A quiet evening in their shared apartment pushes Akari and Jirou past the point of no return, transforming their 'practical marriage training' into a night of passionate confessions, raw desire, and a first time that redefines everything they thought they wanted.

The soft glow of the television was the only light in the small apartment, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. Outside, the city hummed a distant lullaby, but inside, the silence was thick, broken only by the tinny dialogue of some late-night drama neither of them were actually watching. Akari Watanabe was curled up on one end of the sofa, her legs tucked beneath her, while Jirou Yakuin sat on the other, feigning interest in the screen. But Akari could feel his eyes on her. She always could. It was a strange, prickly awareness that had grown between them over the weeks of their forced cohabitation, a constant, low-level hum of tension that was both frustrating and secretly thrilling. This whole "More Than A Married Couple But Not Lovers" arrangement was supposed to be a means to an end, a way to get enough points to switch partners. But lately, the lines had started to blur, melting under the heat of shared meals, late-night study sessions, and the undeniable comfort of simply existing in the same space.

She shifted, the fabric of her short, pleated skirt rustling against the sofa cushions. She'd changed out of her school uniform hours ago, opting for something comfortable but still cute. A loose-fitting sweater and the skirt, paired with thigh-high socks. It was an outfit meant for lounging, not for scrutiny. Yet, she felt Jirou's gaze like a physical touch, and a blush crept up her neck. Her heart, that traitorous organ, gave a little flutter. It was supposed to beat like that for Minami-kun, the boy she’d been chasing for so long. So why was it that this quiet, nerdy, and infuriatingly perceptive boy next to her was the one who made it skip and race?

“You’re quiet tonight,” Jirou’s voice was low, cutting through the silence more effectively than any sound from the TV. He wasn't looking at her directly, his eyes still fixed on the screen, but his attention was entirely on her. She knew it.

Akari hugged a pillow to her chest, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the soft material. “Just thinking,” she mumbled, her usual bubbly gyaru persona feeling like a costume she was too tired to wear. “About this whole… Fuufu Ijou Koibito Miman project. It’s… weird, isn’t it? Playing house like this.”

“It’s the school’s rule,” he replied, his voice still neutral. But then he turned his head, and his dark eyes finally met hers in the dim light. They were serious, searching. “Is it still just a game to you, Watanabe?”

The question hung in the air, heavy and loaded. A game? It had started that way. But the way he looked at her after she cooked dinner, the way he’d instinctively reached out to steady her when she tripped, the quiet way he listened when she ranted about her friends… none of it felt like a game. It felt… real. Frighteningly real. She opened her mouth to give a flippant, easy answer, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she just shook her head slowly, her blonde hair brushing against her shoulders.

In that moment of shared vulnerability, she stretched her legs out, uncurling from her ball. The movement was innocent, meant only to ease a cramp, but it caused her skirt to ride higher up her thighs. For a split second, the hem revealed the delicate edge of her panties. They were a soft, baby pink, adorned with a tiny white bow at the center—a stark contrast to the loud, confident image she projected. It was a glimpse of the real her, the softer, more feminine girl she kept hidden. She saw his eyes flicker down for a fraction of a second, his breath catching almost silently. He saw them. He saw her.

The air crackled. The world seemed to shrink to the space between them on the sofa. Akari froze, her body tingling with a mixture of embarrassment and a strange, potent anticipation. She didn't pull her skirt down. She couldn't. It felt like a challenge, an unspoken question. Jirou’s gaze lifted from her legs back to her face, his expression now unreadable, intense. The drama on the TV faded into meaningless noise. The only sound was the frantic pounding of her own heart.

Slowly, hesitantly, he reached out. His hand didn’t go for her skirt, as she might have half-expected, half-feared. Instead, his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her thigh, just above the top of her sock. His touch was warm, surprisingly gentle, and it sent a jolt of pure electricity through her entire body. It wasn't a lecherous grab; it was a question. A plea. A confession. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her lips parted on a silent gasp.

“Akari,” he whispered, and the use of her first name, so raw and earnest, shattered the last of her defenses. He moved closer, the space between them disappearing until their knees were touching. His hand slid from her thigh to her waist, pulling her gently towards him. The pillow fell away, forgotten on the floor.

“Jirou…” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. Her mind screamed that this was wrong, that she wanted Minami, that he wanted Shiori. But her body, her soul, yearned for this. For him. She leaned in, closing the final inch between them. His lips met hers with a searching, hesitant pressure. It wasn't the confident, practiced kiss of a movie star; it was clumsy, real, and utterly overwhelming. It tasted of uncertainty and a desperate, long-suppressed wanting. She responded instantly, her own lips parting, her hands coming up to tangle in his soft, dark hair, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss.

All the tension, all the unspoken feelings of the past weeks, erupted in that single, passionate embrace. Tongues met, shy at first, then more demanding. A soft moan escaped her throat as his other hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. This was nothing like the chaste "practice" kisses they’d shared for points. This was real. This was a torrent of emotion she couldn’t control. They broke apart, both breathing heavily, their foreheads resting against each other. His eyes were dark with a desire that mirrored her own.

“I… I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice ragged. “Even when I try to think about Sakurazaka… it’s your face I see.”

Tears pricked her eyes, hot and sudden. “Me too,” she confessed, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I try so hard to focus on Minami-kun, but… you’re always here. Driving me crazy. Making me laugh. It’s always you, you idiot.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped him, and he kissed her again, harder this time, filled with the relief of their mutual confession. He pushed her back gently against the arm of the sofa, his body hovering over hers. His hands began to roam, no longer hesitant but filled with a new, reverent purpose. One hand slid under her sweater, his palm flat against the warmth of her stomach, making her gasp. The other traced the line of her leg, up over her thigh-high sock, his fingers dancing perilously close to the hem of her skirt and the secret of her pink panties.

“Akari,” he murmured against her lips, “is this… are you sure?”

She answered by arching her back, pressing her body more firmly against his. “More than I’ve ever been,” she whispered. With trembling hands, she helped him pull her sweater over her head, tossing it aside. The cool air of the room hit her skin, but it was quickly replaced by the heat of his gaze. He stared, utterly captivated, at her chest. Her big tits, usually a source of confidence and a key part of her gyaru appeal, now felt incredibly vulnerable under his adoring eyes. She was wearing a simple, lacy bra that matched her panties, and it did little to restrain her fullness. He reached out, his fingers tracing the lace at the top of a cup before gently closing over the soft swell of her breast. A shiver wracked her frame, and a deep, throaty moan escaped her lips. The sensation was exquisite, a perfect mix of pleasure and tenderness.

He unhooked her bra with a surprisingly deft movement, and her breasts spilled free, heavy and warm. He lowered his head, his breath hot against her skin, and took a nipple into his mouth. The feeling was electric, a sharp, searing pleasure that shot straight down to her core. She cried out, her fingers tightening in his hair, her hips instinctively bucking up against him. He suckled and licked, worshiping her body in a way she’d only ever dreamed of. The world was melting away, leaving only the two of them and this maelstrom of sensation.

His hand, which had been resting on her thigh, began to move with more intent. It slid under the hem of her skirt, his fingers brushing against the soft cotton of her panties. She was already soaked, her body betraying the depth of her arousal. He didn't hesitate. His fingers pressed against her, right over her clit, and she gasped, her whole body clenching. He moved his fingers in a slow, circular motion, the pressure building, the pleasure intensifying with every passing second.

“Jirou, please…” she begged, not even sure what she was asking for. She just needed more. More of him. He shifted, moving down her body, his lips leaving a trail of fire over her stomach. He tugged at the waistband of her skirt, and she lifted her hips to help him pull it off, along with her thigh-highs, leaving her in nothing but those ridiculously innocent pink panties. He looked at her, his eyes burning with an intensity that made her feel beautiful and utterly desired.

He hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties and slowly, agonizingly, pulled them down her legs. The sight of her, bare and open for him, made his breath catch. Her pussy was slick and glistening in the dim light, her inner lips pink and swollen with need. Akari hid her face with her hands, a wave of embarrassment washing over her, but he gently pulled them away.

“Don’t hide,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “You’re beautiful.”

And then he lowered his head between her legs. The first touch of his tongue on her clit sent a shockwave through her system. She cried out, her back arching off the sofa. No one had ever touched her like this. It was intimate, overwhelming, and so intensely pleasurable she felt like she was going to shatter. He was relentless, his tongue skilled and demanding, licking and sucking, tasting her, learning the rhythm of her body. The pleasure built and built, a tight, coiling knot in her lower belly. She felt a strange pressure building, a feeling she’d never experienced before. Her toes curled, her thighs trembled uncontrollably.

“I-I’m going to… I can’t…” she stammered, her mind completely blank, filled only with sensation. She was on the edge of a precipice, teetering on the brink of total oblivion.

“Let go, Akari,” Jirou urged, his voice muffled against her. “It’s okay. Let go for me.”

His words were the only permission she needed. With a final, desperate cry, her body convulsed. A wave of unimaginable pleasure crashed over her, and a hot, clear fluid gushed from her pussy, soaking his face and the sofa cushions beneath her. She was squirting, a complete and total surrender of control. The release was so powerful it left her gasping, her body trembling in the aftermath. Jirou didn't pull away; he licked her clean, tasting the evidence of her climax, his actions telling her that he cherished every part of her, every messy, real, unrestrained response.

When she could finally breathe again, he moved back up to kiss her, the taste of her own arousal on his lips. “Let’s go to the bedroom,” he murmured, scooping her into his arms as if she weighed nothing. He carried her through the dark apartment and laid her gently on their bed, the sheets cool against her overheated skin. He quickly shed his own clothes, and she watched him, her heart swelling with an emotion so powerful it felt like it might burst. This wasn't just lust. This was something deeper, something terrifying and wonderful.

He settled between her legs, his erection hot and hard against her thigh. He looked into her eyes, a silent question passing between them. She nodded, wrapping her legs around his waist, pulling him in. He entered her slowly, carefully, a gasp tearing from both their throats at the feeling of him filling her. It was tight, but so, so good. She was a virgin, and this was her first time, and it wasn't with the idolized Minami-kun, but with Jirou. With her partner, her roommate, her… something more. And it felt profoundly, unbelievably right.

He began to move, a slow, deep rhythm that had her moaning his name over and over like a prayer. Every thrust was a declaration, every retreat a promise. Their bodies moved together in a perfect, frantic dance. The pleasure built again, sharp and sweet, coiling in her belly. She watched his face above her, his eyes closed in concentration, his features tight with a pleasure that mirrored her own. She reached up, tracing the line of his jaw, and he opened his eyes, a universe of emotion passing between them.

He began to move faster, his thrusts becoming deeper, more powerful. He was close, she could feel it in the way his whole body tensed. “Akari,” he panted, his voice strained. “I’m going to… I can’t hold back.”

A part of her brain screamed about consequences, about protection. But a much larger, more powerful part of her wanted this. She wanted all of him, with no barriers between them. She wanted this ultimate act of intimacy, this final, irrevocable step across the line. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice hoarse with passion. “Don’t hold back, Jirou. I want you. All of you. Inside me.”

Her words were all it took. With a raw, guttural groan that was torn from the depths of his soul, he plunged deep inside her one last time, his body shuddering violently. She felt the hot, thick rush of his release flood her womb, a sensation so intimate and overwhelming it sent her spiraling over the edge into a second, shattering orgasm. A creampie. He had filled her completely. They collapsed against each other, slick with sweat, their hearts pounding in unison, their breath mingling in the quiet darkness of the bedroom.

For a long time, they just lay there, wrapped in each other's arms, tangled in the sheets and their own complicated emotions. The game was over. The points didn't matter anymore. What had happened here, in this bed, in their shared home, was more real than any score. He shifted slightly to kiss her forehead, his lips soft and warm against her skin. She snuggled closer, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. It felt like coming home.

“So,” she murmured into his skin, a small, sleepy smile on her face. “I guess this makes us… more than married couples, huh?”

Jirou’s chest rumbled with a low chuckle, and he held her tighter. “Yeah,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet, certain joy. “I guess it does.” And in the comfortable silence that followed, Akari knew, with every fiber of her being, that she wouldn’t have it any other way.