Oh my bad I forgot to add a prompt. Elf priest with a darling with low self esteem issues?
—anonymous
tw / tags: gn reader, confinement, depression, body insecurities, manipulation, nudity, general yandere theme, sfw, unedited
featured character(s): alien elf priest
minors dni, this is unhealthy relationship.
—note: i…think your previous ask might’ve gotten eaten, nonny :c anyhoo, im a big MEH with this piece personally. still, hopefully you’ll enjoy some of this?
》you lost track of how long you’ve been trapped in this place.
—however long it was, it was hitting you hard. Harder and harder longer you were chained up to this unholy temple.
—and he wasn’t letting you to go anywhere without his permissions.
—youcantbreathe
》because of their culture, they wore very little. strips of silk covering just small bit of their genitalia, their chests, and not much else.
—and you were not spared from being dressed the same way.
—seeing their long, slender bodies made you to feel ashamed of your own physical flaws.
—the ways they looked at you, scared you.
—youkeptpinchingyourskin
》what did they expect you to do as their so-called god!?
—you had nothing. you could only cast your own personal judgments toward the innocents and sinners.
—it was no different from any other judge.
—and you’ve made mistakes.
—stoplookingatme!
》the priest was cruel
—“you’re perfect the way you are, my holy one.” he crooned.
—his touches felt like poison creeping down your skin.
—he was tall, lean, and his hair was as white as pure snow, curtaining around your small form whenever he bowed over you, “special, beautiful, breathtaking…” he’d say.
—pleasestop.
》perhaps it was in human’s nature to compare one’s self to another
—but you couldn’t seem to stop.
—it hurts seeing how…plain you were to the people’s beauty.
— “is that so…” the priest drawled once he forced the truth out of you, not blind to your unhappiness, “then let me be the only one who can see you.”
—no.
》you refused
—but one does not simply refuse the priest.
—slowly and slowly, your judgements with the audience became fewer and fewer.
—the priest always tell you half-truths why.
—you couldn’t believe you were missing that cold throne of yours.
—before long, you barely left your grand prison at all.
—letmeoutletmeout!
》you confronted him, what else could you do?
—he grabbed your chin and smiled at your defiant glare, “now you will never endure their leers again, my holy one.”
—“let me out.” you demanded.
—the priest never listened—he never did and laughed at your willfulness, “here, you are the most beautiful,”
—in my eyes only, was left unsaid.
—while you flinched from his slow caresses, the priest kept that curl in his lips.
》until you can see only and only him, the priest will take a little piece from you everyday. splintering you apart until there is no more pain and worries left for you to feel.
—he will make you to see just how beautiful you are.
—pleaseletmego.
They only sleep when the second moon phases through the alien sky, once every two months, and when they sleep, they sleep like dead. Little could shake them out of their hibernation. You thought about tracking that orange moon and escaping then, but by the ivory shackle on your ankle, it is apparent that the priest truly did thought of everything.
Burrowing under the thin sheet, the weather was rarely cold, you tried not to mind the cool skin flushing over your taut side. The eternally long arm crossed over your chest and pinned you down on the plush bed—and to his lean torso. For a man whose expression was rarely shaken and his posture overly serene, he snored like a dead too. You grimaced at his ghastly sounds.
You had no idea if you prefer him watching you when you were asleep and touches all over your body and doing only the heaven know what to you—or this. Neither was a stellar option.
When he slept, you don’t sleep a wink.
When he was awake, you scantly slept either.
hmm, very tame for a headcanon but also…yes.
the elf priest is tame for my yandere writing, so he’d do exactly this—never really sleeping (but once in every blue orange moon) and always watching his darling even when they’re asleep. i imagined that his darling would find it hard to trust him in spite of his efforts of catering their every needs (and yet denying their true desires to be freed from the saintly position he and his people placed them in). there was just something off about the priest, that the darling would never truly feel at rest with him around.
that was how they knew he always watches them sleeping. his very presence gave that away…excellent hc, 10/10. hope you’ll enjoy this tadbit too!
maybe an elf with prompt 31 “you love me, you love me not…i still love you, now and forever.”? sounded soft!! I hope this is what you meant?
—anon
❧a/n: trying a new format, do let me know if you like it or not! inspired by @sombreboy ’s setup. i tried experimenting with my writing a bit and I remember why i hate describing scenes. i liked letting my readers to imagine lol but still if yall liked it, lmk and i’ll be happy to continue my experimenting. i tried to make this soft but hahahahahahahajhdkjdgs god damn it all
❧rating: sfw
❧pairing: elf x gender neutral reader
❧trigger warnings: confinement, nu dity (because elves), religious mentions, manipulation, death implication
❧tags: isekai, complicated feelings/relationships
❧word count: 2.8k, unedited
❧DO NOT FEATURE MY WORKS IN YOUR VIDEO WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT PERMISSION❧
image source | here
You fell and slipped. Even now you could recall with an uncomfortable wince, at the sound of your skull cracking on the concrete. Next thing you remembered, you woke up in the strange world of green.
Through your blurred eyes, you were confused. Since when a hospital room have that color? You were very much certain you were too old to be in a children’s hospital as well.
“Our holy one had risen!” Came a cry, knocking you awake from your dizzying daze. You shot up from a soft bed of tall grasses, with your eyes wide at towering beings hovering above you in a perfect halo. The moon—a ring of gold and red? aligned perfectly in the center, concealing their faces—except their brilliantly glowing eyes.
Their sheer robes did little to deter the godly beauty, the embedded gems in their skins glared like predators’ gazes in the dark—and to burn you alive once your realization dawned. Those strange people weren’t ashamed of displaying the rest of themselves either. You scampered to get away, but your back was flushed flat against twin columns of legs.
“Wh-who are you!?” Spidery hands pinned on your shoulders and you couldn’t fling them off. There was strength behind those palms that told you they were dangerous.
One of them sounded a smile, “We’ve been waiting for so long for you to come home to us, our Holy One,” hands descended upon you and your breaths drew short, “We the servants are glad to welcome you home.”
Their teeth gleamed like diamonds.
That was all you remember since then, your past life was becoming more vague by each passing day. Your new life went in a flurry of changes and movements. Those strange beings, double and a few even triple your height, waited on hands and feet for you—never mind you were a little more than their plaything to be scuffle around and a doll to dress up. You had limited to no power, not when you were practically an ant to these long-eared masses.
“Our holy one,” a voice—that voice never creased to unnerve you, closed in. Their long hair swept over your shoulder, shining like a spider’s finely woven webs, and they crooned, “it is time to be cleanse.”
Minding the ornate headpiece, golden trinkets dangled and danced in the air, you nodded, “…Very well.” You hated him—the priest. Breezing from the throne-like seat, entwined with golden leaves and ivory, you padded across the marble stair and quietly left your alter and the immense chancel.
The priest followed closely, thudding his staff alongside his slow steps. Its’ six metal loops rang each time, again and again reminding you of his intimidating presence. They were deafening, but even they cannot remove the weight of his gaze upon your small back.
The way he eyed you, with that wicked edge and burned brighter than their silver sun…had your stomach twisting and changing inside out from itself. There were nothing you could do either, to spare yourself from this fate. You couldn’t run, trapped in this gilded temple in the daytime—and in your bedroom during the evening. Despite what they insisted, it was truly not built for the likes of you.
Knowing nothing of this strange new world, you were powerless to try. The priest made sure you would be served well—and to ensure you would never escape. The temple was your gilded birdcage.
You stopped before an entryway far too big for you to attempt opening on your own. Pinning down your tongue you said nothing and stilled your unconscious attempts to cover yourself. Defenseless, you were wearing nothing but sheer cloths and silks.
His smile carried a strange weight, “To the purifying chamber, our holy one.” The heavy doors created not a lick of sound when the priest pushed them apart and guided you inward.
Hot air blasted your skin and formed the thin fabrics onto you like a cocoon. There was an immediate want to peel them off, but you refrained your twitching fingers. You thinned your lips and tried not to grimace at the priest’s dancing fingers.
His peculiar touches hadn’t help his image of being a pure man either.
A large pool await you with its steaming hot water. Surrounded by beautiful trees, with its trunks an unusual shade of lavender and their swaying serrated scarlet leaves, a sense of unease settled deeply in your bones. A whisper of racing stream crackled into your ears, rippling a constant series of circles into the pool, into a quiet vortex. Through the Caribbean blue depth, the waving blossoms beckoned you with its soft luminescence lining the petals.
Beautiful, yet alien—no matter how many months you spent on this strange world, you never felt belonged.
You, a shabby ordinary human, among the eerily beautiful beings who speaks to the trees and with long ears to hear all. How could you even hope to fit in? Yet they treated you like a deity to be worshipped—a prisoned deity.
Stepping your feet onto an alter, a engraved stone raised from the sandbank, heat blasted your chin. Your nails bit into the palms at the metallic clangs of his staff and your lungs fell stilled with your breathing, “Our holy one,” the priest hummed and gently parted the crown from your head, “you did well today.” He praised, his long fingers combing through your hair and neatened it.
Biting your tongue, you forced your eyes close at his hand crawling downward. It spanned across your back and stripped you from the sheer fabric, “we’ll let you be from your duties early.” His chuckle tingled your skin with goosebumps.
Now naked, you glued your eyes to a tree ahead of you, memorized by its glossy hide. There were more jewelries the priest had to remove, symbols of your supposed godliness, from your neck pieces to those on your ankles. Your collar and shackles, you corrected bitterly. They were the kingdom’s revered treasures—and only the holy ones may wear them.
Yet, the priest alone is permitted to remove them. To keep them pure.
To keep you pure is too a part of his duties, cleansing you in this blessed pool.
You may have many servants and worshippers, but only he was allowed to touch you.
“They fit you so beautifully, my holy one.” You pursed your lips at that word—my. Keeping still, the heated water rippled under your toes. It looked inviting, urging you to dive.
To escape from his touches.
Heavy weight left your body. Lightheaded and freed from your shackles, you felt as if you could fly away from this prison. His fingers pressed on your shoulder blade and shattered your absent desire, “You may now enter the pool.” You didn’t hesitate, heat climbing up from your feet.
Minding the underwater flowers, you waded to the center and planted your feet into the pillowy alabaster sand. Water rippled from under your bellybutton. The fronds of posies tangled your ankles, eager to remind you of their beauty.
A quiet rustle of his tiny slip of outfit stiffened your spine and shoulders.
You refused to look, your skin burning with embarrassment, when the water rose against your waist. The priest entered into the pool, “ah, my holy one, shall we proceed?” The sand gusted from his near-careless ambles, spinning against your thighs, before they whirled and fell. His breaths painted your back, burning you hotter than the water.
Subtle scent wafted to your nose. Like a trained pet, you dropped your chin down and showed the back of your vulnerable neck. Hair crept down from your skull, mingling with a long thread of blue aluminum. Sieved with slight reflections from the willowy leaves from above, its fringes almost looked bloody.
Dangerous.
Soap swelled from its tumbles into the lively ripples, clustering with pearly shells of bubbles. Foaming prettily on your skin, it offered a hint of comfort—though it will not shield you from the priest’s caressing glides across your shape. Your fingers pitched your other wrist when he kneaded through your velvety hair and roped lathers through the water-darkened strands.
Hatred rumbled into your soul, but confusion laced through it. Why would you hate a gentle man? You wondered once more for the umpteenth time. The priest hadn’t done anything to you, seeing to your needs to the end. He may unnerve you, but he hadn’t been the only one—rest of his people looked at you oddly too.
Cultural differences, followed that thought. Ease soothed that discomfort in your heart, though it cannot drown out that desire for your freedom. It fluttered and beat on the cage that formed inside your soul, a reflection of your inescapable life.
Sweeping his fingers through the last of your tangles, the priest never once tugged at your skull. No matter how matted your hair became under the weight of that burdensome crown, he was magic at unraveling the holy locks without a single strand lost. “Every inch of our holy one is precious. Any loss or mark is a slight against my brethren and I.” The smiling priest told you once.
Your hair grew thick and long, losing the hairstyle you once preferred. As true to their words, there were no blemishes on your skin. Suppled by healthy loads of vegetables, fruits, and occasional meat and sweets, it was true as of what they says: treat your body like a temple and it’ll flourish. You never felt better before.
It was easier to accept your body too, though you struggled showing it off in front of hundreds-something odd worshippers. Maintaining your façade hadn’t came easily to you, your skin would tremble whenever one look at you strangely—with that wicked spark in their poise. One should never look at another in that manner, not in public.
Rivulets of water returned you to the waking world, lined with pale colored soap from your hair. Watching the falling sprout shattering the frothed surface and ripped your reflection apart, you remained still. The blossoms kissed your skin, but they could not remove you from the intimidating heat upon your back.
Hands lathered in soap, a different kind from its scent, the priest scrubbed the nape of your neck and down the valley of your spine, “do you have any wish tonight?” His deep voice beat on your flushed ears.
Let me be free, your mind pleaded, but your voice betrayed it, “I’d like a fruit parfait,” you said instead. You long since learned that despite the priest’s offerings, he will not grant you everything. He was a screwed man, twisting your words to suit his needs, “and see to it that the previous family receive the justice they deserved.” They pleaded for your power to right the wrongs another individual committed against their only child.
Although your power is limited, the priest at least believed strongly in justice. That he will humor you.
“As you wish, my holy one,” the priest was pleased, his touches slowed into a near-sensual stroke, “you’ll receive your dessert after your evening meal and do not worry, I’ll oversee the matter.”
Goosebumps formed under his trailing fingers. Clenching your teeth and pressed the tongue to the roof of your mouth, you smothered the urge to shiver. It wasn’t the first time you endured the washing, but the priest became less subtle over time. He became too comfortable for your likings, though you couldn’t say you’re not a hypocrite for harboring that feeling. Instead you forced carefully selected words from your throat, “Thank you.”
“It is my duty, my holy one,” you were not deaf to the priest’s satisfaction. Rolling off his long nails from the bottom of your spine, you could practically hear him smiling when he resumed your washing, “it is a pleasure to serve you.”
To your relief, he hadn’t said much else.
The crackling water flooded the scalding air, but it was comfortable. On your shoulders, water continued beading from your weeping hair and fell in disproportionate streaks where they dissipated into the pool. Tiny rings formed in widening series from the drops, breaking the flaming sight of these swaying flowers.
You liked it quiet, even though dark clouds of endless thoughts will return to your mind.
Another splash of water drenching your head, rinsing away the soap from your skin.
You expected no more words, but the priest never failed to break your expectations, “I must confess,” you paused at the change in his tone, from slyness to softness, “the moment I first saw you, you fell from the sky.” he reminisced, sinking his elegant pail into the water.
Water scattered at your slight shift, scattering the melancholy roaring like a storm in your mind. The priest hadn’t been alone in this testimony, though you never remember having the rushing wind in your ears—or the cruel impact from your steep drop from the heaven. No, you simply woke up and found yourself surrounded by these extraordinary people.
To this day, it still chilled you to the bone to hear it. With a hitched breath, you tried to end the priest’s attempt to recount the event months before, “wait—“
He cut you off and poured a steady stream down on your head, soaking your hair to the skin, “I remembered thinking to myself, I’ve gone mad. The generations before I sworn I will serve a holy one someday—but a millennia passed and my true duty remained unfilled.” You nearly lost your ears to the waterfall draping your head, catching the rest of his words, “—waited for so long I considered abandoning this very place I was born and raised in. I never once missed a prayer, hoping feverishly my holy one will someday come, but each day and night, my prayers would come unanswered. I nearly surrendered my chastity—until
You came.” You became a statue at a pair of soft lips encircling your exposed nape, “At long last, after the eternity, the old gods above answered and gave me purposes I was meant to filled.” A strong arm roped under your armpit, crossed it to your hip, and flattened you tightly against his hard stomach. His wet hair curtained your view, glimmering like raindrops under the sunlight. The priest kissed you against from the top of your skull, “You’ve blessed me, my holy one, and for this, I will always adore you—and love every inch of you, if you’d let me.”
Something prodded high at your back, reminding you that you were not the only one bare in the chamber.
His grasp was loose. With a snap, you broke free from it and twirled the sand with your pivot. Thudding your back against the stony bank and your heart’s beating like a frightened rabbit, you fixated your wide eyes on the smiling priest. He remained still where he was, toying a long rope of leaves from above.
Clenching on the pebbles, you debated disappearing through the woods—but why? He hadn’t harmed you. The priest kept his embrace unhooked, so that you could escape if you so wished to. All he did was to confess his sins.
Although you were a caged bird with clipped wings, the priest had been nothing but kind to you. While there had been times where he had to force his hands to uphold the cultural expectations when you were being overly stubborn, he never once harm you. His words were hardly sharp, manipulating you to behave as the stern parent with a kind heart would. Fear of disappointing him became strong.
Hatred, you could admit, was too strong of a word. The priest simply unnerved you—and made himself far too present for you to unintentionally blame for your circumstances. For you, it was easier to blame the warden than to blame the judge and jury. The way he looked at you though filled you with a strange discomfort.
Like a wolf would to a rabbit, but not to eat.
It became easy to deflect the blame then. You, hesitatingly, prowled forward, to perhaps say your piece. Refusing to look downward, to see what lies beneath—or what was peeking from the surface, you pinned your eyes on his face. A sudden action froze your feet into the sand.
The priest upturned the wide-mouthed blossom that hang from its end. Nursing it underneath his nose, the priest sighed. Before your eyes, he sparked a glint in his gaze and rose a hand. Pinning together a petal between his thumb and index finger, he tugged and ripped it loose, “You love me,”
You veered backward, sinking deeper in the pool. Your heart thudded against your clenched hands. There was something wicked in his simple action—yet it was strangely sweet. “You love me not.” Another petal spun to the rippling surface.
“You love me,” a petal slipped from his tensed hand, “you love me not…” the center dropped and sunk below the water, fading from your view. A smile slithering in his soft word and he stepped forward, cornering you. Your fear was unfounded as he performed one deed that will leave its mark for the rest of your life—he pressed a kiss on your hair, “I still love you, now and forever.”
