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wimmipimmi · 4 months ago

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hiii!! i love all your Brant fics so much omg thank you for feeding my brainrot, i literally check back for updates almost every day YOU FEED ALL THE BRANT LOVERS SO WELL AHHH i come with a request!! so, troupe of fools! reader and Brant, they've been pining each other for awhile, like the tension is crazyyy, anyways they have to perform a dance/duet together. basically think of the scene with Rover and Carlotta dancing at the troupes base in the story while Brant was narrating, the romantic undertones and everything!! except in this scenario Brant and reader are dancing while another troupe member is narrating it, and doing the same thing Brant did in the story quest and like seeing their chemistry they decide to take creative liberty and take a more romantic approach hehe i leave the rest to your creative powers on how it'll end (and of course feel free to tweak things around too)!! thank you again for all your fics i love them dearly <3

I'm happy you enjoy my fics��, I will keep feeding you 🤭

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Brant x (fem)reader

The Dance of Fools

Fool’s Elysium was alive with sound, the cavern filled with the rhythmic beat of drums, the lively chatter of performers, and the flickering warmth of countless lanterns strung along the rocky ceiling. The stage—an aged but beloved wooden platform—stood at the heart of it all, surrounded by the eager eyes of the Troupe of Fools.

Tonight was not yet the Carnevale itself, but rehearsals always carried their own magic. The air was thick with anticipation, buzzing with energy as the Troupe prepared for their grand performance. It was a ritual, a tradition, a spectacle that bound them all together.

Brant had always thrived in moments like these.

Yet, tonight, something was different.

Tonight, his confidence felt stretched thin, barely concealing the turmoil beneath.

And the cause of it?

Y/N.

She stood just beyond the stage, adjusting the delicate ribbons of her costume, the crimson fabric flowing over her form like liquid fire. The candlelight played along her features, accentuating every graceful movement, and Brant had to force himself to breathe.

They had been dancing around each other for months now, skirting the edge of something unspoken. A lingering glance here, a brush of fingers there, laughter that lasted just a beat too long. It was a game neither of them dared to acknowledge, yet neither of them could stop playing.

But now, there was no room for pretense. No stolen moments hidden in the background.

Tonight, they would dance together.

Brant had danced with countless partners before, had commanded the stage with effortless charm and practiced ease. But this? This was different.

Because it wasn’t just a dance.

It was her.

And that changed everything.

“Alright, you two ready?”

Brant barely registered Riff’s voice, though the other Fool was lounging comfortably atop a pile of cushions, script in hand, preparing to narrate the scene.

He exhaled slowly, adjusting the cuffs of his embroidered coat, forcing an easy smirk onto his lips. “Born ready.”

Then Y/N turned to him, her eyes catching his, and for a split second, the world shrank to just the two of them.

A challenge. A question.

And something deeper. Something that sent heat curling low in his stomach.

The music began, slow and intoxicating.

Brant extended his hand. “Shall we?”

She hesitated—just for a breath—before slipping her fingers into his.

The moment they touched, he felt it.

A spark, a pull—something dangerous.

Riff’s voice rose above the melody, slipping into that same poetic cadence Brant himself had once used.

“Once upon a time, in the shadows of a fallen kingdom, two souls danced upon the edge of fate… A Fool, ever laughing, ever free, and a Wanderer, searching for something lost…”

Brant stepped forward, guiding her into the first movement. Their steps were smooth, effortless—muscle memory taking over as they moved in perfect harmony.

But it was the way they moved that made the air thick.

Every turn brought them closer.

Every touch lingered a second too long.

Brant’s hand found the curve of her waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of her costume, grounding himself in the warmth of her. Her palm settled over his chest—right over his Tacet mark—and a thrill shot through him at the thought that she might feel the wild rhythm of his heart beneath her fingertips.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

But gods, it did.

“They danced not as strangers, nor as mere performers, but as something more—tangled in a story neither dared to name…”

Brant spun her beneath his arm, only to pull her back flush against him. Their bodies fit together too well, moving with a synchronicity that couldn’t be rehearsed. His breath hitched—he could smell the faintest trace of something sweet on her skin, could feel the warmth of her against him.

And then—

Her fingers brushed against his jaw.

Brant stopped breathing.

The touch was light, barely there, but it burned like wildfire.

For the first time in his life, his mind went blank.

She was touching him.

Looking at him like she knew.

Like she had always known.

The music swelled. The final movement approached.

Brant knew what was supposed to happen next—

He was meant to dip her, hold her there for a beat, and then spin her away in a grand flourish. A show-stopping moment, nothing more.

But when the time came—

He didn’t let her go.

Instead, he held her there, dipped low in his arms, her body molded against his. Their noses brushed, their breath mingling, and the cavern fell into absolute silence.

The music had faded, the performance had ended—

But he couldn’t move.

Couldn’t think.

The only thing anchoring him to reality was her.

Someone cleared their throat.

“Well… I think we just found our new finale.”

Scattered laughter, a few teasing whistles—

But Brant barely heard them.

Because Y/N was still in his arms, looking up at him with something raw and unguarded in her expression.

This wasn’t just a performance.

This had never been just a performance.

And judging by the way she was staring at him—

She knew it too.

Brant wasn’t sure how he made it through the next few minutes.

There was applause, murmurs of praise, playful nudges from the others—none of it registered.

His body was moving on autopilot, smiling where he needed to, nodding when expected, but his mind was still caught in that final moment.

That final touch.

By the time he realized she was no longer in the room, she was already gone.

His heart stuttered.

Without hesitation, he followed.

The deeper caverns of Fool’s Elysium were quieter, the echoes of music and laughter fading into the distance. He found her by the water’s edge, lanterns casting golden ripples across the surface.

She didn’t turn when he approached.

“Running away?” His voice was light, teasing—his usual mask.

She exhaled a soft laugh. “I could say the same about you.”

Brant hesitated.

Then—softer—

“You felt it too.”

It wasn’t a question.

A pause.

Then, finally—

“Yes.”

Brant closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling shakily.

When he opened them, she was watching him, expression unreadable.

Brant swallowed, taking a step closer.

His fingers twitched at his sides, aching to reach for her, to close the impossible distance still between them.

“We can’t keep dancing around this,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, rougher.

Y/N smiled, small but real.

And then—

“What if I don’t want to?”

Brant’s heart stopped.

The weight of those words, the meaning behind them—

His usual charm, his quick wit—gone.

All he could do was stare.

At her.

At the way her lips curved in amusement, waiting for him to say something, anything.

But he couldn’t.

Because for the first time in his life—

Brant had no words.

He had always been quick with words. A charmer, a performer, a master of knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.

But now?

Now he stood before her, utterly speechless.

Because Y/N was still looking at him like that—like she knew. Like she had always known.

And she had just given him permission to stop pretending.

The silence stretched between them, thick with something that made the air feel heavier, warmer.

Brant could hear the faint sounds of the others celebrating deeper in the cavern, but here, at the water’s edge, it was just the two of them.

Waiting.

The golden glow of lanterns flickered against her skin, reflecting in her eyes, and damn, she was beautiful. He had always known it—always been drawn to her in a way he couldn’t quite explain. But now, there was no audience, no music, no script.

Just them.

And Brant had never been more terrified in his life.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to move, to do something—say something—but all the usual bravado, all the witty lines he might have used, failed him.

Because this was real.

And he had never been very good at real.

Y/N tilted her head, a slow, knowing smile playing on her lips. “No clever remark?”

Brant exhaled a short, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “Not this time.”

Her smile widened. “That’s a first.”

And then—before he could second-guess himself—Brant moved.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing along her jaw, light as a whisper. She didn’t pull away. If anything, she leaned into the touch, her breath hitching just enough for him to hear it.

That sound—soft, vulnerable—nearly unraveled him.

Brant swallowed hard. His thumb traced over her cheekbone, memorizing the warmth of her skin beneath his touch. His heart was a wild drumbeat in his chest, but for once, he didn’t care if she felt it.

He wanted her to.

His voice was lower when he spoke, rough with something unsteady.

“Tell me to stop.”

She didn’t.

Instead, she reached up, fingers curling around his coat, pulling him closer.

Brant barely had time to register the movement before she closed the remaining distance between them.

Her lips met his—soft, warm, real—and for a moment, his mind went completely blank.

Then—

Everything exploded.

The tension that had been building between them for months snapped like a taut string, and Brant melted into her, his arms wrapping around her waist as he deepened the kiss.

She made a quiet sound against his lips, something like a sigh, and gods, that was enough to set him on fire.

This was the breaking of a dam, the answer to a question neither of them had dared to ask.

His fingers tangled in her hair, his other hand pressing firmly against the small of her back, pulling her flush against him. She was warm, intoxicating, and Brant was drowning—willingly.

By the time they broke apart, both of them were breathless.

Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, searching his, her lips still parted, her breath mingling with his.

Brant grinned.

“Now that,” he murmured, voice husky, “was a finale.”

She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

Brant smirked. “Not when it comes to you.”

Her smile softened, her fingers tracing absent patterns over the fabric of his coat. “Good.”

Brant’s heart stuttered.

There was no teasing in her tone. No hesitation.

Just certainty.

And that—more than anything—was what undid him.

For the first time in his life, Brant wasn’t just playing a role.