#the equalizer

And that ignorance did something to him—something dark and mean and possessive that had been simmering under the surface for months.

He stood at the counter, back turned to you, mug in hand. From where you sat, you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his knuckles whitened around the handle. The air in the room thickened—coffee, burnt toast, and the static of unspoken fury.

“Wait, so when do you see him next?” Lisa asked, leaning in, conspiratorial.

You didn’t catch Dave’s reflection in the stainless steel coffee pot—but his jaw was working, his nostrils flaring slightly. 

“Not sure,” you said casually, tossing a grape into your mouth. “He’s been busy, you know… He’s got a whole other life, and it’s just casual with us.” You let your voice lilt like a sigh, feigning carelessness, eyes flicking briefly toward Dave.

Lisa hummed, half-smiling, moving on to gossip about her latest disaster.

You didn’t need to look again to know Dave was leaving. You could feel it—the heat of him, the storm that followed. The door’s quiet swing. The heavy silence in his wake.

Later that afternoon, you were at your desk, finishing a report, when a quiet knock tapped at your cubicle wall.

You didn’t need to look up to know it was him—you could feel the tension he carried. 

“Yes?” you said evenly, still typing.

He didn’t answer right away. When you finally looked up, he was glancing around the floor, jaw tight. “You got a minute?”

You checked your watch, deliberately unimpressed. “Not really. I’ve got a meeting with Richards in two.” You gathered your files and phone, brushing past him like he was any other superior, not the man who once had his mouth between your thighs in this very cubicle after hours.

He exhaled sharply, following. “I need just a minute if you can just—”

You swiped your badge through the door scanner, cutting him off. “It can wait until after, I’m sure.”

And then he snapped.

A hand caught your wrist—firm, familiar—and before you could protest, he was tugging you into the narrow supply closet across the hall. The door clicked shut behind you.

“Dave—what the fuck?” you hissed.

He loomed close, chest heaving. “You didn’t tell me you were seeing anyone else.” His voice was low, dangerous.

You blinked. “What are you—”

He ran a hand down his face, jaw clenching. “That guy you were whispering about with Lisa. You didn’t think I’d find out?”

You stared at him for a beat, realization dawning. He didn’t know. He thought you were seeing someone else. That thought made a slow, wicked smile pull at your lips.

“Jealous?” you asked softly.

His nostrils flared. “No.”

You tilted your head, watching him—how his throat worked as he swallowed, how tightly he crossed his arms like it could hold back the thing breaking through inside him. “Then why drag me in here like a jealous boyfriend, Dave?”

He stepped closer, until your back hit the metal shelving. “Because I need to know who the fuck he is.”

You smirked. “Why? So you can tell him off?”

His voice came rougher now, through his teeth. “Maybe.”

Your pulse jumped. He could feel it, you knew he could—he always could.

“So possessive,” you whispered, tracing the edge of his tie, nails brushing his throat. “You think you own me, is that it?”

He caught your wrist mid-movement, his grip tight but not cruel. His gaze burned into yours, the pretense stripped away. “I thought I did.”

You laughed softly. “Maybe that’s your problem. You’ve always been so entitled.”

He stared at you for a long moment, something breaking and re-forming in his expression—a mix of want, anger, fear, and something dangerously close to affection.

“Tell me,” he said, voice quieter now, rough with something he didn’t want to name. “Tell me you’re not with someone else.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, your voice a whisper. “Why? So you can sleep tonight?”

His breath hitched.

“Or because you’ve started caring?”

That landed. You could see it in the way his eyes flicked over your face, the pulse in his jaw. He didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

“Who the fuck said I didn’t—” Then he stopped himself before he said something he couldn’t take back, something that wouldn’t be fair to say when he knew how you felt for him. 

You nodded, expecting nothing less—the wall going up like usual. “Right.” You pulled your hand from his grip and put your hand on the handle, glancing back at him, “You don’t get to claim me when you go home to her every night.” 

You didn’t wait for his response. The sound of the latch clicking was enough to puncture the silence between you. You stepped out into the hallway first, smoothing your blouse as if nothing had happened, trying to compose yourself before your meeting.

Behind you, the door didn’t open right away. You could practically feel him standing there, breathing hard, trying to put the mask back on.

When he finally emerged, his expression was unreadable—calm, composed, maybe even cold. Only the way his jaw flexed gave him away.

You didn’t look at him when you said quietly, “Maybe you should head home, sir. Wouldn’t want to keep her waiting too long tonight.”

He froze, eyes narrowing slightly. The words hit their mark.

“Watch yourself,” he muttered under his breath, just low enough that no one passing by could hear.

You smiled faintly without turning. “Always do, sir.”

You left him there, standing in the corridor, pretending he wasn’t unraveling.

By the time your meeting wrapped up, the office had started to empty out, it was later in the evening—keyboards had gone quiet, there was only the sound of people packing up and the occasional file cabinet closing. 

You stayed behind, finishing the report he’d interrupted. The glow of your monitor painted your cubicle in pale blue light.

You could tell he was still there. You always could.

You didn’t have to look up to know he was standing just beyond the divider, watching, deciding whether to speak. 

He didn’t. He just lingered, silent, his presence like static in the air.

“Do you need something?” you asked finally, still typing.

“No,” he said, voice rougher than before. “Just…” He rubbed the inside of his lips with his thumb, a nervous tick he had, “Just making sure you got everything done before you head out.”

You turned your chair slightly, studying him. The loosened tie. The tension around his mouth. The same look he always got when he wanted to say something but didn’t trust himself to.

“Since when do you check my work, York?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

He gave a short laugh—humorless. “Since I stopped trusting what I don’t see.”

You tilted your head and went back to your screen, not feeding into his antics. “You mean who you don’t see?”

That shut him up.

For a long moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the hum of the lights overhead and the faint buzz of the copier down the hall.

Then he said quietly, “You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Doing what?” You said not looking away from your report. 

“Getting under my skin.”

You hummed. “Maybe I just like seeing how deep it goes.”

He stared at you then, really stared. There was something raw in it, something that almost looked like hurt.

Then his phone buzzed in his pocket. He didn’t move to answer it. Didn’t even look down.

You arched a brow and nodded toward it. “You should get that.”

He held your gaze. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “Maybe I should.”

But he didn’t.

For a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the hum of the lights overhead and your own pulse thrumming in your ears. Then a voice called from the end of the corridor — someone heading your way. Dave’s eyes flicked toward the sound, his jaw setting again before he stepped back.

Without another word, he turned and walked off, his stride quick and clipped. You watched him go just long enough to catch the flash of the tension in his shoulders before you looked down and fixed your sleeve, forcing your heartbeat to slow down.

A few seconds later, Craig from analytics stopped at your cubicle, holding a mug and a stack of printouts. “You’re still here?” he asked with an easy smile. “Thought you’d bailed hours ago.”

“Almost done for the night,” you said lightly, sliding your files into neat order. “Just cleaning up this report before tomorrow’s review.”

He nodded, chatted about numbers and formatting for a minute or two, then wandered off again toward the breakroom. Normally, you’d swing by Dave’s office to hand off information, make sure there was nothing else he needed, but assumed he was already gone with how things ended. Especially since it's past the time his wife expected him home, anyway.

With that thought in mind, you stayed another hour, finishing the report and sending the final email. When you finally shut down your computer, the floor was nearly empty. The hum of the HVAC filled the silence, your heels clicking softly as you walked to the elevators.

You pressed the button to take you down to the parking garage, stifling a yawn. The chrome doors opened with a slow chime, and you stepped inside. The faint reflection of the office lights shimmered on the steel as you pressed the button for the lower level.

The doors were almost closed when a hand slid between them.

They jerked open again, and Dave stepped inside.

“Dave, what are you doing?” You said, tired of this thing that's been going on today. 

He didn’t speak. Didn’t look at you at first. Just stood there, chest rising and falling, the air between you charged enough to make your breath hitch.

The doors sealed shut with a soft hiss.

Then he moved.

In two steps, he was on you.

His hand catching your waist, the other pressing flat against the wall beside your head. His mouth found yours like he’d been holding his breath all day, like restraint had finally given way to something feral. The sound of it filled the elevator: the wet pull of lips, the muffled groan in his throat, your gasp against his mouth.

You clutched at his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as he deepened the kiss, his breath hot against your face. His nose brushed your chin, nudging your head up to suck and kiss your neck. 

You started to feel dizzy. Your hands slid up his chest, but when you felt him start to pull your blouse out of your skirt, you pushed—hard— breaking the contact.

He staggered back half a step, his tie askew, jacket sliding off one shoulder. His lips were red, slick, swollen. He looked at you like he didn’t recognize himself anymore.

You weren’t any better. Your hair was a mess, skirt rumpled high on your thigh, blouse untucked and clinging to your skin. The elevator hummed softly, a low electric buzz under the pounding in your chest.

Neither of you spoke. You just stared at each other—breaths colliding in the narrow space, eyes locked like the next move might ruin everything or fix it.

Then you let your briefcase slip from your hand. It hit the floor with a dull thud—your keys followed.

You reached out, keeping his gaze, and pressed the emergency stop button. The elevator jolted to a halt. The light flickered once before settling into a dim, humming red glow.

You grabbed him by his tie, pulling him close enough that your lips brushed his when you whispered, “Two minutes.”

That was all he needed.

He caught your mouth again, harder this time, one hand gripping the back of your thigh as he walked you backward until your spine hit the wall. The other hand slid beneath your skirt, fingers curling into the flesh of your hip as he lifted you easily, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

The metallic rattle of his belt filled the air, quick and clumsy. His breath was hot against your lips, ragged and hungry. You could feel the heat of him even before he freed himself, the pressure of his body pinning you there.

Your hands tangled in his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low growl from his throat. His forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting—the scent of sweat, cologne, and something sharp with need filling the air.

“Two minutes,” he murmured, voice rough, “Two minutes to remind you that you’re mine.” 

He moved your panties to the side before he thrusted himself roughly into you. Your breath caught somewhere in the back of your throat, and you clenched around him—your body betraying you and your need to tease him any longer. 

The feeling of instantly being filled by his cock was enough to make you instantly wet with need. You moaned against his lips, and he hovered over your lips, “Yours…” 

His hand cupped the back of your head, thumb tracing the line of your jaw; your palm flattened over his heartbeat. The world narrowed to breath, pressure, heat—the feeling of his hips sharply thrusting up into you. 

His breath came out ragged and hot as he grunted, “God, I missed her.” Before he moved his head down and used his nose to move your head for him to kiss your neck. 

You moaned, your head tilted back against the wall behind, “90 seconds,” 

He growled and gripped your hips, his movements becoming faster, “Tell me you’re mine.” 

You gasped, “I’m yours—” 

He pulled back his head enough to look at you, to see the effect he had on you. He couldn’t help but grin, “You’re not going to see him again—do you understand me?” 

You nodded, going along with it, furrowing your brow as you felt a tug behind your navel, “Yes, sir.” 

He groaned, watching every muscle in your face, knowing you were close, “You’re going to be a good girl and cum on my cock, yes?” 

You nodded, gripping onto his jacket, mewling, “Yes—fuck, yes,” 

He gripped your hips tighter, pressing into the bruises left as reminders of him on your hips, “Yes, what?” 

You couldn’t help letting out a half-laugh, half-moan at the confusion of pain and pleasure you were experiencing, close to climax, “Fuck—yes, sir.”

He grinned, and just as you were cum, he stopped his movements, pulling out of you. 

You hissed at the sudden absence, the denial of what had been built up, “Wait, what the hell—” 

He leaned over and pressed the button; the elevator jolted and began its slow descent. The hum of the machinery filled the silence, low and steady. His hand stayed braced beside your head, his chest still pressed against yours, but his movements—his control—had gone utterly still.

You could only stare at him, chest heaving, the realization of what he’d just done catching up to you as the fog faded.

He smirked, breathless but steady. “Like you said—two minutes,” he murmured, voice rasping with self-satisfaction. “Thought I’d remind you who’s in charge around here.”

Your jaw tightened. “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all.” He straightened his tie, taking a short step back, looking down at the mess you were, the faintest grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You wanted to play games all day? Consider the scoreboard updated.”

The elevator’s bell chimed as the doors slid open. The red light faded, flooding the space with sterile white again. You scoffed and pushed past him immediately, tugging your skirt back into place, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of your blouse even as your hands trembled with leftover adrenaline.

He said quietly, almost amused, “Think about it. He won’t be able to come close to what I just brought you to.”

You snapped your gaze to him, fury flashing through the heat still clinging to your skin. “God, you’re an idiot,” you hissed, snatching your briefcase from the floor.

Before he could reply, you strode out, heels clicking hard against the tile.

He frowned, the grin fading as he followed you out into the dim garage. “What does that mean?” he called after you.

You didn’t slow down. “It means exactly what it sounds like, Dave.”

“Hey—” His shoes scuffed against the concrete as he caught up to you. “Wait—hold on a second.”

You kept walking, tugging at the hem of your skirt, fixing your blouse. “Just go home, Dave.”

“Not until you tell me why you’re mad.”

You stopped short, turning to glare at him. “Mad? You think this is about me being mad?” You exhaled a laugh, sharp and humorless. “You think you can just do that and—what—expect me to thank you for it? Expect me to beg?”

He looked genuinely puzzled now, the arrogance giving way to confusion. “You’d been teasing me all day. I just… I figured you wanted—”

“You figured wrong.” You cut him off, your voice trembled, not from fear but utter frustration of having feelings for a man that you know you can’t have. “Sounds like you wanted to prove a point, so… congratulations. You did. You proved exactly what I already knew.”

He frowned, brow furrowing. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you don’t get it,” you said, softer now, the anger underneath turning brittle. “That you think this is just about power, or control, or getting back at me for something you actually don’t know anything about. You don’t even see what's right in front of you.”

You turned again, heading for your car. The slap of your heels echoed through the empty level, each step a little too fast, a little too furious.

Behind you, he muttered, “You’re not making sense.”

You didn’t look back. “As smart as you are, you wouldn’t understand if I spelled it out for you.”

That hit something. His ego? Slightly. His pride? No, he wasn’t that fragile. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, but it twisted and hurt deep inside. 

He followed, slower this time, watching the tense line of your shoulders, the way your hand shook slightly as you dug for your keys.

“Then explain it,” he said finally, quieter, almost uncertain as he stood at the back of your car. “Because I don’t want to keep getting this wrong.”

You paused, keys halfway to the door handle, and for a brief second, the air shifted again—something heavy, unresolved, hanging between you.

“This? Dave, there is no ‘this’.” You shook your head and looked away, saying whatever you thought would hurt him the most. Your constant need and pattern of self-destruct shone brightly in what came out of your mouth next: “I’m nothing more than a warm mouth and a quick fuck, right?” 

He let it slide off, didn’t even let it penetrate him, knowing exactly what you were doing. For a moment, the words just hung there, echoing against the concrete walls. 

Dave’s mouth opened slightly, then shut again. The muscle in his jaw flexed once, twice. He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose as if that might steady him.

“That what you think?” he asked finally, voice quieter now. “That that’s all this is?”

You laughed once, brittle. “What else could it possibly be, Dave?”

He took a step closer, slow and measured, like approaching a skittish animal. “You really think I’d risk everything for something that shallow?”

You turned on him, eyes sharp. “Don’t give me that. You’ve got a wife at home. Kids, right? You go back to your life after you—” your words faltered, “—after this. And I’m left trying to remember who I am when you’re not looking at me like…” You exhaled, looking away from his gaze, “...like that.”

He blinked, something in his expression shifting—surprise, maybe. Guilt. But he didn’t look away. “You think I don’t think about it?” he said quietly. “About what this does to you? To me?”

You shook your head, fumbling the keys against the lock. “You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to play the tortured act now.”

He scoffed and shook his head, the sound sharp, brittle. “Tortured?” He stepped closer, voice rough. “Y/N, there isn’t a fucking word for what I feel when I’m near you.”

You turned halfway toward him, shaking your head. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t—” He saw it then, that wall snapping up, the distance building even while you were still within reach.

He exhaled, raking a hand through his hair, but the words kept coming—too heavy, too long-buried to stop, “You don’t think I picture you when I’m lying in bed at night?” His voice cracked slightly, not from volume but from exhaustion. “You don’t think I wish it was you next to me in the morning instead of—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “Instead of someone I stopped reaching for a long time ago?”

“Dave, stop.” You warned, voice low, trembling, your eyes begging him to.

He didn’t—he couldn’t. “My wife—” he started, then swallowed hard. “She’s a good woman. She didn’t deserve the distance, and I know that.” He nodded, pursing his lips for a moment, “But the only reason I’m still there is because of my girls. Because they deserve a father who’s there when they wake up.” He dragged a hand down his jaw, staring at the ground. “If it weren’t for them, I’d be gone. I’d—” His voice broke off again. “I’d have found a way to make things work with us.”

You turned fully to him now, disbelief flashing through anger. “You can’t say things like that. You don’t get to say that when you’re still going home to her. When you’re going to leave me in this goddamn parking garage with all of this, Dave. You don’t—”

He looked up, eyes red-rimmed, pleading as he cut you off. “You don’t think I don’t hate myself for it?” He pointed to himself, shaking his head and clenching his jaw so tight his teeth started to hurt, “For wanting you. For—for needing you like this?” He scoffed and chewed the inside of his cheek, “God, fuck me—” He sighed, “I walk into a room, and I don’t look for her—I look for you. Every single time. Do you understand what that does to me? How insane I feel! How I yearn for something I can’t have?”

You blinked hard, your throat burning. “Then you shouldn’t be here, Dave. You shouldn’t be telling me this.”

He stepped forward again, desperate, fingers flexing at his sides. “What am I supposed to do then, huh? Pretend nothing is happening?”

You let out a sharp laugh that wasn’t amusement. “Yes, actually. Pretend. Because it’s not fair, not when I can’t do anything about it. Especially when you won’t.”

His face softened. “You think I don’t want to? You think I haven’t thought about it a hundred different ways?”

You shook your head, blinking back tears you didn’t want him to see. “It doesn’t matter.” You swallowed down the lump in your throat, “You’ve already made your choice. You go home every night to the life you built, and I get to go home alone and pretend I don’t care when you walk past me in the hallway like nothing happened.”

The words hung between you, trembling, final.

“Maybe we need to take a break,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, strained. “It seems we’re getting too close. Like you said, there are feelings happening here that shouldn’t be.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off before he could.

“You said it yourself—you can’t leave her. And I refuse to stay in the shadows waiting for something that’ll never happen.”

He took another step forward, as if he could talk you out of it, but you were already shaking your head.

“Don’t,” you whispered. 

You opened the car door and slipped inside, the slam of it echoing through the garage.

Dave stood there, motionless, staring at his reflection in the tinted window—his own face looking back at him, wrecked and unrecognizable.

You started the engine quickly, tears streaming down your cheeks. You put the car in drive and drove off—headlights cut through the dark as you left him, hands in his pockets, hating himself for wanting what he couldn’t have—and hating even more that, deep down, he knew he wouldn’t stop wanting it.

BLURBS

Eating you out

Sucking him off

Breeding Kink

Threesomes

SERIES

So Reddit... AITA?

CLINT FLOOD (FREAKY TALES)

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DAVE YORK (THE EQUALIZER 2)

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