summary 𝜗𝜚 march is worried about you getting cold. march x fem!reader (no use of y/n.) genre fluff, established relationship. cw not proofread. wc 0.8k
note from zanna requested here. such a cute lil idea tsundere boys pretending like they don't care but they actually care the most.
Sweat builds on March's forehead, even as the sky releases countless snowflakes to float down to the ground, decorating the rooftops of Mistria with bright white blankets. Working in the winter is inconvenient. He never knows whether to bundle up or keep to short sleeves like usual. After ten minutes in front of the forge, he's more than warm. Five minutes with his hammer and he works up a sweat. While the rest of the villagers put on their warmest coats, March is left pretending it's still summer.
He's gotten used to the irony of it all. Perhaps his entire life is a paradox. Every opinion he has gets flipped on its head and every expectation he has turns out to become the opposite with time. Ten months ago, he would never have believed he would fall in love with the girl he was convinced was sent purely to ruin his life.
He wasn't pleased with your arrival into Mistria. You started picking up the tasks that used to be his like they were candy, completing them with almost unreal speed and determination. It pissed him off at first, and he didn't try to hide it. But they say there's a fine line between hatred and love. He's not sure when he stepped over.
All he knows now is that he's extremely happy things turned out like this. He'd never given much thought to dating prior to your arrival, and he's sure he has a long way to go before he can be the perfect boyfriend, especially with the rough start and ugly first impression. But March would say you two are going strong right now, and everything about it is addicting.
He loves when you stop by the forge. He pretends not to notice you watching him, but still flexes his muscles a little extra just for your eyes. He's stuck on the sound of your laughter and your stunning smile that can truly light up the whole room. It's no surprise that you're popular with everyone in town, and sometimes March feels guilty for being so stubborn to come around at the beginning. But he can confidently say now that while you might be beloved by all of Mistria, he loves you the most.
He knows no one is fighting for his position as your boyfriend, but that doesn't stop him from feeling possessive and proud. He loves to subtly brag—about you, your talents, and how much of your time is devoted to him. There's no one else who can say they've tasted your lips, felt your fingers card through their hair late at night while cuddling, or been the recipient of your most thoughtful gifts.
Over time, you've given him quite the run for his money. You're a natural blacksmith; something he once felt disdain towards, but now loves with his whole heart. He will never forget when you gave him his promise ring, dainty silver that shimmers in the light, delicately carved and designed with only the most detailed hand. He's never taken it off, and he hopes it'll continue to live on his finger for the rest of his live.
The snow has been picking up since the temperature drop nearing sundown. By now, it's hovering a little above freezing and getting quite late. March tidies up his current projects, and wipes the forge clean, finishing up just as you're coming back from the mines northwest of town.
Similar to him, you don't seem very dressed for the weather. You're in your usual mining attire, consisting of protective, easy-to-move-in gear, and he swears he catches you shiver. He can't help but ask when you walk up to him.
"Don't you have a coat?"
"Are you worried about me getting cold, March?" you ask, amused. You throw your arms around his neck and him down for a hug. His hands on your waist squeeze it gently in a practiced way, just like he always does.
"'m not—just think you didn't plan very well," he defends, resting his warm cheek against your cold one. You both know that's a lie. March always worries about you, even if it isn't necessary. He's conditioned himself to ignore the cuts and bruises he finds littering your skin after every mining trip. You always seem just fine the next day, and ensure him that you would never pass out on him.
"I wouldn't call stepping around lava a sweater activity. The inn's only a ten minute walk. It won't kill me."
"Stick close to me," March insists, pulling your hand along to start walking. You roll your eyes with a slight chuckle.
"Alright. If it'll make you feel better."
He says nothing, but his grip on your hand tightening slightly is answer enough.
