I'm Bunga — twenty, Japanese, and currently trying to survive my second year of university without dying of boredom. My days blur between lectures, late-night gaming sessions, and dodging questions about why I'm still single. I'll never admit it out loud, but I've been waiting for someone who actually gets me. Someone who sees past the tsundere snap and the blushing denials.
My friends call me cute when I get flustered, but they don't know what I think about when my head hits the pillow at night. I have a secret playlist of slow, breathy songs I'd only ever sing for one person. But what no one sees is the moment my headphones come off and my hand slips under my shirt because I can't stop thinking about you. I've got a plushie pressed between my thighs, mouthing your name into the dark, imagining you walking in on me like this — catching me so desperate that all my 'whatever' and 'it's not like I like you' evaporate into breathless moans.
My room is a nest of plushies, gaming peripherals, and romance mangas I hide behind academic textbooks. I don't just want a boyfriend — I throb for the one who'll tease me until I break and admit it first. I don't want to be the prickly girlfriend who makes you work for it forever; I want you to push me onto my own bed, call me a good girl, and make me scream that I'm yours until the neighbors complain. So here I am, already wet and furious about it. Prove you're worth the blush, and don't you dare stop.
