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OC Spotlight: Ariel // nsfw
🕑 Added 2021-04-27 00:52:40 +0000 UTCIt's Kubi again, here with the Ariel spotlight! I had fun revisiting the backstory of one of our older pairings. As a disclaimer, please keep in mind that he is absolutely an evil character whose actions are not to be emulated or condoned. That said, hope you enjoy the nefarious story of the Demonic Prince of Lust!
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In the legends of demon hunters, infernal creatures of lust come with entire litanies of warnings. They walk amongst men, each wearing a pretty face and a silken body, each whispering of promises concealed deep within the human heart.
Of all these creatures, Ariel reigns supreme. One of many princely children of the fallen angel Samael and the witch Lilith, Ariel's beauty is said to lay beyond compare, dwarfed only by his hunger and ambition. After all, most demons of hell embodied and punished their sins to various degrees, and Ariel wouldn't have any less than the luxury to do both. This desire drove him to crawl from the inky pits of the velvet palaces all the way to the mortal realm. Here human souls languished in abundance, and would be the exact currency he needed to realize his own dreams: to ursurp the throne of his older brother Asmodai and become the Prime of Lust himself.
With every soul he so cunningly devoured, his army would grow and grow. What began as a humble group of farmers and peasants slowly turned to soldiers, and knights, then aristocrats, and even emperors. Ariel ate his way up the chain, turning the world of kings upside down with his sharp, silken tongue and a well placed caress. Men who professed their devout nature were his favorite—for what is more satisfying for a man who thinks himself above you to ruin himself so he can spend a night under you?
The cream of the crop were those devout to the Shaddai. The sworn enemy of Samael, Shaddai was known to mortals as the "God of Abraham" but now malformed from devouring other gods in jealousy. Yet he presented his best face, enticing mortals with promises of paradise, as long as they proved themselves worthy. In the realms of hell, the most prized souls were often those ripped from his very hands. And what better time to seek such souls than a war declared in his name?
The Crusades brought all manner of men who pledged themselves to their Lords in Heaven and Earth, and would be most susceptible to the sin of lust. It was here Ariel laid his hunting grounds, along the path to Jerusalem and within it. He would disguise himself as a simple merchant traveling with the armies, his supple body clothed with plain linen and adorned with simple gems, peddling supplies and smaller creature comforts. And if someone asked, he'd offer himself as well. Whatever shape they wanted he'd take as long as they gave him what he wanted in return. "Come back soon," Ariel would croon, chin resting on his hand with a small smile on his face. Every time they would lose themselves on the battlefield, restless and distracted by the feel of his touch, and Ariel would have another thrall for his army.
It was along these roads that Ariel first caught sight of a crusader who bore and eerie resemblance to one of the archangels with Shaddai's presence lingering on him like perfume. But something lay buried underneath, like so many forgotten ruins. Ariel knew instantly that he had to have him. He beckoned the soldier over with a kind smile, gesturing to his many humble wares. Once brown eyes melted into green when they raised to meet his gaze—the very same color as the rolling hills of the man's faraway home.
"What's your name?" Ariel would ask.
"...Logan," the man would reply.
By all accounts Logan was a good man. He was dutiful to his cause, loyal to his comrades, loving to his family...or so it seemed. For it was as above so below; those who Shaddai tended to favor had to fight forbidden temptations to further exalt his glory and prove their loyalty. Bit by bit, Ariel would take Logan's hands into his own, playfully place jewelry upon his fingers or silks in his hand while telling him they would look lovely on his wife, claim to be reading his palm when he traced his delicate fingers against the callouses and against his very pulse. With every touch he would pick at the desires just hidden under Logan's skin: the lust for carnage and for Ariel's touch, as well as something ravenous beneath that matched the intensity of his proclaimed worship and Ariel's own desires.
More and more Ariel grew curious. He let his touch linger, and would watch the way Logan would lean into him like a moth to flame. Every instance offered Ariel a glimpse of the beast lurking under his skin—waiting, restless, and hungry. Never before had he had such sweet anticipation—the need to see this good righteous man fall apart, but not wanting the game to end too soon.
"Come back soon," he'd say in earnest.
And Logan would return, whether after practice or battle or in the middle of the night when desire to merely see him ran too thick in his blood to let him sleep. Ariel would be happy to bask in his rapt attention, entice him with stories from faraway lands, of kings and queens and their prized subjects from a time long past, telling tales of their love and betrayal and the blood it left behind. When Logan returned the favor with tales from his home, Ariel would trace idle patterns along his arms and against his shirt. In the shadows of his tent, when no one was looking, he'd place a gentle kiss on his hand and cheek for good luck, letting the sweet smell of his perfume taunt Logan even as he walked away.
Every time Logan leaves to battle, Ariel forgets the other men—so bland and pale compared to his precious knight. His skin crawls with restlessness, and as soon as Logan returns Ariel invites him into dark alleyways and the shade of his tent, licking into his mouth and wrapping his legs around his waist. Yet despite all his silky promises, Logan's faith continues to meddle, reminding him to be holy, to not want. And normally Ariel would have known to lay in wait, to back away just enough and reel him in when the time was right. But Ariel is too hungry for him, and in his impatience is relentless.
The demon prince begins to slip into Logan's dreams, draining the rest from his sleep and unwrapping every layer of his resolve with his hands and mouth and hole. He whispers all his secrets and let's him confess with his touch, embracing him despite (or rather, because of) his sin. When Logan wakes it's to an aching cock straining against his trousers and the feel of Ariel's skin under his fingertips. When Logan tries to take refuge in his church Ariel follows him and decides the best way to rob him of it is to leave him with the memory of his lips around Logan's cock. When Logan threatens him with violence Ariel only welcomes it, pressing into the hands around his neck. His sweet perfume follows him onto the battlefield, the phantom of his hand on his wrist as he spills more blood, lips at his ear singing his praise.
And when Logan returns home, Ariel is waiting with legs open and he finally, finally gives in. The dam breaks and Ariel moans his pleasure as Logan takes him again, and again, and again, worshipping him night after night from head to toe. In the time he has to break away from him, Ariel turns his attention back to the other men—not to grant their wishes or to seduce their loyalty, but merely to take their lives as fuel for their passion. When he feeds himself, he feeds the monster within Logan, enticing it with every drop.
But it's not enough—none of it is enough, not when he's confined to this paltry mortal disguise. He wanted, craved, needed Logan to see him as he truly was, to be in awe of him, to worship him as such. So he let the illusion fall away, brown curls turning to inky black, horns spiraling from his head like a crown, warm skin greying and his eyes glowing like a cat's in the dark of Logan's room. Instead of a warm hand he held a sword at Ariel's throat, threatening to slay him where he stood. Yet Ariel only smiled, not even needing to peer into his heart to know that Logan's hand trembled not from rage but from desire. He would hold his arms open for him, and the sword would fall to the floor as Logan fell into him.
With each passing day afterwards, black scales sprout from Logan's skin, his teeth growing long, his lungs filling with fire and smoke. In the middle of battle the monster lurking inside of him finally bursts from his flesh, a sleek black dragon taking to the skies. Not even Asmodai could boast such a rare, beautiful creature, a diamond in the rough that Ariel had polished so carefully. He would rend the lands of men to feed his precious dragon, and no means would be too great to keep him content and at his side.
And yet, it is because of Logan that Ariel would find that he is not immune to the bitterness he so loved to foster in men. When Logan refuses him once more, accuses him of turning into a monster, curses his name and his presence, Ariel's heart twists. So be it, then. If Logan would not be his beloved beast, then let him ruin himself in flames.
As expected, Logan turned to more bloodshed, scouring Jersualem and killing his way through his former comrades in his madness. But where Ariel had expected more carnage, he instead takes to the desert, wings melting into his back, sword and armor left behind in a city on fire. He watches him kneel in the sand, his mouth open in a broken cry. Never before had Ariel heard such a sound: a plea almost holy like a prayer, and so full of sorrow. It would be sweet revenge to abandon him for good, to leave him so completely ruined and alone.
Instead, Ariel's hands reach up through the sand, wrapping around Logan, embracing him and kissing him. In between presses of lips, Logan swears himself to Ariel—his mind, his body, his soul—and Ariel decorates his flesh with the very gold in his skin. Logan is his, finally all his.
"And I shall never leave your side," Ariel promises in return. They would ruin the world together, and with demons such words are binding to not only the servant but the master.
After all, Ariel's hunger was only matched by his ambition, and his ambition was hardly a secret. Asmodai was not ignorant to Ariel's pursuit of his throne. While he had entertained the prince's games for many years, rumors of his black dragon along with Ariel's ever growing army left him with gritted teeth and a sour taste in his mouth. Keen on thwarting his attempts, Asmodai devised a plan to capture Logan: the arrogant prince was content on letting the beast off his leash to sack cities near where he collected souls, and confident that no creature could defeat his strength. It was this arrogance that would be his downfall; after all, if Asmodai had been any less cunning he would've lost his throne long ago.
Upon Logan's capture, Ariel finds himself scouring the velvet palace, only to find Logan chained at Asmodai's feet. With a grin, the Prime would greet Ariel and say: "I can give you back your treasure, as long as you give me something just as valuable."
With that he'd peer into Ariel's heart and laugh.
"All your armies? For just this fool? Oh how I pity you, Ariel."
Logan had meant to be a plaything, a tool, another stepping stone for the very throne before him. But with every day that Logan's devotion deepend, so did his own. Little by little he, too, was bound. As above, so below.
Ariel bowed his head and kissed Asmodai's feet, offering all of his supplicant army. Content to see him humbled, Asmodai let Ariel keep only a sliver of his thralls—but only as insult to injury. Ariel was left his peasants and farmers, his waylaid travelers, all those who Ariel had so easily consumed because they wouldn't be missed. But Asmodai's mistake was returning the dragon as well, for the one thing he did not see was that Logan was all that Ariel needed.
Logan would ask, "Why did you do so much for my sake?"
Ariel would reply against his mouth, "Because you are mine."
After all, armies can be rebuilt and plans can change, and both of them agreed that Asmodai still had to answer for Ariel's humiliation. Many years later, Asmodai would find himself in a circle, surrounded by Shaddai's own followers, a chanting circle of enthralled priests. Ariel and Logan would watch as the former Prime was encased in a crystal and buried under a church in a small sleepy town known as Ashwick.
With the throne finally empty, Ariel would set it aflame, instead perching on the lap of his dragon. For he was now Ariel, the Prime of Lust, and as long as Logan was by his side, no one could ever hope to challenge him.
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aaand the mic goes back to fangs -- FANS SELF. i ADORE these hormy villanous demons, and kubi did a wonderful job giving us Ariel's perspective of the story <3 if you have any questions about him and Logan and their twisted love, just comment below!
// text + ariel © kubi; artwork + logan © me.
