dewdropdarling03

[dewdropdarling03]

Whisper of Spring - Pt. 4 (March x Reader)

The front door of your farmhouse closed with a soft click behind you, the sound echoing in the quiet night. You leaned against it for a moment, closing your eyes and letting out a long, slow breath. The Shooting Star Festival had been... nice. Ryis had been the perfect gentleman – attentive, thoughtful, bringing you wildflowers he'd picked along the way and pointing out constellations with genuine enthusiasm and a sweet smile.

So why did you feel so… conflicted?

You kicked off your shoes and padded through the darkened cottage to your bedroom, the floorboards creaking softly under your feet. The festival had been everything Ryis had promised – magical, romantic, beautiful. He'd found the perfect spot on the hillside overlooking the valley, spread out a soft blanket, and unpacked a basket filled with treats. The shooting stars had been amazing, streaking across the deep blue sky like scattered diamonds.

And when Ryis had taken your hand during the peak of the meteor shower, his palm warm and slightly damp with nervousness, you'd tried so hard to feel something. Anything.

But all you could think about was March.

You changed into your nightgown with mechanical movements, your mind replaying the evening. Ryis had walked you home, stopping at your gate with shy hope in his eyes. For a moment, you'd thought he might try to kiss you. Part of you had almost wanted him to – maybe that would have been the spark you needed, the thing to finally move your stubborn heart in the right direction.

Instead, he'd squeezed your hand gently and said, "Thanks for tonight, Y/N. It was perfect."

Perfect. The word sat heavy in your chest as you climbed into bed. Ryis deserved someone who thought he was perfect too, not someone whose mind wandered to another man's calloused hands and intense green eyes.

Sleep came easier than expected, exhaustion winning out over your churning thoughts.

-----------------

You were back at the forge, but it was different somehow – the air thick with heat and something else, something that made your skin tingle. March was there, working at the anvil, his shirt clinging to his back with sweat. The rhythmic ring of hammer on metal echoed through the space like a heartbeat.

"You're here," he said without turning around, his voice rough and low.

"I just got here," you heard yourself say, though you couldn't remember walking there.

March set down his hammer and turned to face you. His hair was damp with perspiration, pushed back from his face, and there was something different in his expression – something dangerous.

"I can't stop thinking about you," he said, the words torn from him like a confession.

Your breath caught. "March..."

"Do you know what you do to me?" March moved toward you, closing the distance until you could see the fine sheen of sweat on his chest where his shirt was unbuttoned. "Walking around town with that smile, being so damn perfect at everything..."

"I'm not perfect," you whispered, stepping closer. The forge's heat seemed to pulse around you both.

"You are to me." His voice was barely audible, reverent. "You're perfect."

Instead of answering with words, you reached out and pressed your palm flat against his chest, feeling his heart hammering beneath your touch. His skin was burning hot, and you could feel the slight tremor that ran through him at the contact.

"Tell me you want this too," he breathed, his hands coming up to cup your face, thumbs brushing across your cheekbones.

"I've wanted you since the moment I saw you," you whispered back.

That seemed to break something in him. His mouth crashed against yours, desperate and demanding, tasting of smoke and something heady. You melted into him, your hands fisting in his shirt as he backed you against the outside stone wall of the shop.

His hands were everywhere – tangling in your hair, skimming down your sides, pulling you impossibly closer. You could feel the controlled strength in his touch, the way he held back even as his kisses grew more frantic.

"I've wanted this," he breathed against your neck, his lips trailing fire across your skin. "Gods, I've wanted this since the first day you walked into my forge..."

Your response was lost as he found that sensitive spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing lightly before soothing with his tongue. The sound you made was embarrassing, needy, but it only seemed to spur him on.

"March," you gasped, and the sound of his name on your lips drove him wild.

He lifted you easily and turned, settling you on the edge of the anvil, his body fitting perfectly between your legs. The heat from the forge seemed like nothing compared to the fire building between you, and when he kissed you again, tongue delving into you deeper this time, you thought you might actually combust.

His hands mapped the curves of your body with desperation, like he was trying to memorize every inch. You’re fingers flexed through his hair and he let out a stifled groan when you light scratched at his scalp. When his thumb brushed across your-

------------------

You jolted awake, heart pounding and skin flushed with heat. The dream shocked your senses to your core, and you could still feel the phantom touch of March's hands on your skin.

Your bedroom was cool and quiet, moonlight streaming through the curtains, but your body felt like it was still pressed against that anvil, still burning with unfulfilled desire. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to steady your breathing.

This was bad. This was so, so bad.

Ryis had been nothing but kind and patient, and here you were dreaming about another man, one who treated you like dirt. Dreaming about March left you aching and guilty and confused all at once.

You rolled over, burying your face in your pillow. Outside, the last of the shooting stars faded from the sky, but the fire March had lit in you continued to burn, refusing to be extinguished by guilt or good intentions. Some desires, you were beginning to realize, were too strong to simply ignore, or wish away.

------------------

The next day, the warm water of the public bathhouse was like heaven against your aching muscles. Spring and summer had been relentless – planting, harvesting, caring for your animals, plus all the odd jobs around town that people seemed to think you had endless energy for. Your shoulders burned from hauling stone and wood, your back protested from hours bent over crops, and your hands were rough with calluses despite the gloves you tried to remember to wear.

Sinking deeper into the mineral-rich, possibly magical? water, you could finally feel the tension beginning to unknot. The bathhouse was blissfully empty at this hour – most people preferred the busier evening times, but you'd always loved the quiet solitude of late afternoon. Steam rose from the water in lazy spirals, and the only sounds were the gentle lapping of water and your own slow, deep breaths.

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back against the smooth stone edge of the bath. For the first time in weeks, your mind felt quiet. No mental lists of chores, no worrying about crop yields, no confusion about feelings you didn't want to examine too closely.

That peace lasted exactly thirty seconds.

The bathhouse door opened with a soft creak, and you opened one eye lazily, expecting to see Terithia or maybe one of the other women from town. Instewad, you found yourself staring at March, frozen half-in and half-out of the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.

He was wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips, and your brain immediately short-circuited. You'd seen him working shirtless at the forge before, but this was different. His hair was mussed, and there was something vulnerable about seeing him like this – caught off-guard.

For a moment, you were both frozen. You could see the exact second he fully registered that you were there, his eyes going wide before his face flushed red.

"Shit, sorry," he muttered, already backing toward the door. "I didn't know anyone was—I'll just—"

"It's fine," you said quickly, sitting up straighter in the water. The movement sent small waves lapping against the sides of the pool. "You don't have to leave. I won't be here much longer anyway."

March hesitated, one hand still on the door handle. "Are you sure? I can come back later—"

"March." You tried to keep the irritation out of your voice, but some of it leaked through anyway. "It's a public bathhouse. We're both adults. Just... get in the water if you want to."

He studied your face for a long moment, clearly warring with himself. You could practically see the internal debate playing out – leave and maintain the careful distance he'd been keeping, or stay and risk... what, exactly?

Finally, he stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him. But he moved to the far side of the bath, as far from you as he could get while still technically sharing the same space.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken tension. You watched him settle into the water with careful, deliberate movements, his jaw tight. The space between you felt like a chasm.

He'd definitely been avoiding you since that night at the Inn. Ever since he'd said those things about wanting what he couldn't have, about you being trouble. You'd replayed that conversation a hundred times, trying to decode what he'd meant, but every time you saw him around town after that, he'd find an excuse to disappear.

And now here you both were, trapped in the most awkward situation possible.

"So, uh..." March cleared his throat, staring determinedly at the water instead of you. "Good weather for harvest we've been having."

Good weather? You blinked. That was what he was going with? "Yeah, it's been... good for the crops."

"Right." He nodded too enthusiastically.

You bit your lip to keep from smiling. Was he actually nervous? "March, you don't have to—"

"How's your farm doing?" he interrupted, still avoiding eye contact. "I heard you got some new chickens. Chickens are... they're good. For eggs. Olric's obsessed with hard-boiled eggs, you know?"

"They are good for eggs," you agreed slowly, wondering if he was okay. You'd never seen him this flustered.

"And Ryis mentioned you were thinking about expanding the orchard?" The question came out strained, like he was forcing himself to make conversation but couldn't think of anything safe to talk about.

Your stomach tightened at the mention of Ryis. Right. He probably knew about the festival, about your date. Maybe that's why he was being so weird – he was trying to be polite about your relationship.

"Maybe," you said quietly. "Haven't decided yet."

March nodded again, running his hand through his hair in that nervous gesture you'd started to recognize. "That's... good. Planning is good. Very responsible."

Very responsible? Now you were sure something was wrong with him. This wasn't the March you knew – the one who spoke in short, gruff sentences and rolled his eyes at small talk. This March was rambling about weather and chickens like he'd never had a normal conversation in his life.

"Are you feeling alright?" you asked, genuinely concerned now.

"Fine," he said quickly. "Totally fine. Just, you know, making conversation. People do that. In baths. Not that we're— I mean, this isn't— we're just both here for the water. The hot water. Which is very... hot."

You stared at him. "March."

"Yeah?"

"You're being weird."

His face went red. "I'm not being weird. This is normal. Completely normal bathhouse behavior."

"How was the festival?" he asked suddenly, then immediately looked like he regretted it.

You studied his face, noting the tension around his eyes, the way his hands gripped the edge of the pool like anchors. "It was nice."

"Nice." He nodded stiffly. "That's good. Ryis is... he's a good guy. Really good. Probably the best guy in town, actually."

There was something in his tone that made your chest tighten. Like he was trying to convince himself as much as you.

You opened your mouth to answer, to say something that might bridge the gap between you, when the bathhouse door burst open with a bang.

"Woof!"

Dozy bounded into the room, tail wagging furiously. He had a wrench in his mouth and was heading straight for the water temperature controls on the far wall.

"Dozy, what are you—" you started, but he was already at work, somehow managing to turn the valve with the wrench despite being a dog. The water temperature shifted to be slightly warmer.

March blinked, looking like he was trying to process what he was seeing. "Did that dog just... fix the water temperature?"

You were both struck with surprise as you watched Dozy give the valve one final adjustment before dropping the wrench and padding over to you for pets.

March shook his head slowly. "I've seen everything now."

For a moment, the atmosphere between you felt lighter, more like it used to before everything got so complicated. But then Dozy trotted back toward the door, work apparently done, and the silence rushed back in.

March cleared his throat. "I should probably—"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than you'd intended. "Please. Can we just... can we just sit here for a minute? Without it being weird?"

March looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Finally, he nodded and settled back against the side of the bath.

But the space between you felt charged again, electric with possibility and all the things left unsaid. And you couldn't help but notice that even though he'd stayed, March still wouldn't quite meet your eyes.

Some conversations, apparently, would have to wait for another day.

[dewdropdarling03]

Whisper of Spring - Pt. 3 (March x Reader)

The Sleeping Dragon Inn was quiet that evening, its usual bustle dulled into a sleepy hum. A few townsfolk chatted in low voices over mugs of cider and bowls of warm soup, but the crowd was thin. Most had turned in early, the scent of rain on the wind hinting at an incoming summer storm.

You hadn’t planned on going out. You’d had a long day foraging, and your legs still ached from climbing the steep ravine next to the mines, looking for rare flowers to donate to the museum. But something restless pushed you out the door. Maybe you were tired of being alone with your thoughts.

You’d been thinking about March again. About the way he'd looked at you at the forge the other day, like he had something he couldn't quite say. About how he'd turned away when you'd smiled at him, jaw tight.

The warmth of the Inn’s hearth wrapped around you as you stepped inside, shaking raindrops from your hair. Reina waved from behind the bar - you gave a tired wave back, but your attention was immediately drawn to the far corner where a familiar figure sat hunched over a drink.

March.

He was alone, which wasn't unusual, but there was something different about the way he sat - looser, less guarded. His blacksmith apron was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a simple white Henley with the sleeves rolled up, one extra button undone. A half-empty mug sat before him, and from the flush across his cheekbones, it wasn't his first.

Their eyes met across the room, and for once, March didn't look away first.

"Y/N," he called out, his voice carrying a rough edge that made your stomach flutter. "Come sit next to me."

You hesitated. March, being drunk, was uncharted territory, and you weren't sure what to expect. But something in his tone - not quite a command, and more like a plea - made your feet move before your mind could object.

"You've been drinking," you observed, sliding into the bench across from him.

March's lips quirked into the closest thing to a smile you’d seen. "Very observant, farmer." He studied you through heavy-lidded eyes, and you felt heat creep up your neck under his gaze. "You know what your problem is?"

You blinked. "I have a problem?"

"You're too nice." March leaned back against the booth, his shirt pulling slightly across his chest. "Makes it hard to dislike you."

"I wasn't aware you were trying to dislike me."

Something flickered across his face. He reached for his mug but didn't drink, just held it between his hands like an anchor.

"You're not so bad," he said quietly, almost to himself. You almost choked on the ale Reina had slid your way a few moments ago.

"Well, that's... progress, I think?" you said, trying to keep your tone light despite the way your heart was suddenly racing. Was March finally warming up to you?

March's eyes found yours again, and this time he didn't look away. "You want to know what I think about you, Y/N?"

Your name on his lips sent a shiver down your spine. "What do you think about me?”

"I think you're trouble." He said softly. "I think you're going to ruin everything."

"How?"

March was quiet for a long moment, his thumb tracing the rim of his mug. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper. "By making me want things I can't have."

The air between them felt charged, electric. Your mouth went dry.

"March…"

"Sit next to me," he said suddenly, interrupting you.

"What?"

"Here." He patted the bench beside him. "Sit next to me."

You should have said no. Should have kept the safe distance of the table between them. Instead, you found yourself moving around to his side of the booth, close enough that you could smell the whiskey on his breath and the familiar scent of smoke and metal that always clung to him.

March turned toward you, and, suddenly, you felt cornered. His knee brushed against yours, and you could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes.

"This ‘s better," he murmured, and you weren't sure if he was talking to you or himself.

"March, you're drunk."

"Not drunk enough." His hand moved to rest on the table between them, fingers spread wide. "If I were drunk enough, maybe I'd tell you what I really think."

"And what's that?"

He looked at you for a long moment. "That Ryis is a lucky bastard."

You had a puzzled expression on your face. "What does Ryis have to do with anything?"

March's laugh was bitter. "Everything. Nothing. I don't know." He scrubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. "He talks about you, you know. About how nice you are, how he's going with you to the f’ng Shooting Star festival."

"And I have to sit there and listen to it, like I’m not-" He cut himself off, jaw clenching.

"Not, what?”

But March was already pulling away. He stood abruptly, swaying slightly, and tossed a few tesserae on the table.

"I should go."

"Wait." You caught his arm as he started to move past you. "Let me walk you home. You're in no condition to-"

"I'm fine."

"You're not fine. You're drunk and it's pouring rain and-"

"Why do you care?" The question came out sharp, desperate. "Why do you always have to be so damn nice?"

You stared at him, hurt flickering across your face. "Because I want to be friends."

March's expression cracked. "Friends," he repeated, like the word itself tasted sour. "Right."

But he didn't pull away when you stood and took his arm, steadying him as you made your way toward the door. The rain had intensified, turning the stone streets into ribbons of mud and shadow. March leaned into you more than he probably meant to, his warmth seeping through your clothes and making you shiver.

They walked in silence, the only sounds were their footsteps and the steady patter of rain. Every few steps, March's shoulder would brush against yours, and you found yourself hyperaware of every point of contact.

"You don't have to do this," he said when they reached his front steps.

"Do what?"

"Be nice to me. I've been a dick to you."

You turned to face him, rain dripping from your hair. You needed to know what he meant by what he said earlier. "Why don’t you want Ryis to go to the Shooting Star festival with me?"

March stared at you, and for a moment you thought he might say something. Instead, he reached out and brushed a strand of wet hair from your face, his touch feather-light.

"You're definitely trouble," he whispered.

Before you could respond, he was gone, disappearing through the front door and leaving you standing in the rain, brain working in overdrive to process what he had said.

————————————

The morning sun filtered through the canopy of your small orchard as you made your way to the animal paddock, a bucket of fresh feed in each hand. The events at the Inn the night before still swirled in your mind like fallen autumn leaves caught in a whirlwind. March's words echoed in your head. I think you're trouble. I think you're going to ruin everything.

"Morning, girls," you murmured to your two cows, Buttercup and Daisy, as they ambled over to the fence. Their gentle lowing was a comforting soundtrack as you poured grain into their trough. The simple routine of farm work usually helped clear your head, but today your thoughts remained stubbornly tangled.

The Shooting Star festival was tonight, and you had agreed to go with Ryis.

Your alpacas, Nimbus and Cumulus, pranced over with their characteristic bouncing gait, their fluffy coats still dewy from the morning mist. You couldn't help but smile as Nimbus tried to nibble on your braid while you filled their feed bin.

"You're just as bad as the bunnies," you laughed, gently pushing his curious head away.

Speaking of the bunnies, the soft thumping from their hutch indicated they were already awake and demanding breakfast. You made your way over to their enclosure, where four fluffy bundles of energy were lined up expectantly at the wire mesh. Pepper, the boldest of the bunch, with a beautiful, dappled coat, stood on his hind legs and pawed at the gate.

"Alright, alright, I’m coming," you laughed, unlatching the gate to refill their hay trough.

You were absorbed in your regular routine, but you couldn’t stop thinking. Remembering what had happened a few days ago when Ryis had come to visit you when you were in the middle of your morning chores, the same ones you were doing now.

You hadn’t heard footsteps approaching until a familiar voice called out.

"Y/N? Hope I'm not interrupting anything important."

You turned to see Ryis walking up the path, looking uncharacteristically nervous. In his hands, he carried a small wicker basket that smelled deliciously of cinnamon and apples.

"Ryis! Not at all, I was just finishing up with the animals." You latched the rabbit hutch and turned to him. "What brings you by so early?"

"I, um..." Ryis shifted the basket from one hand to the other, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. "I brought you some of those apple turnovers you liked. My mom’s secret recipe."

"Oh, that's so sweet of you!" You accepted the basket gratefully, lifting the cloth to peek inside. The golden pastries were still warm. "They smell amazing. Thank you, Ryis."

"Actually, I was hoping..." He took a deep breath. "I was wondering if you'd like to go to the Shooting Star Festival with me? I mean, as my date."

The words hung in the air between you, and you felt your heart jerk in your chest. Ryis was looking at you with such hopeful earnestness that it made your chest tighten.

"I know it might seem sudden," he rushed to continue, "but I've been thinking about asking you for a few weeks now. You're just... you're incredible, Y/N. You're kind and strong and funny, and the way you light up when you talk about your farm, or when you're helping someone in town..." He paused, running a hand through his carefully combed hair and messing it up in the process. "I really like you. A lot."

Your throat felt tight. Ryis was wonderful – truly, genuinely wonderful. He was everything anyone could want: kind, thoughtful, hardworking, handsome in a boyish way that made you want to protect him from the world's sharp edges. He deserved someone who could look at him the way he was looking at you right now, with unguarded affection and hope.

The problem was, when you closed your eyes, it wasn't Ryis's gentle brown eyes you saw. It was March's intense green ones.

"I..." You struggled with the words, not wanting to hurt him but not knowing what to say either. "Ryis, you're amazing. You're one of the first friends I made here, and I care about you so much."

His face began to fall, recognizing the tone of someone about to let him down gently.

"So of course I'd like to go with you. To the festival." You continued quickly, and Ryis gave you a toothy grin - telling you that’d he’d take care of everything and just to meet him at the Summit at 8PM.

You couldn’t bear to reject him, and you felt that this could be the chance to see if there was something there between you two. You definitely thought he was cute, so what was the harm?

An insistent alpaca head butted your shoulder and you swatted Nimbus away from the feed bucket you were absentmindedly holding, the action snapping you out of your reverie.

Maybe this was what you needed – to stop fixating on someone who clearly wanted nothing to do with you and give a chance to someone who actually appreciated you. You cared about Ryis. He was sweet and genuine and deserved all the happiness in the world. So why did accepting his invitation feel like a mistake?

March had made it abundantly clear that he had no interest in you beyond basic civility, and that was being generous with the definition of civility. Meanwhile, Ryis was offering you something real – genuine affection and a chance at the kind of relationship you'd always thought you wanted.

You bit into one of the still-warm turnovers, the sweet apple filling a comforting distraction from your spiraling thoughts. Maybe the festival would help clarify things. Maybe spending a romantic evening with Ryis would help your heart catch up with your head.

Or maybe you'd spend the whole night thinking about a certain red-haired blacksmith. His confusing words from the Inn last night only made your head spin more, but either way, you'd given Ryis your word, and you wouldn't go back on it. He deserved a fair chance, and maybe that was exactly what you both needed.

Even if your treacherous heart had other ideas.

[dewdropdarling03]

Whisper of Spring - Pt. 2 (March x Reader)

You found yourself standing outside the blacksmith, holding a small basket of vegetables from your first successful harvest. You'd been making rounds to thank everyone who had helped you settle in, and despite March's cool reception, you were determined to include him too. While it was still early in the season, your tomato plants were going crazy with all the sunshine and regular watering and you were able to forage for some fresh fennel and wild blueberries.

The rhythmic clanging of metal on metal echoed from within, and you took a steadying breath before stepping inside.

"March?" you called over the noise.

The hammering stopped abruptly. March looked up from his work, his face already shifting into that carefully neutral expression you were becoming familiar with.

"We're closed," he said curtly, not meeting your eyes.

"Oh, I'm not here to buy anything." You held up the basket with a hopeful smile. "I brought you some fresh vegetables and a few other things. You were the one who gave me that enchanted shovel, and I wanted to thank you."

March's jaw tightened, of course Ryis had mentioned it. "You don't owe me anything. I was just doing my job."

"Well, still." You stepped closer, setting the basket on his workbench. "The tomatoes turned out really well, and I thought-"

"I don't need your charity." The words came out harsher than March had intended, and he saw you flinch slightly.

"It's not charity," you said quietly, your smile faltering. "It's just a thank you. Between neighbors."

March finally looked at you directly, and immediately regretted it. There was genuine hurt in your eyes, confusion mixed with a stubborn determination to be kind despite his rebuff. You were wearing a simple forest green dress and white apron that brought out your eyes. You looked lovely and earnest and everything he couldn't allow himself to want.

"We're not neighbors," he said flatly. "Your farm's outside town. And I don't need thanks for doing what I'm paid to do."

The hurt in your expression deepened, but you turned up your chin slightly. "Right. Of course." You reached for the basket, but March had already turned back to his anvil.

"Leave it or don't. Makes no difference to me."

You stood there for a moment longer, clearly wrestling with whether to try again or retreat. Finally, you turned and walked out without another word, leaving the basket behind.

March waited until your footsteps faded before he looked at what you'd brought. Perfect ruby-red tomatoes, fresh turnips, herbs that smelled like warm, spring sunshine, a small basket of blueberries. He picked up a tomato, turning it over in his calloused hands. It was flawless, clearly chosen with care.

With a frustrated growl, he shoved the entire basket into a corner where he wouldn't have to look at it.

—————————————

A few weeks had passed and your first spring was coming to a close. The work had been brutal, every day was spent tending your vegetable patch, planting seedlings, gathering stone and chopping wood to help with Adeline’s town projects, and running around the mines looking for artifacts for Eiland. But you loved every minute of it.

At the adventurer’s guild, you had felt so confined - limited to only eating, sleeping, training, and putting yourself in bad situations in the name of exploration. At the time, it paid the bills, but living in Mistria gave you the freedom to carve your own path, and you were thriving.

You were learning to cook delicious dishes thanks to Reina, and loved spending time with Celine picking out flowers for the Spring Festival, and playing knights and dragons with Mistria’s very own Dragonguard. However, the only person in town who didn’t seem interested in getting to know you at all was the one you were probably the most interested in.

Figures, you thought. You’ve always wanted what you couldn’t have. And this time, it was March. You’d nearly been caught staring last Friday at the Inn. It was comical how much of a crush you had developed on the moody blacksmith, especially since he treated you like you were going to abscond with all of Mistria’s crown jewels as soon as you got the chance.

You had no clue why he seemed to dislike you when you’d been nothing but polite, but the other townspeople had explained that he had had a rough time of it growing up without his parents, and that he was just extra wary around new people. You felt sympathetic, but still weren’t really sure how to approach him. It seemed like nothing you did would make him think that you were there to stay, but you didn’t want to force the guy to be friends with you either.

You couldn’t stop thinking about everything that’s been going on in the past few weeks. Ryis has been sweet to you ever since you arrived, and you wondered if he maybe had a crush, but you felt like it was too early to tell, and you didn’t want to embarrass yourself, or him, if you had read the room wrong. You also felt unsure about your own feelings.

You knew you liked Ryis, a lot. But mostly as a friend, you thought. He was cute and handsome, but you felt more comfortable with him than nervous or giddy.

March, on the other hand, was the picture of temptation. Strong, defined muscles in his arms and back, fiery red hair, and eyes that stared at you with an intensity that made you want to bare your soul to him, among other things.

Stop it. You thought to yourself. Get a grip on yourself, the guy can barely stand you! You knew this was not the line of thinking that would help you get over your crush, but it was hard not to indulge in your daydreams.

Your thoughts wandered while walking over to the forge. It was a beautiful day, and you wanted to be out foraging for the last of the wildberries, but you had a project to finally finish today.

You were standing in front of the blacksmith’s shop before you even realized. Peeking inside, it looked like Olric was out - probably helping out at the Inn or sweeping in the museum. March was at the forge, stoking the fire that burned bright and hot. It looked like he was getting ready to melt down the iron bars stacked neatly next to him, probably for more nails. He barely acknowledged your presence, just a grunt in your direction as you made your way in and got set up, pulling out the sword you had been working on.

The forge was sweltering even in the cool spring weather, the air thick with heat and the acrid smell of metal. You wiped sweat from your brow as you carefully positioned the sword blade over the enchanting station March had grudgingly allowed you to use. You'd been practicing your magic ever since you opened the mines, and today, you were finally confident enough to attempt a real enchantment. You’d already crafted the sword, but this was the hard part. If you failed, you’d have to make another one, since no enchantments would take once the metal was set.

March worked at his own anvil across the shop, the steady rhythm of his hammer on hot iron providing a backdrop of cacophonous sounds. He'd barely acknowledged you as he worked, which was typical. What wasn't typical was the way you could feel his eyes on you every few minutes, watching your technique with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

Your face was flushed, but you weren’t sure if it was from the heat of the forge or your own embarrassment from being watched so critically.

The enchantment circle on the table began to glow as you channeled your energy into it, ancient runes flickering to life on the fuller of the blade. This was the tricky part: maintaining the flow of magic while shaping it into the desired channels. You needed a weapon that could handle the deeper levels of the mines, something that could cut through the tougher monsters you'd been encountering. You focused on the sharpness of the blade, wishing it to be as light and fierce as a hawk, and as strong and durable as diamond, putting all your intention into those thoughts.

The glowing light grew brighter, and you could feel the magic take hold - an icy sensation tingling in your chest that travelled down your arms through your hands, sinking into the metal like water into parched earth. The blade began to shimmer with an inner fire, the iron taking on a faintly colored hue that indicated successful enchantment.

"Yes!" you breathed, stepping back as the light faded. The sword hummed with power, perfectly balanced and radiating warmth before cooling to the touch. "I did it!"

You lifted the blade, admiring the way it seemed to sing in your hands. After countless failed attempts at other weapon enchantments, and March's increasingly pointed comments about "amateurs playing with forces they don't understand," you'd finally done it.

"Not bad," came March's gruff voice from behind you.

You turned, surprised. March had approached without you noticing, and was standing close enough to examine your work. His dark eyes studied the enchanted blade with professional interest, and you caught a flicker of what might have been pride in his expression. You straightened your back and faced him fully.

"Really?" You couldn't keep the excitement out of your voice. "You think it's good?"

"The enchantment is solid. Clean channeling, good integration with the base metal." He reached out as if to touch the blade, then stopped himself.

"What did you enhance it for?"

"Sharpness. It’s supposed to deal more damage, and I need something that can handle the monsters on level forty and below in the mines." You hefted the sword experimentally, pleased with how natural it felt in your grip.

March's expression changed instantly, pride evaporating into something much darker. "Level forty?"

"Well, eventually. I'm only at thirty-five right now, and Adeline’s not given me a permit yet for those levels, but-"

"Are you insane?" The words came out sharp enough to cut. "You have no business going that deep into the mines. Level forty is where the real monsters are, creatures that could tear you apart without breaking a sweat."

You blinked at the sudden shift in his demeanor. "I can take care of myself, March. I've been going deeper every week, and I'm getting stronger-"

"Getting stronger?" March stepped closer, his voice rising. "You have no idea what you're dealing with down there."

"I'm not helpless," You shot back, irritation flaring. "I've been training, I've got good equipment now, and I know what I'm doing. In case you forgot, I came to Mistria from the adventurer’s guild, so I think I’m qualified."

"No, you aren’t." March moved closer again, and you had to crane your neck to maintain eye contact. His glare was intense, and you felt a thrill run up your spine.

"You think because you can swing a sword and cast a few spells that you're ready to face down a Stone Golem? A Shadow Drake?"

"I think I'm capable of making my own decisions about risk," You said, your voice cooling. "And I don't understand why you care so much anyway. Half the time you act like I don't exist, and the other half you're just putting up with my presence because you have to."

Something dangerous flashed in March's eyes. "Maybe because most people don't usually enchant weapons specifically designed to get themselves killed."

"Get myself killed?" You stared at him in disbelief. "I made something useful, something that will help me contribute to the town, and you're acting like I've signed my own death sentence."

"Contributing to the town won't matter if you're dead," March snarled, stepping closer still. They were almost chest to chest now. "Do you have any idea what those things can do to a person? What it looks like when someone gets torn apart by creatures they thought they could handle?"

"March, you’re being unreasonable. That's not going to happen to me," you said firmly.

"You don't know that."

"Yes, I do." She lifted the sword slightly, the blade catching the light from the forge. "And this will help keep me safe. That's the whole point."

"A sword won't save you if you're overwhelmed. Magic won't help if you bite off more than you can chew." March's voice was getting rougher, more desperate. "You're too reckless, and way too confident in your own abilities."

"And you're being ridiculous," You snapped. "I’m not the only person in town going into the mines. It's normal, it's necessary, and it's none of your business what I do with my time."

"It is my business when you’re acting like this." The words came out low and fierce, and March stepped forward again.

You instinctively stepped back, your shoulders hitting the stone wall of the forge. March followed, bracing one hand on the wall beside your head, the other still clenched in a fist at his side. They were close enough now that you could see the gold flecks in his dark eyes, and feel the heat radiating from his body. Your own face was flushed and you were panting a little, but you didn’t know if that was from the exhaustion of completing your enchantment, or your argument with March.

"Why?" You whispered, confused by the intensity radiating from him. "Why is it your business, March?"

For a moment, something cracked in his expression. His eyes dropped to your lips, then lower, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with rapid breathing. He flexed his fingers out of the clenched grip at his side like he wanted to reach for you.

"Because..." His voice was hoarse. "Because if something happened to you..."

"What?" You pressed, your confusion deepening. This felt like something much bigger than just concern for a fellow townsperson. "If something happened to me, what?"

March's eyes snapped back to yours, and you saw something there, something barely contained. And just as suddenly, he seemed to remember himself. His expression shuttered, and he pushed back from the wall, putting distance between you so quickly it made your head spin and you almost dropped your sword.

"Nothing," he said roughly. "Just... be careful down there. The town’s reputation would go down if the new farmer died."

The dismissal in his tone stung. You straightened, clutching your enchanted sword tighter.

"Right," You said, your voice carefully neutral. "Of course. Wouldn't want to ruin the town’s reputation."

You moved toward the door, but March's voice stopped you.

"Y/N."

You turned back, hope flickering despite yourself. Maybe he would explain, maybe he would help you understand why he ran so hot and cold, why he looked at you so intensely.

"That's good work," he said quietly, nodding toward the sword. "That enchantment. It's... impressive."

The praise seemed genuine, but it felt like a consolation prize. You nodded stiffly.

"Thank you for the use of your tools."

You left without another word, stepping out into the cool evening air and trying to process what had just happened. March's reaction had been so intense, so personal, that it felt like more than just friendly worrying. The way he'd looked at you, the way he'd crowded you against the wall, made you shiver. But then he'd shut down completely, retreated behind his usual coldness like nothing had happened at all.

You looked down at the sword in your hands, still faintly humming with magical energy. You'd been so proud of your accomplishment, so excited to show March what you'd done. Instead, you felt more confused than ever about the surly blacksmith and his bewildering reactions to everything you did.

Behind you, through the open door of the forge, you could hear the sharp sound of metal striking metal with unnecessary force, over and over again.

—————————————

The next day, Ryis was practically bouncing with excitement as he found March at the forge, making more nails.

"She said yes!" Ryis announced. "Y/N said yes to going with me to the shooting star festival!" The festival wasn’t for another two weeks, but Ryis had gotten all in his head about asking her since the beginning of spring, so he might’ve asked a little early, but he was ecstatic.

March's grip tightened on the hammer he was holding. "Congratulations, man."

"I was so nervous I could barely get the words out, but she just smiled and said she'd love to go." Ryis ran a hand through his hair, grinning.

"Though, I have to say, she seemed a little... I don't know, hesitant? Not about the festival, but just in general lately." His grin turning downwards at the corners.

"What do you mean?" March asked, despite himself.

"Well, she's been kind of quiet when I see her around town. And yesterday when I mentioned maybe all three of us hanging out sometime, she got this weird look and said she didn't think you liked her very much." Ryis frowned. "Which is crazy, right? I mean, you're just... you know, you with new people. But she seemed actually upset about it."

March hammered a nail with more force than necessary. "Maybe she's just not used to people who don't fawn all over her."

"March." Ryis's voice carried a note of surprise. "That's... kind of mean. She's not like that at all. She's been nothing but nice to everyone in town."

"If you say so."

"I do say so." There was an edge to Ryis's voice now, something March had rarely heard from his easygoing friend. "Seriously, what's your problem with her? You've been weird about Y/N since the day she arrived."

March's hands stilled. This was dangerous territory. Ryis was too observant, too good at reading people. "I don't have a problem with her."

"Then why do you act like she personally offended you every time her name comes up?"

"I don't."

"You do." Ryis stepped closer, studying March's face. "Come on, I know when something's bothering you. Did she do something? Say something?"

March forced himself to meet Ryis's concerned gaze. "She didn’t do anything, Ryis. I'm just not interested in being buddies with every newcomer who shows up. That's your thing, not mine."

Ryis stared at him for a long moment, clearly not entirely convinced. "Okay," he said finally. "But... maybe you could try being a little nicer? For me? I really care about her, and it would mean a lot if my best friend and the girl I'm falling for could at least be civil to each other."

The girl I'm falling for. The words hit March like a physical blow, but he kept his expression carefully blank.

"I'm civil," he said.

"March..."

"I'm civil," March repeated firmly. "Now, did you need something, or can I get back to work?"

Ryis looked like he wanted to push the issue further, but something in March's expression must have warned him off. "Right… I'll see you later then."

As Ryis walked away, March realized his hands were shaking slightly. The girl I'm falling for. Not just a crush, Ryis was falling for her, and March was stuck watching it happen.

[dewdropdarling03]

Whisper of Spring - Pt. 1 (March x Reader)

March x Reader fanfic (+ unrequited Ryis x Reader)

The morning sun lit up the overgrown farmland as you stepped out of your small cottage, surveying the work ahead of you. Weeds had grown over and crumbling fence posts lined a small patch of dirt. You’d known the farm would need work when you'd answered Adeline’s ad at the adventurer’s guild, but seeing it in person was... daunting. You were excited though, you now had a cottage and plot of land to call your own, it just needed some love.

"Well," you said aloud to no one in particular, "guess there's no time like the present."

You'd just stepped up to your crafting table, ready to get started on getting at least some of the fencing permissible before planning to clear out a small space to get a patch of turnips going, when you heard footsteps approaching on the dirt path that wound alongside your cottage. A young man with tousled, curly dark hair was walking toward you, carrying what looked like a basket full of goods.

"Hey! You must be the new farmer!" he called out, his voice warm and slightly breathless. "I'm Ryis - I live just down the road. My uncle sent me over with some fresh bread and jam to welcome you to Mistria." He smiled a dazzling smile at you.

You brushed the dirt from your hands and leaned over your crafting table to take a peek into the basket. "Oh, thanks! That's so thoughtful! I'm Y/N." You accepted the basket graciously, noting how Ryis's cheeks had turned slightly pink. "I was just trying to figure out where to start with all this." You gestured with your arms around you towards the overgrown fields.

"Oh, well I could..." Ryis started, then seemed to catch himself being too eager. There was something so cute and endearing about his nervous energy. You could see yourself being close friends, or even more, if it ever got to that stage. But you’d only just met so maybe you should take it easy, you chided yourself internally.

"I mean, if you want any help or advice, or if you need any supplies. March helped me try to find whatever could be useful, but we weren’t sure if we were able to get everything you’d need.”

You smiled and said, “Oh that was you guys? Thanks for that, I really appreciate it - though, to be honest, I’m not even sure what all I need yet either. I have more enthusiasm than experience right now."

Ryis opened his mouth to respond, when another voice cut through the morning air.

"Ryis! There you are."

A figure approached from the direction of town. A man in a smithing apron and vibrant, ruby-red hair carried a serious expression as he walked over. His eyes swept over the scene: Ryis standing close to the new farmer, both of them smiling and holding the welcome basket between them.

"March!" Ryis turned toward his friend. "Perfect timing. This is Y/N, the new farmer. Y/N, this is March. He's Mistria’s blacksmith and one of my best friends."

March's gaze lingered on Y/N for a moment longer than necessary. She was prettier than he'd expected from the gossip around town, Elsie would have definitely said something about it had she known, with bright eyes and an easy smile that seemed genuine and kind. She had long hair in a single, winding braid down her back and a cream shirt with light-colored overalls on. When she stepped forward to greet him, extending her hand, he felt something jerk in his chest.

"Nice to meet you, March," Y/N said warmly. “Ryis was just telling me about all the stuff you helped prepare for my arrival, so thank you!” You smiled brightly and hoped that the grumpy expression on his face was just how his face looked and not an indication of how annoying you sound.

"Was he." March's tone was flat, and he shook your hand stiffly before letting go. "Well, don't let me keep you two from getting to know each other."

The dismissal was subtle but clear. You blinked, your smile faltering just slightly, while Ryis shot March a confused look.

"Actually," Ryis said quickly, "I was hoping we could all grab lunch later? Adeline will be stopping by soon, and I can show Y/N around, and then we can meet you at the Inn for a quick bite. ”

March watched as Y/N's face brightened again, and saw the way Ryis leaned slightly toward her.

"I can't," March said abruptly. "Too much work at the forge."

"But you were just saying yesterday how it’s been unusually slow lately—"

"I said I can't." March's voice carried an edge, but he forced his expression into something more neutral. "Welcome to Mistria, Y/N. Hope the farm works out for you."

He turned and walked back toward town without another word.

You looked at Ryis to see if he had any reaction, but he just shrugged and said, “March doesn’t really like newcomers. Sorry, Y/N. I promise he’s much nicer when you get to know him, just takes some time.”

———————————————————————

Later that evening, March was working late at the forge, hammer striking heated metal in a steady rhythm that usually helped clear his mind. Tonight, however, every strike seemed to echo with the memory of Y/N's bright smile and the way Ryis had looked at her like she'd hung the stars.

"March?"

He looked up to find Ryis hovering in the doorway of the shop, silhouetted against the twilight glow outside.

"Shop's closed," March said somewhat gruffly, turning back to his work.

"I'm not here as a customer." Ryis stepped inside, fidgeting, "I wanted to talk to you about... about this morning."

March's hammer paused mid-swing. "What about it?"

"You were kind of rude to Y/N." The words came out in a rush. "I mean, I know you're not always great with new people, but she's really nice, and I thought maybe—"

"Maybe what?" March set down his hammer and turned to face his friend fully.

Ryis took a deep breath. "I think I really like her, March." His face was flushed, whether from embarrassment or the heat of the forge, March couldn't tell. "After we hung out together today while showing her around, I just can’t stop thinking about her.”

The words hit March like a physical blow. He'd known this was coming, had seen it written all over Ryis's face from the moment he'd found them together this morning, but hearing it out loud made it real in a way that twisted his stomach uncomfortably.

"That's..." March cleared his throat, searching for words that wouldn't betray the sudden hollowness in his chest. "That's great, Ryis. She seems... nice."

"She is! And smart, too. She used to be an adventurer in the guild, but has really caught on to everything out here so quickly." Ryis was gaining momentum now, his initial nervousness replaced by enthusiasm. "And she's so genuine, you know? Like, she actually wants to be part of the community here."

March nodded mechanically, each word of praise feeling like another nail being driven into something he couldn't quite name. "Sounds perfect for you."

"Do you really think so?" Ryis's voice was hopeful. "I mean, we've always been honest with each other, right? If you thought I was being stupid, you'd tell me?"

The question hung in the air between them. March looked at his best friend - kind-hearted Ryis, who deserved happiness more than anyone March knew - and felt something crumble inside his chest.

"You're not being stupid," March said quietly. "She'd be lucky to have you."

The smile that spread across Ryis's face was radiant. "Thanks, March. That... that really means a lot coming from you." He paused, seeming to wrestle with something. "I was thinking of asking her to the shooting star festival. Do you think that's too forward? I mean, she just got here, and maybe she's not ready for-"

"Just ask her," March interrupted, his voice rougher than he intended. "Life's too short to wait around."

"You're right." Ryis straightened his shoulders with new determination. "I'll ask her. Maybe I'll bring her some of my apple turnovers as an excuse to visit."

"Good plan." March turned back to his anvil, picking up his hammer again. "I should get back to work."

"Right, of course." Ryis headed toward the door, then paused. "March? Thanks for listening. And for being such a good friend. I don't know what I'd do without you."

After Ryis left, March stood alone in his forge, hammer heavy in his hand. He'd done the right thing, it was the only thing he could do. Ryis was his best friend, and Ryis had claimed her first, had been brave enough to actually talk to her instead of just staring from a distance and then running away like a coward.

He raised the hammer and brought it down on the now-cold metal with unnecessary force, the jarring impact traveling up his arm. He'd be supportive. He'd be a good friend. And maybe, if he repeated it enough times, he'd start believing that the emptiness in his chest would go away.