#brant x reader

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

what are your thoughs on soft dom brant + mirror sex? Just him praising and worshipping you and tell you are beautiful while he gently fucks you in front of the mirror ☹️

꒰ঌ ໒꒱ tws : nsfw/smut, creampie (vaginal), mirror s*x, gentle Brant, neck kissing, nipple play, (gentle) spanking, pet names and others!

꒰ঌ ໒꒱ note : art banner by : rororo_mg on X! （𝓂𝒹𝓃𝒾）

Brant held you against him, his chest warm and solid at your back, his arms wrapped around you as if you were something precious—something he couldn't bear to let go of. In front of you, the mirror reflected everything: the way your body trembled, the way his hands roamed your skin, the way his cock slowly stretched you open.

"Look at yourself," he murmured against your neck, his voice low and affectionate. "See how perfect you are for me."

You tried, but it was hard to focus when he was kissing a slow path down your throat, his teeth scraping just enough to make you gasp. His hands were everywhere—one kneading your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers, the other splayed across your stomach, holding you steady as he rocked into you.

"Brant," you whimpered, hips shifting to take him deeper.

"Shh, sweetheart," he soothed, dragging his palm lower, fingers slipping between your thighs. He pressed his thumb to your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your legs shake. "I want you to watch. Want you to see how beautiful you look taking me."

Your reflection was almost too much—his strong arms wrapped around you, the way his cock disappeared inside you, the wetness slicking your thighs, proof of just how much you needed him. The way his fingers played with your nipple, pinching and rolling until you were arching into his touch, only to have him smack the soft flesh lightly before soothing it with a gentle squeeze.

"Brant," you whined, leaning back into him.

He chuckled, his breath hot against your ear. "Feel good, baby?" His hips rolled forward, pushing deep, making sure you felt every inch of him.

"Y-yeah—"

Another soft slap, this time against your thigh, followed by a warm, lingering kiss on your shoulder. "Then say thank you."

Your cheeks burned, but you didn't hesitate. "Thank you, Brant."

His grip tightened, a pleased hum vibrating against your skin. "Good girl."

His fingers worked your clit with slow, teasing circles, his other hand never leaving your breast, alternating between soft tugs and soothing caresses. The pleasure built steadily, every touch, every word sending heat pooling in your stomach.

"That’s it," he whispered, pressing his lips against your temple. "Let me take care of you."

And with the way he worshipped you—with his hands, his voice, his cock—you knew he always would.

Brant’s hands never stopped moving, always touching, always worshipping—as if he couldn’t decide which part of you deserved his attention most. His cock pushed deep, filling you completely, while his fingers teased your clit with slow, deliberate strokes. Every touch was meant to make you feel cherished, every whispered praise was meant to remind you that you were his.

"Look at you," he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear. His voice was so full of reverence, so full of love. "So beautiful like this… all soft and open for me."

His free hand trailed over your stomach, fingers tracing light patterns across your skin before traveling up, cupping your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. His touch was gentle but firm, designed to make you squirm against him.

"Do you see how perfect you are?" He nudged his nose against your cheek, his lips brushing over your heated skin. "The way you take me so well… the way your pussy clings to my cock, desperate for more."

His words made you whimper, your body tightening around him in response. His reflection in the mirror was breathtaking—his golden eyes dark with desire, his lips slightly parted as he watched you fall apart under his touch.

"You’re my everything, sweetheart," he whispered, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to your throat. His tongue flicked over the sensitive skin before he sucked, leaving the faintest mark—a reminder that you were his, just as he was yours. "Every inch of you is perfect. Every sound you make, every little shiver—"

His hand slid lower again, fingers teasing your clit with slow, controlled circles. His cock dragged against your walls with every deep, steady thrust, and the combination of it all sent a sharp pulse of pleasure through you.

"Brant—" Your voice broke, your body trembling in his arms.

"Shh, I've got you," he soothed, his hands tightening around you, holding you even closer. "Let go for me, sweetheart. Show me how pretty you are when you come."

The coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure washing over you in waves as you gasped his name. Your body clenched around him, and Brant groaned, his hips stuttering as he fucked you through it, coaxing you to ride the high for as long as you could.

"That’s it," he murmured, his lips pressing against your damp skin. "So fucking gorgeous like this… my perfect girl."

You barely had time to catch your breath before he lifted you just a little, angling you forward, keeping you pressed against his chest. The shift let you see everything—the way your body was still trembling from your orgasm, the way his cock was still buried deep inside you, the way he looked at you like you were something divine.

"One more, baby," he whispered, his voice almost pleading, his fingers stroking your clit again. "Let me worship you just a little longer."

And with the way he held you, the way he whispered sweet praises against your skin, you knew you’d give him everything.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[xichilie]

Brant x (fem)reader

A Flower Among Thorns

The moonlight shimmered across the winding canals of Ragunna, casting silver streaks over the cobbled streets. The city was alive with distant music, the chatter of nobles, the ever-present murmur of secrets woven between its shadows.

But none of that mattered to Y/N Fisalia as she slipped away from Porto-Veno Castle, her breath hitching as she finally—finally—made it past the watchful eyes of her family's guards.

She had done this before.

Not often, and never without risk, but enough to know the routes where the Fisalia name held no sway. Where she could breathe without the weight of Cantarella’s watchful gaze pressing down on her.

Her sister meant well. She always had.

Cantarella had ensured that Y/N remained untouched by the Fisalia family’s darkness—kept safe, kept guarded, kept away from the poison and power plays that ran through their bloodline like an unshakable curse.

But Y/N didn’t want to be caged.

She was gentle, a delicate flower in a family of thorns. And sometimes, she just needed to be free.

Tonight was one of those nights.

She walked along the quiet outskirts of the city, the scent of the sea carried on the breeze, her delicate slippers barely making a sound on the damp stone.

And that was when she saw him.

A man, lying slumped against the base of a crumbling fountain.

Blood stained his coat, seeping into the fabric like ink on parchment. His blue hair, streaked with two vivid streaks of violet, fell over his face, and even in the dim glow of the streetlamps, she recognized him.

Her breath caught.

Brant.

She had seen his face before—on wanted posters, in whispered conversations among her family’s associates. The Fool, the trickster, the thorn in the Montelli’s side… and an enemy of the Fisalia family.

Logic told her to turn away.

To leave him there, to let the city's shadows swallow him whole.

But she couldn't.

Because despite everything she had been told, despite the warnings and the stories, all she saw in front of her was a wounded man.

And Y/N had never been able to ignore someone in need.

She moved without thinking.

Her hands were delicate but sure, pressing gently against the wound at his side. Her magic—a soft, golden glow—pulsed beneath her fingertips, stitching the torn flesh together bit by bit.

The moment she made contact, he stirred.

A shuddering inhale, a faint twitch of his fingers, and then—

His eyes fluttered open.

Y/N froze.

Pink.

His eyes were pink, the color of a blooming dusk rose, hazy with exhaustion yet still alight with mischief.

For a moment, he simply stared at her.

Then, with an amused tilt of his lips, he rasped out:

“Well, well… I must’ve hit my head harder than I thought.”

Y/N blinked, startled by the warmth in his voice despite his clear pain.

Brant’s smirk deepened as his gaze trailed over her—the elegant silk of her gown, the delicate gold embroidery, the soft glow of her magic. He exhaled a breathless chuckle.

“What are you, an angel?”

Y/N huffed, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat at the sheer audacity of this man.

“You’re injured,” she said instead, keeping her voice gentle but firm. “Try not to move.”

Brant hummed, his head tipping back against the fountain. “Ah. A healer, then… and a pretty one at that.”

Despite herself, Y/N felt a small smile tug at her lips.

Injured as he was, Brant was still Brant—charming, teasing, utterly shameless.

She should be worried. She should leave before someone saw her with him.

But instead, she kept healing him.

Because for once, she wanted to make a choice that was hers alone.

_______________________________________

Brant was distracted.

And for someone like him—a performer, a Fool, a man whose very life depended on his ability to be quick, sharp, and always one step ahead—distraction was dangerous.

Yet, for the past several days, his mind had been utterly consumed by one thing.

Or rather, one person.

His angel.

He had called her that in jest at first, half-delirious from blood loss, but the more he thought about it, the more fitting it seemed.

A girl with gentle hands and kind eyes, who had appeared out of nowhere to heal his wounds when she should have left him for dead.

A girl whose very presence had been soft, warm, soothing, so unlike the ruthless city of Ragunna.

But she had vanished before he could even ask her name.

And it was driving him insane.

The Troupe had been traveling, performing in the outskirts of Rinascita, yet no matter how many taverns he visited, no matter how many grand performances he put on, Brant found his thoughts drifting back to her.

His usual flair, his dramatic storytelling, his showmanship—none of it felt quite the same.

Even Tina had noticed.

“You’ve been acting weird,” she remarked one evening, propping her elbows on the tavern table, a knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “More than usual, I mean.”

Brant took a slow sip of his wine, barely reacting to the jab.

“I’m always weird, dear Tina,” he replied smoothly. “It’s part of my charm.”

Tina squinted at him.

“…You’re lovesick.”

Brant choked on his drink.

“Pardon?!”

Tina leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, this is rich. Who is she?”

Brant bristled, placing a hand dramatically over his chest. “I’ll have you know, my dear friend, that I am merely reflecting on the fleeting nature of human connection, the cruelty of destiny that brought a most radiant vision into my life—only to snatch her away before I could even learn her name!”

Tina snorted. “Uh-huh. So you’re obsessed.”

Brant groaned, throwing his head back against the chair.

…Maybe.

Just a little.

That night, he dreamed of her.

He dreamed of soft hands pressing against his skin, of golden light, of a voice as gentle as the sea breeze.

And when he woke, chest tight, heart pounding, one thought ran through his mind like a promise.

He had to find her.

Even if it meant searching all of Ragunna.

Even if it meant defying fate itself.

Brant wasn’t the type to let a good story end unfinished.

And this?

This was only the beginning.

[frostyresolve]

a lottie little too much ꒰ ᝬ brant

he gets drunk and decides to battle a bunch of lottie losts for your favor. 1.2k words. suggestive, fluff.

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧

he stumbles up to you, dancing on his feet as his boots touch the wooden floorboards. he won’t deny that he’s had a few drinks too many, his vision hazy as he surveys the troupe, glasses clinking and beer sloshing in cups at the celebration of a performance well done. even through the haze, he singles out you.

he calls out to you, leaning against the tabletop for balance. “you like the little rabbit things?” BRANT huffs, words incoherent somewhat as they tumble out of his mouth. they’re adorable, you can’t deny. especially the lottie lost in front of you playing the accordion; they’re quiet and compassionate echoes, more so than the ones you’ve encountered in the wilderness.

“they’re sweethearts,” you point out with a small smile, clearly taken by their cute mannerisms, the rabbit echoes clambering for your attention as they tried to outdo each other. what’s so special about them anyway? sure they could play instruments well enough, but they weren’t prodigies. how could you find them more interesting than him when they could only say two words?

he never should have suggested having echoes perform alongside the show if it meant every single drop of your attention would be spent on them and not him.

he practically growls, envy bubbling inside him. "just rabbit echoes... but they're cute... and you're petting them...”

“pet me... i’m cute too... i’m the captain." he hiccups, a hint of petulance in his voice.

scowling, his expression morphs into a mix of drunken annoyance and wounded pride. the sight of you lavishing attention on the bunny echoes was starting to get under his skin. you’re caught off guard as he clumsily climbs onto your lap, his body heavy against yours. his legs hooked around your hips as his arms grip your waist tightly, the sweet smell of alcohol lingering on his skin. "mmm...much better..." he hums, nuzzling his face into your neck. he clumsily tries to mimic the rabbit's voice.

"lottie lost, lottie lost…" he speaks suddenly, his words coming out slightly slurred and far from cute. there’s a pause, your gaze locked onto BRANT along with the other lottie lost rabbits who freeze at his words. he’s probably saying something atrocious in their language, but he can’t be bothered to care, staggering over to you and clinging onto you as he tries to imitate the echoes. he tries his best to mimic the rabbits again, his words barely understandable.

“lottie…lottie lost…” he keeps repeating in a sloppy manner, gripping your arm in his drunken stupor. the lottie losts continue to stare at him with their button eyes, their confusion growing with each attempt. it was probably coming off more like drunken babble than cute mimicry.

“what’re you doing?” you ask in confusion as his arms wrap around your waist. you can practically smell the alcohol wafting off him, the rich scent of aged grapes clinging onto his clothes. he never settled for anything but the finest wine after all, even if it left him with a hole in his pocket.

“lottie lost.” a rabbit calls in an attempt to attract your attention back as it waves its arms at you, probably craving your applause and validation.

you can feel his grip tighten around you, drunken logic taking over. he didn't like that you were paying attention to the rabbit echoes when he was right there, and in his state, he chooses to make the irrational decision to try even harder.

the words came out as a slurred mess, anything but similar to what a lottie lost would sound like. if the rabbits could make facial expressions, they’d probably be grimacing at the foul words leaving his mouth. “lottie... lost..." he mutters, his head drooping onto your shoulder. "need hugs... from you... not them..."

you’re not sure what else to do, trying to register the sight before your eyes, so you decide to state the obvious. “you’re drunk; how many bottles did you have?”

“mmm, not drunk…” he sings against your shoulder, his fingers clutching onto you with an iron grip. “a lottie lot. always drunk on you.”

he lifts his head, amethyst eyes hazy and unfocused. BRANT sees you clearly, though, clearer than any blue sky and brighter than any gem he’s ever encountered. “you’re... pretty. prettier than the rabbits. much prettier... and tastier. you taste better.” he slurs drunkenly, his words coming out without a second thought. you know he’s too far gone by now by what he’s spewing out without a care.

“a lottie lot…” you repeat in confusion; his words are merging, every sentence leaving his lips twisted with the name of those damned rabbits.

his face crinkles in confusion as you repeat the words back to him. his mind is too fuzzy with drunkenness to grasp what he’s said, and he just stares at you for a moment before breaking into a hiccupping laugh.

"lottie... lost count..." he repeats, chuckling as he leans heavily against you. his hand continues to roam your skin aimlessly, touch warm and lazy, heat radiating off his skin with each brush of his thumb on your cheek.

that’s when his lips brush against yours briefly, giving you any time to react. you’re stunned speechless when he pulls away, about to speak up, but the only sound leaving your mouth is a shocked gasp. his tongue dips into the hollow of your throat as he nuzzles his face closer into your shoulder.

he seems to take notice of your reaction, and so he responds by peppering more kisses along your neck, whatever he’s saying becoming more of a muffled hum against your skin. his hand on your back begins to explore more, trailing up your spine, before eventually resting on the back of your head, gently tilting it to the side to give himself more access to every expanse of your skin BRANT could find. x marks the spot where his mouth and teeth sink into your neck.

“can you walk?” you whisper, feeling your cheeks heat up as you clear your throat awkwardly when he finally pauses to catch his breath. he pulls away in a daze, swaying on your lap, holding onto you for dear life like you were anchoring him.

it seems like you’ve gotten your answer as his hand slips on the edge of the table, and he faceplants onto the deck of the ship unceremoniously when he tries to get up from your lap. curse you for letting him drink himself silly, not that he wasn’t silly before. his head hits the bottom of the table, letting out a whine as he rubs the side of his forehead before he practically crawls back to you.

you’ve never wanted to jump off the plank so much in your life.

“carry lottie…cuddles…” he coos, looking at you through half-lidded eyes as his body practically drapes over yours like a cape, causing you to stagger at the sudden weight pressing against you. he’s absolutely lost it; he’ll get teased in the morning when his hangover hits like an anchor crashing down onto him. he tugs on your sleeve, warm breath ghosting your neck, moist lips stained with wine trailing sticky kisses all over your exposed skin. if he were sober, he’d probably ask politely instead of gnawing at you like a dreadwolf. his balance is totally off-kilter, stumbling with each step as you make your way to his quarters.

maybe this was what BRANT wanted all along. for you to drag him back to his room. he’s not letting you leave soon, pulling you in the direction of his quarters when you open the door along with him.

he wants you to tumble right into his bed, right where you belong, to keep your captain lottie lost company.

© FROSTYRESOLVE 2025. DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REUPLOAD OR FEED MY WORKS INTO AI

[asthroophile]

curtain call of the heart

i. caught in the spotlight

pairing brant x fem!reader, modern high school au, mutual pinning, childhood friends to lovers, might be ooc

(n); got inspired by ai i played with a few days ago, AND YES i couldnt help myself from writing this

summary: being friends with the theater club president means you have to accept the fact that you'll get dragged into acting in plays.

the final bell rang, its sound echoing through the hallways, marking the end of another exhausting day. students rushed out of classrooms, eager to escape into the afternoon, their voices blending into a chaotic symphony of chatter and laughter. you, however, had a mission—get to the gate before brant could catch you.

"y/n!!!" you froze. oh no. you knew that voice anywhere.

slowly, you turned around, plastering on your usual awkward smile, only to be met with brant’s ever-confident smirk. his deep teal hair was slightly tousled from the afternoon breeze, and his vibrant magenta eyes were locked onto you with that playful glint. before you could react, he grabbed your wrist.

"caught you," he teased, tightening his grip slightly. “i knew you were gonna try and skip practice today, that’s why i got here before you could disappear on me."

you sighed. typical brant. always one step ahead when it came to dragging you into social situations.

“you know I’m not even in the club, right?” you muttered, trying to tug your wrist free.

“not officially,” he corrected. “but you might as well be. you are the childhood friend of the president. and besides,”—his smirk softened into something fonder—“i like having you around.”

your stomach did a weird little flip. you ignored it, "fine,” you relented, “but i’m just sitting in the corner, not participating.” brant grinned victoriously and practically dragged you to the theater room.

—

the room was already bustling with activity. the theater club members were either warming up their voices, practicing lines, or messing around with costumes. brant led you straight to the front, where a script was conveniently waiting on the director’s chair.

“alright, guys!” he called out, instantly commanding attention. “get in position. we’re running scene 5 today.”

you sighed in relief, about to slink off to the side when—

“y/n,” brant suddenly called. you looked up warily, "come here.”

your body stiffened. “why?”

brant grabbed the script and flipped through the pages with a casual ease before turning to you with a mischievous smile.

“you’re filling in for the lead today.”

your heart stopped. “WHAT?!”

the entire club turned to look at you, murmurs breaking out among them.

brant crossed his arms. “our lead actress isn’t here, and you do know the script by heart. you’ve been sitting through our practices for weeks, y/n."

“that doesn’t mean i wanna be in it!!” you protested.

brant leaned in, lowering his voice so only you could hear. “c’mon. just for today? for me?”

you hated how that sentence made your heart skip.

“...okay,” you muttered, snatching the script from his hands. “but if i embarrass myself, i'm never speaking to you again.”

brant chuckled. “deal.”

as practice began, you could feel the nerves crawling under your skin. but brant made it easier—always patient, always guiding you through.

at some point, the scene called for him to step closer, his hand barely brushing against yours. your breath caught as you looked up at him, really looked at him.

he was too close. his voice was softer, no longer playful but filled with something… deeper.

and for a second, the lines you had rehearsed in your head disappeared.

brant’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. the room felt smaller. the audience didn’t exist. it was just the two of you.

brant stepped closer, his usual playful expression softening. "y/n…" his voice carried through the empty seats, rich with emotion. "you have no idea how much you mean to me."

your breath hitched. this wasn’t real. it was just a script. but the way he was looking at you, the intensity in his eyes—it felt real. you were so caught up in the moment that you didn’t you didn't realize that the coach had come in and seen what you two were doing.

“oh my god, did i just walk in on something??”

brant immediately pulled back, clearing his throat. “it’s just practice,” he said, though the slight pink dusting his ears said otherwise.

you, on the other hand, wanted to disappear. the members exchanged looks, smirks forming on their faces.

“riiiight,” one of them teased. “looked pretty real to me." bant shot them a glare. “shut up.”

you groaned, burying your face in your hands. you were never living this down.

next: ii. lines we can't say

© asthroophile 2025 do not repost, plagiarize.

[loveaxiom]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ i love him for all that he is

brant & gn reader ★ smau & modern au. implied established relationship, teasing & a lil bullying, crack, comedic fluff, pet names "babe" & "baby" are used, brant's rizz game is strong, just like my will to kiss him

note ★ random texts i believe brant would send you (kind of inspired by conversations i've had with my bff but not specifying which ones LOL) first smau! enjoy :3

LOVEAXIOM 2025 ★ this work belongs to me

[seijungii]

"indulge me" // brant (wuthering waves)

cw: fem reader, nsfw/smut

wc: 4.3k somehow

Brant smiles as he notices the wine, taking the stem in his hand and swishing around the warm liquid in its gold-tinged container. “Aha! My dear, swiping some of Battier’s prized stash already?” A smile curls at the edge of your lips as you take a long sip from your own glass, tilting your head to lean it against his shoulder. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

read on ao3

[albedov]

i cant get brant's silly idle animation out of my head... him and his stupid orange...

brant who would peel oranges for you no questions asked.

but he wouldn't stop there, doing the bare minimum was not his speciality and it certainly wouldn't be for you - he has always been someone who would go above and beyond.

so if you ever asked him to peel an orange for you, he's going to do that and more. not only would he peel the orange, but brant would peel multiple - even if you didn't want all of it, he was a fan of them as well. each of which would be precisely cut into identical pieces, even removing the pith if you asked him too.

and brant certainly wouldn't skimp out of delivering it to you either. he's going as far as delivering to you on a plate with a small bow as he holds it out for you to take - the whole time, a bright small is plastered on his face.

and he'd cherish the time eating the oranges together with you just as much as he did peeling them for you - although you would have to admit that watching brant throwing the slices up in the air and trying to catch them in his mouth was more endearing than seeing him go to the lengths he went to for such a simple task in the beginning.

to brant, there was nothing he wouldn't do if you asked it of him. you were his partner and that meant that he'd never settle with doing the bare minimum for you.

[akutasoda]

Hiii can I request WuWa Brant x shy fem reader please?

the eccentric and the withdrawn

synopsis - brant with a shy s/o

includes - brant

warnings - fem!reader (no pronouns mentioned), fluff, slight crack, wc - 363

↪it was the classic scenario of two directly opposite people who happened to meet and get along against all differences between the two of you.

↪brant was always an eccentric person - it made sense for someone such as himself to be leading the troupe of fools. he was strong-headed, impulsive and even sometimes a bit witless.

↪whereas you were very much the opposite in terms of personality. your reservedness was reflective of your shy nature, preferring to keep to yourself and stay away from being the centre of attention.

↪fortunately, it was never impossible for opposites to get along and in some cases it worked better for a pair to be opposing of the other, which was why you and brant could be together.

↪the troupe of fools main aspect was their travelling performances, but you were always more of another observer which brant didn't mind in the slightest. he knew that you weren't the best cut out for that which was no problem.

↪some members of the troupe claimed that when brant knew you were there watching their performances, he actually became more “flashy” in a sense

↪and whether or not that was due to the fact that he wanted to try to impress you. or that when he knew you were watching, he felt more passionate about what he was performing.

↪brant was often “unrecognisable” when it was just the two of you. his usual outlandish nature melted away, and he took on a much more gentle demeanor.

↪it was his sign that he was cherishing his time with you, appreciating the smaller things with you. although you knew he still retained that erratic nature of his and showed it still, but that side of him was for you and you only.

↪additionally, if your shyness did include a bit of self-consciousness, brant was always there to knock those thoughts away. he would always assure you of the best and refused to let those thoughts to get to your head.

[alwayscorvus]

Your little things... - Part 2 - WuWa Characters

malereader x Brant/Calcharo/YangYang (separated), fluff;

just some things which you are in habit of doing to your partner and vice versa; Part 1;

Calcharo

Calcharo's hair is a long story. In many ways. You are mesmerized by them. And that's why you don't miss a chance to play with them in your spare time.

Yes, it's risky. It's dangerous. You have already come terrifyingly close to death many times.

But does that mean it's worth stopping? No, definitely not. This feeling is worth dying for.

Dip your hands into a coats of his hair. Run them from the very top to the very bottom. Feel how each strand pleasantly wash over and tickle your body.

And your movements are always flowing, because his hair in some magical way never gets tangled to any degree.

Oh dear. You can do it again and again and never stop.

And your favorite activity, despite everything, is doing Calcharo braids. Often one. Extremely long and thick. In which a few shorter sticking out strands fit nicely into a whole hairstyle. Which, when swung properly, is like a weapon. Capable of dealing good damage. Leaving red painful marks. Of course, Calcharo doesn't walk around in braids. Certainly not in public. He has his dignity. So he's quick to undo them. But when you are in privacy (previously in your hotel room, after in your secluded cabin) he lets himself wear them. Especially at night. It's quite a convenient option. And Calcharo knows it gives you a great joy…

Touching his hair for the first time wasn't easy. Depending on whether you did it during phase when Calcharo had a hidden crush on you or when he was keeping his emotions under control and showing off his lack of interest

In the first case, Calcharo looked at you as dear in the headliness. Truly frustrated. With a beautiful bright blush on his cheeks. For the first time in your life you saw something like that. And you probably got shot by cupid's arrow at that moment.

In the second situation… well… Calcharo also at first looked at you a little puzzled. However, his expression quickly turned murderous. You swallowed your saliva heavily. You finally understood what all his victims felt just before they died. In the blink of an eye, you felt a strong grip on your wrist, and your whole life flashed before your eyes.

Good thing Calcharo had a weak spot for you…

-Hey, Calcharo? Who is that creature that keeps showing up at your side to give you a high-five after the fight is over?

Man suddenly stopped in a half step and looked at you with suspicion.

But he could see right through you.

-Don't tell me that you are jealous.

You didn't respond. Your gaze fell to the ground.

Calcharo laughed loudly at that, not hiding his contempt.

-Oh Jué, you are. You really are.

Your sweetest moments are your kisses, which you always tenderly lay on his forehead.

Whether it is when you part your ways. Or when he returns exhausted after a hard mission, and you welcome him home with open arms. You assure him that everything is going to be fine. Wrapping his wounded body in love and endless warmth.

Calcharo can pretend he doesn't like it. He may shy away and pull out of your embrace. Act cold and tough. But in reality, when he slips away from crowds and gets left alone with his problems, he really needs someone's support.

And your kisses cause a pleasant tingling on his Tacet Mark.

Nothing gets on your nerves and troubles you more than Calcharo's constant overclocking. You don't care about what he does. You know it's his way of living. And before you stepped into this relationship you had to come to terms with how he is. Because if you started to like him the way he was at first, then why should he now change his whole self under your pressure.

You knew what you were getting into.

But dear Jué. Calcharo really could watch himself at least a little more.

After all, the state he's getting himself into could really threaten his life. And this isn't about another deep wound that can be patched up, given medicine and waited to heal. At some point, Calcharo might just lose himself.

And nothing would break your heart more than losing your loved one and watching him no longer be himself. Just a monster that has taken over his body.

That's why you always try to be there for him when he crosses the safe line. When you see him tremble. When his body is changing. When he loses touch with reality. When battle screams turns into whines of pain.

Whether it happens accidentally. At night when his emotions are cumulating. During a fight when he uses too much power. Or even when you are far away and medical team informs you of his critical condition. You show up immediately next to his side.

You start talking to him, firmly, profoundly. In order to break through the wall around him as efficiently as possible. When he begins to recognize you and you can already tell that he won't harm you, you grab him by shoulders. Calcharo flinches but you persistently try to make eye contact. Till you see that one small glimpse in the back of his black-filled eyes. A frightened, lost Calcharo seeking help and understanding in a world that has rejected him. Once you know he's there you hug him tightly, assuring him that everything will be okay. You squeeze and wait. Wait till your Calcharo comes back to you.

Witnesses don't understand why you don't get torn apart after first seconds of trying to contact someone in these phase of greatest rage. They can't understand how strong feelings can fight other equally powerful emotions. Nevertheless, they savor these moments and always make the same sound of relief.

Brant

Maybe at first glance Brant doesn't look like house husband material. But in reality… He is a definition of those words in his own unique way.

You know how in some cultures future housewives are taught how to peel fruit, specially decorate and serve them? Apparently, this can portray own skills and a talent for good housekeeping. But at the same time, it's a small and beautiful gesture to spoil your partner with.

Well, maybe in Brant's case his habits aren't a results of a family tradition. Still one can't underestimate their importance.

When you spend leisurely moments together on your ship. When wind blows your hair and sea air pleasantly teases your nostrils. When you sit cross-legged on a big wooden barrel chatting with the rest of a crew and Brant leans against a side.

There comes a time for a little snack!

Almost out of nowhere, like a rabbit out of a hat, Brant suddenly digs out a juicy tangerine, which was previously stored in his pocket. First he neatly peels it, and after that he proceeds to consume it. Paying no attention to the rest, only occasionally adding a few words from himself to a whole conversation. However, he couldn't forget about you. Every now and then, he scoops a better-looking piece onto a top of his freshly polished dagger and nonchalantly slides it towards you.

You don't even have to turn in his direction. With trust, you naturally open your mouth and catch the fruit, allowing yourself to be fed.

It is always important to Brant for his partner to be well cared for, full and satisfied. It's a small goal that he has set in the back of his mind, and he always feels itchy and frustrated when things turn out otherwise. Please let him take care of you-

It has been for long known how important to a ship's captain his hat is. It is his pride and glory. It not only symbolizes power and authority, but also status. It allows for the most important member to stand out from the rest of a crew. Its a proof of all the previous achievements and hard work that led to this position. It's just like a medal. Helps to add confidence, charisma. Solidify one's identity. It's definitely something that every captain, despite his utmost love, devotion and appreciation towards his crew, doesn't share. And that's not a subject for any discussion.

Well, unless it's about you.

It's not like you asked for it. You never even dared to suggest it.

You know what comes with the weight of wearing a captain's hat and how important a seemingly ordinary piece of clothing can be to its owners.

Nevertheless, one day, as you were quietly sitting on a ship's stern. Far from people's bustle. With your eyes closed and ears open for a rustling of moving containers in a distance, you suddenly felt a gentle weight on your head.

You carefully pushed your eyelids open and looked to the side. Behind your back a figure of your partner appeared. He stood proudly, with his hands resting on his hips and a smile wide from ear to ear.

-Looks good on you, my dear~

And that was just the beginning. From then on, when he is exhausted, goes for a break and you take a steering wheel, he passes his hat to you. Brant always puts it on by himself and delicately fixes it, while brushing back strands of your messy hair so hat lies in the best possible position. And highlights your best features.

Or when he wants to show you off, whether in front of a crew or newly arrived guests. He hands you his hat, throws his arm around your shoulders and, pushing out his chest, proclaims:

-That's my man~

It's extremely intimidating. But at the same time it causes a strange warmth inside.

After all, he may be a ruler of seas and oceans. But you are a ruler of his heart.

He's a little playful. Don't tell me he isn't. Brant can't resist teasing you at least a bit.

When you're out of reach, separated by a crew.

When he's standing on top, right behind a steering wheel, and you're watching him from below while helping clean up on deck.

When he's performing on stage, and you're sitting in a front row as his biggest admirer.

When he's sprawled out with his feet on a table and a glass of whiskey in his hand, negotiating a merchandise payment with some shady types. And you're leaning against walls of a bar, working as his best bodyguard.

When he dances in the night at the festival, in a blaze of colorful lights, right in the center, surrounded by heated bodies of strangers. And you closely mirror his actions, making sure that no other hand taints his skin.

He catches eye contact with you.

Keeping you in mind in every situation. Wanting to show his closeness even while being distant.

He lifts one corner of his mouth up and winks at you with amusement.

Your heart starts to beat faster, even if you respond with a snort and a look of pure pity. With this one simple gesture, Brant really proves that he has you completely wrapped around his finger.

YangYang

In the mornings, you get woken up by a strange tickling sensation around your nose. The itch lasts so long and is so persistent that you awaken with a loud sneeze. And with you, your girlfriend.

In the dark, not yet fully familiar with reality, you search for the cause of your unwanted wake-up call. In your field of vision appears a object, almost pulled straight out of a cartoon.

A small white feather.

Cute, fluffy. But not alone.

There was a whole bunch of them, and their source was your chosen one's luscious black hair.

You wince slightly at this sight. But Yangyang's panicked face immediately gets you melted. Your grimace turns into a smile, with which you hastily place a sweet kiss on her forehead.

-Go back to sleep, little one.

You move away and slowly reposition yourself to your previous pose, eager to regain as much as possible of remaining half an hour of your sleep.

-I'm-m- sorry!

Almost with tears in her eyes she hurriedly apologizes, turning in your direction. As if she knew from an experience that it was her fault.

However, you calm her down instantly, almost cracking up laughing at the whole situation. Without a second thought, you lock her in a tight hug and snuggle her head into your chest as firmly as possible.

Your friends often find you in one particular position.

Yangyang sitting comfortably on her bent knees and you spread out with your head on her thighs.

Smiling, daydreaming, completely carefree.

Yangyang is lovingly brushing through your hair while massaging your temples, that are sore from an overload of thoughts.

In her soft voice, she whispers sweet nothing into your ear.

Assuring you that everything will be fine. That you have nothing to worry about. That you are the best. Strong, smart, funny. That you can handle anything.

She appreciates you and successively builds your confidence.

Such moments happen not only when you are waiting for someone in the city, relaxing on a couch in your apartment or spending an evening in camp, at a rest stop during another of your longer missions. Many times these situations occurs on the wide grasslands of Huanglong. Where you go on picnics as part of your shared dates. Warm rays of sunshine rubbing your faces, pleasant blows of wind carrying scent of wildflowers and wisps of mature grain roughly tickling your bodies.

Fountains. Cursed places. You always avoid them with a wide berth. Or at least try, even if with poor results.

Just joking, you only pretend to do so. In fact, what happens when you approach them really melts your heart away. Because yes, in the end you always stop by them. One little person doesn't let you get past them.

-Oh look! A fountain!

Overexcited Yangyang jumps up on a spot, hurriedly grabs your hand and runs towards a monumental stone decoration.

-Do you have a coin? -she asks even more thrilled, turns towards you and looks with an awaiting gaze.

Her tone evidently rushes you.

Amused, with a laugh and head that shakes from side to side with a pity, you reach into your pocket digging for a golden trinket.

-Faster faster! - Yangyang grabs you by a forearm and pulls.

She always acts as if this pile of stones, that joyfully splashes aruond with water, were about to escape you.

Truly adorable.

You finally reach your goal and hand her a coin, from the change of recent purchases, which you try to stockpile for such occasions.

Overjoyed, Yangyang grasps the small treasure with her fingers of both hands. Tilts her head down slightly, brings the shiny little thing to her forehead and makes a wish in a whisper.

Then with a sweeping motion, she tosses a penny and watches as it dives to the bottom of a fountain with a cheerful plop, joining the rest of its family, from all corners of world.

Yanyang intertwines her hands with you again. She smiles pleased and truly satisfied with herself.

And what does she wish for? Well, there is only one thing in the world that she really cares about. For you to be healthy and for your relationship to continue like this without any interruption. In happiness and unity. Nothing has to change, because it's already perfect.

not sure if you know but yesterday this profile had its first year anniversary~

2024 means:

10 wuwa posts

7 hsr posts

2 genshin posts

let's hope for the better! in forecast for an upcoming week: massive jiyan rainfalls

[fellow-anime-weeb927]

Brant x reader thoughts

-you and him sharing food with each other

-him cuddling with you late at night (either one of you having a bad day)

-always listening to you talking about your day while nodding occasionally as he admires how cute you are

-brushing your hair behind your ear/fixing your bangs/ruffling your hair as he looks at you with a loving gaze @/////@

-daily naps after tiring missions

-little flirty comments here and there with confidence but immediately gets flustered if you turn the tables and do the same

(As mentioned in my earlier Brant x Reader post, kisses with him while covering you two with his pirate hat are a must -//3//-)

-a sucker for praise and physical touch like a puppy

-cuddles, hugs, kisses, sweet words, playful flirting and the list goes on~

-i wanna headcanon that his skin is sensitive ahem✨👀

-like cupping his face oh so lovingly can make his knees weak, simple brief touches on his skin can make him melt into a loveboy puddle❤️

-drawing random patterns on his chest while you guys cuddle can make his heartbeat go crazy

-his blushing face would be so cute! Soft eyes in awe at the sight of you in his arms and a lovestruck smile as you kiss over and over again •//////•

A/n: He screams ‘desperate lover boy’ energy to me who’s smitten with his partner i-😫✨❤️🛐

[gifimay]

16+ only

NSWF brant idea's/headcannon's

feel free to use these(and I actively encourage u to do so fanfic writers)

fem reader but can be imagined as male reader

tying up brant and pleasuring yourself in front of him or sucking his dick until he finally snaps, breaks through the ropes and either eats you out mercilessly or goes to pound town until you can't walk. (I slightly stole this idea from marzia98 on Ao3 from there fic Tides of Desire)

Being insecure so brant decides to tie you up with gold ropes he found on his adventures, through you on his piles of treasure as if your one of them, and then fuck you in front of a mirror. either not letting you cum(or not letting you stop cumming) until you admit just how perfect and beautiful you are.

my man brant would be so into roleplay, whats that? you've always wanted to be a princess? well guess what he's the pirate who kidnapped you, with the obvious goal of 'deflowering' you. Mermaid roleplay, siren roleplay, officer-criminal roleplay. all of it.

slight Exhibitionism kink(like only if he truly knows no one will find you guys, especially children) just the thought of it, not actually wanting it to happen.

shibari? likes it on you but will let you harness up his chest.

speaking of chest, can and will get revenge on you for always ogling and touching his. you'll definitely get your chest massaged and tortured as revenge.

despite all of this, I know damn well brant will always ask for consent, has a safe word, and will stop when you need him too. My man is a woman respecter.

and thats all i have.

authors note:sorry if this is badly written, I never really ever write smut even slightly so I don't have experience making that kind of content but these ideas sneak up on you so i had to make this.

[xichilie]

I LOVE YPUR BRANT FICS SO MUCH

Your the only one feeding us here 😭

Please keep that up

Please

Please

Please

Can we get reader getting kidnapped because they want Brants ransome

And he saves her

Then he gets all emotional

And kisses her accidentally he gets flustered

Please

Ofc I will continue feeding you, we need more brant ♡

Brant x (fem)reader

"The Fool’s Ransom"

The air was warm, the scent of wildflowers drifting lazily through the breeze as Y/N wandered through the outskirts of Fool’s Elysium. She had always found solace in moments like this—where the world was quiet, untouched by the chaos of the Troupe’s performances, the danger of their notoriety.

Her hands grazed over delicate petals, plucking a few blossoms with care. A vibrant mix of red and gold—Brant’s colors, she realized absently, lips twitching in amusement.

She could already imagine his reaction.

"For me? Ah, darling, you shouldn’t have! Though, of course, I deserve nothing less than the most beautiful bouquet, picked by the most enchanting hands—"

Y/N snorted at the thought, shaking her head. The man was ridiculous. Endearing, but ridiculous.

A rustling noise behind her snapped her out of her thoughts.

She barely had time to react before the world shifted.

Shadows moved. Figures emerged from behind the trees, stepping into the dappled light of the forest. Five, maybe six of them—dressed in rough leathers and battered armor, the kind worn by mercenaries and bounty hunters.

Y/N’s muscles tensed. Not good.

“Well, well,” one of the men drawled, his voice laced with amusement. “Looks like we caught ourselves a little bird.”

Y/N’s fingers curled around the stems of the flowers. She forced herself to stay calm. Think. Assess. Find an opening.

“Sorry,” she said lightly, “but I don’t recall asking to be caught.”

The leader chuckled, stepping closer. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” His eyes gleamed with something sharp, something calculating. “We know who you run with, girl.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted.

Brant.

This wasn’t about her. It was never about her.

“You’re making a mistake,” she said carefully, shifting her weight, searching for a possible escape.

“Don’t think so,” the man replied. “See, there’s a hefty price on Brant’s head, but the bastard’s tricky. Slippery. We figure—why chase a fox when you can catch the thing he won’t leave behind?”

Y/N felt cold steel against her wrist before she could react. A pair of rough hands wrenched her arms behind her back, securing them with thick rope.

She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from cursing.

The leader grinned, watching her struggle. “That’s right. You’re coming with us, sweetheart. Let’s see how much the Fool is willing to pay.”

And just like that, the world blurred as they dragged her away.

The crowd roared, their cheers bouncing off the stone walls of Ragunna’s marketplace, filling the night with electricity. The Fool’s Troupe thrived on such energy, reveling in the spotlight as they danced, spun, and weaved their illusions.

Brant, of course, was at the center of it all.

With a flourish of his coat and a flick of his wrist, he sent a cascade of golden sparks into the air, a final dazzling spectacle that left the audience gasping in awe. The trick was nothing new—sleight of hand, a little bit of Tacet magic—but paired with the way he grinned, the way he owned the stage, it was enough to leave even the most skeptical onlookers enchanted.

The music reached its crescendo. The finale.

With a deep, exaggerated bow, Brant tipped his hat and let the applause wash over him.

Another successful night.

And yet—something felt wrong.

Even as he basked in the adoration, his sharp gaze swept over the crowd, searching.

And that’s when he saw him.

A man, standing near the back, half-shrouded in shadow.

He wasn’t clapping. Wasn’t smiling.

No, he was staring.

At him.

Brant had been in the game long enough to recognize that look.

A smirk that held no joy, only intent.

A predator sizing up its prey.

Brant’s usual bravado didn’t falter—he twirled his hat between his fingers, flashing the crowd one last charming wink before stepping off the stage. But inside, his mind was already racing.

He knew better than to ignore a threat.

And so, as the rest of the Troupe celebrated, Brant slipped through the back of the makeshift stage, where the night air was cool and the lanterns burned lower.

That’s when he saw it.

A single piece of parchment.

Tucked neatly into the folds of his coat.

Brant’s smirk wavered, just slightly.

He hadn’t felt anyone slip it in. Which meant whoever had done it was good.

Tina’s voice called from behind him. “Brant? What’s with that face?”

Brant ignored her for a moment, fingers tightening around the parchment. He unfolded it with a flick of his wrist, scanning the words scrawled in sharp, uneven ink.

"We have her.

Come alone.

You know why."

His heart stopped.

Her.

His grip tightened, crumpling the edges of the letter.

Tina must have seen the way his posture changed, the subtle shift from playful to deadly serious. She stepped closer, her usual smirk gone. “Brant. What is it?”

He didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

His mind was already spiraling.

Y/N.

She had nothing to do with this life. She wasn’t a Fool, wasn’t wrapped up in the chaos that followed him like a shadow.

He had kept it that way on purpose.

Because she was his only place of quiet. His only bit of peace in a world of games and deception.

And now, because of him, because of the bounty on his head—

They had her.

Brant inhaled slowly, forcing a smirk back onto his face before turning toward Tina. “Well, darling, looks like I’ve got a little errand to run.”

Tina didn’t buy it for a second. “Brant. What the hell is going on?”

He twirled the parchment between his fingers before tucking it into his coat, straightening as if the weight of the message hadn’t just settled into his bones. “Nothing a bit of Fool’s charm can’t fix.”

And then, before she could stop him, before she could see the flicker of raw, unfiltered fear in his eyes—

Brant was gone.

Y/N’s wrists ached from the rough rope binding her to the wooden support beam, the coarse fibers digging into her skin with every movement. The damp, musty air of the abandoned warehouse filled her lungs, thick with the scent of rotting wood and old metal. Lanterns flickered overhead, casting jagged shadows across the sneering faces of the men surrounding her.

She had been walking, minding her own business, when they struck—too many, too fast—grabbing her before she even had the chance to fight back. Now, she was here, held captive by a group of bounty hunters with the collective stench of cheap alcohol and poor decisions.

One of them, a broad-shouldered brute with greasy hair and a scar running down his cheek, leaned against a crate, flipping a dagger between his fingers. He smirked.

"Never thought the famous Brant would be stupid enough to get himself a little sweetheart," he drawled, his voice thick with amusement. "Guess the rumors were true. Fool’s got a soft spot."

Another man, lankier but with the same cruel glint in his eyes, chuckled. "Soft spot’s gonna cost him big. That bounty on his head could set us up for life."

Y/N stayed silent, glaring at them with steady defiance. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

That didn’t stop them from trying to get under her skin.

A third man, smaller but no less disgusting, crouched beside her, reaching out with dirty fingers to trace the curve of her cheek.

Y/N flinched at the unwanted touch, disgust coiling in her stomach like a snake.

“Shame, really,” he mused, tilting his head. “A pretty thing like you, wasting your time on a fool like him. What’s he got that we don’t?”

Y/N’s jaw clenched. Her first instinct was to spit in his face.

But instead, she did something worse.

She smiled.

A slow, knowing smile.

It unnerved him, just a little.

Enough that his fingers hesitated against her skin.

“Oh, you poor, stupid man,” she murmured, her voice dripping with mock pity. "You have no idea what you've done, do you?"

The man scowled. “The hell does that mean?”

Y/N only tilted her head, her expression almost amused now.

“Brant is a lot of things,” she said. “A scoundrel. A trickster. A Fool. But there’s one thing you should never forget—”

She leaned forward as much as the restraints allowed, her voice dropping to a whisper.

"A Fool always has the last laugh."

A moment of silence.

Then—CRASH.

Something shattered in the distance.

Y/N grinned.

He was here.

The bounty hunters barely had time to register the movement before a streak of violet light came swinging down from the upper beams like a phantom descending from the heavens.

Brant landed in a graceful arc of motion, boots hitting the wooden floor with a resounding thud. The dim lantern light caught the gleam of his sword as he twirled it effortlessly, the blade wreathed in flickering purple flames. His coat billowed dramatically behind him, his smirk infuriatingly confident despite the fact that he was surrounded.

“Gentlemen!” he called out, his voice carrying that same silken charisma that could charm an audience—or in this case, send shivers of fear down a man’s spine. “I do believe you have something that belongs to me.”

Y/N, still tied to the beam, rolled her eyes. “Took you long enough.”

Brant turned to her, flashing a cocky grin. “What can I say? Had to make an entrance.”

One of the bounty hunters finally snapped out of his shock. “It’s the Fool! Get him!”

Steel hissed from its sheath.

Brant moved before the first man could even blink.

With a single flick of his wrist, his sword slashed through the air, knocking the hunter’s weapon clean from his grip. The man barely had time to yelp before Brant twisted around him in a blur of motion, using his momentum to knock him out with a sharp, well-placed elbow.

The other hunters sprang into action, rushing him at once.

Brant’s grin widened. Perfect.

With a flourish of his blade, he leaped into the air, twisting above them in an almost impossible display of acrobatics. The purple flames around his rapier flared, trailing after him like a comet as he struck down three men in a series of fluid, calculated strikes.

Someone shouted, “Call for reinforcements!”

Brant clicked his tongue.

“Oh, no need for that,” he mused, suddenly vaulting upward. His boots landed lightly on one of the upper rafters, balancing as if he were performing on stage rather than engaged in battle. He tilted his head, finger tapping his chin.

“I was going to keep things simple, but since you’re all so eager…”

His hand lifted toward the ceiling.

The air rippled around him.

A deep rumble began to shake the very foundation of the warehouse.

The bounty hunters froze.

Then they saw it.

A giant, spectral anchor materialized above them, its heavy chains rattling as it hovered menacingly in midair. The sheer weight of it groaned against reality, as if waiting for its master’s command.

Brant snapped his fingers.

“Anchors away.”

The anchor plummeted.

The bounty hunters screamed.

The entire warehouse shook as the anchor slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave that knocked every single enemy off their feet. The force of the impact splintered the wooden floorboards, cracks spiderwebbing outward from where it landed.

Silence.

Then a low groan from one of the surviving men.

Brant dusted off his coat, grinning down at them. “I’d say that’s your cue to stay down.”

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh from where she was still tied. “Brant,”

Brant turned toward her, smirk still in place as he approached. “My dear, your savior arrived.”

And with a theatrical flourish, he cut her ropes.

The moment Y/N’s bindings hit the ground, she barely had time to react before Brant was pulling her close.

Not gently. Desperately.

His arms wrapped around her in a crushing embrace, one hand tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist as if he were afraid she’d vanish if he let go. She could feel the erratic rise and fall of his chest, the way his entire body trembled—not from exhaustion, not from battle, but from something deeper.

Something raw.

Brant, her Brant, was shaking.

Y/N barely had time to process it before she heard it.

A sound so small, so unlike him, that it stopped her heart.

A shaky, broken laugh.

“sweetheart,” he whispered, voice hoarse and uneven. “You—you scared me.”

Y/N blinked. Brant, scared?

She’d seen him dance on the edge of blades without flinching. Laugh in the face of danger, throw himself into reckless stunts without so much as a second thought. He was the one who always smiled, who always made it look easy.

But now, here he was, burying his face into her shoulder, gripping her like a lifeline, voice breaking on the edges of words he couldn’t say.

Her stomach twisted.

She slowly brought her arms up, pressing her hands against his back.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “Brant, I’m okay.”

His grip only tightened.

“I thought—” He let out another weak, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “I thought I’d lost you.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

Theatrics were second nature to Brant, but this wasn’t a performance.

This wasn’t a grand declaration, or a dramatic monologue. This was real.

And it terrified him.

She felt it in the way his fingers curled into her hair, the way he clung to her as though he couldn’t bear the thought of her slipping away.

Brant, the Fool of the Troupe, the man who laughed in the face of death, had been petrified at the thought of losing her.

Y/N let out a slow breath, running a hand through his wild hair, her fingers brushing against the beads and charms tangled in the mess of blue strands.

“Brant,” she murmured, voice soft, gentle. “Look at me.”

He hesitated.

Then, slowly, he lifted his head.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

His eyes—those brilliant, star-swept pinks—were red at the edges, shimmering with something dangerously close to tears.

Brant never cried. He’d joke, he’d tease, he’d brush off pain with a grin and a flourish, but now…

Now, he looked at her like a man who had almost lost everything.

Y/N cupped his face with both hands, brushing her thumbs along his cheekbones.

“I’m here,” she whispered. “I’m right here.”

Brant let out another weak, breathy laugh, leaning into her touch. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something—but then, he just sighed.

A long, shuddering sigh, like he was exhaling all the fear that had built up inside him.

And then, when he finally opened his eyes again—he smiled.

Not his usual, cocky smirk.

Not the confident grin he used to mask uncertainty.

Something real.

Something softer.

His hands slid down to her waist, fingers still trembling slightly as he pulled her against him once more, this time resting his forehead against hers.

“Guess this means I have to keep you closer now, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was no bravado this time. No false confidence.

Y/N huffed a quiet laugh, smoothing his hair back. “That might be hard, considering you already keep me close.”

Brant chuckled, a little steadier now. “Not close enough, apparently.”

Y/N smiled, running a hand down his arm before threading her fingers through his.

Brant stared down at their joined hands, his expression softening even further.

Then, suddenly—his entire body sagged.

“Ohhhh, stars, Y/N, I think I’m gonna faint.”

Y/N barely had time to react before he dramatically collapsed against her, arms still wrapped around her but now in a ridiculous, over-the-top swoon.

Y/N groaned. “Brant.”

“My heart, my poor, delicate heart!” he wailed, burying his face into her shoulder again, except this time she could feel him grinning.

“You idiot.” She smacked his arm lightly, but she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up.

Brant peeked up at her, eyes twinkling. “Ah! There it is. The laugh of my beloved rescuer.” He sighed dreamily, pressing a dramatic hand to his forehead. “Truly, I am at your mercy, my darling.”

Y/N shook her head, exasperated. “Unbelievable.”

Brant grinned wider, then—without warning—pressed a quick, feather-light kiss to her lips.

Y/N froze.

Brant blinked, like even he hadn’t expected to do that. Then, ever so slowly, his face turned a bright, burning red.

“...Oh.”

Y/N stared at him, wide-eyed. “Did you just—”

“NOPE. DIDN’T HAPPEN.” Brant immediately turned on his heel, still holding her hand but now practically dragging her away from the scene.

Y/N let out a breathless laugh. “You are impossible.”

Brant’s ears were still red as he muttered, “And yet, you’re still here.”

Y/N squeezed his hand.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “I am.”

Brant glanced at her then, and for just a second—beneath all the theatrics, all the teasing—there was something else.

Something deep.

Something real.

And then, of course—

“WELL, I SUPPOSE I SHOULD WHISK YOU OFF INTO THE SUNSET NOW.” Brant threw an arm around her shoulders, twirling them both dramatically as they headed back toward town. “THAT’S WHAT HEROES DO, RIGHT?”

Y/N laughed, leaning into his side. “Sure, Brant. Whatever you say.”

And for the first time that night, Brant let out a breath that was truly, finally, free.

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

hear me out on Merman! Brant x Pirate! Reader 🤭🤭

𖤐 tws : nsfw/smut, fingering, creampie, nipple play, clit play, biting, slight dubcon, spanking, tit slapping, chocking and others.

𖤐 note : omfd a brant thirst??? I miss writing about wuwa!! also art banner is by rororo_mg on X & not proof read!

The salty sea breeze howled outside as the pirate ship rocked gently on the waves. Below deck, in the dim, candle-lit cabin, a thick tension hung in the air, pulsing with every beat of your heart. The shadows were your only company, but you could feel his presence before you even saw him—Brant, the merman, his eyes like predatory jewels, watching you from the darkness.

You stood at the edge of the room, fingers grazing the smooth, polished wood of the table, your body tense with anticipation. The silence was thick, a challenge hanging between you both.

Brant finally moved, his lithe body gliding effortlessly from the shadows, his merman tail flicking lazily behind him. His glistening, silvery scales shimmered in the half-light, and his eyes glowed with an intensity that sent a thrill through your spine.

“You've been asking for this,” he said, his voice low and seductive, a warning and a promise all at once. “But be careful what you wish for.”

Without warning, he was upon you, his large hands gripping your wrist and pulling you forward with such force that your breath caught in your throat. His lips were on yours instantly, devouring you like you were his prey. It wasn’t soft or gentle—it was desperate, hungry. His tongue slid into your mouth, tasting you, claiming you. You moaned into the kiss, hands tugging at his shirt, wanting to feel the heat of his skin. His other hand grabbing your ass giving a playful slap making you squeak.

Brant pulled back just enough to smirk, his hand reaching up to curl around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your pulse race. “You think you can play with me?” he growled, his lips grazing your neck as he held you there, the pressure of his grip leaving you breathless.

“I don't think... I know,” you gasped, a wicked grin on your lips.

He chuckled darkly, his grip tightening slightly as his other hand trailed down your body, rough fingers pinching your nipple through your shirt. You gasped, your body reacting to the harshness of his touch. His thumb swirled over the sensitive bud, drawing a sharp moan from your lips.

“Like that?” he murmured, his voice vibrating against your skin.

You could only nod, your legs shaking as he leaned in, his lips finding your nipple and sucking greedily. You felt the sharp sting of pleasure, mixed with the tug of his hand still pressing on your throat. Each breath was a struggle, but each touch, each moment, felt electric.

He stopped suddenly, lifting you effortlessly by your waist and throwing you onto the bed with a growl. “Get on your back,” he commanded, his voice thick with authority.

You obeyed, heart racing, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Brant loomed over you, his merman tail wrapping around your leg, holding you in place. He gazed down at you with a predatory glint in his eyes before pushing you back into the mattress, his hand moving to your throat again, choking you more forcefully this time as he lined himself up.

“You're mine now,” he hissed, before slamming into you, taking you with no mercy.

The force of his thrusts knocked the air out of you, but it was everything you craved. He didn’t let up, fucking you hard and fast, his cock thrusting into your dripping pussy. Your walls clenching around his cock as he groaned, his hand still squeezing your throat in rhythm with his movements. The world spun around you, his every thrust sending waves of pleasure and pain that had you gasping for air, unable to think about anything except the burning need to have him.

Brant’s other hand found your other boob, giving it a sharp slap before squeezing it roughly as he pinched your nipple, twisting it, making you gasp and moan louder. His tail flicked around your thigh, tugging you deeper into his thrusts of his cock, as if he wanted to own every inch of you.

“You like this, don’t you, pirate?” he growled, his grip tightening around your neck as he fucked you with relentless intensity.

You could barely speak, your body overwhelmed by the pleasure and the possessiveness in his voice. Your hands clawed at his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing more, wanting all of him.

He smirked, tightening his grip one last time, before slamming his cock into you harder, making your vision blur with the force of it. The pressure in your chest built until it became too much, a wave crashing over you, making you gasp out in pleasure and desperation. The world tilted, and you came all over his cock, milking it, your body shaking under him, completely lost to the sensation.

Brant didn’t stop, though—he kept fucking you relentlessly, his lips capturing yours once more, swallowing your cries. His hand finally released your throat, but the connection between you remained unbroken, his movements still as brutal and deep as ever, driving you both toward the edge again.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice rough with desire as he continued to take you, his merman tail twitching with each thrust, marking you as his own while his fingers gently pinched your clit.

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[the-moons-tears]

His siren

Brant x f!siren!reader (spicy but not full nsfw) Wuwa

Evening! This was the top voted prompt from the poll sorry it took so long I had many tests to take and study for 🫠

I’m so ready to pull for him omgggg

Preview: he continued, “I must believe it to be true, as I can’t stop thinking about whether you feel soft to hold, to kiss…”

Scales shimmered in the moonlight, jingling on a rope from the rhythm of waves that jostled the ship. “Siren” scales, so the old man that sold them claimed to the curious sailor. They were so enchanting where they hung in the corner of a large bay window in Brant’s quarters. The light reflected off them, casting the scale’s color along the walls and other items that captured his interest. A myth, he told himself, but ended up paying for the trinket anyway. Sometimes he could swear a certain jostle would cause the scales to create a melody as they touched. The sounds would return in his dreams, so much so that the urge to search for this “myth” became too much. It wouldn’t hurt to look, as the sea often hid many secrets. Glancing again at the scales, drink in hand, he thought of an idea. If he wanted to find something in the sea, he’d have to offer something in return.

You cursed as you stared at your reflection from atop the rock. The waves weren’t the best source of a mirror, but you could still tell where the healing wound was on your beautiful but not so flawless anymore tail. You were missing more than seven scales. Seven! They took ages to grow back, and they were missing all in one spot from a fisherman’s spear throw that happened to strike true. The embarrassment you felt was huge, although there were no other sirens around to make fun of you for it. The worst part was that you couldn’t find your missing scales. You liked to keep them, make jewelry from your own beauty by putting it in your hair, on your ears, or to your breast coverings, but after scraping the sea floor and coming up empty handed, you gave up on looking.

It frustrated you. Clearly you underestimated the old man’s sight as you swam closer than usual under a boat. You guess he had seen your shadow and immediately thrown his weapon. It hurt of course, and you panicked, swimming quickly downward and out of sight, bleeding from your tail as seven precious scales floated up to the surface.

Sighing, you turned away from the water, resting your head on your palm. The air was nice, something you couldn’t feel under water. The small retractable gills under your jaw helped filter oxygen through water, but having another set of lungs allowed you to breathe air like a human above the sea. Often you’d think about the human’s and their activities on the ocean. Pirates were the most interesting to you. You’d heard that in the distant past, pirates used to hunt for your kind, keeping them as treasures among their hoards of wealth. Crazy as it might have sounded, you were curious about their treasures. Pirates seemed to have the same taste in all things that glittered under the sun as you did. Would it be so bad to be a pirate’s beloved treasure that they tended to be so possessive over?

In exploring the shipwrecks that had sunken to the depths, you always found the captain, clad in gold and shimmering gems that were still in those skeletal hands. They all seemed to love their treasure, dying covered in it with their ship. A fascinating attachment to their material things you thought. Some even had gems embedded in their teeth, many of those teeth hanging around your neck as decor now.

Your fingers ran over the sensitive barred flesh where your scales were missing, annoyed at the absence of the hard sheen that coated the entirety of your tail. The beautiful fins attached to your back and tail end flopped on the rock, much like an annoyed cat thumped its own tail on the ground to let it be known they were frustrated.

What could you do to lift your spirits? Spirits?…drinks…Sometimes when rummaging through sunken pirate treasure, you’d find closely sealed bottles that hadn’t broken under the pressure of the water, containing some dark colored liquid that made you feel hot and funny. You really liked those when you drank them on your rock, and since they were pretty hard to find, you usually kept them for rare occasions. This seemed like a very important occasion you reasoned with yourself, and quickly retreated back into the depths to gather a bottle to bring back up.

After several minutes of turning your fingers red trying to get the damn cork off, the bottle popped, little drops of the liquid flying out. The tang of it hit your tongue nicely, and soon the bottle was almost gone. You kind of forgot about your scale dilemma, singing to yourself your favorite songs that the sea had taught you.

In the middle of your one siren performance, you heard a familiar chime. It was too distant to come from your own scale made trinkets, but you knew the sound well. They were yours. Shaking your head from the heat of the drink, you set down the now empty bottle haphazardly. You were going to get those scales back. The sound of your body crashing into the water was muffled by the waves bashing up on cliffs and rocks, your water dynamic form cruising through the deep. You could hear the sounds underwater, the uncanny magic of your own scales calling out to you. There, they were hanging from a string above a ship. Swimming closer to the surface, you noticed other shimmering items beside your scales, glittering like the gold and jewels found on pirate captain remains. Your eyes gleamed with want, so quickly you dive deep before dashing upward with your tail, preparing to make the leap above.

Brant wasn’t planning on making contact with a siren, even seeing the shadow of one drawn by the sound of what was hopefully its scales would be enough to satiate his curiosity. The last thing he wanted to do was take a mythical creature captive for his own gain. Holding out the scales on a string, he let the wind do its work, moving the shards against each other to create the sound that haunted his dreams. The myths seemed to lead him to believe that siren’s were quite possessive over their things, often vain with carefully put together visages to attract sailors. Brant didn’t know if it was true, all he knew was that the song enchanted him, though no voice came from the scales.

Looking down in the waters, he saw it, a human-fish like shadow that moved fluidly. It disappeared just as quickly, retreating to the depths. A smile spread on his face, and his hand almost went to drop the scales, returning them to their owner, but before his fingers could fully loosen, a giant splash of water came from below. The sound prompted him to look quickly, quickly enough to see you, a beautiful real creature coming up to him, eyes locked with the string that had the same colors as your tail. Your momentum sent you tumbling into his, your giant tail over his legs with you on top of his chest.

The human’s chest had a very strange mark along it, and touching it let your fingers feel a bit of a hum, like the sensation of a current. The skin was soft and warm, but what attracted you most were the sparkling trinkets adorning him. There were shining circles that punctured his ears, and a big square like piece on his waist. Your hands went to fiddle with it, to which the man made an embarrassed yelp, trying to slide away. The weight of you on top held him down, your tail a bigger weight due to your years in the sea. Before you messed with it more, you heard a slight clink on the deck right beside his shoulders. Quickly your hand shot out to grab the string of scales, your scales.

“Beautiful siren, do you speak?” The human man below you voiced, a wide incredulous smile gracing his handsome features, like this encounter was the most magical thing that ever happened to him. Holding your scales close, you eyed him up and down narrowly. This man was not the one that attacked you, so how did he have them? In the end, you thought, it didn’t matter as long as you got them back. Your movements caused the many decor pieces on you to jingle, catching light on your already graceful form. His eyes sparkled, widening when you respond,

“I am familiar with many human languages.” You brought your hands up, adjusting your wet hair now that you were above water. When he looked as if to carry a conversation, you turned sharply, hearing whispers. The pirate under you was cautious, telling the crewman and others who were attracted to the strange sight to back up as you sat there unhappy at the people interrupting your time with your handsome new fascination. A short girl with pink and violet hair shooed the crowd away with the help of a box, knowing a creature like you probably didn’t want that kind of distraction when you were focused on the thing, or man, of your interest. Mythical creatures deserved respect. The annoyance faded quickly, as your attention returned to the man you had below you. Leaning down, your chests touched as your hand fidgeted with one of his earrings. “Do you have many of these shining things? I want to see them.”

“Yes, our fool’s troupe has many wonders! I…never expected they would grace the sight of a mythical siren. Captain Brant at your service miss…” He paused, allowing you to tell your name. you told him, the origin sounding foreign to the rinascitan man. The captain seemed theatrical, a fiery personality that you hoped kept some shiny treasures. Your hand left his earring to reach for his hat, holding it up and inspecting it. You didn’t know what it was, but copied how he wore it. Brant laughed lightly in disbelief at your curious behavior, but you were getting a little impatient. You wanted to see the hoards of pirate treasure that must have been stowed away somewhere.

As Brant sat up carefully, you threw your arms over him, causing him to steady you both a little awkwardly, one of his hands supporting your side. His warmth was very attractive to you, a contrast to the waters that were often very cold where there wasn’t much sun. “Do siren’s drink?” The captain sounded surprised, the smell of alcohol defined now that you were so close. You couldn’t tell what he meant, too focused on the strange anatomy of the man below you, and how his warm hand felt on your hip.

The gills on your neck had retracted into your skin to suit your lungs breathing in oxygen outside of water. Brant’s clothes were soaked, sticking to him from where you landed on him, which was almost his whole body. Accounting for tail length, you would have beaten his height by many inches if you laid side by side to compare. Brant took a breath before speaking to let you know he was going to lift you up. “Alright, let’s get you up then.”

Brant adjusted his hand on your waist, the other hand coming under your tail to position you more in his lap. With your arms around him as added support, he lifted you up before using his long legs to get a stance on the deck. Your shimmering tail hang low with the lustrous fins almost touching the wood deck, but the pirate captain made it seem like no big deal. His expression was curious, the texture of your tail certainly something new to him. The hat on your head was still secure as he walked down stairs in the giant ship, briefly pausing to put his back to the doors to his quarters.

The smell of the sea was still present even in the room. Jeweled trinkets hung from different places, and different vases had gold almost woven into the ceramic. There were chests, open and full of necklaces and fabrics. Closest to you, was a little moving creature. It looked like the other ceramic things, but it was filled with water, and gave a little bark like an animal when you were carried in.

“I figured you can’t be out of water too long, so I had one of my crewmates bring a tubpup down full of seawater. You don’t mind if I set you in it do you?”

You nodded, still taking in the different aspects of the room, eyes landing on the bed like structure covered in intricately designed pillows and metalwork of the frame. You also noticed several bottles laying around, asking, “are those bottles that have the dark liquid? They make you feel warm.” Brant glanced at them as he lowered you into the water, hands slipping away from you.

“So you do drink wine! Where would you get things like that in the sea?”

“Many sunken ships have tightly sealed chests which have ‘wine, and they are quite good, although the pressure makes most of them break, making them a rare find.” Watching closely, your eyes followed Brant’s movements to grab two glass cups and the bottle of what you now knew as wine. He brought them over, setting them down before pulling a chest full of gems over. Your finger went in quickly, pulling out a handful of sparkly things. A jeweled necklace with rubies like his eyes, earrings that were wire wrapped around polished peridot gems, and a silver cup with embedded citrine gemstones.

Coins fell from your handfull into the tub, metal reflecting off your scales while Brant poured the dark wine into the two glasses. The shimmer caught Brant’s eyes, and he moved closer to look. Your tail hung out of the tub a bit, too long for the whole tub to fit, but it wasn’t uncomfortable for you. His eyes sparkled with curiosity about your scales, the glistening seeming to entrance him the same way when he had your string of scales. Handing you a glass full of your favorite drink, he took a sip of his own and rested his arm on the top of the tub, simply looking at your tail and uniquely strung together jewelry. The seven missing scales were tied to a string you wore, probably to be taken off later for some other purpose.

His hat was still on your head, so he figured you quite liked it. Your cup was empty before he could fully take you in, and you handed it to him for him to fill it again, your lower fins moving contently under the water in the tub. After handing you a second glass, the captain asked softly, “would it be intruding to ask your permission to touch your tail?”

Lifting much of your tail out of the water, you let the larger fins and scaled parts land practically in his hands, making him have to move his glass away so as to not drop it from the sudden weight. The iridescence was fascinating, and the rays from outside cast an ethereal glow on your already luminous form. His calloused hands ran over your scales gently, fingers tracing the pattern they made to protect the flesh beneath. Tilting the glass all the way up, you downed your second large glass, small murmurs coming from your throat.

“Captain Brant, do you sing well?” You sighed out, fins flexing and moving in his grasp. Gently putting your tail back in the tub, he drank the rest of his own share, fingers wiping a stray drop from his lip to answer, “I have my fair share of practice in it. Being on the sea would be a little dull without a song wouldn’t it? I enjoyed the song your scales sang to me particularly before I returned them if I could be so honest.”

“Mm yes, what folk songs do you know that pirates sing? I have never heard any before.” You watched him down a third glass before standing, bowing and turning his back to you. Suddenly he broke out into character, recounting a story he had heard, which then turned into a folk tale you began to quickly like. His theatrical voice and playful tone had you smiling and raising another glass to his wild whimsy. The wine had made you both tipsy, you giving a little hiccup as you started singing the chorus with him after hearing him sing it before.

The behavior was wild and full of merry joy, Brant decorating you with more jewels like a character he described in another story. The festive bonding between the siren and pirate captain lasted for an hour or two more, until you both sang yourselves to near sundown. Being the treasure of a pirate was the best, you thought as you nearly fell out of the tub, your head swimming from the wine. Brant was on the floor beside it laying over soft fabrics, clothes still damp. Adjusting the hat on your head, you climbed over, falling onto him with the rest of your tail landing with a thump on the floor. Your head sought to bury itself into his neck as your hands searched for warmth from his body.

Brant grunted, cheeks flushed from wine and the proximity you shared. His words slurred as he spoke, “beautiful siren, is it true you can enchant sailors to fall in love at first sight?”

Pulling back to peer down at him, you noticed with the boldness the wine gave you how kissable a pirate looked. His lips were wet, and his mouth slightly parted, chest rising heavily as he looked up at your form. “I…” he continued, “I must believe it to be true, as I can’t stop thinking about whether you feel soft to hold, to kiss…”

His eyes were sparkling, holding adventure and a desire for things unknown to him, like the woman above him. Sitting forward from his flat down position with you on him, he tilted his face up, his hands coming where you guided them, up the small of your back and below your shoulder blades. With slow, teasing motions, you peeled the billowy shirt and jacket down, revealing glistening skin where the water hadn’t dried from your encounter.

“I have no such magic, captain…” you whispered back in a subtle tone, encouraging him to keep going. Your hands lightly ran over the black mark over his chest, feeling the hum it made as well as the fast beating heart underneath. He sighed, pleased at how your hand danced on his skin, coming up to tilt his jaw. His eyes open briefly to catch you smiling, before pulling you closer, closing the distance between you. Those lips were indeed soft, warm as every part of him was.

Pushing him back down, you used the movement to open his mouth, allowing your kiss to turn heated. The tang of wine hit you as your tongues met, Brant giving a small whimper like grunt beneath you. His hat had fallen off the the side, forgotten in your desire for more of him. It felt strange, to want something other than shiny things and trinkets. A siren and a pirate intertwined on the floor. His hand was feather light along your curves, gentle and careful in his caresses, dipping down to your side to feel the scales again.

“Brant…” you whispered against his lips, words slurred by the burning heat of the wine in your bodies. His eyes glimmered when his name fell from your mouth, fingers twitching at the syllables. His breath was hot, lips pressing into your neck, jingling the jewels and strings of gold and silver. Time passed slow, and you were sure you’d come to find other treasures he was hiding besides gems and pearls, helping him sing in other ways. Being with a pirate didn’t sound too bad.

[sorinbds]

It's already going to be 12 at night and the only thing I can think about is Brant 😭😭😭and how I would sleep with you

Normally he always goes to sleep with you unless there is some celebration or it is the birthday of someone on the crew.

He usually wakes up early as he has to go wake up the other crew members to start the day.

On days when he gets drunk he becomes clingier and wakes up later than normal.

when they sleep he always has you in a hug that you can't free yourself from, everything gets worse when the baby literally climbs on top of you

[frostyresolve]

promise of revelry ͏͏꒰ ᝬ brant

︶꒦︶꒷︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶꒷꒦‧

“you’re doing that again, captain. cooking up some trouble, i see.”

his attention snaps towards your direction, and your eyes can’t help but narrow at the little quirks he’s starting to show, habits he does when he’s thinking of a plan. how he fiddles with the handle of his sword, his left hand perpetually adjusting his hat as if it were perched lopsided on his head, the way his feet shuffle on the deck of the ship. BRANT can’t ever hide anything from you, he fears; he’s whipped for you after all.

“the carnevale awaits, and it just so happens i’m looking at my partner in crime for the evening.” he’s always been dramatic, taking off his hat and bowing to you as if you were a royal in his presence, replacing the thoughtful expression with a smirk laced with charm and mischief.

“are you trying to sway me into leaving the ship under the guise of a date?” he feigns offence, placing a hand on his chest where his tacet mark is tattooed in black ink. he catches the way your eyes linger on his chest, clearing his throat as a blush blooms on your face, caught in the act. would it be embarrassing for you to admit that you’ve thought of tracing it once or twice before? “as if i need a tactic to get you to leave the ship. but i appreciate the challenge. besides, you know i’m not above trickery if it means seeing you get some well-deserved downtime. don’t you think you’ve earned it?”

“aren’t you a little too excited over a carnevale? the last one didn’t end so well over a decade ago.”

twirling a lock of your hair playfully before he flicks it away, he reaches out to you, breath hitching at the motion. his head tilts to the side as his gaze locks with yours. you know that look all too well, one that promised trouble. “that’s practically history. besides, the carnevale isn’t just about festivals. it’s about life, adventure… and maybe a few drinks too many.”

“i see, then you’ve just revealed your ulterior motive then, wine.”

he laughs, raising his hands in mock surrender like he’s been caught. the salty scent of the sea wafts in the air, blown by the breeze that ruffles his hair. you’ve preferred him without his hat, not that you’d ever admit it. “you’ve caught me. i admit, wine is in my plan, though i won’t deny that your presence is another major factor.”

“ghastly, the two things you should never be left alone with, both coming together under the harmless guise of a night of fun. i expected better from you, captain.” sighing, you clutch your chest in mock horror, feigning an air of disappointment. his title slips through your lips unconsciously, used to referring to him formally even if it’s just through jest, but he wants you to call BRANT by his name. maybe later in the evening, if his plan proves successful, with the help of alcohol, you’ll loosen your tongue. you’ll whisper the sweet nothings he’s been longing to hear.

he chuckles heartily in that laugh that does wonders in cracking your facade, byzantine eyes twinkling with mock injury. “you wound me so. i’ll have you know i have perfectly good self-control. i just…enjoy myself once in a while.”

stepping back and arms spread wide in the same gesture you’ve seen him do countless times before in front of an audience, only this time it’s just your eyes watching his every move. he’ll perform for you alright, put on the best show you’ve ever seen that’ll leave you begging for more. “and what better time to enjoy than the carnevale? where else can you find such a concentration of wine, trouble, and a pretty face all in one place?”

“i’m just looking to have a bit of fun. dance, drink, flirt…within reason, of course.” he moves closer, tone dropping to a mock confidential whisper. his warm breath ghosts your cheek, as gentle as a butterfly. tilt your head a little more, and your lips would meet. you’ve always wondered what he’d taste like, of oranges and cocktails, revelry and adventure.

his finger raises in mock warning, booping your nose playfully as he backs away, and you let go of the breath you’ve been holding in. the butterflies in your stomach don’t still; in fact, it feels like they’ve swarmed into a raging cyclone at his teasing. “you know i’m a gentleman. i would never actually cause trouble for you. it’s just harmless fun, is all.”

you knew him well enough; he wouldn’t change his mind once he’s made his decision. it would be amusing though, the captain drunk out of his wits. he could spill secrets in his dazed state, confessions that you’ve been practically waiting to hear for ages. you won’t relent so easily, maybe you’d consider accepting if he got down on his knees.

he leans casually against a nearby crate, crossing his arms with a playful shrug, pretending to be nonchalant. you see right through him; he’s probably quivering in his heeled boots right now behind the mask he wears of a fool. “besides what’s the point of hosting a carnevale when the stars of the show don’t partake in the festivities? think of it as…a reward for a job well done.”

“pleeeease?” BRANT looks at you with exaggerated pleading eyes, lips quirking in a lopsided smile. if your composure was fracturing like the ice of a clang bang, now it shatters completely. he knows he’s won the upper hand now when your eyebrows furrow and the side of your mouth twitches, gaze softening at his puppy dog eyes and little lip pucker. you’re a sucker for him too and he knows that, he’ll use that to his advantage in this game of yours. you did say you’d go if he begged after all.

“hmm, i suppose i have no choice but to indulge you, captain’s orders after all.” you sigh over-dramatically, relenting in to his pleas. it wouldn’t be so bad right? you can’t ever deny that you’ve wondered what it would be like to feel the heat of his skin, his tongue intertwined with yours, the thrilling spike of adventure like the rush of wind through the sails in a stormy sea.

he chuckles victoriously, a wide smile spreading across his face in triumph. “there it is. knew i could count on you.” you can’t help but roll your eyes, feeling the touch of his hand on yours as he practically twirls you off your feet and into his arms.

he’s close to you that it feels like he’s nuzzling your neck, causing you to shiver involuntarily. fingers on your waist as if he were dipping you in a waltz. you just needed to hold out a bit longer, you’re not sure how much of his flirting you can take anymore before you wave the white flag of surrender and confess first.

“and you’re absolutely correct, my dear. this time, you have no choice. we’re going to enjoy the carnevale, and you’re going to let yourself have a good time. no objections.”

maybe just maybe, he’ll give you the answer you’re looking for in his drunken splendour. wait too long, and you might just beat him to it. BRANT did promise that you’d have fun tonight after all.

© FROSTYRESOLVE 2025. DO NOT PLAGIARISE, REUPLOAD OR FEED MY WORKS INTO AI