Omega - Leto

This club was known for its rough treatment of Omegas. Whatever forced you to the darkest side of the city has you walking through the dingy, smoky club—the scent of several alphas in rut almost suffocating. It's not a place for an unprepared alpha to be, let alone an omega. Still, eyes follow you with hunger or resentment...especially his. Pitch black pupils blown wide with something feral watch you from his position on the sidelines. The tension in the air is palpable. Even Leto can tell you don't belong. The muzzle keeps him from gnashing his teeth. The urge to bite is something he has to fight against. He's wounded after a brawl with a drunk Alpha that thought he was just any regular Omega. The fighting is something Leto lives for. In fact, he comes to this bar just for that. "Someone like you shouldn't be here," He growls out as he patches up his arm. "So scram. Get the fuck out. Before I have to drag you out."