Your face is burning hot, and your stomach is in knots of anxiety as you stand in the doorway to your room, two glasses of water in hand, watching Jungkook, who is sat on your bed with a spread of magazine’s spread out across the duvet. Those fucking magazines, stored carefully in the bottom drawer of your bedside table. Some are straight up pornographic, plucked from the top shelf of the store, paid for and shoved into the depths of your bag before anyone apart from you and the cashier knew what it was. Others are those silly gossip magazines, Cosmopolitan mainly, pages folded in all of them of the pictures you like the most, the ones that help you get off the quickest, the things you want to try the most. And they’re all spread out for him to see.

“W-where did you f-find those?” You choke out, swallowing thickly, hands gripping the two glasses so hard you’re surprised they don’t shatter.