Work Text:
The first time Eric said “Da,” it was an accident.
At least that’s what Jonathan tried to tell himself.
They were in the living room, late afternoon sunlight spilling gold across the floor.
Steve was lying on his back, making ridiculous faces while Eric—sitting between Jonathan’s legs—tried to grab at the air with chubby hands.
“Say papa,” Steve exaggerated, pointing at himself. “Pa-pa.”
Eric answered with a bubble of drool.
Jonathan laughed softly, resting his chin on the baby’s dark hair. He smelled like milk and soap and warmth.
“Don’t pressure him,” Jonathan murmured. “He’s eight months old.”
Steve lifted his head. “He’s gifted. Gets it from me.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes.
And then it happened.
Eric stared at Steve.
Brow furrowed.
Deep concentration.
His mouth opened.
“Daaa…”
Silence.
Steve froze.
Jonathan did too.
Eric tried again, louder.
“Da!”
Steve shot upright like he’d just won something major.
“Did you hear that?!”
Jonathan felt something strange tighten in his chest.
“That was… a sound.”
“It was my name!” Steve grinned, bright and proud.
“He said ‘Da.’ I’m officially the favorite.”
Jonathan smiled.
Or tried to.
“Right,” he said quietly. “Congrats, Alpha.”
The word caught a little on the way out.
Steve didn’t notice. He was too busy lifting Eric into the air while the baby squealed.
Jonathan clapped softly.
Inside, something folded in on itself.
⸻
That night, Jonathan couldn’t sleep.
Eric was in his crib.
Steve snored lightly beside him.
The house was quiet.
“Da.”
It hadn’t been “Papa.”
It hadn’t been anything close to Jonathan.
“Da.”
Steve.
The Alpha.
Jonathan turned toward the wall, swallowing against the tightness in his throat. It was ridiculous. He knew that. Eric barely talked. It didn’t mean anything.
And yet…
There was something deep and instinctual that hurt.
Because Jonathan had always been afraid of this.
Of not being enough.
Of the baby choosing the strong one.
The steady one.
The one who held the world together with easy confidence.
Not the omega who still had anxious days.
Not the one who cried too easily.
Not the one who always felt like he had to work twice as hard to be seen.
“It’s fine,” he told himself. “Steve’s amazing. Eric loves him.”
Jonathan loved him too.
That should’ve been enough.
⸻
The next morning, Jonathan was quieter than usual.
Steve noticed while making breakfast.
“Didn’t sleep?”
“Not really.”
Eric sat in his highchair, banging a spoon.
“Da!” he babbled toward the kitchen.
Steve raised a hand like he was being called on stage. “Right here, champ.”
Jonathan felt that small pinch again.
It continued like that all day.
Eric said “Da” often.
Sometimes looking at Steve.
Sometimes at the wall.
Sometimes at absolutely nothing.
And every time, Jonathan felt himself tilt a little further.
Ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
Still.
That afternoon, Steve picked Eric up for a diaper change.
The baby fussed.
Not full crying. Just restless discomfort.
“Hey, hey,” Steve soothed. “It’s me.”
Eric squirmed harder.
“Da! Da! Da!”
“Yeah, I’m here,” Steve laughed. “What’s up?”
Jonathan appeared in the doorway without meaning to.
“Is he okay?”
Eric turned.
Saw him.
And reached.
Desperately.
Jonathan blinked.
“Oh.”
Steve went still too.
Eric’s lip trembled.
“I think,” Steve cleared his throat, “he wants you.”
Jonathan stepped forward.
The moment he took him, the crying stopped.
Instantly.
Eric pressed into Jonathan’s chest, breathing deep, fingers clutching his shirt.
And sighed.
Jonathan’s heart broke open.
“Hey, little one,” he whispered.
Eric tucked his face against Jonathan’s collarbone.
Completely calm.
Steve stared at them.
“Okay. That was personal.”
Jonathan let out a small, stunned laugh.
“Maybe he’s just hungry.”
“Sure.”
⸻
That night confirmed it.
Steve tried rocking Eric first.
The baby was tired. Rubbing his eyes. Yawning.
But he wouldn’t settle.
“Come on, champ. Sleep for your Da.”
Wrong move.
Eric started crying—offended crying.
Jonathan stepped closer. “Let me try.”
Steve hesitated like he was handing over a trophy.
Jonathan took Eric gently.
Magic.
Eric rested his head on Jonathan’s shoulder.
Still.
A soft sigh.
Five minutes later, he was asleep.
Deep.
Safe.
Steve looked up at the ceiling.
“Unbelievable.”
Jonathan glanced at him, unsure. “Don’t tease.”
“I’m not.”
Steve walked closer, lowering his voice.
“I’m processing.”
Jonathan frowned. “What?”
Steve smiled, softer now.
“That maybe I’m not the favorite.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Hey.” Steve brushed Jonathan’s cheek carefully. “It’s fine. Okay, maybe a little competitive. But…”
He looked at their sleeping son.
“This is different.”
Jonathan followed his gaze.
Eric’s tiny fist was locked in his shirt.
Like he had no intention of letting go.
⸻
Over the next few days, it became obvious.
Eric said “Da.”
A lot.
But when he was scared, he looked for Jonathan.
When he was sleepy, he wanted Jonathan.
When he was overstimulated, he wanted Jonathan’s lap.
And then came the moment that made everything clear.
Eric was on the floor, lying on his back. Steve beside him, tickling.
Giggles everywhere.
Jonathan watched from the couch.
“Watch this,” Steve said. “I’m getting the tummy trust.”
Jonathan raised a brow. “That’s instinctual. Don’t force it.”
“Relax.”
Steve leaned in. “C’mon, champ. Tummy.”
Eric looked at him.
Then turned his head.
Searching.
Until he found Jonathan.
The impact of that look was physical.
Eric rolled clumsily, trying to move toward him.
“Oh,” Steve said quietly.
Jonathan slid off the couch without thinking.
Sat on the floor.
Eric scooted the few inches he could.
And then—completely trusting—rolled onto his back, belly exposed.
Relaxed.
Open.
Safe.
Jonathan’s breath broke.
In omega culture, that meant something.
It wasn’t random.
It was surrender.
Trust.
Choice.
Steve saw it too.
“Oh,” he repeated, softer.
Jonathan touched the small, round belly with trembling fingers.
Eric giggled.
“Hi,” Jonathan whispered.
Steve dropped dramatically backward.
“Incredible.”
Jonathan looked at him. “Steve…”
Steve turned, smiling but vulnerable.
“I’m the Alpha.”
“I know.”
He gestured at Eric. “But he marked you first.”
Jonathan froze. “What?”
“Not like that,” Steve snorted. “Relax. I mean instinctively.”
Jonathan was red.
“I’m serious,” Steve continued. “Look at him.”
Eric was staring at Jonathan like the world started and ended there.
“I’m his ‘Da,’” Steve said. “I’m fun. I throw him in the air.”
Jonathan listened, heart pounding.
“But you…”
Steve reached for his knee.
“You’re where he feels safe.”
Jonathan’s throat closed.
“That’s not—”
“That’s everything,” Steve interrupted gently.
Tears slipped down Jonathan’s cheeks.
“I thought… maybe I wasn’t…”
He couldn’t finish.
Steve leaned in carefully and kissed his temple.
“Jon. He can say my name first. He can shout ‘Da’ all day.”
Pause.
“But when his instincts speak… he chooses you.”
Jonathan trembled.
Eric, oblivious to the emotional devastation, grabbed Steve’s finger.
Closing the circle.
Steve laughed softly. “See? He doesn’t hate me.”
Jonathan let out a wet laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re crying over something you already won.”
Jonathan blinked. “What?”
Steve pressed his forehead to his.
“You won first, Omega.”
And just like that, the ache disappeared.
⸻
That night, while rocking Eric, Jonathan whispered:
“Say papa.”
Eric blinked sleepily.
“Pa…”
Jonathan stopped breathing.
“Pa…”
Then—
“Da.”
Steve burst into silent laughter.
Jonathan shot him a look.
“Not funny.”
Steve crouched in front of them.
“You can say whatever you want, champ.”
Eric looked at Steve.
Then at Jonathan.
Babbling nonsense.
But his tiny hand gripped Jonathan’s shirt again.
Steve smiled.
“Yeah. I get it.”
He kissed Eric’s forehead.
Then Jonathan’s.
“I like that the first thing he learned how to do was choose well.”
Jonathan laughed through tears.
“You’re impossible.”
“But I’m right.”
They looked at each other quietly.
It didn’t matter who got named first.
It didn’t matter who was Alpha.
Because Eric didn’t need to choose only one.
But when his heart spoke without words…
His body already knew where to rest.
In Jonathan’s chest.
And that was enough.
⸻
Later, in bed, Steve murmured against Jonathan’s neck:
“I’m really not jealous.”
Jonathan smiled in the dark.
“Liar.”
“Maybe a little.”
Jonathan turned to face him.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For saying it out loud.”
Steve kissed him slowly.
Soft. Unhurried.
“I’m the Alpha,” he whispered against Jonathan’s lips. “But you’re his home.”
And in the next room, Eric slept deeply.
Safe.
Chosen.
And choosing.
First.