growing up, caleb never let you see his computer.
at first, you thought he was just being mean, hogging the highest-tech thing you’d ever seen all to himself. then, once you got old enough, you wondered if all the secrecy was for…nefarious reasons. but every time he smiled and ruffled your hair, you just couldn’t bring yourself to think he’d ever watch that kind of stuff.
plus, the thought made your stomach hurt.
eventually, you grew old enough to value your privacy just as much. gone were the days of you sneaking glances over his shoulder and trying to guess his password while he wasn’t looking.
*his password wasn’t your birthday. why wasn’t it your birthday? was it someone else’s birthday?
**it always was your birthday. just typed backwards.
in all that time, you never would’ve guessed the thing he’d tried so hard to keep from you was his own sims fantasy land.
he’d spent hours designing both of your appearances and outfits, chasing accuracy down to the pixel. once he was satisfied, he moved your household into an empty world, so that you were free to live as you were instead of who you should’ve been.
he’s an astronaut, you’re a secret agent. you have a garden, but he always hires someone to tend to it so the plants don't command too much of your attention. his cooking skills are maxed out, as is your relationship level. and there’s a shiny silver band around your left ring finger.
you have a mansion with a motherlode of things to entertain you: hot tub, cupcake machine, karaoke station, rocket ship. and rest assured, there’s a trusty cowplant in the back to deal with anyone who disrupts your peace. over the years, it has lured and devoured multiple incarnations of a certain black-haired, green-eyed, sweet-toothed genius who you could never seem to stop gushing over.
and when the grey hairs come in for both of you, and your time starts winding down…well. he already has twin burial plots mapped out in the backyard, right in the middle of the apple orchard.
not that he’s dreamed about a life with you, or anything.
tangentwithtanner
romaincrisis
theartofmadeline
titsay
turnnoffyourmind
