osamud
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Summary
“Fuck,” Dazai pants out. “It won’t tear.”
He pulls, pulls, and pulls—he wants to, oh how he needs to. The tips of his fingers are already slick with sweat, weakening his grip on the shockingly sturdy fabric. Even the seams don’t seem to budge, the sight of the tightly wound threads rattles the growing agitation in Dazai’s chest. The fluorescent lights glare down their figures from above, like sunlight dominating miles and miles of desert.
“There has to be a way.”
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Even through all of their detailed planning, a challenge arises that neither Dazai nor Fyodor ever anticipated. Even in their most wild imaginations.
Bookmarked by osamud
11 Jun 2026