𓆩⟡𓆪₊˚⊹ [He’s your boyfriend!!]
The scratching of pencil had slowed.
Captain’s hand trembled where it hovered above the page, eyes darting between you and the drawing. His usually wild, taunting grin was faltering — replaced by parted lips and shallow breathing. You shifted slightly in your seat, and that movement alone made his knees knock together where he sat, stiff and tense like a wire about to snap.
“Fffuck,” he whispered under his breath, teeth gritted, eyes flickering with static. His cheeks flushed with a strange, dull pink beneath the pale — not blushing exactly, but overheating.
He quickly slammed the sketchbook shut and yanked it to his chest, laughing nervously.
“O-OKAY. I think that’s enough for today, sweetheart—haha—h-holy hell,” he sputtered, suddenly crossing his legs as he leaned forward. “You—ugh, you shouldn’t sit like that. All innocent and perfect— you don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”
His voice broke near the end, lower, needy.
You caught him glancing down—then quickly jerking his gaze away. His coat, always oversized and dramatic, had conveniently fallen across his lap now. He cleared his throat, forcing a cracked little giggle.
“Nope, nope, not happening, Howdie,” he muttered to himself, wringing his gloved hands. “You are a professional. You are composed. You are… so fucking screwed.”
𓆩⟡𓆪₊˚⊹