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How do you like me now?

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Jason sat on the hospital bed, staring at the butter yellow wall. The doctor was typing into her tablet, imputing the data that was falsified but good enough to fool any insurance company or hospital system. He only hoped it would be good enough to fool the kind of people who were looking for him.

She paused, noticing his mulish gaze hadn't budged once since they'd finished the exam, and she put the tablet down, coming to his side.

“You know, there is still time to back out.” She kept a neutral tone, not judging or condemning but merely offering him another door should he choose to open it.

He didn't bother to look at her bland expression, knowing exactly what her thoughts were despite her attempt to keep from projecting it.

Why would you want this surgery?

Are you sure?

This is permanent.

You can still walk away.

“It wouldn't matter. I want this.” He spoke carefully, voice even and steady. Even though his chest hurt with the stark understanding of the future he was going to lose in order to gain a different one. It was just instincts, he told himself fiercely. If he were a machine, he would not hesitate to remove the weakest parts of himself and replace them with new, improved ones.

He wasn't replacing anything though.

He was just cutting out what made him an animal and casting it aside to become something not ruled by instincts. Just cold, calculating logic.

The doctor let out her breath that she'd been holding before she took the tablet up again and held it out to him.

“I'll need you to sign a few things-- release forms. If you have any next of kin you'd want notified in the event of your death please fill in the information on page three...”

He signed quickly, his hand gripping the tablet pen so hard that the plastic groaned beneath his fingertips. The doctor wisely kept her mouth shut when he didn't fill in the information she'd recommended, and left him to wait for the nurses to prep him for the surgery.

 

 

 

Six months later, Jason Peter Todd was finally recovered to his pre-op state. He had several new scars that would take at least another year to fade into the paleness of his skin but they were clean lines compared to the jagged ones he'd gotten from his life on the streets. He hadn't been outside his safehouse a single day during his recovery, having chosen an upscale apartment on the uppercrust side of town. Nobody would think he'd ever have the stones to hide in Bat territory.

Wayne Enterprises stood so close to his luxury apartment that he bet if he opened the blinds he could see into Bruce's office. It was strange, this newfound confidence that sat just beneath his ribcage. He wasn't afraid of Batman finding him, or the League tracking him down for stealing their cash reserves in their Gotham hideout.

They could look all they wanted. They'd never find him, at least not how they use to. Now they would actually have to work to find him now that scent was no longer an option for them.

He lightly traced a finger over the hem of his turtleneck. All he felt was the pressure of his touch and he let his eyes fall closed in a deep sense of relief he'd never felt until he'd woken from surgery. Wearing highneck collars or things around one's neck was for alphas and alphas alone. They used it as a status symbol, because they had to muffle their scent glands to keep from making Omegas wet at the full brunt of their pheromones.

He never wore anything around his neck after the day he woke up at thirteen with slick running down his legs and a throbbing, itchy neck.The alpha male had rushed to him from the Batcave after patrol and found him sitting on the floor in a puddle of his own mess. He'd immediately scented him to soothe the ache of heat broiling in his taut belly, and pulled him close in his arms to let him smell the bond of pack between them. One thing had led to another and soon his soaked shorts were gone, his legs free to spread wide and let Bruce in. He only felt relief when he breathed in Bruce's scent and felt the man's teeth scrape over his scent glands rhythmically in tender kisses.

The memory of Bruce's large, gauntlet encased hand pressing between his legs, the heel of his hand pressed to his cock while two thick fingers pumped inside his dripping core , no longer elicited a reaction from Jason. He didn't have the deep, twisting pulse that twinged low in his gut or the spark that made him shiver between his legs. Even the memory of Bruce's flushed face when the alpha had been swayed by Jason's cajoling and popped his pussy with his knot didn't get to him like it use to.

Well, at least not much. He found without touching himself first, he didn't really get aroused. The thoughts helped aid him once he got there, but they weren't enough to get him in the mood. Physical stimuli was much more helpful.

Orgasms were different now as well. No longer a hazy lull of pleasure that seemed to come in waves, instead they built up to a sharp satisfying punch to his gut and left him satiated and clear headed. He'd not tried out masturbating until the past month and it wasn't out of need, just boredom. He wanted to test his limits just like he did in every other aspect of himself too.

As an omega he'd never even gotten so much as a blow job, much less stuck his penis into anything. It just wasn't acceptable behavior for a proper little bitch to do anything but be mounted. You were considered a filthy deviant otherwise. He may not have had much of a sex drive, but his hate drive was strong enough to buy an alpha sex toy and pound it out of spite. He did it to prove to himself that he was better than Bruce. He could have sex without losing all his common sense to the pleasure between his legs, his mind free of primal instinct.

He plucked a cigarette out of the pack on the coffee table and lit it, taking a long deep breath of the smooth menthol smoke.

A lot of things didn't affect him anymore. For one thing, he could still smell other people's scents but it didn't cause him to recoil or become submissive anymore. Even the smell of an alpha on the tail-end of a rut didn't cause him to stumble. He'd figured that out on the way home from the hospital, when he'd gotten into the elevator with one of his alpha neighbors.

The man hadn't even noticed him.

It was a surreal experience. The closest he could compare it to was how Betas interacted in society. They might not have been as much of slaves to instincts as Omegas or Alphas, but they still garnered notice if they had a particularly nice scent or good looks. Those that stunk, had weak scents or were ugly?

They were invisible.

Just like Jason might as well have been in that elevator.

He smiled sharply in the darkness of his living room, only the glow of the cigarette cherry illuminating his face. He stubbed out the butt when he finished his smoke and contemplated what to do. It seemed a waste to spend the night in watching more Netflix, or working out in his gym till he was covered sweat and no closer to getting rid of his cabin fever.

It was finally time to hit the rooftops and let Red Hood's rumored death be laid to rest as just that, a rumor. He took his time pulling on his gear, checking himself in the mirror out of habit to be sure his holsters were snapped over his thighs just so, and that his pants were just tight enough over his derriere to draw attention.

Even after removing his uterus, sewing up his cunt and cutting out all of his scent glands, Jason Peter Todd still liked to look his best.

He pulled his helmet on last as he stood on his apartment rooftop and laughed bitterly at the glowing Wayne Enterprises sign that blared in bright blue neon across the city street. He spread his arms wide, his large body casting an even bigger shadow over the building's windows.

How do you like me now, Bruce? ” His voice modulator was flat and lifeless to the world, but inside the helmet Jason could still hear the tremble in his own voice as the last remnant of omega looking for their alpha's approval died.