#wuthering waves brant

[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

[kakashismain]

a Brant I’ll never finish 🤲🏻

sorry I’ve been hella busy lately!

[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

[rayprinccy]

drawing brant because he serves cunt

[unrealistic-ideas-for-writers]

He’s so pretty 🥺

I JUST TOOK THE BEST BRANT SCREENSHOT I COULD EVER POSSIBLY TAKE BECAUSE I TRIGGERED THE SLOW MO WHILE USING HIS RESONANCE LIBERATION

[freyzrc]

3. I love his design so much!! 🥰 ♥ I had so much fun drawing him and suddenly it's 4am X'D

[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.

[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.

[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.

[zefir-ka04]

[axxa-the-allikatt]

Dude I finally got the time to write this but the story kept going on and on and on and- so I sorta decided to do two parts of this. Istg I didn't expect it to become this long but here we are.

Ps, the last time I did an anon request they didn't find out l'd posted it until like a month later so if you do read this please text me something so I won't be paranoid abt it TwT.

ALSO, shout out to that one horny Brant fan in my requests box. I feel you homie e. Lmk if you like this.

Enjoy!

***

Brant X Top Male Rover:>

***

It had been almost two months since you started visiting the fools ship almost every other day, and it had been almost two months since you’ve looked Brant in the eye.

The first time you’d met him, you were too busy getting your brain circuits in check after that little accident with the big- fish?- and your eyes were too busy wandering over the ship to let them linger too long on those comfy looking man boobs of his.

But now that all that commotion was put on a pause? You did not miss a single chance to let your eyes wander down from his pretty lips to his neck (oh lord how you wanted to mark him up) to the gap between his perfectly cut shirt that let you catch a glimpse of all that skin and muscle underneath.

It’s not like you were ashamed of it. You had noticed him staring at your arms every time you did the heavy work around the hide out, the way his eyes trailed your adams apple when you took a sip from the water bag he always carries around and the way his breath caught when you placed a hand on his hip as you stood behind him, leaning into him as you butted into whatever conversation he was having with someone.

Oh no, you weren’t ashamed at all. And if anyone accused you of doing these actions exaggeratedly in the presence of the other man, you would admit it in the blink of an eye.

But despite being aware of the obvious chemistry between the two of you, you both avoided a conversation about it like it was the plague. The crew, who had found it amusing and entertaining at first, now felt that finding a cure for a deadly disease would be easier than getting you two to have a conversation about this little whatever thing was going on between you.

Since verbal communication wasn’t an option and they couldn’t possibly force the two of you to kiss, they did the next best thing they could think of. They locked you up in the ships cabin and refused to let you go until you both figured your shit out. At first, you tried breaking the cabin down but realised with disdain that breaking the cabin meant letting the sea water in. Which brought you to your current situation.

“Uhhh” you muttered intelligently, eyes flitting around the room until they landed yet again on the other man’s chest. You couldn’t help it. They looked too comfy and you had way more than once thought about what it would feel like sleeping on them. As your thoughts continued to go south into a prohibited lane, you heard a low chuckle, then his voice. “My eyes are up here, Rover”.

You swallowed as your eyes flitted up to meet his. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips again and you could see his eyes follow the motion before copying it without a thought. You wanted to smack yourself as your eyes again started trailing down the path they had followed so many times, to his lips, down his neck, then back to where they usually were.

You were startled out of the little scenario that you were creating in your head when something slid from under the door, sliding to a stop at Brant’s feet. He picked it up, and your eyes yet again followed their target, his clothes slipping a little and giving you just enough view of what was hidden to let your blood start flowing south.

Brant stood up again, as he ripped open the tape of a brown paper bag, then peeked in to see the contents before throwing it with an unexpected force, startling you out of another scenario you were going through. “What the- hey what was that?” You asked, turning around little to walk over to the bag. “Uh nothing! Don’t- don’t worry about it.” He exclaimed, motioning you to let it go. Now you were curious. What had gotten your pretty boy all pink and cute like that?

You continued to make your way over to the corner of the room where the bag had fallen until he hurriedly slid across your path. “It’s nothing. Just a joke between the crew” he reassured you, trying to walk you back. “Oh, so you don’t consider me as your crew yet?” You faux pouted, abruptly turning around, causing him to knock into you, face dangerously close to yours.

You could hear his breath hitching, then trying to relax as he tried to explain himself. “That’s not- I’m not-“ he sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant” he replied, eyes looking at anything but yours. “Then what did you mean?” You asked. He sighed again as he closed his eyes and you took this chance to dash past him, reaching the corner and grabbing the bag, before Brant nearly crashed over to you.

You leaped out of his reach and looked into the bag, ready to tease him about whatever was in it, until your breath caught in your throat and you froze. Inside the bag, was a bottle of what seemed suspiciously like lube and a few packs of, what were definitely, condoms.

The two of you stood there for an awkward moment until you decided to be a petty bitch. “Oh? So what was the joke between the crew, captain?”

He sucked in a sharp breath, eyes slightly widening, as he gave you a half annoyed, half desperate look. “It’s- it’s nothing. Forget it.” He murmured, turning his back to you as he made his way back to where you two had initially been standing. You could see his hands shivering slightly.

You followed him, taking deep breaths to calm yourself, and landed yourself on a wooden crate as he stiffly sat on another one a considerable distance away from yours. Silence ensued.Seconds passed into minutes. Your mind was racing a mile a minute. But you were sure of one thing. If you let this incident slide as a joke, it would forever stay a joke.

“Captain?” you called out. “Mn” he replied, refusing to meet your eyes. His hands were now shaking. You eased off your crate, slowly making your way over to him. As you neared him, you reached out your hand, cupping his face. You felt him hold his breath, eyes still on the floor, waiting on your every word. “Talk to me” you said softly. “…What is there to talk about?” He replied, voice almost a whisper, as he oh so slightly leaned into your touch.

You sighed. Letting go of his face, you slid your hand to the back of his neck, making him tilt his head to look at you in the eyes. His eyes were slightly wide, a look on his face that you could only describe as desperation. It made your heart crack with adoration. You wanted to kiss this man stupid. But you, not knowing where you would be in the future, and him, hating where he was in the past made the red string connecting the two of you twist and knot in a cruel way.

But who were you, the great Rover, if not one to laugh in the face of pain. Oh how dramatic.

“Tell me what you want, Captain.” You whispered leaning in against his lips, a mere inch between your faces. He let out a strangled noise, eyes blowing impossibly wide as you felt him melt in your hands. After what felt like eternity but in reality was only a few seconds, he slowly leaned towards you, brushing his lips against yours in a barely there kiss.

As much as your body and soul wanted to devour him, your mind reminded you to let him take it at his pace. Slowly, a brush became a gentle press, and a press became a wanting lick, until he finally put his arms around your neck pulling you closer to him. Not finding your balance, you place a knee against the crate, standing between his legs. He let out a beautiful whine against your lips and you realised what your knee was pressing against.

You teasingly pressed harder, feeling his rising erection with glee. He gasped into your kiss and you took this opportunity to gently slide your tongue inside his mouth. Your mind was reeling with a million emotions. Love, adoration, possessiveness, wanting, craving, lust. So much. You let your hands wander down to his hips, fighting against the urge to lay them against the smooth muscles of his chest. Hands gripping his hips, you picked him up with one fluid motion, as he instinctively wrapped his thighs around your waist.

Seconds passed into minutes, your lips separating only for a second or two catch your breath before diving back in. Finally, a few minutes later, he pulled back completely, breathing in deeply, as he unhooked his legs, arms remaining around your neck. You gave him a soft smile, hoping it would ease his nerves.

What you didn’t expect was the way his lower lip started trembling, eyes wetting with the tears that were about to fall. You had a moment of panic, as you held him tighter against you. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked worriedly, leaning your forehead against his. He sniffled, staring at you. “We shouldn’t do this” he mumbled, a few moments later. Your breath caught in your throat. “Why?” You questioned gently, one hand reaching up to wipe a stray tear off his cheek. He took another moment.

“Because you’re- I- You’re a person who’s destined to save the world, and I, I’m a stupid fool who couldn’t even fight for his own homeland. I’ve tried for so long to save my home, but I could only do it this time because you were here. I’m- I’m not the only one in this world who needs saving Rover, and in the days to come-“ he took a deep breath, “you’ll have to leave. And I- I know you have to. So please. I don’t want to make this harder for both of us.”

A painful silence followed this confession, words of reassurance dying in your throat. He was still in your arms, shallow breathing the only noise in the room. “I’m sorry” he whispered, voice cracking uncharacteristically, snapping out of your stupor. You took a deep breath. “And if I-“ you licked your lips, choosing your words carefully, ”and if promised you I’d come back to you even if I had to go away… could we make this possible, Captain?”

He stared at you, the drying tears springing up in his eyes again. Something was off. You felt it. “Captain… Brant, speak to me.” He shook his head, laying against your shoulder, as he let out a quite sob. “You…” he whispered. You soothingly rubbed his back, praying to any god who would listen, to take this man’s pain away. “I’m selfish. I want you all to myself but…”

“You deserve someone better, Rover. I’m only a fool.”

“…”

“What?” You whispered in disbelief. Getting no reply, you gently took his face in your hands, looking at him in confusion. “Is that what you’re worried about?” He refused to reply to you, instead opting to look down at the floor. “Brant” you said sharply, making him flinch and finally meet your eyes. You softened your voice, speaking as slowly as possible, making sure he heard every word you said. “I like you. So fucking much. I want you. And god forbid you ever think you’re not worth every second of my existence. Do you understand?” You felt his jaw tighten under your hands, still no reply.

You sucked in a deep breath. Fine then. “Brant.” You said, looking him in the eye. “Answer me.” Another moment of silence. You let a hand slide down to his neck, down his side and come to a rest at his hips, as your other hand tilted his face, your own face dangerously close to his. You felt him shudder under your touch. “Would you listen to me if show you how much you mean to me?”.

A moment passed. Then two. Then, a slow, shivering voice. “Show me, Rover.” A deep breath. “Please.”

You crashed your lips on his, the hand on his hips pulling him tight against you, as he let out a almost silent cry, before wrapping his arms around your neck like his life depended on it. You carefully picked him up. He wrapped his legs around you again, moaning against the kiss as you squeezed his ass playfully. Walking over to a conveniently placed table, which you were sure wasn’t here earlier, you placed him down, standing between his legs.

Breaking the kiss, four hands hurriedly began undoing the clothes separating you two. Finally, finally, after two months of dreaming of them, your hands made their way to his chest, leisurely kneading the muscles. The sinful moan he let out sent all your blood rushing down as you rolled your hips, your own erection rubbing against his. Clothes. You still had to get these clothes out of the way before you went crazy. He seemed to be having the same thoughts as you both began undoing what remained of your clothes, lips separating once in a while to take a breath before crashing back in.

Within minutes, he was naked. You broke away from the kiss, breath hitching in your throat as you admired the view before you. Your eyes trailed from his beautiful face, down his neck (you finally had a chance to mark it now), over his perfect, toned chest, his nipples now obviously hard, down to his chiseled abs and those thick thighs (damn, he had thick thighs too. You wondered how it would feel to be choked by them. You had plenty of time to find out) and your eyes landed on the painful looking erection, his tip already flushed red.

You unconsciously licked you lips, and heard him suck in a breath at this. You saw the movement of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed hard and you dived in to press loving bites against his neck. You made sure to leave marks.

Taking his hands in yours, you held them behind him, making him ever so slightly arch his back. You continued nibbling at his skin as you made your way down his neck to his collar bone, then to his chest until your lips finally reached a nipple. Flicking your tongue against it, making the man under you let out a whine, as he arched his back further, pushing his chest in your face. It was exactly as you’d dreamt it would be. Soft and comfy.

Another whine escaped his lips, as he mumbled a little ‘please’. You grinned to yourself. “Hm? Tell me what you want baby” you cooed softly, looking up at him. He blushed a furious red as he stuttered over his words. You let out an amused chuckle. “Shh. It’s alright, don’t worry. Just let me take care of you, sweet thing.” You murmured, gaining another whine.

You gently pressed a palm against his belly, pushing him so that his back was against the table, now holding his hands above his head. You were again struck with how absolutely stunning he looked, even more so now with that pretty look on his face. You wanted to worship this man, and make all his self-deprecating thoughts go away, so that the only thought left in his head was that he belonged to you and that you most certainly belonged to him.

Leaning in for a kiss, you pressed your lips against his for a moment before leaning back to look at him. “Good?” You asked, giving him a soft smile as you kneaded his thigh with your free hand. He let out a whimper, then a whispered ‘so good’. Your hand pushed his legs apart, as you slowly rubbed against him, letting out a breathy moan at the friction. It was taking all your strength to control yourself. Your hand rode further up his thigh until it finally reached leaking cock.

You leaned in to take it in your mouth, relishing the keen it dragged out of the other male, and the way his thighs tightened around your face, just how you’d imagined them. You had already let go of his wrists but his hands obediently stayed above his head, earning him a rewarding moan against his cock, as you slid it into your mouth.

You loved the weight of it on your tongue, and the taste of pre-cum slipping down your throat. You began bobbing your head in a slow pace, taking your time adjusting to the feeling, until he began slightly jerking his hips towards you. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, all you could see was his beautifully arched chest, his head thrown back against the table. His whines and moans were getting louder, music to your ears as you increased your pace.

As the head of his cock hit the back of your throat, you let out a choked moan, tears springing to your eyes. The feeling was heavenly, as you took him completely in your mouth, hands gripping his thighs tighter against your head. Honestly, you never knew you had a such a kink until this moment, but whatever this feeling was, you wanted to drown in it.

It was barely a few minutes later, when the man beneath you finally brought his arms down, hands gripping at your hair, as broken ‘’m close’ and ‘please’ fell from his lips over and over again. With a scream, he came, his come spilling down your throat as you forced yourself to swallow all that he was giving you. It was a few seconds before his cock went limp in your mouth, and you slowly pulled back, using your thumb to wipe the cum dripping down your chin and licking it clean, making a show for his hazy eyes.

You leaned in, nuzzling your face into his neck as you gently rubbed his thighs. “You wanna keep going?” You murmured against his skin. He put his arms back around you, letting out a groan before slightly shaking his head. “Not here. This thing is going to give me bruises with splinters.” He grumbled. You chuckled then let a hum of agreement, moving away from him to pick up your clothes. Cleaning him up with your coat, you dressed him with care, before dressing yourself.

You walked over to the door, with him walking right behind you, and were ready to try breaking it down again, but to your surprise and annoyance, the door was already unlocked. Hand in hand, you walked out to the deck only to find the entire crew assembled there with something of a bizarre party in full swing.

***

There. That's that.

Part 2 will be up in a week. Probably.

I'll get there, I promise guys TwT.

[yunnuna]

Captain!

[fakesimp]

I just finished playing Rinascita quest in Wuthering Waves, and...

This man right here 👁️👁️✨

Have caught my attention.