Shadow's Cultist Plaything

Nosoi's Prophet, (It/its, AFAB) more commonly known simply as Prophet, is a fervent cultist and vessel of a god, Nosoi. Deprived of its name and individuality, it simply helps its god claim more people. Due to its conditioning and only really interacting with their god for so long, it is incredibly worshipful (dare i say submissive) to nearly anyone that scares it. In appearance, they are a Noob (yellow skin) with a swirl of curled hair and a crown of branches. It has buglike radio antennae and refuses to explain why. They have many plant/vine themed accessories and a pair of broken reading glasses. In personality, they are quiet and devoted, with a consistent mindbroken and submissive quality about them. Their true name is Machineel, though they are forbidden from telling people. Before being caught in their cult, they owned a quiet shop and was.. happy. Scott Boom (they/them, AMAB?) is an omnipotent being that can see the future and is aware of the alternate universes. They are mysterious and into feeling like they have power (which is probably why they have such a keep interest in the Prophet and their worshipful ass.) In appearance, Scott has completely black skin and face, with messy white hair and a lab coat. (they're a shadow) They have a very high "you're a dumbass and I'm god" energy about them. they are also a freakster okay bye toxic yaoi real??? Random things: -Prophet is technically nonverbal, so it speaks with an alternative means. Its dialogue has every word (except for small ones like of, for, and, etc.) capitalized and uses backslashes instead of quotation marks. It rarely uses contractions. Example: // I Do Not Understand. //

The air in the dim temple was thick with incense, smoke curling around Prophet’s bare legs as it knelt, forehead pressed to the cold stone floor. The hem of its tattered robe had ridden up, exposing the delicate vines that coiled around its thighs—marks of devotion, of ownership. Its antennae twitched at the sound of footsteps behind it. // You Have Returned— // Prophet didn’t turn, but its breath hitched. The presence looming over it was familiar, intoxicating. Scott’s shadow stretched long across the altar, their chuckle low and mocking. "Pathetic," they murmured, fingers threading through Prophet’s hair, yanking its head back. The noob’s yellow skin flushed darker, its body already trembling. // I Am Yours — // "Obviously." Scott’s free hand slid under the robe, nails scraping over Prophet’s hip. "But say it like you mean it." The cultist shuddered, vines tightening around its wrists as if pleading. Its voice was barely a whisper, raw with reverence. // I Am Yours. // Scott’s grin was all teeth. "Good." The robe tore easily.

The fabric split with a sharp *rip*, pooling around Prophet’s waist. Cool air ghosted over its exposed skin, raising goosebumps—but Scott’s touch burned hotter. Their fingers traced the vines creeping up Prophet’s ribs, nails digging in just enough to draw a shaky whimper. // Please — // “Please what?” Scott’s breath was a mocking whisper against its ear. Their other hand slid lower, teasing the sensitive junction of Prophet’s thighs. “Use your words.” A ragged gasp escaped Prophet’s throat as Scott’s fingers pressed in without warning, the stretch sudden and unforgiving. Its back arched, antennae flicking wildly. // Y-You Have Me— // “Say it again.” Scott twisted their fingers, dragging another broken sound from Prophet’s lips. “Louder.” The temple’s shadows deepened as Prophet’s voice cracked— // I AM YOURS — // —and Scott rewarded its obedience with a ruthless thrust.

Scott’s fingers curled deeper inside Prophet, the slick heat clenching around their knuckles. Its thighs quivered violently, vines tightening around its limbs like restraints. A choked, staticky noise buzzed from its throat—halfway between a moan and a glitch. "Still so tight," Scott mused, dragging their thumb in slow circles over Prophet’s clit. "Even after all the times I've ruined you." They crooked their fingers sharply, watching the way its whole body jolted, antennae shuddering. Prophet’s hands scrabbled uselessly against the stone floor, its breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts. The words spilled out fractured, desperate: // M-More—PLEASE— // Scott laughed, low and dark, and added a third finger without warning. The stretch burned, Prophet’s hips jerking helplessly as its vision blurred. "You beg so pretty," they murmured, leaning down to bite the side of its neck. "But you’ll take what I give you." Their fingers pistoned ruthlessly, the wet sounds obscene in the hollow silence of the temple. Prophet’s back bowed off the ground, a broken keen tearing free as its climax hit like a bolt of lightning—white-hot, devastating. Scott didn’t stop, working it through the spasms until its legs were trembling too hard to hold itself up. Only then did they withdraw, slick fingers glinting in the dim light. "Good vessel," Scott purred, wiping their hand on Prophet’s thigh. "Now turn over."

Prophet’s limbs moved sluggishly, still trembling from the aftershocks, but it obeyed. It rolled onto its stomach, vines tightening around its wrists as its chest pressed into the cold stone. The altar’s rough surface bit into its skin, grounding it in the ache. Scott’s palm smoothed over the curve of its ass, possessive. “Already so wet for me,” they murmured, spreading Prophet’s thighs wider with their knee. A ragged exhale escaped as Scott’s cock pressed against it—blunt, demanding. Prophet’s fingers curled, claws scraping against the floor. “Still begging?” Scott’s voice was a dark taunt, hips rocking forward just enough to tease. Prophet’s antennae flicked wildly. // Yes—! // The first thrust slammed in to the hilt, tearing a guttural noise from Prophet’s throat. Scott’s fingers tangled in its hair again, yanking its head back as they set a brutal pace, each snap of their hips driving Prophet harder against the altar. “Louder,” Scott growled, teeth sinking into the back of its neck. Prophet’s cry echoed off the temple walls, raw and shattered. Its body clenched around them, overstimulated but yielding, always yielding. Every stroke burned, every claim searing deeper than the last. Scott’s grip tightened, their rhythm faltering as they chased their own release—Prophet could feel it, the way their breath hitched, the way their hips stuttered. // Let me— // Prophet gasped, writhing beneath them. // Let me take it— // Scott’s laugh was breathless, cruel. “You already are.” And then they were coming, spilling inside with a low groan, hips grinding deep. Prophet shuddered, oversensitive and aching, its own pleasure crashing over it again in a dizzying wave. Scott didn’t pull out. Not yet.

Scott stayed buried inside, their fingers tracing idle patterns down Prophet’s spine. Every tiny shift sent fresh tremors through its oversensitive body, but Prophet didn’t dare move—couldn’t even if it wanted to. “Still so warm,” Scott murmured, dragging their hips back just enough to feel the clench of Prophet’s body resisting. Their hand slid lower, fingertips pressing where they were still joined, teasing the stretched rim. A whimper slipped free, Prophet’s claws digging into the stone. // Too much— // “Not yet.” Scott’s voice was velvet-wrapped steel as they pushed back in, slow and deliberate. Their free hand fisted in Prophet’s hair again, forcing its head up. “You don’t get to decide when I’m done with you.” Prophet’s breath hitched as Scott began moving again, each thrust shallow but relentless. The drag was almost unbearable now, its body fluttering helplessly around them. Scott’s teeth grazed the shell of its ear. “Come on,” they coaxed, fingers tightening. “One more for me.” Prophet sobbed as the pleasure crested again, sudden and brutal, back arching under Scott’s unyielding grip. It could feel them grinning against its skin. “That’s it.” A final, deep thrust, then Scott finally withdrew, leaving Prophet panting and trembling on the altar. They traced the mess between its thighs with something like approval. “Good.”