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Summary
There was no fucking way Yoongi couldn’t scent out all the slick dripping down Namjoon’s thighs by this point. To the despair of anyone who wanted to hide anything, Yoongi had the nose of a bloodhound. With a grimace, the omega braced himself for the humiliation of rejection. His perfect, stupid, spartan pack alpha would—
“Well, why don’t I do it instead?” Yoongi asked.
