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yeehawbvby · 8 days ago

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When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 11 (FINAL)

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: Another rowdy Friday night at the inn leads into a cozy, domestic morning.

Author's Note: This is the longest fic I've written and actually finished. Ty for reading it, and I hope you enjoyed :3 <3

(Also. At the time I post this, it seems like Trump is gonna win the US election.. fellow Americans, please stay safe, please keep pushing on, and please take care of yourself. Ily)

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

“Alright, ready?”

“No.”

“Come on,” March drew out the last word, wiggling his fingers.

“I am not doing this again.”

“You don’t want some finger action?” Ryis butted in from beside December. The table was formed in the same way as March and December’s previous arm wrestle.

“Ha!” the farmer barked, nudging the carpenter while March groaned.

Ryis nudged back, forgetting that drunken December excused nobody from her antics. She hopped up from her seat, a little wobbly before catching her balance, and began to noogie him.

“Uncle! Uncle!” he cried through his laughter, frantically patting his assailant’s arms.

“Yeah? What?” Landen called from the bar.

“No, not literally—“ The nephew heard an Oof! as December’s knuckles disappeared from his scalp, and turned around to see March trying to wrangle the squirmy farmer back into her seat. ”Huh?!” Ryis reacted, thoroughly amused.

“Arm wrestle me, coward!”

“Why? What are you trying to prove?!”

“I just like winning,” March boasted, lifting her up over his shoulders like a damn sack of potatoes during the last word. “C’mere.”

Immediately at the bar, Hemlock, Terithia, Errol and Landen held their breath and winced, hoping someone was ready to catch the farmer should March drop her. They all recognized his strength, but had yet to see him lift someone — and this was with alcohol in him, no less.

“Unhand me, you cretin!”

“Hey, is that a good workout?” Olric asked his brother.

Immediately distracted by the question, March unceremoniously plopped back into his own spot, transitioning December into a bridal carry before setting her down in his lap in one fluid motion. The onlookers let out a sigh of relief before getting back to their conversation.

December, whose heart raced at her partner’s show of strength, absentmindedly fidgeted with the pendant he wore around his neck while he responded, “Eh, I guess.”

“I should lift Merri.”

“What if you lift Merri,” December paused to swallow back what was either a hiccup or a burp — she couldn’t say which, “while Merri lifts something else? Like, a chair, or something.”

“Oh!” Olric snapped, wagging an approving finger towards the farmer. “I like that.”

December tapped her head and winked in response. March tapped her head too, and knowing she’d attempt to bite his finger, retracted it before she could get the chance. She pouted and slumped herself against him.

“Comfy?” Balor asked December.

Yes. She could’ve fallen asleep right there, in spite of the inn’s volume; and March was much less hellbent on defeating his nemesis now, as he was more focused on how warm she was, how soft her hair felt as it brushed his bare bicep, and how adorable she looked curled up atop him with her cheek against his collar, so he wouldn’t be opposed to it.

She nodded confidently, her smile dopey and dreamy as she began shimmying further inward to lessen the space where her body ended and March’s started. Once she was situated, March reached around to the table and grabbed his beer. Just as he was about to take a sip, though, December stole it and took her own.

“You’re lucky you’re cute, ‘cause you’re being a real shit head right now.”

“Hm?” December feigned innocence, “What do you mean?”

“Sharing is caring, bro,” Olric flicked March’s closest arm.

December happily hummed while swallowing another swig, “Mhm!” It was after this that March put a stop to her thievery.

“You two should drink some water,” Ryis suggested into a sip of his own.

”You should drink—“

“My balls,” December cut March off.

She really was on another level that night. Perhaps the sickly sweet desserts she shared with Celine and Eiland earlier, paired with the sugary drinks Hemlock had served them, wasn’t the best combination in the world.

Regardless, it had been fun, and it made December funny, thus leading to March nearly spitting his beer onto her after hearing her disruptive words.

“Do you even have balls?” Ryis asked, hesitating halfway through the sentence, but finishing it nonetheless.

“Gigantic ones.”

Dell overheard this from near the cauldron, and immediately began to plan a new heist with the Dragonguard: one in which they’d sneak onto December’s farm to steal her gigantic balls, as Dell could only assume at her young age that December meant the beach balls her cows and sheep played with. She’d never seen them herself, but Celine had mentioned them in passing.

The three agreed this would put their failed mission to snoop through Balor’s room to shame.

Olric was closest to them, and burst out laughing in the wake of their clumsy whispers. Balor patted him on the back when it turned into a cough, his own beer having mixed with his air.

“Is this true?” Balor mused to March, giving Olric’s back one last hearty rub for good measure.

“They’re like boulders,” he nodded, “Never seen anything like ‘em.”

December snorted, hiding her face in the crook of March’s neck. He instinctively leaned his head atop hers.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Ryis admitted through his laughter, his eyebrows upturned, “You can never know for sure!”

“Why do you wanna know so much about my girl’s huge balls?” March accused, jabbing the air in the carpenter’s direction.

December nuzzled him a bit to cope with being called his girl, as though it would rid her belly of its fluttering.

“Morbid curiosity.”

Balor nodded in agreement with Ryis.

Olric nodded too, but he didn’t care all that much. He was more interested in learning something new about his brother by proxy of this. Love is love, he figured, and whether or not December had colossal nuts didn’t matter to him as long as March was happy.

“Alright, alright,” December giggled into her hand before lifting her face again to diffuse any potential genitalia allegations, “I don’t have balls.”

“Aw, crap!” Dell — who had begun eavesdropping again upon hearing Ryis’ speculations — whisper-yelled.

“Dell!” Maple gasped, “You can’t just say that!”

“Gods, help me,” Olric doubled over, hearing the Dragonguard once again. He crossed his arms on the table and dipped his face into them, muffling his laughter.

This time, March and December both heard the kids and reacted similarly, folding in on each other as they often seemed to during nights like these. They didn’t even know the context — the pair simply thought that the interaction was silly. Balor, as usual, maintained a lopsided grin, his cool demeanor masking how hard he was struggling to not crack up.

Ryis couldn’t hear Dell, therefore he had no idea what was going on. He tilted his head at Balor in hopes for context, but the merchant simply shook his head.

Damn.

He used whatever the distraction was as an opportunity to go grab some glasses and a water pitcher from Hemlock, determined to look out for his friends.

The couple went on with their usual routine to get a head-start on sobering up — junk food and lots of water — before they both headed to December’s. It was a Friday, so they’d stayed out a bit later than they would on any other night at the inn, as most of the town tended to; regardless, they had no intention to separate, March happily following the farmer inside her home the moment she suggested he hang out for a while longer.

Upon being greeted by Goose, December scooped him up and patted a few kisses to his head. Then, she held the cat out slightly, giving March a blank look until he caved and did the same — first to Goose, and then, to her surprise, to her. Still tipsy and overall just teaching himself to loosen up a bit around her, March didn’t care much about how grossly cute the action was. It felt strange, sure, but as December smiled up at him — Goose observing him too, with those buggy eyes of his, and still cradled in her arms — and tip-toed to give his cheek a kiss, he couldn’t help but be happy he did it.

He noticed in that moment how often something like that happened… him acting on impulse around her, and being rewarded for it, in a way. He didn’t know what to make of it.

They proceeded to sit on the couch with some more water, chatting for a while. December yapped about a cool moth she’d found the other night. If Errol’s enclosures weren’t so humane, she wouldn’t have had the heart to donate it, she admitted. Luckily, he makes them with the bugs‘ comfort in mind, so she knew it would be happy and that she could go see it whenever she wanted to.

March all but melted while he listened to December continue to ramble on about bugs — something he never thought would happen, especially given how genuinely annoyed he was when Errol began accepting her critters as donations. Feeling the need to one-up her accomplishment in practically filling the entire museum all by herself, he bragged about an order he got from Dell to make a dragon-shaped belt buckle, and how well that was going in spite of the challenge.

Similarly to March, December couldn’t help but swoon a little. When he got fired up, his eyes would twinkle like stars and his brows would furrow, like he was as determined as he was excited to simply dump all his knowledge about his craft onto whoever would listen. His passion was palpable.

The two momentarily wondered, though, how he was going to get paid for this particular project. He’d cut Holt some slack if Dell didn’t contribute, but came to the conclusion that he really should’ve asked about that first.

December, while grabbing a much-needed pain killer, talked about how it took her far too long to realize that the best way to fight those rock-spewing assholes in the mines was to parry them, which is why she always had such scuffed swords. March, inviting her to lean against him when she arrived back, explained how upset Olric was that he got hit by those during his and December’s trip down there. He made it a point to lightly scold her too, for not being more careful with the fruits of her labor.

He knew she didn’t enjoy forging her own equipment. He also knew she’d be damned if she ever purchased anything he made.

As they grew more weary, they’d begun to rely on one another to support each other’s weight, similarly to the last time they’d found themselves in this situation. Luckily, they had much less to worry about now, given how much closer they’d gotten from that night-onward. The lack of uncertainty was nothing short of a gift.

December’s body dragged lower and lower until she eventually had her head on the smith’s tummy. His own form had sunk far enough that his legs were barely even on the furniture anymore, so this was her best resting spot at the moment, really. March was also at an awkward angle, now, where he was half-laying back and half-leaning his weight onto his side, allowing them to easily look at each other while they tangled together.

He watched fondly as December fought sleep, doing her best to listen to his stories and stay coherent with her responses. He was convinced he was hiding his own weariness well, but December could see through the facade even in her barely-there state.

“Stay over?” she eventually mumbled, beginning to worry about his walk home.

“Mmhn—“ he tried to answer — with what words, he had no clue — his head failing to stay entirely upright and his grip on December's thigh loosening.

She huffed a laugh through her nose, unable to help how cute she thought he was like this.

She reluctantly straightened before tugging his hand. “C’mon,” she insisted.

With a groan, March leaned up, and with some effort, they both stood tall. Goose had been on the cat tree beside them and got up as well, stretching and readying himself to follow them to bed.

December barely had it in her to change into pajamas, thus simply stripping herself of her bra and jeans before clamoring onto the mattress. March had no pajamas. Aside from a few baggy sweaters that it was far too warm for, none of the farmer’s clothes would fit him, so he found himself beside her in nothing but his boxer-briefs.

This was their first sleepover, the two simultaneously realized as Goose settled in with them. They’d had accidental naps together a small handful of times, but had yet to wake up side-by-side after a full night of rest. As December scooted back to be spooned, and March readily engulfed her in his arms, she smiled to herself, excited for how domestic this felt. How right it felt.

And as they woke up about eight hours later, having slept in until ten with their legs tied and heads foggy; as they took turns using December’s toothbrush, and then took an innocent shower together, washing their grogginess away; as March helped December harvest and water her crops, before getting started on breakfast while she released her animals to graze and frolic; March realized that this was exactly what he’d daydreamed of the last time he lingered here after a rowdy night at the inn.

Back then, he was worried by those thoughts.

Back then, December rarely even had them — albeit, in her case, it was only because she never thought this would be possible, and didn’t want to get her hopes up for a future that didn’t exist. Her lacking daydreams about March were a defense mechanism, in a way.

Now, March welcomed his hopes and feelings, just as he welcomed his partner back inside, tugging her to stand between his arms as he topped their bowls of rice and greens with an egg each.

Now, December welcomed such thoughts in the first place, especially as they sat on the bench she kept near Caldarus, sharing their meal and each other’s company beneath her fruit trees. She thought of what the future could bring. How many times they’d come to spend their earliest hours of the day together. Maybe they’d be each other’s people until the day they died, and grow old together, and make a routine of mornings just like this one.

She peeked up at March at that thought and was temporarily stunned, as though she’d looked at the sun itself. The rays that seeped through their leafy shade framed him perfectly, accentuating his warm undertones with a soft, welcoming light, similar to that of his forge’s fire.

Feeling eyes on him, March reciprocated. On the opposite end of the spectrum entirely, he noticed how even in the shade, December seemed to glow. She was the moon, his beacon of light in the dark, with each smile and laugh that graced her face being a new phase in its cycle. She shifted phases then and there, and the tenderness in her eyes paired with the curve of her lips flustered March.

“What are you looking at?” he deflected, his cheeks warm.

“Nothing much.”

“Oi,” he nudged her with a light elbow before scruffing up her hair.

“Oi yourself!” December laughed, lightly slapping his hand until he stopped.

She promptly leaned against him once he’d settled down. March didn’t hesitate to wrap his arm around her shoulders and rest his cheek into her scalp, his thumb rubbing circles on her shoulder in the meantime.

Happily existing in silence, they took in nature’s song while they watched the distant river flow, December’s animals play, and the pink petals that wafted over from the cherry blossoms around town dancing in the breeze. They were cozy like this, but more importantly, they were cozy together.

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amywritesthings · 2 months ago

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Pairing: march/farmer (fields of mistria) Word Count: 2.5k Summary: It's your first Halloween in Mistria, and you're excited for the costume party at the inn. One small problem: you accidentally match your costume with the worst possible person.

Tag: halloween, mild language, enemies to something, everyone ships you with march except march, friday night at the inn, unresolved romantic tension Credits: dividers by @saradika-graphics

HALLOWEEN AT THE INN.

Maybe the Kiki costume is too on the nose.

While you’re technically the new farmer of the town, tending your crops has recently begun to feel like a secondary job to the impromptu delivery service you’ve tripped into.

Not that you mind — if Hayden leaves a communal bulletin stating he needs an egg, then you’re more than happy to pop by and deliver.

(Though… doesn’t he technically own a ranch? Why would he need more eggs?)

Whatever.

Not your problem, just your solution.

Tonight marks your first-ever costume party at the inn.

While it’s been a town tradition for years, perhaps even decades, you find Hemlock stating that this year simply feels different.

Lighter, maybe. More exciting.

(Because the town needs a little excitement that isn’t privy towards an earthquake.)

You stand in front of your elongated mirror tucked against your bookshelves, tugging at the purple-blue skirt skimming your thighs.

It isn’t difficult to guess what you’re dressed as: between the massive bright bow wrapped around your head like a headband, the flats, the smock dress, and the stuffed black cat tucked under your arm, you should hope your friends know what you’re dressed as.

Kiki, the delivery service girl from the Studio Ghibli movie of similar title.

With one last huff of anxiety, you turn for the front door and trudge through your dilapidated (see: work in progress) farm to make your way towards the heart of town.

Josephine has already decked out the front with strings of paper bats and pumpkins lining the doors to the inn. The gentle glow of recently-carved pumpkins framing said doors with the bails of hay you donated to tonight’s event brings a nostalgic warmth to your heart.

You can’t remember the last time you went to a Halloween event, much less a costume party.

As your hand reaches for the door, you’re met with a sudden burst of wind.

The door flies open towards you, revealing a button-nosed Dell peering up from her perch. Whiskers streak her rosy cheeks, the black cat ears a stark contrast to her cropped blonde hair.

“You’re here!” she chirps excitedly, beaming up at you.

“Hey, Dell,” you greet politely, opening the door for her.

It appears the rascals of Mistria are following in tow — as they tend to do all over town in a troop — all equal parts dressed up as various animals.

Maple has a small painted bunny nose with tall ears in her hair.

In true Luc fashion, a spider body with fuzzy arms attached to his appendages. He doesn’t look the least bit comfortable, but he’s clearly excited to be an arachnid nonetheless.

“Are you Kiki this year?” Dell inquires.

Luc fixes his glasses with his many arms before perking up at your added props. “Whoa, and you have Jiji with you!”

Dell gets this look on her face, as if knowing something you don't know, but you think nothing of it at the time.

“Celine is back by the kitchen with Adaline and Orlic,” Maple suggests as if assuming you’re looking for the eldest sister.

Celine had been one of your first friends in town, so it’s no surprise to you that one would anticipate you would gravitate right towards them.

However, hearing Orlic’s name in the mix makes your stomach flip-flop, because—

. — —

Well, let’s get it out of the way early.

For the record, you love to spend your time at the blacksmith shop.

For the past month you’ve been hard at work in the mines, exploring the ins and outs of such a mysterious place, so naturally you’ve come to the shop to forge your tools and weapons.

And you’ve gotten good at offering a helping hand when it comes to blacksmithing.

Like, really good.

So good that Orlic has even set up a little spot for you to consolidate and work.

—only issue is that it’s right next to March’s bench.

March.

The bane of your existence, if you ever had one.

The naysayer that wants you gone from this damn town.

The only person in town who seems to have a big problem with you being here.

You wish you understood why — it isn’t like you did anything wrong to him.

You show up to the shop with an ever-revolving door of gifts from the mines.

Slowly but surely, you’ve learned what each brother likes. Olric is easy to please: he’s happy to take any stone you find, hoping one day to find a gem in the rough.

March, however…

He couldn’t care less that you show up after a long day’s work, dirtied and exhausted, holding out a piece of copper ore like a proverbial olive branch.

(Tch, he clicks with his tongue like clockwork, I could do better.)

Still, you persist.

Because deep down, you don’t think March actually hates you.

Orlic has said it time and time again — his brother can be tough to get used to, but that’s because he doesn’t have many friends. A loner at heart; March would rather sit in solace and march (no pun intended) to the beat of his own drum.

He likes you in his own way!

If it wasn’t for one of the first nights at the inn, then you wouldn’t believe it.

You distinctly remember walking in with Adeline after accomplishing a renovation of a bridge (to nowhere, you’d like to preface, but a job’s a job) when a voice jumped out from the fray of baseline chatter.

“Yo, farmer!”

Slurred, maybe, but after so much time at the blacksmith shop, you know it well.

However there’s little bite to March as he stands from his bar stool, face flushed with a flourishing pink as he sips from his mug.

He makes it a point to poke his head over his brother’s to see your face, and he…

Smiles.

Not in mockery.

Not in hatred.

A real, bonafide, drunk-as-a-skunk smile.

“Come here,” he hiccups, sloshing some beer as he tries to beckon you closer. “C’mere—”

You don’t think March remembers, but he talked to you.

For three hours straight, actually, about nothing in particular.

Your farm.

Your week.

Your future plans.

Chin dropped to his propped-up fist, his eyes are hazy, but he listens. Intently. Like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say.

At first it was jarring, especially since Orlic hopped up to give you his seat and never returned, but after twenty or so minutes it was… nice.

The next morning you were strangers.

Six straight days of snappy remarks, but without as much bite.

By the time Friday rolled around again, you found him in the same position — drinking, happily enjoying a communal game, while waving to you periodically to get your attention while you’re busy spending time discussing the week with Celine and Reina.

You want to ask Orlic.

Hell, you want to ask anyone to make sure you’re not imagining the once-a-week friendliness.

But you don’t.

You just endure six whole days until the next Friday rolls around.

. — —

As the kids shuffle out of the inn to get some air, you walk into the festively-decorated venue looking for a drink.

Reina had said something about themed finger-foods and drinks, both mocktail and cocktail, that she was beyond proud of.

There’s a circle near the tail end of the bar where Celine, Reina, Orlic, and Ryis all chat. Ryis has gone traditional cowboy, while Reina and Celine match in regency ball gowns, presumably a period-piece costume. Orlic is standing in an inflatable dinosaur costume, so you can only make out the visor of his eyes in the blow-up ensemble.

And when their eyes land on you, they stop talking completely.

At first it feels normal, albeit intimidating, but you wave and walk over anyway.

(Why has Ryis’ jaw dropped to the floor? And why is he excusing himself with a little laugh?)

“Hey, guys!” you greet as cheerily as you can, and Celine gives a look to Reina.

…huh.

The same kind of look Dell had on her face, like there’s something unspoken being passed around by your appearance.

“Oh — hello,” Celine replies in her musical voice, curtseying in character. “Lovely costume!”

“Yeah, it looks amazing on you,” Reina adds, but she keeps looking around.

You feel like there’s something you’re missing.

Staring down the cat and broomstick in your arms, you open your mouth to compliment them in return, but—

“So that’s why March didn’t want to match with me!”

Orlic pipes up, his dinosaur suit squishing and swishing around as he holds his arms out.

“I would have never guessed you’d plan a costume together,” pipes up Celine, shoulders deflating as if glad someone brought up the elephant in the room.

Except you can’t see said elephant — it’s still invisible.

“I… sorry,” you start, fixing your bow. “I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t have to be coy, Kiki,” Reina teases with a wave of her hand. “I think it’s cute!”

“But what’s cute?” you urge. “I feel like there’s something—”

“Hey, nerds, I got us the stupid punch. You could’ve told me the ladle was for baby hands. Took me like five minutes to make four drinks.”

At the sound of a gruff, annoyed voice, you turn—

Oh.

Oh, no.

March stares back at you through black-rimmed glasses with equal horror, sloshing one of the drinks he’s delicately balancing in his hands in a diamond.

His hair’s a little flatter than usual, but the fluff fights the frizz of the heated inn. On his body is a striped red and white t-shirt, along with some light blue denim jeans rolled up at the ankles.

The costume is just as distinct as yours.

Tombo.

“The hell are you wearing?” he blurts directly at you, and you hear a high-pitched giggle of excitement behind you come from Celine.

“I… a costume,” you lamely reply.

March scowls. “Yeah, genius, I know that it's a costume 'cus you never wear bows.”

“Yes, I do?”

“Not as big as that one!” he snaps. “They’re always smaller or, like… two, on either side of your— Whatever! But why that costume?”

“Thanks for the drinks, little bro!” Orlic happily states, waddling around you in order to gingerly pick up his punch. “We’re gonna go see how the mummy-wrapping game is going.”

March's eyes shoot wide in confusion.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” Reina adds, taking two drinks for her and Celine, before giving one back. “Actually, I’m totally hydrated. Our lovely Kiki might need a drink. You two have fun.”

“Huh?!”

March’s head whips side to side so fast that you expect the glasses to fly off of the bridge of his nose.

You stand with your plushie cat and broom, blindsided by the matching outfits.

Oh, god — it clicks.

They think the two of you secretly conspired together to do a couples costume.

That’s not good.

“Why’d everyone leave?” March grumbles. “It took a lot of damn effort not to spill those drinks.”

When you say nothing, he reluctantly returns his attention to you and holds out a drink.

“For the record, I planned to be Tombo before you even got to town, Farmer Girl.”

“I put together whatever I had in my suitcase,” you confess, taking the drink from his hand.

“Sure you didn’t sneak a peek of my costume hangin’ up when you were at the shop?” he accuses, squinting while he sips on his alcoholic punch.

“No, March,” you groan, dropping your head back. “Trust me, I don’t want to be matching with you, either.”

In true March fashion, he contradicts himself without missing a beat.

“Why the hell not?”

“Why?”

“Yeah, what’s so bad about matching me?”

“Because people will think—”

“So?”

“So?” you repeat, slightly higher pitched. “Uh, hello, it’s your worst nightmare?”

“Nah, dressing up as a t-rex is my worst nightmare,” he corrects, like everyone knows this vital piece of information about him. “Orlic was pretty hell bent on getting us to match this year, but I wasn’t sweating my ass off in a damn blow-up suit.”

“And accidentally matching with me is significantly less than that?”

March pauses, marinating on the words, before growing silent to sip more of his drink.

Exasperated, you throw your hands up and switch plushie Jiji from one arm to the other.

“Well, I’ll go home and change. Maybe I have a black shirt and jeans.”

Surely you have to have something basic in your arsenal, even if you were really excited for this costume. But the implication is rearing its ugly head into a territory you’re not sure you went to venture into.

Friendship with the one guy who hates your guts, or worse.

Yet his voice rumbles against the lip of his cup. “What’s a black shirt and pants combo gonna be for a costume?”

“I don’t know, a cat?”

“But Dell’s already a cat.”

“Then a raven! I don’t know.”

March snorts, shaking his head. He uses his free hand to push his fake glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“That’s dumb. Just keep being Kiki.”

The huff out your mouth is laced with disbelief. “And what, have you be my Tombo?”

You don’t mean the words to come out as harshly as they do, but the options to rectify this awkward situation are limited.

It’s either he changes, you change, or—

Well, or you match with your sworn enemy of the town.

Both of you stand shoulder to shoulder, watching the rest of the party rage on.

For what feels like hours, neither of you speak.

A few people greet the two of you, but beyond your initial friend group, no one else seems surprised to see the two of you in a common duo costume.

“I like your bow, by the way.”

The words are so quiet that you almost think you caught wind of a ghost.

Turning your head, the sight before you is one you’ve grown accustomed to: March’s cheeks are flushed, sprinkled with an embarrassed pink.

He side-eyes you, studying the bow before flickering his attention to your face.

You sip your drink, trying your best to look neutral.

“I… think you look nice with glasses.”

That pink turns into crimson, and he buries his head into his chest like he wants to curl into himself to hide the fact that your compliment affects him so deeply.

“...thanks.”

With a curt nod, you bring the cup back to your lips, only to realize it’s only left with ice.

Huh. You didn’t think you drank it all down.

In your peripheral you see it, but it doesn’t register until something warm lands on your hand —

March’s fingers overlap yours, gently nudging the cup out of your grip and into his.

“You're empty,” he mumbles. “I’ll get you some more.”

Before you can protest, he turns on a heel and rushes back to the punch cauldron. The blush goes so far as to creep up the nape of his neck and into his dyed-red hair.

You watch him disappear, your stomach flip-flopping with anxiety and…

Butterflies?

Weird. That’s new.

(But that’s how it goes on Friday night at the inn.)

author's note:

I wrote this in about an hour because I have been dying to try my hand at an FoM fic, and since I'm in a very Halloween-y mood, I figured I could write a little cute heart event for March!

If you got this far, thank you so much for reading! What other costumes do you think March would be cute in? Let me know in the comments! (And thank you for any reblogs, likes, etc.)

#fields of mistria fanfiction #fields of mistria fanfic #march x reader #march x farmer #march fom #fom fanfiction #fom fanfic #fom fic #march fanfic #march fic #fields of mistria fic #halloween fanfiction #halloween fanfic #fields of mistria #fom march

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