. “We’ll take it one step at a time, and if at any moment you want to leave, we will.”

As you held onto him, you felt a mix of fear and resolve. The journey ahead would be daunting, but with Brandon by your side, you felt a flicker of hope. Together, you would face whatever came your way, united by love and the promise of brighter days ahead.

The afternoon sun cast a warm glow over the room as you stood before the mirror, a pile of dresses spread out on the bed. It had been a long time since you had prepared for a dance, and the thought of it filled you with both excitement and apprehension. Most days, you preferred the comfort of boyish clothes, which allowed you to move freely and escape the constrictions of societal expectations. But tonight was different. Tonight, you wanted to feel beautiful for Brandon, to be worthy of standing by his side in public, to rekindle the grace you once took pride in.

You slipped into one of the dresses, a deep blue gown with delicate lace at the sleeves and neckline. It was a beautiful dress, but as you looked at yourself in the mirror, you couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't quite right. You tried another, a soft lavender gown with intricate embroidery, and then another, a simple yet elegant cream-colored dress. Each time, you arranged your hair in different styles, pinning it up with hairpins or letting it cascade down your back in soft waves.

But nothing seemed good enough. With a sigh, you sank onto the edge of the bed, frustration gnawing at you. You felt a mix of self-doubt and determination, the desire to be beautiful for your colonel clashing with the insecurities that had haunted you for so long.

Looking out the window, you saw Brandon working with the workers in the field. His shirt was stuck to his body with sweat, highlighting the strength and dedication that defined him. The sight of him, so strong and sure, brought a small smile to your lips. You admired him deeply, not just for his physical strength, but for his unwavering kindness and the love he had shown you.

Determined not to let your insecurities get the better of you, you stood up and returned to the mirror. You chose the cream-colored dress, its simplicity appealing to you in a way the others hadn't. As you adjusted the fit and smoothed the fabric, you thought about the hairstyle that would complement it best. After a moment of contemplation, you decided on a loose, elegant updo with a few tendrils framing your face. It was a style that felt both refined and comfortable, and you hoped it would make you feel as beautiful as Brandon saw you.

Tying your hair in place, you decided that this was it; this was how you would do it. This decision brought a sense of calm, a rare moment of certainty in the midst of your doubts. You then took off the dress, carefully folding it and putting it away, changing back into your men's clothes—garments that allowed you the freedom you so cherished.

Once dressed, you made your way outside to where Brandon was working with the workers in the field. The afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the scene, making the sweat glisten on his brow. As you approached, he looked up and smiled, the sight of you in your usual attire bringing a twinkle to his eye.

"Do you need any help?" you asked, your voice carrying a note of determination.

Brandon chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "You know, you never cease to surprise me," he said, his tone affectionate. "Most women would be preparing for the dance, not offering to join in manual labor."

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Well, I guess I'm not like most women. I don't mind getting my hands dirty."

He studied you for a moment, admiration mingling with a touch of exasperation. "I know you're stubborn and determined," he said, his voice softening. "And as much as I find that both fascinating and frustrating, I wouldn't have you any other way."

With that, he handed you a tool, and together you worked side by side. The labor was hard, but there was a certain rhythm to it that you found soothing. It was a stark contrast to the upcoming dance, but in this moment, you felt more at ease.

As the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the field, Brandon paused and looked at you, his expression serious. "You know, there's something I need to tell you," he began, his voice hesitant. "About the dance... if at any moment you feel overwhelmed or uncomfortable, please let me know. We can leave whenever you want."

You nodded, appreciating his understanding and concern. "Thank you, Christopher," you replied softly. "I promise I'll let you know."

The evening air grew cooler as you finished up the day's work. The fields, now empty of workers, felt peaceful, the only sounds the distant calls of birds and the rustling of leaves. Brandon turned to you, his gaze filled with warmth and love.

"Let's head back," he said, reaching for your hand. "We still need to get ready for tonight."

You smiled and took his hand, feeling a surge of affection for the man who had stood by you through so much. Together, you walked back to the house, the bond between you growing stronger with each step.

Back in your room, you once again donned the cream-colored dress, this time with a sense of purpose. Brandon had been right; you could face this together. As you tied your hair in place, a wave of calm washed over you. Tonight would be a challenge, but with Brandon by your side, you felt ready to face whatever came your way.

Brandon waited for you at the bottom of the stairs, dressed impeccably in his formal attire. When he saw you, his eyes lit up with admiration. "You look stunning," he said, his voice filled with genuine awe.

You blushed, feeling a mix of pride and nervousness. "Thank you," you replied softly. "Shall we go?"

He offered you his arm, and together you stepped out into the night, ready to face the world with love and courage. The journey ahead was uncertain, but with Brandon by your side, you knew you could conquer anything.

In the carriage to Brandon's friend's house, your initial resolve began to falter. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels on the cobblestone streets, once soothing, now only served to amplify your growing dread. Every bump and jolt seemed to shake loose another fragment of your confidence, leaving you feeling vulnerable and exposed. You glanced at Brandon, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to your inner turmoil, and tried to draw strength from his presence. But the closer you got to the mansion, the more your fears began to take hold.

As the carriage finally rolled to a stop, your heart pounded so loudly you were certain Brandon could hear it. He stepped out first, his movements deliberate and graceful, but when he turned to help you down, he paused. Your hands were trembling uncontrollably, your body frozen in place. The sight of the servants gathered outside the mansion, their curious eyes fixed on the carriage, made your breath catch in your throat. The thought of facing them, of being seen and possibly judged, was paralyzing.

Brandon noticed your distress immediately. His expression softened, a mixture of concern and understanding crossing his features. He looked up at the coachman, then back at you, his eyes silently pleading with you to come out. The servants continued to watch, their whispers just audible enough to feed your anxiety. Brandon reached out his hand to you, his gesture filled with a quiet desperation, silently begging you to trust him, to take that first step.

Your fear was almost overwhelming, but you knew Brandon deserved more. He had given you so much of himself, and you couldn't bear the thought of disappointing him. With a deep breath, you forced yourself to move, extending a shaky hand towards his. The moment your fingers touched his, you felt a surge of strength flow through you. Brandon's grip was firm and reassuring, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made the world around you fade away.

"Come with me," he murmured softly, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of your emotions.

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with fear, but you nodded. With Brandon's help, you managed to step out of the carriage, your legs feeling weak and unsteady. The servants' murmurs seemed to grow louder, their eyes following your every move, but you kept your focus on Brandon. He didn't let go of your hand, his grip a constant reminder that you were not alone.

As you walked towards the mansion, your steps slow and hesitant, Brandon stayed close by your side. His presence was a comforting shield against the judgmental gazes and whispered comments. Every now and then, he would give your hand a gentle squeeze, a silent message of support and encouragement. With each step, you felt a bit of your fear begin to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of determination.

Inside, the grand hall was a swirl of color and movement. The guests, resplendent in their finery, danced and mingled beneath glittering chandeliers. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and music, a stark contrast to the silent, dark place of your fears. Brandon led you through the throng, his hand never leaving yours, until you found a quieter corner where you could catch your breath.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly, his eyes searching yours with genuine concern.

You nodded, though your heart was still racing. "I will be," you replied, your voice trembling slightly. "Thank you, Christopher. For everything."

He smiled, a tender and reassuring expression that made your heart swell with affection. "We're in this together," he said simply. "Always."

The moment of quiet between you and Brandon was abruptly interrupted by the approach of a distinguished-looking man, his posture erect and confident. He appeared to be Brandon’s age, if not slightly older, his eyes crinkling with familiarity as he spotted the colonel. Brandon’s expression brightened, and he greeted the man with a broad smile.

“Good evening, Colonel Brandon,” the man said, his voice warm and jovial. He saluted, a gesture that Brandon immediately returned before they both laughed heartily, embracing in a way that spoke of long-standing camaraderie.

Watching their interaction, your curiosity piqued, momentarily eclipsing your lingering fears. Brandon turned to you, his arm still draped over the man’s shoulder. “My dear, may I introduce you to an old friend and the organizer of this ball, Lord Frederick Amherst? Frederick, this is my beloved.”

You composed yourself, straightening your posture and offering a polite bow. “Lord Amherst, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Lord Amherst’s eyes twinkled with amusement and respect as he returned your bow with a slight nod. “The pleasure is mine, my lady. Christopher has spoken so highly of you.”

Brandon’s friend had a commanding presence, his demeanor radiating both authority and warmth. As you engaged in conversation, you felt the weight of the room’s scrutiny lighten, your focus shifting to the amiable exchange between the two men.

“Frederick and I served together for many years,” Brandon explained, his tone filled with nostalgia. “We’ve shared countless campaigns and even more stories.”

Lord Amherst chuckled. “Indeed we have. And many of those stories I’m sure the good colonel here would prefer remain untold.” He winked, a playful glint in his eye.

You smiled, finding comfort in their shared history and the easy rapport they maintained. “I can only imagine the adventures you two have had.”

Brandon squeezed your hand gently, his eyes reflecting pride and affection. “Frederick has always been the more adventurous one, but we balanced each other out.”

As the conversation flowed, you found yourself relaxing, the earlier tension slowly dissipating. The familiarity between Brandon and Lord Amherst offered a glimpse into a part of Brandon’s life you hadn’t fully known, deepening your admiration for him.

Lord Amherst smiled at you, his gaze kind yet curious. “If you’ll excuse us, my lady,” he said, his tone polite. “I’d like to steal Colonel Brandon away for a bit to introduce him to some old mutual friends.”

You nodded, attempting to mask your apprehension. “Of course, Lord Amherst. Enjoy your reunion.”

As Brandon and Lord Amherst walked away, you watched them go, a mixture of pride and anxiety swirling within you. The bustling room, filled with unfamiliar faces, felt suddenly more intimidating in Brandon’s absence. You took a deep breath, steeling yourself to remain composed and dignified, determined not to bring any shame to Brandon’s name.

Meanwhile, Lord Amherst led Brandon through the crowded hall, a jovial expression masking the serious conversation he intended to have. Once they were out of earshot of others, Amherst turned to Brandon, his tone shifting to one of concern.

“Christopher, I must admit, I’ve heard some troubling rumors about your wife,” he began cautiously. “Is there any truth to them?”

Brandon frowned, his expression darkening. “What rumors, Frederick?”

Lord Amherst hesitated, then continued. “People are saying you left Miss Marianne Dashwood to marry a woman of… unstable mind. Is there any truth to this?”

Brandon’s jaw tightened, his eyes flashing with anger. “You are misinformed, Frederick. I did not leave Miss Dashwood. She was committed to someone else at the time, and I respected her choice. When that engagement ended, I had already met and fallen in love with my wife.”

Frederick’s brows furrowed in disbelief. “But Miss Dashwood is still single, and the rumors about your wife...”

Brandon cut him off, his voice low and firm. “My wife is not ‘unstable,’ Frederick. She is a remarkable woman, and I love her deeply. The rumors are nothing but vicious gossip, spread by those who do not know her.”

Lord Amherst’s skepticism was evident. “I understand your loyalty, Christopher, but the talk is persistent. Are you sure you’ve made the right choice?”

Brandon’s temper flared. “Frederick, I came here to see an old friend, not to listen to slander about my wife. If you cannot respect her, then perhaps this conversation is over.”

The tension between the two men was palpable. Amherst’s expression softened, realizing he had overstepped. “I meant no offense, Christopher. I’m just concerned for you.”

Brandon’s gaze was steely. “Then trust my judgment. She is my wife, and I will not tolerate any disrespect towards her.”

Frederick raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Very well, Christopher. I see you are resolute. Let us leave this matter and enjoy the evening.”

Brandon nodded curtly, though the anger still simmered beneath his calm exterior. “Thank you.”

As they rejoined the gathering, Brandon’s thoughts remained with you, standing alone among strangers. His love for you and his determination to protect you from gossip and scorn were unwavering. The night was meant for reconnecting with old friends, but it had also become a testament to his steadfast loyalty and devotion to you.

Back in the grand hall, you stood by a table laden with refreshments, trying to look at ease. A few guests approached you, engaging in polite conversation, and you responded with measured grace. Yet, your eyes kept drifting towards the spot where Brandon and Lord Amherst had disappeared, a quiet worry gnawing at you.

When Brandon finally returned, his expression softened as he found you amidst the crowd. He made his way to you, his presence a comforting anchor. But he was stopped halfway to his destination by none other than the Dashwoods. Brandon froze as he caught sight of Marianne Dashwood; her beauty still enchanted him despite everything. She was as captivating as ever, and his heart fluttered involuntarily.

"Elinor, look who it is," Marianne exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she noticed Brandon. "Colonel Brandon, what a pleasant surprise to see you here!"

Elinor Dashwood, always composed and gracious, greeted Brandon warmly. "Colonel Brandon, it is indeed a pleasure to see you. How have you been?"

Brandon turned away from Marianne's eyes to greet Elinor back, trying to maintain his composure despite the rush of emotions that seeing Marianne stirred within him. "Miss Dashwood, Miss Marianne, it is a pleasure to see both of you. I trust you are both well."

Marianne, still as spirited and lively as ever, was quick to engage him further. She took a step closer, fanning herself lightly with a delicate fan that drew Brandon's eyes to her cleavage for a moment before he quickly averted his gaze. He searched the room over Marianne's shoulder, looking for his wife.

"It's been such a long time since we last saw you, Colonel," Marianne said, her tone teasing yet affectionate. "I was hoping you might accompany me for a dance tonight."

Brandon's heart skipped a beat. He knew he had to tread carefully. "Miss Marianne, I appreciate the invitation, but I'm afraid I must ask my wife for permission first."

Marianne's eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and curiosity crossing her features. "Your wife?" she asked softly, her tone betraying her emotions.

Brandon nodded, his gaze softening as he spoke. "Yes, my wife. She is here with me tonight."

Elinor smiled understandingly. "Of course, Colonel. We shall look forward to seeing both of you on the dance floor later."

With a polite nod, Brandon excused himself from Marianne's invitation, but before he could take another step, Marianne put a hand on his arm, her touch gentle yet insistent. "Oh, come now, Colonel," she said with a playful smile. "Surely one dance wouldn't hurt."

Elinor, ever the voice of reason, tried to dissuade her sister, casting a concerned glance towards Brandon. "Marianne, perhaps it's best to let Colonel Brandon be. He may have other obligations tonight."

But Marianne seemed determined, her grip on Brandon's arm tightening slightly as she squeezed it. Brandon looked at her, his expression torn between politeness and discomfort. He knew he couldn't refuse her without causing a scene, yet the thought of dancing with Marianne, with all the memories and emotions it would stir, filled him with apprehension.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the room, you watched the exchange with a heavy heart, insecurity gripping your chest. You had heard whispers from Brandon's employees about his past feelings for Marianne, even though Brandon had assured you that those feelings were long gone and that his love now belonged to you. But seeing them together, with her hand on his arm, brought a surge of doubt and unease.

They made a striking pair, Brandon's tall, stoic figure contrasting with Marianne's vivacious charm. They seemed to match in a way that you and Brandon never quite did, and the sight filled you with a sense of inadequacy.

Feeling your hands shaking, you set aside your drink and gathered your skirts, making your way outside in search of some fresh air. The night air was cool against your skin, the gentle rustle of leaves a soothing contrast to the turmoil within you.

As you walked, you tried to push away the nagging doubts and insecurities that threatened to overwhelm you. You reminded yourself of Brandon's words, of his love and devotion to you. Yet, the image of him with Marianne lingered in your mind, a painful reminder of the past that refused to be ignored.

You found a secluded spot in the garden, away from the prying eyes and whispered conversations of the party. Sitting down on a bench, you closed your eyes and took slow, deep breaths, willing yourself to regain control of your emotions.

"I'm not good enough for him," you whispered to yourself, the fear of being a burden to Brandon resurfacing. The weight of societal expectations and the relentless whispers of gossip clawed at your resolve. "I will ruin everything," you muttered, your voice tinged with despair.

Looking up at the stars, you sought solace in their quiet beauty. Among them, Venus shone brightly, a beacon of hope and love. "Venus will take me away, won't she?" you murmured, a desperate plea to the heavens above.

Just as you felt yourself slipping further into a spiral of anxiety, a voice interrupted your thoughts, calling your name. You turned, startled, and froze in shock at the sight of your old doctor approaching you. His presence brought back memories of his treatments, the pain, and the fear you had felt during those dark days.

"Miss [Your Last Name]," the doctor greeted you with a calm demeanor, his voice soft yet unsettlingly familiar. "It's been a long time."

Your breath quickened at the sight of him, the old wounds reopening fresh in your mind. His presence was a stark reminder of the life you had fought so hard to leave behind. "Dr. Peters," you managed to reply, your voice barely above a whisper. "What... what are you doing here?"

The doctor's gaze was steady, assessing. "I heard about the party tonight and thought I might see some old acquaintances," he explained vaguely, his tone giving away nothing of his true intentions. "And here I find you, looking as lovely as ever."

You shrank back slightly, a mixture of fear and unease coursing through you. "I... I was just taking a moment," you stammered, attempting to mask your discomfort. "I didn't expect to see you."

Dr. Peters inclined his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "Forgive me if I've startled you," he said, his voice silky smooth. "It's just that I couldn't help but notice you sitting here alone. Is everything alright?"

Your heart raced, the memories of his treatments flashing before your eyes. "Yes, everything is fine," you replied, your voice strained. "I just needed some air."

The doctor's smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something akin to satisfaction. "Of course," he said, his tone almost mocking. "It's a lovely night for a party."

You glanced around nervously, trying to find a way to excuse yourself. "I should... I should go back inside," you muttered, your voice shaking.

As you moved to stand, Dr. Peters reached out and placed a hand on your arm, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. "You know, Miss [Your Last Name]," he began, his voice low and conspiratorial, "I always admired your strength."

You froze, his words like a dagger in your heart. The memories of the pain he had inflicted, both physical and emotional, flooded your mind. "Please," you pleaded, your voice trembling, "don't."

But Dr. Peters ignored your distress, his grip tightening on your arm. "You were always so resilient," he continued, his voice taking on a sinister edge. "I wonder how you've managed to survive without my treatments."

Panic gripped you, your breath coming in short gasps. "Let go of me," you demanded, your voice stronger now despite the fear coursing through you.

"But you're not a miss anymore, are you, Lady Brandon?" Dr. Peters said softly, almost to himself, as if relishing the power he held over you. "I heard about your wedding to Colonel Brandon. Quite the scandal, isn't it?"

Your heart raced, and you began to murmur, calling out for Venus, seeking solace in the stars above. But Dr. Peters only tightened his grip on your arm, pulling you closer until his face was mere inches from yours.

"Control your mind, Lady Brandon," he whispered in your ear, his voice a chilling command. And against your will, you froze, unable to resist his hypnotic influence.

The doctor's smile widened as he released your arm, stepping back slightly but keeping his gaze fixed on you. "I don't understand why your parents stopped your treatment," he mused aloud, his tone mocking. "There was progress, you know. You could control yourself more because of me. I could make a good research study out of it, help other people. But then, it was all abruptly stopped."

You remained silent, unable to find your voice as the memories of his treatments flooded back, the pain and the fear intertwined with his taunting words. You could feel the weight of his gaze, the power he wielded over you like a weapon.

"I was surprised to hear you would be at this dance," Dr. Peters continued, his voice low and menacing. "Everyone is focusing on you, the unstable-minded wife of Colonel Brandon. Some ladies speculate that he only married you out of obligation, that you must have done something inappropriate with him, and the Duke, your father, forced him into this marriage."

The doctor's words cut through the haze of fear and doubt that clouded your mind, piercing straight to the heart of your insecurities. You tried to deny his accusations, to protest the lies he was weaving, but his raised finger silenced you once more. The weight of his words settled heavily upon your shoulders, crushing you with the fear of tarnishing Brandon's name.

As you hung your head, feeling like a burden, the doctor saw your doubts and smiled, his expression a mixture of satisfaction and malevolence. "You see, my dear Lady Brandon," he said softly, his voice dripping with honeyed malice, "I could help you. I could ensure that your... issues don't become a permanent stain on your husband's name."

His words struck a chord within you, sparking a tumultuous battle of conflicting emotions. On one hand, the thought of returning to Dr. Peters' treatments filled you with dread, recalling the pain and suffering you had endured under his care. Yet, the fear of causing further harm to Brandon's reputation gnawed at your conscience, threatening to overwhelm your resolve.

"You know where to find me," the doctor continued smoothly, as if sensing your internal struggle. "My office address remains the same. Think about it, Lady Brandon. Think about what is best for your husband."

With a final smirk, Dr. Peters turned and walked away, leaving you standing alone in the garden, your thoughts in turmoil. You watched him disappear into the darkness, his figure a sinister silhouette against the moonlit path.

Alone with your thoughts, you paced back and forth, grappling with the weight of Dr. Peters' proposition. Could returning to his treatments truly save you from the demons that haunted your mind? Would it prevent the rumors from spreading further, sparing Brandon from further humiliation?

But as you wrestled with these questions, another voice broke through your turmoil, a voice that echoed with calm reassurance and unwavering love. "My Lady," a familiar voice called out softly from the garden's edge.

You turned, heart skipping a beat as Brandon approached you, concern etched on his face. His presence was a balm to your troubled soul, grounding you in the reality of his unwavering love and support.

"Christopher," you whispered, relief flooding your senses as he drew near. Without a word, he closed the distance between you, enveloping you in his strong embrace.

"You left the ball so suddenly," he murmured against your hair, his voice tinged with worry. "Are you alright, my love?"

You clung to him, seeking solace in his embrace, uncertain if you should reveal the unsettling encounter with your old doctor. The night had shattered your composure, and Brandon's warmth offered a refuge from the storm raging inside you. You must have been silent for a long time, lost in the comfort of his arms, because Brandon began to speak softly, his voice tinged with concern.

"My love, I apologize if my conversation with Miss Marianne upset you," he murmured against your hair. "If it made you uncomfortable, I promise I won't let it happen again."

Your heart sank at the mention of Marianne Dashwood, her image flashing vividly in your mind. You turned away slightly from Brandon, grappling with the weight of your insecurities before gathering the courage to voice your fears.

"Christopher," you began tentatively, "do you... still have feelings for Miss Dashwood?"

Brandon looked away, his expression conflicted as he clenched his fist lightly. The silence that followed was enough of an answer for you. Your heart broke slightly, though you had expected such an outcome. How could anyone not be captivated by such a young and beautiful woman?

Taking a step back, you composed yourself, mustering the courage to broach a difficult topic. "Perhaps... perhaps we should consider an annulment," you suggested quietly, your voice trembling slightly. "You could try again with Marianne."

Brandon shook his head, his heart sinking at the direction the conversation had taken. "No, my dear, not that again," he said softly, his voice carrying a mix of frustration and concern. He gently lifted your chin, meeting your eyes with a tender gaze. "Seeing Miss Marianne again... it did bring back memories, but it doesn't mean I'm in love with her. It's you, only you, that I love."

You scoffed bitterly, unable to hide the pain in your eyes. Brandon glanced over his shoulder, noticing a few people in the distance who seemed to be observing the two of you. His grip on your arm tightened slightly, a silent plea not to make a scene.

"Let's not discuss this here," he whispered urgently, his voice laced with worry. "People are looking."

You followed his gaze and saw the curious glances directed your way. A wave of inadequacy washed over you, making you feel unworthy, a burden—a crazy woman no one wanted to be around.

The doctor's words echoed in your mind, intensifying your inner turmoil. Maybe he was right. Maybe you were embarrassing Brandon's name. The thought twisted your gut, reinforcing your insecurities.

"I..." you began, your voice trembling as you struggled to find the right words. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I just..."

Brandon's expression softened, his concern deepening as he tried to comfort you. "Shhh," he whispered, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. "It's alright, my love. Please, let's go somewhere more private."

Feeling the weight of everyone's eyes on you, you nodded silently, allowing Brandon to lead you away from the prying gazes. As you walked together, the doubt and fear continued to gnaw at your heart. You couldn't shake the feeling that you were letting Brandon down—that you were somehow not enough for him.

Brandon guided you to a secluded corner of the garden, away from the curious onlookers. He turned to face you, cupping your face in his hands, his eyes searching yours with gentle intensity.

"I know tonight has been difficult for you," he began softly, his voice filled with empathy. "But please, believe me when I say that you are everything to me. Miss Marianne is a part of my past, and though I may have cared for her once, my love for you is different—it's deeper, stronger."

Tears welled up in your eyes, your heart aching with the intensity of your emotions. "I... I want to believe you," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "But seeing you with her, it just..."

Brandon's thumb brushed away a tear from your cheek, his touch gentle and reassuring. "I understand," he murmured, his voice tinged with regret. "I should have been more attentive, more considerate of your feelings."

You shook your head, feeling guilty for causing a scene. "No, it's not your fault," you protested softly. "I'm just... I feel so inadequate, Christopher. She's so young, so beautiful, and I..."

Brandon's expression softened further, his heart breaking for the pain you were feeling. "You are not inadequate," he insisted firmly, his voice unwavering. "You are my wife, my love, and you bring me more happiness than I ever thought possible."

You looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "But what if I'm not enough?" you whispered, the fear lingering in your voice.

Brandon gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to look at him. "You are more than enough," he said firmly, his eyes searching yours. "I married you because I love you, because I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Nothing and no one could ever change that."

A small smile tugged at the corners of your lips, your heart warming at his words. "I love you too," you murmured, your voice filled with gratitude and relief.

Brandon pulled you into his arms, holding you close as if trying to shield you from the doubts and insecurities that plagued your mind. "Let's go home," he said softly against your hair. "We can leave this place behind and focus on us."

You nodded against his chest, feeling safe and loved in his embrace. As you left the garden together, the weight of the night's events began to lift from your shoulders. You knew that the road ahead wouldn't be easy, but with Brandon by your side, you were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

And as you walked away from the whispers and the doubts, you knew deep in your heart that Brandon's love was the anchor that would keep you grounded, no matter what storms may come.

As you and Brandon arrived home, the weight of the evening’s events seemed to dissipate, replaced by the comforting familiarity of your shared sanctuary. Brandon guided you gently up the stairs, his hand warm and steady in yours. When you reached your bedroom, he closed the door behind you, enclosing the two of you in a cocoon of privacy and intimacy.

Brandon’s eyes met yours, filled with a blend of concern and love. Without a word, he began to help you out of your cream-colored dress. His fingers worked deftly at the buttons and laces, his touch gentle yet firm. As he eased the fabric from your shoulders, he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your exposed skin. The warmth of his lips against your shoulder sent a shiver down your spine.

“You looked stunning tonight,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low rumble that sent waves of heat through you. “It’s a shame I didn’t dance with you.”

You sighed softly, feeling the last of the tension melt away under his touch. “It’s alright,” you whispered, though a part of you wished you had shared a dance with him.

Brandon’s hands slid the dress down your arms, letting it pool at your feet in a soft whisper of fabric. He stepped back slightly, his gaze taking in the sight of you standing before him in your undergarments. “The dress is beautiful,” he said, his voice huskier now, “but I much prefer it on the floor.”

His words sent a thrill through you, and you felt your cheeks flush with a mixture of desire and anticipation. Brandon stepped closer, his hands finding their way to your waist, pulling you against him. His lips found yours in a slow, deliberate kiss, conveying the depth of his feelings more eloquently than words ever could.

“I’ve missed you tonight,” he whispered between kisses, his breath hot against your lips. “Every moment I spent away from you felt like an eternity.”

Your hands found their way to the buttons of his waistcoat, fumbling slightly in your eagerness. He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your lips, and helped you remove his clothing piece by piece. Soon, he stood before you, the cool air of the room a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your bodies.

As he guided you towards the bed, his hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and contour with a reverence that made your heart swell. He laid you down gently, his eyes never leaving yours. “You’re everything to me,” he whispered, his voice a fervent promise. “Never doubt that.”

You reached up, pulling him down to you, your fingers threading through his hair as you kissed him deeply. The world outside ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you and the love that bound you together. Brandon’s hands moved with a surety that spoke of his familiarity with your body, his touch igniting a fire that burned brighter with each passing moment.

“Christopher,” you breathed, your voice filled with longing and need. “I love you.”

He responded with a kiss, his lips trailing a path of heat down your neck and over your collarbone. “I love you more than words can express,” he murmured against your skin. “And I intend to show you just how much tonight.”

But even as Brandon's tender words enveloped you in warmth, doubts hovered in your mind. How could he truly love you, a woman plagued by insecurities and fears? The whispers of Dr. Peters and the sight of Marianne's enchanting beauty resurfaced, making you question your worth.

Brandon seemed to sense your turmoil. He sighed softly, pulling away slightly to look into your eyes. "You are you, and that's why I love you," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "Crazy or not, I love you."

You opened your mouth to protest, to voice the doubts gnawing at your heart, but Brandon silenced you with a kiss. His lips were a tender reassurance against your own, whispering softly against them, "You are my crazy woman, and I am your colonel, old and stupid."

His words sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of amusement and arousal sparking within you. The playful tone in his voice, combined with the fierce sincerity of his gaze, melted your insecurities. Brandon's hands roamed your body with a newfound urgency, his touch igniting a fire that burned away the remnants of your doubts.

He kissed his way down your neck, his lips leaving a trail of heat in their wake. "You drive me wild, you know that?" he murmured against your skin, his breath hot and tantalizing. "Every part of you—your mind, your body—sets me ablaze."

You gasped softly, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer. "Christopher," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and emotion. "I need you."

Brandon responded with a growl of approval, his hands moving to unfasten your undergarments with deft precision. "I'll show you just how much I need you, too," he promised, his voice a low, seductive rumble. "Every inch of you belongs to me."

He kissed his way down your body, his lips and tongue exploring your curves with a reverence that made your heart race. When he reached the apex of your thighs, he paused, looking up at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Tell me what you want, my love," he urged, his voice a velvet command. "I want to hear you say it."

Your breath hitched, the intensity of his gaze sending a wave of heat through you. "I want you," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want all of you."

Brandon's smile was both tender and wicked as he lowered his head, his mouth finding its way to the most intimate part of you. His tongue moved with a skill and precision that left you gasping, your fingers tightening in his hair as waves of pleasure coursed through you.

He took his time, savoring every moan and gasp that escaped your lips, drawing out your pleasure until you were on the brink of begging for release. When you could take no more, he rose to his knees, his eyes dark with desire. "You are mine," he whispered fiercely, positioning himself between your legs. "And I am yours."

As he entered you, a moan of pure ecstasy escaped your lips, your bodies moving together in a rhythm that was both primal and tender. Brandon's hands gripped your hips, his movements sure and deliberate, each thrust sending you higher into a realm of pleasure where only the two of you existed.

"Say it," he urged, his voice strained with his own desire. "Say you're mine."

"I'm yours," you gasped, the intensity of your feelings overwhelming you. "I'm yours, Christopher."

Brandon's pace quickened, his grip tightening as he drove you both toward the edge. "And I'm yours," he groaned, his voice thick with emotion. "Always."

Your release came in a wave of ecstasy, your body trembling in his arms as he followed you into the abyss, his own climax ripping through him with a force that left you both breathless.

In the aftermath, as you lay entwined in each other's arms, the doubts and insecurities that had plagued you earlier seemed to dissipate. Brandon held you close, his hand gently stroking your hair, his heartbeat a steady reassurance against your own.

"I love you," he whispered, his voice a soft caress. "No matter what, I will always love you."

You looked up at him, your heart swelling with a love that matched his own. "And I love you," you replied, your voice steady and sure. "Always."

As you drifted into a peaceful sleep in his arms, you knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, you would face them together. For you were his crazy woman, and he was your colonel, old and stupid—but more importantly, you were each other's, bound by a love that would withstand any storm.

[authorsmortuary]

It Was Doomed From The Start

Chapter 1

Vivienne is invited to Barton Park by Mrs Jennings and meets the Dashwoods. She gets thrown into their affairs while trying to hide her own relationship with Colonel Christopher Brandon.

[rosebudfics]

~PLEASE READ BEFORE REQUESTING~

Minors DNI or lerk in the shadows

Hello fellow snape lovers! This is a new blog however I am not new to writing! I have a separate blog specifically for writing but I will not let anyone know what it is due to the fact that I am afraid I will receive hate/threats because I enjoy Harry Potter. And before anyone comes at me, no I do not condone to the actions that JK Rowling has done!!! I simply just enjoy the series because of how much comfort it brings me.

Request Rules:

I WILL write: fluff, angst, suggestive, female and sometimes gender neutral reader unless its spicy, and domestic stuff!!

I will NOT write: Smut, incest, pedophillia, rape/no consent, racism, homophobia, abuse, professor x student, daddy kink, piss/shit fetish or anything related to those!!

As for the characters I will write for, I will mainly write for Severus Snape however I am open to recieving requests for Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility, Sheriff Nottingham from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Hans Gruber from Die Hard, and David Friedman from Judas Kiss!

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

I will write head canons, drabbles, and short fics! Possibly full length fics if an idea that i really like is either requested or i think of!

Masterlist Below the cut!

Severus Snape

New Professor - Snape x Professor! Reader

Sick Days - Snape x Wife! Reader

Girl Dad - Dad! Snape x Mom! Reader

Secret Lovers - Snape x Wife! Reader

Colonel Brandon

Your Last Night - (ANGST) Colonel Brandon x ill! Reader

Sheriff Nottingham

Nothing yet!

Hans gruber

Nothing yet!

David Friedman

Nothing yet!

[deepperplexity]

Prompt: 14. A Light In The Night [A4]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

POV: Second, Reader

Setting: Delaford Estate

Continuation of: Prompt 1. Chimney Soot, 5. Grave Of Snow, & 9. Missing Star

A/N: TWO THINGS OF IMPORTANCE TODAY! One) This is the final part of the Brandon fic! First wrap-up of Rickmas2023! 😱😍👏 Two) IT'S FRIKKIN SMUT TIME DARLINGS! 🔥🔥🔥 Oh, and this is a longer part too, hope you'll enjoy it (just don't ask how my fingers are feeling after this weeks writing shenanigans so far - gosh, I've written so much 😂)🤭😘

Tags/TW’s: Selfdoubt, Adoration, Love, Embracing, Slight Hints At Classism, Feeling New (positive, natural) Emotions & Sensations, Nicknames, Kissing, Confessions of Desire, Respecting Another's Wishes, Gifting Ones Virginity, Sweet Loving, Caring Partner, Penetrative Sex, Future Marriage Implied.

Abbr.: Y/N - Your Name

Word Count: 4.3k+

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

It had been four days since his confession, and to be perfectly frank, you had yet to fully absorb it. As if the spirits of Christmas had snapped their fingers, all your wishes seemed to be coming true in the span of a mere two weeks. Two weeks ago, you had entered the Delaford Estate in desperate need of employment — or just a roof over your head, and a hot meal would have tied you over for a blessed moment — and now you were dressed in finery, drinking tea in a beautiful parlour with the sweetest hound by your feet on order from its master, the man who had you beyond infatuated, to stay by your side.

It was strange, so very odd, to be seated in such splendour when you only knew how to be the person to serve such people. You had never taken notice of how the rich ladies held their teacups, or how they sat with their legs, or even how they held conversations. You had always been too busy making sure you barely existed in their presence. To serve the tea, remove the empty plates, to not make a sound or be noticed. Now, you were the one to be noticed, the one who was supposed to be able to do things in a fine and proper manner.

Not that any of that mattered to the man who only yesterday had asked for your hand in marriage. For you to be his wife, his partner, to be by his side through the rest of his life. You hadn’t grasped that the ring around your finger, with several diamonds lining the golden band in a delicate fashion, was truly proof of a reality that was becoming yours. Not a dream, not a wish, not a hope — just reality. Your reality.

You sat the teacup down, a slight clinking rang out in the big room as your unsteady hand released it. “Oh, Samson, what am I doing here?” you asked the hound who whined and rested his big head with floppy ears atop your legs. And, then, he entered. Your fiancé, the man who made your blood sing and your thoughts turn bright. He walked with a commanding grace that was gentle and decisive at the same time.

He smiled so sweetly towards you, instantly finding you in the vast room. The thoughts of not fitting in, not being in the right place, not being worthy of the life you had just begun flitted away the moment he held you in his arms. Standing before the fireplace, surrounded by Christmas decorations, all derogatory thoughts of yourself went away. It had nothing to do with anything but him.

“Y/n,” he said softly. “Colonel,” you replied, as was proper. But, he shook his head and gently placed his warm fingers under your chin, tilting your head ever so slightly. “Christopher,” he stated. “Christopher…” His name rolled out of your mouth in a mere breath of a whisper. The word too important, too beautiful, too much of a gift for you to speak any louder.

Your body tingled, warmth spread in places within you that had never warmed before. Your legs were unsteady while you felt an inexplicable need to clench your thighs together as something pooled and unfurled in the most sacred of places. “My sweet, something the matter?” he asked as he placed the back of his fingers on your burning cheek. “You appear flustered, are you fairing?” The concern in his voice was too sweet, too caring — your senses were overwhelmed by him. “I’m fairing, Christopher,” you said but your voice didn’t quite reach the tone you had thought it would. There was something strangely quiet about it, your throat suddenly a little bit thick as you tried to swallow past the fluttering tingle going from your lips all the way down to your very toes.

“My star,” he hummed while his fingers travelled along your jaw until his hand slipped over your shoulder and down your arm until his hand could grasp yours, raise it up, and plant a gentle kiss atop your knuckles. You were becoming hotter by the moment, everywhere he touched you felt as if it burned, despite the fabric separating his skin from yours mostly.

Outside, darkness crept in despite the white snow. He'd been away most of the day, attending to business in town as he’d said at breakfast. How can I possibly miss you so dearly every moment you’re not with me after such a short time? “I cannot wait to have you as my wife,” he said and kissed your hand once more, harder and more ardently than before. Your thighs clenched together at the intense contact. Samson barked a low rumble and walked out of the room with the pitter-patter of his claws against the shiny flooring. “And I you as my husband, Christopher.” Saying his name was such a blessing, he was a blessing.

“My sweet,” he hummed. “You are making it difficult to be a gentleman.” “What do you mean?” you asked, feeling as if the room turned hotter with each passing second in his proximity. He squeezed your hand. “You are too beautiful, too wonderful. It is the most difficult challenge to stay away.” “Then do not,” you exhaled, still not fully grasping why he needed to stay away at all. “My star, you ask too much of me. If I do not stay away, how could I possibly refrain from ravaging you before you hold my name? How can I remain a gentleman when all my desires are within my grasp?”

Your breath hitched, the warmth within becoming a fire as his eyes held yours with nothing but honesty and love within them. You were pressed against one another, neither of you able to separate your bodies while your fingers were entwined on either side of you, your hands firmly held by each other.

“Are you not an honest man?” you asked. “I endeavour to be.” “And are you not a respectable man?” “I believe I am. To the best of my capabilities.” “And with that being said, are you one to keep your word?” “Always,” he affirmed, his eyes taking on a more serious shine. “Then, can we not believe in your honest promise to marry me, as a respectable man who endeavours to go through life in a manner befitting to your beliefs, darling?” you asked, feeling brave and empowered by the way he viewed you most dearly. “You have me at a loss for words. How can I dispute such words when they ring of truth and cater to my selfish want for you?” he nearly purred in that gravely voice of his. “I am yours.” “As I am yours .”

He took a step back, breathing in deep — as if he were desperate for air — and released one of your hands while beginning to turn toward the door. Yet, he did not move, did not tug or pull, not even a step was taken as he watched you with his head turned. He waited for you, and your body could not spare another second to a life where you did not know him intimately.

You squeezed his hand and moved forward. That was the cataclysm, the release of you both and the acceptance of trust between you both. He would keep his word and make you his wife, you would stay with him forever, and in your loving trust, there was freedom from propriety. There was freedom from restraint. Freedom within the warmth which radiated from the both of you, for each other.

The door locked. You were a pining mess for the man before you — with his stiff shoulders and harder breathing stealing your focus. He moved in swiftly, not wasting a second to cup your warm face with his gentle hands. “I will ask one more time,” he said while his eyes flicked between yours. “Are you certain you wish for this to happen?” “I want nothing else,” you said with finality in your breathy voice. “My star, my sweet,” he murmured before his thin lips clashed against yours with a deep groan slipping from his mouth and into yours. It was bliss. It was heaven. It was everything.

Your hands grabbed his wrists, holding onto him while the world fell away. Your body burned for him, your nerves tingling and tensing within you while your core softened as his tongue darted out to tease the seam of your lips. You parted them, allowing him access as your tongue met his and they danced in harmony. A moan slipped from the depths of your chest as he pressed himself against you, and you damned your clothes for existing.

His hands slipped from your face, travelling down your shoulders until he could grasp your waist and hold you even tighter while your own hands rested atop his wide shoulders. You could feel every motion of him, every tensing muscle, every effort he exerted to control himself as his fingers found the lacing at your back and began to tug.

You were nervous, uncertain of what to do or what you even felt. All the emotions and sensations he created within you were new, uncharted waters you were fearful of drowning in without him there to guide you through the waves. “I’ve never,” you whispered against his lips, spilling the truth of your innocence. “I would have expected nothing less from such a wonder as you, yet I am surprised no young man has come to steal your purity. I am lucky, blessed to have your trust in this honour,” he said and there was something about him not putting a value on your purity as a possession but as something for you to gift that had you melting in his arms.

A flurry seemed to spring to life, hands tugged at buttons and strings, moved fabrics and undid lacing until you were both naked in the dark room. You were grateful to the dark for shielding your bare body, yet at the same time… you wished to witness all of him, in all his glory.

Your hands travelled along the curve of his waist, feeling the warm skin bared for you while his front was pressed against yours. The slight softness to his stomach paired with the strength of his arms had you thinking of warm cuddles during foggy mornings, of safety and gentle caresses. Then the hardness of his cock pressed against your pelvis the knot between your legs seemed to tie itself up further.

“I wish to see you, my sweet,” he said as he backed away, leaving you standing by the edge of the bed in the dim darkness. The sound of a match being struck rang out over your panted breaths and a little flame flickered to life beside you while the chill of the separation made your nipples peak. A small candle next to the bed spread its golden glow impressively. Yet, your eyes instantly snagged to the man blowing out the match.

His body was far from what you had imagined you would ever be attracted to. His chest was dusted with soft-looking hair forming a trail down his pale stomach your eyes followed almost dutifully until they reached his cock. You had never seen such a sight before, yet it made your mouth water and your insides churn. Your body knew what it wanted, what it wished for, and he was all of it.

“Beautiful,” came his voice in a rumble. You looked up, finding his eyes studying your face intently while your cheeks felt as if they would burn up. You wondered how on earth he would fit within you, if it were going to hurt or if he would be gentle. He will… He will be gentle with me , you thought and he stepped up and kissed you most softly despite the desperation you could feel from him.

He laid you down, guiding you to the middle of the bed while he placed himself between your legs, all the while keeping your lips connected. You felt his weight atop you increase and you parted your legs further hesitantly. The gracing of his cock against your warm clit sent a jolt through you, it was a foreign sensation — yet it felt good.

You moaned as he groaned when he settled himself. You wished to be closer, feel him everywhere and connect within him in a manner your body was by now pleading for. The ache in your core, the pulsing of your inner walls nearly painful as there was merely a palpable emptiness within you.

“My sweet,” he hummed as his lips traced your jaw, a hand gliding down your side until he grasped your thigh gently, the warmth of his hand searingly wonderful. “Christopher,” you panted while your hands glided over his shoulders and up towards his neck as he sank lower, kissing your throat. “I shall be gentle, in all things I ever do with you,” he declared as you began to tense from the need coursing within you. “Please,” you whispered, not fully understanding the sensations bombarding you but knowing they were all from him. “I need to make you ready,” he said against your upper chest. “The first time, it may hurt but I shall do everything to make it pleasurable, my star.”

His lips latched around your nipple and his tongue circled it heavenly. You were a moaning mess as his mouth gently coaxed the warmth burning within you to reach new heights. Your legs tightened around him as his hand travelled down the inside of your thigh before his fingers found your slick opening. You jolted at the sudden touch, alarm bells going off in your head of how intimate it was, how wrongly good it felt to be touched down there — by him.

“My sweet,” he hummed after releasing your nipple. “Look at me.” You did so, tilting your head only to find him nearly framed by your legs, his head right below your heaving chest and those sweet eyes solely focused on you. “Christopher,” you whispered while his finger toyed with the little nub sending pleasurable jolts through you each and every time. “P-please,” you moaned as his eyes lit up with a warm sort of wonder as he watched you take the pleasure he offered. “I need you soft, pliable, soaked, my sweet. I will not harm you deliberately, take the pleasure I’m offering,” he said as he slowly rose, keeping eye contact with you at all times while his slick finger lowered and found your opening.

You panted, your hands grasping at the covers beneath you, while he leaned over you, supporting his weight on one hand while the other stayed at your core. “All the pleasure,” he affirmed as he sank a digit into you. Slowly, gently, carefully stretching you open for him. You moaned and panted, your head pushed into the pillow as you took in the foreign sensation of having something inside you. “My sweet,” he whispered before kissing your exposed neck, still working his finger in and out of you most gently, softly, nearly caressing your insides.

His thumb found its way to your aching clit, stroking it in slow circles while his finger kept up its even pace — it felt as if you’d go mad with the pleasurable torture. “Please, Christopher,” you moaned and he replied with a deep hum of a groan before capturing your lips with his own while he adjusted himself to hover above you — still keeping up the attentions he lavished your core with. “Soon, my sweet star, soon.” He upped the pace a tad, hardening the circling of your clit with that wide thumb of his while his tongue delved in to dance with yours. Your hands found his shoulders, caressing and gripping in intervals while your body seemed to seamlessly shift beneath him. Your legs widened further, your back arched ever so slightly, all while your nerves seemed to tighten and burn with something you weren’t sure you could handle.

You moaned into his mouth, he laid more weight atop you — forcing his hand to rest fully against your core while keeping up the pleasurable touch. The heavy breathing of you both filled the room, your moans swallowed by him as his groans were captured by your mouth. A mixture of bliss and tension within your body.

“You are most delicate. Most beautiful, wonderful,” he said as your mouths parted. Your eyes fluttered open only to find him looking at you with the most devastating look of want and desire. His features were those of someone starved of what they wished for and who was now able to consume that very desire wholly. “My love,” you whispered while his finger plunged a bit harder into you, the golden glow of the candle showing nothing but perfection above you. “My star, my missing star,” he groaned before pulling out his finger to an incoherent plea of yours. You felt deprived, empty without him inside you.

He licked his finger clean with a hum so deep you could feel it in your own toes. He’s tasting me, you thought with a mixture of horror and bewildering want. Your insides clenched around nothing and you could have sworn madness crept in as he took away that touch.

“Delicious,” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. “Delicious, and mine to worship ardently.” He moved higher above you, his hand dipping back down between you both. “Christopher?” you asked as he rose a bit higher by straightening his arm. Your eyes fell down only to see him stroking his bulging cock with the very hand he had just pleasured you with. The tip of his cock, it was covered in glistening pre-cum, he swirled his finger over it twice before pushing down — aligning himself to you while you watched with trepidation and yearning.

“I shall be most gentle, my sweet,” he said quietly, the gravelly voice like music to your soul with its hints of desperation and care. “Look at me, only me,” he said and you did. Your eyes shifted from his cock between your legs to those mesmerising eyes of his while he leaned forward ever so slightly.

You felt the tip of him, and before you had a chance to adjust to the idea of his entirety being able to fit within you he pushed forward with a gentle thrust. He groaned while your eyes fluttered at the sudden sensation which wasn't quite comfortable. “You are doing so well, my star. So well,” he praised while he kissed your forehead before doing the same to each of your cheeks while pushing further in. You moaned with a scrunching of your nose and eyebrows, your body fighting the intrusion. “Relax for me, my sweet. Relax, and grant me access,” he whispered in a near purr while laying half atop you, supported by his knees and arms. And, you did. You relaxed under his gentle words, his pleading for you to let him in.

He moaned, a most heavenly sound, as he pushed the last bit of himself in as your insides stretched and softened to accommodate him. The pinches and twangs of pain were not nearly as bad as you had imagined and over far more swiftly than you would have thought. In the lack of pain, there was only pleasure to be found. His warm body, his thick cock filling you completely while his warm breath danced across your neck and shoulder before his lips kissed the pulse point below your ear most gently.

Christopher began to move, each thrust slickened by you coating him with your want. Your body tensed and curled beneath him as he gently claimed all of you and there would never be another man you wished to know you in such a manner. You were only for him, as you hoped and wished that you would be the only one for him from that day onward.

As he upped the pace, his breathing turned ragged and harsh while you witnessed the restraint he held himself with. He was being so gentle with you, each thrust fast but caring, each plunge into your core a caress of the most loving kind. You wanted all of him, your moaning of his name all you could manage as he took your innocence with a devotion unlike any you could have ever imagined being worthy of.

“Please,” you whispered as he kissed your shoulder. “Please, I feel-, feel-, haaa—” “My sweet,” he panted. “You are mine to worship,” he continued while his hand stroked its way down to your joining. You cried out as his finger found your clit and began to stroke it most deliciously while he managed to keep thrusting into you. The sensations were overwhelming, but oh so good. “That’s it,” he said while your legs tensed and an overwhelming need for something terrifyingly powerful began to take over. “I — oh — I need-, haaa—” you moaned as he kept up the motion, the thrusting, the caresses and kisses and sounds which had you on the edge of something your body desperately sought. It was beyond a want, far more a need than anything else and it came from him — from what he was doing to you.

“Let go,” he groaned while his tempo stuttered, as if he were on the edge as well. As if he were right there with you, feeling something inexplicably wonderfully tight. “No, no, no I—” “Let go, let it go, darling,” he said in a barely coherent voice while moans spilt from between those thin lips you wished to kiss for an eternity.

His thumb pushed harder, sending a jolt of ecstasy through your entire body, making you cry out his name in a strained garble while every muscle in your body began to tremble as pleasure filled each part of you. He groaned and stilled, a pulsing from you and him mixing within you as warmth spurted into you while you were lost to the unfathomable pleasure he offered you, his finger gently slowed to ease you out of the mind-numbing sensations that took such control of your body it felt as if you had been possessed by him.

“Beautiful… Wonderful… My sweet star,” he said as he half-laid on you while you both caught your breaths. The pounding of his heart reached your own and it felt for a moment as if they were beating in tune with each other. “That was… amazing,” you exhaled as his hooked nose nuzzled into the crook of your neck. “You, are amazing.” “I believe this was your work, my love,” you confessed sheepishly even if your voice didn’t have the strength to take on a tone. “I shall endeavour to please and pleasure you always.” The way he spoke with such sincerity, such gentle love with no hint of anything but honesty. It made your toes curl just as he moved — a gasp slipping from you as he pulled out.

He did not even spare a second before he had moved over to the side of the room, stark naked in the golden candlelight, and you had just enough time to worry about rejection before he turned back with the softest of smiles and a damp cloth in his hand. “Let us take care of you,” he said. “If you will allow me?” “I…” But you nodded, feeling drained in a blissful manner yet aware enough to understand he wished to clean you which made you nervous — no matter how strange that was after what you had just done with him, it felt so incredibly intimate to have him wash you with a cloth down there.

After a few minutes, you were both clean and cuddled up under the thick covers in the bed you had woken up in after having been nearly buried alive in snow two weeks ago. That he had brought you to his bed that very night had had you in a fit at first, but now… well, now you looked back on it as the first declaration of his intentions with you.

“A light in the night,” he hummed while you lay on his chest with his arm wrapped securely around you, his warm finger playing a circle game on your hip. “Darling?” you asked quietly while you watched the grey hair on his chest shimmer in the candlelight. “You, my star… You are a light in the perpetual darkness of night my life has been for far too many years. Your smile alone could brighten my day more than the sun.”

Your heart skipped a beat, your body tensing outwardly while softening inwardly at his sweet words spoken in that perfect voice of his. He kissed the top of your head while you wondered if you were truly blessed with a Christmas miracle in the shape of him. “When spring comes, I shall wed you before all and declare my love for anyone and everyone to hear. My missing star, my sweet Y/n… How I have searched and longed for you.” “And I you, Christopher, my love. My Christmas miracle.”

He gently leaned your head back with his fingers beneath your chin before leaning forward to capture your lips in the most gentle of kisses. A sweet caress of lips in pure need to connect. “I love you,” he said, his eyes not leaving yours while you drew a hitched breath at the sincerity — at feeling just like he did. “And I love you,” you whispered while tears brimmed your eyes and he gently kissed your forehead with a soft smile of his own. “Christmas miracle indeed,” he whispered against your skin and you held on tighter to him while the single candle flame flickered beside you…

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh gosh, that was that for our wonderfully sweet Colonel for this Rickmas fic - I hope you've enjoyed it darlings 🥰👏❤ I think they'll have a beautiful wedding in the spring, with lots of love and smiles all around, don't you? 🥰

Q: If you were to have a winter wedding, what would be the most important wintery-item/part of it? 😊 A: I think for me it would have to be snow - I feel like you can't really have a winter wedding if there's no beautifully sparkling white snow ❄❄❄

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[Dec:2023]