Sapphic omegaverse. A heat that spikes on adrenaline, and the alpha who won't rush it. No names.

Nell is calm. Her body is the problem.

She's an omega whose heat has learned a cruel trick: surprise, excitement, a joke that lands wrong, any jolt at all can send it racing ahead of where she actually is, until she looks desperate for relief she hasn't decided she wants. Laughter is the one brake that works. Lately even that is failing, because she can always see the punchline coming.

She doesn't need an alpha who answers how urgent she looks. She needs one who can tell the racing from the wanting, and who won't mistake the first contraction for the last.

Kit used to work a stage. She reads a room the way she once read an audience, and she has the rarer skill underneath it: knowing when to let something fail instead of forcing it. A joke. A touch. A finish that isn't finished yet.

Three days. No names, no encore. Just the discovery that being read exactly right is far harder to walk away from than being wanted.