#fields of mistria Josephine | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeehawbvby · 4 months ago

Text

When the Moon Fell in Love With the Sun | Ch. 7*

March x F!Farmer

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventual smut)

Chapter Summary: Vera picks some very interesting hair dye for the farmer. March goes feral for it.

Author’s Note: No smut yet, but the end of this chapter is the lead-up. Do what you will with that info ;3c

Table of Contents + Work Summary

Check it out on ao3!

Prev | Next

The following weekend, Celine and December found themself inspecting Merri’s haunted attic furniture set with tilted heads and curious eyes.

“How does she make those spiderwebs so realistic?” Celine wondered.

“Real spiders,” her friend joked in turn.

“Ew, what?!”

“‘Ew?’ You don’t want little guys living in your dresser?”

“Why would I want insects in my dresser?” She furrowed her brow, “What if they‘re an invasive species and kill all my plants?”

December, who was a recent bug enjoyer thanks to her quests for Luc as of late, held back the intense urge to correct her — spiders are arachnids, thank you — instead responding, ”I can appreciate that you’re more worried about your plants than your clothes.”

The florist shrugged, “I’ll just pawn the critters off to Luc as I find them on me throughout the day.”

Josephine and Hemlock, who were arm-in-arm and browsing the same set just a few steps away, interjected in unison. “Please don’t.”

December giggled while Celine pouted, “Too many bugs?”

“Too many spiders,” the bartender corrected.

Josephine nodded, then shuddered, “Those things get speedy.”

“I would be too if I had eight legs,” Celine reasoned.

Upon passing close by and hearing talk of things with eight legs, Luc rushed over to rattle off some spider facts, which the four adults gladly listened to. While the little guy’s bug hyperfixation could be annoying for his parents physically, they all admired his dedication to entomology.

As the conversation died off, with three-fifths of the inn-running family parting ways, December and Celine found their way to Olric, March and Merri on the other side of the stall. March had been singing high praise about Merri’s craftsmanship, so Olric politely broke off to hang out with the women. He wasn’t involved in the conversation anyway — he’d already showered Merri in plenty of compliments about her furniture this week.

Their conversation took a turn into one about rocks, as they usually tended to with Olric. When Celine cooed over how adorable the really round rock in the museum was, the conversation shifted into how seriously square the nearby stone on display had been.

As the trio slowed down, deciding if they should visit Darcy or Vera first, December brought up to Olric that she decided she would dye her hair. Like he’d reminded her, it’s not permanent. What was the worst that could happen?

He and Celine beamed, practically shoving December in Vera’s direction. “Get in there, tiger!” the gentle giant told her, a hearty pat on the back sending her stumbling an extra few inches forward.

March, who had just arrived from his chat with Merri, looked on as December cautiously approached the hairdresser. He couldn’t imagine her with anything other than long, white hair. He also couldn’t help but wonder what she was planning to do with it.

Meanwhile, as Olric suggested, December requested to Vera that she take the reins, only asking that she wouldn’t cut her hair more than an inch or so. She often just trimmed it herself, and was pretty particular about it.

Now, Vera was just as interested in Mistria’s gossip as anyone else. She was only human, and she could never simply brush off her clients’ tales about the town’s happenings. That said, she’d heard all the talk about December and March, she’d seen them glued to each other’s sides some weeks, and she’d watched as the grouchy blacksmith finally found someone to soften him up a bit — even if only slightly.

While she didn’t want to disappoint a clearly nervous customer with a full mane of bright red to match her “boyfriend’s,” no matter how badly she was itching to go nuts on such a perfectly blank canvas, she did think a nod to him could be fun. So, after a quick trim, Vera got to work on creating a small ombré that shifted her hair from its natural ivory down into a light blonde, which then faded into a coppery red-orange, and finished off with a dark brown. The dye was only on the bottom handful of inches of her mane, and then the lower inch or so of her bangs.

December wasn’t allowed to look until it was completed, and when she finally did, she thought it was a little strange, but very cute nonetheless. It was subtle enough to not make her feel overdone, and unique enough to give her some extra flair. She noted to herself, too, how downright impressive Vera’s precision with the dye on her fringe was.

“How’d you come up with this?” she asked, fiddling with a few strands.

“You’ve been hanging out with your new beau so much,” the hairdresser smiled, “so I made you into a little forge-toasted marshmallow!” She punctuated her words with a wink.

…Oh.

That answer turned December’s cheeks crimson while she barked a nervous laugh into her palm. March, Olric and Celine — who had been watching the full process save for a short break to grab drinks and snacks from the next stall over — were embarrassed, delighted, and positively tickled respectively.

Dell had been walking past as the explanation went on, returning from a bathroom break at the General Store. She slowed down to be nosy, as one tended to in this small town. Upon hearing the news, she gasped and giggled and ran to alert the rest of the Dragonguard — and by proxy of her volume, several others nearby — who all responded in a similar fashion.

Juniper’s hearty laugh could be heard from the chair December sat in. Elsie was already taking notes for a future romance novel she’d write. Jo and Hemlock — who’d been secretly rooting for the farmer and the blacksmith to get together for months — shared a laugh at such a public display of affection.

Just like that, the pair had become the talk of the town once again.

December’s laughs died into something more airy as she inspected and played with her ends. Vera kept her hair straight, but curled the bottom inch or so into some spiky swoops and styled it half-up into a messy bun to showcase the dye. It was soft, fun to look at, and the bottom portion was perfect for fiddling with at a time like this, which was exactly what December did.

“So? How are we feeling?”

“I—” she paused, smiling and letting out one last flustered breath, “I love it, actually.”

Vera’s smile at her answer could have lit up the whole town square. Nearby, Olric and Celine both nudged March from either side, and March…

Well.

At first, he felt sheepish, a little guilty that December was put under more social pressure — in a subtle way — to be “his.”

But, as much as this did put more of a target on her head for teasing, she liked it. Loved it, even.

Why did that make him proud? Why was he suddenly so hung up on her being showcased as “his,” all over some silly hair dye? Why was the whole idea of “burning” the local “snow angel” so rewarding to him?

He wondered, too, why did it really arouse him?

“—looks great!”

March was ripped from his thoughts by Olric loudly complimenting the woman in question. Despite still being rosy, December had a hard time containing her smile. She wasn’t sure if it was more nervousness about the concept, or happiness about the change in her appearance fueling it at this point, but the distinction made no difference to March, who basked in her curved lips and bright eyes and currently-present dimples and “toasted” hair like it was the last few things he’d ever have the pleasure to see.

“Y-yeah!” he agreed.

December and Celine were taken aback by his enthusiasm for a moment, but the farmer was glad nonetheless. She had no idea how he’d take this. At least it seemed like he was a fan.

“Well,” Olric started, “I should get a trim before someone else swoops in there. I’ll see you guys around!”

He gave the three villagers a fist bump each before parting. Just as that interaction closed, Celine was summoned by Dell, thus breaking off from the remaining pair with a wave.

“Sorry” was the first word out of December’s mouth once they were alone.

March furrowed his brows. “What?”

“I didn’t ask Vera to do this,” she clarified, once again playing with the newly colored ends of her hair, “I let her choose.”

March was quiet. From an outside perspective, he appeared pensive. December was unsure of what to make of it.

“I…” March could hardly contain himself at this point, and shook his head, “Fuck. I love it.” He practically growled his words. The farmer’s eyes widened, her stomach fluttering. “Come here,” he ordered, taking her hand.

“Where are we going?”

“My house.”

“Oh.” While they passed by the fountain, she asked, “Why?”

March mumbled under his breath, “Can’t do this shit anymore.”

Whoa. What?

December paled.

Wordless while she wondered what he meant by that, she feared that he was going to cut things off with her over some hair dye that he’d literally just complimented. That this was it, that her heart was about to be shattered by March before she could even call him her boyfriend, man, partner, whatever. That she’d have to go back to Vera and ask her to help her chop the dyed portions of her hair off, in turn saving her from thinking about the blacksmith every time she saw her own reflection.

In reality, he just really wanted to fuck her.

They still hadn’t had sex. They could have. They’d wanted to several times. They were very vocal about that fact, which led to some flirty, funny shenanigans in its own right. At this point, they were holding back purely out of spite for the people — mainly Juniper, of course — who insisted they’d already crossed that road. It was all for the bit.

So the farmer’s worries were quelled a short moment later, right as they stepped into the smithy. March practically slammed the door behind them, pinning December to it with his lips while he scooped her up by her thighs.

She was too stunned to question it, gladly squeezing March’s hips between her legs to better support herself and wrapping an arm around his neck, her other hand resting against his cheek.

March had his own question instead. “How are you feeling?”

Assuming that he wasn’t just trying to exchange pleasantries at a time like this, December answered with her health for the day in mind. She sighed against his lips, “Not great.” He stole another kiss before she asked, “Why?”

March answered her inquiry with another, pressing his forehead to hers, “How does that stuff work when it comes to sex?”

December’s eyes widened. “Hypothetically, or..?”

“No.” His answer was instant, his eyes now boring into hers. “No, I want to know for right now.”

The farmer’s body was burning up. Her eyes trailed down to his lips again while she opened her mouth, trying to form words that wouldn’t come out. Her excitement temporarily rendered her speechless, but quickly turned into anxiousness.

Ever since one of the first times December had taken care of herself after her accident, she’d been afraid for this time to come; to have to admit to someone that she would be, in plenty of people’s eyes, almost useless beyond this point in intimacy. Sure, she could walk and run and lift and pull and do whatever else she needed to from day to day, but those things could get hard, and sex would be no different. If anything, she knew it would be worse, given how foreign and strenuous the movements were.

How often did she really need to straddle or sit on something, while repeatedly squatting and/or bouncing?

The answer was never. Literally never.

And December knew how cruel people could be. How harshly women were judged overall — even in a society so sensitive towards gender equality, like Aldaria’s — never failed to transfer to their abilities in bed. If anything, the latter was several times worse, given how entitled so many people could feel with intimacy. The absolute last thing she needed was a harsh opinion to dampen her already low self-esteem when it came to this; and while she felt she was probably safe with March, she couldn’t know for sure how he would react until this very moment.

“U-um,” she hesitated, “I can’t really do much.”

Luckily, the redhead had no quarrels to make. He would still want to be with her even if sex wasn’t an option at all. March’s grip tightened on December’s thighs, and he leaned in as if to kiss her again, but faked her out.

Instead, he murmured, “So you’ll be my pillow princess then?”

She felt her soul leave her body as she breathed, shaky and quietly, “Holy shit.”

He smirked, proud of the effect he had on her. “Come on, December, focus,” March softly demanded when she didn’t answer his question.

Whatever was left of her corporal form was gone forever, she feared. She nodded almost desperately, her heart threatening to thump out of her chest. In turn, March had never felt cockier in his life, other than maybe whenever he received and bragged about his copious blacksmithing awards.

He prodded, “You’d want that?” After another nod, he searched for more explicit consent, “Say it.”

She was quiet for a moment before she complied.“I want it,” with her eyes plastered on March’s mouth, yearning for him to kiss her again.

He was having none of that. “Hey,” he leaned down slightly to catch her eyes. “Look at me while you say it.” His tone coated December in goosebumps. When she brought her gaze up to meet his, he doubled down, “Tell me you want it.”

This didn’t even feel real to her. “I want it.”

“Perfect.” He finally kissed her before lifting her away from the door, their lips barely parting as he carried her to his room.

17 notes · View notes