this desert is a dead land but your touch is an oasis, E, 18k (1/2)
Tiny static shocks jolt him as slivers of Rashomon race up his shoulders and squeeze below his leather collar, yanking him up by it. It snaps, the worn and tired buckle finally giving in. The sensation of a sea breeze brushing his raw, sweaty throat makes Atsushi nauseous. A fist in his shirt slams him back down onto the floor.
On his back. Beneath Akutagawa, who snarls right in his face.
OR
Non-traditional SSKK omegaverse for @sskkbigbang 2026











