The Favorite Alpha Debate

The afternoon sun cut long, golden rectangles across the living room floor, lighting up the chaos that had become Miya Atsumu’s life. Toys everywhere—building blocks, action figures, half a train track—scattered across the rug like colorful landmines. Atsumu sat on the plush couch, back pressed into the cushions, looking serenely exhausted. His youngest, barely three months old, was latched onto his chest, tiny fingers curling and uncurling against the soft fabric of his nursing shirt.

Takeru, his six-year-old, had wrapped himself around Atsumu’s left side like a koala. Small, warm body pressed tight against his mother’s arm, face buried in the crook of Atsumu’s neck. Every so often he’d inhale deep, scenting the air around Atsumu, and let out a satisfied hum. Possessive, almost territorial—but Atsumu didn’t mind. He ran his free hand through Takeru’s dark hair, smoothing down that stubborn cowlick that never stayed flat no matter how many times it got brushed.

Doorbell rang.

“Samu’s here,” Atsumu called out, not moving an inch. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. Baby feeding, Takeru attached to his side, and on the floor in front of him, his twin toddlers—three-year-old boys with matching mischievous grins—were building a tower of blocks already leaning dangerously. Doorbell rang again, then the sound of the door swinging open and footsteps in the genkan.

“We’re in here!” Atsumu yelled, his voice carrying that familiar brashness that hadn’t dulled despite years of domesticity.

Osamu appeared in the doorway first, paper bag of takeout in one hand, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Suna followed close behind, hands in his pockets, his usual unreadable expression softening slightly at the scene.

“Look at this circus,” Osamu said, flat but warm. He toed off his shoes and padded into the living room, setting the bag on the kitchen counter. “Did a tornado hit this place, or what?”

“The kids are playin’,” Atsumu said, like that explained everything. He shifted the baby, adjusted the latch, winced. “Oi, quit starin’. Help me pick up some of this stuff before Kiyoomi gets home and has a fit about the mess.”

“Sakusa knows you have four kids, right?” Suna wandered over, peered down at the nursing infant. The baby—small, dark-haired, with Atsumu’s features and Sakusa’s curls—blinked up at him with unfocused eyes. “He should be used to it by now.”

“He is used to it. He just complains anyway.” Atsumu’s lips curved into a fond smile. “It’s part of his charm.”

Osamu dropped onto the armchair adjacent to the couch, stretching his legs out. He watched his twin with quiet amusement. Atsumu looked good, despite the tiredness. His skin had that glow omegas get during pregnancy and postpartum, hair a little longer than usual, tied back in a messy ponytail. He was wearing an old, oversized hoodie—one of Sakusa’s, Osamu recognized—and comfortable shorts. Looked content. Like he belonged here, in this messy, loud, beautiful chaos.

“How’s the little bean?” Osamu asked, nodding at the baby.

“Good. Sleeps like a log, eats like a vacuum.” Atsumu tickled the baby’s cheek with his finger. “Kiyoomi says she takes after me.”

“She’s got your appetite, then,” Osamu said dryly.

“And your face,” Suna added, crouching down. “Poor kid.”

“Rin!” Atsumu protested, but he was laughing. “She’s beautiful and you know it.”

“She is,” Suna agreed, straightening up. He settled onto the floor next to the toddlers, who’d abandoned their block tower in favor of investigating his shoes. One grabbed his ankle and tugged. Suna looked down, unperturbed. “Hello.”

The toddler—Haruki, based on the gap-toothed grin—giggled and crawled into Suna’s lap. The other, Shoma, followed suit. Soon Suna was pinned beneath two small, sticky-handed children. His expression didn’t change, but he made no move to escape.

“Looks like you’re outnumbered,” Osamu said, smirking.

“Looks like you’re useless,” Suna shot back, adjusting his glasses as Haruki grabbed at his face.

Osamu snorted but didn’t move to help. Instead, he turned back to Atsumu, gaze sharpening with concern. “You doin’ okay? Really?”

Atsumu’s smile softened. “Yeah, Samu. Really. I’m tired, but it’s a good tired. Y’know?”

“I don’t, actually,” Osamu said, shuddering. “That’s why I don’t have kids.”

“You say that now, but wait til your biological clock starts tickin’.”

“I don’t have a biological clock. I have a business clock. It says ‘no kids, ever.’” Osamu leaned back, crossing his arms. “I’ll leave the breedin’ to you and Sakusa. You’ve got the herd started already.”

Atsumu laughed, bright and warm. “It’s not a herd. It’s a family.”

“It’s a lot of people in a small house,” Osamu countered, glancing around. Living room was decent size, but with toys, furniture, and bodies everywhere, it felt cramped. “Are you guys gonna move?”

“We’re thinkin’ about it. Kiyoomi wants more space for a proper gym. I want more space for the kids.” Atsumu shrugged. “We’ll figure it out.”

“That’s very mature of you,” Suna said from the floor, where Shoma was now trying to remove his glasses.

“I’m a mature adult,” Atsumu said, deadpan.

Osamu laughed. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

They fell into easy banter, conversation flowing naturally. Osamu talked about the restaurant, new menu items he was testing, a particularly picky customer he’d had to kick out last week. Suna chimed in with dry commentary, sharp but affectionate. Atsumu listened, eyes soft, body relaxed despite the two children still attached.

The baby finished feeding. Atsumu shifted her to his shoulder, patted her back gently until she let out a tiny burp. He settled her into a bassinet beside the couch, where she promptly fell asleep, small chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm.

“She’s a good sleeper,” Atsumu murmured, stroking her cheek.

“She takes after Kiyoomi,” Osamu said. “You were a demon as a baby. Screamed all night, every night.”

“I was not.”

“You were. Ma told me. You woke up the whole house for six months straight.”

Atsumu opened his mouth to protest, but the front door opening cut him off. Footsteps, measured and precise, in the genkan, followed by the click of the door closing. A moment later, Sakusa Kiyoomi appeared in the living room doorway, still in work clothes—crisp dark button-down and tailored slacks, mask hanging from one ear.

The sight of him made something warm bloom in Atsumu’s chest. Even after all these years, even with four kids and stretch marks and sleepless nights, Kiyoomi still made his heart skip a beat.

“You’re home early,” Atsumu said, smiling.

“Meeting ended sooner than expected.” Sakusa’s eyes swept over the room, taking in the chaos with a practiced, almost resigned look. His gaze landed on Atsumu, and his expression softened. “You look tired.”

“I’m always tired. It’s my permanent state of bein’.”

Sakusa crossed the room, stepping over blocks and ignoring Takeru’s glare with practiced ease. He reached the couch and leaned down, clearly aiming to press a kiss to Atsumu’s forehead.

“No!”

Takeru’s small hand shot up, slapping against Sakusa’s face. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to stop the kiss. Sakusa straightened, staring down at his son with a raised eyebrow.

“What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“Mama’s mine,” Takeru declared, fierce. He tightened his hold on Atsumu’s arm, pressed himself closer. “You don’t get to kiss him right now. I’m usin’ him.”

“‘Using him’?” Sakusa repeated, flat. “That’s not how omegas work, Takeru.”

“I don’t care. He’s my mama.” Takeru’s lower lip jutted out in a pout. He looked up at Atsumu with big, dark eyes. “Right, Mama? You’re mine.”

Atsumu bit back a laugh. “I’m your mama, yes. But I’m also Kiyoomi’s mate.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Takeru said stubbornly. “Mamas are more important.”

Sakusa folded his arms, a competitive glint entering his eyes. “And alphas are more important than pups.”

“That’s not true!”

“It is true. I’m the alpha of this house. That means I get priority.”

“No you don’t! Pups get priority! That’s the rule!”

“Who made that rule?”

“Mama did!”

Both turned to look at Atsumu, who was watching with an amused smile. “I don’t remember makin’ that rule.”

“You did,” Takeru insisted. “When I was born. You said I was the most important thing in the whole world.”

“Well, that’s—I mean—you are important, but—”

“See?” Takeru pointed triumphantly at Sakusa. “I win.”

Sakusa scoffed. “You didn’t win anything. Your mother was just being polite.”

“Was not!”

“Was too.”

“Was not!”

“Takeru,” Atsumu said, gentle but firm. “Quit arguin’ with your father.”

“But he started it!”

“I did not start it. I just wanted to kiss my mate,” Sakusa said, defensive. “Which I should be allowed to do without being assaulted by a six-year-old.”

“You weren’t assaulted. He tapped your face.”

“It was an assault.”

“Kiyoomi,” Atsumu said, exasperated but smiling. “You’re arguin’ with a child.”

“He started it.”

“I’m startin’ to see where Takeru gets his stubbornness from,” Osamu said from the armchair, watching with undisguised amusement.

Sakusa shot him a look. “No one asked you, Miya.”

“Which one? There’s two of us.”

Sakusa’s eye twitched.

Atsumu laughed, light and genuine. He shifted on the couch, trying to find a more comfortable position, but his body protested. Seven months of carrying a child, followed by recovery, left him sore in ways he hadn’t expected. He winced, pressing a hand to his lower back.

Osamu noticed immediately. He stood, walked over, held out a hand. “Up. You’ve been sittin’ too long.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re in pain. Get up and stretch.”

Atsumu sighed but took his twin’s hand. Osamu pulled him to his feet, steadying him with a hand on his elbow as he found his balance. The stretch felt good, and Atsumu let out a small groan of relief as his spine cracked.

“Thanks, Samu.”

“Don’t mention it.” Osamu released his arm but stayed close, a silent promise of support.

Takeru, dislodged from his spot, pouted up at Atsumu. “Where are you goin’?”

“Nowhere, baby. Just standin’ up for a minute.” Atsumu leaned down, pressed a soft kiss to Takeru’s forehead. “I’m right here.”

Takeru’s pout faded into a satisfied smile. He wrapped his arms around Atsumu’s legs, hugging tightly. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you too, baby.”

Atsumu straightened, and his eyes met Sakusa’s. The competitive gleam was still there, but softened by warmth. Atsumu smiled, stepped forward, and pressed a kiss to Sakusa’s lips. Soft and sweet, a gentle promise.

“There,” Atsumu said, pulling back. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” Sakusa said, dry, but his cheeks were slightly pink.

Takeru made a disgusted noise. “Ew. No kissin’ in front of me.”

“You’re going to have to get used to it,” Sakusa said, smirking. “I’ve been kissing your mother long before you were born.”

“That’s gross.”

“That’s life.”

“Okay, enough,” Atsumu said, shaking his head. He turned to Osamu. “You brought food, right? I’m starvin’.”

“Yeah, yeah. Onigiri from the shop. And some of that stew you like.” Osamu headed to the kitchen, pulling containers out of the bag. “Come eat before it gets cold.”

The next hour passed in a blur of food and laughter and warmth. The toddlers were wrangled into high chairs and fed with a patience Atsumu had developed over years of practice. Takeru, having claimed a spot on Atsumu’s lap, ate his onigiri with messy, enthusiastic bites, rice grains sticking to his cheeks. Suna, somehow, had ended up with both toddlers again, and he accepted his fate with a stoic resignation that made Osamu laugh.

Sakusa ate his meal in relative peace, sitting beside Atsumu on the couch. Every so often, their shoulders would brush, quiet grounding contact. Sakusa’s hand found Atsumu’s knee, squeezed gently.

“You did good today,” Sakusa murmured, low so only Atsumu could hear.

“I didn’t do anythin’ special.”

“You kept four children alive and fed. That’s special.”

Atsumu snorted. “Low bar.”

“It’s a bar I couldn’t clear,” Sakusa said, and the admission was honest, not self-deprecating. “You’re amazing, Atsumu.”

Atsumu’s cheeks warmed. He leaned into Sakusa’s side, letting himself enjoy the compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself, Omi.”

“Don’t call me that in front of the kids.”

“Too late. They already know.”

Across the room, Osamu was watching them with a soft look. Suna nudged him with an elbow.

“Jealous?” Suna asked.

“Nah. Just happy for him.” Osamu’s smile was genuine, a little wistful. “He deserves this.”

“You’re a good brother.”

“Don’t get all sappy on me, Rin.”

“I’m not being sappy. I’m stating a fact.”

Osamu rolled his eyes but didn’t argue.

As the sun began to set, painting the living room in shades of orange and pink, the house settled into quiet contentment. The toddlers were drowsy, eyes heavy, heads drooping against Suna’s chest. The baby still asleep in her bassinet. Takeru, full of food and warmth, dozing in Atsumu’s lap.

Atsumu looked around the room, at the people who filled his life with chaos and love. His brother, his mate, his children. His heart felt full, so full it might burst.

“Hey,” he said softly. Everyone turned to look. He smiled, eyes bright. “I love you all.”

“Love you too, Mama,” Takeru mumbled, half-asleep.

“Love you, Tsutsumu,” Osamu said, using the old teasing nickname with affection.

Sakusa pressed a kiss to Atsumu’s hair. “I love you.”

Atsumu leaned into the touch, closed his eyes. For a moment, there was peace.

And then Takeru, stirring awake, looked up at Sakusa with a sleepy but determined expression. “Wait.”

“Wait what?”

“I still want to know.” Takeru straightened, rubbing his eyes. “Who’s Mama’s favorite alpha?”

Sakusa raised an eyebrow. “Me, clearly. I’m his mate.”

“No way. You’re not his favorite. I am. I’m his firstborn.”

“Firstborn doesn’t mean favorite.”

“Does too!”

“Does not!”

“Mama,” Takeru said, turning to Atsumu with pleading eyes. “Tell him. Tell him I’m your favorite.”

“Takeru, you can’t just ask for the title of favorite—”

“Yes I can. You’re my mama. You have to tell the truth.”

Sakusa leaned forward, expression challenging. “Go on, Atsumu. Tell us who your favorite alpha is.”

Atsumu looked between them—his six-year-old son, pouting with righteous indignation, and his husband, smug and confident. Across the room, Osamu was watching with a grin, clearly enjoying the show. Suna had his phone out, recording.

“Who’s your favorite alpha, Atsumu?” Osamu called out, egging him on.

Atsumu took a breath. He looked at Takeru, then at Sakusa, then—with a mischievous glint in his eye—at Osamu.

“My favorite alpha,” he said slowly, “is Osamu.”

Silence.

Takeru’s jaw dropped. Sakusa’s expression went blank with shock. Osamu froze, spoon halfway to his mouth.

“What?” Takeru squawked.

“Excuse me?” Sakusa said, dangerously flat.

Osamu, recovering, let out a bark of laughter. “Really?”

“Really,” Atsumu said, grinning. “He’s my favorite alpha. Kiyoomi, you’re my favorite mate. Takeru, you’re my favorite son. But Osamu is my favorite alpha.”

“That makes no sense,” Sakusa said, brows furrowed.

“It makes perfect sense. Samu’s had my back since we were born. He’s my twin. My other half. He knows me better than anyone else.” Atsumu’s grin softened into a genuine smile. “You’re my favorite, Samu.”

Osamu’s ears turned red. He looked down at his onigiri, trying to hide his pleased expression. “Yeah, well... you’re my favorite omega, too. I guess.”

“Wow. So romantic,” Suna said dryly, still recording.

“Shut up, Rin.” Osamu was smiling, though—a real smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes.

Sakusa, meanwhile, was pouting. Actually pouting. Atsumu blinked, surprised.

“Kiyoomi?”

“I can’t believe I got beat by my brother-in-law,” Sakusa muttered.

“Tough break, Sakusa,” Osamu said smugly.

“Don’t talk to me. I’m grieving.”

“You’re bein’ dramatic,” Atsumu said, leaning over to kiss Sakusa’s cheek. “You know you’re still the love of my life. But Samu’s been my alpha longer.”

“I’ve known you longer,” Sakusa grumbled.

“Not my fault. You should’ve been born earlier.”

Sakusa huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Takeru, meanwhile, was still staring at Atsumu with wide, betrayed eyes.

“So I’m not your favorite?” he whispered.

“Oh, baby.” Atsumu pulled Takeru into a hug. “You’re my favorite son. That’s a very important title.”

“But Uncle Samu gets to be your favorite alpha.”

“That’s different. Alpha is a job title. Son is a relationship title.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will when you’re older.”

Takeru frowned but accepted the hug, burying his face in Atsumu’s chest. “Fine. But I’m still gonna be a better alpha than Dad.”

“You’ll be a great alpha,” Atsumu said, stroking his hair.

“Better than Uncle Samu?”

“We’ll see.”

Osamu snorted. “Keep dreamin’, kid.”

“I will!”

The room dissolved into laughter. Sakusa, still pretending to be offended, wrapped an arm around Atsumu’s waist and pulled him close. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he murmured into Atsumu’s ear.

“I know,” Atsumu whispered back, his smile bright.

Suna finally put his phone away, shaking his head. “This is going in the family group chat.”

“Please don’t,” Sakusa said.

“Too late. Already sent.”

“Rin!”

Suna shrugged, unrepentant.

The evening wore on, warm and golden, filled with the sound of laughter and the comfort of family. Atsumu sat in the middle of it all, surrounded by the people he loved, and felt a quiet, profound happiness settle into his bones.

This was his life now. Chaotic, messy, loud. And perfect.