#bokuaka //spicy, possessive akaashi
There's a man approaching Bokuto.
It’s not at all the first time this has happened. People approach Bokuto all the time after games for autographs or pictures.
Only, this man is running his hands through his hair, straightening his shirt, +
There's a man approaching Bokuto.
It’s not at all the first time this has happened. People approach Bokuto all the time after games for autographs or pictures.
Only, this man is running his hands through his hair, straightening his shirt, +
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Akaashi doesn’t like it.
The guy must’ve been in the front row, because Akaashi is still stuck in the traffic of people filtering out of the bleachers. As the man steps up to Bokuto, he can’t hear what he says, but he sees his boyfriend’s
The crowd moves like molasses as Akaashi watches the interaction down on the court, ears straining through the stadium’s chatter for a hint of what’s happening.
Except, Bokuto’s smile has gone frozen and forced. His eyes flick up to the crowd briefly, like they’re searching for /him/, but when they don’t find him, they fall back
Akaashi snaps.
“Excuse me," he grumbles. "Pardon me, so sorry, /excuse me/, I need to get onto the court.” Akaashi is less than gentle as he forces his way through the queue of people struggling to funnel down the stairs, shoving them this way and that
When the crowd thins, he’s close enough to hear Bokuto say, “Uhh, sorry, what?”
And the stranger, whose back is to Akaashi now, says lowly, “I’m giving you my number, Bokuto-san.”