#fatkiri

He shivers remembering it. Every hit had him sweating, pushing himself harder and harder. Rappa’s mix of praise and harassment got his blood pumping hot, the need to prove himself. Fatgum had been right there all the way, both of them trying hard not to think of Suneater hanging back to give them this chance.

Struggling to sit up, a large and warm hand stops him by the shoulder, gently urging him back.

“Easy, Riot. You need to rest,” a tired voice instructs.

Crimson eyes blink and look up into a familiar face. Fatgum is in his skinny form, something that still makes his mind reel. The warm hand moves to sweep red locks out of his face in a soft caress. It’s that care that breaks the final wall down, crumbling into sobs.

“M’sorry, I was tryin' t'be strong—”

Shame felt hot on his cheeks, tears falling down quick. This terrible feeling has wormed its way into his chest, something ugly and cold with clawed hands that squeeze his heart painfully.

Rappa’s deep rasp had made him slick. The adrenaline and presence of a powerful alpha, scent unbearably thick and dominant in the room, had been enough to make him dizzy. His scent blockers were soaked, sliding off in the middle of the fight to add to the cocktail. Worse yet had been his arousal, watching Fatgum protect him with an unwavering smile.

Rappa had laughed, tongue licking over his teeth in hunger. ‘Little omega likes the show.’

'Eyes on me, pal!' Fatgum had snapped, the first true sign of anger Ei had ever seen out of the giant beta. He'd stood in Red Riot's path immediately after, blocking the hulking alpha's view. 'He ain't yours to toy with.'

The alpha's smile had only grown bigger. 'S'that so? Does that make him yours?'

He should've felt humiliated, beaten into a corner, pussy leaking from all the conflicting scents. He was supposed to be stronger.

But when the beta dug his heels in the floor and yelled 'he's mine to protect!' the omega felt joy burst like a bubble inside him. It splattered inside his chest and down into his belly, honey-sweet and sticky. Something bloomed there, something suspiciously like hope and determination.

And in seconds he was back on his feet giving it his all, forcing himself to go harder, harder, harder.

His fists clench, knuckles bruised and aching. Was any of it enough?

A finger pokes his forehead, gently applying pressure until his head is laid back on a soft pillow. His gaze tilts up, blinking to see clearer past the drying tears.

"Ya did real good out there, Riot. Don't be thinkin' any different, ya hear?" A finger crooks, taking care to wipe away any errant tears. “I’m proud of ya, real proud.”

His lip wobbles, but he refuses to cry again. “But I—”

“No buts, pup,” a soft admonish, fondly by a soft boop to his nose. “I know ya thinkin’ all these thoughts, drivin’ yerself crazy. And I’m tellin’ ya it’s okay, you did good, real good out there.”

He opens his mouth to say something, a raised brow stopping him. Eijiro’s pout turns into a huff, fighting a smile as Fatgum laughs at his little defiance.

“Being a ‘Mega doesn’t make you weak.” The Pro Hero sinks back in the uncomfortable plastic chair he’s occupied for the last four hours. “Ya proved yerself today tenfold. I knew you had it in you.”

The pain in his chest starts to ease, caused by the kind comfort of his mentor or the dose of medicine running through the IV, he isn’t sure. He truly sinks back into the hospital bed, trying to get comfortable.

“I want to get stronger,” he whispers, eyes drooping.

“Ya will get there,” is promised back.

He falls into a strange dream, one filled with big smiles and hands, soft touches to his cheek. Happiness mixed with longing, the smell of fresh baked bread and dumplings invading every little crevice of his mind.