Promptober 2025 Day 4: Potent Venom

Using thepromptfoundry’s Ominous October list and Chicago Spirit OCs borrowed from krakaheimr (Richard Chappell) and clefrot (Ruprecht). Ira is mine.

CWs for mind control, humiliation/degradation, noncon kink, Chappell being horrible. No sex–everybody keeps their clothes on here.

***

“Understand,” Chappell says, leaning back in his chair and spinning a cigar through his fingers like a pen, “I’m grateful to you for looking after my daughter. But I can’t let people think you can just swoop in and parent my kid without answering to me.”

The cigar dips in a cue and Ira gasps as Ruprecht sinks long, dripping fangs into the nape of his neck. Chappell watches him arch in the devil’s grip, his face flushing and his pupils blowing dark and wide. Watches fear bloom on his face, chased by something close to the kind of sodden adoration he wears whenever he looks at Caldwell.

Chappell laughs. “There it is. Incubus venom is potent stuff, isn’t it?”

It’s more than just lust spreading through Ira’s bloodstream right now, Chappell knows. It’s something of an incestuous cousin to love, an obsession too poisonous and desperate to be mistaken for the real thing. Ira watches him through it, frightened adoration bright in his eyes, not a peep from that sharp-tongued mouth of his.

Satisfaction rolls through Chappell’s gut like the butterflies of a first crush. He can just about feel himself worming deeper in under Ira’s skin by the second. It’s a great feeling, especially with Zion’s get.

“You Carpenters don’t know when fear is good for you. Wheels says you’ve been a bitch to discipline.” He uncrosses his legs, setting both feet flat, and waves Ira close. He’s breathing heavy, chest rising and falling visibly, looking down at him with a desperate need in his eyes. “But you’re gonna be good for me, aren’t you?” Chappel croons mockingly. “Get down, pet, and lick my shoes clean.”

Ira whines, a thin note through his note, and goes to his knees, then bends down further, tongue lapping a streak of saliva over the dark brown leather.

Chappell sits back and lets him work, tapping ash from his cigar onto Ira’s back and hair. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” he drawls. “You want to please me so bad, it’s like razors under your skin if you aren’t doing something to make me happy. But don’t you worry your pretty head, Carpenter. I’m a good dog owner. I’ll make sure to keep you busy.”

At his feet, Ira shivers. Chappell grins.