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You're My Genie, Lamborghini (You're My Teeny Weeny Meenie)

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It starts out, initially, as a thirst follow. 

Which isn’t all that new for Jimin. What is new, or at least mildly surprising, is that it’s Jeon Jeongguk. He’s heard of Jeon Jeongguk. Hell, Jimin is subscribed to him on YouTube (who isn’t)—a seventeen-some-odd boy who posts mad dance covers, showcases, collaborations, and street dancing videos. Here and there he’ll make vlogs thanking his subscribers in a Stussy tank top and a snapback and there’ll be at least five hundred comments like

so Jimin doesn’t know if they’re there for the D or for the Dancing. As for him, he’d clicked on one of Jeongguk’s old covers that had obviously been filmed on a janky little Canon Powershot in 2012, maybe, set on the floor of a studio. The audio of Miss A’s Touch had been low quality but even then, in the pixelly blurriness of the lens, it’s undeniable that Jeongguk is an excellent dancer. He’s been watching Jeongguk since then, watching him grow as an artist and now, armed with a DSLR and a real tripod, Jeongguk has ascended to True Senpai Standing.

Enter fastball Park Jimin from left field, a training vlogger who’s better known on Twitter as a motivational workout personality. Usually he gives pointers here and there (“don’t spend all your time curling! you’ll build up uneven muscle mass”), shares morning smoothies recipes (“really, if you have the right ratio of fruit to spinach you virtually can’t taste the planty grass flavor!”) and tweets cute pro-tips like “daily reminder to not skip leg day~~” with a .jpg attachment of a body builder with the upper body of Dwayne The Rock Johnson and legs like Hillary Clinton’s.

But of course, Jimin posts a lot of post-workout shirtless selfies. Go figure. Sometimes he’s straight up standing in his Lemongrab-patterned boxers in the bathroom, other times he’ll just be lifting up his tank top, thumb hooked into the hem of the fabric. “keep working guys!!! i believe in everyone~” he captions them, though usually he tries not to check the replies to those. He has learned that from one too many creepy old white guys asking him, “YOU GOT KIK?” and no. No, he does not have Kik anymore, thank fuck.

And this is how it starts. Jeon Jeongguk, the famous YouTube b-boy dancer, follows Park Jimin, the gym rat, and between the Snapchats, Tweets, and iPhone emojis—well. The rest is history.

(So make sure to clear it after this is over. There is a lot of gay porn ahead.)



”I don’t know how long it’s going to take to get better, but for now my tailbone feels bruised as hell and my lower back aches a lot, even doing simple movement like walking or turning my body. Any kind of aerobic dance makes it worse. Me being an idiot again, I should’ve listened to Hoseok—you guys know Hoseok, he’s jhopeful, make sure check out his channel. Yeah, he told me to rest on it but I got right back up and started practicing again. So now I’m really out of commission indefinitely, until it gets better.”

Jimin scrolls down, giving a cursory glance at the comments as Jeongguk continues talking in his video. It’s late afternoon and the apartment is quiet without Taehyung playing his Italian opera (which is apparently what he’s into this week and Jimin supposes it’s an improvement from six straight hours of Kaskade a day because he doesn’t know how he feels about living in a constant rave), Jimin feels the slow burn in his muscles after his session at the gym and he really should be making that kale smoothie now.

“Anyway, just sit tight, guys, and hopefully I’ll be back up and running soon. Thanks for sticking around, thanks for putting up with me. This is thatgoldenbboy, click on the link on my left to see my video from last week and click on the link to the right to see my latest collaboration with jhopeful and godofdestruction…”

Jimin stands, pulling out his earbuds, eyeing kitchen with doleful eyes and wishing Taehyung were home so he could beg him to blend his fruits and vegetables. Even though trusting Taehyung with anything culinary is asking for strawberry sludge on the wall, or “I swear I put sugar in this, I don’t know how it magically became so salty I swear.” Regardless, Jimin doesn’t think that he’ll be back anytime soon. So he drags himself off his bed and pulls on a sweater because he is An Adult and he can take care of himself.

But first,

As soon as the Tweet goes through, Jimin remembers that Jeongguk is following him here now and internally curses because God, he really could have taken a more flattering photo. But at the same time, his followers all know he’s pretty grunged down at this time of day so they’d see right through him. Then an idea falls into his head and Jimin types it all out, stares at his phone, and hits Tweet before he can overthink it.


Shit. It’s kind of too forward. And friendly. What if Jeon Jeongguk thinks he’s weird. God, maybe it's too formal? Maybe he should’ve added some emojis. Emojis make everything better. Why is he always a hot mess. Well, he’s always hot. Jimin smiles to himself and then jumps when his phone pings. At first he thinks it’s Taehyung, tweeting back something like “I will massage you Jiminie! I am an excellent masseuse!” but alas,

Jimin’s eyeballs fall out of their sockets.

He sprawls across his bed, staring at the words. Jeon Jeongguk just mentioned him, holy shit, and it’s not like Jimin has been a fan for forever, it’s not like he’s even a fan but Jeongguk is kind of a big deal and even his most indecipherable, Jaden-Smith-esque tweets (“when the tomato sleep, they will rise”) get a ton of retweets and favorites. Jimin hasn’t filmed a vlog for a while now—he’s featured in a lot of Min Yoongi’s skits and short films recently but hasn’t done much of his own work since the last vlog about a month ago.

His stomach grumbles. The heater rumbles to life in the other room. The sun is burning a yolk-orange trail low in the sky, and he really should make his smoothie before Taehyung comes home and drags him out to Blaze Pizza or KFC or some place equally as unhealthy. Jimin has complained more than once that “just because you have a metabolism of a Kentucky Derby thoroughbred racehorse doesn’t mean we all do,” and Taehyung always just rolls his eyes.

“You work out enough to two lose weight for three people. One fried chicken leg will not be your undoing.”

Jimin stares at his Canon across the room, balanced haphazardly on a pile of torn binders and notebooks. Its pearly blue lens peers owlishly back at him and he stares at Jeongguk’s tweet one moment more before he sits up, resolution thrumming in his sore muscles.


“Who are you talking—oh. You’re doing a vlog? I thought you were rehearsing your confession to S—”

“And if you look to your left you’ll see mankind’s most misunderstood subdivision of human,” Jimin says loudly. “Kimthera Taehyungus. Biologists have concluded that he’s a ‘conditionally benign’ lower life form.”

“Rude!” Taehyung shouts, dropping his backpack and slouching into the kitchen. “You didn’t make your bunny food today?”

“Something came up.”

Taehyung sticks his head out from the kitchen door, eyebrows disappearing into his hair as he chews on a strip of dried mango. It hangs out between his lips like a mutant tongue. “What on Earth could possibly be more important than pulverized spinach?”

“I got a request from a follower,” Jimin says importantly, puffing out his chest.

Taehyung scoffs. “Okay,” he says in the same voice women use when someone tries to argue that men have bigger brains and are therefore biologically smarter, “I’m going to make pizza bites, want some?”

“No, Taehyung, today’s no carb day,” Jimin says. “God, don’t you know anything.”

A shrug. “Suit yourself.”


that he resembles a smooth dumpling up this close to the camera, skin still dewy from the shower. He’s really out of touch with his best angles on camera, clearly, but at least his lighting’s on point.

Late into the night, when Taehyung’s at the dining table and Jimin at his desk in the corner of the living room, a shout rips through the silence between them and Jimin nearly topples out of his chair in surprise.

“What the hell do you mean, thatgoldenbboy requested a video from you?” Taehyung demands over the top of his Macbook. “What the fuck? First you tell me that Naruto’s ending in five weeks and then you spring this on me.”

“It is! And he did!” Jimin insists. “He tweeted me—look—” He reaches for his phone.

“Holy shit,” Taehyung says, frowning loudly at his computer. “Holy shit, he did. Twice.”

“Twice?” Jimin yelps, scrambling across the room to look over Taehyung’s shoulder.

“Oh my God,” Jimin says.

“Oh my God,” Taehyung echoes, and clicks on the Reply to @thatgoldenbboy bar. “I’m going to reply to him.”

“No! What are you going to say?”

“I’m going to ask him to suck my dick, obviously!” Taehyung says, already typing. “I mean like, suck yours, dude, do you know who Jeon Jeongguk is.”

“What the fuck, no!” Jimin cries, shoving Taehyung’s hands off the keys, the silicone keyboard protector wrinkling. “I know who he is, goddammit, I actually want to be friends with him! Don’t be one of those people, do you know how annoying it gets when I get a bunch of people asking me if I’m DTF on the daily, it’s not cool.”

Taehyung squints at him. “How do you guys even know each other?”

“He followed me today! I don’t know! And then I saw his video that he messed up his waist doing a flip—”

“Oh yeah, I watched that too. In class.”

“—so I told him if he needed anything he could hit me up and he did. So here we are.”

Taehyung sits back in his uncomfortable wooden chair, staring up at Jimin. “Damn. I am impressed, Park Jimin. Not only do you have approximately five thousand thirst followers on Twitter, you managed to snag the attention of one of YouTube’s most famous.” He shakes his head. “Shame. I shipped him and jhopeful.”


That’s that.

Jimin doesn’t get another word from Jeongguk. A week slips by quietly. After the seventh day of silence, he stops obsessively checking his notifications for a mention that he’s stupid for expecting, because really, he and Jeongguk don’t actually even know each other. He’d watched a video and Jeongguk and requested one from him. A business transaction was all it was.

In the middle of the second week Jimin’s Twitter app blows up with mentions. He expects it to be another wave of people favoriting the tweets between him and Jeongguk, but instead they’re a ton of people asking him if he’s having a good day, if he’s eaten today, if he’s slept well. Confused, he keeps scrolling until he sees

For a moment, Jimin’s heart swells. As much of a nuisance that Taehyung is as a roommate, he’s been Jimin’s best friend for years and always smothers him in affection when he needs it most (and when he doesn’t want it at all, but win some, lose some). He’s right about to reply when he goes back to his notifications one more time and comes across

“Bruh,” Jimin says out loud, stomach jumping up and doing the mambo in his belly.


“Bruh, I love you.”


“Come here.”

“What,” Taehyung whines.

“Take a selca with me.”

“Really?” Taehyung brightens. Jimin almost never lets him be in his selcas. Says it ruins the flow or chi of all his shirtless pictures and blended bunny recipes. He bounces over from the kitchen table. “Why?”

“Jeongguk tweeted me because of you.”

Taehyung pouts. “Wow, and I thought you actually loved me.”


But Taehyung hunkers down onto the tiny bunk beside Jimin because he can never say no to a selca opportunity like this.

“We are so cute,” Taehyung declares, grabbing his own phone and swiftly retweeting it. Jimin smiles, watching him talk to himself as he makes his way back to his work and looks back at the yellow-wash filter of the photo. It is cute. All their friends say Jimin and Taehyung are a duo like none other, but he he finds himself inadvertently, inexplicably imagining what it’d be like if one day it were Jeon Jeongguk lying down, curling up, and snuggling close next to him.


“What’s wrong with you today?”

It’s not often that Seokjin has to actually reach down and help Jimin lift the press bar back onto the bench frame. Jimin is far too proud for assistance but Seokjin isn’t stupid enough to let him bench unspotted. Jimin’s arms are shaking with the effort but he strains again and lifts the weights off their supports.

“Stop, what are you doing.” Seokjin slams it back down, metal clanging on metal. “Are you okay?”

“Gotta go hard,” Jimin breathes.

“You’re going too hard, you’re going to mess up your shoulders. Take a five minute break, go stretch out.” A towel lands around Jimin’s shoulders as he sits up and reaches into his duffel, flipping open his water bottle and checking his phone.

Water nearly rushes up into his nose when he chokes.

“HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME,” Jimin roars across the weight room and everyone turns to stare. Seokjin shrinks under Jimin’s thunderous gaze as he storms across the room and shoves his phone into his face. “You know Jeon Jeongguk? You were in his video!”

“Not that well,” Seokjin says in a hysterical voice. “What—why are you—?”

“How could you not tell me!” Jimin shouts, throwing his hands into the air because he can’t trust anyone in this world.

“Shh, you’re making a scene.” Seokjin frowns. “Why, are you a fan? He mentioned you.”

“I mean,” Jimin says, grasping for straws, “I mean, I want to talk to him and be his friend, but he’s kind of a free spirit.”

“Wait, you don’t mean to tell me that you’ve been moping because of this. Because he hasn’t been talking to you on Twitter.”

“No,” Jimin fibs unsuccessfully.

“He’s a really, really busy person.” Seokjin pushes his damp bangs off his forehead, resting his elbows on his knees. “Like, he’s only seventeen, but I have a feeling he makes more money than the average university graduate. When he’s not performing, he’s practicing, or he’s learning. Or he’s teaching. Don’t take it too personally if he doesn’t reply to you.”

“You’re right, I guess.” Jimin leans back, stretches his legs out before him and groans. “He makes that much money? Seriously?”

“YouTube pays him a lot.”

“Jesus.” He rests his chin in his hands. “How do you know him?”

“I was a counselor at his dance camp years ago.”

Jimin laughs out loud at this. “What the hell? And now you’re in his collaboration videos? I thought you said you’re terrible at dancing, hyung.”

“I am,” Seokjin admits freely. “So is Namjoon, though, but Hoseok dragged him into the video because he’s a good rapper.”

“I can’t believe you know all of them,” Jimin says faintly. “And you never told me.”

“I didn’t even know you watched Jeongguk’s videos, why would I need to tell you.”

“You’re no longer my favorite hyung. That title is going to Yoongi now.”

“Fine by me. I don’t need to cook for you anymore, then.”

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Jimin yelps, leaping to his feet when Seokjin turns away. He fears he hasn’t made his point clear and jumps onto Seokjin’s back, looping his arms around his neck even though they’re both sweaty and a little gross. Seokjin grunts as he’s checking his phone at the added weight, then holds up the front-facing camera so that their faces show up in the frame.

“Say hi.”

“Hiiiiii,” Jimin says cheekily, waving. “Wait, was that a Snapchat?” The clip loops as Seokjin types something out in the text bar.

“Yep,” Seokjin says, popping the p. “And guess who I’m sending it to?”

“Wait, no,” Jimin protests, lunging for the phone, but Seokjin holds it safely out of his reach. “You have him on Snapchat? No, hyung! Please! I look gross, don’t send him that!”

“I think you look cute, chill out,” Seokjin says, and months ago Jimin’s heart might have flip-flopped at these words, but now he’s just really fucking concerned about what Jeongguk will think about Jimin’s sweaty ass mug.

“No,” Jimin laments. “Nooo.”

“Whoa, he replied already.”

“What! What did he say?” 

“‘same tho?’” Jimin reads aloud. “What did you even say?”

“My caption was ‘#datsweatlyfe.’”

“Dat. Sweat lyfe.”

“I thought it was cool.”

“Anything you think is cool is lame. You still think Frozen is the best thing to happen in cinematic history.”

Seokjin looks ready to bring out the accusatory fingers when his phone chimes again as another Snapchat comes in.

“Wait, he recognized me!” Jimin shakes Seokjin’s arm urgently.

“You are so easy, Park Jimin,” Seokjin sighs. “Do you want his—”


“ card,” Seokjin finishes slowly.

“Oh.” Jimin reels himself back in. “I mean, yeah, sure.”

Seokjin holds out the cardstock between two fingers. “If you really want to be friends with him, talk to him more. Jeongguk is kind of hard to coax out of his shell but if you try long enough he’ll come around. Besides, it’s not like he just follows anyone on Twitter.”



“Whoa, new vid?” Taehyung asks, peering over Jimin’s shoulder with a plastic spoon and a can of key lime Yoplait in hand. It’s 2 AM. “I haven’t had a chance to check my subscriptions today. Did he really give you a shoutout?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says proudly. “He even linked my video.”

Taehyung scoffs, scooping out a gloppy dollop of yogurt. “Thirsty bitch.” The last word has barely made it out of his mouth when Jimin’s phone pings and he reaches for it.

“Wait, what the fuck, he DM’d me.”

“Dee tee eff,” Taehyung crows in a deep voice. “Tell me if he’s got good stroke game.” He cackles and prances out of the way when Jimin aims an aggravated swipe in his direction but his heart is pounding in his temples and holy shit, Jimin doesn’t even know if he can dance. He did it once, for high school skits and performances and people always told him he was good but he’s never gone further with it. And here Jeongguk is inviting him to a fucking workshop.

So naturally, Jimin freaks out for the next forty-eight hours and implements a deep cleaning of their entire apartment which sends Taehyung running for the hills, his belongings held high and dry over his head. But no, Jimin has decided that right now is the absolute best time to deal with the coffee grounds that have been in their Keurig since maybe December. And the hair on the bathroom floor. He didn’t even know men could make hairballs this bad but somehow he and Taehyung manage it.

“Is it Thursday yet,” Taehyung groans at 7 AM the day of. “I don’t know how much longer I can withstand you sucking the dust mites out of the carpeting when I’m trying to sleep.”

“Taehyung, it is not my problem if you’re in your first REM cycle of the day at 4 PM,” Jimin says. He has ungodly early classes while Taehyung has all evening and night classes so it’s pretty normal for him to wake up to Taehyung still bent over at the kitchen table at sunrise. And thank god for early classes, otherwise Jimin would never be able to make it to the dance academy.

“Do you want some of my Trojan,” Taehyung asks, yawning impressively into his hand.

“,” Jimin says. Taehyung snickers.

“I like how you actually considered it for a moment there,” he points out snidely.

“Look,” Jimin begins, but Taehyung waves an empty coffee mug at him.

“Don’t care, leave me alone, this paper is due at 10 AM. Good luck and just remember what I taught you about deepthroating, okay?”

“Oh my God,” Jimin squeaks, mortified.


Jeongguk is a lot smaller in real life than Jimin pictured.

He’s no less muscular, but he somehow pictured Jeongguk to be Seokjin's size. Which is ridiculous, considering Seokjin is the size of a musk ox, but cameras always make people look thicker than they are. No, Jeongguk is Taehyung’s height, and Jimin’s breadth, standing in the corner talking quietly to Hoseok as people warm up on the wooden floor in front of the mirror.

“Uh, hi?”

Jeongguk turns and Jimin immediately feels too underdressed. Next to Jeongguk—who has a bright red ROCKSMITH EXPLICIT CONTENT snapback pulled down over his hair, Boy London hoodie looking too big for him—Jimin is just in a boring white tee and basketball shorts. Typical weight room attire. Like, he could have at least worn his nice white-and-red Jordans or something but no. Ratty Nikes it was, he decided. God, he’s such an idiot.

“Jimin! Jimin, right?” Jeongguk asks. “I’m so glad you could come out! Did you have to travel far?”

“I…” Jimin says, looking for words, because Hot Damn Son Jeongguk is so handsome in real life. He could have told you that from the 9,490 comments on any of his showcase videos but actually experiencing it for himself up close and personal is like an emotional and spiritual awakening. Only a few seconds pass, but to Jimin it feels like an eternity as he traces the line of Jeongguk’s nose down to his chin and back up his jaw, circling back up over his eyebrows. “It was okay.”

“That’s good, look, we’re gonna wait a few more minutes to see if anyone else shows up but I think all the other dance classes are already in session, so we can start soon. Cool?”


Jung Hoseok smiles at him and reaches a hand out. “Nice to meet you, and thanks for coming, Jeongguk was really excited for today because he said you were coming,” he explains.

“Was not,” Jeongguk says, not looking away from the sound system wires halfway across the room.

“He was?” Jimin asks, eyes huge.

“He’d never admit it, but he also never gets up until I call him three times. He was awake before noon today.” Hoseok chuckles. “He’s not hard to look at, right?”


“Well, get in line.”

Hoseok laughs harder at the look of shocked apology on Jimin’s face. “No, no, I mean, good luck getting your way past everyone who’s laid claim to Jeon Jeongguk’s affections. They’re not easy to win.”

They teach an original choreo to Chris Brown’s Love More. It’s intensive and Jimin has trouble keeping up with the rest of them. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, this a dance academy, full of aspiring professional dancers and choreographers and he’s been out of practice for years. More than once Hoseok comes over to straighten his limbs or lead him through an eight-count. It’s embarrassing for Jimin but Hoseok always gives him a smile of encouragement and says he’s doing just fine, even if he isn’t.

At the halfway mark Jeongguk calls a break and everyone disperses, collapsing to the floor and reaching for Gatorades. Jimin sinks down where he stands, alone, until a Dasani is dropped into his lap.

“What do you think?” Jeongguk has stripped his hoodie off and abandoned the snapback. There’s stiff gel in his hair, coiffing it up, but even that seems to be giving under the moisture of his sweat. He wipes at his chin.

“I came to the wrong neighborhood.”

“What? Why?”

“You guys are too good for me, I can’t keep up.”

“You’re not supposed to be able to keep up, that’s how we keep dancers from becoming complacent,” Jeongguk explains. “And I don’t claim to know everything, but you have the talent for dancing. It’s raw and unpolished but it’s there. I can see it in the way you move.”

“You were watching?”

“I see more than you think in those wall-to-wall mirrors.”

Jimin blushes high in his cheeks at the idea that Jeongguk was studying him.

“Hey, let me get your number so I can reach you easier,” Jeongguk suggests. Jimin almost can’t believe his ears but he blurts it out and Jeongguk adds him to his contacts. A moment later Jimin’s phone chimes.

“That’s me. I’m one of those people that look at texts and forget to reply though, you’ll have to be patient with me.”

“That’s okay!” Jimin chirps, because who even cares. He has Jeon Jeongguk’s fricking cell phone number now. “Can I add you on Snapchat?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jeongguk says. “All right, break time’s over!”

Jimin makes it through the rest of that workshop fueled solely adrenaline and elation. At the end of it he feels even more burnt out than he does usually after hitting the gym, but when Jeongguk beckons to him, he obligingly scampers over.

“You are seriously good, you should come to our next workshop.” Jeongguk is typing on his phone rapidly. “Unless that doesn’t work for you? We have them every week at this time.”

“No, I think I can fit it into my schedule,” Jimin says. And if it doesn’t he will fucking re-slot his entire routine.

“Excellent!” Jeongguk reaches an arm out. “Come here, we gotta remember this. Workout guru jimblejams’ first day on the dance floor.”

In the next weeks, Jimin learns that Jeongguk is horrible at texting back but he is a serial Snapchatter.

There is no other way to explain the 103-second long snap videos that Jimin opens after his gym session but he watches every moment of them. A lot of it is just Jeongguk dancing alone in front of the mirror, one hand holding the phone still and the other moving along with his body. He could have sent these Snapchats to anyone, they’re clearly not very personal, but Jimin’s heart flutters at the fact Jeongguk sent them to him at all.

Until, one day, Jimin starts a conversation like

and immediately regrets it, because while Jeongguk has sent him things like

he doesn’t know if they’re at the whole “n00dz” level yet. Taehyung looks at him severely when all he hears from the bathroom is the sound of the iPhone camera shutter going off over and over again, and if Taehyung is about to lecture Jimin about his schoolwork then he’s really beyond help.

“You’ve been in there Snapchatting for ten straight minutes.”

“You’ve been counting?”

Taehyung narrows his eyes into slits when Jimin’s phone chimes again. He winks cheekily and waves his phone. “You’re just jealous I’m friends with him.”

Jimin’s blood pounds in his ears. Fingers shaking, he sends one back at lightning speed before he chickens out,

and throws his phone down onto grimy pink bathroom counter. It doesn’t take more than half a minute for the screen to light up with a banner notification and Taehyung gives him the filthiest look yet.

But Jimin doesn’t care.

He doesn’t reply, and Jeongguk doesn’t say anything for the rest of the night and it’s just as well. Jimin announces that he’s going to bed early (midnight is early) and Taehyung gives him another one of his patented looks and rolls his eyes, stuffing his earbuds in and that’s even peachier because Jimin would rather not have his roommate figure out that he’s getting off five times to the idea of Jeongguk’s body under his. Taehyung has accidentally walked into Jimin getting off before and vice versa but this is somehow seven hundred times more embarrassing.

And he’s a dancer. Fuck, fuck. Fuck. Jimin whines as he steps into the shower because he is going to be at this all night.


“You got off Saturday night.”


“You always post a shirtless selca when you’re in a good mood after working out,” Taehyung says, helping Jimin pull together breakfast before he passes out for the day. “You are never in a good mood after working out unless you jacked off enough to clog the drain.”

“...I do not like you.”

“Jimin, I am majoring in how to help people get away with murder as a job. Do you think I wouldn’t be able to deduce that white shit in the tub was your jizz.”

“It could’ve been milk.”

“As if that makes it any better, who the fuck drinks milk the tub?” He pauses. “Okay, look, I was plastered that one time—”

“Okay,” Jimin says patronizingly. “Okay, Taehyung.”

“Don’t turn the tables. You still jacked off nine times to Jeon Jeongguk.”

“Five, I was tired.”

“I need my Bible.”

“You say that like you didn’t actually offer me your Trojan the first day I met him.”

“And you’ve met him, like, fifteen times since then! Jimin, you actually skipped gym once to go out with him. Seokjin called me asking where you were! You forgot to text Seokjin. Like, your old crush to end all crushes, if I recall correctly. I mean, I overlooked the dance workshops because I believe you when you say you can dance and I’ve seen it myself, but seriously? You always pass up boba when I offer to buy it for you. Always. And just this week you’ve went out three times to get it with him. I’ve been asking you for three years!”

Jimin is leaning away from Taehyung when he finishes.

“Someone is jealous,” he concludes.

“I can’t believe you want to do this the long way. With real feelings and shit,” Taehyung says. “Damn. Have you at least, like, blown him yet?”

Jimin shakes his head sadly.

“Did you turn him down when he asked to tittyfuck you? That’s a serious misstep, you know.”

“No. I’ve never even kissed him.”

“Wow.” Taehyung nods. “You are so whipped for that kid. That golden b-boy.”

“I think I am,” Jimin says. “What do I do?”

“Well, since you’re going about this the right way,” Taehyung says, holding out a plate for Jimin to tip his fried eggs into, “I’m afraid the only thing you can do is ask him out more like a decent human being before pile-driving him into the mattress.”


The day Jimin finally makes Taehyung proud starts off with

followed by a text right after he opens Seokjin’s Snapchat, from Jeongguk that says, come out and play with us we’re at seokjin’s fave gongcha he says you know which one that is lol.

“Jeongguk’s been telling me that you’ve been selling out on me to go to his workshops,” Seokjin accuses good-naturedly when Jimin arrives, ordering a milk foam green tea before he’s even caught his breath. “He says you’re really good.”

“Never said that,” Jeongguk denies, sipping his drink primly.

“I think I like it, dancing,” Jimin says, piercing the plastic of his drink with his straw and sucking. “I mean. I don’t think I’m as good as anyone in—”

“I was thinking about asking you to be in our next showcase,” Jeongguk interrupts, not meeting Jimin’s gaze, lifting his cup and stirring his boba with great concentration. “Not like a big deal or anything, but we’ve been short some dancers and you’re pretty decent.”

“Really?” Jimin lunges as if to hug Jeongguk, who jerks back violently before laughing at him.

“Nice try.”

“You should show me what you’ve been working on that’s so important you’ve been missing our gym dates,” Seokjin suggests. “Unless it’s official showcase material and I shouldn’t be seeing it.”

Jimin gives Jeongguk pleading eyes, because even if his crush on Jeongguk is the size of a straight white man’s ego, Seokjin still is his favorite hyung and he actually does want to show him how far he’s gotten since day one. Jeongguk sighs, rolling his eyes, but he hops off his bar stool and that is how Jimin knows he’s won this round.

His repertoire has expanded since the first day. From Love More they’d moved to Talk Dirty (Jimin had nightmares for days after watching Jeongguk dance to that), Ayy Ladies, an old classic favorite, and Fight For You, a nice break from all the rap. Jimin is panting hard, breath burning in his lungs, after they finish, and Seokjin claps wildly as a smile spreads over his face.

“I was sad you kept bailing on me but holy shit, Jiminie, you’re really good, really really good. You’re dancing beside YouTube famous thatgoldenbboy and to me you guys are both amazing. Holy shit, Jiminie. Holy shit.”

“Thanks, hyung,” Jimin says, breath rushing in and out of his lungs. He jumps when Jeongguk smacks him on the back, then pats him a little more gently.

“He’s right,” Jeongguk mutters. “You’re good. You could be better than me one day.”

Jimin stares at him.

“But until then,” Jeongguk says, meeting his eyes with a devilish grin, “have fun being under me.”

At first Jimin laughs, until the words flatten out and straighten between them and they both seem to realize the connotation of the phrase at the same time, and turn away quickly. Seokjin doesn’t notice and chatters on like nothing had happened.

And as if something’s changed between them, they don’t look each other in the eye for the rest of the afternoon. It isn’t until Seokjin begs work and says he has to take off at a street corner that Jimin shuffles his feet as Jeongguk pulls out his phone.

“Uh, so. Want to come over and hang out, or?”

“No, I don’t want to—”

“I want you to.”

Jeongguk searches Jimin’s face, expression unreadable, but very slowly, he slides his phone back into his pocket. Nowadays, the ultimate signal of undivided attention.



“I have a roommate,” Jimin warns as he’s unlocking the door. “He’s a little weird. Just so you know.”

“How weird is ‘weird’?”

“You just have to see.”

The door swings open and Taehyung is standing on the coffee table in his pajamas, watching helplessly as the lights of their ceiling fan whirl on high speed as the wooden blades stay completely stationary. He looks down at them at sheepishly. “I tried to fix—” His eyes fall on Jeongguk, and he cuts himself off, hopping down from the table with huge eyes.

“You’re thatgoldenbboy,” he states with wonder, pointing and Jeongguk shifts a little so that he’s standing behind Jimin.

“Yes,” Jeongguk answers warily.

Taehyung looks at Jimin, who’s staring vehemently at the janked up ceiling fan, and then back at Jeongguk, who looks at Jimin. Then he nods and says, “That’s cool, I was gonna book it out of here anyway. Class soon. You know where the—”

“I know where your Trojan is, Taehyung,” Jimin bellows with his eyes closed.

Jeongguk waits until the door clicks shut. “He’s okay,” he decides.

“You don’t live with him,” Jimin says, in a pained voice, nudging aside a full basket of clean, unfolded laundry in the middle of the hallway. “Anyway, I’m sorry for the mess, we try to keep things in order but every time Seokjin helps us clean it always reverts back to—”

The intensity with which Jeongguk is watching him puts Jimin on edge when he turns around. Jeongguk isn’t that big at all, but in this moment he seems to loom over Jimin, eyes dark and impenetrable.

“What?” Jimin asks, voice barely more than a whisper. But Jeongguk is tearing his gaze away, reaching up for the bill of his snapback. Jimin is faster, hand darting out, catching his wrist. He doesn’t even use that much force—just enough to turn Jeongguk back to face him but Jeongguk gives easily to touch, stepping right into his space. The height disparity is even more glaring when they’re nearly nose to nose like this, and Jimin, in most other cases, would be insulted by a seventeen year old kid being a whole chin length taller than him, but—

“Nothing,” Jeongguk answers, voice rumbling when he says it this quietly. Slowly, movements deliberate, he wrenches his wrist from Jimin’s grasp, and Jimin relinquishes him easily, thinking this is where they’ll stagnate, go back to friends with an unspoken tension crackling between them, when he feels Jeongguk’s hand on his neck.

Maybe Jimin stretches forward first at the first indication of assent. Maybe Jeongguk swoops in, but either way, their lips meet in the middle with a crash and burn and Jimin can’t help anchoring Jeongguk in place, hands enthusiastic as he brackets them on Jeongguk’s cheeks. In the silence of the apartment the sound of them kissing is loud but Jimin’s heart is pounding so hard he can’t even hear himself breathe.

He isn’t, and pulls away lightheaded.

“Fuck,” he says, stepping back further, only for Jeongguk to chase him, stepping with him in an electrically charged, weird sort of dance neither of them know the choreography to but seem to fall into so well. “Fuck, Jeongguk, don’t do this if you—”

“I want to.”

“Oh, good,” Jimin says, grinning and spinning him so that they land with Jimin on top on his bunk. Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut as his breath whooshes out of his lungs, snapback rolling away, and asks,

“Can I unbuckle my seatbelt now, captain?”

“Not yet,” Jimin says, bending his knees so that he’s on all fours, resting with his elbows propped up on either side of Jeongguk’s head. He’s barely got himself in a properly sexy position when Jeongguk surges up, catching his mouth in his own and kissing him hard.

It’s a long, slow slide into mindlessness. Jeongguk seems to have a thing for running his fingers through Jimin’s hair, feeling it fall back in soft waves in the space between their foreheads. Jimin keeps pressing closer for the feeling of Jeongguk’s eyelashes on his cheek and they’re not that long, so he really as to work at it. Which is okay, because it gives him a reason to stick his tongue between Jeongguk’s slick lips. At first he’s afraid Jeongguk won’t be into it but Jeongguk is more into it than he is, as it turns out.

Jeongguk reaches for Jimin’s belt first. Jimin’s pulling back to give him space when Jeongguk brings a knee up suddenly and slams it right into Jimin’s crotch by accident, and Jimin chokes in his throat because

1.) he is really turned on, but
2.) he’s now also concerned for his testicular well-being

“Shit, fuck, shit, shit,” Jeongguk breathes as Jimin pitches forward, pressing his forehead into Jeongguk’s shoulder as he waits for the aching to pass. He laughs against the skin of Jimin’s neck. “Sorry. Sorry, I haven't done this a lot.”

“A lot,” Jimin repeats snarkily.

“Like, once.”

Jimin is quiet. Then, “You’re okay with doing it with me?”

“I—yeah, sure.”

“You know we don’t have to if you’re not down,” Jimin says, pulling away as the last tendrils of pain fade. “Like, are you sure, even, what about the people who follow you?”

“Do I owe them an explanation who I bone,” Jeongguk shrugs. “You’d be surprised how many fucking replies I got to that selca of us at Urban asking if we were together.”

“Oh,” Jimin says, flushing down to his neck, or maybe he’s just really hot and bothered from the making out. “Okay. I mean, I could blow you.”

Jeongguk’s pupils are blown wide and dark. “Oh yeah, I’m down. I’m fucking down for that.”

Jimin laughs, the sound mostly a growled chuckle as he slides down the length of Jeongguk’s body and pops the button of Jeongguk’s jeans, enjoying the high-pitched keen when he palms the heat in between Jeongguk’s legs. As hard of an exoskeleton Jeongguk might have, he unravels so easily under Jimin’s hands, his inexperience in this particular department showing when Jimin goes down on him.

He exhales hard when Jimin finally shimmies Jeongguk’s boxers down to his ankles, because Jeongguk’s cock is lying full and thick on his stomach and Jimin has the worst boner of his fucking life right now in a pair of skinnies. Jeongguk covers his face and it’s the first time Jimin has ever seen him embarrassed. He just smiles and wraps his fingers around it, marveling at the heat in his hands.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk grinds out into his palms.

“Hands off, I want to see your face when I suck you off,” Jimin says, leaning down. Jeongguk whimpers when Jimin’s lips stretch over the head and almost sobs when Jimin sinks deeper, taking his eyes off Jeongguk’s face and focusing on the task at hand.

Jeongguk is really a seventeen year old in bed. He finishes way too fast—Jimin doesn’t even have to suck that long, flattening his tongue on the underside of Jeongguk’s cock and licking. Jeongguk doesn’t warn when he’s about to come, probably because it hits him harder and faster than he expects it to, but Jimin is good about swallowing.

“Shit, shit, stop,” Jeongguk says, hands shaking wildly, hot and clammy when Jimin sucks at the tip again, hips jumping at the overstimulation. He pushes at Jimin’s shoulders weakly. “Oh, my God.” He leans back hard, head thudding against the wall, and Jimin smiles faintly as he wipes the corner of his mouth.

“How was that?” he asks.

“I don’t know how I’m going to one-up that,” Jeongguk pants, column of his neck shimmering with a sheen of sweat. His eyes flutter open and he reaches forward, pulling Jimin in by the collar and kissing him lazily.

“You’re a dancer,” Jimin mumbles into his lips. “I’m not too worried.”


Jimin does not attempt to explain away the sudden need to launder his sheets very often. Taehyung also does not ask, so Jimin isn’t sure if he’s even aware until he solemnly comes back from class very late one night and just dumps an economy pack of extra-thin pre-lubed Trojan condoms onto Jimin’s desk with nothing but a wink, furiously pumping the index finger of one hand with the other.

Jimin does not attempt to explain that they don’t actually need these. Yet, anyway.

It’s about time he amended this. Taehyung bought him his own personal box of Trojan, for fuck’s sake. He hopes fervently that this isn’t crossing any lines.

Jeongguk’s reply is swift.

What Jimin doesn’t expect, though, is Jeongguk showing up on their doorstep in the next half hour, unannounced and flushed in his cheekbones. Taehyung answers the door and he stares at Jeongguk for a full ten seconds before saying,

“All right, let me get a change of clothes and shit.”


“Please hold, elevator music,” Taehyung singsongs, and both Jimin and Jeongguk stare as he painstakingly tracks down a ten hour loop of it on YouTube before flitting around the apartment, gathering his things into a backpack.

“I like your roommate,” Jeongguk concludes thoughtfully, climbing into and settling down on Jimin’s lap.

“Please don’t talk about my roommate when we’re about to have sex.”

Jeongguk confesses he’s only done it once so he’s not that good. Which turns out to be a total lie, because after Jimin preps him good and thorough with his brand spanking (pun maybe intended) new bottle of lube, he sinks down onto Jimin’s cock, thighs shaking and nails carving crimson half-moons into Jimin’s chest. He is so, so tight, and stays still in his seat for a moment. Jimin is quiet and lets him adjust even though he can feel his cock fucking pulsing inside Jeongguk.

“Are you okay?”

Jeongguk nods, and before Jimin can think of anything else he rolls his hips gently and Jimin’s head hits the wall like Jeongguk’s had the first time he’d blown him. Jimin has to force himself back to reality to reach down between them and tug on Jeongguk’s cock in tandem with his movements, and though he’s a bit rusty Jimin establishes a good rhythm snapping his hips up. He has to force himself here, too practice restraint because he knows the stinging burn of not being used to having a cock up the ass.

Jeongguk’s getting better, but he still finishes fast. Lucky Jimin’s been on edge all evening and he comes hard at the feeling of Jeongguk’s come hitting his abdomen, hot and sticky and Jeongguk has to cling onto him for support. It’s in times like these that Jeongguk doesn’t shy away from skin-to-skin touch like he does usually—swatting Jimin’s hands away whenever he so endeavors to just pat Jeongguk’s cheek, shrugging him off when Jimin rests his chin on his shoulder from behind.

“We should do that again later,” Jeongguk pants into Jimin’s hair.

“You thirsty little bitch,” Jimin laughs breathlessly.

“Since day one,” Jeongguk admits. “It’s kind of been a long time coming.”


Jimin wakes first in the morning to Jeongguk curled up like a kitten next to him, fucked out and exhausted. The sun is shining furiously in through the curtains and Jimin thinks he can afford to skip one day of class. He reaches over for his phone with just one eye cracked open, but accidentally swipes to the camera app. It’s in front-facing lens mode and he stares at the way Jeongguk’s nose is nestled up against his neck and takes at least ten selcas as proof this happened.

He’s still a little soft from sleep and turns his face, pressing a kiss into Jeongguk’s forehead. He barely stirs, only moving closer to Jimin’s body heat, chin digging into Jimin’s shoulder.

It is censored here but Jimin posts it as a four-picture Tweet along with the caption “date with @thatgoldenbboy ran a little longer than usual ♡♡♡”. In only seconds replies come thundering through the floodgates, ranging from “omg noooo i thought he and jhopeful were a thing :(” to "did you guys sleep together :OOO" to “SHIP SHIP SHIP SHIP SHIP.”

Taehyung, on the other hands, just replies with

Which, #tru.



Some people are delighted at the fact that YouTube users thatgoldenbboy and jimblejams are dating. Others, not so much. Others yet are actually quite rude and call them fags, but Jimin and Jeongguk always find great relish in tweeting replies such as:

(This particular one gets three thousand retweets.)

But the tweet that gets the most retweets, the most favorites, the most replies, is one with a picture that sums up their entire relationship quite perfectly. Jeongguk tweets it right before their second showcase, after he dyed his hair red on a whim. Jimin thinks it’s perfect but there isn’t much about Jeongguk that he thinks isn’t.