Flashing hq men while in an arguement plsđđ€đ€đ€đđ„đ„đ„đ„đ„đ„
Wellâyour paper. Strewn across the floor, the desk, the couch, and even the corner of Akaashiâs neatly stacked planner.
âYou said youâd clean it yesterday,â he said, arms crossed, brow tight.
âI was going to,â you argued, voice rising with every crumpled page he lifted like it was a war crime. âBut then someone moved my binder!â
Akaashi let out a controlled sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. âYouâre impossible.â
You were both heating up nowâpetty words thrown like darts, tension thick in the room. Your frustration hit a boiling point. And thenâ
Mid-rant, mid-glare, without thinking, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it just enough to derail the universe.
Akaashi blinked. Once. Twice.
ââŠPlease,â he said slowly, voice even. âPut your shirt down.â
But his ears betrayed himâburning a deep, undeniable red. His eyes flicked anywhere but you. The bookshelf. The ceiling. His own hands. His composure stayed upright, but his soul? Shattered.
You stood there smug, the chaos fully unleashed.
âIâm waiting,â he added, half-glancing your wayâthen immediately regretting it. âWeâre not done talking.â
âYou sure?â you teased, already giggling.
His glare was weak. His lips twitched. And the planner he used as a shield? Shaking just a little.
He was so, so done with you. And so, so doomed.
You and Iwaizumi were in the middle of that kind of argumentâthe stubborn kind.
The kind where no oneâs yelling, but everything's tense.
His arms are crossed. His jaw is tight. His tone is sharp.
âYou canât keep doing that,â he mutters through gritted teeth.
âAnd you canât keep acting like youâre always right,â you snap back.
He starts pacing like a storm in a hoodie, muttering things under his breath and side-eyeing you every three seconds.
And thenâyou break him.
Mid-lecture.
You flash him.
Just a quick shirt lift. One second of chaos.
He stops moving. Stops breathing.
ââŠWhat the hell was that?â
His voice cracks. A little. But you catch it.
He turns his head away so fast youâre surprised he doesnât pull something.
âAre you seriously trying to distract me right now?â
Heâs fuming. But blushing. Oh, furiously blushing.
He drags a hand down his face like this is the worst test of patience heâs ever had.
âPut your damn shirt downâwhat are you, five?â
But heâs not looking at you anymore.
Heâs talking to the wall.
Avoiding eye contact like youâve got a superpower he canât fight.
His ears are red. His neckâs red.
The fight is hanging by a thread and you cut it clean with one move.
He grumbles under his breath, trying to collect himself.
âUnbelievable,â he mutters, like heâs the victim here.
By the end of it, heâs sulking on the couch, arms crossed, still pink in the face.
âNext time you try that, Iâm walking out,â he says.
âŠBut he doesnât move.
You were done going in circles with him.
Tsukishima was being his usual snarky self, arms crossed, eyes narrowed behind those glasses like he was just barely tolerating your existence.
âOh, wow. Youâre mad again? What a surprise,â he says flatly, with the most condescending tone known to man.
You glare. He rolls his eyes.
"You never take anything seriously," you shoot.
"Maybe because you're always being ridiculous."
And just like thatâyour brain short circuits.
Your hands move before your logic can catch up.
Mid-rant. Mid-scowl. Mid-superiority complex.
His entire soul exits his body for a split second.
His mouth opens. Then closes.
His eyes snap away so fast you think he might give himself whiplash.
ââŠAre you kidding me right now?â
He hisses it through gritted teeth, like he just stepped on a LEGO.
Heâs still standing tall, but ohâheâs red.
A furious, fuming, flustered kind of red.
"Youâre an actual menace," he mutters, voice cracking ever so slightly.
He adjusts his glasses three times. Heâs not even looking at you anymoreâheâs looking at a very interesting corner of the ceiling.
But that blush? That tight grip on his sleeves? The way heâs definitely breathing harder now?
He tries to carry on like heâs unaffected.
Throws in one more dry jab:
âIâm telling Yamaguchi youâve gone insane.â
But he wonât meet your eyes.
He keeps muttering about âimmature behaviorâ while practically vibrating out of his skin.
He lost the argument.
You know it.
He knows it.
So when he snaps, âPut your shirt down and grow up,â just know:
Thatâs Tsukishima language for âyou win, but Iâll die before I admit it.â
Youâre arguing.
Not just snapping at each otherâarguing.
Thereâs fire in your voice, and heâs got that annoying little tilt to his head, hands in his pockets, barely blinking as he listens to your rant.
âOh, so now youâre just gonna stand there and act like itâs all my fault?!â
Youâre fuming. Genuinely ready to throw a pillow at him.
But Suna just yawns.
âI mean⊠I wasnât not listening. I just stopped caring halfway.â
(OK LMAO WHY DID THAT SOUND TOXIC...)
So you do the most unhinged thing you can think ofâflash him mid-fight.
Shirt up.Boom.Zero hesitation.
His reaction? A slow blink. A low whistle. That familiar smirk curling on his lips.
ââŠSeriously?â he says, and itâs not judgingâitâs amused. Itâs interested.
He leans against the nearest wall like heâs front-row at a private concert.
âDidnât think the argument was going that badly,â he adds, eyes dragging all the way down and back up with no shame. âBut hey, Iâm not complaining.â
You meant to throw him off.
Instead, heâs thriving.
And thenâhe flips it on you.
Takes one confident step forward and murmurs, âGonna do that every time we fight? âCause I could start more arguments if you want.â
Now youâre the flustered one.
He tilts his head, smile lazy, watching you struggle for words.
âOh? You mad? Still mad? Or did you forget?â
Heâs the type to walk past you, tap your chin with a finger, and say,
âThanks for the view, though. 10/10âargument over.â
You were trying to win.
He just walked away with your dignity and a mental screenshot.
The argument had been quiet but firmâjust like him.
No yelling, no dramatics, just clipped words, heavy sighs, and that disappointed tone he uses when heâs really not mad, just⊠tired.
âYou couldâve handled that better,â he says, standing by the doorway with arms crossed.
âAnd you could stop acting like I messed up everything!â you shoot back, arms thrown wide.
Itâs tense. Not explosiveâjust sharp. Cold air between you.
You huff. Your face is warm with frustration. And without thinkingâyou do it.
You lift your shirt mid-rant.
No warning. No explanation. Justâbam.
And thenâa tiny noise leaves his throat. A tiny startled sound like a hiccup that should not be as adorable as it is.
His ears go pink instantly. His back stiffens like someone hit pause on a statue.
ââŠPlease put your shirt down,â he says, voice calm but clearly struggling. âThatâs not⊠appropriate.â
Heâs looking everywhere but at youâat the floor, at the clock, at a nearby plant for some reason.
He clears his throat. Adjusts his shirt. Mutters something under his breath about âminding his mannersâ and âthis not being the time.â
But his voice is a little shaky. His fingers fidget at the hem of his own shirt.
Heâs not yelling.
Heâs not falling apart.
But he is absolutely short-circuiting inside.
You swear you catch him blinking rapidly, like heâs forcing his brain to reboot without making it obvious.
One deep breath later, he finally meets your eyesâand it takes every ounce of strength in his being.
ââŠWeâre not done talking,â he says, and it would be intimidatingâif not for the way his neck is still tinted red like sunset light creeping across his skin.
And when he walks away?
Itâs fast. Awkward. Like heâs running from temptation in the name of discipline.
You giggle.
He definitely hears it.
From the other room, you hear a quiet, flustered
ââŠAinât fair at all.â
Youâre pissed. Youâve been talking for like ten minutes.
Kenma? Half-listening at best.
One earbud in, eyes flicking toward his phone every few seconds, thumbs still tapping the screen mid-fight.
âAre you seriously playing right now?â
âI am listening,â he mutters, not looking up.
Spoiler: he is not listening.
âYou donât pay attention to anything I say anymore!â
âI do. You saidâuhâŠâ
He trails off, squinting like heâs buffering the last ten minutes of your rant.
You say nothing. You justâlift your shirt.
Out of nowhere. No warning. Boom. Unhinged main character moment.
His head shoots up like you just pulled the fire alarm.
His game drops. Literally. Phone slips from his hands and hits the blanket. His eyes go wideâwider than when he misclicks in the middle of a clutch match.
ââŠWhat the hell are you doing,â he says, but it comes out way too soft.
He's blinking like you just jump-scared him.
The flush creeps up his neck like betrayal.
His voice cracks: âThatâs notâYou canât just do that in the middle of an argument!â
He grabs a nearby pillow and holds it up like a shield, physically tilting away from you like proximity is making him combust.
âI was paying attention!â
(blondie stop lying rn)
His hoodie is now halfway over his head. His fingers are twitching like he doesnât know where to put them. His mouth opens like he wants to keep arguingâcloses again when his brain short-circuits.
âAre you even taking this seriously?â he huffs, refusing to meet your eyes, cheeks boiling.
You shrug, smug as ever. âI mean⊠now I have your attention.â
He groans, collapsing into the couch with a dramatic sigh, burying his face like he wishes he could respawn in another room.
Later that night, heâs still red. Still pouting.
And now? Oh, heâs paying attention very closely.
It started over something so dumb.
"You werenât even listening to me, Shoyo!"
"I was! You said something aboutâuhâlaundry and⊠cat food?"
You donât even have a cat.
"SEE?! You weren't paying attention again!"
"IâOkay, maybe I zoned out a little! But thatâs because you talk kinda fast sometimes!"
Youâre both fired up. Youâre standing your ground, and Hinataâs pacing in little angry circles like an offended golden retriever, cheeks already a little pinkânot from embarrassment yet, but from the sheer emotional overload of arguing with someone he really doesnât want to fight with.
And thenâmid-sentence, mid-pacing, mid-lifeâ
Not sexy. Not teasing. Just blam.
The most unserious, chaotic flash in the middle of a full-on emotional rant.
He freezes in place like someone yanked the batteries out of him.
You swear you can hear the error message in his brain.
âW-WHAâ?! W-WHATâWHAT ARE YOUâ?!â
His hands fly to his face so fast itâs like muscle memory.
He looks like he just witnessed a glitch in the simulation.
âI WAS TRYING TO BE SERIOUS!!â he squeaks.
âY-YOU CANâT JUSTâ!! ThatâsâThatâs ILLEGAL!!â
He canât look at you. Heâs peeking through his fingers like youâre the sun.
Then he turns around, still red as a chili pepper, mumbling things like:
âY-Youâre evilâŠâ
âThatâs not even fairâŠâ
âI think I forgot how to breatheâŠâ
Now heâs hiding behind a couch cushion, his argument forgotten, his dignity obliterated.
Heâs crouched on the floor muttering, âYou canât use your shirt like a weapon!â
Meanwhile, youâre just standing there. Calm. Smug. Argument won.
Mission accomplished.
The argument was steady. Measured. Like a volleyball rally that just wouldn't end.
"I just feel like you donât get what Iâm trying to say sometimes!"
"I am listening. I just⊠do not understand why you're upset."
Classic Ushijima. Calm, straightforward, and totally missing the emotional context.
You were spiraling. He was blinking slowly.
And it was driving you insane.
So, naturally, you made a choice.
A powerful, chaotic, absolutely uncalled-for choice.
Mid-lecture. Mid-eye roll. No hesitation.
Silence.
He just⊠stared.
Not in a pervy wayâmore like a caveman discovering fire for the first time.
His brows furrow. His eyes go slightly wide. You can practically see the gears grinding in his head.
"âŠWhy⊠did you do that?"
Thereâs zero panic in his voice. Just confusion.
Like youâve thrown a completely unrelated plot twist into a very serious documentary.
You try not to laugh as he stands there, blinking like an emotionally repressed NPC trying to figure out what facial expression to make.
Thenâslightlyâhis ears turn pink.
"I am still not sure what point you're making," he mutters. "But I⊠cannot look at you right now."
He turns around slowly. Stiffly. Like his operating system is updating.
"âŠThat was⊠distracting."
Heâs flustered, but heâs too logical to know how to handle it.
So now he's just awkwardly staring at the wall, as if it holds the answers to why you are the way you are.
The argument?
Gone. Left the planet.
Now he's just standing there, arms crossed, back turned, muttering,
"You startled me."
"I think we need to return to the topic once you are⊠dressed again."
Congratulations.
You confused the strongest man alive into surrender.
It had started as a small disagreement.
But with Bokuto, everything feels big.
You hadnât meant to upset him.
You just pointed something outâa little jab, a comment, a joke, maybeâand suddenly his smile had dimmed.
Now he was standing in the middle of the room, arms crossed, eyebrows scrunched, pout forming like a storm cloud.
"So⊠you do think Iâm annoying sometimes."
He looked genuinely hurt.
The worst part? His hair was a little droopy. His voice was quieter. Youâd poked at something sensitive without meaning to, and now guilt was creeping in like a wave.
You did the dumbest thing possible.
Mid-sulk.
Mid-emotional spiral.
Mid-âI guess Iâll just be quiet thenâŠâ
You lifted your shirt with all the grace of a gremlin and justâboom.
Chaos deployed.
His mouth dropped open, eyes huge and completely stunned.
His entire face went red in 0.3 seconds.
He staggered back like heâd just been physically hit by your existence.
Now heâs flailing. He nearly trips over his own foot, arms waving like heâs trying to land a plane.
"THATâS NOT FAIR!! I WAS BEING SAD!!"
You're biting back laughter, guilt already shrinking under the pure shock on his face.
"YOU CANâT JUST FLASH ME TO WIN!!"
Heâs yelling but heâs smiling nowâwide, flustered, and trying so hard to stay upset. But itâs gone.
The pout? Obliterated.
The sadness? Vaporized.
Now he's hiding behind his hands, peeking through his fingers like a broken vending machine.
"You're EVIL!!"
"I CANâT EVEN BE MAD ANYMORE!!"
He whines but scoots closer anyway, tugging your shirt back down like itâll protect his poor soul.
You wrap your arms around him in apology and he hugs back so tight you can barely breathe.
You whisper, âStill annoyed?â
And he mumbles into your neck, voice high and muffled:
âI was gonna cry, you know.â
âNow Iâm just embarrassed and in love.â
He was trying to stay calm.
Trying really, really hard.
The two of you were mid-argumentâwell, more like a debate with attitude.
Suga had that signature teacher-tone on, arms crossed, eyebrows lifted, trying to keep his voice level like some kind of saint.
"Iâm not upset. I just think youâre being immature."
Heâd said it with the most composed, reasonable expression.
Like you were in class and he was trying not to give you detention.
Meanwhile, you were pacing, fired up, throwing your hands around.
And he was standing there. Calm. Controlled. Saint-like.
But you knew that twitch in his brow. That tiny sigh through his nose.
Suga was clinging to composure by a thread.
So you did what any chaos gremlin would do when logic fails.
Mid-rant. Mid-lesson. Mid-his Saint Sugawara Mode.
"âŠWhaâwhat are youâ"
His words hit the wall.
The man who had just been giving you a full grown-up lecture was now short-circuiting like someone had just unplugged and replugged his soul.
"Iâwhaâwait a second!!"
Now heâs covering his face with both hands, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks as his calm facade disintegrates.
"Youâthatâs cheating!!"
His voice cracks so hard you swear a window somewhere just shattered.
He tries to act unbothered for a millisecond longer, peeking between his fingers like a scandalized old lady.
"I was winning that argument!"
"You canât just throw your shirt into the mix and expect me toâ"
He pauses. Chokes a little. Then finally throws his hands in the air with a dramatic sigh.
"Okay. You win. Whatever. I surrender. Iâm too pretty for this kind of emotional warfare."
He turns around like heâs gonna go pace dramatically but ends up just bumping into the wall and standing there, flustered and quietly panicking.
"I need a second. Or a nap. Or⊠maybe an ice bath."
You giggle. He groans. You walk over. He melts the second you hug him.
"I hate how well that worked," he mumbles, red to his ears.
But heâs smiling now, hands on your waist, forehead resting against yours.
Argument: forgotten.
Victory: yours.
Sugaâs composure: rest in peace.
might do a second part since this request definitely amused me hihi
