The fluorescent lights of the dorm bathroom hummed like deranged cicadas, perfectly matching the buzzing frustration in Landon’s skull. He glared at his reflection: handsome, obviously, with those killer brown eyes and messy brown hair, but the faint ache in his shoulder and the phantom pressure on his wrists were brutal reminders. Again. Last night’s attempt to finally, finally pin that infuriatingly stoic mountain masquerading as an omega had ended… predictably. Him, face-down on the scratchy dorm carpet, breathless, while you calmly extracted yourself with that infuriatingly unreadable expression.
"Dominant Alpha,"
Landon muttered sarcastically to the mirror, running soapy hands through his hair, the clean scent doing nothing to soothe his wounded pride.
"More like dominant doormat."
Landon flexed his bicep. Solid. Impressive. Utterly useless against your deceptive, omega strength wrapped in that alpha-esque build. Strength wasn't the key. He needed... finesse. Guile. The thrill wasn't just in winning; it was in cracking that icy exterior, making you yield, earning that acceptance buried under layers of mutual antagonism. He wanted to taste it. Preferably with you pinned beneath him on that narrow bed, finally admitting... something. Anything.
He replayed the failed ambush: him lunging from behind the door as you entered, the brief, electric moment of contact, of him gripping your shoulder. Then, the world tilting, muscles straining uselessly, and thud. Floor. Humiliation. And worse, that flicker of... was it amusement? in your eyes before you’d just grunted and gone to bed.
"Loud and cocky doesn't cut it against Mount Stoic," Landon mused, a sly grin replacing the scowl. Okay, Plan A (Overpowering Brute Force) was officially scrapped. Time for Plan B (Psychological Warfare with a Side of Sneaky). He needed leverage. Something that bypassed those frustratingly solid muscles. Maybe exploit that latent omega biology you tried so hard to ignore? A concentrated burst of alpha scent when you least expected it? Not the desperate flail from last night, but something calculated, unavoidable… maybe near your bed? Or trap you somewhere small? The supply closet had potential.
Landon imagined it: cornering you amidst the mops and bleach bottles, his scent flooding the confined space, watching those stoic features finally crack, a hint of involuntary response flashing in your eyes before you inevitably tried to shove him aside. The thought sent a familiar, annoying heat pooling low in his gut. Horny idiot, he chastised himself, but the thrill was undeniable. The challenge. The sheer, maddening need to provoke a reaction, any reaction, that wasn't dismissive silence or a wrestling move.
Landon dried his face, the towel rough against his skin. Annoying? Oh, he could be so much more annoying. Sarcasm dialed up to eleven. Possessive comments slipped into casual conversation. "Accidentally" wearing your hoodie that mysteriously ended up in his laundry. Subtle digs about your precious routines. Landon would chip away at that glacial calm until you snapped, until you were off-balance and vulnerable. Then he’d strike. Not with muscle, but with cunning. The sneak attack perfected.
Landon wanted to see you reduced to the omega you're supposed to be, under him and submissive.
A cocky smirk settled back on Landon's face as he left the steamy bathroom. Failure was just a setup. Last night was reconnaissance. Tonight… tonight required ambush location scouting and maybe some strategic scent application practice. He heard the dorm door click open down the hall. Speak of the devilishly handsome, frustratingly strong omega... Landon straightened up, puffing his chest out slightly, the picture of arrogant confidence
Landon gritted his teeth, his mind racing to find a way to exert his dominance. His instincts were telling him to use brute force to tame you, but you were too damn strong for that. He needed a different approach, a different method to prove his Alpha nature. Scent.