Atsumu Miya, star athlete, proud husband, and supposed cool dad, crouched in the living room with a grin stretched across his face and a cheese cracker pinched between his fingers.

“C’mon, buddy,” he coaxed, shaking the treat like it was gold. “One kiss for Papa and the cracker’s all yours. I swear it.”

His son—chubby cheeks, golden brown eyes, and messy tufts of hair that clearly favored Atsumu’s side—stared at him, unimpressed.

“No?” Atsumu laughed nervously, waving the cracker again. “Look! Crunchy, cheesy…your favorite! Say it with me. Puh. Pa. Paaa-paaaa?”

The toddler tilted his head. And then, without a word, turned on his heel and waddled directly toward you, arms lifted like he was reaching for salvation.

Atsumu’s mouth dropped open. “Oi—what? Hey!”

Your little boy clung to your leg, burying his face in your knee like he’d just escaped some life-altering betrayal.

“I raised you for almost two whole years,” Atsumu muttered, still kneeling. “Changed diapers. Blew raspberries on that tummy. You liked that, remember?”

You tried to hide your laugh behind your hand, but Atsumu caught it. His eyes narrowed.

“Oh, don’t act so smug. He only likes ya more ‘cause yer always home and soft and smell like cupcakes,” Your toddler peeked over your leg, watched Atsumu with the most unimpressed toddler expression ever, and said, “Mama.”

Atsumu froze.

“That’s it? No ‘Papa’? Not even a ‘Tsumu’? What am I, the guy who brings snacks and gets ignored in his own house?!”

You scooped your son up into your arms and he immediately snuggled into your shoulder, sighing like he’d just made it back to his safe haven.

“Y’re breakin’ yer old man’s heart,” Atsumu mumbled, slouching dramatically. “This is betrayal. A mutiny. A scandal.”

Your son peeked out again. For a second, Atsumu saw hope flicker in his little eyes.

He lifted the cracker again. “One kiss, okay? Just one.”

The toddler blinked…then reached over—not to Atsumu, but to press the cracker gently against your cheek like you deserved it.

Atsumu dropped to the floor. “I can’t win,” he sighed into the carpet. “My own kid’s stealin’ my girl and my snacks.”

He grumbled but smiled anyway, stretching out on the floor as your son giggled in your arms.

Later that evening, your toddler dozed off in Atsumu’s lap, one tiny fist curled around his dad’s finger. Atsumu stayed still, eyes soft.

“…Still a Mama’s boy,” he whispered, kissing the top of his son’s head. “But I’ll keep bribin’ ya. One cracker at a time.”