Only I get to see you like this || Jeongin x Reader
Jeongin comes home to find you practicing pole dancing and can’t take his eyes off you, but admiration quickly turns into insecurity as he spirals over who else might have seen you like that.
reader is plus-size coded
The first thing Jeongin notices is the music.
It’s not loud, just loud enough to drift down the hallway like a slow, pulsing invitation. Low, heavy bass that sinks into the ribs and settles deep in the chest. The kind of sound that feels more like a heartbeat than a song.
The second thing he notices is you.
Barefoot in the living room, bathed in the soft glow of the evening light. One of his oversized black shirts slipping off one shoulder, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs. The shorts underneath are barely visible, and for a long moment, his brain refuses to register the sleek metal pole standing in the center of the room.
Then you spin.
And everything in him stops.
It’s not clumsy or experimental. There’s no hesitation, no awkward fumbling. This is practiced. Controlled. Fluid. Your hands glide with quiet confidence, your body lifting effortlessly as your legs hook around the cool metal. The way your thighs tighten, the arch of your back, the smooth roll of your hips, every movement is deliberate, graceful, and so undeniably sensual that it knocks the air straight out of his lungs.
You look… powerful.
Confident.
Like the pole isn’t something you’re trying to conquer, it’s something that already belongs to you.
Jeongin doesn’t move.
He can’t.
He just stands there in the doorway, shoes half off, bag still dangling from his fingers, watching you with parted lips and a racing heart.
You haven’t noticed him yet. You’re too lost in the rhythm, hair falling across your face as you dip low and pull yourself back up with effortless strength. The way your muscles flex and release, the subtle sheen of sweat on your skin, the complete focus in your expression, it does something dangerous to him.
His throat goes dry.
Because he likes it.
He likes it so much it almost scares him.
But right on the heels of that heat comes something darker, something ugly and possessive that curls tight in his chest.
Where the hell did you learn to move like that?
His jaw clenches before he can stop it.
You finish the combination with a soft, controlled landing, breath coming a little quicker, chest rising and falling. That’s when you finally glance toward the doorway and freeze.
“Oh,” you say. You straighten quickly, pushing damp strands of hair back from your face. A small, surprised smile curves your lips. “You’re home early.”
Jeongin doesn’t answer right away.
He’s still staring. Still trying to untangle the storm in his head.
“That was…” His voice comes out lower, rougher than he intended. “You’ve been practicing?”
You nod, suddenly a little shy under the intensity of his gaze. “Yeah. I didn’t want to tell you until I was better. I started classes a few weeks ago.”
Classes.
The word lands wrong.
His expression shifts, just slightly. “Classes?”
“Mhm,” you say, stepping away from the pole and suddenly feeling exposed. “It’s just for fun. It’s actually really hard, I’m still kinda bad at it, but”
“With who?”
You blink. “What?”
His hands slip into his pockets, shoulders visibly tense. “Where? Who teaches it?”
You tell him the name of the studio, casual and unaware of the way his mind is already spiraling into dark corners.
“Is it… co ed?” he asks, trying and failing to sound casual.
You tilt your head, brows furrowing slightly. “Yeah? Why?”
Jeongin exhales sharply through his nose.
Because now all he can picture is a room full of eyes on you. Watching you move exactly like that. Watching the way your body flows, the way your thighs grip the pole, the way you look when you’re confident and lost in the music.
His chest tightens painfully.
“Nothing,” he mutters, looking away.
You pause, really looking at him now.
“…Innie.”
He doesn’t respond.
You take a cautious step closer. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugs, but it’s stiff. Defensive. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“You’re acting weird.”
“I’m not” He cuts himself off, jaw flexing. “I just didn’t know you were doing… that.”
You cross your arms loosely, grounding yourself. “And?”
“And you’re…” He gestures vaguely at the pole, frustration bleeding into his voice. “Good at it. Really good.”
You blink slowly.
This is not how you thought this moment would go.
“I’ve been practicing,” you say carefully.
“Yeah,” he breathes, a sharp edge slipping into his tone. “I can tell.”
The silence that follows feels heavier.
“…Jeongin,” you say quietly. “What are you actually trying to say?”
He hesitates, shame flickering across his face because he knows how this sounds. He knows it’s not fair.
But the question claws its way out anyway.
“…Did you learn stuff like that before?” His voice drops, almost too soft. “Like… before me. Have you done that for other people? In front of other guys?”
The silence stretches.
You don’t look angry. You just look… disappointed. Disappointed and a little sad.
“So that’s what this is about,” you murmur.
“I didn’t mean it like that” he starts, already backpedaling.
“You kind of did.”
He shuts his mouth.
You sigh, uncrossing your arms. “I started pole because I wanted to feel strong. Because it makes me feel good in my own body. Not for anyone else. And no” you add gently before he can interrupt, “I didn’t learn it for some guy. I never performed it for my exes. I’ve never done this for anybody.”
Your voice softens further.
“I barely felt confident enough to even try it until recently.”
That lands like a punch to the gut.
Jeongin’s shoulders drop, the fight draining out of him in an instant.
“…Oh.”
You step closer, reaching for his hand. He lets you take it.
“You’re the first person who’s ever seen me like this,” you say, squeezing his fingers. “Actually seen me. I fall all the time when I’m alone. I just… didn’t fall today.”
A tiny, embarrassed smile tugs at his lips.
“You didn’t look like someone who falls,” he mumbles.
You grin softly. “Good. Means I’m getting better.”
He squeezes your hand back, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t trying to make it about me.”
“I know,” you repeat, a hint of amusement in your tone. “You were just being jealous.”
He groans, covering his face with his free hand. “Don’t say it like that.”
You laugh quietly and step fully into his space, letting him pull you in by the waist.
“It’s okay,” you murmur, resting your hands on his chest. “It’s kinda cute.”
“It’s not cute,” he mutters, but his arms are already wrapping around you tighter, thumbs brushing slow circles against your sides.
You tilt your head, eyes sparkling. “So… you didn’t like it?”
He gives you a long, heated look, ears turning pink.
“Don’t play with me.”
You smile, a little smug. “Then say it.”
He leans in until his forehead rests against yours, voice low and honest.
“…I liked it. A lot.”
“Mhmm.”
His grip tightens possessively.
“You’re gonna show me again,” he says, almost pleading. “Just me. Okay?”
You pretend to think about it for a second, then nod, melting into him.
“Just you.”
His grin finally breaks through, soft, relieved, and entirely yours.
