Irandial Wintoris

Misdsummer Apple

Spicytober 2025

Theme: Handjob/Blowjob

Pairing: Caleb x reader

Content: well, oral (duh!), explicit, no swallowing, cuddles, kissing

Word count: ~1500

Author’s note: The fourth story in my Spicytober!! Caleb gets tortur- uhm spoiled again. So have fun and no we’re not gulping down that juice! 🫣

Masterlist 🦄 Spicytober list

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Spicytober 2025

Theme: Sensory Deprivation

Pairing: Caleb x Reader

Content: cuffs, kisses, smidge of angst, suggestive, body worship, possessiveness, sexual tension

Word count: ~1200

Author’s note: Welcome to the second story for my first Spicytober Event! Caleb gets a little bit “tortured”, so still not explicit. But we’ll get there with the upcoming stories, don’t worry. Meanwhile, get warmed up with this one 🤭🩷

Masterlist 🦄 Spicytober list

Tags: Mediaeval setting/AU, gender neutral mc, childhood friends, implied lovers, bratty yet reliable prince x stoic yet loyal knight, mutual pining, yearning pro max, fluff, inspired by art linked above.

Today was the much-awaited day - The beginning of the Tourney. It was more than just a bunch of fights - no, the Tourney was the most important event of the season, a week-long celeberation of chivalry and honour where warriors from across the five realms came together to showcase their valour. High knights, peasant warriors, heroes and warlords, sometimes even the nobility participated in these events to prove their strength, or to woo a lover, or even as a showcase of power.

Rafayel, however, was uninterested in this needless posturing.

Unfortunately for him, he was the prince and heir of Murias; and as a ruler, one of his duties included participating in the noble Tourney. It wasn't enough that the prince of Murias had already proved his worth as future king by winning the war against Everberg by means of stealth, nor was it enough that he was infamous among the five kingdoms as the elusive and deadly "Abysswalker", an assassin that were celeberated by the common folk for saving innocent lives, and detested by the wicked factions of the nobility for killing those indulging in trafickking (though he sulked and pouted when his knight unkindly reminded him that his secret identity should remain a secret until the end).

But the beloved prince of Murias was also known for his stubborn refusal to bend to traditions that makes no sense. Not to mention, this stealthy mind was capable of finding loopholes in literally everything, and was able to evade the gruelling chore of participating in the Tourney.

Which, to the immense misfortune of a certain knight, meant that the prince's royal knight was bound by tradition and duty to participate in the Tourney, represnting the prince's name and carrying his banner.

You sighed heavily as you donned your armour, glaring at Rafayel as the prince shamelessly lounged in your bed, watching you getting ready with a smug smile.

"If I die or lose a limb in the Tourney, it'll be your fault," you complained as you fasten your greaves.

"Oh, come on my dear knight," Rafayel chirped, looking far too pleased with himself. It made you want to hit him. Or kiss him. You hadn't decided yet. "You're sellimg yourself short. You are like a tempest at the sea when you are irritated." He winks at you, making your blood boil. This spoilt brat! He did this on purpose! "The rest of the realm won't stand a chance."

You give him a blank stare, your eye twitching violently. "I am going to knock you out," you wave your gauntlet threateningly. Were it anyone else, you would've been executed on the spot for treachery. However, Rafayel knew you like the back of his hand, which unfortunately meant he saw you as threatening as a whining pup. He gets up from the bed, taking the gauntlet from your hand with a disapproving tut that'd make Grandmaster Amund proud.

"Tch, such violence… it's unbecoming of you, my darling knight," he croons. He helps you put on your gauntlets and the rest of your armour, his calloused hands steady as he follows through with thew familiar motions.

You let yourself watch him in silence as your longtime friend dresses you up for battle. He's done this a million times, as did you for him throughout the years. His eyes were clear and sharp, accounting for each piece of your armour.

You had been the ward of a humble no-name soldier who had found you orphaned at birth during a military expedition in a small town near the borders of Murias. He had brought you to the palace and raised you as his own. You had been seven when you accidentally stumbled into the young prince's private study, after having gotten lost in the vast palace one day. That was when you had met Rafayel for the first time. You hadn't parted from his side since.

The young prince had found an unlikely friend and companion in you, and had used his charms in his favour to have you appointed as his personal bodyguard. Why an eight-year old prince protected by his father's personal knights would need a seven-year old bodyguard, none had bothered to question. But being responsibe for the heir's security meant gruelling training in combat, statecraft and diplomacy. You had to join the prince on his every tutoring session, mentored directly by Grandmaster Amund - a privilege the nobles spilled blood over. You had to accompany the prince wherever he went - be it a caual stroll in the gardens, or a visit to the acrpolis where the future ruler met his adoring subjects. Hells, you even had to share a quarters with the prince - your room seperated from Rafayel's by only a door. And when the young prince had come of age, he wasted no time in appointing you as his only knight, a constant companion throughout his life.

You would willingly die for your beloved prince. A Tourney was child's play.

"You sure you've got them all right? What if the armour falls apart the second I mount a horse?" You tease him with the privilege of someone who's grown up with a dear friend their entire life.

Your cheeky teasing makes Rafayel puff up like an angry pufferfish, making you giggle. "Hmph, ye of little faith! How could you doubt the ability of your beloved prince? This is betrayal of the highest order! Treachery, even!" His dramatics only made you laugh harder. "Oh, I see how it is," he pouted harder, pointing an accusing finger at you. "You find joy in making me suffer, don't you? Well go on then, laugh all you want! You'll regret it one day!"

You couldn't take it anymore. With a loud clang of your armour, you flop onto your bed, laughing so hard tears pool in the corner of your eyes. "Hahahahaha! You're such a wimp, Raffie!"

"I am not!" He huffs, crossing his arms and turning away. Secretly though, he's enjoying every single second of your joyous laughter, locking the moment in the depths of his heart while vowing to be the reason for your happiness. A vow he first made all those years ago, when he had coaxed out a nervous yet genuine laugh from you. A vow he keeps renewing with his every breath, and will continue to do so until his last.

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not- ugh, whatever, lets go. It's time for the Joust anyway." With a huff, he grabs your helmet as you carry your lance, and the two of you leave the west wing together. The banner of the Prince of Murias - a white conch shell against the backdrop of a tempest - flutters proudly from the tip of your lance as you step into the arena. You are greeted with cheers, the common people placing their trust - and their bets - on you to uphold the honour of their beloved prince.

As the Herald reads out the rules of the Joust, you prepare your horse, talking to her in a calm, soothing tone. You move to rest your lance against a pillar to put on your helmet, when Rafayel beats you to it.

"Let me." he says, meeting your eyes. Taken aback by the sudden intensity, you nod mutely, heart fluttering rapidly as your prince gently slides the helmet onto your head. You bow slightly, letting him adjust the jawstrap. You neither ask him to tighten or loosen it, for Rafayel knows exactly how tight you prefer your halmet to be. You watch through the visor as he fusses with your armour one last time, before tucking a flame lily - gods knows where he had the flower the entire time - into your cuirass.

A token of his favour for you, signalling you as his champion.

You are about to say something - perhaps assuring him of your victory in his name - when Rafayel tugs at the decorative chain dangling from the right side of your helmet.

"Rafayel, wh-"

You felt the cool breeze against the exposed part of your cheek as the hatch opened. Before you could even blink - how did you not notice the hatch before? - you felt soft lips press against your cheek in a tender kiss. The kiss lasted longer than expected, before Rafayel pulled back, only to place another, this time quicker kiss, to the corner of your lip visible nea the lower left corner of the open hatch. He got a fleeting glimpse of your flushed skin before he closed the hatch gently. He pressed his forhead to yours, meeting your eyes through the visor.

"I trust you, my beloved knight."

Your breath catches, the fire in your heart ablaze.

Rafayel pulls away with a confident, trusting, besotted smile. "Now go. I'll wait for you at the finish line."

With that, the beloved Prince of Murias heads to the far end of the field, where you would arrive after the end of the Joust.

You press your hand over the chain on your helmet, dazed for a moment. You were thankful for the helmet, for it hid your lovesick expression and your endless yearning for your prince.

The sound of the rest of the knights getting ready snapped you out of your silent (and requited) pining, and you swiftly mounted your horse, leading your trusted companion to the start line.

And as the valiant knight of the prince of Murias got ready for the Joust to begin, head held high, lance upright and the banner of their noble prince fluttering with pride, you meet Rafayel's eyes admist the distance, and smile underneath your helmet.

You would willingly die for your beloved prince. A Tourney was child's play.

My piece for a collab hosted by @/myearts_uwu over on IG

Hers and everyone’s art below <3

Warning: 18+, reference to rippling blossoms, mention of sex, no smut but heavily suggestive, partial nudity (Rafayel and MC), reader is demisexual, in the ace spectrum.

You stir awake with a groan as the late morning sun shines into your eyes, but you're not ready to wake up and join the world of the living yet. You stretch your body with a whine, already turning your back to the window and going to sleep. However, a gentle voice and a familiar touch prevents you from entering the world of dreams - or in your case, REM sleep.

"Cutie… time to wake up~" Rafayel's voice was soft and melodic, and you could hear the smile from his voice alone. "Let's get you a nice hot bath and a lovely breakfast, how does that sound?" His hand moved from your shoulder to brush your hair from your face.

While the part of you that was waking up agreed shower and food sounded good, the part of you that wanted to sleep argues that the bed was too comfortable to move. "Mmm, Raffie… it's Saturday," you whine sleepily, rubbing your eyes. "Lemme sleep for a bit more…." You yawn widely, eyes still closed.

Rafayel's smile widened as he took in your adorable, sleepy side. You were too cute like this, he just wanted to cocoon you and tuck you securely in his arms. But as much as he wanted to let you sleep in… "Darling, is today the first day of your period?" He asks softly, still caressing your hair. "I see the mark on my calendar, it indicates you period may start today."

"Huh?" You're disoriented for a moment so the question takes you off guard. Period? Why would you- right. You counted the days of your menstrual cycle in your head, and indeed, your period was supposed to start today. "My period… yeah," you reply, sitting up while yawning. You take a moment to read your body as you're rubbing your face tiredly. Nope, still no cramps or bleeding in your underwear during the night. "I don't think it's today, 'ayel. I think it might be late this month..." Whatever you were about to say gets stuck in your throat as you opened your eyes, blessed with the sight of your handsome lover dressed in… in… body chains and a - your cheeks heated up as your eyes drifted south - a loincloth?!

"Rafayel…" you would be embarrassed with how your voice cracked, had you not been too preoccupied with processing the sight in front of you. "What….what are you wearing??"

The artist merely smiled as he sat next to you, as if he hadn't been all dolled up like a male concubine ready for a night of pleasure with his empress. "Let's get you to the bath first, darling." His hand finds your thigh, gently rubbing circles onto it through your pajamas. "Then if you're still drowsy or tired, we'll spend the afternoon in bed."

You're still staring at his dress - more like the lack of it - when Rafayel carries you to the bathroom, setting you on the sink counter. "It's good your period hasn't started yet. I hate seeing you in pain, especially dealing with the cramps on a weekend. As it is, you rarely get days off to rest and recuperate."

You finally find your voice, snapping out of your shock. "What the hell are you wearing, Rafayel?!" You recognise the outfit; it was the one he wore to the hot springs where you'd extracted a specific shade of red pigment from a rare flower. You also remembered how the night ended. Now everytime you see that specific outfit, you're reminded of the night he painted on you with his rare pigment, before bringing you to the peak of your pleasure in the floating hot springs. Your body seemed to have remembered that night too, apparently, if the dull ache of pleasure blooming in your lower abdomen was any indication.

Rafayel, who had turned to ready the bathtub, turns to you with a sneaky smile. "Cutie, don't tell me you don't remember this outfit." So he knew what he was doing, this sly fishie.

You scowl as you feel blood rush to your face. "I do- that's not the point, I mean why wear it now?!" Instead of answering, Rafayel simply steps between your legs, pulling you closer as your thighs automatically trap him in place. You squirm as his lips brush your ear.

"I wanted you to forget your pain and cramps, cutie." He kisses the spot below your earlobe, which makes you shiver. "I wanted to distract you from your cramps while we… indulged in other activities…" his kisses trail down your neck, slow and languid.

"But I'm not on my period yet." You're already breathless from your lover's gentle kisses. "Also why would you think about… that sort of things while I'm on my period?"

"Oh, my cute, confounded bride," Rafayel huffs, as if you'd just asked him why water was colourless. "You crave intimacy on your periods, and you sleep better after we've made love." He rubs your stomach gently, as if you were already experiencing cramps. "While your libido is a beautiful, fluctuant thing, I've always noticed it's more likely to be higher during your menstrual phase."

You gape at him, feeling your heart flutter. How did he notice all of these things? Even you struggled with knowing when and how frequently (or rarely) you get horny and needy, but Rafayel… he knew you better than you did.

Ever since you had come out to Rafayel that you're demi-ace, you had feared that Rafayel would be disappointed at how little you felt sexual desire. But you had no reason to be anxious, you had realised soon enough. He had never pushed you for sex, and even admitted one day, after an afternoon of leaning more about the complexity of human attraction and the asexuality sectrum, that lemurians were, to put it in simple terms, demisexual. You had been elated then, to know that Rafayel had been able to understand you intrinsically. It was liberating, to know that you didn't have to explain every time why you weren't in the mood.

"You're scary, you know that?" You whisper, voice trailing off into a silent moan as Rafayel's hands slipped underneth your tshirt. He knew exactly where and how to touch you, making your toes curl already. Gods, you really wer horny today and had no idea. "Knowing exactly when I crave you…"

"Oh, cutie…" Rafayel moaned as you trailed your hands down his back. "That's literally my job… knowing all your wants and needs, and fulfilling it all…" He pulled your tshirt lower, exposing the top of your breasts as he kissed the supple skin.

"Also, you're right, my pearl." He pulled back, enough to get you out of your shirt, looking at you with naked desire at the sight of you, bare and trembling with desire. He hadn't even touched you, had only worn the skimpy outfit (honestly, calling the body chains and the loincloth outfit was too generous if you ask him), and you were already begging for him. He were already able to smell your desire, and it was intoxicating. With a preadatory smirk that promised endless pleasure, he trailed kisses down your body, until his lips brushed the skin beneath your navel. "You shoud be terrified. I'm going to devour you."

"So all I'm hearing is that you hate me, don't you cutie?" Rafayel pouts.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, sighing heavily. "No, you big baby," you say, tilting your head so that your phone is cradled between your ear and shoulder as you type out a report. "It means that it'll be very late by the time I come home, so I'm heading to my apartment tonight."

If anyone were to ask whether you regretted moving in with Rafayel, the answer will always remain an earnest no. Even before Rafayel officially asked you to move in with him, two blissful years into your relationship, you had practically lived at Mo Studio - your clothes stacked next to his in his wardrobe, your skincare and makeup on his vanity table, even your toothbrush and your favourite toothpaste brand next to his.

But to Rafayel's utter dismay, you renewed your lease for your Hunters Association issued apartment that was pretty close to your workplace. He huffed and puffed and claimed you hated him, but he never pushed you when you explained why you still wanted to retain your apartment deeds, and even offered to pay the lease (and pouting even more when you gently refused the offer).

"...ah," he sighs on the phone, dropping his theatrics. "Another long day, huh?"

You nod, typing rapidly. "Very. Probably may leave super late tonight. Sorry Raf."

"It's ok, cutie," your boyfriend reassures you in a soft tone. "This is why you have your apartment, after all. It's nearby, there's always people around and it's safe 24x7." While Mo Studio itself was pretty secure, thanks to its owner being an evolver and a secret assassin, and despite Linkon City itself being pretty busy no matter what hour it was, the distance between the association and Rafayel's house was very long, with the area around Whitesand Bay basically lonely and unsafe for anyone - let alone a young woman relying on public transport - after sunset. And as much as Rafayel yearned for your presence, he would never toy with your safety or want you to take a three-hour long commute every single day.

You sigh in relief, glad Rafayel understood. "Thank you, Raf. I promise I'll leave super early on Friday. That way, we can have a longer weekend."

"I'll hold you to that, cutie," he chuckled. "Now go eat, it's almost lunchtime. Love you!"

"Love you too Raf! And you should eat too, don't skip lunch again!"

"Sure thing!" The line cuts, and you slide the phone from between your shoulder and cheek, placing it on the desk. You save your work and head to the cafeteria, and back to work, momentarily forgetting the conversation and you plan to head to your apartment.

You're waiting at the terminal, hours later, when you remember. You head to platform D-2, waiting for the train that'd bring you to your apartment complex. A mere 30-minute commute, even counting the walk from the station to the apartment. You look at the time. 17:00. You'll be home long before dusk. You can take a long nap, even head to the new restaurant down the block for a nice dinner. You wouldn't have to endure a two-hour long commute, and you wouldn't have to navigate the dark, lonely commute between Whitesand Station and Mo Studio.

"Attention to passengers: The next train heading to Whitesand Station will depart from platform D-1 in two minutes."

The automated voice snaps you from your internal monologue. Platform D-1. It's just right across from where you're waiting. And sure enough, the train had just arrived, and passengers had de-boarded. It'll leave anytime soon. Commuters waiting for that train had already started to board.

"The next train heading to Whitesand Station will depart from platform D-1 in one minute."

The train was right there. Only a few more steps - seven, to be precise, and you'll be in front of the train.

You look at the time again. 17:02. You know this train route enough to know that it'll take two hours solid. It'll be really late, as Whitesand District basically shuts down after dusk. You will have to wait for a really long time to catch a cab from there to Mo Studio.

You look back at the train. It is about to depart.

Your body acts before your brain could rationalize. You take the seven steps to D-1, step into the car, scan your commute card, before settling into an empty seat by the window. You lean your head against the glass and the train departs. A million curses form in your head at your illogical decision, but one word from your heart drowns it all.

Rafayel.