Honeyed Pasture [m] Moonflower

Hanze flared indignantly at the male’s insinuation. That’s real rich, buddy. A low growl sounded. Spitting on me then calling it a WiNsOmE pErSoNaLiTy, he mocked his voice childishly. Surely, she can smell the fox dung this guy’s spewing. His eyes cut sharply to the woman at his side, expecting to see disgust towards this wily walrus…

Instead, he saw interest. Interest!

She would allow this unserious, pot-bellied, fountain Cupid to compete for her? There was a chance she would choose this cheeky Casanova, and not the actual high-quality man at her side? Revulsion curled like a snake in his belly. He took offense to the very notion that this wolf was at all comparable to himself. The insulted, repulsed, thoroughly butthurt disturbed Hanze snorted and turned from them both, quickly storming away.

(And unfortunately for this little incel, he was presently incapable of reflecting on how his unnatural pride had taken such firm precedence over his natural desire to procreate. His pecker does not thank him.)