aphro

Sy-I love my grumpy beloved-lus

➻➻ I recently spiraled about dilf neighbour!sylus and zayne and @blessdunrest said 'spiral more' and who am I to refuse that? So here's some thoughts and headcanons about your dilf neighbour!caleb.

UPDATE: there is now a small spin off fic for this

Your tall, charismatic, older neighbour, Caleb (who wears a uniform), has been your neighbour for years, both of you having inherited your homes from your family a few months apart.

You two pretty much click instantly, never running out of things to discuss, dissect, or argue about.

There's an inherent magnetism about him as well; in the way he grins at you from across the yard, boyish charm blended into lines of age and life's experience; in the way that he winks at you when you're out watering your plants, shoulder propped against the post of his front porch; in the way that he casually drapes his arm over your shoulder to pull you into his side when the creepy neighbour from down the block refuses to take your hints to end the small talk.

Although he's friendly, he also tends to keep to himself and never seems to have much company over. In fact, since the first time Caleb invited you to take your pick of his apple harvest a few autumns ago, you're pretty sure you're the only person who's been inside his home.

Despite this, however, Caleb is undoubtedly the most popular guy on the block. The ladies of the neighbourhood walk slower as they pass his sidewalk and ask him about his day, the men of the neighbourhood loiter to have a chat about this vehicle or that yard project.

Even the neighbourhood dogs make themselves at home on his beautifully trimmed lawn, bounding happily over to collect their treats from him when he whistles for them between two fingers.

Unfortunately, you're no better than any of them.

He retires quietly, without a big announcement or ceremony. Just a signed paper, a few handshakes, and a long look at the uniform that once defined him. It sits folded on the bed, the same crisp dark jacket that carried the weight of a thousand responsibilities—and now he looks at it with something between pride and sorrow.

When you ask if he’s sure, his smile is small but firm. “Pipsqueak,” he murmurs, pulling you into his arms, “I’ve already fought my last battle. Everything I ever wanted to protect is right here.”

He’d been planning this for years, secretly weaving it all together behind your back—not out of deceit, but out of love. While most men were still climbing ranks, Caleb was securing a life where he could finally stop running toward danger. The day your first son was born, he’d already made his decision. He promised himself that no matter how many medals he earned, no uniform would ever mean more to him than the tiny hand that gripped his finger that day.

By his early forties, while his peers were still chasing promotions, Caleb Xia was hanging up his badge. He’d saved enough, invested smartly, and secured every future his kids could dream of. He pulled every string he could, cashed in every favor, and when they protested—when the military insisted they still needed him—he simply said, “You’ll manage without me. My family can’t.”

The house feels different now. Warmer. Quieter, but in the best way. He’s there every morning when the kids wake up, every night when they fall asleep. He makes breakfast shirtless, apron tied around his waist, humming old military marches under his breath just to annoy you. He drives them to school himself, arms crossed proudly as he watches his brood of four spill out of the car.

Sometimes, when the sun sets, he sits on the porch with you, a cup of tea in hand, eyes soft as they follow your children chasing each other around the yard. There’s faint scars on his right arm that catch the orange light—and you see it then, how much he’s carried, and how much lighter he looks now. “I thought I’d miss it,” he admits one evening, his voice low. “The work. The adrenaline. The fleet.”

You look at him, curious. “And do you?” He smiles faintly. “Not even a little.” His hand finds yours, fingers threading through like they always do. “I almost didn’t get this far once,” he whispers. “Almost didn’t make it home. But I did. And I won’t waste a single second of it.”

And so, the great Colonel Caleb Xia—once the iron wall of the fleet—spends his forties as a house husband, a dad, a man who finally lets himself live.

He still wakes up early, still trains out of habit, still keeps a blade locked in the drawer “just in case,” but the only missions he goes on now are grocery runs with his kids and Saturday pancake duties.

He traded war for peace, chaos for laughter, medals for bedtime stories—and for the first time in his life, he’s finally free.

SERIES M.LIST

MC: Sylus? thought you were dead. You survived all four bullets, huh?

Sylus: You shot me five times.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Okay guys I'm not done the archon quest BUT HEAR ME OUT!!