I need to do more of it fr 🥹

YES. I’m right there with you!!😂

For real 😂 They can’t help it sometimes I feel wahahah.

I didn’t realize how much I needed this until right now. 🫣

Whenever they fell back into that rhythm, with Atsumu’s cocky grin and Osamu’s half-hearted grumbles, Osamu would catch his name out of the corner of his eye, and something would curl hot and fierce in his chest.

‘You own me,’ it seemed to say. And Osamu was starting to believe it.

Didn’t tease, didn’t gloat—just shivered when Osamu’s fingers would tighten around his hips, holding him in place while he made a point to leave his mark. Atsumu’s back would arch just a bit more, like he knew exactly what Osamu was about to do, like he was waiting for it.

Atsumu’s breath hitched, and Osamu’s heart almost stopped.

He continued doing it after that. And if Atsumu noticed the exact reason, he never said anything.

He barely registered the thought, that split-second decision as his vision blurred. Pulling out to spill ropes of white on his brothers back with a low satisfied groan. Aiming just a little higher, right above the tattoo, like it was a target he had to hit.

But his brother was right, he really did love that stupid tattoo.

He didn’t plan the first time it happened, Osamu was too far gone. Atsumu’s face pressed against the bed, fingers twisted tight in the sheets as he called out Osamu’s name between breathy moans.

“Oh, ya love it,” Atsumu would reply, always with that same smug grin that made Osamu’s blood run hot, cheeks flushed various shades of red.

It was infuriating. Maddening. Completely unfair that Atsumu could do something so reckless and stupid.

“Can’t believe ya actually did it,” he’d say, his voice thick with that familiar blend of frustration and something else, something that made his words catch in his throat.

pick something up, the letters flexing under taut skin.

He still pretended, though. Still snorted and rolled his eyes when Atsumu showed off that tattoo like it was some kind of trophy.

Not when Osamu had Atsumu bent over, his fingers digging into his brother’s hips, gaze zeroed in on that damn ink every single time he pushed deeper. Not when he felt his blood rushing south, making his cock twitch every time he caught a glimpse as Atsumu’s reached for something or leaned down to

It was almost mocking, that tattoo, a little reminder of a joke that was supposed to have been nothing more than a dare.

Except it wasn’t a joke anymore.

“Yer an idiot, Tsumu.”

But he’d never been able to stop looking.

It got worse when they were alone. When the teasing wasn’t in the restaurant, or after a game, but behind closed doors.

The rest of the team had howled when he pulled his shirt up to show them, and Osamu had stood there, arms crossed, trying very hard not to notice the way his face got hotter every second Atsumu’s lower back stayed exposed.

He played it cool, shrugged, smirked along with the others.

And that was how, two weeks later, Atsumu ended up perched on the tattoo artist’s chair with Osamu’s name permanently inked above his ass. The letters were small, clean, and bold, right where anyone could see it—if they got Atsumu in the right position.