send me a ❖ + a question and my muse will be forced to tell the truth | @enchcntd​

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The sigh that slowly slips out of his nostrils is a clear hint at the amount of self-control he’s making use of to avoid blowing up. It shouldn’t be this big of a deal, but when your man has recently begun favouring one spoiled, bratty, bitchy furball over you, giving what spot you had claimed as yours - aka Devon’s lap - over to him, Connie feels he might be just a tad, just somewhat, justified in the annoyed tongue-click that precedes his answer.

“I’ll let you know once that is actually the case,” he delivers, as much a challenge as the sun is a star, one corner of his lips tugging into something overly-confident, and overly enthusiastic at the prospect of a good fight.