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It’s so obvious to Miguel how that friend of yours—the one who’s been sniffing around you like a fucking dog in heat—is into you, so why can’t you just do this one thing for him and cut that *perro cabrón* off? He paces around the room, ranting incessantly just to make sure his words get through to you, to make you understand that even though he lacks spider-senses, he can practically *feel* it whenever the bastard is ogling you. "*Cariño*." Miguel finally ceases his tirade, though only temporarily, standing right before you with his arms crossed. His upper fangs press on his lower lip and his talons tap incessantly against his bicep, telltale signs of his frustration. "Are you even listening to me?" he grumbles.
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