kōshi discovers that a gaggle of frat boys are attempting to rizz up his literal wife.
wc: 1.4k, request
if the sun had a human ego, it would probably retire early out of sheer embarrassment just looking at you.
that was the general consensus in the sugawara household, or at least, that was the singular, driving thought circulating in sugawara’s brain as he pulled into the campus parking lot. he was a man on a mission—a mission involving a very specific bento box, a chilled bottle of your favorite drink, and a heart that beat with the frantic energy of a caffeinated squirrel.
sugawara loved his job. he loved his rowdy elementary students and their sticky hands and their chaotic questions about why clouds didn’t fall down. but he loved you with a ferocity that bordered on a medical condition. he was a man who had memorized the exact rhythm of your breathing when you were deep in a dream, the way your nose crinkled when you were grading a particularly “creative” essay, and the precise degree of warmth your skin radiated when he tucked you in at night.
he wasn’t just a husband; he was your most dedicated—albeit slightly unhinged—disciple.
stepping out of his car, sugawara adjusted his cardigan—the beige one you said made him look “soft and approachable” and smoothed down his silver hair. he felt a little like a secret agent, or perhaps a knight bringing rations to a besieged queen. his love for you wasn’t a quiet thing; it was a loud, vibrating frequency that hummed in his bones 25/8. he didn’t just want to be with you; he wanted to be the air in your lungs and the floor beneath your feet.
“alright, sugawara. stay cool. you’re just a loving husband bringing lunch,” he muttered to himself, his eyes sparkling with a mix of adoration and a weird, buzzing intensity.
he walked toward the lecture hall, his steps light but purposeful. he knew your schedule better than his own. he knew that at exactly 12:05 pm, you’d be emerging from hall b, likely looking like a celestial being who had accidentally wandered into a building made of concrete and bad lighting.
as he rounded the corner, he saw it.
he saw them.
a literal swarm. a flock. a nuisance of college boys.
there you were, the light of his life, his soul’s permanent residence, looking breathtaking in your professional attire. you were holding your laptop—a slim, lightweight thing that you carried every single day without issue. but to the group of twenty-somethings surrounding you, that laptop might as well have been a five-hundred-pound slab of solid lead.
“professor! please, let me get that for you! it looks heavy!” one boy, who looked like he had never seen a vegetable in his life, practically lunged for the device.
“no, professor, i’ve got it! i’m headed toward the faculty lounge anyway!” another one chimed in, puffing out his chest like a pigeon in heat.
sugawara stopped dead in his tracks. his eyes narrowed. his pleasant, “approachable” smile didn’t falter—it just became... sharper. metallic. the kind of smile that promised a very polite, very thorough haunting.
he watched as you laughed, that melodic sound that usually made his heart do backflips, but right now, it made his blood simmer with a possessive heat. you were being kind, because you were an angel, but these children? these toddlers in oversized hoodies? they were breathing your air. they were standing within your personal radius.
one of them actually reached out to brush a stray hair from your shoulder—an act so bold, so blasphemous, that sugawara’s vision briefly tinted pink.
‘oh, absolutely not’, he thought, his inner monologue screaming in a pitch only dogs could hear. ‘that is my hair to brush. i am the designated brush-er. i have a permit. i have a marriage license. i have a decade of experience in your specific hair-needs!’
he didn’t just walk over; he glided. he was a predator in a soft knit sweater.
“pardon me, boys!”
his voice was sweet, dripping with a sugary nectar that hid a very real sting. he stepped into the circle, smoothly sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his side. the contact was instant, a grounding wire for the electric jealousy humming through him. he could feel the warmth of your body, the familiar scent of your shampoo—it was like coming home after a century in the cold.
“kōshi!” you brightened, your face lighting up in a way that—thank god—you never looked at your students. “you’re early!”
“i couldn’t wait another second,” he said, and he meant it with the weight of a collapsing star. he leaned down and pressed a long, lingering kiss to your temple, his eyes flickering toward the group of stunned boys. his gaze wasn’t mean—it was just settled. it said: i have claimed this territory. i live here. i have built a fortress in her heart, and you are all currently trespassing.
the boys scattered like bowling pins. they muttered quick apologies, their faces turning various shades of crimson as they realized that the “soft guy” had the grip of a boa constrictor on their professor’s hip.
once they were a safe distance away, sugawara finally let out a breath, though he didn’t loosen his hold. he took the laptop from your hands—not because he thought you couldn’t carry it, but because he needed to be the one providing for you. even in the smallest ways.
“were they bothering you, honey?” he asked, his voice returning to that honey-thick devotion, though his thumb was busy tracing obsessive, rhythmic circles on your hip.
“bothering me? no, they’re just helpful,” you said, leaning into him, blissfully unaware of the internal war he’d just fought. “they’re sweet kids.”
“sweet,” sugawara repeated, the word tasting like cardboard. “yes. very... energetic. i suppose they just recognize excellence when they see it. but they don’t need to worry about your laptop. your husband has very strong arms. very reliable arms. the most reliable arms in a five-mile radius, actually.”
you giggled, poking his cheek. “are you being competitive with young adults, kōshi?”
he stopped walking, turning you to face him fully in the middle of the hallway. he didn’t care who was watching. he didn’t care if the dean himself walked by. he cupped your face with his free hand, his palm warm against your skin, his thumb stroking your cheekbone with a terrifyingly tender precision. his eyes were wide, sparkling with that intense, ‘you-are-my-entire-religion’ look that always made your toes curl.
“competitive?” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. “my love, there is no competition. i’m the one who gets to drive you home. i’m the one who gets to cook your dinner. i’m the one who knows exactly how you like your coffee and which part of your neck makes you sigh when i kiss it. i’m so far ahead of them, they’re playing a different sport in a different universe.”
he pulled you closer, his voice dropping to a low, shaky vibrato. “but if i see that boy touch your hair again, i might have to show him exactly why i was the vice-captain of a powerhouse volleyball team. i have a very accurate serve, you know.”
you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck, feeling the frantic thrum of his pulse against your wrists. he was so dramatic, so intensely devoted, so completely wrapped around your finger that it was a wonder he functioned at all.
“i’m all yours, kōshi. laptop-carrying duties and all.”
he beamed, the territorial shadows vanishing instantly, replaced by a radiance that could power a small city. he picked up the bento bag, tucked your laptop under his arm, and began leading you toward the garden, humming a happy little tune.
he was sugawara kōshi. he was a teacher, a husband, and a man who would happily fight a pack of wolves—or a lecture hall of undergraduates—just to ensure he was the one holding your hand at the end of the day.
as you sat down to eat, he watched you with an expression that could only be described as “predatory adoration.” he didn’t just want lunch; he wanted to memorize the way the sunlight hit your eyelashes for the four-thousandth time.
“here,” he said, hovering a piece of tamagoyaki near your lips. “open up. you’ve had a long morning of being far too attractive for public safety. you need your strength.”
you took the bite, smiling at him, and for a moment, the rest of the world—the students, the campus, the entire planet—simply ceased to exist. there was only sugawara, his heart beating a rhythm that sounded suspiciously like the morse code of your name, over and over and over again.
n: i’m so— idk actually, i’ve been feeling not so motivated lately. someone throw an oikawa at me, PLEASE I WANNA WRITE MORE
9:17 pm – Sugawara x reader
wc 354 – gn!reader
moment in time for @white-bunny-fluff
You found your husband sitting on the couch when you got home from working overtime. Lots of papers were spread out around him, and you noticed that the ones on his left were embellished in red pen and stickers, while the ones on his right were still just filled in with pencil.
“Grading tests this late?” you asked him, making him finally look up from his work with a soft smile.
“Daichi and I went out for dinner after you texted me you’d have to stay late,” he told you, shrugging. “So here I am, regretting my actions. Working late.”
You moved the ones he already finished grading to the coffee table so you could sit at his side, leaning your weight on him until he had no choice but to put the rest of his work aside as well and hold you instead. “How was Daichi?”
Suga hummed and affectionately threaded a hand through your hair. “Good. Looking at a possible promotion coming up.”
“That’s amazing! I feel so safe knowing he patrols our neighbourhood,” you coo, only half jokingly.
“Don’t think you understand how the police force works,” Suga snorted, adjusting so he could lie down on the couch and you’d follow him. “And shouldn’t you say your husband makes you feel safe?”
Pursing your lips, you glanced at where his feet were propped up on the sofa’s armrest, clad in Hello Kitty socks. “I keep you around for other reasons, I’d say.”
“Reeeally?” he hummed in humorous disbelief. Just as you were melting into him, you felt his touch at your sides, cold hands seeking your warmth. You squealed and curled up, not able to get away but not exactly leaning into that cold touch either.
“Put those icicles away!” you scolded him, some giggles sneaking in as his hands would also brush against your ticklish spots here and there.
“But honey, I keep you around to warm up my hands!”
You gave him a dead stare, huffed and finally stilled so he could sneak his hands completely under your shirt. “You’re making dinner for that comment.”
- send you gym pictures and random photos of his biceps just cause he knows you like his muscles
- accidentally trap you in a headlock when you two are sleeping (you don't make any effort to break free)
- kiss his wedding ring when he makes a point
tsukishima kei is the type to..
- remind you to take care of yourself, reminding you eat your meals, to take your vitamins, etc
- send you notes on the lecture even if you did listen in class just to make sure you're doing well with your studies
- put his headphones on you when you fall asleep on his shoulder on the bus just so you can sleep peacefully
sugawara kōshi is the type to..
- push people aside when he sees you're hurt, even if it means hurting others in the process
- give you random snacks he has in his bag for energy
- let you run his hands through his hair when doing stuff together, like watching a movie. he falls asleep at the 20 minute mark
semi eita is the type to..
- rewrite the corny ass lyrics he wrote about you in middle school in his free time. when you find the stack of papers shoved under his desk he denies any relation of it to you. (when he's not looking you take pictures of them on your phone)
i js made this rlly quick cz i needed to post smt so this isn't the best but it's fine.. I think?
