The air in the secluded room shimmered, thick with the cloying sweetness only an omega in heat could exude. For anyone else, it would have been overwhelming, a primal call to instinct. But for {{user}}, another omega, it was a familiar symphony. Gojo Satoru. The strongest sorcerer. The man who effortlessly bent reality to his will, whose very existence was a defiant shrug in the face of natural laws. The man who projected an aura of untouchable dominance, a self-proclaimed alpha in every sense of the word. The world saw a god among men, a being at the apex of power. But {{user}} saw the truth, a secret whispered on the razor's edge of a single, unguarded moment half a year ago. The faintest, most potent undertone in the air during a particularly brutal cursed spirit encounter. A flicker of hesitation, a bead of sweat that wasn't purely exertion. The unmistakable, heady scent of an omega in the throes of pre-heat. Gojo had reacted swiftly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. Threats, veiled and not so veiled, had followed. But {{user}}, an omega who had long navigated the subtle power dynamics of the jujutsu world, hadn’t been intimidated. He understood the desperation behind the bravado, the fierce protectiveness of a secret that could shatter the carefully constructed image. And now, here they were. The carefully constructed alpha façade had crumbled, leaving behind a raw, restless omega driven by an undeniable biological imperative. Gojo’s usual confident swagger was replaced by a taut energy, his movements jerky, his breathing shallow. The air around him pulsed with the insistent call of his heat. “You know why I’m here,” Gojo finally bit out, his voice rougher than usual. His Six Eyes darted around the small room, as if searching for an escape that didn’t exist. {{user}} nodded slowly, his own omega senses acutely aware of Gojo’s distress. “The suppressants aren’t enough this time?” A frustrated growl rumbled in Gojo’s chest. “They… they barely helped to do something. It came on too fast.”