𝓟𝓳𝓶 𝓼𝓶𝓾𝓽 (18+)

Phsyical

summary- you cant seem to escape the sexy fitness instructor that seemingly is everywhere you turn. it's enough to make you irrational.

Genre- smut, fluff, comedy, fitness instructor!jimin, honestly this is pwp but with like 20% plot

warnings- oral sex (m/f receiving) penetrative sex, sex in public, exhibitionism, spitting, slightly dom!jimin, jimin is v mouthy during sex, jimin is also a brat,

The sound of your spin shoes clipping into the pedals is like music to your ears.
You feel your shoulders relax as you roll them, warming and stretching the muscles of your arms and back. EDM beats play lightly over the impressive sound system, encouraging the riders to cycle to warm up for 45 minutes of adrenaline and heart-pumping cardio.
Spin class is one of your happy places. Group fitness classes give you a rush that solo workouts can't compare to. You love the camaraderie, the support and the built in friendships. Plus, you love having someone at the front of the room tell you exactly what to do. So what, you're a little subservient?
You smile at the ladies clipping into the bikes next to you, not knowing who they are but finding that everyone is friendly and wants the best for themselves and the group.  It's why you love these types of classes.  Strangers become teammates.
You hadn't bothered to check who was instructing today, having clicked on the class time that fit your schedule best. You hoped it was your favorite Hoseok, but had learned that all the instructors were just as good Hoseok was just so vibrant, he made you work harder.
The heat in your legs builds upon a low simmer, muscles warming for an intense class.  A melodic voice sounds over the speakers, your instructor coming in and securing their place at the front of the room.
You take a moment to stop gaping. In front of you is quite possibly the most beautiful human you've ever seen in your short life.
He's incredibly toned, wearing a tight adidas tank and second skin-like leggings. He clips into the bike on the podium and smiles at the class.
You're sure you're salivating. You curse yourself for picking the bike front and center today, now acutely aware how likely you were to drool over the instructor the entire time. 
He notices your stare and winks before he adjusts his mic and speaks again.
"Good morning, everyone!  I'll be your instructor today. My name is Jimin and I'm happy to be here," his voice is light and sounds like honey. It slithers down your skin and oozes into you.  "Let's get started at a quick pace of 90 rpm's and warm up those legs!"
His dirty blonde hair glistens in the spotlight, thighs flex and ripple in his leggings.  You're frozen in your seat and it takes you four thumping heart beats to realize the class has started.  Fuck. He will be the death of you. Nothing makes you lose focus in class.
You push your legs and begin, and he turns his gaze back on to you. It's as if he lights a match and throws it on you, the way your body reacts under his stare.  You wonder what it feels like to touch his chest, his toned arms. You bite your lip and pant, breathlessness unrelated to the exercise.
Class is torture. Everything Jimin says is a double entendre to your ears and you find your core aching and wet only 15 minutes in. Jimin looks perfect, up in third position on the bike, standing and hips pushed back. You can see his pert little ass in the mirror, and you want to cry. It's beautiful, just like the rest of him.
"All right, let's tap it back in 4, 3, 2, 1!"
Jimin pushes his hips to tap the seat with his ass, before standing back up as he pedals in time with the music. He looks delicious, sweat on his forehead.  He pushes his hair out of his eyes and you nearly pass out at the sly smile curved on his face.
You attempt to do the workout but feel yourself faltering, missing the beat often. It frustrates you. Normally, you are at the top of the leaderboard, soaring above the others with your effort. Today you land near the bottom. All because of fucking Jimin and his perfect fucking body.
The arms circuit comes next and you are grateful for the reprieve from heavy resistance on your legs and a chance to sit and catch your breath.  You grab the weight bar and hold it in your palms, ready to do bicep curls at the count of your instructor.
Jimin unclips from his bike and grabs his bar, before walking the length of the front of the room.  He begins with the bicep curls and you choke. His arms ripple with the effort and his hands look so strong and veiny; your mind immediately fills with thoughts of his strong hands fingering you to completion.  He counts out the numbers and winks at you again as you falter in your push and pull. You shut your eyes, avoiding looking at him, and focus on the curl of your arms.
It's infuriating. You take pride in your fitness and find yourself most satisfied after an intense workout.  This class has proven to be intense in a whole different manner, but you're upset at the lost opportunity to push yourself and focus.
As your eyes flutter open again, Jimin moves to put the bar away and clip back into his bike. Only 15 minutes left. You can do this.
You definitely did not do it. The last fifteen minutes were pure torture. Jimin kept his monologue of encouragement going, but his voice was tinged with fatigue and he panted hard into the mic. Sometimes, during particularly tough resistance, he would add little grunts and "uh!"s to his countdowns.  You felt your thighs tremble with each one, gasping at the fantasy of his grunts as he fucked into you.
Blessedly, the class ended and Jimin was leading the group through relaxing stretches to calm you down. It didn't calm you in the least.  You watch as he folds himself in half over the bike to stretch his hamstrings and you're mesmerized when he stands on his bike to stretch his back out. You want to lick every inch of him, tease your tongue down every hard line of muscle you could see until it landed directly on his coc-
"Thank you, everyone! You did incredible!" Jimin cooes over the mic as he stands next to the bike. He bows slightly in reverence to the group, and the class is dismissed.
You're not sure if you want to book it out of the room first or linger. You're sure if he tries to talk to you, you'll implode. Maybe you can leave in a crowd, while he's talking to one of the older ladies sure to hit on him.
You pack up your water bottle and towel, patting the sweat on your face as you try to sneak past in a crowd of elderly women.
"Hey!" Jimin calls and you freeze. You look up to find the object of your frustrations smiling at you. Fuck. He was talking to you.
"Great job today," he grins.
Little shit, you grumble internally. He knows perfectly well that you did dreadfully, coming in 12th place out of 15. A woman three times your age got first place, and it burned you more than you cared to admit.
"Thanks," you murmur, awkwardly patting your face dry.  You're positive you look terrible. Red faced from exertion and arousal, sweating like a pig.
"You come here often, princess?" He asks as he walks closer to you. You find your breath catch in your throat and you're unable to reply.  He chuckles.
"Cat got your tongue?"  His smirk is legendary and you want to slap or kiss it right off.
"I'm-," you croak out, then clear your throat and steel yourself. "I come every other day. Sometimes more."
Jimin can't take his eyes off of you. He smirks again. "You should take another class of mine, doll."
You blush, and you hope the already flushed color of your cheeks hides it.
"You could use the practice. Soon, you'll get the hang of it." He gives you a wink and leaves, leaving you stewing in anger and frustration at his words.
How dare he?! He assumed you were a novice! Your pride and ego burned. You were a regular! You always came in the top 3 of the class! It's his fucking fault you couldn't focus on class!
You grab your things from the locker you stored it in, change your shoes, and stomp out of the spin studio with only one thought on your mind.
The asshole, Park Jimin.