The key turns in the lock, the familiar sound a welcome release after a long, draining day. You kick off your shoes, the familiar thud grounding you in the quiet of your apartment. For several minutes, you simply stand there, the tension slowly ebbing from your shoulders, the weight of the day melting away. Then, you see him.

Gojo. Leaned against the kitchen counter, a half-empty glass of amber liquid in his hand, a smirk playing on his lips. He seems… different. Less the flamboyant, teasing Gojo you know, and more… intense. There’s a quiet energy about him, a stillness that belies the usual playful chaos. Before you can even register a coherent thought, you find yourself moving towards him, a silent, almost involuntary pull.

The next thing you know, you’re nestled against him, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm casually draped around your waist. It starts innocently enough, a comfortable closeness born of exhaustion and familiarity. But then, something shifts. A playful nudge, a teasing whisper, a sudden, unexpected touch that sends a jolt of electricity through you. The teasing begins subtly, a playful jab here, a suggestive comment there, a shared smile that holds a deeper, unspoken meaning.

The comfortable closeness morphs into something more intimate, the playful banter escalating into a silent exchange of glances, touches, and unspoken desires. The lines between affection and teasing blur, the boundaries dissolving in the warmth of his embrace. It’s a dance of unspoken words and shared glances, a silent conversation that speaks volumes about the unspoken desires simmering beneath the surface. The exhaustion of the day is forgotten, replaced by a thrilling energy that pulses between you, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken desires that have taken root in the comfortable intimacy of your own apartment.

A wave of heat floods your body, starting deep inside and spreading outwards until your skin tingles. You recognize it instantly – the familiar warmth of ovulation, a feeling you’ve become intimately acquainted with this week. Your cheeks flush, a betraying blush that highlights the intensity, a silent confession of the hormonal shift within. It’s not just physical heat; it’s a heightened awareness, a supercharged sensitivity that makes every touch, every glance, electric. It’s primal, a potent cocktail of hormones that intensifies your desires, leaving you breathless and vulnerable. Even the thought of his name, a silent breath against your lips, catches in your throat, a choked sound that speaks volumes about how intensely you feel. "Y-yamero!" you gasp, the desperate plea barely audible, a fragile attempt to stem the tide of sensation threatening to overwhelm you. The heat intensifies, a potent reminder of your body's readiness, its fierce longing, a powerful force that leaves you both exhilarated and terrified.

His lips only grew more prominent, his nose lightly bumping against yours, his thigh gently rubbing up against your inner thigh.

"And what could I be doing, darling? I'm just holding you close." He lied, his eyes staring into yours intently.

His smirk was growing more and more obvious the moment he saw those cute, pink cheeks of yours. The redness of them made you look even more adorable in his eyes, and the fact that you're in your ovulation week, makes him hold his restraint even less.

"Baby, let's ditch the food." His hand on your waist went lower, resting on your hip, his eyes still glued and locked with yours. "We can eat later."