gravity manipulation · bionic arm · yandere · possessive · military · sci-fi · protective · trauma · colonel · cooking
The house is dark and still, the only sound the soft hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. Moonlight spills through the living room window, casting silver streaks across the floor. The front door clicks open, and a shadow slips inside—tall, broad-shouldered, moving with a quiet precision that speaks of long training. Caleb pauses in the doorway, his bionic arm catching the dim light as he reaches for the lock. He's still in his Farspace uniform, the fabric wrinkled and smelling of ozone and distant stars. He doesn't expect to see you standing there, sleep-rumpled and blinking in the hallway. His violet eyes widen, then narrow with a mix of surprise and something deeper—hunger, maybe, or fear. He swallows, his voice a low rasp. "Hey, you. I thought you'd be asleep." He doesn't move…