#seb writes

It’s late. Late enough the household should’ve been encased in a slumber, and yet contrarily here you were—awake, impatient, and buzzing under the moonlight. The radiance shimmered along your skin, virtually bare upper-half enveloped in a glow.

You thought it was safe, assumed your brother was sound asleep in the next room over. Maybe the sound of the dryer should’ve tipped you off, or the rustling through the wall you told yourself you didn’t hear. Hell, maybe you knew the whole time and decided you didn’t care. Right now, there wasn't room to think about right from wrong, it all mushed together. In this state of mind, all you knew were needs and desires.

Caleb happened to be both.

“Pips, have any of my—”

It was like you had spoken him into existence, had somehow manifested him with filthy thoughts and echoes of his name bouncing around your mind. A distant, muffled voice shouted in the back of your head—something about needing to learn to lock your door. Your brother rarely did knock these days.

Caleb appeared in your doorway, paused mid-motion; whatever words were in his throat seemed to die on his tongue. The expectation was to see you half asleep, doomscrolling for what had likely been way too long. He had planned to watch you hide the brightness of your screen under the blanket, to act like he’d just woken you up. What he was met with—something that lit his entire body aflame, a scene hand plucked from the depths of his fantasies.

The bundled sheets thrown around the bed did little to cover any part of you, much more gathered around your body than thrown over it. Your chest was the only thing sheathed underneath fabric, even if just barely. The material pushed up enough to reveal the skin of your stomach, shape of your waist in perfect view. His fingers twitched. You weren’t even facing him, too engaged in some sort of trance while the luminescence of the moon hugged your skin.

All you had heard was noise. A glassy gleam hazed over your eyes, distorted your vision as you glanced towards the door. You didn’t seem all too surprised someone was stood there.

If you were looking at him, actually looking at him, you’d catch his adam’s apple bob in his throat, watch how his gaze zeroed in on you while his tongue wet his lower lip. It was like he’d walked in on prey setting their own trap, so sickly sweet waiting to be caught.

The reason he even stepped in here was wrapped around your lower half, giving him an answer to his original cut-off question. Yes, you did have his boxers. One pair, at least. Did you… take them?— Caleb shook his head, a weak attempt at stopping himself from projecting his pervert tendencies onto you. You were his baby brother, it was likely you just grabbed some of his clothes to add to the load and forgot to give them back.

Right?

Caleb goes to apologize, to save whatever semblance of normalcy your relationship had, but what comes out was.. Not that. Nearly the complete opposite of that. He groans, and it’s loud. His eyes have not quit scanning over your body, drinking in all of the exposed skin that twinkled under the moon, studying the way his boxers fit around your lower half (they, in fact, did not). It was clear the piece of clothing was not yours, but here they were, pulled up snuggly on your hips.

With your knees spread, you were on display; unabashedly beginning to put on a show for the one person you really shouldn’t, and yet, the only person you’d ever wanted to. Something in you was saying you should be more embarrassed, laid out and discovered while you palmed yourself over stolen fabric. You just couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The material felt so nice against your skin, nicer than anything you owned; who’s to tell if some of that was just the buzz from knowing they were his.

You barely stopped what you were doing, presenting more of yourself with the few movements you had made since the “interruption.” You drew your fingers up to the little tent forming in your— his boxers. The soft cotton seemed happy to gather your slick, clinging to you, outlining just enough he began to imagine what was hidden underneath.

With one of your fingers on either side of the bud in your shorts—hard and begging for an inch of attention—you started to stroke yourself. A pleased sigh quick to pass your lips, misting through the room and straight through Caleb’s ears. It pulled him out of the daze he’d fallen into, eyeing you.

“I— God, sorry. I—” Gulp. “Should’a knocked—”

His mouth opened with a less angelic tone, at least he would consider it so. You, on the other hand, thought he sounded delicious—a breathlessness from him you’d ached for, dreamed about. It had you whimpering, hearing his voice, whatever words that tumbled past his lips were of little importance.

Your gaze flickered up to finally meet his, heavy lids finding wide eyes. The room was still too dark to make out much. You wanted to see him. Were his ears pink? Pupils blown? You wanted to find his eyes raking over you, wanted him to forget the dignified big brother act he’d kept on so long and give in like you finally had.

Caleb was busy getting smothered by his own cravings, attempting to swallow some of the—embarrassing amount of—spit that had begun to pool on his tongue. He felt like he couldn’t take a whole breath. There wasn't enough blood going to his brain to make a move, regardless which way his ‘moral compass’ pointed him. He started to worry just breathing would break the thickness in the air, afraid filling his lungs would somehow, someway, cement you further and further out of his reach.

Mind starting to fog, he tried to come up with his next move. What was the best course of action here? Was there one? He had to think of something that didn’t involve somehow hurting you—

“Mmmph—”

The enchanting sound slipped from your mouth into the air, misting its way over. It orbited itself around Caleb’s head.

He choked.

It was sick—the way his body flushed, how fucking hard he was leaning against his brother’s doorframe—and yet not a single part of him dared to move. Caleb knew full well he needed to leave, that he needed to turn around, walk out, close the door—

“Mm, need helppp—”

It was so unbelievably whiny, hitting him square in the chest with such a fervent tone. You had seemed so uneffected by his presence, barely sparing him a glance, and now the truth begun to shine through. Hearing your precious, honey-dipped plea made him throb, painfully strained up against his shorts. Caleb had to shut his eyes when he responded.

“I— Help? Baby— I don’t think—”

“Ah— Please,” your hips twitch, “Wanna feel how much better it is when you do it.”

He swore under his breath, chest starting to heave with how deep he was inhaling. He blinked everything back into existence, eyes fixated on the bed—drinking in the bewitching temptation laid before him. He straightened up, pushing himself off the doorframe.

Caleb never was good at denying you.

“…You sure? You gotta be really, really sure.”

You were nodding before his lips could even form the second word, already having predicted what was to come plummeting out. Your thighs stretched further apart, adding another, nonverbal, reassurance.

“Gonna need you to use your words for me, honey.”

Caleb’s movements didn't uphold the firmness in his voice, eager bits peeking through as he promptly made his way over. He stood so close, eyes sweeping over the view presented to him. You watched as he begun to piece together just what he was seeing, his stare stuck on the one piece of fabric blanketed over your body.

“‘S that… my shirt?”

Another thing itching for some spoken response—though this one was, surely, rhetorical. He already knew. It was the one he had on yesterday, and you weren’t even wearing it, not really at least. The worn cloth was draped over the most intimate parts of your torso, right across your chest—pile of cotton placed close enough to stick your nose into.

“Mm, was on top. Smelled the most like you.”

“God—” Caleb’s lids squeezed shut and something stirred in his sweats, “You’re tryna make me go crazy, huh?”

His eyes flicked back open, dead set on his target: you. You're unsure if it was the lack of actual light—half of his face faintly illuminated—but the familiar violet was lost, whatever sliver of color you were met with was darker than anything recognizable. His gaze could only be described as predatory, and it shot a shiver up your spine.

“Sayin’ stuff like that while laid out like this, all pretty,” the mattress dipped under his weight, “Wearing my underwear… I’m supposed to be a good big brother, y’know. Good big brothers aren’t supposed to think like this—think about their baby brother laying in the room next door, shouldn’t wonder how big his cock has gotten, or try to picture how cute it’d look hard ‘nd twitching.”

One of Caleb’s knees cushioned itself on the bed, other foot still sturdy on the floor. Rough hands ghosted over the skin of your calves, he was just narrowly holding onto an inch of his sanity.

“How could I be expected to do any of that now, hm? How am I supposed to be ‘Good Big Brother Caleb’ when I’ve just found my precious baby bein’ a huge perv?”

It was sudden, how his grasp found hold on you. You expected teasing, an almost maddening amount, even. It had been the game you played with him for—what might as well have been—your whole life; teasing, teasing, and more teasing. There were sprinkles of ‘weird’ amounts of fondness and handfuls of so-called ‘accidental’ touches; torn shreds of something forbidden that you both, consistently and unspokenly, pushed the boundaries of.

But it’d been spoken of now. The air that surrounded you two had become thick, cleansed and yet simultaneously tainted. It’s the fullest your lungs have felt in years, somehow the freshest breaths you’ve arguably ever taken. For something allegedly so shameful, it felt undeniably magnetic, like a final piece was starting to fall into place.

With a grip on your hip with one hand and the other wrapped around your thigh—Caleb tugged— manhandling you to the corner of your bed as if he didn't have a gravity evol at his fingertips. A yelp slipped through your lips and a resulting chuckle bubbled up past his. It was borderline condescending, the sound from his throat, a patronizing noise that only added to the warmth that burned under your skin.

“Real cute, but not what I need, little one. C’mon, words.”

Your thighs quivered as he slapped at the inner, most sensitive parts; an unexpected amount of impact that made your eyes widen. The sound that echoed was louder than anything, but there was a resulting sting that had you jolting your hips into empty air.

He moved to tower over you, broad shoulders casting a shadow. A hand positioned inches from your head, fingers sunk into the plush of the mattress as he held himself up. His knee was slotted between your open legs, pressed more to your ass than core—doing absolutely nothing to relieve any ache, any of your needs.

His heart skipped a few beats in his chest, years and years of desire overtaking his psyche and flooding his veins. You were finally laid out within reach—vulnerable, pliant. Being so close to taking you how he’d always wanted, needed, dreamed of—it had his mind in a complete whirlwind.

Caleb was fighting hard to keep his eyes on your face, putting on a mask of patience he’d hastily glued together. He was aching for your okay, desperate for the confirmation to go ahead and devour you.

“‘M sure. Really sure.”

Consenting so readily, so easily. You have absolutely no idea what agreeing to all this is gonna do to him. Do you?

Caleb had always felt lucky to be your big brother; truly believed nobody else deserved you, that you were a masterpiece only his eyes were to be blessed with. Not a single other soul should get to see you like this, get even a whisper of the melodies that played off your lips; it was all meant for him.

No one could know you the way he did. Just the thought had his stomach churning; the possibility of someone else’s name rolling off your tongue, someone else getting to memorize you—No, wrong. They weren’t worthy of it. The world wasn't worthy of it, of you. And hypocritically, Caleb didn’t think he was either. But, for some reason, the universe gave him a blessing—because you seemed to believe different. You thought he was worthy, and that was all he needed. All he needed to confirm he had to stay by your side. So, he kept going; continued to exploit your positively skewed version of him, continued to use it to his advantage. If being selfish was what it took, he’d do it again, a thousand times over if he had to. Nothing else mattered. All there was, was walking this life (and all the ones after) with you.

“Mmm, yeah?” Caleb leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss between your brows. He lingered a moment, brushing his lips across your skin, only stopping to lowly whisper toward your ear, “Don’t regret it now.. You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.”

As he pushed himself back up, he met your stare—pupils blown and mouth parted. Something flashed in the deep violet of his eyes as he went to stand, his body heat threatening to separate from yours.

Quick to grab at his waist, your fingertips dug crescents into his skin. A sharp inhale preceded your voice.

“Wait—”

And so he did. Caleb paused, only his eyes moving—irises having snapped up to your face. He was eagerly searching your expression, doing his best to keep his own breathing even. He told himself to focus on your grip, your fingers at his sides, to commit how your hands felt to memory. He desperately tried not to spiral, not to make a list of all the things you could possibly say next. He really tried not think about how there was a chance you were about to tell him you didn't want this. That you didn’t want him. Could he really walk out of here and pretend this never happened? Go back to how things were before? Back to the endless pining, the painfully suppressed feelings? Could he seriously act like he’d moved on from you?

(Regardless of the ache, he’d do whatever it took. Anything to stay with you. Even if it meant handing you his heart and watching you shoot through the middle. He’d spent years teaching you to how—how to aim, how to shoot. There was no question in his mind, you’d hit it perfect, straight on—break it in enough pieces, he’d never find them all. But he’d spend the rest of his days blinded and searching for broken shreds of himself; anything if it meant continuing to bask in the sun, his sun, you. No matter how big the you-shaped hole in his chest got.)

He started nibbling on his bottom lip when nothing was said for a beat, not willing to break the silence before you did. Caleb needed you to shatter it first, needed to know what was going on in your head.

Your throat bobbed, and he could hear the saliva stuck to your tongue as your lips parted.

“I—”

Unsurprisingly, he wasn't the only one trying to save themselves from crashing. Caleb had aired such filth, confessed to such taboo thoughts that validated he wanted you, that he has wanted you—yet it wasn't enough to stop the ‘what ifs’ cursing through your head. What if it was just lust to him? Was there a chance he didn’t crave you the same way? Will there be another opportunity to indulge in something like this? Would this be the last and only time you’d get to experience this side of Caleb?

“Hey, hey—”

The voice you’d grown to associate with comfort wrapped itself around your body, swiftly grabbing your attention and pushing air back into your lungs. Tension you weren't even aware of slowly began to release from your shoulders, a warmth coming up to cup your face. Caleb’s hand now holding your jaw, his thumb swept over the apple of your cheek. He cooed at you.

“Talk to me.” There was a gentleness that disguised some of the pain seeking to fracture through, “I’m— Shit. Sorry, I got.. too intense. It’s okay if you’ve changed your mind—”

You slapped a hand over his mouth, face flush and heart pumping. Your big brother talked too much; regularly insisted on doing it for you when he had the chance. He loved finishing your sentences, always smiled bright when he correctly guessed what you were thinking. Usually, you loved it too. It made your body warm—being so known, so understood. He’d comprehended all the wirings in your brain, had absorbed your quirks. It was almost laughable how he’d missed such a vital section while holding your soul in his hands, how he seemingly never found the large piece locked down just for him.

“No, that’s—”

You shook your head, attempting to look anywhere but him as nerves flushed through your body. You were much more afraid of him leaving you here than anything else the moon could witness tonight. There was no question, you wanted this. You wanted him.

With his hold on you, there was little choice but to meet his gaze. Hand falling back to the mattress, you unmasked the lower half of his face; eyes fixed on the way his tongue poked out, swiping itself across his lip and making them—him—all the more tempting.

“I want—” A shaky breath. “… Will you.. kiss me?”

You watch his concern morph into disbelief. He opened and closed his mouth once, twice—on the third you decided to give him an out.

“Nevermind. Forget I ask—”

Caleb’s mouth muffled your words, pushing them back down as his lips mended to yours. Time must’ve stopped. Surely every being the universe had paused in that moment, generously giving you two the extra uncounted seconds to relish in the feeling. You decided you needed all of eternity to taste him, savour all of him and mold your mouth perfectly to his. It was both everything and not enough.

“Don’t. Don’t take it back,” Caleb spoke directly into your mouth, unable to resist slotting his lips back against yours. He made a sound in his throat before pulling away, giving space—maybe three inches—to breathe. “You are so, so cute. Ask me again. Please.”

“Caleb—”

“Please. Ask me.”

The minimal air that connected you both ran warm, the most stagnant it’d felt all night. Your eyes darted between his, unsure what you were searching for.

“Kiss me.. Please?”

The room was dark except for the light gracing through the window. With your body standing cold and left unmoving, you could mistakenly never be there, if it weren’t for the deep yet focused breaths escaping your chest. Dazai appeared lost in your eyes, fondness filling his gaze and you assumed, like always, it was to prolong the inevitable. For his yet to be uttered confession held far greater greed than his mind could muster.

His hands tugged at yours in a silent invitation, one that had occurred countless times before. Tonight, it felt more intimate. More meaningful and treasurable that you almost crumbled in need, desperate to cling onto the moment before it eased away. You began to step forward and close the space, as if on instinct, despite the confusion decorating your expression.

“But there’s no music playing,” you whispered steadily, and you watched how Dazai laced a hand with yours.

“Ah, but can you not hear it?” he spoke in return, the typical jest drowned by the sincereness in his eyes.

His other hand trailed across your back as you let yourself press against him, allowing him to continue with his unspoken request to dance. You moved to hold the fabric on his shoulder gently, sinking into his grasp as your eyes never faltered against his own.

The act of knowing did not fall easy upon those unacquainted with the wounded. Of all the moments spent with him, there was always a whisper, a breath, a blink of uncertainty that treaded your mind. Despite his soft voice and tender gaze, you would double back on yourself as if you never really knew him in the first place.

Those thoughts struck as hard as sudden rain and clenched around your heart like it was merely dough. It would tear you away from what mattered—from what you wanted to matter, even if doubt clouded the forefront of your mind. The fear of never knowing the full truth, even as he stood in front of you, plagued spared seconds like the wind.

You opened your mouth in a stutter, afraid of your own voice. Or, quite possibly, afraid of the moment progressing. The hitched breath scraping against your throat pleaded for more time, for just a little while longer before you found yourself alone. “Hear what?”

“The sound of my heart beating for you.”

He spoke through a wide smile, one that would have made you swoon if it weren’t for the deep feeling in your stomach. Your heart churned with misery as something felt wrong, something grasping at your limbs and screaming for you to move—run. But the moment felt so right that you could only shake it off, indulging the serenity for a little while longer. Playing along seemed easier than letting yourself suffer.

“Stop it, that’s so cheesy,” you breathed through a laugh. A sound which pressed desperately against the insides of your ears, almost unbelieving that it ever left your mouth in the first place.

Dazai swayed you in his hold with no particular rhythm, only allowing the feeling to dictate its direction. The giddiness remained ever so prominent against his cheeks as he smiled at you fondly, a sight you wished to burn into your eyes.

“You must like it, hm?”

“But how will I know if this heart has ceased?” Your hand from his shoulder rested over his chest, placed gently as if your touch could wither him apart.

From what felt like a lifetime, you finally tore your eyes away from his, leading down to follow your hand. It moved across to where his lungs would be, pausing to let your words sink in. The feeling of his heart beating under your fingertips only churned your stomach further and it became difficult to meet his eyes again. Dazai kept you swaying, although it grew gradual as if to match the moment. Slow, almost standstill, like he could let you go. “Or rather, your last concluding breath?”

Your voice dropped to a whisper and you became increasingly scared of your own voice. The feelings, the thoughts, you couldn’t bear to admit them. Yet, you felt that if you didn’t, you would never have another chance to.

“Don’t you think it’s best not to know?” Dazai’s eyes flickered down towards your lips and his voice joined yours in a breathless whisper, “to stay ignorant and blind?”

You grew desperate and he could tell. You would soon meet your end, much like the sun, and suddenly dread flooded your stomach. Dazai stared at you longingly, observing the way your emotions fall as he continued to faintly smile.

He knows. Of course he knows. The only evidence lies as a gut feeling because he sure as hell didn’t show it. You are both so aware that no words could be spared, it felt better to beat around the bush with pleasantries—to make the inevitable more intimate than it should ever be.

“I cannot stomach that pain,” you spoke, almost too quietly for him to hear. But you held onto him a little tighter, restless against his chest and unforgiving for his shirt. This time, you couldn’t tell if he noticed. Could your grasp ever be enough?

“I’m afraid we have to.”

masterlist , taglist

♡ TURNIP BBY!!! no bc kindaichi with his hair down??? instant heart attack /pos. fr though hed be so down to cuddle with u!! like maki he wouldnt mind recording the vid for u but doesnt see why u want him to? he loves showing u off though so itd prob go smthn like this god i wish that was me rn !

♡ i never rlly payed any attention to shinji,,, so i dont trust myself to write his m so sorry shinji fans </3

♡ in all honesty kunimi probs wouldnt wanna do it just bc he doesnt rlly see the point in recording it for other ppl? if u were down with not recording it hed def be down to cuddle, but if u /rlly/ wanted to hed record it on ur shared account :)