For @somethingwittythiswaycomes, đťđ𼳠and âalpha Jazz, a dark alley, and a very pretty omegaâ.
âOmega,â Jazz says, falling back just a bit on her alpha voice again. Red Hood goes very, very still in her arms, his fingertips digging deep into her back. Hopefully that means heâs still affected enough to listen to her, even with his helmetâs pheromone filters running. Orâbecause theyâre running, maybe. Depending. âWho can I call for you?âÂ
Red Hoodâs vocoderâcrackles, very briefly, but he doesnât answer her. It feels like heâs breathing a little rougher, though she doesnât know why. Heat drop? Stress? Arousal or anger?Â
Just the effort of not answering that question, maybe.Â
Maybe he doesnât want to expose whoever heâd want to call for that as a friend or ally of Red Hoodâs to a stranger, she realizes. That would more than make sense. Whether he is a crime lord or a vigilante, she canât imagine heâd want to risk anyone he trusted like that. Which is understandable, obviously, and sheâd do the exact same thing in his situation.Â
But also itâs a problem, obviously.Â
Dammit, Jazz thinks, trying to think. What can she do here that isnât going to make this omega feel like shit in the morning? A heat spent in drop and left both unsatisfied and unsoothed would make just about anyone sick for weeksâand thatâs assuming Red Hood is much more mentally healthy and much less stressed than sheâd expect from anyone who went out in a mask and custom kevlar often enough to have an alter ego with a name attached to it.Â
Not to generalize, obviously, but the behavior does imply a certain psychological profile.














