𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐣𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐱 𝐅/𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
| 𝐀 𝐣𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭’𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐯𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐬𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬. 𝐎𝐧 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐫, 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫, 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐬. |
The roar of the crowd still pulsed through the backstage halls like a living heartbeat. It was 1986, and neon lights buzzed erratically above Y/N’s head as she stepped into the cramped dressing room for her interview. The worn carpet and peeling posters of bands long past couldn’t mask the electrifying energy left over from the concert.
Inside, Namjoon and Jungkook lounged on a scruffy velour couch, exuding the kind of casual confidence only rock stars could. Their hair was teased high in true glam-metal style—Namjoon’s a wild platinum-streaked tangle, a black bandana around his forehead, while Jungkook’s looked as though he’d just stepped off the Sunset Strip: jet-black, voluminous, and artfully tousled. Tattoos and leather gleamed under the flickering overhead light, and a haze of cigarette smoke curled lazily above them.
Namjoon lifted his head first, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he noted Y/N’s arrival. “Well, hello there, sweetheart.” His voice was smooth, carrying the slightest rasp from hours of singing and shouting on stage.
Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, his darkly lined eyes trailing up and down Y/N’s form. “Nice of you to drop by,” he teased, fiddling with the zipper on his ripped leather vest. “Thought maybe you’d lost your nerve and bailed.”
Y/N swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. She stepped forward, feeling the weight of their combined gaze pressing down on her. “I’m here to interview you both,” she said, trying to steady her voice. “I’m Y/N. Thanks for agreeing to this.”
Namjoon swung one leg off the couch and leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You’re welcome,” he drawled, “though I can’t promise we’ll behave.” A lazy grin appeared on his lips, revealing a silver lip ring that glinted under the harsh lighting.
Jungkook reached over to the side table—a makeshift bar cluttered with half-empty bottles—and poured some whiskey into a glass. “Wouldn’t be much fun if we did,” he murmured, tossing a wink in Y/N’s direction. “Drink?”
She shook her head politely. “Maybe later,” she managed, pulling out her notebook and tape recorder. “I’d like to start with the new album—your influences and the vibe you’re going for…”
They bantered about the album, dropping names of 80s metal legends and giving half-teasing, half-honest answers. Y/N tried her best to keep the conversation on track, but the tension in the room was nearly tangible, especially whenever Jungkook’s gaze lingered on her or Namjoon’s smirk curved just a little wider.
Halfway through her question about their wildest tour stories, Namjoon stood up, strolling over to the cluttered side table. He grabbed a glass and filled it with whiskey, all the while tossing her a glance from over his shoulder. “Keep going, sweetheart,” he said, swirling the amber liquid. “I’m listening.”
Y/N tried not to falter as she continued, “What do you think sets you apart from the other bands on the Sunset Strip right now? Is it the lyrics, the… stage presence?”
Namjoon returned, sipping his whiskey with a slow, almost provocative ease. Then, as he passed behind Y/N, he brushed his hand across her shoulder, fingers drifting lightly but purposefully over the fabric of her shirt. A warm jolt shot through her nerves. She forced herself to maintain composure, but her voice wavered on the next sentence.
He dropped back onto the couch, letting his arm drape across the back of it. “We’re not just a band,” he replied, giving her a knowing look. “We’re an… experience. People come to our shows wanting to forget who they are for a while. We’re good at helping them do that.”
Jungkook exhaled a soft laugh, setting his own glass aside so he could lean closer to Y/N. “Some say they can’t tell where we end and they begin,” he purred, dark eyes unwavering. “That we have this way of… persuading them.”
Her pulse hammered. She turned her gaze to Jungkook, pen tight in her grip. “I’ve heard those rumors,” she admitted. “That when people are around you—especially the girls—they can’t say no.”
Namjoon took another sip of whiskey, the silver rings on his fingers clinking against the glass. “Maybe they don’t want to say no,” he offered, a flirtatious edge to his tone. “Maybe we just bring out what they already feel.”
“Especially when it’s something they’re too shy to admit,” Jungkook added. He paused, letting the implication hang in the air, then grinned. “What about you, doll? You manage to say no just fine?”
Y/N’s cheeks burned, but she steeled herself. “I’m just here to do my job,” she replied, attempting to sound cool. Inside, her stomach churned with a conflicting mix of attraction and caution.
She continued her questions about the band’s rise to fame, the chaos of touring, and their plans for future releases. The entire time, Namjoon and Jungkook volleyed answers back and forth—sometimes playful, sometimes cryptic, but always with that undercurrent of flirtation that made her breath catch.
At last, with her notebook filled with scribbled notes and her tape recorder now silent, she said, “I think that covers everything I needed… for now.”
Jungkook stood, running a hand through his teased hair, sending it bouncing back into place. “For now, huh?” he echoed, stepping close enough that she caught the whiff of leather and faint cologne. “Does that mean you’ll be back for more?”
Namjoon drained the last of his whiskey and set the glass aside, coming to stand on her other side. “We do have a habit of leaving people wanting more,” he said lightly, turning to face her. The corner of his lip curved. “Speaking of which…”
Y/N blinked as Namjoon extended his hand—a handshake to wrap up the interview. She took it, expecting a quick, polite press of the palms. But he held on, letting his fingers tighten gently around hers. The silver rings pressing into her skin served as a reminder of the power and confidence he radiated.
“You’ve been a delight, sweetheart,” he murmured, eyes flicking down to her lips for a heartbeat before meeting her gaze again. “I’m sure we’ll meet again.”
Her heart fluttered in her chest, and she tried to pull back, but his hand lingered just a moment too long. The warmth of his grip spread through her arm and made her pulse quicken.
Then Jungkook leaned in behind her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body. His finger brushed a strand of her hair, twisting it gently before letting it slip away. A heady mixture of smoke, whiskey, and something distinctly him enveloped her senses. “Come back any time, doll,” he whispered, his breath fanning against her ear. “I have a feeling you’re not done with us yet.”
A rush of heat flooded Y/N’s face. She slipped free of Namjoon’s hold and managed an unsteady step backward, her notebook clutched tight. “I—I’ll see myself out,” she stammered, trying to keep her composure. With one last glance at both men—torn leather, teased hair, tattoos, and dangerously inviting smiles—she hurried toward the door.
Just as her hand grasped the doorknob, Jungkook’s voice followed her, laced with lazy amusement. “Don’t forget that drink next time, doll!”
Namjoon added, “And maybe, sweetheart…” He paused, letting the sentence dangle like a tempting piece of bait. “We’ll show you just how persuasive we can be.”
Y/N’s cheeks blazed at his words. Without a response, she slipped out into the hallway, the door closing behind her. Adrenaline thrummed in her veins, and it took her a moment to steady her breathing. She could still sense the ghost of their touch—the press of Namjoon’s rings, the soft brush of Jungkook’s fingertips in her hair.
The interview might be over, but something far more had just begun.
The sun had barely risen when Y/N stepped off the rattling elevator and into the cramped newspaper office. the place was a cacophony of clacking typewriters, ringing phones, and the pungent smell of coffee that had been burning on the hot plate since dawn. She clutched yesterday’s edition in her hand—her article about Namjoon and Jungkook’s band was splashed across the entertainment section. The headline boasted some sensational line about rock ‘n’ roll’s new kings and the rumor that nobody could say no to them.
Her boss, Mr. Hayworth, spotted her the moment she walked in. He was a stern-faced man in his fifties with a perpetually creased brow and a tie perpetually loosened around his neck. “Y/N!” he barked over the din, waving her into his cramped corner office. “Close that door behind you.”
She complied, stepping into a space cluttered with stacks of papers, film reels, and an ancient rotary phone perched on the edge of his desk. Hayworth gestured for her to sit, but she couldn’t miss the slight excitement in his eyes. It made her heart flutter nervously—her first piece for the paper had already caused a stir.
“You see these?” he asked, slapping the front page of the entertainment section with his palm. “Your piece on those glam-metal hotshots is selling better than we expected. We’ve had folks calling in, wanting to know more.”
Y/N’s breath caught. She recalled the interview all too vividly: Namjoon’s teasing smirk, Jungkook’s intense gaze, the way they’d both touched her just enough to send her nerves into a tailspin. “That’s… great,” she managed, not sure if she felt relief or dread.
Hayworth’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s good. But it’s incomplete.” He jabbed a finger at the article. “You barely scratched the surface of that band’s history. Readers want the juicy details—childhood stories, drama, any scandal we can dig up. They want the real dirt.”
Y/N swallowed. “You… want me to go back?”
A smile tugged at the corner of Hayworth’s mouth—a rare sight. “That’s exactly what I want, kid. We’ve had calls from rock magazines asking who got the scoop first. That means we’re onto something big. And I want you to go deeper.” He plucked a half-crushed pack of cigarettes from his desk, tapping one out. “You’ve got the rapport with ‘em now—so use it.”
Y/N’s mind flicked to the image of Jungkook leaning in, the smell of his leather vest and whiskey, and Namjoon’s lingering handshake, the heat of his rings pressing into her skin. Her pulse kicked up at the memory. “Sir, they’re not exactly… easy to handle,” she admitted carefully. “Last time, I barely—”
Hayworth waved her off. “Figure it out. They like you, or they wouldn’t have given you anything. Go find out how they got started, what makes their fans so obsessed, and if these rumors about ‘nobody saying no’ are true.” He lit the cigarette and pointed it at her. “That’s a killer angle. People eat that stuff up.”
She knew arguing was pointless; the paper needed another front-page splash, and she was the one who’d opened the door. Still, a twist of anticipation curled in her stomach. Was she ready to face Namjoon and Jungkook again? She could still feel the crackle in the air from that dressing-room encounter—how close they’d gotten, how part of her didn’t want to leave.
Hayworth glanced at the clock on the wall. “No time to waste. They’re still in town for a few days before heading to the next city, right?”
Y/N nodded, resigned yet tingling with something she couldn’t fully name—excitement? Fear? Both? “I’ll get in touch with their manager today,” she promised, rising to her feet.
“Good. And Y/N?” He gave her a curt nod of approval. “Don’t hold back this time. The bigger the story, the better for all of us.”
She stepped out of his office, her mind whirring with possibilities—and the memory of two rock stars whose teasing smiles and confident touches had left her sleepless the night before. Another interview, she thought, pressing the folded newspaper to her chest. Guess it really wasn’t over after all.
