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Something had always been different about March.
From the beginning, he was hostile to you for no reason. Then he continued to be hostile because you wouldn’t take his shit.
Things… changed, though. First when he begrudgingly showed you how to use his forge. Then when Olric called for your assistance with their backorders.
March in his element was something to behold. He worked hard. He was clearly masterful with his hands. And when he barked orders at you and Olric, it didn’t feel like he was enjoying ordering others around. You could tell he only delegated what he absolutely had to, trusting his hands over anything else.
So when he instructed you to fire up the forge, you were ready to do whatever he asked. It felt very important to do it right.
And then he praised you.
“Keep the temperature steady! Steady… good. Good.”
He was watching somewhere beneath the flames (never directly at them, as he’d warned you never to look directly at the forge’s flames). You were just glad he wasn’t looking at your face to see you utterly freeze.
Your blood flushed hot and cold. You swallowed dryly.
Then in a rush the world came back to you. You couldn’t falter now, especially not now. You returned to work as if nothing happened. And nothing did happen, really. All he did was say the forge was at a good temperature.
Right?
When everything was all said and done, he was smiling. Proud of the day’s efforts. It was an unfortunately good look on him. And then he remembered that it was you there helping them. His smile fell and he cleared his throat as he shut back into himself.
“Thanks, Y/n,” he muttered with a sideways glance your way. Then before you could say anything he added to his brother, "I'm going inside, need to cool down.”
Yeah. Cool down.
You watched him go with a racing heart and cotton-filled mind.
Since that day, there was a tension in the air replacing the pure animosity of before. It was hard to pinpoint what it was exactly, or who started it.
For your part you started to hold back and wait to see which version of March you would get this time; if he’d be civil or not.
Sometimes he seemed to forget you ever disliked each other. He’d give you a polite smile and greet you.
Other times he’d be ready with a jab at your expense and skip all the pleasantries.
"Let me get this straight. You gave a worm to the museum? And Errol took it? And now it's on display? This town's gone crazy since you arrived."
“Ignorance looks bad on you, March,” you bit back.
“Psh! Ignorance. Explain it to me then.”
“The hours I would spend trying to get through your dense skull would be better spent, you know, mining. Or doing literally anything else for that matter. Some of us actually have work to do,” you added, knowing that would get under his skin.
His brows furrowed deeper, his freckled cheeks getting pink. His pale skin blushed so easily and his bright red hair only made it worse.
“Ha! Sure. Whatever, Farmer,” he spat like it was a bad word.
It was largely better to avoid him.
But… at the same time, you kept wanting to see him.
You didn’t dare enter the blacksmith shop unless you absolutely had to, but your errands did take you past the forge multiple times a day. You always found yourself slowing down to watch out of the corner of your eye if he was outside hard at work. There was something frustratingly captivating about him, especially when he was working.
You were certain he never noticed you because he was so utterly focused. Sometimes he stared at a piece of metal intensely with his head cocked and could stay like that for a whole minute. Presumably he was scrutinizing its faults, determining how best to strike it. Other times he manipulated flaming ingots like it was nothing, in quick and sure movements, faster than you ever could. It shouldn’t have been as captivating as it was. You wished it wasn’t.
It was two months after helping him with his backorders that you received a letter from him.
Not from Olric. From March.
You just stared at it in nervous disbelief. It was a curt message, unsurprisingly. “Stop by if you want some part-time work.”
Through the blunt nonchalance of it you knew he had to be desperate to be asking you.
You raced through your farm chores and over to the blacksmith shop with nerves on fire.
Olric was surprised to see you and praised his brother for his good thinking, which meant he hadn’t even pressured March to do it. That was interesting.
March nervously cracked his knuckles. “I-it sped things along last time, so…” he muttered.
“Always happy to chip in for Mistria's sake,” you said mildly.
He still didn’t meet your eyes but his lips quirked up into a half smile. “Y-yeah.” It almost felt like he wanted to tease but held it back for the sake of the job.
You crossed your arms and raised an eyebrow at him.
He did look up at you then, the hint of a smile already replaced with his usual scowl. “What?”
“Oh nothing, you just didn’t have a jab for me this time.”
March rolled his eyes. “Whatever, I’m not messing around today.”
“Messing around?” you scoffed. “Is that what you call bullying?”
His frown deepened. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. “I’m not—”
“Lady Adeline!” Olric interrupted.
You looked around in confusion and saw Adeline come running from behind you. March continued to look at you with an odd expression.
“Hi everyone!” she panted, arms full of paperwork and a conspicuously long roll of blueprints.
You bit back a sigh. Adeline was amazing at organizing the town’s efforts, but often to the detriment of its craftsmen, you included. You were happy to pitch in, truly, but if you had expected a long day before, it seemed like it only just got worse.
March seemed skeptical too, eyeing the load in her arms warily. “Adeline, if this is a rush request, I'm not sure we'll be able to-”
“W-wait, just hear me out!”
He did. Adeline explained about the Shield of the Realm award, and slowly his expression shifted to one of wonder, his shoulders squaring with something like pride when he asked if she wanted him to be the one to make it.
Seeing him like that… it felt like your chest was glowing. Warm and bright. You had to tamp down the urge to smile. Despite how much of a dick he was to you, you had to admit March worked hard, and did damn good work at that.
Then Adeline dropped the bomb.
It needed to happen today. In one day.
You watched March’s face fall. How his throat bobbed with a swallow. How he kept his shoulders squared despite the disappointment clear in his dark eyes.
That glow you’d felt in your chest was already gone.
“Adeline,” he sighed. “You know how much it’d mean to me to craft this shield, but–”
You moved without thinking. Suddenly your hand was on his forearm and he looked at you in confusion.
“March, let me help you,” you said with a certainty that even surprised yourself.
Logically you weren’t sure you could accomplish it, but you knew in that moment that you would do anything to see him smile like that again. It didn’t make any fucking sense, but it felt bigger than whatever feud there was between you. Not the award itself— but what it meant to him.
His deep brown eyes searched yours. Whatever he saw seemed to be enough to convince him. Some of his usual hardened determination returned to his gaze as he took a deep breath and nodded.
You were still holding his forearm. He had nice forearms.
No, really nice forearms. That was the understatement of the century. Smithing had sculpted his arms into an absolute wet dream and you had never so violently confronted that fact as now, in this moment, STILL HANGING ON HIS ARM.
Embarrassment buzzed in your warming ears and your hand finally dropped. You tried not to jump back like you were escaping a bomb, though it nearly felt that way.
Adeline was talking about the plan but it didn’t reach you.
You focused on breathing. On looking anywhere but at March.
They discussed what to do as your heart slowly calmed down enough to refocus. You had to get your head in the game.
Everyone was silent as March reviewed the plans with furrowed brows. When he finished he looked up with an expression you couldn’t place as anything besides power. If anyone was going to get this done, it was him. You would never say it felt like an honor to help him, but, well… it sort of felt like that.
“Right, let’s get this done,” he commanded and you and Olric were soldiers waiting for orders. “Olric, gather our materials! Y/n, don't just stand there, get the forge going!”
You smiled. It was something you were confident handling last time, and the look in his eyes said he trusted you to take care of it. “Already on it,” you called back as you got one of his aprons on to work the fire.
He almost smiled. Even in the wake of the pressure and his unshakeable determination, there was a hint of the ever-present charge in the air pulling at his lips.
And then he was gone, and it was time for the work to begin.
Everyone worked for hours. The sun setting felt a bit disheartening, but March wouldn’t let up, so neither would you. Even with the chill of fall settling on Mistria you all still only wore thin undershirts because of the heat of the forge and the hard work.
The shield was coming together exactly like the diagram. It would be done today, against the odds.
March didn’t panic. If he felt the pressure of the deadline he didn’t let it affect how he worked. It was always methodical. It helped keep you calm when your instinct was to rush.
Though all of his praise did the opposite of keeping you calm.
“Good, just like that.”
Your cheeks couldn’t get any hotter or they would have.
“You got it, keep going.”
You were hyper aware of the sweat trickling down your chest. Your racing heart.
Even when you hauled multiple bags of coal over without him asking and he didn’t say anything, but there was something in his eyes. His eyebrow slightly raised. He was impressed. Even that had your chest tightening.
Eventually Olric, seeing that neither of you were stopping, left to go get everyone food.
March wiped his forehead with his arm. “We’re almost done. I just need to finish the detailing.”
You only nodded, panting, too tired to say anything anymore. Your hair and clothes clung uncomfortably to your skin and you aired the front of your undershirt out as you waited for next orders.
March removed the shield from the forge with his smithing tongs and walked it back to the anvil. He jerked his head at you, indicating to come around.
“Hold the shield steady for me.”
You nodded and took hold of the tongs, trying to keep your hands from shaking. You didn’t know how his weren’t, after everything, but supposed that came from a life dedicated to his craft.
“Not like that, hold it closer to the edge.”
You blinked your eyes hard and focused, hands moving lower on the tongs to try and get a more stable grip to keep it on the edge of the anvil.
“No!” he gasped, a worried sound that was so odd coming out of him it was like a shock of cold water. You instantly froze, and before you knew it his hand was on yours and bringing it back to the grip.
“You’ll get hurt like that,” he chided, his voice suddenly so close to your ear you couldn’t think. “Keep your fingers here and apply even pressure with your palm here, this is where your force comes from.”
His hand was enveloping yours. Sticky warmth and scraping callouses directing you. His body behind you blocked the chill like a wall.
You took a deep breath to attempt to steady yourself but suddenly everything smelled like him. He was ash and fire and metal and sweat.
You molded yourself into the push of his hands, then firmed up your hold like his grip demanded.
“This better?” you whispered.
Your words seemed to send a shockwave through the air because March froze, hand still on yours, his body tense behind you. He was panting before, but you couldn’t feel his breath on your neck anymore.
The air was supercharged. Like lightning flashed and you were waiting for the thunder that followed.
The tension had never been this bad, every nerve ending was aching for something, anything. Your heart felt like it might beat out of your chest.
He was the one to test it with a simple move of his hand, innocently attempting to retract it, but he brushed your arm with his fingertips and…
You accidentally let slip the smallest moan. The faintest little breath and it was all that was needed for the tension to finally crack.
The clap of thunder was the shield meeting the anvil as he pulled you back into him. Your back met his chest with a grunt and hot muscled arms quickly closed around you.
You melted against his solid body. Eyes closing, lips opening with more plaintive moans as his mouth closed on your neck with a huff. Hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses decorated your neck, the wind trailing behind him to light your skin in goosebumps.
Your hands roamed his skin, hot with sweat. Up into his hair, over sloping muscles that had you so captivated before. You tried pathetically to map his body like you did with your eyes, every curve and hard line, but as soon as your hand moved away it lost the impression of him. You needed more, all of him.
You pressed heavier against him. The tools in his apron dug into your back and he came up for air just to yank his apron off and throw it to the ground with a clatter.
Just like that the air was back between you. Cold. Barely a second passed but when his body didn’t immediately return to yours you knew instinctively he was doubting, taking the time to think. You didn’t want to think.
You turned. Your momentum didn’t stop and you pushed him back, back against the outside wall of the workshop. His brow was scrunched in a hazy focus, cheeks so, so red, his eyes so delightfully open with something like fear and it emboldened you.
Your body crashed into his as his back met stone and you chased the huff he exhaled to his pouty lips.
Finally.
Finally finally fucking finally your blood sang. Like this had been the answer all along.
The kiss was one long press of lips where you barely dared to breathe.
If only you could live in this soft quiet forever, the crackling tension finally appeased, his loud mouth finally shut up.
His lips opened to suck in a rattling breath and… oh you wanted to hear more of that actually; his normally deep, gruff timbre sharpened with yearning.
He grabbed your waist and held you close as he returned for more of a taste of your lips. With his apron gone you could feel his growing erection press against you and it made you dumb with desire. Your body practically went limp with a keening groan through kisses getting sloppy with your lips so lax.
Each of his breaths caught like he was winding up, rasping needy breaths as his fingers dug into the plush of your hips and he plundered your mouth more aggressively, chasing your sweet tongue.
Everything was fire. Lips kindling, spit like magma– down your throat, glowing in your chest, to redhot yearning pooling low in your belly.
The lust was in control now as you clung to him, craving more, more, more. Pulling at his jaw for more of his tongue; pulling at the muscles in his shoulders for his body to curl around you, anything.
Your desperate groping earned you a huff of a chuckle against your cheek and he suddenly flipped you. Your back against the wall. His strong hands moved down, pillowing the backs of your thighs and hoisting you up, pinning you in place at just the right height for him to… gods he was so hard through his jeans and pressed so close.
His lips caught your moan, the loudest one yet threatening to expose you but you were a slave to your lust now. His breaths turned gravelly, even edging into a growl as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and bit while he rutted against you.
It punched another loud moan out of you, your mind fuzzy with stars, the actual stars above swimming in your hazy eyes.
March moved to your exposed neck and bit down there too, pulling another moan after moan from your pliant throat, jerking his hips against you almost punishingly.
“I… like you moaning…” he grunted between more kisses and nips up your neck, huffing into your ear, “a lot more than… talking back to me.”
A delirious little laugh bubbled up your throat as he licked it. “Ditto!”
When he found your lips again he was smiling, pushing that sweet smile against your lips in a fumbling attempt at a kiss.
“Uhhh March?” Olric’s voice called out from around the corner, startling you both.
March nearly dropped you and you smacked his arm in retaliation.
What the fuck?! you mouthed, steadying yourself on your feet and fixing your mussed hair.
He gave you a wild-eyed look and put his palms up like what did you expect him to do.
You waved him off, encouraging him to go talk to Olric. He stepped out into the light of the forge and you stayed hidden behind the wall.
“Hey bro, is the shield done yet?” Olric asked him, paper crinkling like he was setting their takeout down somewhere.
You snuck carefully around the back of the workshop, booking it in the dark around the larger building to come around the opposite side.
“... the farmer?” Olric was asking just as you came around the front.
“Here!” you panted and wiped your forehead, trying to think of an excuse as quickly as you could. “I… went… for a run! Little jog to wake me up. My eyes were getting so dry!” You let out a tittering chuckle you hoped didn’t sound too out of character.
Fortunately, Olric was always about as bright as his beloved rocks.
“That’s what’s up! I love a good night run. Good thinking, Y/n.” He picked up the big bag of takeout and gestured to the shop with his chin. “Let’s eat!”
You and March exchanged a glance, both seeming to wonder:
What would happen now?