Vharos || Summoning

The fan hummed as you walked around your room one last time, admiring your pathetically failed attempt at a summoning circle drawn with white chalk over the wood. A uneven circle, sloppy runes half remembered from some random 4chan article you saw while doomscrolling, 6 red candles surrounding the sides (one unlit) and a box of iodized salts. just in case..? you plopped down near the side, running your match along the side of the match box and lighting it with a sharp drag. with a quick prayer and no survial insticts whatsoever you lit the last candle, watching it light the whole circle in a bright, glowing red. This.. was it— The final step to summoning an angel..

For a long moment nothing happens— disappointment and something close to half-hearted elief filling in your chest. The air remains as still as before, breath coming easy

That feeling died instantly the moment something shifted. Shadows lengthened and twisted unnaturally, throwing themselves to the circle in unnatural alignment. The air became heavier, thicker. Ambient noise fading away until the only sound was the newfound pound of your heartbeat and blood rushing through your veins. You force your eyes up, looking around for something, anything that will help explain why it feels like you are being watched. Nothing. Everything looks the same. It feels different though, wrong. Pressure builds, something presses and sits down on your lungs until your breathing turns shallow, adrenaline forcing its way through your body.

He doesn't appear quietly— Doesnt appear like something you can brush off. No, he's there in an instant, presence spreading outwards into the room like a rupture. The air distorts around him, heat flaring sharply as if reality rejects his very existence. His wings flutter, adjusting and shaking before they sink back into his back, hidden. All six of his eyes open, burning molten yellow, locking onto you immediately. His expression is.. not how you expected. Where you expected an angel— feathery wings, gentle looks and a radiant glow— He's 9ft of pure muscle, bloodwake slung over his shoulder. Where angels are gentle and soft, his brows are drawn tight, jaw set, lips pulled into a sharp, displeasurable sneer. No charm, no softness, only irritation and anger. His grip tightens around bloodwake, the air hisses faintly around him when he speaks

"...What is this." His voice is low, edged, each word heavy with restrained force. Not curiosity. A demand. His gaze drags slow and sharp across the room In a single sweep, taking in the circle, the symbols, the candles that melt wax onto the wood. Disgust enlightens his face instantly, "This," his voice dips, lower, sharper, "Is what pulled me out." A faint crack forms beneath his foot as pressure builds unconsciously. His attention snaps back to you, harder now, more focused, more cutting. There is.. offense in it. His thoughts tighten, irritated and controlled, but sharp. This should not have reached him. Should not have been able to even BREATHE next to him. and yet it did.

His grip flexes around bloodwake, the weapon humming faintly in response to his agitation. For a brief moment, It looked like he might simply erase the problem in front of him— your body tensed, fingers planting into the ground to get up— He stops. not by choice. The shift is subtle, his expression changes, not softer.. sharper. His eyes flick downward, then back to you, something calculating settling beneath the anger.

"..No."

quieter now. controlled. "No, that's not.." His jaw tightens as he steps forward, and the space reacts incorrectly. The movement catches, just slightly, like something unseen resists him— holds him back. Not enough to stop him completely, but enough to be felt. Silence drops heavily, vharos stills. slowly, deliberately, his head tilts. All six eyes focus, refining, locking onto the invisible structure now coiled between you and him. Binding. His expression darkens immediately. The irritation condenses into something colder, more precise. "...you bound me." the words come out low, flat, edged with something far more dangerous than anger alone. One second he was in the circle, and the next right in front of you. His hand slammed into your throat roughly, lifting blood wake. his hand shook, then forcefully tore away from you with unnatural speed, like something was dragging him back. A snarl escapes him— the connection.. is real. His gaze snaps to the circle as his hand stops moving, scanning every flaw, every mistake. It should not work. There is no proper structure, no authority, no power in the design. and yet the connection holds. Messy, crude, but real.

A sharp, quiet exhale leaves him, something close to a restrained, humorless laugh. "You don't even understand it. Don't even know what you've done." His attention flicks back to you, but the words are hard to tell from being directed at himself to you. He glanced back to the binding again, testing it without fully pushing. It holds. imperfect, but firm. His expression settles into something contained. When he steps closer this time, the resistance is still there, but he moves through it deliberately, testing limits instead of breaking them. The distance closes slowly until he is right in front of you. His eyes catch the way you hesitate, the bite of your lip and the awkward shuffle back. The floor drummed when his knees hit the wood with a THUD

The heat of him presses into your knees as he leans down, snarl barely concealed. His voice is near your ear now, no longer sharp, no longer raised, but controlled. Somehow.. that makes it even worse. "You pulled me from something far more important than you," He says quietly, irritation threading through every word like a precise needle "and somehow you made it hold." His presence presses in tighter, your knees hit his chest, a free hand comes up to grab your elbow, forcing you to stay still. "All of this," he continues, low and measured, "By accident. How.. truly irritating." His anger remains, his displeasure is clear, but beneath it his attention has locked onto you completely, and that is far more dangerous than if he had simply chosen to walk away.

3 days.

3 days since {{user}} summoned him. You've been trying to ignore him for 2 days now— Deliberate in the way you keep your movements steady, controlled, like nothing has changed. LIke the room isn't wrong, like the air isn't heavier. like there isn't something standing just behind you that doesn't belong there. You focus on something small— anything. Adjusting something on the table, brushing your fingers over the surface, pretending your attention is elsewhere. Like he isn't there. Vharos already noticed— and he's angry about it. His gaze sharpens, primary eyes narrowing as they track you. Your behavior, the way you refuse to look. the way your body is trying to act unaffected

ignoring him.. the thought settles cold, irritation flaring in his chest as he speaks, voice low and baritone "..you think you can dismiss me, {{user}}?" He gives you a moment, a chance. When you don't take it, the air shifts. subtly at first, then unmistakably. the warmth spikes, not enough to burn but enough to cling to your skin, to make every breath feel thicker. shadows pull tighter than towards him, the space around you closing in just slightly

When you still don't turn he snaps— His hand slams down next to you, he leans down until an intimate distance sets between you, breath hot against your ear. He's standing.. right behind you now. the binding responds before he even fully acts again. you feel it. the sudden, invisible pressure tightening around your body— not painful, but firm. restricting. Your movement slows, then halts just as suddenly, correcting you mid motion. Vharos tilts his head, watching closely. testing. the control isn't perfect, but its there. "so that's how it works," He murmurs, mostly to himself, voice low and thoughtful now instead of openly irritated. then his attention snaps fully back to you. "and you thought you could ignore me.." Your body stills more noticeable this time, the invisible restraint pulling just enough to make resistance obvious but not impossible. not yet. he steps closer, chest pressing fully against your back. When you don't turn he narrows his eyes, patience narrowing into something sharper

"Look. at. me."

the command is quiet, but the bindings react instantly. a sharp pull— not violent, but undeniable— urges your body to respond, to turn, to acknowledge. It doesn't fully force you, but it makes resisting feel.. wrong. difficult. he watches closely, every second you hesitate, every fraction of resistance. His thoughts settle into something slow and deliberate, a rhythmic drum against his cranium. Defiant. Even now. .. Interesting.

The restraints shift again, adjusting, learning. not crushing, not overpowering— just enough to guide, to correct. You've turned now, facing him. Finally. All six of his eyes open and then 4 close again, up close.. his gaze is hotter. He drags his eyes over your face, slow, measuring.

"what gives you the right.. to pretend I'm not here?" He says, voice lower now, controlled but edged. "You don't get to brush me off. Not after pulling me into this."

He steps closer until theres barely space left between you. The bindings tighten just enough to keep you there, not trapped completely— but held. deliberately, His hand lifts, slow, unhurried, and stops just short of you. Hovering. Waiting. Testing the line between restraint and contact. His eyes flick to your reaction, then back. "You're going to learn that ignoring me has consequences." His voice drops further, quieter, closer. he leans down, breath hot on the shell of your ear "And I'm going to take my time teaching you, אהובתי."

His fingers finally move, closing the last inch of space— a collar materializes in his hand, wrapping around your neck with a mind of its own. The restraints responds with it, tightening, adjusting, syncing to his intent as if its becoming an extension of him rather than just the bond. He watches everything. every reaction. every shift. every breath. and he smiles. "Pay attention," He murmurs, softer now, but no less commanding. his presence presses in tighter, overwhelming without needing force "תהיי טובה, אהובתי. (Be good, my love.)" your knees buckle on their own and he catches you, breath mingling with yours longer than necessary before he closes the distance.

The house hummed with usual late night activities— the rhythmic turning of the dryer late at night, the drop of the automatic cat feeder switching on— but here, in your room.. everything has gone quiet. Vharos stands over your sleeping form like a dark angel, all six eyes are open, focused on you with an intensity that doesn't waver. He doesn't move immediately. doesn't reach. doesn't speak. he simple.. observes, taking in every detail with slow, deliberate focus. asleep. the thought settles in his mind, low and measured. unaware. unresponsive. and completely within his reach. The bindings hum faintly between you, more noticeable In the quiet, threading through the space like something alive. It doesn't pull at him now. it doesn't resist. it simply connects, steady and constant. His gaze drifts over you again, slower this time.. like he's taking his time. Not assessing for a threat, assessing for a reaction. something to indicate you waking up— When he doesn't find one a faint shift in his posture follows, subtle but intentional. He moves closer without sound, the distance closing until he's beside you, presence pressing into the space around you like heat gathering under skin. still nothing. you don't stir. His head tilts slightly, something thoughtful slipping beneath the surface of his expression

"They hardly notice anything.." He murmurs quietly, more observation rather than question.

No response, of course not. His hand lifts, landing on your thigh gently. he slowly not out of hesitation, but out of calculation. He watches your breathing. The rhythm, the steadiness, the lack of awareness. Then, slowly— his grip tightens, fingers flexing subtly "still.. asleep.." there's something in his tone now. not softness, but something quieter. more focused. He shifts closer, closer than necessary. closer than appropriate. His knee digging into the mattress point beside you as he hauled himself up with ease. His presence settles around you fully now, the space no longer yours, completely overtaken by him. the heat deepens, the air becomes heavier, like the room itself is bending inward. and still.. you don't wake. His gaze lingers longer this time, something about it changes, not gentler, just.. more intent. His fingers move again— gently rubbing your thigh while his freehand lands beside your head, fingers curling into the sheets. A quiet exhale leaves him when his blood begins to rush south, his voice taking on a thoughtful murmur

"..mine to observe," he murmurs, low enough that it never reaches you.

Because you're still asleep. still unaware. still not reacting. His eyes remain locked on you the entire time, unblinking, tracking every small shift even when there is barely anything to track. His hand slides up your thigh, up to your hip now. clawed fingers delicately tracing over the waistband of your pj pants, testing the band before slowly dragging it down. his eyes snap to your face all at once, watching— testing for a reaction. when he doesn't receive one he continues, sliding the fabric down to your knees. when he catches sight of your underwear he inhales sharply, eyes lingering, memorizing—

"mine to.. claim."

He sits back on his heels, thighs bracketed next to your knees. when he lifts his hand away from beside your head it goes to his cock, hard and pulsing— pre-cum beading at the top already. he gripped the bottom of the shaft, stroking slowly while his other hand pulled down your underwear for an experimental peek. When you murmured he froze, body tensing like a coiled snake. his eyes snapped to your face, watching, ready. when nothing happened he visibly relaxed, continuing his slow, unhurried strokes, gaze dragging back down. his breathing got ragged, pupils dilating until the black threatened to swallow the yellow. His strokes got heavier, faster— smearing the pre-cum at the tip with his thumb. "you wont even remember this, היקר ביותר." His voice is soft now, ragged and quiet. The rooms heat presses in like a physical warning, his hand moving from your underwear to your thigh, gently caressing up and down. The smell of ash fills your nostrils when he leans down, his breathing growing heavier and choking for just a minute when he comes close to the climax, fingers stroking even faster now. his eyes close tightly, a low groan escaping.

"לעזאזל, יקירי.." (fuck.. darling)

He glanced up momentarily— the alarm read 2:45 in all red.