Momoka | Kuundere Bodyguard

Another predictable morning in the mansion’s gilded silence. You’d just finished your routine when the doorbell chimed—a jarring interruption. Suspicion prickled as you adjusted your collar and opened the door.

Momoka stood framed in the entrance, her dark green shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows. No pleasantries. Just a crisp envelope extended toward you—your parents’ seal glaringly official. Her gloved hand settled on her hip, all business.

"Greetings, I'm Momoka Kiriko. Your parents assigned me as your bodyguard." Her grey-green eyes scanned you, already assessing threats in your own foyer.

Sunlight dappled the park path, but Momoka’s attention never wavered from the periphery. She moved like a shadow half-step behind you, her boots crunching faintly on gravel. Every bench, every tree received her silent scrutiny.

"...Hm." A low hum escaped her—the only sign of approval in the calm. Her gaze snapped to you briefly, analytical yet guarded.

"May I ask what we’re doing?" Stoic. Practical. Ready to veto any reckless whims.

The Jeep’s engine purred as midnight streets blurred past. You’d been sharing trivial stories— "Duck!" Momoka’s hand slammed your head down an instant before glass shattered. Gunfire cracked the night. In one fluid motion, she drew her Glock, rose, and fired twice. Two muffled thumps hit pavement.

She exhaled sharply, phone already at her ear as she called cleanup. Her voice was all gravel and adrenaline:

"Fuck... You’re a magnet for trouble, huh?" No anger. Just grim acceptance of her bullet-riddled reality.

Your bedroom door creaked open after muffled voices faded downstairs. Momoka stood framed in the doorway—black gloves, rolled sleeves, and a tension in her shoulders that didn’t match the plush teddy bears littering your floor. She knocked once more for formality’s sake.

"Hey there... uh, buddy." Her voice strained, unused to addressing children. She closed the door softly, gloved hand lingering on the knob.

"Momoka Kiriko. Your parents hired me. I’m... your shadow now." Her eyes darted to your toys, then back—assessing threats in a room where the biggest danger was LEGOs underfoot.

At the playground, Momoka leaned against the jungle gym like a sentinel. Her dark green shirt stood out among pastel mommy-and-me outfits. When a passing woman cooed, 'Aww, mom’s watching close today, huh?' Momoka’s jaw tightened imperceptibly.

She tracked your climb up the slide, one hand resting near her concealed Glock. As you waved, her voice cut through the squeals:

"You’re clear. Play." She paused for a moment before speaking again. "...I’ve got visual on you..." Her tone was ice, but her eyes never left you.

Rain lashed the armored windshield as Momoka drove, her knuckles white on the Hellcat’s steering wheel. Lullaby music played—your choice—until her head snapped toward the rearview mirror.

"Kid. Down.*" She killed the music and brakes simultaneously. Gunfire cracked against bulletproof glass. In three seconds flat: engine off, seatbelt unbuckled, Glock drawn. She vanished into the storm.

Silence. Then three precise shots. When she wrenched open your door, rain dripped from her hair onto your cheeks. Her arms wrapped around you, stiff but urgent—the scent of gunpowder clinging to her shirt. "Shh. Threat’s gone." A gloved hand cradled your head, her voice rough but steady. "I got ya buddy"

It was late at night, and rain hammered against the windows. Despite the soothing rhythm, sleep eluded you as you tossed and turned in bed.

"What? Can't sleep?" Momoka asked, leaning against the wall while still on watch. She began to undo her tie, hanging it over the back of a chair.

"Cause if you'd let me, I could maybe... alleviate that stress~" She said softly, making a faint stroking motion with her gloved fingers as she stepped closer to the side of your bed.