The Equalizer 2 - Tumblr Posts

Give me alpha!Dave!!!! 🫠🫠🫠

Stay with me

Pairing: Dave York x f!Reader 

Word Count: 9.7k

Rating: E (explicit smut, 18+)

Warnings: A/B/O dynamics (Omegaverse), Alpha!Dave, Omega!Reader, mentions of prejudices against Omegas, canon-typical violence, suspense elements, watch me make shit up about a/b/o to suit my needs, heats, rutting, knotting, scent glands, biting, compulsion (the thing with the voice), LOTS of sex, soft!Dave gets his own warning, enemies to lovers, Penny gets VERY vague about whatever the hell the DIA does, the plot is not the point of this fic

Summary: You’re Dave York’s ‘favorite’ analyst at the DIA. You’re also an Omega. When you go into heat during an emergency situation, can the two of you keep your mutual attraction from coming to a head?

A/N: Yeah, I don’t know where this came from. I truly think @leslie-lyman and I share the same braincell; she wrote 12k of Alpha Max and then the week after I was hit with an Alpha Dave idea and here we are. Thank you Les for egging me on, tolerating the constant depraved screenshots. Thanks for @pedropascalx and @honestly-shite, my two ‘Hot for Dave’ besties who ALWAYS encourage Dave filth. Now I promise I’ll go work on my stupid book. 

Masterlist

“The intelligence shows–”

“I fucking know what the intelligence shows, I’m looking at it,” Dave barks.

It’s not that Dave York is the type of Alpha to be an asshole, to be brash, inconsiderate, even violent. It’s the job that makes him this way; the years of military training that have muted his empathetic response, for better or for worse, in favor of emotionless calculation. It helps, when making life or death decisions.

Not so much when it comes to social interaction.

The man snaps his mouth shut, and Dave grimaces inwardly. It was probably the wrong thing to say. The head of Intelligence was an Omega; even on suppressants, as nearly everyone is these days, Dave can still sniff it out. It’s considered crass for an Alpha to shout one down–it fucks with their instinct to shrink away from an Alpha’s command, and no Omega wants to appear lesser at work.

Contrary to popular belief, Dave does not take Alpha suppressants. One of the military’s more creative trainings for Alpha special forces was to throw them in a room and pipe in the scent of Omega in heat.

For weeks at a time.

That sort of forced desensitization has left Dave with an unusually strong ability to resist Omega pheromones and a tight leash on his Alpha tendencies. They only really come out in times of high stress, when his tone of voice  can come out harsher than intended, or he accidentally uses Compulsion when giving an order instead of just… giving the order. Still, he's hardly the most aggressive Alpha at the DIA, a breeding ground for ex-military types in the first place.

Dave tries again. “Who wrote this report?” 

“One of our new analysts, she–”

“I want to talk to her,” Dave says abruptly. “I have questions.”

The Omega nods slowly as he backs out of the office. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

Dave sinks into his desk chair with a sigh. This report is the last thing he wanted to see cross his desk. No one wants to hear that the call is coming from inside the house, so to speak, and this analysis points to a mole within the DIA, feeding classified information to outside organizations and compromising all of their operations. 

A few minutes later, someone knocks on his door, and Dave looks up. “Come in,” he calls out.

The door opens, and Dave is hit with the strongest smell of Omega pheromones he’s smelled in the longest time. He raises his eyes in surprise as a woman enters his office with a stern expression. “You wanted to see me?”

Dave frowns at her for a moment, at a loss. He’s never seen an Omega off suppressants, especially in the office like this. It must be incredibly inconvenient, having everyone gawking, right? He doesn’t understand–is there a medical reason she can’t be on them? 

“Sir?” she arches one perfectly-penciled eyebrow at him.

Dave clears his throat. “You wrote this?” 

“Yes,” she answers. “Is there a problem with my analysis?”

“You misunderstand,” Dave says. “I agree with the report. I want to know how you know.”

— — — — — — 

That had been Dave’s first of what would become many interactions with the woman who is quickly becoming his ‘favorite’ analyst. She’s the only person who doesn’t mince words around him, who’s brutally honest, almost cutting in her assessments, and doesn’t seem to acknowledge or care that Dave is an Alpha. 

In turn, Dave makes an effort to treat her the same way as he would any other Alpha around the office. Not that she needs his help–she carries herself with a haughtiness that would put most Alphas to shame. He's seen her face down conference rooms full of them without batting an eye, or purposefully not stepping demurely to the side to let an Alpha pass in the hallway, as many Omegas do out of habit, resulting in a few awkward shoulder-checks that Dave has observed with an amused smile.

Most Alphas around the office don't know what to make of her, and treat her with confusion at best, and outright hostility at worst. Dave–as much as he’s tried to stop himself, or, more accurately, stop his Alpha–is starting to view her as his. The long hours she’s spent in his office going over her intelligence reports have left him feeling possessive, even territorial, over his analyst.

"She's one of those 'Out and Proud' Omegas that think they're so fucking special just because of their designation," Dave overhears in the breakroom one morning, and for the first time in a long time, he has to stop his Alpha from reacting–grabbing the man's shirt and shoving him against the wall with a growl. 

“If she’s so proud of being an Omega, why is she so fucking standoffish?” is another scathing comment Dave has heard around the office. “Her designation is Omega. If she’s as proud of it as she claims, strutting around here with all those pheromones on display, she should be more demure.”

Dave doesn’t give a shit whether she’s demure; in fact, he likes that she’s assertive. She’s a challenge, his Alpha purrs. Dave likes a challenge. 

“Can I ask a question?” Dave asks, unable to help himself one morning when she’s sitting across from him in the spare chair in his office, an open report draped over her crossed legs..

She looks up from the report questioningly.

“You don’t take suppressants,” Dave says.

“That’s not a question,” she points out, and Dave smiles.

“Why?” he asks.

“I personally believe that Omegas should be allowed to exist in public whether or not they are on suppressants,” she responds quickly, in what sounds like a very well-practiced speech. “I’m part of a group of Omegas that refuse to take them in order to show that we’re perfectly capable of existing alongside Alphas, and that we deserve to take up space.” As she speaks, her voice becomes louder, more impassioned. Her chin tips up as if she’s challenging Dave to disagree. He doesn’t.

“Of course,” Dave says. “But isn’t that… inconvenient?”

It’s the wrong thing to say.

“Is it inconvenient for me to exist in public?” she retorts with a scoff. “No, it’s not, thank you very much, and when it is, it’s because some asshole Alpha with outdated views on Omegas thinks they know something about it.”

“I don’t think that,” Dave counters. “I just mean, doesn’t it put you in danger?” 

“So I should suppress who I am instead of, y’know Alphas not being violent?” she snaps, rising to her feet.

Dave blinks up at her in silence, unsure of what to say. 

“Excuse me,” she says briskly, and walks out of the room.

That… hadn’t gone how Dave had intended.

— — — — — — 

You’re struggling to focus. The Threat Vulnerability Matrix you’re studying keeps blurring, and you blink rapidly to focus on the computer screen.

You keep thinking back to your meeting today, at the wounded expression in those pretty, dark eyes. Even after two months of working with the man, you don’t know what to make of Dave York.

Dave fucking York. An Alpha if there ever was one–abrupt, aggressive, and dominating. And yet, there’s something about him that you can’t put your finger on. He treats you the same as he treats everyone else in the office (which means he’s an asshole to you, but he’s an asshole to everyone, that’s the point). He doesn’t treat you like a subordinate, he doesn’t treat you like a piece of meat, and he doesn’t treat you like you’re made of glass–which is the worst of the three, honestly. 

There are times when the two of you are in his office and he’s grilling you incessantly about the smallest detail in your latest report, and Dave will suddenly look up and smile at you with warmth in his eyes. Why? If you examine the evidence too hard, it appears that Dave York… likes you. 

But then he has to go and do something shitty, like question your decision to be off suppressants. Dick. 

Because of your position in Intelligence, you know things about Dave York that you shouldn’t. The man isn’t just the quintessential Alpha–he’s a killer. You’ve read the classified reports, read the things he’s done in nauseating detail. He’s ruthless, violent, and unforgiving. Typical Alpha behavior. Regardless of how those pretty brown eyes and plush lips make you feel when you steal a glance at the man, you’d do well to stay far away. 

Besides, a man who is so very much an Alpha would want nothing to do with you. You know what they say about you in the office. Assertive. (That’s one of the nicer ones.) Stuck-up. Rude. A fucking bitch. You don’t fit their expectations for an Omega, and they hate it. You don’t fit in any box, really. That’s why it was so refreshing when you’d found your tribe at Omega Out Loud. You could be yourself without having to feel like you were doing something inherently wrong. You have plenty of Omega traits, sure, but you also have a lot of qualities that would be more common in a Beta, or even an Alpha. As a result, many Omegas don’t think you’re Omega enough, and Alphas generally don’t see you as an attractive mate. 

You’re a real hit on dating sites.

It’s fine–you’re too attached to your work to spend much time worrying about whether you’re mate-able. In fact, that’s where you are right now–in your cubicle at 8pm, working late. 

You’d be at home in your pajamas already, but your heat is due any day now, and you usually take a few days off leading up to it as well in order to avoid any uncomfortable situations at work. It’s a little bit more of an inconvenience, but it’s worth it to be able to feel like you’re being true to yourself. No one ever mentions the fucking side effects of suppressants: Mood swings. Weight gain. Heart problems. High blood pressure. Sexual dysfunction. Why is it always assumed that Omegas want to be on them?

An uncomfortable twinge in your abdomen reminds you of why. Oh right–your heats. As much as you hate to admit it, Dave really was right–being off suppressants can be dangerous. If you run into an Alpha right now, your twin pheromones might cause both of you to act in ways you normally wouldn’t. An Omega that’s almost in heat is a fucking beacon signal. Get it here! And during that time, you’re frustratingly susceptible to an Alpha’s influence. As the slick starts to gather between your thighs, your inhibitions lower, and you start to crave something to ease the ache–a toy, your fingers, an unsuspecting Alpha with deep brown eyes and pouty lips and wavy hair and–wait, where did that come from?

You shake your head rapidly and continue typing.

You don’t focus for very long before the building lights flicker ominously, and your computer abruptly switches off. A power surge, perhaps? Frowning, you stand up, casting your eyes around the empty floor. Weird. It’s dark outside now–you hadn’t realized how late it was getting. Well, your computer randomly turning off is as good a cue as any to hurry home to where your nest, copious amounts of snacks, and your favorite knotted toys are already waiting for you.

Grabbing your bag and slinging it over your shoulder, you head toward the nearest elevators. You almost push the ‘down’ button, but something makes you stop, your finger hovering in the air as you look up. The numbers. They’re moving. The elevators are in use, all four of them, traveling down to the first floor and then up again, heading this way. Signals in your brain start to go haywire. Something isn’t right about this. You head to the window and look down at the entrance to the building. 

It’s being swarmed by unidentified people wearing black.

You can see their assault rifles from here.

A sudden stab of pain in your core makes you double over, your fist hitting the glass of the window. Shit. Want to know one of the best ways to trigger an early heat?

Stress.

Suddenly, the symptoms hit you like a freight train. Body sweats, cramps, light-headedness, you name it. You struggle to stay upright as you watch the tide of assailants entering the building.

You have to hide.

Any Alpha will be able to scent you out behind closed doors, so you have to choose somewhere with limited points of entry. Somewhere where you can potentially create a seal where air cannot escape. What in this building could be used to create a seal? You cast your eyes around in desperation before they land on a nondescript door labeled Maintenance. You drag yourself gingerly over to the door, and open it, rifling through the shelves for something you can use. Paint thinner? Sandpaper? Bleach? Screwdriver? Caulk? 

Caulk! You grab the bottle and shut the door, applying an inelegant line of sealant to the seam. You go over it once, twice, three times, four, before the bottle is empty and you cast it aside. Honestly, if any air escapes at all, you’d be surprised. It’s not pretty, and it’s probably overkill, but you have a feeling it’s going to work. 

It’s not a moment too soon, because as another wave of equal parts nausea and arousal hits, you hear voices as the intruders step off of the elevators and into the Intelligence department. 

It’s only then that you realize you left your messenger bag–and your phone–sitting by the windows. 

— — — — —

The call comes when Dave is at the gym.

“Sir?” the voice says. “There’s been a breach.”

Thirty-six hours of preparation later, and Dave York is slipping, silent and undetected, into the DIA offices, followed by a handful of his most trusted men. He’s covered from head to toe in black clothing, his favorite gun held aloft in front of him as he moves up the stairs to Intelligence. They make quick work of dispatching the guards along the way. They always make the same mistake–appointing their weakest links as guards. Half of them barely even saw him coming. 

The main office floor is a bit more of a challenge. The open floor plan makes any offensive position vulnerable, and Dave and his team are exposed and outnumbered the moment they open the door. Still, there’s a reason this team is the best at what they do. Before long, all the intruders are down and the floor is silent once more. 

“Sweep the area,” Dave orders under his breath, not wanting to break the eerie silence. The hair on the back of his neck is standing up–something isn’t right. He can feel–wait. He sniffs the air.

“You smell that?” he asks the Alpha beside him.

“Smell what?”   

Dave shakes his head. “Never mind.”

Someone is here. And not just someone…

Dave has been completely fixated on that smell for months. He can smell it on his clothes when he leaves work, he can feel the ghost of it on his skin even after a shower, he can call it up at night when he lies awake in bed. It’s an obsession for him. He can’t stop thinking of her–’his’ analyst. 

He would know her scent anywhere.

She works here, of course, so it wouldn’t be unusual for her scent to linger on her office chair, but that’s not where Dave smells it. 

It’s coming from that door. 

Frowning, he moves over to it and shakes the handle.

Locked. 

Holding his gun loosely–just in case it’s a trick–Dave steps back and slams his foot into the door.

— — — — — 

Can someone die of arousal? 

It seems like a stupid thing to ask, but as the time in your self-imposed prison ticks on, the question keeps coming around to haunt you. Each cramp is becoming more and more painful, each wave of nausea stronger, the sensation of emptiness more and more unbearable, to the point that your entire body physically aches and your hands are shaking.

You’ve tried to seek relief with your own fingers, but without a knotted toy filling you up, all it does is provide a seconds-long moment of temporary relief before the ache returns, stronger than before. You’ve managed to make a little nest for yourself out of some (hopefully) clean towels and shop rags, and you’ve discarded your pants and underwear as you try fruitlessly to work yourself through it. 

You can’t die from an unassisted heat… can you? 

You lose track of time. You know it’s probably been hours, because you’re also becoming incredibly hungry, but how much? Eight hours? Twelve? Twenty-four? It’s hard to mark time with no stimulus, no outward change that you can mark.

You fight down a frightened sob. This isn’t fair–you’re trapped in a maintenance closet trying to silently work through a heat unaided by any toys while people with guns are trying to hack into your systems. You can hear them trying–and they’ve as of yet been unsuccessful. If only you weren’t an Omega, you could stop them, somehow. If you were a Beta, or even better, an Alpha, you wouldn’t be shaking and dizzy from arousal in a storage closet, you’d be able to escape, to alert someone, to try and do something to thwart them yourself. 

Instead, you’re stuck. 

You think of what some of your fellow activists at Omega Out Loud would say. Your Omega is part of you. Be proud to be an Omega. Wear your designation with pride. You fight down a little moan as the cramps start to hit. It's relatively easy to embrace it in a work setting, in front of a bunch of Alphas who think they know better simply because of what they are. It’s much more difficult when your heat is interfering with a life or death situation.

You drift in and out of awareness, alternating between not-really-sleeping, rubbing your clit frantically, and being curled in a ball shaking with silent tears. 

Maybe you should go on suppressants, after all. 

You’ve completely lost track of what the hell is happening outside of the four walls of your prison when the door handle suddenly rattles, and a curse is muttered. Oh fuck. Oh shit. You’re in no condition to defend yourself. Even if you grab a spare hammer and hurl it at the intruder, your shaking hands and dizzy head all but guarantee you’ll miss. You can barely even hold the thing, much less throw it with all of your strength with the intent to disable your foe. 

Bam! 

The loud, jarring sound of a boot connecting with wood makes you drop the hammer anyway, sending you scooting backwards. 

Bam!

That kick dislodges most of the caulk that you’d applied around the seam of the door.

CRACK!

The third and final kick sends the door flying inward, and you scramble back into the corner at the sight of the man entering the room gun-first, swallowing the nausea and shame at being so utterly helpless during your heats. This is what your Omega turns you into, you think with a frustrated sob. You’re barely able to move, much less defend yourself, and you hate it. You’d been hit with the man’s scent abruptly when the seal on the door broke. An Alpha. He’s an Alpha, he’s found you, and you are so fucked. You look up at him, some sort of plea for mercy on your lips, before you stop. 

“D-Dave?” you whimper, your voice hoarse.

Dave’s eyebrows pinch together, his mouth pursing into a surprised oh as he takes in the scene–a makeshift nest of towels, the scent of Omega heavy in the air, and you, half-clothed and cowering in the corner of the room, one hand over your abdomen as it cramps with pain, the other held aloft in a gesture of surrender. 

“Oh my God,” he murmurs. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Him. Why does it have to be him? Dave fucking York. You can smell him, and to your utter disgust, you want him, your Omega fighting for any kind of relief, from any source.

No. You bite back a grunt of pain. “Get away from me,” you cry out through clenched teeth, your voice wavering. 

“How long have you been trapped in here?” Dave asks, ignoring your desperate command.

“Get–please,” you try again. “I can’t–”

“Stop.” 

It’s a command, from an Alpha. So you do. Your mouth closes abruptly, but you don’t stop glaring at Dave defiantly.

“How long have you been here?” he tries again.

“F-few days?” you murmur. Another flare of pain courses through you, and you gasp, doubling over, clutching at your abdomen. “Fuck!”

“And how long have you been in heat?” Dave asks, his voice softening.

“I was–It was already coming on when–-when they got here,” you answer.

“And you stayed hidden?” His eyebrows raise in surprise.

“Door…” you say weakly. “I put… caulk.” You gesture weakly at the empty bottle on the floor by the entrance. Dave purses his lips, looking impressed.

Your heat had been almost unbearable before, and now that an Alpha is here in the room, it almost feels like you’ll die if you don’t get relief. A few tears course their way down your cheeks as another cramp hits. 

“Do you not have anything to–?”

“No!” you cry out. “Does it fucking look like I do?”

The pain hits a crescendo, and you curl into a ball. “Shit, shit shit–” 

“Omega.” The word is barely audible, Dave says it so gently, but your Omega sure as hell hears it. You stiffen, quieting.

“It’s only going to get worse.”

Your temper flares again. “Are you just going to–hnng–stand there and… p-point out the obvious?” you grit out through the pain.

Dave doesn’t respond. He watches you for a few moments longer, then, with what appears to be herculean effort, starts to back away. 

Your Omega breaks.

“Apha, please,” you whimper, before you can catch yourself. 

It’s the phrase he’s waiting for; Dave suddenly at your side, lifting you into his arms and placing you gently back into your makeshift nest. 

“Listen to me,” he says quietly, “I don’t know if you’ve gone through a heat without help, artificial or not, but I’ve seen it used as a torture technique before, and I’ve never seen anyone who hasn’t broken.”

“Oh god–” you start to cry.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Dave urges. “I’m going to help you.” He reaches out to touch your arm, and you flinch away with fear, eyes wide. He looks pained, but he stops, his hand hovering just above your skin. 

“You don’t need to be afraid.” It’s not an order. The man puts zero compulsion into his voice, and yet you find yourself relaxing under his gaze. 

“Can I touch your arm now?” 

You stare incredulously at Dave. His hand is hovering inches from your arm. As an Alpha, he must have ironclad restraint in order to stop himself from simply reaching out and taking an Omega in heat, but the only outward sign of discomfort you can see is a vein on the side of his neck. His eyes are black pools, boring into yours, but his lips are soft and relaxed. He remains patient, waiting for your consent. For your trust. Slowly, you start to nod. 

Dave’s hand on your forearm sends a wave of relief coursing through you, and you crumple, slumping against him, your hands grabbing uselessly in your desperation. 

“Shh, okay,” he murmurs into your ear. “I’m going to help you. Slow down.”

“Please, it hurts–” 

“I know,” he says, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Stay with me.”

“Dave…” 

“I’m here.” 

You feel his hand gently sliding up your inner thigh to your weeping cunt, and your hips buck of their own accord at the feel of Alpha’s touch. A finger slips inside, then two fingers, and it already feels far better than you were able to do yourself, making you sob in relief. 

“Good girl,” Dave soothes you as he starts fucking you slowly with his fingers. “Good Omega. I’m going to make you feel better, okay? I’ll make it stop hurting.”

You nod and bury your head in his chest, breathing in his scent. It’s been so long without relief that you come almost immediately, clenching around his fingers and causing another wave of slick to gather on his fingers.

“That’s it, fuck, you’re so wet, Omega. Can you do it again for me? You went far too long without any relief, honey. You’re going to need more than one for it to stop hurting.”

You nod in agreement. Dave’s fingers don’t let up, thrusting in and curling up against your sweet spot over and over again while you whimper and babble nonsense into his chest. 

“Good girl, I’ve got you,” Dave keeps talking you through the unbearable heat. “Just relax, I’m going to take care of you. It’ll stop,” he soothes. “It will. I’ll let you come as many times as it takes.”

You come twice, then three times, on Dave’s fingers, but it’s not enough. Now that you have this, you want more–your Omega needs more. 

“Alpha, please, I need–” 

“What do you need, sweet thing?” Dave asks. “You need my tongue?”

You shake your head rapidly. “I need–she needs–oh, fuck.” You duck your head in embarrassment.

“Tell me.” It’s a compulsion, but you’re not sure if Dave had intended for it to be. His Alpha instincts have to be screaming at him right now. You aren’t sure how he’s remaining so incredibly calm. He grimaces at his own tone, but doesn’t say anything further. 

“Your knot, Alpha.” Even if he hadn’t ordered you, you would have told him anyway. 

Dave hums low in his throat. “You need more?” he asks. “You need another finger?” You feel another one of his thick digits slide into your heat, and you moan wantonly, but it’s not enough. You need him. 

“No,” you whimper. “It’s not enough. I want you.”

“That’s not a good idea,” Dave murmurs, shaking his head against your temple. 

“Why?” you whine.

“You’re in heat,” he says simply. “You’re not in your right mind–neither of us are. You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

You fall apart again around three of Dave’s fingers with a strangled gasp and a wild buck of your hips, but your Omega reminds you that you’re empty, empty, empty…

“Alpha, please,” you say again. “I want it, I do. And… she needs it,” you admit, unable to meet Dave’s eyes. “I–I feel like I’m not going to get through this without it. W-Without you.”

“You don’t understand,” Dave says, his voice low and dangerous. “This is already very difficult. I’m already holding myself back. If I give you my knot, I don’t think I’ll be able to hold back any longer.”

“Good. I don’t care. I don’t want you to hold back,” you say immediately. “It’s been days, I let it get too bad, I’m too far gone.”

Dave growls low in his throat. “I’ve kept this at bay for years,” he grits out. “I don’t know what will happen if I let it go. I’ll lose control. I’ll hurt you.”

Yes, your Omega cries. Yes, yes, yes—

You realize you’re saying it out loud as well when Dave interrupts your last ‘yes’ with his lips crashing into yours with a pained cry. 

Everything happens quickly after that. The rest of your clothing is discarded, along with Dave’s, and the two of you are molded together in the nest of blankets and pillows. He hisses when you reach out to grasp his cock, and you suddenly realize why he’s concerned about hurting you. If this is the size of his cock, what will his knot feel like? Your eyes flick up to him in trepidation, but Dave shakes his head, his jaw tense.

“You asked for this, little Omega,” he says softly.

Dave enters you in one, swift thrust. 

You throw your head back as he breaches you–far bigger than his fingers, both longer and thicker. It’s already too much, but your Omega finally feels sated after days of the burning sensation of being so incredibly empty. 

Your hands scrabble for purchase on Dave’s shoulders, and he doesn’t slow down, punching into you again and again and again until you’re gasping for air. He looks down at you with a smirk, watching you struggle–trying to squirm away from him and push yourself further onto him at the same time. 

“Come.”

This time, the compulsion is purposeful. Dave throws all of his intent behind the command, and your Omega obeys, clenching around his cock as he fucks you through it. 

“Good,” his Alpha purrs. “Again.”

You gasp in surprise as another climax follows, your Omega unable to disobey, even though the overstimulation is almost painful. 

You can feel Dave’s cock starting to swell as his knot rises. Tears are already squeezing out of the corners of your eyes as the pressure increases, and Dave’s nose scrapes against the swollen gland on your neck. Bite it, your Omega urges. Bite it, bite it, bite it–

“One more time,” Dave urges, dropping the edge from his voice. “You can do it. One more time for me, honey.”

You immediately shake your head. “T-Too much,” you whimper. 

“I need you to come while you take my knot,” Dave insists. “It will make your heat go away faster.”

“I-I don’t know if I can,” you admit.

“Don’t make me do it,” Dave says, his lips quirking upward with amusement, but you already know he’s going to.

His lips still brushing against your gland, Dave gives you one more command.

“Omega… come.”

Your back arches with the force of it, clamping down on Dave’s knot as it grows. Dave’s teeth start to scrape against the skin of your neck, and you throw your head back in invitation without thinking. Bite it bite it bite it—

At the last second, Daves mouth moves and he sinks his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead as he comes with a deep groan. You sink with a mixture of relief and disappointment. Relief that Dave, a man you hardly know, didn’t accidentally mate you in the heat of the moment, but disappointment because your Omega very much wanted to be bitten.

You can’t focus on either emotion for long because Dave’s knot hurts in a way that you didn’t expect, even knowing the size of his cock. You whimper and squirm, starting to panic at your inability to move, but Dave is there, talking to you quietly and soothingly.

“I know,” he murmurs, his voice far softer than it had been before. “I know, it’s a lot. It’s a lot, but you can take it. Look at you,” he purrs. “You’re all stretched out on my knot. It’s hard, huh? I told you I would hurt you.”

Your Omega is blissfully silent for the first time in days, but you’re starting to wonder whether you’d make a mistake in asking for his knot. You bury your head in Dave’s shoulder as the tears come.

“Breathe,” Dave instructs. “Breathe, little Omega.”

You think you might sleep. You drift in and out of awareness, only able to focus on the overwhelming feeling of fullness. It feels as if Dave’s knot will never go down, that you’ll be swollen with it forever. Eventually, it starts to hurt less, but you can’t tell if the knot is actually receding, or if you’re getting used to the feeling of him stretching you past your limits. 

When the little crease of discomfort on your forehead goes away and you relax into him fully, Dave starts to talk.

“What on earth are you doing here?” he asks quietly.  

“I was staying late,” you answer. “My–I knew my heat was coming in a few days, and I was trying to get caught up on work before I took a few days off for it.” Then they came, and I–I couldn’t evacuate the building,” you answer. “I misjudged. I was already so close to being in heat; I obviously couldn’t be in public. I hid myself in here and sealed the doors.”

“Why here?” Dave asks, amused. “Why a storage closet?”

“That’s where the caulk was,” you murmur. “I was running out of time.” 

Dave hums and rubs his nose along your scent gland again, making you shiver pleasantly. “Plus, no windows,” he points out. “Less ways for the scent to get out.”

“Exactly,” you say. 

“Smart girl,” Dave praises. 

“I didn’t really have a plan beyond that,” you admit. “I didn’t have any of my toys, I was just trying to get through it with my fingers, and it wasn’t enough–I felt like I was going to die.”

“Shh,” Dave whispers. “You did so well, my brave girl.”

When his knot goes down enough for him to finally slip out of you, Dave announces that he needs to get you out of here.

“You haven’t had anything to eat in here,” he observes. “And I’m not going to let you go through the rest of your heat hungry, in a storage closet.”

“I can’t move, they’ll know, they’ll see–”

“Oh, honey,” Dave tuts. “They’re all dead.”

— — — — — — — — 

Dave half-carries her through the office–where his team is cleaning up the aftermath of their operation tonight.

She flinches slightly at the sight of the bodies scattered about the floor, but otherwise barely reacts. She’s still somewhat delirious, and Dave can understand why. If the reports are correct, the building has been occupied since Thursday. It’s now Saturday night. He’s never seen an Omega go three days into a heat completely unassisted. She must have been in terrible pain, and yet she stayed quiet enough to go undetected, suffering through her heat in silence. 

Fuck, he’s so attracted to her.

The Alphas on his team whip their heads around when they detect the scent of an Omega in heat, but with one look from Dave–his hand curled possessively around her and his eyes black coals–they avert their eyes and go back to their work. 

They make it to Dave’s car without incident. 

“Tell me where you live,” Dave orders quietly, pulling up the map on his phone.

She recites her address in a monotone, her eyes falling shut as she tips her head back on the headrest. She must be exhausted–but another wave will come sooner rather than later, Dave is sure of it. 

She dozes while he drives, and he hates to wake her when they arrive, but he shakes her shoulder gently.

“We’re here.”

She blinks slowly, looking at Dave with parted lips and hooded eyes. “Alpha…” she murmurs.

So it’s starting again.

“We need to get you some food,” Dave says, getting out of the car and coming around to her side to lift her up. This time, he pulls her properly into his arms, inhaling her scent as he brushes his nose against her temple. 

It’s hard not to lay her down right inside the door and give her his knot again with the little whimpers and moans she’s making, but Dave grits his teeth and walks into her kitchen instead, setting her down on the countertop. 

“It aches,” she whimpers, grabbing onto Dave’s wrist like a vice. 

“I know,” Dave answers softly. “But you’re eating first, it’s been three days.”

“But I need–” 

“No.” Dave puts all of his intent behind the word, and not just for her. It’s for him, a reminder to himself that he has a responsibility to take care of her and not just rut into her over and over until his Alpha is sated. Except she’s looking at him like he’d just slapped her across the face, and he realizes he’d probably been too harsh. “What can I get you to eat?” he asks, opening cabinets at random until he finds the glassware. 

“I’ve got heat snacks in there,” she says, waving her arm at a cabinet behind him. He retrieves a few granola bars and fills the glass with water, and returns to her.

“Eat all of these, drink two full glasses, and then–” Dave cuts himself off, clearing his throat. 

Even after he’s already filled her, it feels awkward to say it out loud. And then I’ll fuck you again. They both know what the end of the sentence was going to be, so he doesn’t bother continuing, and she occupies herself with the granola bars, taking big, enthusiastic bites interspersed with long swigs of water as if she hasn’t eaten in days. She hasn’t, Dave reminds himself. God, she’s strong. Whoever had said Omegas were the weaker sex were imbeciles–she went through a hostage situation with no food for three days, having to stay completely silent during an unassisted heat that must have been intolerable by the time he’d found her. 

The moment she’s done with the third granola bar, Dave gently grabs her face with both hands and presses his lips to hers. 

“Oh!” she makes a muffled sound of surprise. “Alpha–”

“Dave,” he corrects. “Don’t call me that–call me Dave.”

“Dave,” she says immediately, her wide eyes searching his face.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Fuck, like that.”

“Dave, please,” she whimpers. 

“Hang on–” Dave grabs three more granola bars and two bottles of gatorade from the fridge. “You’re eating again right after,” he announces. 

“Yes, Alpha,” she drawls lazily, a small, dazed smile on her face, already drunk on her own pheromones. It’s incredibly cute. 

She enters her bedroom with a relieved sigh, moving forward and collapsing onto her bed, where a much larger and more comfortable nest is waiting for her. For them. She scrubs her hands over her face and lets out a groan that has less to do with pleasure and more with the relief of being somewhere where she feels safe. Dave feels off-balance for a moment, unsure if he has a place here, but then she looks over at him with a question in those sultry, half-lidded eyes. Alpha?

Dave smiles and walks forward, climbing over her on the bed and pressing his body against hers. Omega. She lets out a little gasp at the contact and arches into him, seeking more friction. 

“Patience,” he scolds teasingly. 

“Been three days,” she growls, clenching her teeth. “You don’t get to tell me to be patient.”

“Touché.” Dave grinds down on her roughly, making her cry out. “Then you won’t be opposed if I give this to you exactly how I want?”

“Depends on how you want it,” she retorts, although she’s already pulling at her shirt. 

“I’ll show you how I want it,” Dave grunts, sitting up to yank her pants and underwear off in one swift motion. “Turn around,” he orders. “Get on your knees for me.”

She’s nodding rapidly, her breath coming in pants as she obeys. Dave gives in to the temptation to grab her cheeks and spread her apart, showing him every inch of her glistening pussy. 

“Fucking perfect,” he growls. “You’re so wet; you’ve been waiting so long for this, honey,” he says, his voice honey-thick. “Let me give you what you’ve been needing all this time.”

Despite his posturing, Dave still enters her slowly, giving her plenty of time to adjust to his size. He rubs her lower back soothingly until he’s buried to the hilt and she’s letting out those pretty little whimpers that tell him she wants him to move. 

Well, Dave thinks with a smirk. He can do that. He pulls almost all the way out, then pushes back in, giving her his cock in long, hard strokes that immediately send her to her elbows as her arms give out. She moans wordlessly into the blankets, taking every punishing thrust with an arched back, her hands clutching uselessly at the sheets. When she starts pushing back onto him, Dave grabs her cheeks again and spreads her open the same way, using his grip to pull her back onto his cock. The new angle makes her wail and he feels her core starting to tighten around him.

“That’s it,” he encourages. “Come on, come for me again. Come for me and then I’ll give you my knot, little Omega.”

She keens.

“Oh, you like that?” Dave teases. “Desperate little Omega wants my knot?”

She nods frantically into the covers, and Dave’s smile falters. 

“It hurt you before, silly thing. It made you cry. You sure you want that again?”

She mumbles something unintelligible into the sheets.

“I didn’t hear that, honey, say it again.”

“L-Liked it,” she pants.

It’s Dave’s undoing. His knot starts to swell as fucks into her once, twice, three times, and stills as the pressure in his cock reaches a breaking point and he’s fully seated within her.

“Good girl,” Dave whispers as it stretches her. “Good girl, you’re taking it so well. My good girl–my Omega.”

She whimpers and squirms just like the last time, a few more tears of discomfort escaping her eyes. Dave keeps murmuring to her, watching her face intently, seeing her lower lip tremble even as she sinks with palpable relief. Her Omega needs it, even if it’s too much, and his Alpha is practically triumphant that she wants his knot even though it hurts her. 

Still catching his breath, Dave lowers down and pulls her slightly on her side so that they’re both resting flush against each other, his knot still pulsing deep inside her. He places his hand on her lower abdomen, and fuck, he can feel the swell of his knot against his palm. He drops his forehead to her shoulder and hisses a curse under his breath. Down, Alpha. Dave swallows and presses a kiss to her skin before reaching for the food.

“Have some more,” Dave says, handing her a granola bar. 

She bites her lip, fighting down a whimper of discomfort. “RIght now? While we’re–”

“Please?” Dave asks softly. “Do it for me.” 

She finishes off all of the snacks he’d brought, plus the two gatorades, while his knot still pulsed thick and hot, refusing to go down. Good. The longer he fills her, the longer she’ll go without needing him again, and she can get some much needed rest.

“You should sleep,” Dave says.

“Mm,” she grunts. Her eyes are already closed.

Dave closes his eyes too, pulling her closer still. Just before sleep pulls him under, she speaks again.

“D-Dave?”

“Hmm?”

“Is this—I–” she swallows thickly. “I’ve never had an Alpha help me through a heat, and–fuck,” she cuts herself off again. 

“Where’s the assertive woman who yelled at me because I was ‘reading the data wrong?’” Dave teases.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles. “Stupid Omega shit has me all… discombobulated.”

Dave chuckles. “Thought you were proud of being an Omega,” he counters. “That you deserve to take up space. Isn’t this part of taking up space?”

She’s quiet for a moment. 

“Damn you,” she whispers. “You used my words against me.”

“Tell me what you were going to say,” Dave says, fighting tooth and nail against his Alpha to keep the compulsion out of his voice. 

“Is this–is this just because of wh-what we are?” she asks, her voice wavering. “Our biology? Or is there–”

No, Dave immediately thinks to himself. No, no, no. Never just that. He opens his mouth to speak and then, inexplicably, loses his nerve. He can’t remember the last time he didn’t say what was on his mind, no matter the circumstance, but he finds himself second-guessing the words before he says them. He never second-guesses.

“Do you want it to be just that?” he asks softly.

“I–” she takes a shaky breath. “I don’t want that,” she says. “I don’t want this to just be scratching some primal urge, I want–” 

Frustratingly, she doesn’t finish, but Dave has the answer he needs already.

Tightening his hold around her, he presses his lips against her scent gland when he speaks. 

“It was always just you.”

— — — — — — 

You aren’t sure what wakes you. It could be the overwhelming need to pee after two large glasses of water and two gatorades. It could be your Omega starting to claw her way to the surface again, letting her desires be known. You’re still in your heat, after all. Or even still, it could be the fact that it feels as if a goddamn furnace is at your back, beads of sweat starting to pool between your shoulder blades as your body tries, in vain, to lower the temperature. 

It could also be the snoring in your ear. 

You smile to yourself as you look around the room. It’s daylight now–you must have slept through the night, although you don’t know what time Dave had rescued you, or when you got home. 

His cock had slipped out of you sometime during the night, and your hips shift back against him reflexively. You need it again. You need Alpha.

At the feel of your ass pressing back against his cock, Dave stirs, grunting softly as he wakes. 

Dave. Had you imagined last night? Not the rutting–the ache between your thighs assures you that was real. But what came after… It was always just you. Is that truly what he had said? You can still hear it–the exact timbre of his voice, the way it vibrated low in his chest, the feel of his lips forming the words on your scent gland, but it still doesn’t feel real. It was always just you. 

The subject of your ruminations lets out another soft grunt, his hand coming to your hips, guiding you back against him, then again, and again, until you’re rocking rhythmically together.

“That’s it,” Dave urges, his voice thick and gravelly with sleep. “Does someone need me again, little Omega?”

“Yes,” you grumble, still half asleep even though your Omega is very much awake.

“Ask nicely.”

“Alpha, I need you,” you pout, pushing back against Dave.

“Try again.”

“Alph–” 

Dave growls low in his throat.

“Dave,” you breathe, and his grip immediately tightens on your hip. “Fuck, Dave please. I need you.”

“Me?” he asks, although the tip of him is already lining up with your cunt.

“You,” you answer, and Dave slides home.

This time, your coupling is unhurried–although Dave’s grip is still rough and bruising, his thrusts still deep and overwhelming, but his lips are soft and tender on your neck, his teeth scraping lightly against your scent glands until you’re a panting mess.

Dave sucks his own fingers into his mouth and reaches down to rub little circles on your clit. 

“Poor thing,” he murmurs, and although it’s meant to be condescending, you can still hear the hint of genuine feeling in his words. “Going to be sore after this is over.”

You nod in agreement but push back harder on his cock.

“Fuck, you perfect thing,” Dave groans, his teeth biting down slightly on your gland–not enough to leave a mark, to properly mate you, but enough to feel his intent. “Fuck, I want–oh, honey–” 

“Please,” you whine. “Yes–yesyesyes–do it, please.” 

Dave’s thrusts speed up as he makes a broken sound of pleasure into your neck. You cock it to the side, inviting him in. Bite it, your Omega urges for the second time during this heat. Bite it, bite it–

For the second time, Dave’s mouth finds the meat of your shoulder instead, sinking his teeth into your skin with a rough groan. His knot swells again and you hiss at the mixture of pleasure and pain. It’s more of a stretch than any toy you’ve ever tried, but it seems that you’re finally adjusting to it after the third time. Hell, you don’t even cry. 

Dave’s hand finds yours and slides it sensually down your body–over your breasts and down to the soft swell of your stomach.

“Feel me there?” he asks, pressing down slightly.

Your breath catches. You can–there’s an unnatural fullness to your belly, a hard bump deep inside where Dave is filling you with his seed, over and over and over. Suddenly, your Omega rears her head, overcome with the idea of being filled, of being his, being Dave’s, of being his Omega and not just someone that he’s helping through a heat.

“Dave, why–” you begin. “Why didn’t you–” your hand moves up to your scent gland, where Dave had chosen not to mark you in the heat of the moment.

“I want you to want it,” Dave replies softly.

“I do–”

“I want you,” he repeats, firmer, “to want it. You. Nothing else.”

An avalanche of recent memories crashes through your mind. Don’t call me that–call me Dave. It was always just you. I want you to want it. 

He’s been telling you all this time: it’s not just an Alpha and Omega thing. It’s him–it’s you. The both of you.

“Dave,” you whisper, a shaky smile appearing on your face. “It was always just you, too.” 

Dave buries his head between your shoulder blades, but doesn’t say anything further. Finally, he says, “What would you like for breakfast?”

You giggle at the sudden shift in tone. “What?”

“You can’t just have granola bars all weekend,” Dave argues. “I’m making you breakfast.”

“Are you asking me how I like my eggs?” you say with a playful wink.

“Tell me, or I’m making you what I fucking feel like making you,” Dave grumbles, apparently annoyed with your silly joke. 

You are still very hungry. “I like pancakes,” you offer. “And sausage. And bacon. And eggs, any style really. I’ve got toast, and peanut butter, and–”

Dave’s hand comes down on one cheek with a satisfying slap, and you squeal in surprise.

“Shut up,” he grumbles–with absolutely no malice in his voice. “When my knot goes down, I’m making you whatever the fuck I want.”

‘Whatever he wants’ turns out to be a little bit of everything–pancakes, sausage, bacon, eggs, toast, some frozen fruit that he found in the back of your freezer–all prepared while you sit at the kitchen table, feeling a little silly, drinking the coffee that had also been made by Dave.

“Eat up,” he says, putting a heaping plate down in front of you.

You gape up at him. “You didn’t need to–”

“Eat.” Dave throws a hint of compulsion into his voice, but it has a playful tone to it–as if he’s doing it only to tease you. You used to hate being compelled, but you find that, with Dave, you actually like it. He always seems to use it in a way that’s caring–like when you’re being obstinate for no reason and he’s had enough, or when you’re feeling too overwhelmed to accept the help that he’s freely giving. 

You’re starving. You dig into the plate with gusto, devouring every bit until nothing remains. You smile up at him.

“That wasn’t so hard, wasn’t it?” Dave asks, a smile teasing at his lips.

“No, Alpha,” you pout playfully.

“How are you feeling?” 

“Good. I think–I think it’s lightening up,” you say. “It doesn’t feel quite as urgent this morning.”

“Good,” Dave says. “It’ll probably be over before the day is up.”

“It’s been a hell of a heat,” you say with a sardonic laugh. “Not sure I ever want to repeat those first few days ever again.”

“What about the last few?” Dave quirks one eyebrow at you.

You duck your head, smiling shyly. “Remains to be seen.”

Dave huffs a laugh through his nose. “You’re hard to please.”

“Am I?” 

“Mmhmm,” he grunts, stepping closer. “I need more practice.”

“Your knot just went down,” you protest, swatting his chest.

“I could go again,” Dave counters.

“Well I can’t,” you grumble. 

“No,” Dave agrees, giving you a far-too-tender kiss on the forehead. “You can’t.”

Instead, you spend the morning curled up on the couch, reading a book with your legs draped over Dave’s lap. His own choice is propped against your knees, his free hand resting on your thigh. He glances at you every so often, although you pretend not to notice. Your mind starts to wander as you read, and you start wondering about whether Dave has ever helped anyone through a heat before, whether he’s marked anyone before, whether he’ll want to see you when the fog clears and the two of you are back at work.

“I can practically hear you thinking,” Dave remarks wryly.

“I’m reading,” you say quickly.

“No, you’re not.”

“Have you ever done this before?” you ask.

“Nope, I’m a virgin,” Dave drawls. You roll your eyes.

“Helped an Omega through their heat,” you clarify. “You know what I meant.”

Dave nods. “A few times, mostly out of necessity.” He looks over at you. “You’ve really never gone through your heat with an Alpha?”

You shake your head. “Believe it or not, I’m not much of a catch,” you deadpan. “At least, not to an Alpha. I’ve been with Betas, mostly.”

“Not a catch?”

“I know you know what the Alphas say about me around the office,” you tell him. “It’s pretty much the same everywhere else, too.”

“They’re idiots,” Dave remarks.

You stare at him challengingly. “What do you think?”

Dave is silent for a few beats, the two of you watching each other, apparently waiting for the other to snap.

“I think it’s time for lunch.”

“Dave!”

“I think you’re incredible, is that what you want to hear?” Dave says, his voice rising in volume. “Do you want to know how many times I’ve gone home with your scent on my skin and fucked my hand, wishing it was you? Do you know how fucking hard it is not to mark you as mine?”

Your mouth falls open at the outburst. There are a hundred things you could say–I like you, let’s go on a date when this is over, will you stay until tomorrow, can we go back to bed–-but the thing that comes out of your mouth is, “Do it.”

Dave searches your face with a small frown. “You understand what that would mean?”

You nod. “I want it.”

With surprising speed, Dave grabs you and pulls you properly into his lap, so that your legs are on either side of his hips and he’s pulling you down on him, kissing you messily.

“Not gonna make it to the fucking bed,” Dave mumbles against your skin as he hastily pulls out his cock. “Any objections to that?”

You shake your head. “I want it here.”

“Good girl.” 

It’s frantic–the two of you grasping, panting, fighting to get closer. Your nails dig into Dave’s back and he groans low in his throat. He guides your hips, helping you fuck yourself on him, slamming you down on his cock over and over again.

“Tell me you meant it,” Dave growls.

“Meant…?” you repeat in a daze.

Dave licks your scent gland rather than giving a verbal response.

Suddenly, you’re very clear-headed. The brain fog associated with your Omega taking over during a heat immediately dissipates, and while your Omega is very much along for the ride, it’s all you when you open your mouth to speak. 

“Yes, Dave.”

Dave grips your neck roughly and jerks your head to the side, baring you to him. He inhales deeply, scenting you one last time before his teeth sink sharply into your gland.

The pleasure is explosive. Dave has spent the last two days showing you exactly how good your heat can be with an Alpha, but no orgasm so far has compared to how it feels with Dave’s teeth buried in your scent gland. You buck helplessly against him as he holds you still, the pleasure-pain of the bite and his growing knot making you dizzy and weak. It seems to have a similar reaction on Dave–he’s lost in it, groaning loudly, his face buried in your neck and his hands pulling you down on his knot, seating himself even deeper.

Dave’s teeth don’t release from your gland until his knot swells to its largest and he’s filling you with his seed yet again. His lips drag from the throbbing bite mark up to claim your lips, smearing the little tinge of blood on your neck up to your mouth. It’s feral, it’s depraved, and you love it. 

“Mine,” Dave growls against your lips. “Mine, mine, Omega.”

“Don’t call me that,” you tease with a watery smile, throwing Dave’s request back at him.. “Call me by my name.”

Dave does, murmuring it over and over as you come down from your high. You realize you’re trembling with the overwhelming release of pheromones, and Dave makes soft shushing noises, rubbing up and down your back to soothe you as you slump into his chest. 

“I can’t believe we did that,” you say with a giddy laugh after you’ve calmed down.

Dave hums softly in response. “I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I met you.”

“No, you didn’t,” you argue back. “You just grilled me about my reports for thirty minutes.”

“Fair,” Dave agrees. “Maybe it was the second time I saw you.”

“I called you an idiot that time,” you remind him. “You read the fucking graph wrong–”

“I remember,” Dave grumbles. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“That’s when you wanted me as a mate,” you say skeptically.

Dave pulls back, arching one eyebrow in challenge. “Problem?”

Your face slowly spreads into a smile. “Not at all.”

— — — — — —

Six Months Later

“As you can see from the data, the threat of attack has decreased from 42 to 37 percent, which–”

“Actually,” someone across the crowded conference room interrupts, “I think that can be attributed to a number of factors, including–.”

“Are you… are you attempting to explain my own reporting to me?” she asks, raising her eyebrows at the Alpha. 

The man glances over at Dave nervously, and Dave can see the fear in his eyes. He’s just insulted his mate, and he expects Dave to come rushing to her defense. 

Instead, Dave crosses his arms, leans back in his chair with a neutral expression, and waits.

“What are you looking at him for?” his mate snaps. “Look at me. I’m giving the report.”

The other Alpha jumps, tearing his eyes from Dave, whose eyes are now glimmering with amusement. 

“Sorry, ma’am,” he mumbles, looking down at the conference table. 

“Let’s continue,” she says, stealing a fond look back at Dave before turning back to the presentation.

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PEDRO PASCAL as DAVE YORK The Equalizer 2 (2018) dir. Antoine Fuqua

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