#hours debugging...... the debugging... it never ends

The engineers laughed but they kept your access.

So even though you weren’t physically there, you had live telemetry, driving inputs, throttle mapping, brake pressure, differential settings, tyre performance and full chart logic patterns. Basically, the raw skeleton of his driving.

You weren’t on the engineering team. But you could see everything.

Laptop balanced on your knees in your apartment. And to be honest You didn’t mean to look at it.

Well… maybe you did. Just a little. For fun. And besides, you were an IT student. Flowcharts, logic paths, system behavior, debugging, all that stuff had rewired your brain to recognize pattern failures instantly.

So when you peek and see the data, it tells you the whole story.

Without even seeing a single broadcast feed, you knew Carlos had a terrible day.

Inconsistencies everywhere and Turn-by-turn responses that made no logical sense and a throttle spike patterns you never saw from him. A diff behavior out of rhythm

The data in front of you practically screamed frustration. You couldn’t help whispering to yourself “this…is not him.”

A normal girlfriend might have panicked. Might have texted him, asked what was wrong.

But you weren’t like that. You were an IT student with a brain that treated everything like a logic tree waiting to be debugged. Systems, patterns, inputs and outputs. It all made sense to you in ways you couldn’t explain without sounding insane.

You spent an hour analyzing his FP1 and FP2 combined data, building quick comparisons, checking flow patterns until you finally saw the issue.

It wasn’t because he’s having a mental problem, it’s not him.

It’s the timing logic between diff settings and throttle modulation.

And once you saw it? It was impossible to unsee and to stay quiet and surely you’ll tell everything to him.

Fortunately, Carlos always video calls you after practice. It was your ritual. His voice soothed you, yours grounded him. So when your phone vibrated at 9PM, you answered with a smile.

But Carlos sounded defeated.

“Mi amor… today was horrible.”

You exhaled softly. “I know.”

He blinked. “You watched, bebe?”

“No…But, I looked at your data.”

He froze then groaned dramatically. “Bebe, you’re an IT student. That’s not the same as the car data.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s literally the same backbone. A system misbehaves, I trace what breaks the flow. Debugging is debugging, code or telemetry.”

He rubbed his face. “You’re telling me coding can diagnose an F1 car?”

“What do you think a diff response is?” You smirked. “A conditional logic branch.”

“…what?”

“A conditional logic branch that’s mistimed, and you keep compensating for it manually, which throws your entry off three corners later.”

He stared at the camera. “Did you just say that like it was normal? like you’re talking about JavaScript?”

“It is normal” you said. “I looked at your Turn 9, 10, 11 sequences and… baby? Your diff shifts are lagging.”

His mouth fell open. “You figured that out?

“That’s what I study, remember?”

You shrugged. “Systems and behaviors. Patterns. This is just… a moving flowchart with tires.”

He blinked at you like you had just spoken a spell. “…explain it to me.”

So you did.

Slow, clear and precise.

You explained the chain reaction. The lag. The overcompensation. How he could anticipate it instead of fighting it. Where to time his corrections. How to keep the system stable instead of chasing it.

When you finished, he whispered “If this works, I’ll marry you.”

You laughed softly. “You should think that even though I didn’t explain things”

He smiled tiredly, but his eyes were alive again.

“Si, bebe, Gracias.”

Next morning, you sat cross-legged on your couch the, laptop open, watching the FP3

Sector 2 turned purple.

Then another and the third one is green but it's an improvement.

And then commentator, exaggerated as ever “Look at Carlos, consistent but are we gonna see a full purple sector?!!!”

Qualifying arrived fast, Lap by lap, he trusted your logic more. The corrections landed.

There wasn’t magic, not yet. But he was fast, calm. In control.

His rhythm synced and his car became one with him. Every adjustment you suggested the night before showed in his execution.

P6 to P4 to P3 and by the time he crossed for his final lap, he was inches from perfection.

“Why is he like this suddenly?” Charles asked his race engineer in the radio

You watched as he set each corner to perfection.

P2

“Carlos is behind me??? Seriously? Did Williams do an upgrade?” Lando questioned on his radio and next came George “This is witchcraft. Straight witchcraft! I was P2!”

And on screen, he looked directly into the camera and mouthed

“Good advice.” You almost dropped your laptop and even hugged your pillow because by little, you know he improved. Because of you.

His engineers praised him. Commentators were confused. He finished far stronger than expected.

Basically, his performance lit the paddock on fire.

Across garages, screens, and hospitality suites, people were confused in real time. Because it wasn’t just a little improvement.

It was a different driver.

Carlos was hitting apexes like he drawn them himself. His acceleration charts were cleaner than some teams’ simulations. His consistency graphs were so stable the engineers joked they looked fake

Even Albon, usually unbothered, blinked twice when he saw the final FP3 sheets.

“… since when are you this fast?” he muttered, leaning over the screen

Carlos shrugged without looking up.

“I slept well.”

“You slept well?” Albon repeated slowly, like Carlos had answered in ancient Latin.

“Sí” Carlos said, biting back a smile. “And my girlfriend explained something.”

Everyone stopped. Your name had never been said in the garage so casually.

Never with this much pride.

“Your girlfriend?” Albon asked. “Explained… what? Like, psychology? Breathing? Your chakras?” he said jokingly

“No” Carlos said simply.

“Telemetry”

You weren’t even there, but your name rippled through the garage like a glitch in the Matrix.

Two Williams engineers exchanged looks, one Ferrari strategist that passinf by slowly turned around.

A data analyst whispered “Wait, doesn’t she study…codes?”

But Carlos was already walking away, helmet under his arm, like nothing was strange at all.

Because to him, none of it was strange anymore becauss you made sense to him. More than any race engineer ever had.

He went straight to garage and after greeting his team he went to get his phone to facetime you, hair messy, smile lazy.

“You fixed me” he said, Albon saw Carlos video calling someone so he tried to peek but Carlos hid it, using the corner of the garage

“Stingy” Albon said and Carlos just shrugged

“What was that? and no bebe, you fixed your system” you corrected.

He tilted his head with a teasing smile “No. You debugged me.”

user: nah the improvement is actually suspicious

user: IKR LIKE WHATTTTT THE HECK HAPPENED OVERNIGHT

user: Williams👏👏👏

user: I'm just happy Carlos qualified P2🥺

user: he sounded so frustrated just yesterday at fp1 and 2 then sudddenly he qualified p2 today, it's crazy😭

user: HAVE YOU SEEN GEORGE'S RADIO? HE SAID WITCHCRAFT😂

user: it's becoz he was P2 then so suddenly Carlos overtook him easily😭🙏

After the call, Carlos went straight to the post interview and of course after qualifying P2, his best in months, the interviewer looked like she was dying to ask.

“Carlos” she said brightly“ amazing turnaround today! Fans are saying it’s like someone flipped a switch. What happened?”

Carlos gave the softest, most devastating smile. “My girlfriend talked to me before the race.”

The crowd screamed while the interviewer was confused. “Oh? So she, uh… motivates you?”

“No” Carlos corrected politely. “She told me how to fix my diff response.”

The interviewer stared, eyes wide. “Your… what?”

“My diff response,” he repeated patiently. “And my braking offset. And she noticed a problem with my throttle curve yesterday, so she called me to explain.”

“Your girlfriend…” The interviewer swallowed. “Helped you interpret… telemetry?”

Carlos nodded like it was the most natural thing on earth. “She’s an IT student” he added proudly. “She sees patterns faster than anyone.”

“But isn’t this kind of data not in an IT program?” She asked, wanting to know how it happened

Carlos responded, smiling “Well, yeah but she told me she understood it”

“... and you trusted her?

“Yes. I did”

The internet unravelled like a glitching server

But you… weren’t focused on the viral.

You were buried in your laptop, coding as usual while your boyfriend is on call with you on your cellphone convincing you to attend tomorrow

“Bebe” you sighed. “I want to be there, but I’m backed up with assignments. I can only help from afar.”

Carlos groaned dramatically. “You break my heart.”

“Carlos-”

“I am suffering.”

“You’re being dramatic.”

“I am Spanish” he corrected. “Suffering is my native language.”

You laughed, covering your face.

Then he softened. Quiet, warm, intentional.

“… come. Please. I want you here.”

Your chest tightened.

“I can’t just fly.”

“I’ll send a jet. I’ll send twenty jets. I’ll send the entire Williams garage to pick you up.”

“What? stop” you said laughing but his serious face made you stop

“I want you with me.”

You swallowed.

He rarely asked for anything so directly. He rarely sounded so… sure.

So you took a breath.

“.. Fine. I'll book a flight. See you tomorrow Spanish boy”

And just like that, your spanish boy made you booked a flight.

-

You arrived Sunday morning, pass clipped to your hoodie, exhaustion making everything feel unreal and the moment you stepped into Williams hospitality, all conversation stopped, A few engineers stared like they were seeing a monster.

One whispered “…that’s her.”

Another elbowed his friend. “Telemetry Girlfriend.” and a third actually saluted you.

And at this point, you wanted to evaporate because what are these people talking about...

You're about to speak but before you could, someone grabbed your arm.

Albon.

He looked at you like you held state secrets. “Explain” he demanded.

“Explain what?”

“How you made him fast again.”

You looked confused. “Uh… it’s not that complicated-”

“DON’T SAY THAT” Albon snapped. “NONE OF US UNDERSTOOD.”

Behind him, Charles raised a hand that just came in, visiting the Williams

“Hi, can I book a session? My sectors are trash.”

Then Lando popped up from behind “Wait, no, I want to go first, my corner exits needs advice and your team itself afe trash, Charles”

Carlos materialized behind them like an avenging angel. “Hey. Back off.”

“She’s our friend!” Lando argued.

“She’s my girlfriend” Carlos emphasized, pulling you into his side” and she is not fixing your driving.”

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Are we sure she’s not the one driving the car?”

“OUT” Carlos barked, shooing them all away like pigeons.

You laughed into his shoulder as he dragged you into the garage.

The mechanics worked around you, engines humming, but it all faded as Carlos took both your hands.

He looked at you like you were something holy.

“Thank you” he murmured. “For seeing things I couldn’t. For helping me understand what the car was saying.”

You squeezed his fingers

“I didn’t do anything magical. I just saw patterns and it wasn't your job, it's the engineers bebe.”

“No, still.” he corrected. “You saw me. That’s the part that changed everything.”

And then, softer “I drive better because you’re in my head now. In the best way.”

Your breath caught but still tried to keep it calm

“I should be always in your mind though? ” you said, smiling but then you whispered “Go win”

His smile sharpened “Let me see what I can do.”

Grand prix arrives, the real deal and Carlos drove like a man possessed.

Every corner. Every acceleration window you told him to adjust. He executed everything perfecty, precise, effortless.

An intense battle between Carlos and Lando, a wheel to wheel and at this pount every audience, even the mechanics of each team watches, confused of how come a williams car goes wheel to wheel with mclaren?

One more turn, the checkered flag is waving and to everyone's suprise,

Mclaren did not win. It was williams, it's your boyfriend and the garage erupted when he crossed the line.

“CARLOS SAINZ WINS THE GRAND PRIX! FOR THE FIRST TIME OF THE YEAR, WILLIAMS IS IN THE TOP!!!”

Fans are jumping, screaming, and one of mechanis girl hugging you without asking.

But Carlos

He drove straight past the celebration area, parked right in front of the garage, and jogged toward you still wearing his helmet. When he finally reached you, he removed his helmet, His smile was pure sunshine.

And without hesitation, he cupped your cheeks and kissed you, hard, like the world was just the two of you.

The garage screamed. The cameras caught everything and probably already on the trending search bar.

When he pulled back, breathless, he grinned.

“Bebe” he murmured, brushing your forehead with his. “When you finish school… come work for Williams with me.”

Your heart stopped and Your entire future tilted.

But you leaned in, lips brushing his. And with a small, teasing smile, you whispered

“Well… let’s see, bebe”

His laugh was pure joy. And that's when you knew.

This was only the beginning.

Fin.

You aren’t the only one. John stays at the office, holed up in his cubicle on his computer all day, still trying to debug some corrupt files from Dev’s laptop, hacking into his personal accounts to see what other information he might be able to find to help the team. You could help at first, with the simple things, but now he’s trying much more complex computer bullshit that flies right over your head, and you could tell your presence was slowing him down more than helping, so you just give him space now.

Ads keeps busy, too. It seems like she’s constantly on the phone. She’s a people person, great at making connections and building relationships that will benefit the future of Checkmate for years to come. Good at making small talk in a way that you never have been. You’d been able to reach out to a few people you knew from past jobs years ago, but—it wasn’t exactly working out. You’d realized it less than a week into the project. Society has come a long way, but Omegas still struggle to be respected even in normal job fields. With something as dangerous as your black ops, potential Checkmate business partners aren’t so reassured when an Omega is their initial contact.

Which leaves you doing basic intern bullshit, like refilling the snack cabinet and going on coffee runs and making sure the office is clean and comfortable for everyone as they file in and out in this cycle that feels like it will never end.

It has given you a chance to spend more time in the training room. You’re determinedly practicing everything Emilia has taught you every day, and even when she comes back from a mission exhausted, she will always spend a few hours with you sparring to keep you in good field shape. Not that you’re using any of the skills in practice, right now. Still, it’s nice to be prepared.

You’re in the training room on your own, beating the shit out of a punching bag, when you’re interrupted by your phone ringing. You pause, wipe the sweat from your forehead, and answer a little breathlessly.

“Hey, Em.”

“I’m twenty minutes out from the office,” she says, and a chill runs down your spine at the tone of her voice. “Fleury took a bullet to the leg. I packed it as best as I could, but you—”

“Fuck,” you say. “Fuck, I’ll prep the med room. Is he conscious?”

“Unfortunately,” you hear Fleury say weakly.

“Still well enough to be sarcastic with me,” you tease. John and Ads look up, alarmed, as you rush through the office toward the infirmary. You shout an explanation over your shoulder. “Fleury got shot.”

“Ah, shit,” John says, scrambling up from his desk and heading to the front door. “I’ll wait up front for them.”

As you prepare some emergency supplies, you can’t help but feel a little relieved that you can finally be useful. Your skills as a medic are coming in handy. Then you feel instantly guilty for even having the thought, because yes, you get to help, but that also means someone you love has been injured. Then you feel angry, that people are out there trying to hurt your family, and your determination to be helpful flares anew.

It’s a never-ending cycle that always leads back to one thing: you want to get out of this office. 

You’re instantly on autopilot when Emilia and Fleury get back to the office, doing your job efficiently, not letting on your frustration. But it simmers stronger than ever.

You want to go out there with your packmates and help.

“He’s okay. He’ll be out of commission for four weeks, at least,” you report when you finally leave the infirmary. “He’s sleeping now.”

“Fuck,” Emilia sighs. She, John, and Ads had given you some space to work once Fleury was out of the immediate danger zone, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to die of blood loss. Still, you had heard her anxious footsteps pacing in the hallway the entire time. She doesn’t let it show overtly, but you can tell she’s upset that one of her pack members got hurt.

“Did you accomplish the job?” Ads asks. “The person who shot him—”

“Dead,” Emilia says shortly. “I made sure of it. But…” She hesitates. “She was prepared. That’s the reason Fleury got hurt. We thought we were under her radar, but we weren’t. She knew we were there the whole time. Sullivan’s team is starting to catch on. They’re on guard.”

“She’s dead, at least,” you say. “That’s good.”

“Not good. I mean, yes, one more person down, but—the woman I killed gave up some information, before she died. A lead on Selena Falko. Apparently she’s Leon Sullivan’s second in command.”

“You have a lead,” John says, confused. “Isn’t that good?”

“It’s time-sensitive information. She’s going to be in northern California on Friday. But she’ll only be there for two days. It’s a ten-hour drive. If I’m going to kill her—”

“You need to leave now,” you finish. It’s nearing the end of the day on Wednesday now. If Emilia wants to be in position, she needs to go, but—

“Everyone else is out on a mission,” Emilia says. “No one is due to get back until Monday, at least. I’ll need to go on my own.”

“No,” you say. “Absolutely not. I don’t give a shit if you’re the pack Alpha, you do not work alone. Not on something like this. Especially when you just said that Sullivan’s team knows that we’re onto them.”

Emilia frowns. “You’re right. Ads, you gotta come with me. Start packing.”

Ads hesitates. “I’ve been making really good progress, building this list of new contacts. I’m waiting for some really important calls right now, if I’m out on the road with you, I won’t be able to—”

“She can handle it!” Emilia insists, gesturing at you. “She’s—”

“No one wants to talk to me,” you say sharply. “Because I’m an Omega. I haven’t been calling people for weeks, Emilia, because if I’m the first person from Checkmate they talk to, they look at us like we’re weak.”

“Okay,” Emilia sighs. “I’m sorry. Then put the networking on hold, and we—”

“I don’t think—” Ads starts.

“Ads, this is important—we have no idea how long Selena is going to be in the area, we need to—”

“This is important too, Harcourt!”

“Selena Falko is an immediate threat,” Emilia cries. “We can’t just—”

“Stop!” you shout, and everyone in the room falls silent. Your heart pounds, because—this is your chance. And you need them to listen. “Fleury is going to need someone to stay with him for a couple weeks. He can’t be living alone right now, and it’s not fair to make him sleep at the office. Ads, you can continue your work remotely from his house. And I will go with Emilia to take down Falko.”

The silence stretches out, a little uncomfortable, but you refuse to be the one to break it. Not when you can see the gears turning behind Emilia’s eyes. You stare her down. You know you can sway John and Ads to your side. Your pack Alpha is the one that needs convincing right now.

“Adrian is going to lose it if you come with me,” she finally says.

“I am a black ops agent,” you say firmly. “Just like the rest of you. I am more than capable of doing the job. You’re going to be doing all the heavy lifting anyway, Emilia. Falko is close. Just a county over, you said right? We’ll be gone for a few days at most. Back before Adrian even has a chance to freak out about it.”

Emilia bites her lip. “No. It’s—I’ll just go on my own.”

“No the hell you won’t,” you say, your frustration growing. “I will go with you, or you do not go at all.”

They all stare at you.

“Are you sure?” Emilia asks. “This is—if you come on this mission with me, no matter how small, and you don’t tell your Alpha about it—he’s going to be pissed. At both of us.”

“He’s my Alpha, not my owner,” you say. “Emilia, you have been training me. You know exactly how much I’ve improved over the last few months. You know exactly how capable I am of backing you up on this.”

Emilia sighs. “Fine. Adebayo stays with Fleury, you come with me. It’s your fucking funeral.”

Three days later, on Saturday afternoon, the door to the Checkmate office swings open wildly and bangs against the wall. Adrian walks inside with an extra spring in his step, grinning ear to ear, Chris following right on his tail, also in a particularly good mood. They’re back two days earlier than expected, because their asshole target had the decency to live at the beach and own a boat.

Tossing a body into the ocean with a cinder block tied to its feet is so much more efficient than dismembering and burning.

Which means less time doing his least favorite part of killing—cleaning up—and more time doing his favorite thing in the whole world. Being with you.

Adrian makes a beeline for your desk, like he always does, and frowns when he sees it empty. Your computer screen is sleeping, so you’ve been away from it for a while. Maybe you’re in the training room. He starts heading that way, trying to follow the trail of your scent, but you’ve been spending so much time at the office that it’s all over every surface. When he peeks inside, the training room is empty. The weapons room is empty. Your office in the infirmary is empty. A glance outside the window tells him you’re not sitting out in the courtyard.

A terrible anxiety starts churning in his stomach. 

“Where the fuck are you,” he whispers to himself.

He starts walking back toward the main office floor with determination, poking his head into the break room on the way. He’s looked literally everywhere else. You’re in the break room, you have to be in the break room.

You’re not in the break room.

John and Ads are, though, and they look up, startled, when the door slams open. Adrian is too anxious to see you to be gentle with doors right now.

“Hey guys!” he says, forcing a bright tone to hide the growing panic inside. “Where’s—”

He cuts himself off when he sees the looks on his friends’ faces. John has gone white and looks like he’s about to puke. Ads is biting her lip, wincing.

“She’s…not here,” Ads says delicately, and Adrian’s stomach swoops again with nerves. John gets up and moves to scramble to the doorway, but Ads grabs him by the sleeve. “Do not leave me alone to deal with this—”

“Deal with what?” Chris asks from over Adrian’s shoulder. “Watch out, Vig, I need a fucking coffee—”

John and Ads pointedly do not answer Chris’s question. The silence hangs in the air for too long. Adrian’s stomach is trying itself into knots.

“Deal with what?” Adrian repeats.

“She’s not here,” John squeaks out.

“You said that already,” Adrian says, taking a deep breath to calm himself. “Like, she went to the store or something?”

Chris turns around with his cup of coffee, takes in the tense scene before him, and sets it down on the counter. He looks suspiciously at Adebayo.

“Spill, Ads.”

She looks between Chris and Adrian nervously.

“Fleury got shot,” she says calmly. “He’s out of commission for the next four weeks.”

A sense of relief washes over Adrian, and he lets out a long breath, shoulders slumping. You’re with Fleury. You’re just—doing your job. Handling the treatment and recovery of an injured team member.

“Fleury is okay?” Chris checks.

“He’s okay,” Ads says. “But Emilia—”

“Emilia is hurt?” Chris cuts in, alarmed. “Why was that not the first fucking thing you said to me—”

“Emilia is fine!”

But Ads looks sideways at Adrian as she says it, and his stomach starts hurting again. Something is wrong. He can feel it, now, the way everyone is dancing around it, refusing to answer him, and he needs to know where you are rightfuckingnow.

“Where is my Omega?” Adrian asks, his voice tight.

“She’s on a mission with Emilia!” John blurts. 

Everyone stops talking at once and stares. Adrian feels his blood run cold.

For a moment, he says nothing. Just stares right back at the rest of them, shell-shocked, because there’s no way you would do this to him. Go out and risk your life on a mission without even telling him you were going. The idea is so laughable that he actually starts laughing, but the joke isn’t that funny at all, really, so it’s a fake, forceful laugh.

“Nice one, Economos. Really. She would never—”

“Where did they go?” Chris asks Ads, and the serious tone of his voice makes Adrian’s desperate laughter die instantly.

“She wouldn’t,” he says. The words are shaky, tinged with anxiety, like repeating them will make it true. His eyes flick back and forth between all of his friends, and the terrible, panicky feeling roars back in a flash. “She wouldn’t—”

“She did,” Ads says, careful and quiet. “Emilia had a time-sensitive lead.”

They’re not kidding. They’re not—

All of his panic transforms in a split second into white-hot rage, an anger like he’s never felt, fueled by fear and worry and hurt, because what if you get shot, again? What if he loses the best thing that’s ever happened to him? How could you fucking do this to him? How could his friends fucking let you?

“What—what the fuck do you mean?” Adrian explodes. “What—-why—”

 “Fleury’s hurt. With him sidelined, Emilia couldn’t go on her own, so—”

“So why the fuck didn’t you go with her? Why would she—what the fuck, Ads!”

“Vig,” Chris says. “You gotta calm down—”

“Fuck you,” Adrian spits. “Did you fucking know about this?”

“No,” Chris says sharply. “I didn’t. And frankly, Adrian, I’m also pissed, because she and Emilia should have known that you’d react like this, and now I’m the one dealing with your bullshit.”

“You’re back early. She didn’t want to tell you, because she thought it might distract you from your own mission, and she didn’t want you to get hurt. And they were assuming they’d return before you, and you wouldn’t have to know at all,” John says. 

“Not helping, John!”

It is, in fact, not helping, because now Adrian is spiraling even more. He can’t believe that you wouldn’t tell him about something this big, this important. You know him better than anyone else in the fucking world. You knew how much this would hurt him, and you still did it. 

The sting of betrayal is sharp and cold, like he’s been stabbed right in the heart. The very heart he’d given over to you, trusting that your gentle hands would love it, protect it. The same way he loves and protects yours.

Adrian realizes everyone is looking at him warily, like he’s a bomb about to explode. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s just going to fucking self-destruct, and the only person who knows how to diffuse the situation is the one who lit the fuse in the first place, and he doesn’t know what to do. What to say.

No. He does know what to do.

“Where did they go?” Adrian asks.

No one says a word.

“Where did they go,” Adrian repeats, not a question anymore at all, but a demand for information. “You know what—fuck it. I have her location—” He starts to reach for his phone with trembling hands.

“Northern California,” Ads says.

“Give me the keys, Chris,” Adrian says, holding out his hand for the van keys. Chris does not hand them over. “Chris, give me the fucking keys.”

“No,” Chris says after a moment. “I can’t do that.”

“Why the fuck not—”

“Because look at you, Adrian! You are not fucking stable right now. I know you want to protect your Omega. But if you interrupt them mid-mission, if you go in there guns blazing, you are going to be the reason she gets hurt. You have to fucking trust her!”

“Trust her!” Adrian scoffs. “Trust her the way she apparently trusts me?”

“Maybe you need to think about why,” Chris says. “Why she didn’t tell you. Because she knew you would react like this. Because if you were here—would you have let her go without a fight? Or would you have sidelined her? Again? What happened to the guy a few months ago who told me and Emilia we were being overbearing Alphas for not wanting her to go out in the field?”

“He was wrong! I was wrong! She almost fucking died! And if she—if she—” Adrian’s voice cracks. “I know what it’s like now. To have her. To be hers and have her be mine. I can’t lose her. I won’t.”

Suddenly, the shrill ringing of Adebayo’s phone breaks through the thick tension of the room. She pulls it from her pocket.

“It’s Emilia,” she says, a little wary. She looks back and forth between Adrian and Chris like she’s not sure if she should answer it.

“Pick up,” Chris says.

“Hey,” Ads says. “Are you—” She pauses and listens, and her shoulders slump with a little relief. “Okay. Okay, that’s great. We’ll see you later.” She hangs up and addresses the others in the room. “Selena Falko is dead. They’re on their way back now. Should be here in six hours or so.”

Adrian exhales with sharp relief. You’re okay. Your mission is done. You’re coming home now. But still, he can feel the trembling in his hands, the wobble of his bottom lip. The fire of his anger has been doused, and it just leaves him—sad? Anxious? Guilty? He isn’t sure what the feeling is, only that he hates it. Only that he wishes you were here.

His phone is burning in his pocket. He wants to talk to you. He never wants to talk to you again. He wants to yell at you, to make you hurt the same way that he’s hurting right now. He wants to cradle you in his arms and keep you away from the rest of the world forever to make sure you are never, ever hurt again. Conflicting desires war inside him.

Chris watches his face carefully.

“Go home, Adrian,” Chris says. “Ads will take you. I don’t think you should be driving right now. Someone should go check on Fleury anyway.”

“Okay,” he says hoarsely. “Yeah.”

He’s quiet the entire ride. Ads doesn’t dare to break the fragile silence. There’s nothing she can say to fix the way he’s feeling right now, anyway.

Adrian doesn’t know what to do with himself when he opens the door to the apartment and you aren’t there. He’s never spent any time here without you, he realizes. The place feels empty without your presence, and something pulls at his heart when he thinks about you being here all alone for days or weeks at a time, waiting for him to get back from missions.

He doesn’t like being alone. He spent years being alone, patrolling all night by himself, heading back to his dingy Vigilante lair in his mom’s basement to patch himself up. He hasn’t been truly alone like this in weeks, not since he moved in with you.

He hates it.

Muscle memory guides Adrian, robotically, through the motions of his after-mission routine. He takes a thorough shower and thinks about how you should be standing here under the hot stream of water with him, or at least sitting on the bathroom counter listening to him yap. He doesn’t have anyone to yap to. There are words crawling up his throat with nowhere to go.

He gets dressed afterwards and goes to the kitchen, makes himself a sandwich that he can’t bring himself to eat. He’s not hungry. His stomach is still churning with worry, with anger. He dumps the food in the trash.

He stands in the door of the bedroom and thinks about getting into bed and going to sleep. But he knows he won’t be able to. It’s been so long he barely remembers how he ever slept on his own, without your warm body resting beside him, without your arm flung around his waist, without the weird little endearing noises you make in your sleep.

So he turns to the living room. He sits on the couch. And he waits.

It’s late when you and Emilia return to the Checkmate office. You’re fucking tired, but also exhilirated. It had been really fucking nice to finally put your field skills to use. To finally prove yourself in the way you’ve been wanting to for months, since you first got hurt. The two of you had taken out Selena Falko in record time, and you’re in a fabulous mood.

Still, no matter how fulfilled you’re feeling, you’re also exhausted. The office work you’ve been doing every day is a lot less physically draining. How Adrian has the energy to come home and continue to bounce off the walls of your apartment after missions and patrols is beyond your comprehension.

You and Emilia are planning to drop off your bags. A med kit that you didn’t have to use, because neither of you got hurt, thank god, you did not want to have to explain away a black eye or broken arm to Adrian. Some clothes, some weapons, and other field equipment are shoved into other backpacks and duffle bags. You shove through the front door and make your way toward the infirmary with the med kit while Emilia trails behind you with a bag of weapons to return to the training room.

“Oh, hey, Chris,” you say when you pass by him, waving. He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you. It’s only once you reach the door to the infirmary that you stop in your tracks and turn around.

Emilia stands there, wincing at the sight of her mate standing in the middle of the room with crossed arms and an unamused frown. Your heart sinks in your chest when Chris turns that disapproving stare in your direction.

“Oh, fuck,” you sigh.

“Yeah,” Chris says. “Oh, fuck, alright.”

“When did you get back?” Emilia asks.

“This afternoon,” Chris says. He looks at you pointedly. “Adrian was real fucking excited to get to go home and spend an extra day with his Omega before we had to leave for our next assignment.”

“He knows?” you ask weakly.

“Did you really think Economos would be able to keep a fucking secret like that?”

“Shit.” You drop your bag at the door to your office and start rushing to the door without another word.

You need to get home. Now.

The sound of the front door unlocking snaps Adrian out of his daze instantly, his heart rabbiting in his chest, his head snapping to look toward it so fast he nearly gets whiplash. It creaks open slowly, and you step inside hesitantly, your footsteps soft and quiet, like you’re afraid to wake him up at this late hour. 

Like he could fucking sleep without you. He didn’t even try.

Your nervous gaze sweeps over the room, and the second your eyes meet his, Adrian scrambles to his feet. He’s reminded of the day he saw you in the office after his first rut. His heart pounded the same way so loud in his ears that it drowns out the rest of the world. He stood there awkwardly not knowing what to do with himself all those months ago, and now—

He doesn’t know how to react now, either. You’re staring at him, wide-eyed, a little guilty,  like you’ve been caught doing something you shouldn’t have. You’re also worried, because you can see it. His hands are shaking. His whole body is shaking, he’s worked himself up so much.

He’s got so many fucking emotions swirling around inside him, all fighting to be felt at once. He feels like he’s going to puke out of sheer relief that you’re standing here in front of him, whole and unhurt. He feels like he wants to yell at you for the rest of his life for making him worry like this, making him sit with this terrible, awful anxiety. He feels fucking pissed off because you went on a mission and didn’t fucking tell him. 

You approach him slowly, reach out to touch him, and for the first time in a long time, you hesitate, unsure if he’ll want that.

Then he reaches for you, almost on autopilot, because that’s just what he does now. He reaches for you. He seeks out your touch in a way he never has with anyone else, and he really fucking needs it right now. Needs not just to see, but to feel that you are okay, and whole, and with him. 

Adrian pulls you into a hug so tight it hurts, restricts the airflow to your lungs, his strong arms wrapped tight around your shoulders, one hand fisted in the fabric of your shirt and the other gripping at your hair to tug you in for a rough kiss. You return it immediately, mouth opening for him, teeth clacking together, and he bites your bottom lip so hard it draws blood, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop.

You smell wrong, and it puts him on edge. Your scent is there, like it always is, but there’s also—gunpowder, and sweat, and something else. You haven’t showered off the mission yet, the lingering air of death, because you and Emilia fucking killed someone and he wasn’t there—

“Adrian—” you gasp, and he shoves away from you suddenly, clutching your shoulders with a grip so strong you already know his fingertips will leave bruises.

“You—you—” he stumbles over his words, relief and anger warring on his face. “I cannot believe you—how could you fucking—”

“Shh,” you hush him, hands cupping his cheeks. “It’s okay, baby, it’s—”

“It’s not okay,” Adrian says, his voice thick, but then he’s kissing you again. He can’t help it. He’s just so fucking relieved to have you back in his arms, after spending the last six hours turning over every worst-case scenario in his mind. You, stabbed or shot or killed by your target, and he can’t—

Adrian shoves away from you again, steps back, turns away from you. He rubs his eyes with his fists, squeezing them closed tight, determined not to let out the tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. He can’t fucking look at you right now. He will melt if he does. Take one look into your soft eyes and drag you into the bedroom and fuck it out of his system. He doesn’t want to do that. He never wants to fuck you when he’s angry, and he’s not exactly in the mood to be gentle right now.

“Adrian—”

“Do you have any idea—” he starts, but his voice cracks. He hates it. He wants to breathe deep, to think before he speaks, but logic isn’t driving the bus right now, and instead, he raises his voice, whirls around to face you, and yells, “You fucking lied to me!”

It’s your fault he feels like this. All torn up inside. He scowls.

“How could you do this to me?” he spits. It’s vicious, the way he says it, and you step back, away from him.

It’s your turn, now, to scowl, even as your heart races, indignant anger flooding your veins. “Do what to you, Adrian? I didn’t do a damn thing except what was necessary to help our pack—”

“You were supposed to be back at the office! Do you have any idea what it felt like to come back and look around everywhere for you, only to be told by Economos that you were out on a fucking mission? A mission you were never supposed to be on in the first place, because—”

“Because why?” you demand. “Why was I never supposed to be on a mission, Adrian? Because you don’t fucking trust me to do my job? A job which I did very well, by the way, because Emilia and I eliminated another threat to this pack, and have I gotten a single thank you? No! Nothing but accusations—”

“It is my job as your Alpha to make sure you are safe and happy,” Adrian cries.

“And what happens when I’m safe, but I’m not happy?” you ask. “What happens when I watch everyone go out in the field over and over again and it breaks me a little more inside every single time because all I want to do is get out there and help?”

“You—”

“And Emilia needed my help,” you continue. “I was not going to let her go out in the field alone. And what the hell happened? You used to be on my side about this shit. You used to fight with me, fight for me, to get to go out in the field with the rest of the team.”

“It’s different now!”

“It’s not different now. It’s not. How many times are we going to argue about this? I know you have this biological Alpha need to protect me, but you need to get the fuck over it—”

“You almost died!” Adrian yells. “You almost died, and I watched you bleeding out, and you are too fucking important to me, and I won’t risk it!”

You yell right back. “I am still the same person I was before we ever started this! Before you were ever even an Alpha in the first place, Adrian, you knew the type of person that I am. And I will always, always choose to help when someone needs it. Nothing about me has changed just because we’re fucking now! You don’t get to just put me on a shelf like a trophy with a mating mark!”

“Is that all this is to you? We’re just fucking?” Adrian is breathing heavy now, his face flushed red with anger.

“Obviously not! I love you Adrian. You know I love you. But Jesus fucking Christ, if I wanted an overbearing dickbag for an Alpha, I would have mated with your fucking brother,” you snap.

Adrian jerks back like you’ve slapped him in the face. He wishes you would have. It would have hurt less. 

You turn away from him to stalk angrily toward the bedroom, intent on slamming the door in his face. Then the words rise up out of him, so fast and unexpected that he can’t stop them.

“Don’t fucking walk away from me,” he shouts.

You stop on a dime. Not of your own accord. And you turn over your shoulder, pissed.

“Did you just use your fucking Alpha command voice on me?”

I didn’t mean to, is his first panicked thought, and the words are on the tip of his tongue before—he stops himself. His face hardens. Maybe he did mean to.

“I did,” he says. “I didn’t mean to, but—I’m not fucking sorry, you—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You’re outraged now. “You are fucking unbelievable. Does it make you feel big and strong, Alpha? To make me do whatever you fucking want?”

The way you say it rattles him. Alpha, not like you always have—like a treasured title—but like an insult, like something pathetic and wrong.

“You wanna try that again, Omega?” he grinds out, trying desperately to hold on to his temper. You don’t even answer him. You’re still trying to walk away. Walk away from him. Your feet are rooted to the floor, and you struggle to try and pick them up. It pisses him the fuck off. “Stop.”

You freeze in place, and now, you don’t even look pissed anymore. You look—upset. Afraid. The room falls dead silent.

“You promised me you wouldn’t ever do this again,” you whisper. “After your brother. You did it to protect me, then, and I didn’t blame you. I forgave you. But you’re doing it to control me, right now, just like he did, and I’m not sure I can forgive you for that.”

Adrian’s heart plummets in his chest when the clarity washes over him.

“No. I—no, baby, please, I didn’t mean to—I—” he stammers, rushing toward you, hands landing on your shoulders. Then he lets go of you like you’ve shocked him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Omega, I—” He shouldn’t be touching you right now, he doesn’t deserve to be touching you right now, he—

“Undo it,” you say, your voice cracking. “Now. Let me go—”

“I—I don’t—” Adrian doesn’t know what to say to undo what he did. The power of an Alpha command wears off on its own, after a while, but—“You can go,” he tries. You slump with relief when your feet finally pick up off the floor, and you nearly stumble and fall. Adrian catches you before you can hit the ground, stomach twisting with guilt.

“I’m done talking about this,” you say, yanking yourself out of his grasp. Your voice is quiet and hoarse. He hates that your voice sounds like that, that you’re tired from yelling, yelling at him. “Goodnight, Adrian.”

You turn away from him and head to the bedroom, the apartment dead silent except for your footsteps padding on the floor. Then the door shuts behind you with a gentle click, and Adrian starts to cry.

Adrian tag list: @justalotoffanfiction @danversxwasabi @clowninavan @adoresami @a-young-g0d @bastardstevie @am-3-thyst @xoxocamis @morguegrl89 @somethin-sparklyy @secretjesterr @seeingdubs @lovenerdywhitemen2 @jeshomie @aerionshipthrust @deamlucem @tlfg-adrianchase @brianna-merlim @amart-e @countvonklit @pieolsen @gingerjane15 @dosyrosyposy @rentaldarling @vigilcourt @hot-bean-juice @sepaaaaa @residentsuperhero

the hum of your server rack was the only sound in your apartment until ellie kicked her boots off, letting them clatter against the hardwood. your small living space was a sanctuary of soft chaos—piles of graphic novels, half-finished code sprawled across dual monitors, and the warm, golden glow of fairy lights tangled in the curtains.

you sat on your velvet sofa, your glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose as you tried to focus on a script. you were wearing your favorite oversized hoodie, the fabric hugging the soft curve of your stomach—a body that you had spent months being told was ‘too much’ by a man who didn't deserve to breathe the same air as you.

"you’re doing that thing again," ellie said, her voice rough and familiar. she hopped over the back of the couch, landing beside you. she smelled like pine needles and the crisp, cold air of the pacific northwest. "the thing where you squint at your monitor like it’s personally offended your ancestors."

you laughed, a soft, self-conscious sound. "i’m just debugging, ellie. it’s not that deep."

"it is when you haven't eaten since noon," she countered, tossing a box of takeout onto your coffee table. her green eyes softened as they landed on you, taking in your frame. she never looked at you with the critical, scrutinizing gaze he used. she looked at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered. "and we’re having a night. officially. strictly forbidden to look at that screen for the next six hours."

you felt a pang of guilt. you knew he would hate this. he’d been texting you all day, a barrage of passive-aggressive comments about how your ‘lifestyle’—the gaming, the coding, the hanging out with her—was going to make you end up alone. he called you lazy, he made jabs about the way your jeans bit into your hips when you sat down, he made you feel like you were lucky he was ‘willing to overlook’ your size.

but then, the chime of your phone cut through the air.

your breath hitched. you felt the familiar sting of tears, the way your chest tightened, the way your insecurity about your softness—the way your thighs rubbed together, the way your belly spilled over your waistband—threatened to drown you.

ellie saw the shift. she saw the way your shoulders slumped, the way your gaze dropped to the floor. she snatched the phone from your hand before you could stop her. her eyes scanned the screen, and the way her jaw tightened was terrifying. she didn't yell. she didn't even swear. she just looked at you, her eyes burning with a protectiveness that made your heart hammer against your ribs.

"that’s it," she said, her voice low. she tapped your screen, then tucked your phone into her pocket. "he’s done, y/n. you’re done with him. and we are going to make sure he knows exactly how much of a mistake he made."

two hours later, the apartment was a sanctuary of retribution.

you, ellie, dina, and abby were sprawled across the living room floor. abby was sharpening a pocket knife with practiced rhythm, dina was laughing while typing away on her phone, and ellie was sitting between your legs, her fingers gently tracing the curves of your calves.

you had forgotten how it felt to feel safe. when you had told the group chat what he said—about your body, about your worth—they hadn't reacted with pity. they reacted with iron-clad rage.

"you’re a goddess, y/n," abby said, her voice stern. "if he wants to talk about bodies, he should look at his own pathetic existence."

dina chimed in, "sent him the screenshot of his own gym membership confirmation. told him he’s officially reached his limit for being a total piece of shit."

the atmosphere was electric, a mix of nail polish fumes and the intoxicating feeling of being defended by the people you loved most. you let out a shaky breath, the weight of the last six months finally sliding off your shoulders.

"he’s gone, y/n," ellie whispered, turning around to face you. she reached up, her thumb skimming the rim of your glasses before sliding them off your face. "he can't touch you anymore. he can't talk to you anymore. he’s nothing."

you leaned into her touch. "i just… i spent so long feeling like i had to shrink."

"you don't shrink for anyone," ellie said, her voice dropping an octave as she leaned in, her forehead pressing against yours. "especially not for someone who can't handle how beautiful you are."

the room felt like it was shrinking, the noise of dina and abby’s chatter fading into a background hum as ellie’s hands moved to your waist. she didn't push your hoodie up; she slid her hands under it. her skin was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of your stomach, and when her palms pressed against your skin, you felt a jolt of electricity run down your spine.

"i've wanted to do this for a year," she murmured, her lips brushing against your jawline.

"ellie…"

"don't say it. don't apologize." she kissed the corner of your mouth, then your neck, her hands splaying across your sides, feeling every inch of your softness with a reverence that felt like worship.

she pulled your hoodie over your head, and for a second, panic flared—the conditioned fear of being seen in the harsh light. but then ellie looked at you. she looked at your soft, rounded stomach, the faint line of dark hair—your happy trail—leading down to the velvet bush between your thighs. she didn't look away. she leaned down and kissed your belly, her tongue swirling against your navel, making you arch your back and gasp.

"you are perfect," she breathed against your skin. "every single inch of you is for me to love."

as she pulled your leggings down, the cool air hit your skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of her mouth. she shifted, her movements purposeful as she moved between your legs. you fumbled for her hair, tangling your fingers in the short strands as she settled in.

when her mouth found you, the sensation was overwhelming. you were naturally sensitive, and the way she knew exactly where to touch—the way she treated your clit like a treasure—sent you into a spiral of pleasure that you had only ever dreamed of. she was meticulous, her tongue working circles, teasing, sucking, tasting you with a hunger that made you feel powerful instead of small.

you were loud. you didn't care that abby and dina were just a few feet away. you were completely unraveled, your hands gripping the sofa cushions as your body began to tighten, the sensation building into a crescendo of pure, unadulterated need.

"look at you," ellie whispered, pulling back just enough to see your flushed face, your eyes blown wide. she didn't stop. she kept going, her fingers sliding inside you, stretching you, finding the right rhythm.

when the orgasm hit, it was violent and sweet. you bucked against her, your voice hitching as you whispered her name, your body feeling like it was being put back together piece by piece by the one person who had always seen you.

afterward, you lay in the tangle of blankets, your heart still racing, your skin glowing in the fairy light. ellie pulled you into her chest, her chin resting on top of your head.

you looked at your phone, which was buzzing incessantly with messages from him—desperate, pathetic pleas, insults that no longer had teeth.

you leaned over, deleted the thread, and blocked the number.

you turned back to ellie, feeling the soft weight of her arm across your waist, feeling the way your body fit against hers like a puzzle piece finally finding its home.

"i'm never going back," you whispered.

ellie tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, her thumb tracing your lips. "good. because you’re mine now. and i’m never going to let you feel small again."

the apartment was quiet, save for the hum of the city outside. for the first time in years, you didn't feel like you were waiting for something to go wrong. you were just comfortable. you were loved. and you were finally, completely hers.

𓂃' 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐒𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐏𝐓 ﹕ hey guys, just wanted to post this just because, you don't have to like it but don't send me hate , okay bye . . .

——© phaelusion formerly pommranii. all rights reserved. please do not; duplicate, reupload, or claim my work as your own or feed into ai. 𝄢