Now playing: Are you bored yet? - Wallows ft Clairo
a/n: @azraeyuu for twin 🥹🫰🏽 bruh lwk thinking ab the time my irl outted me as a Fujo and called me freaky for liking makoto MY FREAKING BAD
fluffy oneshot Makoto tachibana x g/n reader! IM PROJECTING 😭
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Makotos quiet music played in the background of the apartment, as your groaning and whining could be heard over the soft piano, "I don't wanna do this stupid editorial" you mumbled falling face first into your computer, "How far along are you?". He asked tilting his head to removing his glasses as you turn the laptop to him.
"uhm, you have a sentence down." he pointed out on the doc, "and its the title of the article...." he mumbled with a sigh, as he returned the doc to you.
"I got mine done, I can help" he said in an attempt to console you.
You look at him with empty eyes, "I feel it in my soul, my beautiful whimsical soul Mako. How much I don't wanna do this" uttering the words and flopping onto his floor.
"uh-!" he began to panic "well don't die over it either!" he thought for a moment before closing his textbook and notes, and scooching over to you caressing your hair. "Why don't we take a break, I know a cute cat cafe. It's on me" he added with a sweet smile "you've been staring at the doc since you came here".
He held your hand leading you to the station, and onto the train. Pointing out small things out in the distance, trying to cheer you up from the assignment due. As your figure leaned onto him, sticking to him like a cat. "I think if we go to the cafe, they'll wanna keep you" he teased, softly humming as he left you to rest on his broad shoulder.
...
"Wanna look at the menu? we still have a few stops" he asked showing you the menu on his phone, scrolling through the intricate and sugary drinks, the flakey and soft pastries, and of course the cats that lived at the cafe.
He smiled to himself over how cute they looked on the screen, "reminds me of this one cat I'd see on the way to Haru's house in Iwatobi. It was a little white cat" he reminisced fondly over the furry feline of the past, his gaze leaving the phone and looking over the sky line. It was a familiar yet strange sigh to him, not yet comprehending he was away from his home town. A sigh left him, as he fidgeted with his phone, thinking back to Iwatobi and how you both ended up dating.
Eventually the train made its final stop and Makoto gently coaxed you off the train and into the small bodega where the cat cafe was located.
A small shop, where the door rang when you opened the door, an old couple welcoming you with glee, cats meowing and rushing towards his side. You two wereh the only ones there, it was an odd time to visit the cafe anyways.
You both ordered drinks and food, sitting on the floor play with the kitties as while waiting for your order all while the cats clamored towards Makoto. Coaxing him into petting and giving them attention.
"Maybe you should stop studying, and just work here" you grumble petting the only cat that wasn't in Makotos lap, as you look at Makoto being covered in needy cats. "Uh, maybe if it paid a little more" he chuckled nervously getting up ( a bit to eagerly) to retrieve your order.
"Jeez these cats act like they've never seen a human" he mumbled speed walking to the register, while the horde followed suit.
As you both sat down to eat with a cat cuddled up to your thigh, the old couple brought the cats into the back (to prevent them from further bothering you), the sun was setting, the sweetness of your parfait on your tongue, the soft music playing in the background, quiet exchanged between other costumers, and Makotos soft eyes looking at you admiring the outside.
"Do you ever get bored of me?" he asked suddenly with a nervous undertone.
You furrow your brows at the question "no, of course not mako" you reply stealing the strawberry on his crepe. He gave a weak laugh his hands in his lap, staring at the plate of whipped cream and berries. "we've known each other since our first year of high school, and started dating since... and I feel like I haven't changed much, nor do I take you out one dates often". He said quietly looking away.
"Do you ever get bored of Haru? you've known him a lot longer than me"
"Wha- no! of course not, he's my best friend... and I like supporting him as one-"
"You see how dumb that question is?" you sigh scratching the kittens, ear. "There's a reason why we've stuck together so long, unlike me staring at my assignment I could stare at you for hours without going insane".
Upon hearing your last words he shyly looked away his ears now red. At the mere thought of being looked at by you for eternity, but now that he thought about it. There really was a reason why they stuck together, like every other friend he'd met throughout his years in swimming and how important each one is to him. But you, especially you who appeared in his homeroom during your first year of high school and brought him out of his shell more.
"Your right, guess I said that without truly thinking" he chuckled smiling at you, before picking up his fork to eat. Noticing more berries gone from the top. The his gaze followed you hand, and how your pointer finger and thumb looked suspiciously red. "H-hey!" he pouted eating the singular strawberry left, "at least I left you something" you giggle taking a bite of your parfait.
He mouth curled up subtly (there really wasn't a time he wouldn't be smiling around you), as he ate the sweet treat looking at you once more with those eyes.
"Then promise we'll never get bored of each other?" he smiled, his signature sweet smile that could make anyone's day better by simply looking. His pinky finger out, like he'd seen in so many movies and read in books.
"I pinky promise Makoto, I'll never get bored of you".
tachibana makoto x reader. FLUFF — coach!makoto, fem!reader, first meet/meet cute, bit of a kidfic which goes against the grain of my writing but i needed a catalyst ><, implied that mako and reader are in uni, reader is not an avid swimmer, reader is also clumsy and a chronic apologizer, very selfship coded. wc: 1.9k. reblogs are highly appreciated! ♡
It started as a simple favor: Take your neighbors daughter to her swim class. It was a little out of the blue, but not overstepping either.
You’ve met them, the two hardworking business oriented parents and their cute kid that seemed to idolize you from the get-go. She calls your name every time she happens to catch you coming or going from the apartment complex, waving at you from the park in the evenings, and leaving cute drawings taped to your front door. Really, if you ever had a little sister, you’d want her to be of similar nature.
Yui’s parents are good and kind people, and you’ve never complained about sharing a wall with them despite having a rambunctious eight year old on their hands. So when they asked you to deliver her to her swim class the next day on account of them having to work late, you were more than okay with accepting the task, to Yui’s absolute delight.
You walked her hand-in-hand the ten minutes down the road to the natatorium that you hardly even noticed was there before (When’s the last time you actually went swimming?), listening to Yui chirp on about all the things she’s been learning in the water. It at least sounded like a lot of fun— for an eight year old, that is.
You were just in charge of dropping her off. Yui’s mom said she’d be by to take her home after her class, so you wave her off as she gets settled and joins the rest of the group of new learning swimmers and turn to leave…
But not without slipping on a patch of wet floor under your worn out sandals. Your trajectory? Right into the pool.
Bracing for inevitable impact, you squeeze your eyes shut, ready to be humiliated in front of a bunch of kids and never ever come back here to try and regain your dignity until something grabs you. Someone.
Sturdy arms wrap around your waist and hoist you away from the water and back to your feet, ones you don’t trust as much as you did five seconds ago. It takes you a moment to realize that you’re not having to walk home in soaking wet clothes, thanks to the guy that’s still clung to you, hurriedly asking if you’re okay.
He’s tall, about your age, with shaggy olive-brown hair and the most kind and striking green eyes you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in swim attire, which is ironically dry and leaves nothing to the imagination for his well built frame. Broad shoulders and a rock solid chest greet you along with a look of concern.
You can’t quite process what exactly is holding your tongue, the shock of losing your footing or his attractive features.
“I’m okay, just incredibly clumsy. Sorry.”
There’s a beat before he shifts to a soft smile. “You’re apologizing for being clumsy?”
Heat rushes to your face and you have to look away from his kind eyes, pushing a smile through your embarrassment. “Yeah, I guess I am. Sorry.”
“There you go again,” he sighs, seemingly finding your habitual apologizing cute but also unnecessary. He gently guides you away from the wet sidelines of the pool. “I should be the one apologizing for not having any signs out. You could have gotten hurt.”
“It’s no big deal,” you reassure him, though his quickness to take accountability for the situation stirs something in your chest.
“Coach Tachibana!”
You hear a child’s voice and subsequently see the brunette’s face turn in response. He’s the coach?
“I’ll be right there!” He waves with that same kind smile before turning back to you. “That’s my class. Are you sure you’re okay?”
You politely brush off his concern with your hand. “I’m fine, really. You don’t wanna keep them waiting. I hear they’re vicious when their patience has run thin.”
Coach Tachibana gives you a chuckle, followed by a nod before he pulls up the swim goggles from his neck and proceeds to make his way to Yui and the other anxious kids.
You don’t waste a second booking it out the door, groaning over how pathetic it is to have slipped in front of such a cute athletic guy and the group of kids he teaches. But it only takes you a few seconds to realize that you never thanked him for saving you. Which might be even more embarrassing than nearly going head first into a swimming pool.
You decide to go against all previous vows you declared and go back the next day to seek out your rescuer. Yui’s mom was thankful that you offered to pick her up after class and give her time to make a quick run to the grocery store while her husband was still at work.
You slip in through the door in time to see Yui and her class huddled around Coach Tachibana, who looks even bigger and taller surrounded by the little humans, giving them a post-class pep talk of sorts. It makes you fidget with your hands a little.
You also notice there’s now a sign near the edge of the pool: “Watch Your Step.” You smile to yourself.
That’s when Yui seemingly notices you and calls out your name, just as she always does, waving her arms excitedly as she runs over. You tell her that you’re going to walk her home and encourage her to go get out of her swimsuit. She scampers off just as Coach Tachibana approaches you.
“Are you Yui’s sister or something?” He looks at you curiously, almost boyish.
“No, just a neighbor helping her parents juggle some stuff.” You extend your hand politely and give him your name, which surely the entire natatorium heard thanks to Yui’s little lungs.
“Makoto,” he replies with a smile, taking your hand with his own, large and a little clammy from the pool. His eyes crinkle a little behind his dripping wet hair, and his swim gear clings to his muscles that are way more defined now than they were yesterday. You swallow.
“I, um, also wanted to come back and properly thank you for coming to my rescue yesterday.” You pull your hand away and clasp them nervously in front of you. “If you hadn’t been there, it would have been way worse.”
You see his expression shift again, eyebrows raised and a hint of pink touching the apples of his cheeks. He reaches for the back of his neck and chuckles. “It’s, uh… N-No, just… right place right time, I suppose. No need to thank me. Really.”
Seeing him blush and stutter his way through it like he didn’t save you a load of humiliation makes your heart flutter. His kindness transcends even his features, it seems.
You pick up a bit of conversation with Makoto while you wait for Yui, exchanging little details like what you’re both majoring in. He tells you he wants to be a personal trainer and help swimmers reach their goals. You try asking him if he can train your center of gravity as a joke, and his laugh makes you feel lighter somehow.
Before you know it, Yui returns in her dry clothes and looks between you and Makoto. You hadn’t realized that the both of you are blushing now.
“Coach Tachibana, would you walk home with us?”
You make a noise, trying to quickly rationalize against her sudden request. “Ah, Yui, your coach is probably too busy to—”
“I don’t mind.” Makoto cuts in and you whip your eyes back to him, giving that warm soft smile you’ve been absorbing since you got here. “I just have to clean up and get changed, if you can wait a few minutes.”
“We can wait!” You know he was talking to you, but little Yui seemed to make the decision instead. You sigh in defeat.
The two of you wait outside so Makoto can lock up before joining you on your short walk back to your apartment complex, letting Yui babble on about her swimming technique and listening to her coach affirm that she’s improving well.
At some point, not only did Yui take your hand, but she also took one of Makoto’s as well, the three of you walking together in a chain along the sidewalk. Your eyes connect with his green ones, and his patient smile almost has your heart leaping out of your chest.
It’s a quick ten minutes, quicker than usual, and you’re not sure why that makes you a little disappointed. Yui’s insistence brings Makoto all the way up to the fourth floor stopping at your front door for Yui to take the ten extra steps to her own by herself...
But not before she waves for Makoto to lean down to her level and whisper something in his ear. Whatever it is that she said, it instantly makes his face turn a bright shade of pink.
And with that she runs off, thanking you both for walking her home and announcing her return to her parents before closing the door behind her.
“What did she tell you?” You laugh mostly in curiosity, but a bit over the fact that Makoto’s blush has effectively reached his ears as well.
He laughs nervously, and you think that maybe he’ll brush it off as nothing, but he gives you the truth instead.
“She, uh… told me that I should… ask for your number.”
“Oh.” You didn’t mean to sound so surprised, but honestly the fact that your next door neighbor, an eight year old, somehow seemed to plot this little charade between two adults was pretty impressive, in an embarrassing sort of way.
You share a laugh with Makoto, and there’s a long pause after, because there’s a small part of you that wants to push Yui’s little plan just a little bit more.
“Well… Are you going to, Coach?”
“G-Going to what?”
“Ask me for my number.”
It comes off way flirtier than you intended, and his face is akin to when you thanked him earlier, brows raised and jaw a little slack. Another pause.
“No wait, I’m sorry,” You double back, hands raised to indicate your jest. “She’s just a kid. She probably doesn’t even know if you have a girlfriend or if you’re even—”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Oh.” You once again sound a little surprised that Makoto’s cute charm hasn’t brought someone into his life.
“Do you have a boyfriend?” He counters.
“N-No. I don’t.”
“Then… Can I have your number?” Makoto’s shy smile returns, tilting his head a little, and now it’s your turn to blush.
“Y-Yeah, of course you can.” You bite down on your lip as you pull out your cell phone, exchanging contact info with Makoto in just a few seconds.
He shoves his phone back into his pocket and adjusts his backpack on his shoulder. “I should get going then.”
He turns to head back the way you came, but before you can enter your apartment you call out to him.
“Thanks for walking us home.”
He flashes another smile and a wave. “My pleasure.”
You let the front door close behind you, eyeing the new contact in your phone with a giddy feeling in your chest.
You realize that there’s one other person that you should thank this time around.
a/n: so i had intended to write this as part of my selfship lore with mako, but it turned into an x reader fic instead. it's still very much how i envisioned meeting him for myself, but i thought i'd share it in a medium that everyone can enjoy! (´꒳`) 💚
you ask makoto to borrow one of his hoodies before you sit down to watch a movie together. because you think the preferred temperature he keeps his apartment at and your summer shorts and tank top weren't exactly the best mix.
but makoto doesn't mind; he's kind enough to guide you to his closet, slipping one of his hooded sweatshirts off its hanger and offering it to you with a generous smile.
you waste no time pulling it over your head, glad to feel warmer and swathed in the smell of his laundry soap and cologne.
it's huge, though — it covers your entire preexisting outfit, making you just a head with legs and a pair of comically draping sleeves. you feel a bit silly.
so you laugh and ask him, "how do i look?"
makoto does what he can to maintain his innocent smile, but if there's two things he can't fight off to save his life ...
it's the immediate burning feeling at the tips of his ears, and the growing strain in his pants upon seeing you standing there so cute in one of his hoodies.
(he's ashamed for imagining your pretty flushed face underneath him, the sweet little sounds you might make as he thrusts into your heat, his hands desperately gripping your waist underneath that big hoodie of his).
Warnings: Angst; mentions of death; all characters are above 18 years old.
The waiting room is too bright.
Not warm, not welcoming — just harsh. White light that presses against his eyes until everything feels stripped raw. The air is cold enough to bite through sweat-soaked cotton, cold enough that his skin prickles even though his body is burning.
Too quiet, too.
The only sound is the squeak—squeak—squeak of Michael Kaiser’s shoes as he paces the same stretch of tile over and over again. Ten tiles. He counted them without meaning to. He’s walked them so many times the pattern is burned into his vision. If he stops, if he lets himself stand still, he knows something inside him will crack open and spill everywhere.
So he keeps moving.
His black T-shirt is plastered to his back, dark with sweat, clinging to his ribs every time he drags in a breath that never feels deep enough. His hair hangs in damp strands over his forehead, curls ruined, hands shaking so badly he keeps clenching them just to feel something solid. He wipes his palms on his thighs. Shoves his fingers through his hair. Balls his hands into fists until the knuckles blanch white.
Nothing helps.
Every time the automatic doors hiss open, his heart slams so hard it steals the air from his lungs. He snaps his head up, hope igniting in a sharp, stupid flare—and dying just as fast when it’s never the right person.
Not you.
Not his rose.
He hasn’t sat down once. The plastic chairs line the wall, empty and accusing, but he can’t bring himself to touch them. Sitting feels like surrender. Sitting feels like admitting this is real.
If he sits, he will break.
The doors open again.
This time, it’s not a nurse rushing past. Not an orderly. It’s the obstetrician.
She’s still in blood-speckled scrubs. There’s a cap clenched in her hands like she doesn’t know what else to do with them. Her shoulders sag with exhaustion, and behind her glasses her eyes are red-rimmed, tired in a way that tells him she’s already seen too much tonight.
Michael is across the room in two strides.
He looms in front of her, chest heaving, voice wrecked raw from screaming your name in the ambulance bay, from begging the paramedics not to let you close your eyes.
“Tell me,” he demands, hoarse. “Now.”
She inhales slowly, carefully, like someone stepping onto thin ice.
“Mr. Kaiser… your son is alive.”
The words hit him like a shock to the chest.
Alive.
For half a second, relief crashes through him so hard his knees almost buckle. His shoulders sag, a broken sound tearing out of him before he can stop it. Alive. You did that. You made him alive.
“He’s two months early,” she continues gently. “He’s very small. He’s on a ventilator in the NICU, but he’s fighting.”
Michael nods, frantic, desperate. Fighting. Of course he is. He’s yours.
The relief lasts exactly one heartbeat.
Then the doctor’s face changes.
And Michael feels it — that instinctive, animal dread curling deep in his gut, cold and suffocating.
“But… your wife is still in surgery,” she says quietly. “She lost a significant amount of blood. Placental abruption. Severe.”
The words slide past his ears without meaning. Blood. Surgery. Severe. None of it fits together.
“We’ve managed to slow the hemorrhaging,” she continues, voice softening in a way that makes his stomach drop. “But her blood pressure is unstable. It’s crashing again.”
Crashing.
“We’re transfusing. We’re doing everything we can, but…” She hesitates, just long enough for terror to bloom. “The damage to her uterus is extensive.”
Michael stares at her.
He doesn’t blink.
“If we continue aggressive measures to stabilize her,” she says carefully, “the baby’s chances decrease dramatically. If we prioritize the baby—”
She stops.
Her silence is louder than screaming.
“If we prioritize the baby,” she finishes, “your wife’s odds drop.”
She takes two steps back, instinctive, bracing herself like she expects him to shatter the world.
Michael just stares.
The words don’t make sense. They won’t arrange themselves into something his brain can understand.
“What,” he says finally, voice flat, distant, “the fuck do you mean… odds drop?”
Her eyes fill with sympathy.
It feels worse than anger ever could.
“We need a decision, Mr. Kaiser,” she says. “Right now. We can try to save them both, but realistically…” Her voice drops. “We may only be able to save one. The baby has a slightly higher chance if we act immediately. Your wife… does not.”
The world collapses.
Not explodes — collapses inward until everything narrows to a single, unbearable point.
Choose.
The word echoes in his skull like a gunshot.
You.
Or the baby.
And she's implying he should pick his son.
His knees almost give out. He staggers back, hand slamming into the nearest chair to keep himself upright. His fingers dig into the cheap plastic until it creaks under the pressure.
He tastes bile.
His vision blurs, memories flooding in uninvited, merciless.
You asleep in the car on the way back from your parents’, head tipped against the window, mouth slightly open. One hand curled protectively over your belly, the other tangled in his jacket sleeve like you needed to anchor yourself to him even in sleep.
You in that powder-blue dress at the maternity photoshoot, shy and glowing, smiling down at your stomach while he pretended to look at the camera because if he looked at you any longer he would have shown more thn he should right there.
You on the couch an hours ago. Angry. Tear-streaked. Accusing him of only wanting your body, of seeing you as something he owned instead of someone he loved.
And how he’d snapped back instead of pulling you close. How pride had poisoned his tongue when all he wanted was to shake you and kiss you and beg you to understand that it had never been only that.
He hears his own voice in the car, cracking, desperate, as blood soaked the seat beneath you.
Don’t you dare leave me.
Not now.
Not like this.
And now they’re asking him to let you go.
His throat closes.
When he tries to speak, nothing comes out.
“She’s… young,” he finally manages, the words barely there. A broken laugh escapes him — ugly, fractured, more sob than sound. “She wanted to go back to school after the baby.
His chest tightens painfully.
“She wanted to travel. She wanted to see the world. She wanted…” His voice splinters completely. “She wanted to be happy.”
He looks at the doctor, eyes bloodshot, face twisted in raw agony.
“I was supposed to give her that,” he whispers. “I was supposed to make her happy. Not… not this.”
Not a hospital room.
Not blood.
Not a choice no one should ever have to make.
The doctor says nothing. She just waits, giving him the unbearable space to decide who gets to live.
Michael drags his hands over his face, fingers shaking violently. When he pulls them away, angry red marks streak his skin where his nails dug in.
He thinks of the first time you let him touch your belly.
How you’d hesitated, nervous, then guided his palm there yourself. The tiny, fierce heartbeat beneath his hand had knocked the breath from him. He’d gone so still, terrified he might hurt you, hurt them.
He thinks of the way you whispered his name in the car, fading, scared, trying to tell him something important you never got to finish.
He thinks of every cold word he ever threw at you. Every time he told himself possession was the same as love.
Tears spill over, hot and helpless — the first he’s cried since he was a child. They streak down his face unchecked.
“Save her,” he rasps.
The words taste like ash. Like blood.
“Save my rose. Please.” His voice shatters completely. “Save my wife.”
His legs give out.
He collapses to his knees in the middle of the waiting room, shoulders caving inward as sobs tear out of him in silent, violent waves. He folds over himself, hands fisted in his shirt like he can tear the pain out of his chest.
“I can’t lose her,” he chokes. “I can’t. Not her. Please… please don’t take her.”
The doctor kneels beside him, careful, grounding, a hand resting on his shoulder.
“We’re going back in,” she says softly. “We’ll fight for both as long as we can. Thank you… for choosing.”
Then she stands.
And she’s gone.
The doors hiss shut behind her, sealing him out of everything that matters.
Michael stays on the floor.
His forehead presses against the cold tile, tears dripping freely between his palms. All his arrogance. All his pride. Stripped bare until there’s nothing left but fear and love and desperation.
He has never felt smaller in his life.
All he can do is wait.
And whisper the same broken plea into the sterile quiet, over and over again, like a prayer he’s afraid won’t be answered.
“Don’t leave me, Rose,” he breathes.
“Please… don’t leave me.”
I was in a mood today. I got the idea while listening to a song at work.
