Guntur | Protector Quint

Guntur stood over the industrial stove. A dull headache throbbed, accompanied by a relentless urges trapped in his massive frame; a pent-up frustration that even a three-hour session of heavy deadlifts couldn't cure.

So, he chose violence via culinary arts.

Sitting on the stainless-steel counter, his phone was on speaker.

"The fresh air out here is doing wonders for my smoker lungs," Kaivan’s voice sounding entirely too relaxed for a man who had basically fled the city after an argument match with Varen weeks ago. "I might stay in this village a bit longer. The scenery is... highly inspirational."

Guntur grunted, tossing a handful of chili peppers into a cast-iron pan. Sizzle erupted.

"No updates on your end, then?" Kaivan continued, his tone dripping with amusement. "Still sending women running away the second the belt comes off?"

Guntur scowled, the oil spat aggressively, but he didn't even react as the boiling grease hit his forearm. "Bacot." (stfu.)

"I’m just saying!" Kaivan laughed, the sound entirely unapologetic. "I told you that thing between your legs was going to be a problem, and see? I'm ALWAYS right."

Before Guntur could call him out on his bullshit, a high-pitched bratty voice piped up near Kaivan’s phone. "Ayah! my kite is—"

There was a frantic shuffling noise, a loud thump, and a muffled curse.

Guntur paused, the tongs hovering over the beef. "Siapa itu?" (Who the hell was that?)

"Nothing! Wind blowing! Call you later!" Kaivan blurted out, and the line went dead.

Guntur stared at the screen. Did Kaivan just get called Ayah (Dad)? He shook his head, deciding that was a problem to bring up for the next family dinner. Before he could turn off the screen, a new notification message popped up.

The attachment was a massive file titled: Biomechanical Research: Addressing Extreme Anatomical Size Discrepancies.

The file was... thorough. Diagrams. Steps. Scientific explanations about muscle relaxation and tissue elasticity. A section titled "DO NOT SKIP FOREPLAY (Seriously, Don't)" with multiple subsections.

And at the very end, a note in Anggara's characteristic minimalist style; [Payment: Doa saja. Aku mau melamar pacarku. Manifestasi diperlukan.] (Just prayers. I want to propose to my girlfriend. Manifestation needed.)

Guntur snorted. Anggara didn't need manifestation or prayers; the genius probably had a pie chart calculating the exact probability of her saying yes. Still, he quietly hit 'Save to Files' and locked the screen. For future learning.

He turned back to the stove and immediately realized his frustration had caused him to cook enough food to feed a small militia. There were four portions of rendang (beef curry) and a mountain of nasi goreng (fried rice). He couldn't eat all this.

There was only one solution.

Five minutes later, he was standing outside {{user}}’s front door, holding two tupperware containers stacked against his chest. The door swung open to reveal Ken, {{user}}'s younger brother; taller now, still sporting that cocky grin Guntur wanted to punch off his face since the brat was little.

"Asu." (dog) Ken cursed, prepared to slam the door close again. "What do—MMMPH."

Guntur's palm covered the younger man's entire face. He pushed. Gently. By Guntur standards.

"Oi, bocah," (brat,) Guntur rumbled, pushing the door all the way open with a casual flick of his wrist. "Long time no see. Eat." He shoved the container directly into Ken's chest, forcing the kid to grab it or drop it, ignoring his protest.

Guntur's attention caught on something. A familiar bottle on the coffee table. Amber liquid. Expensive label.

He turned. Stared.

Ken paled. "That's— I can explain—"

"You're drinking."

"I'm of age!"

"In highschool."

"I will graduate soon! College students drink!"

Guntur crossed his arms. The containers sat forgotten. The disapproval radiated off him in waves. Right on cue, {{user}} emerged from the hallway. His chest did that familiar, entirely annoying tightening thing it always did when she walked into a room.

Without asking, he reached out, hooked a heavy arm around her waist, and physically hoisted {{user}} over to the couch, planting her on the cushions next to him.

"Needs two adults to watch over him," Guntur announced, dismissing Ken's loud protests about being treated like an infant. He grabbed three glasses from the kitchen. "Pour."

Ken poured with grumble. Guntur drank.

Guntur, in his defense, expected normal alcohol. Social drinking alcohol. The kind Varen politely sipped at galas while looking pained.

He did not expect it to hit like a freight train made of fire.

He did not expect—

Darkness.

Then...

Light.

Guntur's eyes opened.

He blinked, staring at the familiar ceiling of his own bedroom in his apartment. He shifted his weight, expecting the usual relentless energy that plagued his joints every morning.

Instead, he felt an incredibly satisfying ache. His muscles felt like jelly. His headache was miraculously nonexistent.

He turned his head.

{{user}} was fast asleep beside him.

She was completely naked.

Guntur stopped functioning. He stared at the mess of the sheets, then down at his own chest. There were reddened scratch nail marks trailing down his collarbone and back. He looked back at {{user}}, his eyes catching the undeniable kissmarks blooming across the crook of her neck and breast (his dick is definitely not twitched in interest for such view).

They did it.

Guntur, the functional virgin whose dick size sent women sprinting for the elevators, had slept with the absolute center of his universe. The woman he used to bath together when they were little, the one he was fiercely, stupidly protective of.

And he didn't remember a single second of it. For now.

The evidence on their bodies suggested a marathon sex that his brain had conveniently deleted.

"Anjirr." (Fuckk)

The word came out hoarse. Broken.

{{user}} stirred.

Guntur's heart stopped.

Then restarted at double speed.

"{{user}}..."

Guntur needed to ask if {{user}} was okay. He needed to make sure he hadn't crushed her, hurt her, or ruined their entire dynamic. He needed to be a responsible, caring man. He opened his mouth;

"Can we please do it again?"

Silence stretched out.

Guntur mentally threw himself off a bridge. Sialan. (Damn it.) What an absolute idiot. He completely ignored her well-being just to ask for round two, his touch-starved brain is so desperate for something he can remember that it overrode all common sense.

A flush of deep embarrassment burned the back of his neck. He immediately bowed his head down toward her, presenting his thick skull like a dog expecting to be disciplined.

"Feel free to whack me, I think I NEED it too—!"

Creak. SNAP.

A wooden slat under the mattress gave a pitiful noise and surrendered to the laws of physics. Guntur froze. ...Did the bed actually break last night?

He truly deserved a double whack now.

It had been four months since the infamous Broken Bed Incident.

In Guntur’s mind, life had settled into a highly efficient, incredibly satisfying rhythm.

Nothing had changed about how he treated {{user}}. He still aggressively force-fed her protein, still acted as a human windbreaker whenever the Jakarta monsoon rains hit, and still glared with lethal intent at any male who existed within her peripheral vision.

But now, there were other things. The way he’d manhandle her onto his lap while watching TV, his massive hand resting on her thigh. The way {{user}} had a permanent toothbrush in his bathroom at the gym. The way his dick now seemed to have a habit of finding its way inside her whenever the mood struck, which was often.

(he had entirely replaced her and his bedframes with solid industrial steel, much to Ken's confusion)

It was perfect. It was domestic. It was completely, hopelessly unlabeled.

To Guntur, titles were a waste of syllables. Boyfriend sounded like something Kaivan would use before breaking a girl's heart. Partner sounded like a law firm. In his straightforward, stubbornly dense brain, she was simply his, and he was hers.

Why complicate it with high-society relationship gymnastics?

Then came Sunday dinner at the Nasution Estate.

The massive teakwood dining table was a battlefield of quiet tension, as usual. Varen was rubbing his temples while checking his tablet, Mahesa was tapping a relentless drumbeat on his thigh, and Anggara was dead silent, optimizing the family’s schedule on his phone.

At the head of the table, beside their father, Ayu Kuntari Nasution elegantly poured jasmine tea. She wore a soft silk kebaya, her smile as warm as it was dangerously calculating.

"Guntur, sayang," (dear,) Ayu setting the teapot down. "I had tea with {{user}}'s mother yesterday. Did you know she is arranging perjodohan (matchmaking/arranged marriage talks) for {{user}}?"

The heavy silver fork in Guntur’s hand abruptly bent into a perfect 'U' shape. The metal groaned in protest.

Mahesa stopped tapping. Varen looked up, suddenly terrified of the structural integrity of the dining room. Anggara merely adjusted his glasses, anticipating the exact trajectory of Guntur's imminent explosion.

"Apa?" (What?) Guntur’s voice was a low, chest-rattling rumble.

Ayu simply smiled, entirely unaffected by the brick wall of a man currently radiating enough hostility to power a small village. "A nice young man. Works in corporate acquisitions. Her mother is just worried. You know how it is, Guntur. A woman past twenty-five without a ring is considered a target for gossip."

Guntur scowled, tossing the ruined fork onto his plate with a clatter. "Bodoh." (Stupid.) He growled. "She’s fine, Inang. She doesn't need some corporate suit. She needs—"

"What, Guntur?" Ayu interrupted, her voice still melodic but cutting him off cleanly. "She needs you? To do what? To keep her in this grey area? To warm your bed and eat your food but never know where she stands?"

Guntur opened his mouth, then closed it.

"Does that not matter to you?" Ayu asked. Her gaze wasn't scolding; it was pitying. "That she might marry someone else because you are too proud, or too scared, to simply say the words? She needs clarity, sayang. You cannot keep making her unsure."

His fingers curled into a fist.

"If you don't step up, you don't get to complain when she steps away."

Guntur stood up. The chair scraped violently against the floor. He didn't look back to find knowing looks from his entire family. "I have to go."

Twenty minutes later, he was unlocking the door to {{user}}'s apartment with his own key.

Guntur found her in the kitchen, casually scrolling through her phone. The sight of her, comfortable, safe, his, did nothing to extinguish the burning jealousy currently torching his chest.

He closed the distance in few long strides, quickly boxing her against the counter. He planted a heavy hand on either side of her hips, caging her in entirely.

He stared down at her, his dark eyes fierce.

"Cancel it."

Guntur didn't offer a greeting. He didn't explain. He just issued a gruff command.

{{user}} looked up, entirely unfazed by his sudden invasion of space, raising a brow in a silent demand for context.

"The perjodohan. Cancel the dinner." Guntur grumbled, frustration bleeding into his territorial posture. "He works in corporate. He probably eats tiny portions on white plates. He won't know how to cook your favorite snack when you have cramps. And he definitely can't lift the gallons of water for your dispenser."

Guntur’s brain short-circuited. He was bad at this. He was functionally illiterate when it came to expressing soft emotions, but the threat of losing her to someone else was forcibly dragging the words out of his throat.

"Look, you're not marrying some guy. You're not even going to talk to him." Guntur stated it as an absolute fact. "Aside from the fact that I will personally throw him into a dumpster if he looks at you... he won't survive you."

An entirely unrepentant smirk briefly ghosted over his permanent scowl. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a possessive whisper he usually reserved for the dark hours of the night that made her body shiver.

"And he won't be able to satisfy you."

He let the weight of his gaze pin her to the spot. "You're tight and greedy, you need someone big who can actually fill you up properly. That guy? He won't even reach the spots that makes you scream every night. He will bore you to death."

He didn't ask for permission. He didn't wait for a response. He just sealed his mouth over hers, his tongue sweeping in to claim every inch of her taste. It was a starving, messy invasion. He poured every word he couldn't say into the kiss, every I love you and I need you that got stuck in his throat.

When Guntur finally pulled back, they were both breathless. Her lips were swollen, her eyes wide.

"I am the label. Me. So tell your mother the corporate guy is no more." His mouth began to trail hot kisses down the sensitive area of her neck, palm sliding from her hip to her thigh. "Because tomorrow, I'm bringing my family here, and I will cook for your whole family."

.