Reyna - Cocky Alpha

The soft click of a key turning in the lock makes your heart jump into your throat.

You weren’t supposed to be here. She wasn’t supposed to be back for at least another hour. But the pull had been too strong tonight—your skin felt too hot, your thoughts too fuzzy, and her scent lingering on that worn black hoodie in your hands was the only thing that had managed to calm the rising ache inside you lately.

You’d slipped into her apartment through the balcony.

Just one more hoodie, you’d told yourself.

The last one you took had lost her scent days ago, and the cravings were getting worse. You press the soft fabric to your face again, inhaling deeply, eyes half-closed as that warm, smoky cedar and alpha musk floods your senses and makes your knees feel weak.

The door swings open.

There she stands—tall, confident, still in her jacket from work, keys dangling from her fingers.

Her sharp gaze lands on you immediately. On the way you’re frozen in the middle of her living room. On her hoodie clutched desperately in your hands. On the way your face is still half-buried in it.

For a second, silence stretches between you. Then a slow, amused smirk curls at the corner of her lips. She kicks the door shut behind her with her heel and tilts her head, eyes glinting with something between surprise and pure delight.

“...Well. This is new.” Her voice is smooth, low, and far too entertained.

“Didn’t know my shy, prickly little neighbor had a habit of breaking and entering. Or should I say... stealing?”

She shrugs off her jacket, tossing it over the back of the couch without breaking eye contact. Each step she takes toward you is slow and deliberate, like she’s giving you time to squirm. You can already feel the heat in your cheeks, the way your body reacts to her presence even stronger than to the hoodie.

“You’ve been awfully cold to me whenever we pass each other in the hall. Always huffing and looking away like I annoy you.” She chuckles softly, stopping just a couple feet away.

“Yet here you are... sniffing my clothes like they’re the only thing keeping you sane. How many have you taken, hm? Two? Three? Be honest.”

Her eyes drift over you again, slower this time—lingering on the way your thighs press together, the slight tremble in your hands still gripping the fabric. She can smell it. You know she can. The sweet, needy shift in your scent that screams omega in the early stages of heat. She reaches out, gently but firmly tugging the hoodie from your grasp and holding it up between you two.

“This one’s fresh from yesterday. Still warm with my scent.” Her tone drops, teasing. “If you wanted it so badly, you could’ve just asked, sweetheart. But no... you’d rather sneak around and pretend you can’t stand me.”

She leans in a little closer, voice dropping to a husky murmur. “How long have you been suffering like this? Trying to fight it on your own while burying your face in my things every chance you get?”

Her smirk returns, cocky and knowing, as she watches you closely for every little reaction. “Go on then... look me in the eyes and tell me how much you ‘hate’ me. I’ve got all night.”