You never planned to catch feelings for someone you’d never met. It started casually...just text messages between two people orbiting the same digital space. At first, the conversations were light, but slowly, without you realizing it, they deepened. You talked about life, dreams, children. He mentioned wanting to get married someday, to have kids. He never said it was with you, but the words were there, soft enough to dream on.
Somehow, without ever hearing his voice or feeling his presence, you began to fall. He was kind, consistent, and comfortable to talk to. There was something magnetic about how your conversations made you feel seen...understood, even. So, when he told you he felt comfortable with you too, that he didn’t feel awkward or guarded, it meant something. A lot, actually.
But still, there were lines. He said he couldn’t like you, not because of who you are, but because of where you are. Distance. That one word became a wall between what could be and what simply wasn’t allowed to happen. He made it clear: he doesn’t do long-distance. And even though that truth hurt, you tried to accept it. You held onto whatever version of closeness he still offered, likes on your posts, familiar responses in chat, fragments of intimacy carved into the space where a deeper connection could have grown.
You told him the truth. That you liked him. Maybe even more than liked. And he responded with uncertainty-not rejection, but not acceptance either. He didn’t tell you to go, but he didn’t ask you to stay.
So you tried to give him something soft, something loving. You said it was okay. That you were happy to be in his life, even as a friend. And again, silence. Or confusion. “I don’t know how to respond to that,” he said. Not cruel. Just… distant. Always distant.
Still, you hoped for clarity. You wondered if maybe, subconsciously, he wanted you too. Maybe there was something in the way he dreamed of you, hugged you in his sleep, introduced you to people who mattered in his mind. But the dreams weren’t followed by actions. The words weren’t backed by change. And you kept waiting for something more than what he was willing to give.
You considered leaving-deleting the app, walking away silently-but part of you wanted to say goodbye first. Not just a “see you,” but a real goodbye that let him know you had loved talking to him. That you’d held feelings. That you were letting go, not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. You wrote it with care, with grace. You hinted at everything without spelling it out.
And he didn’t respond.
You stared at your screen, watching your words drift into silence. No reply. Just another like on a drawing. Maybe a heart on a photo of your dog. These tiny gestures that meant nothing compared to what you had just poured out.
That silence echoed. It made you wonder if you ever mattered, or if the whole thing was a convenient illusion for him. You began to believe that maybe all the kindness was just politeness, and all the comfort you felt was one-sided.
So now you sit in the aftermath, wondering how to stop thinking about someone who never even held your hand. You wonder how to “unlike” him in your heart. You ask yourself if you were foolish, or just hopeful. If you mistook crumbs for affection. You ask if he lied, but the truth is… he didn’t need to. He just never chose you. And not choosing you still hurts, even if it's done gently.
You’re left with your teaching units to finish, dreams of working in Japan, and a heart that’s tired of waiting for people who don’t choose it back. You don’t hate him. You just wish he would have loved you the way you were willing to love him...despite the miles, despite the odds.
The house was still...too still. Not just quiet, but hollow, like a shell once filled with life but long since abandoned by it.
He had tried to survive.
He really did.
He endured the nights that never ended, the memories that cut deep, the sound of laughter that haunted the walls. He carried the weight of two lost lives every day, every hour, every breath. Until one night, with trembling hands and a heart too heavy to carry alone, he gave in.
He didn't leave a note. What was the point? The world had already taken everything from him.
He closed his eyes, surrounded by darkness, expecting nothing.
But then-
Warmth.
A soft breeze. The smell of sunlight filtering through curtains. The weight of a comforter.
He jolted upright, breath ragged.
Alive?
His chest was rising and falling rapidly. His hands were whole. He was in bed. Their bed. Everything felt too real. Too vivid to be a dream, yet too impossible to be true.
Then he turned his head.
The space beside him. empty.
Just like before.
His heart dropped. A cold dread shot through his body as he reached out, only to touch cold, wrinkled sheets. “No,” he gasped. “No, not again…”
He threw the covers off, stumbling out of bed.
His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”
But then-
Clanging.
Pots and pans. The soft hum of a voice. Something burning.
He froze.
The kitchen.
He moved, half-sprinting down the hall. Each step was a lifetime. Every breath was a war between hope and fear. His mind screamed this wasn’t real-but he saw her.
Standing by the stove. Hair pulled into a lazy bun. Humming tunelessly, swaying slightly as she flipped over pancakes, her swollen belly visible beneath the thin fabric of his oversized shirt.
Pregnant. Heavily.
The child, still inside her.
She turned at the sound of his frantic footsteps. “Oh! Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, smiling. That smile. The one that once healed him, shattered him, and now glued him back together.
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.
She blinked, confused. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked, hurrying over as fast as her heavy steps allowed. She knelt before him with effort, placing her hands on his cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
He grasped her face like she might vanish if he let go. “You’re real,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’re alive.”
She gave a soft laugh, brushing tears off his cheeks with her thumbs. “Of course I’m real. What kind of question is that?”
He pulled her into him, resting his forehead against her belly. The round, warm curve of it felt real. The heartbeat inside,alive. “I thought I lost you,” he choked.
“You didn’t,” she said, voice calm. “We’re right here.”
She kissed the top of his head, then gently helped him back up.
She guided him to the kitchen table. His legs were still trembling, but she made sure he sat, placing a warm cup of tea in his shaking hands.
“You had a bad dream again, huh?” she asked softly, placing a plate of burnt pancakes in front of him with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Blame the little one for distracting me. They’ve been extra kicky today.”
His eyes never left her.
Her movements. Her voice. The small grunts of effort. The way she spoke to the child in her womb like they were already here.
His mind screamed that it wasn’t possible.
That he had died.
That this was some cruel trick of the afterlife or worse, a hallucination before fading away completely.
But the warmth of the tea. The sound of the baby kicking. The aroma of breakfast and burnt batter. Her laugh-they were all real.
Or felt that way.
He had another chance.
He didn't understand how.
He didn't care.
But something in his chest twisted, knotted with dread. He’d seen this play out before. The growing belly. The excitement. The nursery. The night she wasn’t in bed.
He knew what came next.
This wasn’t just a dream. This was a warning.
His jaw clenched.
He couldn’t let it happen again.
Not again.
From that day on, something in him changed.
He didn’t tell her what he’d seen. How could he? He didn’t want to scare her. She was glowing with joy, preparing for a future he wasn’t sure they’d reach.
But he watched. He listened. He never left her side.
He installed extra locks on the doors. He made sure her phone was always charged. He memorized every emergency number. He learned how to deliver a baby at home, just in case. He kept notes, tracked her every symptom, every movement, every meal.
She laughed at first, telling him he was overreacting. “You’re acting like I’m made of glass.”
But he would only respond with a smile and, “I just want to be ready.”
He didn’t sleep much. He sat by her bedside, watching her breathe. Every twitch, every sigh made his stomach twist.
One night, she stirred and caught him staring.
“You’re worried again, aren’t you?”
He nodded slowly.
She reached out, placing his hand on her belly. The baby kicked.
“You feel that?” she asked with a small smile. “That’s our future.”
His throat closed.
But the words that slipped from him were soft, terrified: “I’m scared I won’t be enough.”
She shook her head. “You’re everything.”
He swallowed hard, forcing down the tears.
But deep inside, paranoia dug its roots. Every day brought him closer to a moment he remembered too clearly. The birth. The hospital. The silence.
The house was still...too still. Not just quiet, but hollow, like a shell once filled with life but long since abandoned by it.
He had tried to survive.
He really did.
He endured the nights that never ended, the memories that cut deep, the sound of laughter that haunted the walls. He carried the weight of two lost lives every day, every hour, every breath. Until one night, with trembling hands and a heart too heavy to carry alone, he gave in.
He didn't leave a note. What was the point? The world had already taken everything from him.
He closed his eyes, surrounded by darkness, expecting nothing.
But then-
Warmth.
A soft breeze. The smell of sunlight filtering through curtains. The weight of a comforter.
He jolted upright, breath ragged.
Alive?
His chest was rising and falling rapidly. His hands were whole. He was in bed. Their bed. Everything felt too real. Too vivid to be a dream, yet too impossible to be true.
Then he turned his head.
The space beside him. empty.
Just like before.
His heart dropped. A cold dread shot through his body as he reached out, only to touch cold, wrinkled sheets. “No,” he gasped. “No, not again…”
He threw the covers off, stumbling out of bed.
His voice cracked. “Where are you?!”
But then-
Clanging.
Pots and pans. The soft hum of a voice. Something burning.
He froze.
The kitchen.
He moved, half-sprinting down the hall. Each step was a lifetime. Every breath was a war between hope and fear. His mind screamed this wasn’t real-but he saw her.
Standing by the stove. Hair pulled into a lazy bun. Humming tunelessly, swaying slightly as she flipped over pancakes, her swollen belly visible beneath the thin fabric of his oversized shirt.
Pregnant. Heavily.
The child, still inside her.
She turned at the sound of his frantic footsteps. “Oh! Morning, sleepyhead,” she said, smiling. That smile. The one that once healed him, shattered him, and now glued him back together.
He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.
His legs gave out, and he collapsed to his knees.
She blinked, confused. “Hey, are you okay?” she asked, hurrying over as fast as her heavy steps allowed. She knelt before him with effort, placing her hands on his cheeks. “What’s wrong?”
He grasped her face like she might vanish if he let go. “You’re real,” he whispered, voice cracking. “You’re alive.”
She gave a soft laugh, brushing tears off his cheeks with her thumbs. “Of course I’m real. What kind of question is that?”
He pulled her into him, resting his forehead against her belly. The round, warm curve of it felt real. The heartbeat inside,alive. “I thought I lost you,” he choked.
“You didn’t,” she said, voice calm. “We’re right here.”
She kissed the top of his head, then gently helped him back up.
She guided him to the kitchen table. His legs were still trembling, but she made sure he sat, placing a warm cup of tea in his shaking hands.
“You had a bad dream again, huh?” she asked softly, placing a plate of burnt pancakes in front of him with an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Blame the little one for distracting me. They’ve been extra kicky today.”
His eyes never left her.
Her movements. Her voice. The small grunts of effort. The way she spoke to the child in her womb like they were already here.
His mind screamed that it wasn’t possible.
That he had died.
That this was some cruel trick of the afterlife or worse, a hallucination before fading away completely.
But the warmth of the tea. The sound of the baby kicking. The aroma of breakfast and burnt batter. Her laugh-they were all real.
Or felt that way.
He had another chance.
He didn't understand how.
He didn't care.
But something in his chest twisted, knotted with dread. He’d seen this play out before. The growing belly. The excitement. The nursery. The night she wasn’t in bed.
He knew what came next.
This wasn’t just a dream. This was a warning.
His jaw clenched.
He couldn’t let it happen again.
Not again.
From that day on, something in him changed.
He didn’t tell her what he’d seen. How could he? He didn’t want to scare her. She was glowing with joy, preparing for a future he wasn’t sure they’d reach.
But he watched. He listened. He never left her side.
He installed extra locks on the doors. He made sure her phone was always charged. He memorized every emergency number. He learned how to deliver a baby at home, just in case. He kept notes, tracked her every symptom, every movement, every meal.
She laughed at first, telling him he was overreacting. “You’re acting like I’m made of glass.”
But he would only respond with a smile and, “I just want to be ready.”
He didn’t sleep much. He sat by her bedside, watching her breathe. Every twitch, every sigh made his stomach twist.
One night, she stirred and caught him staring.
“You’re worried again, aren’t you?”
He nodded slowly.
She reached out, placing his hand on her belly. The baby kicked.
“You feel that?” she asked with a small smile. “That’s our future.”
His throat closed.
But the words that slipped from him were soft, terrified: “I’m scared I won’t be enough.”
She shook her head. “You’re everything.”
He swallowed hard, forcing down the tears.
But deep inside, paranoia dug its roots. Every day brought him closer to a moment he remembered too clearly. The birth. The hospital. The silence.
Continuation to that Genshin men x pregnant female reader
The house had grown quieter with time, not in peace, but in absence. Every sound that once belonged there, soft laughter, tiny footsteps, midnight cries,had long faded into memory.
A full year had passed since the day the rain refused to stop and the ground took in the person who once made life feel full. A year since a fragile child was placed into tired arms, the only piece left of love now buried. A year of learning to be both mother and father. A year of breaking and rebuilding. A year of enduring.
And then came the sickness.
It began as a cough, soft and occasional. Then came the fever. The labored breaths. The panic. The helplessness.
Hospitals had always been terrifying...more so now. White walls. Cold air. Machines that hummed indifferently while a tiny body lay still, fighting. He held those small fingers in his, watching the rise and fall of a chest that seemed to struggle for every breath.
He had whispered promises.
“You’ll get better.”
“You’re strong.”
“You can’t leave, not you too.”
But hope began to rot in his chest like something spoiled. The smiles from nurses were forced. The looks from doctors...careful. Hesitant.
“We’ll try everything,” they said.
They always say that.
The beeping slowed.
Then stopped.
The silence that followed wasn’t new. He’d known it once before, when love slipped from his hands like sand. But this one...this one shattered what was left.
He held the small, lifeless body. Rocked it. Begged.
“You’re just sleeping, right?”
“I’m here. I’m still here…”
No one answered.
He buried the child beside the one he had once shared a life with.
Two graves.
Two losses.
Too much.
He stood there under the heavy rain, no umbrella this time. He wanted to feel it all, every cold drop, every shiver, every ache that came with it. The wind howled like a grieving mother. The storm seemed endless.
Everyone else had gone. The concerned few stayed behind just long enough to make sure he didn’t collapse. But eventually, even they left. All that remained was him and the graves.
He knelt between them, soaked and trembling, running his hand across the carved stone.
“I did everything I could,” he whispered. “I loved her. I loved both of you.”
His voice broke.
“I was all she had. And I still wasn’t enough.”
His throat burned from crying. But the tears came anyway.
“I don’t know how to keep going.”
He closed his eyes, trying to remember warmth, laughter, softness. The way the baby used to wrap her fingers around one of his. The way her tiny body fit perfectly against his chest. The way she smiled...just like the one who gave birth to her.
All of it, gone.
The nursery was untouched, just as it had been the day she left it. The toys, the clothes, the soft scent of baby powder. Everything sat in waiting, quiet and cruel.
He sat in the rocking chair that was once his refuge during sleepless nights. This time, there was no bundle to hold. Just silence. Just arms aching for something they would never carry again.
The pain wasn’t loud anymore. It was a steady, crushing weight. Not sharp, deep, like drowning without water. Like screaming without sound.
He sat there until morning, blanket clutched against his chest, rocking slowly.
And when the sun finally rose, casting light through the window and across the empty crib, it felt wrong.
There should have been cries.
There should have been life.
But there was only one heartbeat in that house now.
One heartbeat.
And too much silence.
SUBJECT TO CHANGE
I honestly dont remember what happened in the prervious fic
I've requested someone with this but I forgot who they were I didn't want to forget the idea so I'll just post it, it went something with-
Tighnari have you as his cute girlfriend he couldn't help but kiss you whenever you're in his line of sight. You have the softest and squishiest cheeks. He would squish your cheeks together and kiss your puckered lips. Even when you try to get away from him he just won't let you. You're just so damn cute he couldn't resist pouncing on you with a hug and pepper your face with kisses. You try to resist from his grip but Tighnari will not just let you go.
When it's just the two of you alone he would sometimes nip on your cheek it's just so soft. He would nestle his face on your neck tickling you with his kisses his tail swooshing left and right.
Whenever you're in a meeting or when everyone is all gathered together he would be behind you his chin resting on your head ( You're shorter than him) His arms wrapped around your waist protectively. He's doing that because last time he wasn't there someone tried to flirt with you so now he follows you wherever he goes, you don't mind it though, you both have the same schedules and usually it's you that follows him.
He sees you hugging his potential rival he would glare at them and drag you with him, away from the person who you have no romantic feelings for. It's not that Tighnari doesn't trust you, he doesn't trust anyone who he thinks is a rival. His instincts automatically says 'competitor' or that someone is trying to challenge and take his 'mate' which was you.
You scold him for scaring away your friend, you see his ears and tail droop down while you scold him. You sigh and tell him you're only for him while you hold his hands and kissing his nose to which his ears immediately shot up and got his tail wagging.
When it's time for napping or cuddling he would be the big spoon in the relationship. People would sometimes see you in between Tighnari's legs your back pressed against him while he has his arms wrap around your torso preventing you from moving away. He has his head placed either on your shoulder or your head and whenever he wakes up or feels like it he would kiss your neck to your cheek he would even hold and intertwine your hands and move it towards him then kisses it. You kiss him back on the lips too, he deserves it.
Anybody knows any more Albedo x reader series besides Drink Me Potion cuz i just finished reading it and i am craving for more Albedo. PLEASE PLEASE TELL ME
Mythological beings aren’t supposed to exist. Well, that’s what you thought until you’re saved by the one you’ve known about since childhood.
Tighnari/You
Notes:
Cross-posted on Ao3
Gender neutral reader
As soon as you saw your grandparents on the train platform, you almost drop your luggage to give them a hug. You left your cozy home in the countryside for a career in the big city. Your life got so busy that this year is the first time you’ve returned home in a long while.
Your grandparents take turns giving you a hug as your grandma says, "It's so good to see you, child."
“You have no idea how good it is to be back,” you say, returning their tight hug.
On the way back, you gave an update on what’s happening in your life, including switching careers and a move to a new apartment. You also told them about ending a relationship that you thought would end in a happily ever after.
As soon as you enter the small home, you notice a familiar sketchbook on the coffee table. You put your luggage aside and walk up to it.
“Did you forget?” your grandpa asks, closing the door behind him. “It’s your old sketchbook! I found it while I was cleaning the attic.”
You open it and flip through all of your old, crazy doodles. You had a crazy imagination back then, acknowledged by others in the community when they saw what you were drawing. When you flip the page, you stay on this one longer than the others: a drawing of a man with fair skin, chin-length dark green hair, pale pupils, and large, pointy black ears.
Your grandma looks over your shoulder and smiles. “Do you still remember him?”
You do. This is no ordinary… man if that's what you want to call him. Your grandparents entertained you with a mythological story of a young, cool forest ranger who protected the village's forests and mountains. And… you swore you met him once upon a time.
You were a teenager when you got a bad sprain in the woods. You had walked up to a certain point, but the pain was so unbearable that you couldn't walk without falling every two steps. The skies began to darken; a thick fog began to form. Your cell phone was getting no reception.
“Hello!” you yelled. “Is anybody there?” Then, a small sniffle. “Please…”
“Don’t be scared.”
You quickly turned around at the voice. A man with chin-length dark green hair and pale pupils stood behind you. But it was the large, pointy black ears that made your jaw drop.
Hang on. Where had you seen this man before?
He suddenly appeared in front of you, and you quickly turned back.
“How did you do that?”
He gave you a small smile. “A secret.”
Then, he got down on a knee and started examining your ankle. Soon, he started putting medicine on it, which instantly made the pain go away.
“How… what did you do?”
He didn’t answer you. Instead, he turned around and looked over his shoulder. “Get on.”
“Huh? But… I can walk now.”
"That medicine only takes away the pain for a short time. The effect deteriorates the more you walk." He had a kind look in his eyes. "I'll take you back to the outskirts of the village. From there, the medicine should last you until you get home."
And that was how you ended up on the back of a complete stranger who safely took you out of the forest and only gave his name as the Forest Ranger.
When you told your friends about it, they didn't believe you. There was no man like that in the village. Not real, at least.
"You were saved by the Ranger!" they would joke.
Soon, you started giving this ranger more life by drawing him in your sketchbook and notebooks. He became a person you constantly thought of… until you moved away. But even then, when you drew to relieve stress, you'd be reminded of him… almost as if he's looking out for you.
After putting away some of your luggage, you flop onto your bed for a quick nap. It doesn't take you long to get some much-needed shut-eye. Until you hear a faint voice, that is.
“Welcome back.”
Your eyes open, and you quickly sit up. Of course, it's just you in your room. Your grandparents are out.
Maybe you’re imagining things.
You change into comfortable outdoor clothes and send a quick text to your grandparents that you're heading out for a walk. You have to take advantage of the good weather. Not too hot. Not too cold.
As you get further into the outskirts of the village, you're a little surprised that everything has stayed almost exactly the same since you left, where it feels like there's a new road being built in the city every month.
You’re eventually on a forest path you love taking as a kid. You aren’t sure how long you’ve been hiking, so you take out your phone to check the time. Yet, the first thing you notice is that you have no signal. Huh. That’s strange.
One drop.
Two drops.
You look up and see that the clouds have slightly darkened. Soon, it starts to rain.
You immediately turn back, hurrying along the forest path to return to the house as it rains harder. However, due to a thickening fog, you trip on a small, protruded tree root. You grab the nearest branch to keep yourself from falling, but you wince in pain. You quickly let go and notice the blisters on your hands.
Is it just you, or is the way back taking much longer than you anticipated?
When you look up, you see something glowing in the fog. You head towards it, thinking it might be a sign that you’re getting closer to the village. Except when you get closer, you see a lone, small cabin.
Since when did someone build a cabin in these woods?
When you hear thunder, you quickly walk to it and knock on the door. You're about to yell when the door mysteriously creaks open.
Well, that’s not suspicious at all.
“H-hello…?”
When you enter the cabin, you immediately feel your body warming up. Perhaps it’s the fire crackling loudly in the fireplace. There’s barely any decor, only the necessities. Who in the world lives here?
“So, you’ve finally come.”
You spin around at the unfamiliar, calm male voice. A man who looks eerily familiar with his large black, pointy ears and chin-length dark green hair stands at the closed doorway.
“Who… who are you?” you ask.
The man smiles at you. “The Forest Ranger. Don’t tell me you forgot about me.”
The… Forest Ranger? Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute.
You open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Then, he chuckles. "You're drenched. Let's get you out of those clothes."
You look down but quickly hug yourself. “Excuse me?”
“I… don’t think you’re comfortable wearing wet clothes.” He walks toward you, and you take a step back.
“I don’t even know who you are or where I am. I—”
“This is my home.”
Again, you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. What the heck is going on?
“You told stories about me,” the man continues. Then, a small smile. “The young, friendly forest ranger who patrols the woods and the mountains, ensuring safety to those who need it.”
Your jaw drops.
“W-wait a minute!” You hold up two hands. “If I’m understanding this correctly, you… you aren’t… you aren’t supposed to exist!”
He extends his hand. You look at it and back to him and see a friendly smile. “Why not see for yourself?”
You hesitate to take it but eventually reach out. As soon as you take his hand, he pulls you toward him. Now, one hand is in his, and the other is near his shoulder.
“...What do you think?” he whispers in your ear. “If I wasn’t real, could you touch me like you are right now?”
Your eyes widen, and you quickly step back.
“I, um, this is…”
“I’ll get some clean clothes for you.”
Of course, it's his clothes. Well, at least you think they are. They're all too big on you, but it's better than staying in your wet clothes. Your hair is slightly damp from your warm shower, and a towel is draped around your shoulders when you head downstairs and smell something good. Before you reach the kitchen, you see your phone on the table. You pick it up. Still no reception.
“You look much more relaxed.” You turn and watch him put a plate of hot food on the table.
You put your phone down. “Where are my clothes?”
“In the wash,” he says with a small smile. “I’ll put them out to dry once they’re done.” You look out the window. The thick fog is still there. “Won’t you join me for dinner?”
You sit across from him, not taking your eyes off this mysterious man. “How long have you been living here?”
“...A very long time.”
“How long… exactly.”
His eyes meet yours. “If I say thousands of years, would you believe me?”
You slightly narrow your eyes. “Stop messing around.”
“I’m not.”
Your stomach growls loudly, and you slightly blush while he chuckles.
“Shall we eat?” he asks. You look at the food. Then, as if reading your mind, he says, “I promise I didn’t do anything to it.”
“...That’s what they all say,” you mutter.
Your stomach growls again just as he starts digging in. After a short while of watching him eat, you finally start eating. Your eyes occasionally meet his, and you quickly look away out of embarrassment.
“I’m sure you have many questions.”
“I don’t know if I should ask if you’re going to give me half-assed answers.”
He looks at you, puzzled. “Half-assed? I would never give you a half-assed answer.”
You put your bowl down. “Then tell me who you really are. Or are you some illegal fugitive?”
“I thought giving my name as the Forest Ranger would make you more at ease. But… my name is Tighnari. And I stand by what I said before. I am a forest ranger who patrols the forests and mountains.”
“So you do have a name.”
“You’ve always called me the Forest Ranger. I was curious as to what name you would give me.”
You scoff. “So… you’re saying that I, what? I brought you to life? We aren’t in a fictional tale.”
"You did not bring me to life, but you know about my story. Your grandparents were the ones who told you about me. You built upon my story and added fictional elements. You gave me an intriguing and interesting adventure throughout the years."
You might as well play along with this seemingly ridiculous scenario that you’re talking to a mythological being.
“How do you know about me?”
“I know everyone who lives in the village. I am its protector. So, of course, I would know about you.”
That is the same description your grandparents gave you about the Forest Ranger. The best analogy you can give is that he’s like… a God watching over the people.
“...You watch over the people of the village. Then… what do you do when they leave?”
“Just like how you left for the big city?”
“...Do I want to know how you know that?”
Tighnari smiles. “I know everyone who comes and goes. But you… You've always dreamed of something bigger than this village can offer you.”
Huh… that’s a response you’re not expecting.
"You have a vivid imagination and dream of accomplishing something big with your life. You love the village, but you knew you had to give up something to gain something in return. You didn't want your sacrifice to go to waste, so you're determined to make it in the big city." He looks you in the eyes. "Am I wrong?"
The scary part is that he’s not, and you don’t want to admit it.
Tighnari smiles and stands. “Come. Let me show you something.”
You don’t question it and follow him.
In another part of the cabin, Tighnari shows you a large collection of well… close to everything. There are portraits on the wall. Plants, leaves, and other nature-like items are enclosed in glass cases. You walk up to a portrait that’s in black and white.
“That’s my ancestor,” he says.
“You look very similar.”
“...Perhaps not just in appearance.”
You turn around. “What do you mean?”
Tighnari comes up beside you. “...He was also a protector. Not of this village but another. He committed a great sin.”
“...Sin?”
Tighnari looks you in the eyes. “...Yes. He fell in love with a human.”
You can't look away, and you have no idea why. But it's scaring you more that you don't want to look away.
“I… I see,” you finally say and turn back to the portrait. “...May I ask what happened to him?”
"He was stripped of his status, banished from the world of the Gods. He became a human, which in their eyes, is a tainted soul."
“Well, I don’t know if I would want to be a God either,” you muse. A slight sarcastic laugh. “But being a human isn’t… exactly better.”
“Yes. However… I envy humans in one aspect.”
“Enlighten me.”
Tighnari steps toward you and puts a hand on your cheek.
"They are free to express their emotions." He leans in, and just before his lips meet yours, he looks at you. "...May I?"
Where did this adrenaline come from? Your lips meet his in an honest kiss until it takes an expected turn. His hand slides along your jawline and neck; your bodies are eventually flushed against each other. Eventually, his hand finds its way into your hair, and the slight tug unexpectedly makes your emotions run wild. His lips are soft, skilled, and… welcoming. You aren't expecting such a calm yet eager reception. It's as if he's holding back. You can feel it.
Tighnari has you against a wall, your mouths engaging in a passionate decree that makes you lose all sense of time and space. Until…
“I’ll come back to visit soon,” you said.
You stood on the train platform with your luggage beside you. Your grandparents gave you a tight tug and wished you a safe trip to the city. It was going to be your first time away from home, and they were worried as much as the next parent. But they knew that once you set your mind on something, you wouldn’t turn back.
Your grandma handed you an envelope. “This came for you this morning.”
There was no sender. Just your name in cursive.
You opened the envelope on the train, expecting a letter. But all there was was a simple sentence: Be safe.
You looked in the envelope and saw a red rose.
You pull away, short of breath, as you stare into Tighnari’s eyes.
“You…”
As if a little embarrassed, he looks away, a visible blush on his cheeks. “I’ve always found you fascinating,” he shyly admits. “I… mean this in the best way possible. I’ve only wanted to look out for you like I do with everyone else, but you’ve captured my heart in ways I cannot explain.”
“The letter,” you say softly. “It was from you.”
Tighnari finally looks at you. “...Yes.”
Now, it’s finally your turn to smile. “...A man of a few words. I like that.”
And then you kiss him again, and he returns it wholeheartedly.
◆◆◆
The next time you open your eyes, you’re lying on your bed. You immediately sit up. You’re in your room as if you went back in time. You gently touch your lips, and the vivid memory of you kissing Tighnari comes flooding back. You look down. You’re no longer dressed in his clothes but yours.
You head outside and see that it's no longer raining. The skies have cleared, and the sun is shining brightly.
You hear your grandpa call your name, and you turn to see him approaching you on his bike.
“You’re up! Did you have a good nap?”
“...Was I asleep this whole time?”
"I tried waking you, but you just wouldn't budge. The ride here must've really knocked you out."
“I went out for a walk,” you say. “I texted you and Grandma.”
“You did?” He pulls out his phone. “I… didn’t get anything.”
That’s impossible. You know you texted them. You know you went into the woods. You know you met Tighnari.
"I went into the woods, and it started raining—"
Your grandpa laughs. “Are you sure you’re okay, child? I don’t know if you’ve been out for a walk, but it’s been sunny all day.”
“...But the fog—”
“Come, child. Let’s get you something to eat. Maybe you’re too hungry.”
But you aren’t.
Regardless, you head back into the house and see an envelope on the table. You pick it up and see your name written in cursive.
Your heart starts racing. It isn’t a dream. Right?
The letter inside has only one sentence: I'll visit soon.
Then, just as you pull the red rose out of the envelope, your grandpa asks, “Oh? Who’s that from?”
“...The Forest Ranger?" you say with a slight smile. "Perhaps he's welcoming me home."
End notes: I don't normally do requests, but I had an idea for a Tighnari oneshot which I said I would do for @whorerificstuff. I was close to turning this into a smut piece, but I felt like that would be too... fast? LOL
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