#wuwa brant

[nomohmoss]

looking for kaeyas in every game

[chew-n-spit]

Brant's Giddy Fantasies🩷

Brant absolutely kicks his feet thinking about you. He'll be in his bed, mind plagued with thoughts about you while he clutches the fabric over his beating heart. He'll stay up all night fantasizing about holding your hand, planning and mulling over what he'll say to you all while he flusters himself over thinking about how you'll react. He hugs himself deep into the night with his red tinted face smushed up against a pillow, the tips of his ears flushed. Brant can't stop himself from grinning. There's little pieces of paper with various bits of poetry lingering on them. Details— praises of your features, how he simply adores you. How he dreams and wishes to fill the empty space in his bed with you, to complete his very being with you.

[cysf]

I drew two favorite characters.😘😘😘

Guys, wait till I get you back.😭😭😭

[ngkhyn]

[pinkgvts]

brants your boothill (from the beautiful mind of a patron)

[freyzrc]

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

[aconfusedkitten]

he's a pirate. he's exiled from fictional italy. he's a theater kid. his best friend has anxiety and lives in a suitcase. he's wanted by the catholic church for being too silly. he calls you "my dear boy." he was banished for being a fool and decided to start a circus called the troupe of fools. his main mode of transportation is a turtle. he dual wields pistols and a sword. he has beef with a giant whale. he lives on the ocean and has fire powers.

he's even italian.

[g-mi]

Let me wipe it clean for you

[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!

[eraenia-era]

Brant

[clownfcr]

BRANT MY LOVE CHOOSE ME PICK ME LOVE ME

[carlottamontelli]

Resonator Showcase | Brant — THE NEXT STAGE

plus a little bonus below <3

[xichilie]

i was the one who requested hurt/comfort Brant fic. THANK YOU FOR GRANTING MY REQUEST&FEEDING MY DELULU(≧ᗜ≦) (sorry for bad english huhu T^T)

And I'm here for requesting again! Wdyt abt Brant take care over his spouse who's got very very very drunk, but his spouse who's usually calm&quiet now becomes all flirty and touchy here&there (giving him ton of kisses on his face)? And Brant's response? He's become a COMPLETELY BLUSHING MESS! Head empty bcs how clingy and affectionate she became!

But if you have another scenario let's go with yours! I just wanna see him nervous with red face honestly (sorry /j). That's all! Thank you again pookie! May your Brant&his weapon come early♡!

TOMORROW, OUR BOY WILL FINALLY HAVE HIS BANNER

I wish you and all Brant wanters, Aventurines luck. All brant wanters will be brant havers 😌🤍

_____

Drunk on Love

The fires in Fool’s Elysium burned bright, casting flickering gold across the cavern walls as the Troupe of Fools celebrated another successful performance. The air was thick with laughter, the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine swirling between the revelers, and Brant was, as usual, at the center of it all.

“And then, as the guards closed in, I told them, ‘Ah, but gentlemen, surely you wouldn’t lay hands on a humble man of the arts!’” Brant spun dramatically, arms flaring out. “And just as they hesitated—boom! Gone in a puff of smoke!”

The crowd around him erupted in laughter and cheers, toasting his theatrics. Brant grinned, preening under the attention—until something, or rather someone, latched onto him from behind.

Warm arms wrapped around his waist, a face pressed into his back, and a voice—soft but undeniably intoxicated—murmured, “Brant.”

He barely had time to react before Y/N, usually so calm and composed, turned him around and clung to him.

Brant blinked. “Oh.”

Y/N was flushed, her expression dreamily affectionate, her grip firm as she buried her face against his chest.

“…Oh,” Brant repeated, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Well, well, what do we have here?”

He tilted her chin up, gazing down at her with playful curiosity. “Darling, you look like you’ve had quite the generous helping of wine. Enjoying yourself, are we?”

She pouted. “Mmhmm. But you—” She poked his chest. “You talk too much.”

Brant gasped theatrically. “Me? Talk too much? Impossible.”

Y/N squinted at him like she was trying to solve a great mystery, then sighed dramatically. “You’re so pretty,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Not fair.”

Brant chuckled. “I can’t say I disagree—”

Before he could finish, she cupped his face and kissed his cheek.

Brant’s brain stuttered.

The surrounding Fools whistled and hooted, but Brant barely heard them. He was too busy trying to process the fact that Y/N—reserved, steady, unshakable Y/N—was pressing soft, lingering kisses along his jaw, moving dangerously close to his mouth.

He stiffened, heat rushing to his face. “Y-Y/N—”

Another kiss, this time right at the corner of his lips.

Brant squeaked.

His usual charm crumbled. He, Brant—smooth talker, silver-tongued rogue, shameless flirt—was suddenly incapable of forming a coherent sentence.

“Alright, alright, I think someone needs a little fresh air,” he managed, voice pitched slightly higher than usual.

Without waiting for her response, he swept her into his arms, ignoring the smug looks and snickers from the others as he carried her toward his quarters.

Y/N only hummed contentedly, resting her head against his shoulder. “You smell nice.”

Brant stumbled.

The journey through the winding tunnels of Fool’s Elysium had never felt so long. By the time he reached his private space—an alcove filled with scattered notes, fabrics, and an absurd number of pillows—his heart was pounding.

He set her down gently, exhaling. “Alright, darling, let’s get you settled—”

But Y/N didn’t let go.

Instead, she tugged him down with surprising strength, pulling him onto the cushions beside her.

Brant let out a very ungraceful sound as he landed, his back hitting the soft bedding, and before he could react, Y/N straddled his lap.

Brant stopped breathing.

She leaned in, her fingers tracing his collarbone before sliding lower, over the fabric of his shirt. “You’re so handsome,” she murmured.

Brant’s brain was gone. Utterly, completely gone.

“Y-Y/N—darling, you—you’re very drunk right now,” he stammered. “I think you should rest—”

She ignored him, her fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. His breath hitched as she pushed the fabric aside, exposing the faint, intricate glow of his Tacet mark against his skin.

Y/N’s eyes widened in wonder. Gently, reverently, she traced the mark with her fingertips.

Brant whimpered.

No one ever touched his Tacet mark. It was sacred, sensitive, and yet here she was, mapping every line and swirl with delicate fingers. His entire body tensed, his skin burning under her touch.

“Y/N,” he choked out. “If you—keep doing that—I might actually die.”

She giggled. Giggled.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered,” she mused.

Brant let out a strangled sound, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, dragging a hand over his face. “Oh, you are never going to let me live this down, are you?”

She beamed at him, and gods, she was beautiful.

Then she kissed his forehead.

His breath caught.

Then his nose.

His heartbeat thundered.

Then both his cheeks, her lips soft and warm, her hands cradling his face like he was something precious.

Brant shattered.

“Alright, that’s enough, you dangerous woman,” he rasped, his voice uneven. With a dramatic flourish (that was only slightly desperate), he flipped them over, pinning her beneath him.

Y/N gasped, blinking up at him with wide, hazy eyes. “Brant?”

He smirked, though his face was still bright red. “My turn.”

He leaned down—slowly, deliberately—and pressed a single, lingering kiss to her forehead.

Her breath hitched.

Then, with exaggerated care, he kissed her nose.

Her fingers curled into his shirt.

Then, finally, finally, he brushed his lips against her cheek, just barely, before pulling back with a triumphant grin.

“How’s that for theatrics, darling?” he teased.

Y/N’s face was scarlet.

Brant chuckled, pleased with himself—until she pulled him down again, burying her face against his chest with a sleepy sigh.

“Warm…” she mumbled. “Stay.”

Brant softened.

He sighed dramatically but wrapped his arms around her, resting his chin atop her head. “You are going to be the death of me,” he murmured, but there was no heat behind the words.

Y/N hummed in contentment. Within moments, her breathing slowed, her body relaxed against his, and she drifted into sleep.

Brant lay there for a long time, listening to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat.

“…I am so in love with you,” he muttered to himself, utterly doomed.

And for once, the ever-charming Brant had no idea what to do about it.

Brant had been in many thrilling, perilous situations in his life—performing daring acts on stage, conning pompous nobles, escaping armed guards, even staring down the Dragon of Dirge. But nothing, nothing, had ever left him as utterly helpless as this.

Y/N was clinging to him in her sleep.

Not just loosely holding onto him—oh no—she had wrapped herself around him, arms tucked beneath his coat, face pressed against his chest, and legs tangled with his own. She was warm, impossibly warm, her breath tickling his skin as she sighed contentedly in her slumber.

Brant was losing his mind.

His face was burning, his heart hammering against his ribs like a drumbeat in a grand performance. He had tried—tried—to gently pry her off when he had first realized the situation, but the second he moved, she had whined softly and only held on tighter.

He was doomed.

With an exaggerated sigh, he flopped back onto the cot, staring at the ceiling of his little cavern home. "This is my life now," he murmured to himself, though the complaint held no real weight.

He glanced down at her, a fond smile tugging at his lips despite his still-racing heart. Her expression was so peaceful, so utterly at ease. It made something deep in his chest ache.

Carefully—so carefully—he let his hand move, brushing along her back in slow, comforting strokes. She sighed again, nuzzling closer. Brant bit his lip, trying to suppress the giddy, ridiculous smile threatening to spread across his face.

"Oh, you’re dangerous," he whispered, shaking his head in amused defeat. "Too dangerous."

But as much as he should be trying to escape, he… didn’t want to.

For all his theatrics, for all his flair and bravado, Brant was a man who had gone years without a true place to belong. He had always been the fool, the outcast, the man who danced on the fringes of society. Yet here she was, clinging to him like he was something precious, like he was safe.

He swallowed hard, his fingers absentmindedly tracing small circles against her back.

Maybe, just this once, he’d allow himself to believe it.

With a deep breath, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax.

If this was the price of taking care of her, of having her trust him enough to cling to him even in sleep…

Then he would gladly let himself be tangled in her warmth for as long as she would have him.

[reaperpie]

Happy anniversary 🥂

[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.

[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.