➻➻ 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.
You don't even know how many times he's caught you sitting under the shade of his apple tree in the summer, reading a book. Then again, instead of politely waving you off like he does with others, he always offers you a glass of his freshly made soda with a flourish and a, "Would my lil trespasser care for a refreshment?"
You also start timing your departure for work to match the exact moment he leaves for his morning run, just so you can watch him greet you in his thigh-hugging running shorts and admire his backside when he opens the door to your car for you with a, "Knock 'em dead today, angel."
Your reaction to 'angel' must give you away because that's all he calls you now — "Mornin' angel." "Angel, you alright?" "Let me help with that, angel." — voice lower and rougher around the syllables in a way that makes your knees melt into liquid each time.
And you're not entirely sure, but you think he might have his own version of this, which is 'keepin' your mail safe for ya' while you're out, just so he can knock on your door before you go to bed with nothing but bare chest, grey sweats, a few envelopes, and a crooked grin.
The day you knock on his door with fresh lemon bars from the lemons on your tree, though? When you answer his questioning stare with a stammered explanation that you'd noticed he preferred sour treats? That's the day the playful glint in his eyes deepens into something affectionate, something more intent, something darker and more... possessive.
From then on, all he does is work on projects around your house (around both of your houses, really) on the weekend.
You've come home from both days and nights out to find everything from a new sprinkler system and an upgraded porch swing to cobblestone pathways that lead from your back door to his, and even a newly planted apple seedling in your backyard.
That's only the improvements on the exterior of your house. You've lost count of all the things Caleb's helped you with on the inside (that you aren't even sure you've mentioned to him).
At least twice a week, you open your door to Caleb in ripped jeans, a muscle tank, and a toolbelt, ready to fix your garbage disposal, change out your alarm system, update your smoke detectors, or start on some other project that ends with you talking the day away until dinner.
Though you usually spend dinner together, the meal itself is always a playful argument between you and Caleb. Mainly, who's cooking for whom since you insist on repaying him for all his help, and he insists on you sitting comfortably and sharing your day with him while he helps you out.
Regardless of who cooks, though, Caleb even makes it a point to take care of your kitchen, helping you change the hardware, update the light fixtures, and even bringing his knife sharpener with him every few months, "so you're not losin' any of those pretty fingers of yours."
You haven't really asked about his previous jobs, but you know it must've involved engineering, since he's really good with machinery. So good, actually, that you haven't needed a new mower, furnace, or oil change for your car in months.
When you don't feel satisfied that you've shown him enough gratitude for all he does to help you, you make sure you send him home on Sunday night with a full week of meal prep so he has a filling lunch at work. You also bring over pillows and curtains and throws to help make his bare living room more lively.
Everything and yet nothing at all seems to change the night he spots you pulling into your driveway past 1am, though. When you don't question why he's waited up for you as he opens your car door and his irises go from sparkling to concerned to deadly when he catches your red-rimmed eyes. When you explain the way you were stood up on your date.
Because that's when he calmly locks your car, takes your bag, and leads you to his living room, marked with your signature in every corner, to settle you with warm tea and open arms and a murmured, "c'mere, angel."
Because that's when you press against his chest, settle into his heartbeat, and let him take care of your mind and your body as securely and attentively as he's cared for each inch of your house for years.
Because that's the first of many times he watches your short trek home from his front porch in the middle of the night, arms crossed, sharp, affectionate possession carved into his face, refusing to go inside until he sees you through your living room window.
Because that's the first of many times you leave your mysterious, handsome, attentive, and much older neighbour's home with some undiscovered crack in your heart filled with molten gold the colour of his eyes, and you realize: you're so fucked.
Personally I like to imagine Caleb retiring early—making the most out of remaining time by spending it with his family, and that’s just so Caleb—the man who’s spent his entire life planning ten steps ahead, but never for himself. Always for someone else.
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.
After finishing the new archon quest of natlan, i can proudly say that i still love our capitano in all his forms in shapes (literally skipped all dialogues but his 🧚♀️) and the worst fucking part was the abyss cleansing whatevs fighting part oh my god that took me 2 hours.
Okay guys I'm not done the archon quest BUT HEAR ME OUT!!
Capitano challenges you (one of Natlan's greatest warriors/archon's personal captain of the guard) and should he win he gets to claim you as his prize 💞💞💞
romaincrisis
snowghoul
titsay
pixelskylines
andulkaphoto
turnnoffyourmind
tangentwithtanner
germansingergirl
