Fire Emblem Guys, Gals, and NonBinary Pals x Reader Oneshots

The Snow Did Fall, And It Reminded Me Of You [Linhardt x Husband!Reader]

I'm really gay for Linhardt. Like, REALLY really gay. He's smart and pretty and I wanna cuddle him and watch him sleep, playing with his hair. Don't judge me, okay?

STORYTIME!

Linhardt smiled as a blanket was draped over his shoulders. Did he fall asleep in the windowsill again? And when did this warm cup of Assam Black Tea get here? With a smile and droopy eyelids, Linhardt lifted his head and turned it slightly over to see you startled at his sudden movement. You must've assumed he was out like a candlelight, didn't you? It was a safe assumption. Linhardt just so happened to wake up this time.

"Did the Snow fall, Lin?"

"Oh yes, it did just before I drifted off into another nap. It reminded me of you, actually."

"Oh, how so?"

Linhardt took the warm cup into his hands. It felt really nice to have the cold in his fingertips. As the Imperial Army captured the entirety of Fódlan, that meant the former Kingdom and Alliance were also part of the empire. You and Linhardt lived in the area that used to be the kingdom, the northernmost seasonal area. Cold winters, warm summers, it was a very nice temperate zone. The winter was just about beginning, and Linhardt always likes to watch the first snow. It's a welcome break from his crest studies.

"Well it's comforting for starters. A light, slow blanket of snow covering the ground. It's very gentle, like how you are very gentle."

"Gentle, hmm? I suppose I can be gentle. I just don't like hurting others, especially the ones I love more than anything."

"Again, it reminded me perfectly of you."

Linhardt laughed quietly to himself. You were quite the modest man. Modest, considerate, gentle, and a total doormat. You always gave in to Linhardt's requests unless it was against your morals. It was quite a shock to beleive that you used to be quite the strong axeman and wyvern lord during the war. Someone so powerful and intimidating ended up being such a softie Ho just wanted to be loved. Your story intrigued Linhardt, the contradiction between appearance and personality. Linhardt never gets bored of you.

Oh, that reminds him. You were also quite the storyteller, weren't you? You had Lysithea and Ashe shaking in their boots from your ghost stories and you had even Shamir smiling at the cute cliche romance stories you came up with on the fly. Linhardt took a long sip of the tea you prepared just for him, the tea being far too bitter for your taste, and he set the cup down on the windowsill. The Snow wasn't falling, but a blanket of it covered the ground and glistened a sparkly white.

"Hey Darling? Tell me a story."

"A story? Alright, I guess I could do that. What kind of story?"

You sat down next to him, Linhardt lifting his arm to get you under the blanket. You were much taller and broader than him, so you had to do most of the work to get the long, woven blanket over your shoulders as well as his. You both got nice and cozy under the blanket right in front of the window. The glass was cold, but it was still warm inside with the blanket over the two of you.  It's nice to just relax and admire the little things from afar. Now you have all the time in the world to do just that.

"The cheesiest, clichéist, sickeningly sweetest romance story you could ever think of."

"Wow, you haven't asked for something like that in a while. Is there any particular reason why you want that sort of story?"

"The Snow did fall, and it reminded me of you."

He gave you the vaguest answer he could. He just felt like being clingy and sappy today for no apparent reason. He's been enveloped in research with his latest breakthrough involving the Four Saints and the Lost Bloodlines. It all ties back to the Red Canyon Tragedy. But Linhardt took a break when he identified a few of the Lost Bloodline Crests. He wanted attention. He wanted affection. He wanted to be loved. He wanted to be a clingy little bastard. Linhardt rested his head on your shoulder, closing his eyes and ready to imagine whatever story you were going to tell. Your stories were always magnificent, like novels spilling their words into the air, demanding to be listened to.