#fire emblem is so funny yet difficult to write when it comes to confessions bc canonly the game is like

[seraphiism]

𓆩 ღ 𓆪 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬, 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

( my dear, i will always be this tender for you. )

chara : m!byleth fandom : fire emblem: 3 houses quote cr : sanober khan a/n : reader is also a professor! thank you for the comm :^)

i. the transition from mercenary to professor is certainly not an easy one, byleth recalls, memories of previous months at the academy blurred and faded to black. how drastically his life changed, an isolated warrior who knew so little of a life outside battle suddenly responsible for the future and wellbeing of many. it is a heavy weight, this role, and surely he is not alone in this feeling.

that’s the hope, at least– but his typically neutral expression always says so little, no one even thinks to complain about their job in comparison to a professor that’s been thrown to the wolves. it doesn’t help that he has yet to witness anything but your calm demeanor as a fellow teacher; how envious he is at times, watching in curiosity as you offer advice for the tenth time to your students. whether it’s tutoring hours, lunch hours– there’s always someone running up to you in a panic, though you are quick to make it dissipate in a moment’s notice. 

byleth does not know much about dance or what it is like to be a dance professor, but he can only assume it is as difficult as it looks.

so that’s how he finds himself in your office, intentions fully focused on seeking advice until he does, in fact, realize that he is not the only teacher that seems more stressed than they let on. it is both humorous and mildly concerning, he thinks, watching you hurriedly organize scattered documents, mumbling frantically to yourself.

he wonders if he should come back at a better time, act like he didn’t see this for the sake of your pride. he tilts his head, clueless, contemplates his options for a few seconds, and loudly clears his throat.

“do you need help?”

you look up, match his gaze, and it is almost strange how quickly the stressed countenance turns into one of absolute relief at the mere sight of him. how embarrassing it is to be caught in such a manner.

“i’m always like this when it comes to lesson plans.” mildly distressed, you laugh ( slightly ) nervously and scratch your cheek. “if you have spare time, i’d really appreciate it.”

“what do you need?”

you wring your hands together, smile sheepishly as he raises a brow at you.

“let me teach you?”

byleth blinks once, twice. this is most certainly not what he expected, nor what he came for, but perhaps being a professor is not bad, after all.

( no, byleth does not know anything about dance, but for you, he is willing to learn. )

ii. so it turns out you’re always like that before each lecture. you can’t explain it, you tell him, sighing in defeat for the fifth time in two minutes. teaching? easy. preparing the lesson? terrible. horrid. you cannot imagine anything worse. there’s always a hint of self doubt that lurks in your mind, makes you wonder if you’re teaching these students adequately enough to help them in their future endeavors.

– which ultimately leads to byleth being your student of sorts ( you guess, which sounds kind of strange now that you think about it ). you can’t count how many times you’ve done a practice run of your seminars to him, and here you are now, hands on his shoulders, words gentle as you instruct him.

“how am i doing?”

between trying to evaluate yourself in the way you provide instruction and the repetitive sway of the dance, your thoughts drift elsewhere. the sound of his voice anchors you back to reality, eyes widening as you come back to focus, accidentally taking a minor misstep that ( unfortunately ) results in you stumbling right into the other. his arms wrap around you in secure hold, but only for a second before you’re scrambling to save what little dignity is left.

“so sorry.” you blurt out, clearing your throat and absentmindedly wiping the imaginary dust off your uniform. “i didn’t mean to– uh,” your face burns so much. you may as well be in the sun. on the sun, even. “you’re doing great.” you tell him in the most normal way possible. “i think you should probably teach me, actually.”

you sigh, bury your face in your hands as if it’d hide the shame. byleth doesn’t quite catch what you mumble, something about the gods punishing you, he’s not quite sure. there is a kind feeling that envelops him, instinctively brings the faintest of smiles to his lips. how amusing it is, seeing someone so normally composed so worked up.

softly does he call your name, but in your distress, it does not reach you. so instead, he steps forward, touch light as he pulls your hands away to reveal a flustered expression. his smile grows, and perhaps there is something all too endearing in this time you have spent together.

“you teach very well.” he tells you, his voice quiet yet warmer than you’ve ever heard it. “i admire you.”

( & when you resume the dance lesson, minds far too occupied with that moment of earnest, you almost think he holds you a little closer than before. )

iii. “something on your mind, kid?”

byleth has never been one to express his emotions openly, visage nearly a blank slate at most times. there are few who can understand him with such ease, and jeralt is proud to say he is one of the few. after all, what kind of father would he be if he couldn’t understand his own son?

there is a hesitation that adorns the professor’s countenance– the slightest furrow of the brow, a pursing of the lips ; rarely is it that he wields such a concerned expression, and rarely is it that there is anything that causes him to worry. jeralt stiffens, sits up a little straighter when he notices. there are too many things that could go wrong at the monastery– too many possibilities, too little time. what has happened? has his son been threatened? has someone–

“i think i am in love.”

( there are many times where byleth has frightened jeralt to the point where he believes he may have a heart attack. this is one of them. 

byleth does not think he has ever witnessed someone go through all the stages of grief simultaneously. )

iv. byleth has never really heard those typical life lectures from his father, but he is most certain that he triggered one. a very long one, actually, and he thinks he may or may not have zoned out during some of it. he supposes it might be a little shocking, seeking his father out for advice on a delicate topic. he has never been one to think about romance until recently– not until he began interacting with you more.

“you know,” you start, watching his form with both amusement and approval, “i don’t think you have to suffer through my seminars and dance practices anymore. you’ve got everything down.”

( and if you have to be honest, you’re surprised that you both became so invested in this, spending so much time together to improve each other as professors. )

“i enjoy it.”

with his hands on your hips and yours on his shoulders, you fall into the motions, all the right steps taken and memorized with absolute perfection. he has helped you immensely through this all– you’ve noticed that lesson planning goes much smoother as of late, although there are some occasions where he does catch you in a frenzy, hovering over your desk as if the next seminar may end your life.

“you like hearing me teach? or you like dancing with me?”

there’s a teasing tone to your words, a blithe smile resting on the curl of your lips. you don’t expect him to look at you so thoughtfully ; you may be overthinking when you see something different in those blue eyes, but you swallow hard, hold your breath instinctively. he feels reluctance claw at a still heart, but there is such a curious tenderness in the way you look at him that he cannot remain silent any longer.

“both. i would like you to be my partner, actually.”

you pause, almost stumble over your steps once again.

“your dance partner?”

you can almost hear the wheels turning in his head. he doesn’t have the slightest clue what a proper confession is, nor does he know how to go about it. he doesn’t think he’s ever felt such fear in his life.

“if you’d like.” he says slowly, contemplating his next words. “but i would like you to be my partner in general, as well. i–”

he reflects on his father’s advice, practically hears the echoes of his words. byleth has always been a straightforward individual, maybe too straightforward, so maybe now is not the time to–

“byleth?”

there is a sense of urgency in the way you call his name, catching him before he drifts off too much in musing. no, perhaps he should not start out with an ‘i love you.’ but maybe– 

no. he will keep it simple for now, take things slow.

“i am… very fond of you. i want to be with you.”

you want to think he’s joking, think that maybe claude thought it would be funny to set up such an elaborate prank on you, but there is nothing but genuine adoration in his eyes. you wonder if he can sense your reciprocation of such feelings.

“i want to be with you, too. i–” you pause, feel your face on the verge of exploding from the heat, “i’m also fond of you, byleth.”

the relief on his face is nearly palpable, shoulders lowering as he lets out a sigh. with a gentle smile, he welcomes you into his arms, holds you ever so tenderly as you bury your face in his chest, half in embarrassment, half in affection. the air is filled with peace, his embrace slowly lulling your heart to a calm. you think you could stay in this moment for years to come.

“lesson plans and confessions break your composure, i’ve noticed.”

you lied.

“shut up, byleth.”

( he kisses your temple gingerly, feels a strange sensation in his chest at the sound of your laughter. it almost feels like a beat, a quickening, this quiet knowing of a love that resides in a heart. )

#fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #byleth x reader #m!byleth #fire emblem three houses x reader #.: writing #.: commission #fire emblem is so funny yet difficult to write when it comes to confessions bc canonly the game is like #s rank: btw . i love you. wear this ring rn .