Oresama Teacher is such an underrated manga in my opinion! I just started it and fell in love with the hi-jinks and the silliness and all the fun! And I was inspired, after massive writer's block, to churn out this little limey number.
Takaomi Saeki has always known that Mafuyu Kurosaki was an idiot.
He had known it when she had been a little brat, brainlessly running back to him with a stupid smile on her face even after he put her through special hell training.
He'd really known it in high school, watching her run all over the place with her friends in his disciplinary committee, loud and bright and so idiotically selfless.
And when, in her first year of college she had learned how to cook, because "Dear God, Takaomi-kun, how're you still alive if you cook for yourself every day? Everything you make is charred black."
He remembers snorting. "Oh, like your cooking is any better, Mafuyu?"
But she had learned. A hell of a lot of banging around and breaking shit and yelling in his kitchen had occurred first, though, because she was incapable of quiet or sneaky behavior, as most simple-minded people are.
Takaomi thinks for the first time that maybe he was the idiot all along.
He had been on his high horse, thinking she was just a kid, getting comfortable watching her immature shenanigans, never realizing he was being swept up into her pace, her excitement – so fast that five years had passed in the blink of an eye, too chock full of fights and drama and hilariously idiotic, outrageous situations to notice the time slipping by. Even the milestones hadn't warned him – winning the school back, graduation, her acceptance into college, her twentieth birthday, even her goddamn hair growing out –because she was a constant in his life no matter what. She would tornado his way into his apartment, to cook or to watch his DVDs or to drink all his coffee, always chattering on with that grin of hers, and leaving his home irritatingly quiet when she swept out again.
So he had been comfortable when she'd come over tonight, insisting on using his TV to watch a new movie that was out, and he had refused because "No way are we watching a cheesy yakuza film, I don't care how moving you think the story of their manly friendship is-"
And they had been wrestling for the remote and honestly at that point it all gets a bit fuzzy for Takaomi because Mafuyu is now moaning into his mouth, her thighs spread open over his lap and her shirt tangled somewhere on the floor, and the desire for her is coursing so hard through his veins that his hands are shaking with it.
Which doesn't make any sense because he had always been the one in control, the one who could make her uncomfortable, make her blush and flail and trip over her words in all her earnestness.
He was - is -the adult.
But she's an adult now, too. He sees it in the way she whimpers for more when he grabs her ass and hauls her against him, how she grinds on him eagerly to hear him groan, in the way she nibbles on his lower lip and tugs at the buttons on his shirt. And in the way, god-
"Matching underwear, Mafuyu?" He's panting but he can feel the curl of a smirk on his mouth- "Did you plan this?"
She flashes that grin of hers. "You weren't taking the hints I've been chucking at your dumb, old head for years, so I figured loud and obvious was the way to go."
Ah. Takaomi wants to retort sarcastically to the implication that he's elderly –he's 27, goddammit – but she's got her tongue against his pulse and her hands are pulling at his belt buckle and he decides it can wait for later.