Hey! I wanted to ask if you could write something with Bunta? Being in a relationship with him and age gap?(reader adult), i love your work btw🩷 if you don't want to you can ignore. Thank you!
Quiet Kind of Love (Bunta Fujiwara)
Gender Neutral reader
a/n: YESSS THE FANS YEARN FOR BUNTA
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You never had to ask him to fix your car. It was how he told you he loved you. Not in so many words, but in the way your engine purred smoother than it had in years. The way the creaking door suddenly stopped groaning. The way a rare, high-performance part you definitely couldn’t afford just showed up under your hood.
“Did- did you do that?” you’d ask with a hint of fluster, brows raised.
He’d grunt and light a cigarette. “I was had nothin' better to do.”
But being unoccupied didn’t explain why he waited until you were busy at work to do it. Or how he never let you pay for anything. Or how your oil was always fresh, your tires rotated, your timing belt replaced before it ever had a chance to snap.
He wasn’t the type to say "I love you" out loud. Not once. But he kept a picture of you tucked into his wallet, behind his license. He’d glance at it sometimes before heading out for a drive, like a quiet ritual.
“Taken a look at the engine yet?” he’d ask his old friend, Yuichi, motioning to your car with a chin tilt.
“Yeah, I just took a peek. Geez Bunta, you spoil em'.” The Esso gas station owner would reply with a small shake of his head.
“They've got no idea,” Bunta would mutter, lips curling around his cigarette, eyes on the road like he could see the whole Akina pass from memory.
He never made a show of the things he did for you. Like the time you thought your alternator was going bad. You mentioned it offhand once—once—and the next morning, your whole engine bay looked like it had come out of a performance shop catalog. You blinked at it in disbelief.
“This is… this is from the GReddy catalog,” you whispered, tracing your fingers along the sleek piping.
He leaned against the frame of the garage, cigarette smoke curling up in the morning light. “Old friend owed me,” he said, like that explained how your car now had a turbo system that was worth more than your monthly paycheck.
At night, you’d sit with him outside the tofu shop. The cicadas droned. The town lights blinked softly. And he’d lean back in his chair, hand resting on your thigh, firm and warm and there. He wasn’t a talker, but when he did speak, it cut through all the static.
“You drive like shit when you’re distracted,” he muttered one evening, not unkindly.
You scoffed. “And whose fault is that?”
His lips twitched in a rare smile, eyes half-lidded from the smoke and the hour. “Guess I’ll take the blame this time.”
You never minded the age gap. People sometimes whispered, small town gossip, but you knew what you had. He didn’t play games. He didn’t waste words. He fixed things. Protected things. And when he looked at you, you felt safer than you ever had in your life.
He was a man in full: flawed, grounded, skilled, and yours. Not in a flashy, possessive way. But in the way he always waited up when you drove home late. In the way he remembered the sound of your engine better than you did. In the way he never once let you leave with low tire pressure.
“Don’t thank me,” he’d grumble when you kissed his cheek.
So you didn’t. You just kissed him again. Longer this time.
The chair creaked beneath him as he shifted, turning just enough to let you settle more comfortably against his side. The night was thick with summer heat and the buzzing of the world slowing down. You leaned into him, your head resting on his shoulder now, eyes half-closed, body heavy in that safe, sleepy way that only came when you were near him.
“Too quiet tonight,” you mumbled, fingers curling around his wrist where it rested on your thigh.
He gave a low grunt in response, noncommittal but content.
“You ever miss it?” you asked after a beat. “The racing. The noise. Being out there.”
He took a long drag of his cigarette, the tip flaring orange in the dark, then exhaled slow. “Not really.”
You tilted your head up to look at him. “Really?”
Bunta shrugged. “It’s all muscle memory now. Like breathing. Doesn’t mean I need to do it every night.”
His fingers twitched, tightening gently against your leg, like a subtle reassurance that he was here. Not chasing ghosts down a mountain pass. Not running from anything. Just here, in the still night with you.
“I like this,” he said finally. “The quiet. You.”
The admission was small—so small you might’ve missed it if you weren’t listening for it. But your heart stuttered all the same.
“I like you too, old man,” you teased softly, nudging him with your nose. “Even if you complain more than the Impreza does on cold starts.”
His lips quirked into a dry smirk. “That’s ‘cause she’s got fewer miles on her than I do.”
You laughed, that bright, easy kind of laugh that always made him glance your way, even if he tried to hide the fondness behind a puff of smoke.
Then the porch light flickered and buzzed out above you, plunging the step into dim amber glow from the shop window.
You looked up at him, the faint lines at the corners of his eyes softened by the dark, and reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his. He didn’t pull away. He never did.
“Come inside,” you whispered. “You’re gonna catch a cold out here.”
“It’s August.”
“Still.”
He didn’t move at first, he never rushed for anything. But after one last drag, he stubbed out the cigarette in the little tin can on the stoop, then stood, pulling you up with him like you weighed nothing.
And just before you reached the door, he paused, hand still tangled in yours, and looked down at you.
“You make the place quieter,” he murmured.
Your brow furrowed. “Quieter?”
“In a good way,” he said, voice rough from smoke and time. “Like… peace.”
Your heart ached in the best way. So instead of saying anything back, you rose on your toes, cupped his face, and kissed him again—no thank yous, no words.
Just you, and him, and the kind of quiet that didn’t need anything else.
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How about a story with Bunta where the reader is with him romantically? Age difference. Smut. I really love Bunta. 👉🏻👈🏻
The Tofu Vendor is a Silver Fox!
NSFW
a/n: OHHHH I've been waiting for another ask omg. YES MY FELLOW BUNTA LUVR, I could never say no to a Bunta smash request <3
cw: age gap (older man, young woman), daddy kink, pussy talk, dirty talk, cream pie, unprotected sex, afab reader, Bunta calls you his "little girl" (no age regressing tho)
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The smell of fresh tofu mingled with the crisp scent of the Akina mountain air as you leaned against the counter of Fujiwara Tofu Shop. Bunta stood a few feet away, cigarette lazily perched between his fingers, his other hand expertly kneading dough for tomorrow’s tofu batch. His calm, stoic expression was something you’d come to adore—a stark contrast to your own animated personality.
"You're staring again," he murmured without looking up, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.
You didn’t even try to deny it. “I can’t help it. You’re ridiculously handsome, Bunta. That salt-and-pepper hair, those sharp cheekbones... you’re the definition of a silver fox.”
He snorted, shaking his head, but you caught the faintest hint of a smirk. Bunta wasn’t one to show emotions easily, but over the months you’d been together, you’d learned to spot the subtle ways he expressed himself.
“Silver fox, huh?” he teased, his voice gravelly and smooth, a sound you could listen to forever. “I’m just an old man making tofu.”
“An old man who’s still the fastest on Akina,” you shot back, walking over and wrapping your arms around his waist. You pressed your cheek against his broad back, feeling the faint vibrations of his quiet chuckle. “You’re more than just the fastest. You’re mine.”
He set the dough aside, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to face you. His thin, steel eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world outside the shop faded away.
“You’re too good to me,” he said softly, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. His calloused fingers lingered against your cheek, and you leaned into his touch, your heart fluttering the way it always did when he let his guard down.
“And you’re too modest,” you countered, grinning up at him. “You’re also the most gorgeous man in Gunma. In all of Japan, actually.”
“Flattery won’t get you out of delivering tofu in the morning,” he teased, but the tenderness in his gaze betrayed his words.
You laughed, standing on your tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips. “I’ll deliver tofu for you every day, as long as I get to come home to this face.”
The afternoon sun was warm as you tugged at Bunta’s arm, practically dragging him toward the car. He stood firm, an amused yet exasperated expression on his face as he puffed on a cigarette.
“You really need me to drive you to the next city just to shop?” he asked, his tone dry but affectionate.
“Need? No. Want? Absolutely,” you replied with a grin, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Come on, baby! We’ll make a day of it. You can grumble all you want, but I know you secretly enjoy spending time with me.”
His lips twitched, and though he tried to hide it, you could tell he was already caving. “You’re trouble, you know that?”
“Mm-hmm. And you love me for it,” you shot back, slipping into the passenger seat of the Subaru Impreza before he could argue further.
By the time you arrived in the next city, the bustling streets and lively atmosphere had put you in high spirits. Bunta, on the other hand, was as stoic as ever, though you caught the occasional glint of amusement in his eyes as you flitted from store to store, holding up clothes and asking for his opinion.
“What about this one?” you asked, holding up a skirt that was a little shorter than your usual style. You swished it playfully, grinning at his raised eyebrow.
“You’re going to make every man in the city turn their heads,” he said, his tone flat but his eyes lingering just a little too long.
“Not every man,” you countered, stepping closer. “Just one.”
He didn’t reply, but the way his gaze darkened told you all you needed to know.
As the afternoon wore on, your teasing escalated. You’d "accidentally" drop a bag and bend down to pick it up, knowing full well the view you were giving him. Or you’d twirl in a new skirt, letting the hem flutter just high enough to catch his attention.
“Keep it up, and we’re cutting this shopping trip short,” he warned, though his voice was tinged with something far from irritation.
You feigned innocence, batting your eyelashes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bunta.”
By the time you’d finished shopping, the sun was beginning to set. The drive back to Akina was peaceful. Well, as peaceful as it could get with Bunta in the driver's seat. You were already used to his insane handling, but it never failed to make the adrenaline rush through your veins nonetheless.
“You’re awfully quiet,” you said, leaning back in your seat and stretching your legs just enough to let your skirt ride up a little.
He shot you a sidelong glance, his jaw tightening. “You know exactly why.”
You giggled, sliding your hand over to rest on his thigh. “You’re so easy to rile up. It’s one of my favorite things about you.”
His hand left the wheel for a moment to capture yours, holding it firmly. “You’re lucky I’m a patient man,” he muttered, though the way his thumb traced circles on your skin belied his words.
“Patience is just one of your many attractive qualities,” you teased, leaning over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Along with being a total silver fox.”
He huffed out a breath, the tension in his body growing more obvious with every passing second. “Is that so?”
“Absolutely. In fact…” you trailed off, smiling wickedly as an idea occurred to you. You leaned over, running your hand up his thigh and brushing your mouth against his ear. “I think maybe I’ll tell you just how much I love your sexy dark hair…”
You paused, feeling his entire body tense beside you.
“And maybe I’ll describe exactly how much I like the way it brushes over my skin when you kiss me…” you continued, sliding your hand closer to his groin.
His grip on the wheel tightened, knuckles white. “I swear…”
“And maybe,” you went on, trailing your hand higher as you felt his hard length straining through his jeans. “I’ll tell you every single thing I want to do to your hard cock.”
“Damn it,” he growled, the Impreza swerving slightly as his hands left the wheel for half a heartbeat. "Is- is Takumi...?"
"At work. Then off to his little team. Said he won't be home until later tonight," you hummed, leaning over to kiss Bunta's jaw, inhaling his pleasant natural scent. "Mm, you're making my mouth water. Smell so goooood...."
You peppered his jaw and neck with kisses, moaning softly all the while. You then whispered into his ear, so low but oh-so sweetly.
"I bet your cock smells even better."
He bit back a groan, a low rumble heard from his chest as he grunted. “If you keep this up, you’re going to drive me insane.”
You grinned, pulling back to rest your head on the headrest and gaze at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “That’s the plan,” you purred, leaning back and sliding your legs further apart.
He made a low noise in the back of his throat, eyes darting from the road to your face, then lower.
“Are you wet for me, little girl?” he asked gruffly, though you knew he didn’t really have to ask. He could see it in your eyes, read it in your body language.
You bit your lip, squirming in your seat as you thought about all the things you wanted him to do to you.
“Yes,” you admitted, your voice soft and sultry. “And I’m going to stay that way until you take care of me.”
He snorted, shaking his head but still unable to tear his eyes away from you. “You’re a little brat,” he accused, though there was no real heat in his words. “When we get home, I’m going to make you beg.”
You smiled, raising one leg and letting the skirt slide further up your thighs.
“You won’t have to try very hard,” you whispered, letting your hand trail down over your body to rest on your inner thigh. “I like begging for you.”
Your fingertips brushed the edge of your underwear, and you watched his face tighten as his gaze followed your movement. “But maybe…” you slid your fingers under the fabric, biting back a soft moan. “Maybe I’ll make you beg first.”
He grunted, adjusting his grip on the wheel as the Impreza sped up. “We’re going to be home in five minutes,” he said gruffly.
“That’s more than enough time for me,” you said with a giggle, sliding your fingers through your wetness and then bringing them to your mouth.
Bunta cursed softly as he watched you lick your own arousal from your skin.
“Tempting me again, brat,” he murmured, taking a sharp turn that had you moaning and bracing yourself on the seat.
“Just giving you a little taste,” you purred, slipping your fingers back to your wet heat and circling your clit. “Mmm…”
“Damn it, that’s…” he trailed off with a groan, turning another corner before hitting the gas and speeding up even further. “Goddamn it.”
The rest of the drive was a blur of teasing and anticipation, his hand occasionally leaving the wheel to slide up your thigh and pull your underwear aside as you both watched the road rush by.
By the time the Impreza pulled into the driveway, you were practically panting, body tense and needy from being teased for so long.
Bunta parked and shut off the engine, then leaned over to yank off your underwear. He tossed them to the floor, his eyes burning as he took in the sight of your spread legs and glistening pussy.
“You were a brat,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “What do I need to do to punish you?”
“Use your tongue,” you moaned, arching your back and slipping one hand up under your shirt to tug at your breast.
He hummed, his gaze flicking to the window. “In broad daylight?”
You moaned, squirming and tugging at your own nipples in an attempt to distract yourself from the ache building between your legs. “Please, Bunta. Please.”
He hummed again, his expression unchanging as he popped open the door.
“I’m going to give you exactly what you want,” he said, leaning down and scooping you up into his arms. “Because you asked so nicely.”
He slammed the door shut, then turned to carry you into the house.
“Bunta,” you whined, wriggling against him.
He smirked, biting your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. “Patience, little girl,” he admonished. “Remember, patience.”
You huffed, but didn’t argue as he carried you upstairs to your shared room and set you down on the bed.
He watched you squirm for a moment before stepping back, his movements slow and deliberate as he removed his own clothes. His hard cock sprang free, and he gave it a few slow strokes as your mouth watered.
“Spread your legs wider,” he said, crawling up onto the bed to kneel between your thighs. “Show me how wet you are for me.”
You obeyed, sliding your legs further apart and letting him take in the sight of you. Your thighs were slick with your own arousal, pussy lips swollen and twitching under his gaze.
“Look at that,” he murmured, reaching down to slide his cock between your lips. “Look how wet my girl is.”
You moaned at the feeling of him rubbing his cock against you, the tip of his cock bumping your clit with every stroke. You let out another whine, digging your nails into his thigh.
“Bunta…”
He chuckled, leaning forward to press a kiss to your hip.
“What was that?” he asked, nibbling the skin just above your pelvic bone. “Did my sweetheart want something?”
“I need you inside me,” you confessed, pulling at his hair. “I need you to fuck me.”
He hummed in approval, shifting back to kneel between your legs.
“You want my cock, baby?”
“Yes.”
“You’re going to have to beg,” he said, reaching down to stroke his cock.
You whined, spreading your legs as wide as they would go. “Please,” you pleaded. “Please fuck me, Bunta.”
“Not good enough,” he said, shaking his head. “If you want my cock, you’re going to have to show me how badly you want it.”
You gasped, sliding your hand down between your legs and circling your clit.
“Please, Daddy,” you whimpered, moaning as the sensation shot through you. “Please fuck my pussy.”
He groaned, reaching out to shove your hand away. “You do that again, and you won’t be getting fucked at all,” he warned.
“I want it,” you begged, spreading yourself open for him to see. “Please. I need your cock inside me.”
He let out a low groan, his control slipping. “Damn it, baby…” he muttered, leaning over you and pushing his cock deep inside.
You gasped, arching your back as he stretched you open. His cock was so big, so hard. It felt so good to finally be filled.
“Good little girl,” he praised, thrusting into you slowly. “Good job begging for your Daddy.”
You let out a soft mewl of pleasure, tugging at his hair and wrapping your legs around his waist.
You let out a soft mewl of pleasure, tugging at his hair and wrapping your legs around his waist.
“M-More,” you squeaked. “Pl-please! More.”
He obliged, picking up the pace until he was fucking you hard and fast, pounding into you with all the pent-up frustration of being teased in the car.
You mewled and whined, clawing at his back as your body began to shake.
“Good girl,” he muttered, pounding into you. “I’m going to make a mess of your pussy. Make you come all over my cock.”
You nodded, digging your nails in harder as you began to peak. “Yes,” you hissed, toes curling as his cock pounded against your cervix. “I- I need that.”
He grunted, gripping your hips and lifting you up into the air.
“Da-Daddy!” you cried, feeling yourself clench around him as your orgasm took you. "M'- Cumming!" Your nails dug into his back, your body shaking violently as your hips uncontrollably spasmed against him.
Bunta grunted again, thrusting even harder as your tight pussy clenched around his cock. “Fuck,” he cursed, his grip on your hips tightening. “Damn…”
You clung to him, gasping as he bottomed out inside you and let out a low groan. You felt him twitch and shudder, filling you with his hot, sticky release.
When he finally stilled, he collapsed on top of you, his breath warm against your neck.
“You little brat,” he murmured, wrapping himself around you. “I love it when you push my buttons.”
You giggled, rubbing his back as he pressed a kiss to your shoulder.
“Love you, too,” you purred.
“I know,” he said smugly, shifting to the side and pulling you with him. His arm was draped possessively around your waist, holding you close as though he had no intention of letting you go.
“You’re insufferable,” you teased, plopping your head on his hairy, plush chest. God, what a man. “Always so smug.”
“Can’t help it,” he replied, his voice low and raspy. “You make it too easy.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress your smile. "You make it easy for me to tease you."
He chuckled softly, the sound rumbling through his chest. “Because you’re cute when you’re trying to rile me up.”
You pouted playfully, propping yourself up on one elbow to meet his gaze. “Cute? That’s it? I was going for irresistible.”
Bunta smirked, his hand sliding up your back to tangle in your hair. “You’re that, too.” He pulled you down for a kiss, slow and deliberate, making your heart flutter in your chest as you let out a content sigh.
Ever since you got involved in the street racing scene, your life had been a whirlwind of late-night drifts, engine roars, and the thrill of competition. University life felt dull in comparison, and it was through your friendship with Ryosuke Takahashi, leader of the RedSuns, that you were introduced to Gunma’s mountain passes. Ryosuke quickly recognized your passion for cars, especially Subarus, and you soon became an integral part of his circle, even if you weren’t a racer yourself.
It wasn’t long before you met Takumi Fujiwara, Ryosuke’s quiet, skilled protégé. Takumi was different from the other racers—low-key, almost disinterested in the hype, yet undeniably talented. You hit it off quickly, bonding over cars and racing. Though Takumi didn’t attend university, you spent more time with him and the other locals than with your university peers.
One day, after a late-night practice run with Project D, you ended up at the Fujiwara Tofu Shop, Takumi’s home. It was your first time there, and you hadn’t expected much from a small tofu shop in the middle of nowhere. But the moment you stepped inside, you were met with the scent of freshly made tofu and the sight of Takumi’s father, Bunta Fujiwara.
Bunta was a man who exuded a quiet intensity that was hard to ignore. With his gruff demeanor, cigarette always perched between his lips, and sharp eyes that seemed to see right through you, Bunta left an immediate impression. But what really caught your attention was the Subaru Impreza parked outside—a GC8 Coupe, to be exact.
You had always had a thing for Subarus, especially the Impreza. Seeing Bunta’s Impreza, knowing it belonged to someone like him, only fueled your attraction.
From that day on, you found every excuse to visit the tofu shop. At first, you told yourself it was to talk to Takumi about racing or to just hang out. But you knew the real reason was Bunta.
Every time you saw him, you found yourself drawn to his calm, almost indifferent attitude, his deep knowledge of cars, and the mysterious aura that surrounded him. You admired the way he carried himself, his unspoken confidence, and his incredible history as a racer. And, of course, the fact that he drove a Subaru Impreza didn’t hurt either.
Your repeated visits didn’t go unnoticed. Takumi began to wonder why you were suddenly so interested in hanging around the shop. “You’ve been coming around a lot lately,” he mentioned one day. “I thought you didn’t like tofu that much.”
You laughed, trying to play it off. “Yeah, well, it’s not about the tofu. I just like hanging out with you guys.”
Takumi shrugged, accepting your answer without further questioning. But it was when Yuichi Tachibana, the owner of the gas station and an old friend of Bunta’s, began reminiscing about the old days that your interest was piqued even further.
“Takumi’s dad used to be the fastest downhill racer on Akina,” Yuichi said with a nostalgic smile. “Back in the day, no one could beat him. Even now, I don’t think there’s anyone who could match his skill.”
The thought of Bunta being the undisputed champion of Akina only made you more fascinated with him. You couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to see him race, to witness that level of skill firsthand.
After that conversation, your determination to get closer to Bunta only grew. You started spending even more time at the shop, asking Takumi about his dad, trying to learn more about Bunta’s racing history. You even offered to help with the tofu deliveries, hoping it would give you more opportunities to interact with Bunta.
Takumi, oblivious as ever, didn’t suspect a thing. But the truth was, you weren’t just interested in Bunta’s history—you were interested in him. The more you learned, the more you admired him, and the more your feelings grew. It was strange, falling for someone so much older, someone who wasn’t even a racer anymore. But there was something about Bunta Fujiwara that you couldn’t resist.
Days turned into weeks, and your visits to the Fujiwara Tofu Shop became almost a daily routine. Each time you saw him, your heart would race a little faster. You admired the way he moved, the quiet strength in his demeanor, and the subtle way he would light a cigarette with such practiced ease. He didn’t say much, but when he did, his words carried weight. And when he looked at you with those sharp, perceptive eyes, it felt like he could see right through you.
One evening, after another long day of racing talk and delivery runs, you found yourself lingering at the tofu shop long after Takumi had gone to bed. Bunta was in his usual spot, leaning against the counter with a cigarette between his lips, watching you with that same unreadable expression.
“You’re here again,” he remarked, his voice low and gruff. “You must really like tofu.”
You smiled, trying to keep your nerves in check. “It’s not the tofu that keeps me coming back.”
Bunta raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but not showing it overtly. “Then what is it?”
You hesitated, your heart pounding. This was it—the moment you’d been thinking about for weeks, maybe even months. You had never been the type to back down from a challenge, and confessing your feelings to Bunta Fujiwara was the biggest challenge of all.
“I think… I think it’s you,” you finally admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I keep coming back because I want to see you. Because I like being around you, even if you don’t say much. There’s just… something about you, Bunta, that I can’t get out of my head.”
Bunta’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly as he studied you. He took a long drag from his cigarette before letting out a slow breath, the smoke curling around his face.
“You realize how much older I am than you, right?” he said, his tone serious. “I’m not some young guy. I’m old enough to be your father.”
You nodded, fully aware of the age gap. “I know. But that doesn’t change how I feel. I’ve never met anyone like you before, Bunta. You’re… different. And I don’t care about the age difference. I just know that I want to be with you.”
For a moment, Bunta didn’t respond. He just looked at you, as if weighing your words, trying to decide whether you were serious or if this was just some fleeting crush. The silence stretched on, making you more nervous by the second, but you refused to back down. You had come this far, and you weren’t about to give up now.
Finally, Bunta sighed, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray on the counter. “You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?”
You managed a small smile. “I guess I am. But I know what I want.”
Bunta shook his head slightly, a rare, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I can’t say I didn’t see this coming. You’ve been hanging around here a lot more than a normal friend would.”
You bit your lip, trying to read his expression. “So… what do you think? About us?”
Bunta was silent for a moment longer, his gaze drifting away from you as if he was lost in thought. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, more contemplative.
“You’re young, and you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” he said. “I’ve lived mine. I don’t want to hold you back, and I sure as hell don’t want you to regret getting involved with an old man like me.”
“But I won’t regret it,” you insisted, stepping closer to him. “I’ve thought about this a lot, Bunta. I know what I’m getting into. And I don’t care about any of that. I just want to be with you.”
Bunta looked at you again, his gaze searching, as if trying to find any sign of doubt in your eyes. But when he didn’t find any, he let out another sigh, this time with a hint of resignation.
“You’re really serious about this, aren’t you?” he asked.
You nodded, your determination unwavering. “Yes. I am.”
For a long moment, Bunta didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at you with those deep, piercing eyes. And then, slowly, he nodded.
“Alright,” he said quietly. “If you’re that determined, I won’t push you away. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
A smile broke out across your face, relief and happiness flooding through you. You couldn’t believe it—Bunta was actually giving you a chance.
“I won’t,” you promised, your voice filled with emotion. “Thank you, Bunta. I… I really care about you.”
Bunta gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his usual stoic expression returning. “Just remember what I said. I’m not an easy guy to be with.”
You laughed softly, the tension finally melting away. “I think I can handle it.”
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