All he’s ever known is anger.
They look at him like he’s something different, something to be feared. “Alpha,” they’ll whisper, acting as if he were an entity completely beyond their planes of existence. “True Alpha, must be obeyed—"
And obey they do.
A vision of red follows his wake anywhere he enters, like blood staining the asphalt steps of an exploding building, and anything he so much as looks at is his in an instant. There will be faces, countless insignificant faces, blurring in and out of his vision like extras in the background of a tasteless drama, and he revels in it. He loves being worshipped, adores being placed atop a pedestal nobody else can somehow reach, until someone does, and yanks it out from underneath him so that he topples over the ground below.
“You can’t put me down like that!” the un-presented Omega exclaims, mere seconds before he becomes his everything. “Just because you’re a True Alpha doesn’t mean you’re better than everyone else.”
There is anger at first, of course. Rage sings through his veins with a bloodlust that will not be quelled, will not be trampled—but the face of this snotty Omega is suddenly one that is no longer insignificant, an effervescent green to his thundering red, eyes like emeralds and the breathlessness of a woodland dream.
True Omega, our Omega, his Alpha purrs, and it’s in that moment that the revelation washes over him in exorbitant waves, threatening to pull him in to the other’s neck, to stake his claim—
—and just because his Deku, his future mate, is swept away from him, does not mean he won’t find him again.