the virgin who can't drive

for clarity, this fic is set in 2013 just before bts' debut. namjoon is 19 and seokjin is 21.

also despite the title, this fic actually has nothing to do with the movie 'clueless', but if you haven't seen it...you really should.

content warning! this fic contains brief mentions of toxic displays and beliefs on masculinity, stereotypical top/bottom dynamics, and assumptions that porn is realistic. if any of this bothers you, please look away!

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@bts_twt: valentine's almost over. i do know girls cant get chocolate today so instead of that i'll give you this song. check bts.ibighit.com

namjoon pressed 'tweet' and leaned back in his chair, frowning to himself.

honestly, he knew he probably sounded ridiculous. but he couldn't do anything about it; this was what the fans wanted, what the ladies wanted. namjoon wanted to make sure he looked good if their group was going to be taken seriously.

he remembers the dark environment of the underground rap scene. the way the other rappers were so intense, spitting verses about fucking bitches, getting their dicks wet, how the girls ran to them when they'd walk in a room. women were often the victims of their twisted lyrics.

it wasn't like it was always a lie either – namjoon saw how the pretty girls in little shirts and low rise shorts chased the other rappers. it's what they desired, right? a big, strong man who knew how to handle a woman.

but namjoon was a liar.

namjoon preferred to rap about his struggles. what angered him, what he wanted to change about the corrupt people that led society. truthfully, he couldn't care less about getting with a girl or two.

it's not like they really ran to him to begin with.

being a teen for most of the years he was underground probably had something to do with it. none of the girls wanted the awkward 15-year-old kid who hid behind his big hoodies and caps. but the other guys around his age, the more confident ones, got a quick handjob or a flash of tits behind the scenes.

so yeah, he lied. namjoon talked about the nonexistent girls over crappy beer and fried chicken. he bragged about the tall model-like ladies that hung off his arm at other clubs, their curves and lips, and even how they moaned his name. runch randa was a player like the rest – the difference being that he was actually a good rapper, and that was all he really cared about.

but then namjoon joined bighit, where he trained with yoongi and hoseok before the rest of the members trickled in.

where he met seokjin.

and seokjin was hot. god, he was hot. he was actually confident, unlike namjoon's terrible persona. plus, he had a pretty voice and big shoulders, and he was so polite, and fuck, seokjin was...hot.

namjoon knew he liked guys (and girls. or if they were neither. he didn't care). he figured it out while he was underground, he just knew he couldn't tell a soul. the disgusting hypermasculinity most of his fellow rappers fed into brought homophobia alongside it, even if he wasn't ashamed, namjoon wanted to succeed.

he didn't know much, but he had seen porn. namjoon saw how the dainty pretty boys would fall on their knees (literally) for the big, strong masculine men that knew how to make them feel good.

namjoon wanted to be that for seokjin.

his phone buzzed and he jumped, pulled away from his thoughts. he swiped his phone open and read the text.