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It’s not an intentional thing. Jasmine’s been irregular on her quarterly cycles since her first at thirteen. Bruce and Alfred had taken her to the clinic and placed Jas on birth control to try to regulate, but she didn’t remember that having much of an impact. Of course after a dip in a bright green forbidden old man bath, she’d always struggled with memories.
For the first year or so after her return to consciousness and aching joints she didn’t have a heat at all. When it did come, it was so unexpected Jas worked through the first three days just dealing with the pooling slick and heightened irritation. On day four, Johnny -a nice kid with a bit too loose of a mouth- asked her why she hadn’t just rested at home instead and the pieces clicked into place. It was mostly residual by day five, but Jasmine did take a day off to recover anyway. She finally called it in when her uterine lining ejected from her body violently to pay her back for not getting pregnant. She’d rather have a gunshot wound thank you very much. Fucking unfair life.
After the first surprise, Jasmine added to her calendar when the next quarterly occurrence should be for her cycle. Three months after that useless alert, she found herself waking up in a pool of slick, arousal heavy in her veins. Again, more conscious of the impact this time, she worked through it till the after effects of still refusing to get pregnant slammed her into her mattress for 48 hours straight.
The next one came only two months later and Jasmine cursed all biology as she decided to make an appointment at a doctor. The choices were pills, patches or an implant. Pills were a hard no, the thought of a daily requirement to swallow a pill was an absolute nightmare. Implant was a risk, she had no interest in giving someone else access to her body, but it made the most sense for her lifestyle.
And it worked….
….To fuck her up more as in another eight months she was absolutely panting into her bed, crying for relief from the most intense heat of her life. For the first time, her own fingers weren’t enough to provide any modicum of satisfaction.
At this point she slightly regretted not being on better terms with any of the other local vigilantes, but she presevered. A scalding hot shower, a dose of odor neutralizer over freshly washed clothes and she slunk out to the local sex store to buy some help. She wasn’t sure how much of her desperate scent she was successfully able to cover, but the counter worker passed no judgement as they rang Jasmine up.
The truth of the matter was, she wouldn’t have minded a partner to help, but alphas stank. She wasn’t sure if it was a remnant of her childhood or if like every other part of her, she was just fucked up here too, but the scent of alpha musk made her stomach roll. She read enough romance books to know what it was supposed to do. The scents of sandalwood, petrichor, and patchouli were supposed to make her feel safe, comfortable, and amenable to rolling over and presenting herself.
Instead they made her mildly nauseated and volatile. Her helmet helped, but she’d still gained a reputation in the alley that made alphas cower.
Betas were nothing special. They didn’t make her sick, but they just smelt like nothing. Again books told her they should smell clean and fresh, and her memory sometimes pinged of enjoying Alfred’s laundry scent, but it didn’t soothe her.
Omegas were the best scents. Soft, unobtrusive and floral, Jasmine enjoyed sharing space with other omegas. Omegas also tended to be a bit softer in appearance though and that's where the problem hit. Jasmine was not ashamed of her own build, she’d grown up idolizing Diana and she was proud of the similarities between herself and her Amazon friends. But, when Jasmine approached other omegas they tended to flinch or shrink away.
She wore her curly hair short, she’d worked hard to build a tough physique, and she knew her presence was intimidating (it was on purpose after all). But omegas into omegas tended to want the other omega to actually look like an omega… so Jasmine’s options were few and far between in Gotham at least.
So she thought…
It started with a brutal takedown. Jasmine wasn’t used to being out maneuvered by many in Gotham, but Batgirl was always an anomaly. Barbara used to put her on her ass when Jasmine still wore the traffic light colors, Red Hood had ended up on the wrong side of Cassanda’s operations before, and now Stephanie Brown was a purple clash of fury.
Jasmine ended up flat on her back, struggling to inhale past the heavy pressure of Batgirl on her chest. They both got some good hits in, but Jasmine was starting to think her surprise cycle was sneaking up again or something. She was absolutely distracted during the fight by the lean muscles covered in flattering purple armor. Batgirl was curvy and feminine in a way that Jasmine had no care to replicate, but could absolutely appreciate.
Steph’s hair tickled against Jasmine’s face as the hero leaned over her with a snarl. Practically nose to nose, Jasmine’s senses were overcome with the pleasant and comforting scent of blooming wisteria. She opened her eyes, not even realizing she’d closed them in the first place, to meet widening blue eyes. This close together, and in the rough lighting of the city at night, Jasmine could still see a ring of brown close to the iris that blended to make Steph’s eyes violet.
Their eyes continued to meet and the mix of fresh wisteria and sweet jasmine filled the air.
It was just that simple.
After sharing their first heat together, their cycles synced, and Jasmine didn’t worry about tracking again.