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missmadella · 1 month ago

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Her Touch, His Protection, Their Forever (Mikey x Reader)

Summary: He saw you at the piano and sat still for the first time in his life. Now he fights with bloodied fists if anyone dares touch you — and wraps you in his jacket like a promise he hasn’t said out loud yet. You calm the chaos. He claims you with silence and bruised knuckles. This is the story of how you became his peace — and he became the only danger you’d ever run toward.

Words: 5178

You didn’t see it coming.

One second, you were brushing past a group of second-years in the hallway, trying to make it to your locker — and the next, a hand that wasn’t yours gripped your waist.

Too tight. Too familiar. Too much.

You flinched, spun, pushed — but he laughed. And then everything blurred.

Because suddenly Mikey was there. Fast. Silent. Dangerous. He didn’t yell. He didn’t threaten.

He just hit him. One, two, three times — clean, brutal punches that cracked against the boy’s jaw like thunder. No words. Just violence. Efficient, controlled. Until it wasn’t.

Until he didn’t stop. And now, you’re standing in front of him.

The other boy’s already on the floor — bloody, groaning, not moving.

But Mikey’s hand is still clenched, still shaking, still ready to strike again.

His breath is shallow. Eyes unfocused. Like he’s not really here.

You step closer. Slowly. No one else dares move.

You crouch in front of him — quietly, like approaching a wild animal, except you’re not afraid. Then, gently, you reach for his hand — the one still red with someone else’s blood — and wrap your fingers around his.

He freezes.

You don’t say his name. You don’t need to.

Just give him that look — the soft one. The one you only save for him.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, brushing your thumb over his knuckles. “I’m okay.”

His eyes flicker. Focus. You feel the exact moment the rage breaks.

He swallows hard. And you smile. Just a little.

Then you lean in and press a careful, quiet kiss to the corner of his mouth — soft, grounding, real.

“You can stop now,” you murmur against his skin.

And he does.

For you, he always does.

___________________________________________________________________________

The hallway's still buzzing behind you, voices low and shaken. But you and Mikey are long gone.

You lead him upstairs — hand still in his, warm and trembling — until you reach the old piano room. The one that always smelled like dust and forgotten memories.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits.

You kneel in front of him again, your fingers gently peeling his away from the tension still curled in his fists.

There’s blood on his knuckles. It’s not yours, but somehow, it still hurts you to see.

You pull a tissue from your bag and begin wiping it away, slow and careful.

Mikey watches you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say softly, not scolding — just… aching a little.

He doesn’t blink.

“He touched you.”

“I know,” you murmur, eyes still on his bruised hand. “But you looked like you were going to kill him.”

You say it like a fact. Not judgment. Not fear.

Mikey shrugs. His voice is calm, but low — like something dangerous still simmers under the surface.

“I would’ve.”

Your hands still for a second. Then you look up, meeting his gaze.

“You act like I belong to you.”

His answer comes without hesitation.

“You do.”

Silence. Heavy. Soft. You don't respond with words.

You just lean in and kiss him again — this time not to calm him, but because you want to. Because whatever this is between you, it’s not just protection anymore.

It’s something deeper. Something claiming. When you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded, unreadable. But his grip on your hand tightens just slightly — like he doesn’t want to let go.

Then, quieter than before:

“You remember the first time I saw you?”

You nod. You were hoping he hadn’t forgotten.

“You didn’t even look at me,” you whisper with a smile. “Just sat there like you’d never heard music before.”

His lips twitch. A ghost of a smirk.

“That’s because I hadn’t.”

___________________________________________________________________________

It was quiet that day. The kind of stillness that only existed between school bells, when most students were gone and the air felt undisturbed.

You didn’t go home right after class. You rarely did. Instead, you drifted through the empty halls, bag slung over your shoulder, until your fingers found the old door tucked behind the gym.

The piano room. Forgotten. But not by you. Inside, light spilled through high windows in soft, pale ribbons. Dust floated lazily in the air. You pulled the cover off the piano like a secret and sat down — pressing the keys one at a time, relearning the weight of them.

Then, you played.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t practiced. But it was yours — raw, aching, alive. You didn’t hear the door open. Didn’t know anyone was there until the bench shifted beneath you.

Someone had sat beside you. Close.

You turned, startled— —and saw him.

Blond hair. School uniform half-done, as if he only wore it out of boredom. His eyes were unreadable, like smoke wrapped around glass.

Manjiro Sano.

You froze. He didn’t look at you. Just at your hands. Then, calmly:

“Keep going.”

You blinked.

“What?”

“Play.”

There was no demand in his voice. No edge. Just… something hollow and quiet. Like the music had reached into him and pulled loose something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

So you played.

You don’t remember the song. You remember the feeling.

And when you stopped, his voice was quiet again:

“What’s your name?”

You told him. He repeated it like it mattered. Like it meant something. Then he sat back, looked at the ceiling, and whispered:

“This room’s mine now. You can share it.”

You laughed — just once. And for the first time, his eyes actually met yours. There was something in them. Not soft. Not sharp.

But watching. Remembering.

___________________________________________________________________________

After that day, he started showing up.

Never said why. Never said when. Sometimes he’d show up with headphones in, eyes half-lidded, hands in his pockets — and just sit while you played.

Other times, you’d find him already there, sprawled across the bench or the floor, waiting like it was your turn to arrive.

He rarely talked. But he always listened. And slowly, things shifted. One afternoon, he brought you coffee. No words. Just placed it next to you and sat down.

Another day, you looked up mid-song and caught him smiling — barely. Just a little. But it was there. Just for you. You started talking between songs. About little things. Music. Silence. Loneliness. The strange weight he always seemed to carry.

He never told you about the gang. But he told you about his brother. About how quiet things used to be. About how people were too loud now — too fake. Except you. With you, he didn’t have to speak. He just was.

___________________________________________________________________________

Your phone buzzed with a message, pulling you from the stack of homework you were pretending to care about.

Mikey: “Meet me outside. Don’t ask. Just wear something warm.”

You frowned, thumb hovering over the screen. What could he possibly want now? But you didn’t hesitate to grab your jacket and slip out of the house. If Mikey needed you, you knew better than to ignore it.

When you reached the street corner, the familiar sound of roaring engines reached your ears.

You glanced up just as Mikey’s bike came into view, Draken riding shotgun on the back. Mikey didn’t slow down, weaving effortlessly through the streets, a grin already spreading across his face as he pulled to a stop in front of you.

“You’re not going to get on?” Mikey teased, leaning over the bike, his eyes catching the streetlights and making them look even more intense than usual.

You stared at him, trying to figure out what was going on, but he only gave you that signature smirk — the one that said, Don’t question it.

You sighed, stepping closer, trying to hide the smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

“Where are we going?”

Mikey just shrugged.

“Don’t ask. Just get on.”

Before you could argue further, Mikey kicked the stand out and held out his hand. He wasn’t going to take no for an answer.

So, you climbed on behind him, adjusting your jacket as the wind hit your face, and with a small nod to Draken, Mikey kicked the bike into gear.

You had no idea where you were going, but you trusted Mikey — and somehow, you knew the ride was going to be a lot more than just a random trip.

As you cruised through the city streets, Draken’s presence behind you added a sense of normalcy, though you couldn't shake the feeling that Mikey had something else planned. His body was tense in a way you didn’t understand, like he was waiting for something to happen. Or maybe, just maybe, he was already claiming you in his own subtle way.

The ride didn’t take long. The city lights blurred into the night sky as Mikey pulled the bike into the parking lot of an old shrine on the outskirts of town. Toman’s usual meeting spot.

You looked around, confused but not scared. Mikey was here. Draken was here. And yet... there was something in the air that made you feel both curious and a little out of place.

Before you could ask another question, Mikey slid off the bike and pulled you with him, not saying a word. His hand grasped yours firmly, as if he was grounding you to him in this world.

Draken, walking beside you, gave you a lazy smile, clearly aware of what was about to happen.

“Toman meeting,” Draken said, his tone casual. “Mikey’s been planning this for a while. He just didn’t tell you.”

“Didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” Mikey added, his voice low, a touch of amusement playing in his words as he glanced at you over his shoulder.

The familiar sound of bikes revving grew louder as you reached the courtyard of the shrine. The group was already gathered, but the moment Mikey stepped forward, everything seemed to still.

You felt the weight of eyes on you — not in an uncomfortable way, but in a way that made you realize Mikey had just pulled you into his world fully.

He led you to the center of the group, the tension building between everyone. No one said a word until Mikey slipped his jacket off and draped it over your shoulders. You were surprised at how warm it was.

He didn’t even ask. Didn’t even check if you needed it.

He just did it.

And then he spoke, voice loud enough for everyone to hear.

“This is my wifey,” Mikey said casually, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Your eyes widened, and your breath caught in your throat. You weren’t sure if you were more surprised by the suddenness of it or the way everyone instantly seemed to get it.

Mitsuya raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a teasing smile.

“Mikey, didn’t know you were into commitment.”

Baji, ever the loudmouth, snorted.

“What, you planning to take her home to meet your mom or what?”

You shot Baji a playful glare, your face already heating up.

“Good to know about that.”

Mikey grinned like a cat who’d gotten the cream, taking a step closer to you and wrapping his arm loosely around your waist. His thumb stroked your side in a motion that was both possessive and familiar.

“She’s been mine since the first time I heard her play,” Mikey said, his tone much softer now, like he was letting something personal slip out.

The room grew quiet for a second, the weight of Mikey’s words settling in the air. But before anyone could tease further, Mikey looked around, his gaze soft but firm.

“No one else touches her. Got it?” he added casually, but there was no mistaking the possessive edge to his words.

The group stayed silent. No one wanted to challenge Mikey, especially when he was this serious.

You glanced up at Mikey, still processing everything.

“You’re really something, you know that?”

Mikey smirked, leaning down just a little to whisper in your ear, his breath warm against your skin.

“Yeah, I am. And you're mine, so you better get used to it.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you let the feeling of his jacket around your shoulders settle. The heat from his body against yours. The sense that you were finally, fully part of this world — Mikey’s world.

And as the rest of Toman’s members chuckled or gave their usual comments, you realized one thing: you weren’t going anywhere.

Because Mikey had already claimed you.

___________________________________________________________________________

The Toman meeting had wrapped up with its usual rowdy energy. But as everyone started to disperse, you remained with Mikey, still wearing his jacket — the one he had draped over you so casually, as if it was always meant to be yours.

The night air had grown colder as you stood in the shrine courtyard, your fingers nervously tugging at the sleeves of the jacket. Mikey had wandered a little ahead, talking to a few of the other guys, but his eyes were never too far from you. Even in the chaos of the meeting, Mikey always seemed to find his way back to you.

You stood by the bike, watching as Mikey made his way over. The sounds of revving engines faded behind you, and suddenly, the stillness between the two of you felt louder than anything.

“Ready to go?” Mikey asked, his voice smooth and easy, the usual playful edge returning. His gaze slid down to the jacket you were still wearing, and he smirked.

You couldn’t help but smile as you nodded.

“You’re not taking this back, are you?”

Mikey’s grin deepened, but there was something else behind it. A quiet, protective look in his eyes.

“Nah. It’s yours now.” He threw his leg over the bike, ready to start it up. “Get on.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms, still taking in the casual nature of everything. He really just called you his wifey in front of the whole gang — and you were still trying to process that.

But instead of asking him about it outright, you hopped on the bike behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist for balance as Mikey revved the engine. The sound of the bike roaring to life seemed to shake the air around you.

As Mikey sped through the streets, the cool wind rushing past your face, you felt a sense of freedom — and also that deep, unspoken connection between the two of you. The world seemed a little less overwhelming when you were with him, like everything slowed down to match the steady rhythm of his bike.

But as the ride continued, the quiet in your head started to press in on you.

You finally spoke up, the words bubbling up before you could stop them.

“Mikey, when the fuck did I not get the memo that we’re together, huh? Was there, like, a meeting I missed?” You leaned forward, teasingly. “Or did I just automatically become yours after you threw your jacket on me?”

Mikey’s smirk returned, but this time, it was softened by a quiet, almost amused look in his eyes.

“You already knew you were mine.” He slowed the bike down as the city lights twinkled in the distance, turning onto a quieter street. “I’m just making it official.”

You blinked, catching the seriousness in his voice — but also that certain warmth that only Mikey could convey when he was being himself. The calm in his eyes spoke more than words ever could.

“Making it official?” You leaned forward a little, your voice teasing. “So when do I get a ring, Mikey? Or am I just stuck wearing your jacket for now?”

His laugh was quiet, almost gentle as he took a sharp turn, his hand adjusting the throttle. But as he shifted gears, he gave you a small, knowing smile.

“When you earn it,” he said, a hint of playfulness returning. But there was something deeper behind it. He meant it. “You’re already mine. Don’t need to complicate it with labels.”

You laughed softly, the warmth of the jacket around your shoulders suddenly feeling a little more like home. It wasn’t just the jacket. It was him.

“Alright, Mikey,” you said, your voice softer now, but still teasing. “Guess I’ll just have to get used to being yours then.”

Mikey glanced back over his shoulder at you, his expression softened in a way that didn’t match his usual carefree demeanor. There was something raw, unspoken in his eyes.

“You already are, babe.”

The bike cruised through the city, the wind picking up, but there was something different about this moment. It wasn’t about the bike or the gang or even the teasing. It was about the connection — the quiet, undeniable truth that Mikey had claimed you in his own way, and somehow, you didn’t mind it.

The two of you rode in comfortable silence for a while, the city flashing by in blurs, and the hum of the engine filling the quiet.

Finally, Mikey pulled up outside your place, the bike coming to a smooth stop. He turned off the engine, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The night seemed to settle around you, and the air between the two of you was calm, but full of understanding.

You got off the bike first, pulling the jacket tighter around you, still in a haze from the ride. Mikey followed, leaning casually against the bike.

“See you tomorrow, wifey,” he said, his voice low, as he smirked at you once more.

You couldn’t help but laugh at how natural it felt, how right it sounded.

“Guess you better keep your jacket then,” you replied, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Wouldn’t want anyone else to steal it from me.”

Mikey’s gaze flicked to the jacket, then back to you, his smirk never fading.

“Yeah, you better not let anyone else near it. That’s mine. Just like you.”

And with that, he pulled his helmet off, slinging it over his shoulder, giving you one last look before walking off into the night — leaving you standing there, the warmth of his jacket still wrapping you in his presence.

___________________________________________________________________________

“I remember when you just announced I’m your wifey to everyone.” You stifle a soft laugh, the memory of that moment still making your chest tighten. With the last swipe, you carefully patch up his knuckles, and instinctively, you position yourself between his legs as he sits on the chair. His hand moves immediately, wrapping around your waist, pulling you a little closer as he gazes up at you.

“I don’t want you to leave me ever,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost vulnerable.

You run your fingers gently through his blonde hair, pausing when your hand reaches his face. With a smile, you place your palm on his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin.

With his eyes closed, he kisses the inside of your hand, then presses it gently against his bloodied knuckles, holding it to his face like it's the only thing keeping him grounded. Slowly, you lean down, your lips brushing his in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a simple, quiet connection — but it feels like everything.

Mikey’s hand still rests against your cheek, his touch lingering as if he’s afraid to let go. His thumb gently traces the line of your jaw, like he’s memorizing you, feeling the soft skin beneath his fingers. His eyes flutter open, and for a moment, there’s something unspoken there, something that makes your heart beat faster.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Mikey murmurs, his voice a little husky, like the words weigh more than they should.

You meet his gaze, not saying anything. You’re not sure what he means, but you wait. You always wait for him to open up, even when he’s not good at it.

“You think it’s just about that moment—about what happened,” he continues, his fingers still soft on your skin, “but it’s not.” His gaze locks with yours, intense and steady. “It’s about you. All of you.”

The sincerity in his voice makes something tighten in your chest. You swallow, trying to steady yourself, trying to make sense of it all. You were used to Mikey’s chaos, his wild side. But this? This felt different.

You can feel the tension between you grow again. The moment stretches on, silent but heavy.

“I don’t want you to think…” Mikey pauses, searching for the right words, but they’re hard to find. His grip on your waist tightens as if the words themselves are slipping through his fingers. “I don’t want you to think I’m just some guy who wants to protect you because I have to. I protect you because I want to. Because I’d lose my mind if anything happened to you.”

You can hear the edge in his voice, the rawness that’s always there when Mikey shows a side of himself that isn’t the carefree leader, the one who commands attention, the one who doesn’t have to ask for anything.

You step closer to him, closing the small distance between your bodies. Your fingers press lightly into his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his shirt, almost as if you’re grounding him too. You’re not sure where you’re going with this — with him — but you know, for now, you don’t want to leave.

“Stop trying to protect me from myself,” you murmur, your voice softer now, quieter. You look down at his lips, then back into his eyes. “I can handle things. I can handle you.”

Mikey’s breath catches, and for a moment, you both just look at each other — no more words needed. There’s an understanding between you now, something deeper than just an exchange of looks or promises. It’s like you’ve found the unspoken truth in the quiet of the room.

His hand reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering at your temple. Then, slowly, his thumb brushes over your bottom lip, like he’s testing the distance between you, waiting for permission.

And you give it to him. You close the space between you, this time your kiss deeper, longer — not just out of need, but because it feels right, because he feels right.

When you finally pull away, Mikey’s eyes are darker, full of that same intensity he’s always had, but now it’s laced with something else. Something warmer.

“You’re not getting away from me,” Mikey says quietly, his voice almost a promise, not a threat. His lips twitch into a half-smile, but it’s soft, vulnerable.

You don’t respond with words. Instead, you rest your forehead against his, letting the world outside slip away just for a moment longer.

___________________________________________________________________________

The wind rushes by as Mikey’s bike speeds down the familiar streets. His arm is wrapped securely around your waist, pulling you close as he expertly navigates the road. You rest your head against his back, the thumping of his heartbeat reverberating against your ear.

When you reach his house, Mikey doesn’t waste a second. He pulls the bike to a stop, helping you off with a hand around your waist. There’s a heat in his eyes, something different from usual. It’s more intense — possessive, even.

You glance up at him, sensing the change in the air. Before you can say anything, he’s leaning in, his lips capturing yours in a fierce, urgent kiss. The world outside seems to disappear. It’s just you and him, the heat between you building as his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, making sure there’s no space left between you two.

His kiss is almost demanding, his lips pressing against yours with an intensity that matches the thudding of your own heart. When you gasp for breath, he pulls back, just enough to look at you with a look that sends a chill down your spine.

“Don’t want anyone touching you like I do,” Mikey mutters, his voice low and rough. His hands slip around to the back of your neck, pulling you into him again. “You’re mine. Always will be.”

You swallow hard, your pulse racing as his lips move to your neck, leaving a trail of soft, possessive kisses. He’s gentle but insistent, claiming every inch of you like he’s afraid someone will come and take you away from him. His hands are warm against your skin as they slip under your shirt, feeling the heat of your body.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper between kisses, your fingers threading through his blonde hair. “You know that, right?”

His breath catches, and for a brief moment, the intensity fades, replaced by something softer. Mikey pulls away slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching yours for something. Vulnerability flickers across his face, a side of him you don’t see often.

“You keep me at peace,” he says quietly, almost as if he’s saying it to himself as much as to you. “In this messed-up world, you're the one thing that keeps me grounded.”

You smile, running your thumb over his lips, feeling the soft brush of his skin under your fingertips. His words wrap around your heart, making everything inside you feel warm and full.

“You’re my peace too,” you whisper, and in that moment, everything feels right. The world outside can wait. It's just the two of you, here, together.

Mikey's eyes flicker with something deeper, a promise hidden in his gaze. “I want you to marry me someday,” he murmurs, his voice so soft but so certain. “I don’t care what happens. I’ll make you mine. Forever.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words. You never expected him to say something like that — not this soon, not in this way. But the sincerity in his eyes, the raw emotion in his voice, makes your heart swell.

“You don’t have to ask. I’m already yours,” you reply, your words low but sure.

He smiles, a real smile this time, one that reaches his eyes. It’s rare, and it makes your chest tighten. “Good. Because I’m never letting you go.”

Mikey leans in again, this time slow, deliberate, his lips brushing against yours with a tenderness that contrasts the fiery passion from before. It’s soft, comforting, like a promise — and as he pulls you closer, you know, deep down, that this moment is just the beginning of something bigger. Something that will last.

___________________________________________________________________________

The door clicks shut behind you, the quiet thud of your school bags hitting the floor the only sound in the room. The late afternoon sun filters through your curtains, painting the room in honeyed light. It’s calm. Private. A world tucked away from the chaos outside — just yours.

Mikey’s fingers are still laced with yours as you lead him into your room. He doesn’t let go.

You sit down on the edge of your bed first, tugging him gently by the hand. He follows without hesitation, dropping beside you. There’s no rush in his movements, just that quiet intensity he always seems to carry — like even in stillness, he’s coiled with feeling.

You turn to look at him, and he’s already watching you.

“What?” you whisper, a soft smile curving your lips.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just raises a hand and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, his fingers grazing your cheek. “Nothing,” he says eventually, voice low. “You just look like home.”

Your breath catches. He says things like that sometimes — simple, raw truths that hit too hard and too real.

You lean into him first this time, pressing your lips gently to his. It’s slow. Careful. No urgency, no claiming — just warmth. His hand comes up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing over your skin in quiet circles. You both melt into it, the kiss deepening gradually, naturally, as if your hearts are speaking through the way your mouths move.

When you finally part, your foreheads stay touching. His hand slides down your arm, then wraps gently around your waist. He pulls you down with him, both of you lying on your sides, tangled together on the bed.

“You’re everything good in my life,” he whispers, his voice cracking slightly — like he’s not used to saying things that soft.

You run your fingers through his hair, slow and tender. “You’re good too, Mikey.”

He exhales, shaky but content, and rests his head against your chest. You can feel the tension ease out of him, inch by inch, as your arms wrap around him.

Neither of you says anything for a long while. There’s no need. The silence is warm, comforting. Safe.

Later, with your legs entwined and your fingers still in his hair, he murmurs sleepily:

“If I could stay like this forever… with you… I would.”

You press a kiss to the top of his head.

“You already are.”

___________________________________________________________________________

You must’ve dozed off with your fingers still threaded in his hair.

Mikey doesn’t move at first — just lays there with his head on your chest, listening to the steady rhythm of your breathing, as if it’s the only sound that matters.

When he finally does sit up, it’s slow. Careful not to wake you.

The room is bathed in golden afternoon light, soft and sleepy. He looks down at you — your features relaxed, your mouth slightly parted, the faintest trace of a smile still lingering like a ghost from your dreams.

A rare softness settles into his expression.

He reaches for his jacket, the one crumpled at the end of your bed, and carefully drapes it over your sleeping form. The sleeves fall long, the collar brushing your jaw, wrapping you in his scent, his warmth, his presence.

He sits back on his heels for a second, just watching you.

“You always look better in it than I do,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He reaches out and gently tucks your hair behind your ear, fingers lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

“I don’t say it enough,” he whispers, so quietly it’s like he’s afraid the truth might shatter the moment. “But you’re the only reason I’m still standing.”

His voice falters, but he doesn’t stop.

“Everyone wants something from me. Toman. The fights. The name. But you… you just wanted me to sit still. To listen. To breathe.”

He laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head.

“I’m not good at this. Not the soft stuff. But when I look at you like this—peaceful, safe—” He trails off. His jaw tightens.

“—I’d burn the whole world down just to keep you like this.”

He leans down, brushing the gentlest kiss against your temple.

Then one more on your lips — light, careful not to wake you.

“You’re mine,” he whispers into the space between you. “And one day, I’m gonna marry you for real. Jacket and all.”

He lays back down beside you, pulling you close under the fabric of his coat, and closes his eyes like he finally feels home.