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[bnpd]

imagine re2/re4/re9 leon hollywood actor au IDEA

pictures used for yn are not how she looks, but like imagine her however you want, i just wanted ther feed to look like this lowk

i am in the middle of a serious brain rot. i even made instagram accounts.

imagine resident evil being a movie franchise and obviously leon is one of the main characters in the franchise (re2, re4, re6, and later on re9).

i picture him as someone who only became an actor out of enjoyment, and he's only involved in the resident evil franchise. he's like the actor that plays jake sully in avatar.

his first movie was re2 and he took the role on at 21 (let's say for the sake of this au that his name happened to be leon scott kennedy too, or maybe the character is based off him?).

re2 ended up being a really big hit when it released in theaters. people ended up liking leon a lot (him and his character), but it was just leon playing himself honestly.

he's one of those mysterious actors you wish would make more appearances. everybody sees him every once in a full moon. they always pray capcom releases another movie just to see leon star in it or catch a glimpse of him.

however, because this isn't the actual resident evil universe, he's definitely less traumatized, his sarcastic dad jokes, come from the heart, and not from a place of trauma or to mask anything.

i'd say the personality he had during re2 carries out wistfully.

totally off social media. his publicist runs his instagram, and he lowkey has no access to it because he's not interested in it. he's very private.

now, you were in the re franchise as well. you made your first appearance in re2 as a mentioned side character of a politician that people ended up liking a lot. so they brought you back for re4 as a leading character (yippe).

now imagine the press tour of re4 (bites lip). you guys are so zendaya and tom holland during the spiderman press tour, everybody speculated but nobody had proof. but you guys aren't dating either!

-

Leon Kennedy & Yn Take a Friendship Quiz | Vogue

"Hi I'm Leon Kennedy," you start, and the real Leon lets out a hearty chuckle at your joke.

"And I'm Yn." Leon says in return before continuing, "And we're going to ask each other some important questions."

"Super important

"So, why are you here?" He deadpans before you both burst out in giggles.

"And today we're taking a friendship quiz with Vogue," you finish with a playful roll of your eyes. Leon flashes a dramatically practiced smile that may look easy going to others, but sarcastic to you.

You glance at him, "You practiced that, didn't you?"

"Once," he says, waiting a beat. "For like an hour."

You snort, muttering a small 'dork'.

The producer off-camera laughs but the official video doesn't capture it, and neither does it capture his. next words. "Alright, you two. Whiteboards."

You both recover before you sit up in your chair and clear your throat. "Okay! First question: Who takes longer to get ready in the morning?"

Leon doesn't even hesitate. He's pressing his marker so hard into the board, it squeaks.

You flip your whiteboard at the same time as Leon.

Y/N

LEON

You stare at each other before, "Are you serious?" You ask. He squints at your board in disbelief, "Me? You take forever."

"I do not," You defend, already laughing, "You have, like, a twelve-step hair routine. Your hair doesn't have that little side flop naturally."

He breathes out another laugh, "It doesn't take me that long, I just flip my hair to the side."

"--In twelve steps."

Next question: Who is more likely to break character while filming?"

Leon answers quickly, again.

You, however, take a little longer, glancing at him before writing.

You flip.

YN

Leon flips his.

YN

You look down in embarrassment your shoulder softly shaking in laughter. Leon laughs under his breath. "Yeah. Thought so."

He looks at the crew before explaining, "She's terrible at keeping it together." Your head snaps up, quick to defend yourself.

"Don't do that! He's not telling the full story. He tries to make me break!" You point an accusing finger at him.

"Try?" He repeats.

"...Okay, he succeeds," you admit. He leans closer, elbow brushing yours like it's nothing. The contact suddenly making you alert of his presence.

"But you only break when it's me," he says quietly.

The tone in his voice catches you off guard, "That's not-"

"You don't laugh like that with anyone else on set," he continues, his voice laced in softness. The teasing long gone.

"You notice that?" You ask, subconsciously. PR training going straight out the window. You feel almost defenseless in the stark white studio with cameras, lighting positioned all around you, and behind those cameras and lights, there stands people operating them. Watching you both.

"I notice everything you do."

The words land heavier than they should. For a second, neither of you look away. However, remembering where you are, you look away and straighten up and break the tension.

"Next question!" A well-masked nervous laugh leaves you, "Who is more likely to improvise a line during filming?"

You don't even blink before flipping the board.

You both have LEON in big bold letters.

He nods once, satisfied with both of your responses, "Correct."

"Most of the scenes is Leon adding his own dad jokes. At our table reading, while we were looking over the script, the director told Leon to just go crazy with the one-liners."

Leon nods along with your explanation, watching you intently as you wave your arms around.

"Next question," Leon says, "Who is more likely to forget their lines?"

You both write, and flip.

Y/N. LEON.

"Yeah, you're done," you say. "You blanked during the church AND the castle scenes."

"I'm sorry," he crosses his arms not sounding apologetic at all, "I got distracted."

"You stared at me for, like, 10 seconds."

"I was thinking."

"So, you forgot."

He tilts his head, "No, do you wanna know what I was thinking?"

You hesitate. You feel like you're entering dangerous territory. So, you play it safe.

"No, actually, I do not."

"I was trying to remember my line," he says anyway.

"I knew it."

"And also," he adds casually, "you looked really good in that scene."

You blink. "Dude, are you saying I don't look good in other scenes?" You mentally face palm yourself for accidentally slipping up, opening the gate for Leon to run your inside joke to the ground.

"No dude, no. Let's not get off track here. I didn't forget. You distracted me."

"Okay, enough! Next question."

"...Dude." He adds, laughing at your own inside joke, but you crack a smile at it because it's still funny weeks later.

Leon's eye are almost sparkling from your positive reactions to his jokes.

After a few more questions, some teasing from Leon, constant laughs from you in response to Leon, and a peek into your private lives. The producer signals to wrap up the video.

"Well, that calls for the end of our Vogue Friendship Quiz!" You set the board down to rest on the leg of your chair, to quietly clap your hands twice.

"Resident Evil 4 comes out in theaters this summer."

The producer yells 'cut', and Leon quickly stands up to help you out of your chair, stretching his hand out for you to hold.

A small gentle smile graces your lips as you accept his help. His hand moves down to your lower back, gently ushering you toward the dressing rooms.

"Well, that was fun," he says, breaking the silence.

"You just like teasing me, and seeing how I'll react to it in a room full of people."

"Yeah, but I do it to see your cheeks blush in that cute way it does." ----- this was actually the first interview of the press tour, and this interview is what got people more invested in your relationship with one another.

people started making edits of this interview, and a bunch of theories began to go out about whether you two were dating secretly, or you two just really like each other. or maybe you were dating during filming, but broke up after.

people also kept pointing out leons staring problem. he's always looking at you, and people just wonder. you both seem quite comfortable with one another.

before the film came out, a lot of people would see you both in events together, some would pass it off as 'oh well public appearance', and other people (whether they were delusional or not) saw it as something more. i mean, could there be? leon's rarely seen out unless its with you, or by himself (even more rare).

but again, you guys did a film together, can't it just be some co-worker bonding?

once the film officially came out, a paparazzi picture came out of you. you were walking down the streets in a casual outfit, oversized jacket on, sunglasses on, bag hanging on the inner corner of your elbow, phone in hand and pressed to your ear, and seemingly talking to someone.

to other people this would've looked like a normal picture, however, to fans obsessed with what your relationship could mean, they zoomed in on your phone and saw the screen had a pixelated picture of what seemed to be a picture of leon.

on top of that, people seemed to recognize that jacket as a jacket previously worn by leon years ago. but there's no proof.

omg imagine a dating scandal from him and another cast member! i am sick. you guys aren't dating yet, but there's definitely tension between you both.

during group interviews maybe she's a little flirty with him, knowing leon tho, he doesn't turn her down rudely. it's just not in his nature. sure teases you and it might come off as if he's some womanizer, but deep down he's just an awkward dude, who might have a crush on his co-worker (you).

if you were to fully flirt with him he'd definitely short circuit. so imagine this girl just straight up flirting with him. ON CAMERA.

UGH IMAGINE your first kiss! is in your apartment, maybe script reading or something. leon and you like to do this thing where you get tipsy, and read out your lines in an over dramatic way.

leon tries to act like he doesn't want to, but he's the one that pops the bottle open.

but anyway, imagine you're reading the script, and somehow the conversation moved somewhere else completely. its such a soft and vulnerable atmosphere out of nowhere. and now you're close to one another, panting, eyes moving from each other eyes to your lips.

like wow. leon's hands come up to grip your head on either side to steady you (himself). you're both trembling, and you feel your heart beat quite literally beat out of your chest. before this point, it was only dinners, and friendly chats with tension. i'd say you had become best friends with a little more in between, but never crossing the line.

you'd call each other when you needed one another, whether it was some company, or something more deep. you both begin to forget when the lines blurred between work and personal life.

just enough to know you both care about one another, whether its platonic or romantic.

and now here you both were about to cross that line. a line you cannot return from.

imagine you both close the gap and leon lets out the most shuddering breath before he completely inhales your scent into his system.

your eyes are closed, and so are his, but his eyes are furrowing in a way that would tell you he's so emotionally focused. next thing you know you're on the floor, back against the soft rug under you. leon's now hovering over you, and the kiss hasn't been broken since it started.

your starts ringing, and as you reach your hand to grab it, leon's covering yours.

LIKE WOW!!!! UGH IMAGINE WHEN RE9 COMES OUT, YOU'RE now married to leon, and you're that old married hollywood couple everyone loves.

OR IMAGINE OKAY (not canon to this AU.....hahaha unless)

leon drops off from the face of the earth after filming re4 and re6. lets say in this part of the au you never kissed or made any flirting obvious, just fleeting things.

he disappears, and he tries to reach out and vice versa and for some reason it doesnt go through so you both live out your lives unaware of the feelings you held for one another filming re2/re4.

you don;t find out until the release of re9 during an interview leon has, but you're both old now, and you have kids, divorced maybe, or even married. whatever you want to picture. and it feels like what could've been. you see him at the premiere of the new movie. <//333333333 and its like seeing him all over again. oh i am sick.

or lets say they bring you back for the re9, and you find out maybe beause leon says something about it and you're just like what i never knew you liked me. but he thought you did and never reciprocated. all the time lost </3 anyway thats mt actor au brainrot. liek idk imagine, let that sit.

[bnpd]

i WILL be writing adult zuko fan fiction.

[bnpd]

SHAMELESS : gojo x reader

in which: You first met Gojo Satoru at a friend's birthday party. He was by far the most gorgeous man you’d ever seen, but he was also married. A fact you chose to ignore the moment your eyes locked. But like every man, he lies, and he does it shamelessly.

warnings: age gap between gojo and reader, infidelity (not by or towards reader), um i do not condone cheating, this is just a work of fiction, smut, ANGST, fluff, hurt/no-comfort (maybe), famous gojo-ish, reader is 23, and gojo is 30, reader falls in-love easily, reader is kind of naive, reader is lonely, reader needs help, reader needs love and comfort someone save her. She’s kind of trashy but its okay (DON'T BE LIKE READER </3).

You fell in love with every person you ever dated.

It didn’t matter if they were smart or stupid, sweet or quietly cruel. It never mattered. Not enough.

What mattered, however, was that they were there, filling the apartment with noise and warmth and the smell of someone’s cologne. A body beside yours in the dark.

You didn't like to be alone. Being alone meant coming home to the particular kind of silence that lives in empty apartments. Cold floors, with dead air.

And you couldn’t stand it.

So you didn’t. You took whatever was offered with both hands, held it too tight, loved it too fast. Whether they treated you right or not was secondary. An ounce of attention was enough to temporarily mend whatever piece of you had come loose that week. You were very good at this. Very practiced. You’d had a lot of practice.

A quick scroll through your camera could tell the whole story for you. A new face every other month, and none of the endings were clean. Not a single one.

The echo of slammed doors and unreturned keys. Texts sent at 2am that you’d be embarrassed about by morning, except you weren’t. Not really. Not enough to stop.

Because here was the thing about you that no one except maybe your therapist (who you stopped seeing) understood:

Hurt was where you felt safe.

You knew the geography of heartbreak so well you could navigate it in the dark. You knew exactly how long the crying would last (3 days, 4 if you’d really meant it), knew the specific hollow feeling that came after, knew how long before the next one appeared and made you forget.

It was a reliable cycle. A terrible, reliable cycle that you had no real interest in breaking because at least inside it, you weren’t alone.

That was all before Gojo Satoru.

The club was the kind of loud that got inside your chest.

Bass moving through the floor, through your heels, settling somewhere behind your sternum like a second heartbeat keeping you alive, shaking your entire being. The lights flashed at a pace that should’ve been illegal. Sweaty bodies pressed tightly together on the dance floor, everyone moving the way people only move when they’ve had enough to drink to forget they’re watched.

You loved it here. You always had.

Your friend's twenty-first birthday, and she was glowing with heat.

Her tiara lay crooked on her head, drink raised to the ceiling, shrieking along to a song you didn’t know the words to. You were right there with her. Heels as tall as skyscrapers–that should hurt, but feel just right, a dress that was doing its job maybe a little too well, mascara that had already run once and been fixed in the bathroom mirror with practiced efficiency.

The bouncers knew your name. That said everything.

You’d been dancing for 40 minutes straight when someone tapped your shoulders. Your friend, not the birthday girl, the other one, the one who always noticed things. She leaned in close enough that her voice shockingly cut through the loud bass of the noise.

“That man,” she said, and tilted her chin in his direction.

You turned.

The VIP section was elevated slightly above the floor, blocked off by a velvet rope that felt more like a suggestion than a barrier for the people inside it. There was a group up there–laughing, easy with each other, the particular looseness of people who didn’t have to worry about anything. But your eyes moved past all of them immediately.

Because there was one man sitting slightly apart from the rest. Leaned back in his chair the way men sit when they own whatever room they’re in. One arm resting along the booth’s edge. A glass held loosely in his hand, nearly forgotten.

He was looking directly at you.

The first thing you noticed were his eyes. Even across the distance, even through the erratic lights, they were startling. A pale, blue and sharp in a way that felt deliberate, like they’d been designed specifically to make you feel seen. His hair was white. Not bleached, not platinum, but white. It looked silvery in the club light, falling across his forehead just slightly.

He dressed in a way that suggested he’d come from somewhere that mattered: a semi formal shirt with the top buttons undone, sleeves rolled to the forearm, like someone had interrupted him mid-meeting and he hadn’t cared enough to fix it.

He was older than the usual. Not in a way that put you off, but in a way that settled something, like a note that played different than the others yet better.

He smiled slowly. Like he’d been waiting for you to notice him, and had been entirely confident that you would.

The ring on his left hand caught the light. You saw it, and noted it. You filed it somewhere very far back in your mind and started walking toward him.

You didn’t remember which one of you spoke first. You thought maybe it was him. He had that quality about him. Like speaking first cost him nothing, like he’d never in his life been nervous about whether someone would respond.

His name was Satoru.

He said it like it was funny, like he knew what it did to people. He was charming in a way that felt almost lazy. The charm of someone who’d never had to try very hard for anything, which should’ve annoyed you, but instead just made you want to be the thing he finally tried for.

He bought you a drink. Then another. He wasn’t handsy or aggressive the way a lot of men were at places like this. He just talked to you, actually talked, like you were interesting, like your words were worth following.

He asked questions and then listened to the answers, really listened, head tilted slightly. You felt the warm glow of his full attention like stepping into the sunlight.

You were aware, somewhere beneath the music, the alcohol, and the particular electricity of his gaze, that you were in trouble.

You went with him anyway.

One thing led to another–with you it always did. And you found yourself in a penthouse apartment that wasn’t yours, standing in a kitchen that cost more than your entire building, wearing comfortably less than you’d started the night with.

He was a careful lover. Attentive in a way that surprised you. And afterward, when you were half asleep in sheets that smelled expensive, he was still awake, and he told you about her.

His wife.

The word sat in the air between you for a moment.

“We’re in the process of a divorce,” he said. Not defensive. Just matter-of-fact, he was informing you of something logistical. The way people say ‘it's raining’.

The breath you let out was so relieved it embarrassed you. You’d thought–for a second, lying there–that you’d just helped someone ruin something intact. But a marriage already in the process of ending was different. You were just on the other side of a door that was already swinging open.

You told yourself that.

He offered an arrangement. Simple, uncomplicated. Just this–whenever he needed it, whenever you both needed it. No expectations.

You said yes. You always said yes. It was so shameless.

Something shifted. You couldn’t tell when it happened.

Maybe it was the third time he stayed past sunrise. Maybe it was the morning you woke up to the smell of coffee already made, finding him in your kitchen, barefoot on your cold tile, looking completely unbothered and somehow at home. He’d found the good mug without being told. He’d figured out your coffee order by watching you make it once.

Small things. But your whole life, no one had ever paid enough attention to learn the small things.

He started cooking for you. Not anything crazy, just meals, easy and warm. Pancakes on Saturday mornings when neither of you had anywhere to be. He’d stand at the stove in nothing but grey sweatpants, and you’d come up behind him and press your palms flat against his back, and he’d hum–actually hum, some low song under his breath–and cover your hands with his for a moment before going back to the spatula.

And sometimes a simple tender press of your lips on his skin was enough to rile him up. He would grab you and fuck you senseless on the kitchen counter. Your moans would echo throughout the open space of his penthouse.

“Yeah, you like that?” he breathlessly asked, speeding up his thrusts. A deep groan leaves his lips at the feel of you clenching around him. “Dirty girl…”, panting against your neck before sweetly pressing a kiss on your throat. Your boobs bouncing, nipples grazing his chest. Pancakes long forgotten.

He was so passionate. In some moments, he would place a hand on top of your head, soothing you before the impending toe-curling orgasm that was approaching. Gojo never failed to talk you through any of it.

“Fuck–yes! Just like that baby” his harsh pace remained the same, but his moans and whimpers increased in volume. “I’m so close– please,” he begged.

He would beg you. No one had ever done that before.

At some point, he began to treat you like something more. He stopped using condoms and began to finish inside of you every time. Like he wanted to start a family–like he wanted a future with you.

Always telling you not to waste it, but he always stayed inside your cunt afterward, keeping the both of you connected, shifting his hips before he got hard again and would slowly thrust into your sensitive pussy again.

It was the bare minimum. You knew that. You’d been in enough situationships to know what men who are actually trying look like versus men who are simply doing the least required to keep you available.

But no one had ever given you the minimum before.

So to you, it felt like everything.

He was gentle with you in a way no one had ever bothered to be. He handled you carefully, like you were something that had value beyond just sex. After, what felt like, endless sex he’d help you with the small, tender domestic things: your hair, your clothes, the glass of water he always put on your nightstand without being asked. He’d pull you into his chest when you were both drifting off and keep you there, arm heavy and warm across your waist, chin against the top of your head.

It made you feel safe, and wanted.

And in the morning, still soft with sleep, you’d trace the lines of him with your fingertips. The curve of his shoulder, the dip of his spine, letting yourself imagine, just quietly, just to yourself, a life that looked like a permanent version of this facade you’ve created inside your head.

You never said it out loud. You were too scared to shatter the fragile image of what you both had.

But you felt it accumulating in you anyway. The particular helpless tenderness of someone who started to love someone they were never supposed to.

He stopped using condoms somewhere around the second month.

You noticed. You didn’t say anything.

It felt like a language you didn’t want to translate out loud, because the translation: He wants you close, he wants no distance, he wants— Was too much to decipher. So you kept it quietly, folded up small in your chest. Evidence of something. You weren’t sure what yet.

He would stay afterward, keep you close like he was in no hurry to leave, like there was nowhere else he wanted to be. He’d murmur low against your ear. Your name, sometimes. Small things that meant nothing and everything depending on how you held them.

You’re everything to me, he told you once.

You laughed it off, but quiet inside you’d gone quiet. Quiet enough to hear your heart beat in a rhythm that sounded a lot like the sound of love.

The rain started sometime after he left. 

Or maybe it had already been raining and you’d only just noticed. It was hard to say. Time had gone soft at the edges. The room was dark except for the uncoordinated flashes of lightning that came through the window and lit everything up for a second before dropping you back into the darkness. 

You were lying on top of the covers, the silk bedsheet pulled up to your chin, staring at the ceiling. 

He’d been gone 30 minutes. You knew because you’d watched the clock. 3:20 am when the door clicked shut. 3:50 am now. 30 minutes of lying exactly like this, not moving, because moving would make it real. And you weren’t ready for it to be real yet. 

The tears came without your permission to. Just slipped out sideways, running into your hair, and writing the pillowcase. You didn’t wipe them. You knew more were to come. 

You thought about what he’d said before he left. 

You’d asked him to stay. Not a big ask. Not an ‘I love you’, not a ‘what are we’. Just a tender, ‘stay, until morning, just stay with me’. You’d reached for his back while he was buttoning his shirt. He’d shifted before your fingers could land. Like he could sense you coming and had already decided. 

‘Don’t be bothersome. I already told you, I can’t.’

His back still to you. His voice was completely flat. 

Bothersome. 

You pressed your face into the pillow that still smelled like him and let yourself cry properly then. The ugly kind, the kind that hurts your throat. 

Outside, the rain was coming down hard enough that you could hear it against the glass, and you were grateful for it, almost. The city is crying with you. 

He’d been like this for weeks now. Coming over, staying less and less. Leaving you in a particular way–not physically wrecked, but mentally scattered. Like he’d taken something when he left that you hadn’t agreed to give. His eyes had changed. They’d gone somewhere far away, somewhere you didn’t have access to. They looked at you now with a kind of absence that was almost worse than cruelty. 

You could fight cruelty, but you didn’t know what to do with someone who looked through you. 

You cried until you fell asleep with your fingers still curled in the pillow. 

10 am.

The knock woke you. Your face felt swollen, tight with dried tears. Grey light was coming through the curtains. The rain is still going, soft and persistent now where it had been punishing this earlier this morning. You lay still for a second, oriented yourself. 

Your apartment. Your bed. The specific quality of silence that meant you were alone. 

You hated it. 

The knock came again, sharper. 

You got up. Caught your naked reflection in the mirror as you reached for the robe at the foot of the bed. Mascara tracked down both cheeks, hair a disaster, a bruise of a mark on your throat he’d put there last night while you were still something he wanted. You looked exactly what you were. 

Someone who’d been having a very bad night for several weeks running. 

The robe was pink satin. You cinched it tight and went to the robe. 

There was only one person it could be. 

You opened it. 

Satoru. 

He was dressed like he hadn’t been home. The same shirt from last night, untucked now, jacket over it. His hair was slightly disheveled in a way that looked beautiful on him. Everything looked beautiful on him. It was one of the most annoying things about him. 

His eyes moved over you–quick, and professional. The way he assessed everything else. 

They landed briefly on your chest where the robe gaped slightly, before he cleared his throat and looked past you into the apartment. 

“Can I come in?” While he posed it like a question it felt more of a demand as he walked in, shuffling past you, “We need to talk.”

Something in his voice made the back of your neck go cold, and the rest of your skin prickle.

You sat across from each other on the couch, and you watched him find the words. More importantly his hands. They lay still on his knees. 

Whatever was happening between you two had become too large to keep pretending it wasn’t there. Because a man who cooks you breakfast and keeps you close and looks at you the way he looked at you had to feel something. 

You thought a lot of things. 

“My ex-wife and I have decided to work our relationship out.”

The words landed in your chest like something dropped from a height. 

You heard them. You understood them. Some part of your brain was already tallying the damage. But your face didn't know what to do yet, so it cracked into a small involuntary smile — the wrong reflex, the no this is a joke reflex — and then you saw the look on his face and the smile died immediately.

"What?" you asked. Your voice came out wrong. Too quiet, too small.

He sighed. The sigh that meant he found you tedious. You knew that sigh. You'd started to know all of his sounds.

"Don't make me repeat myself. You heard me."

The things he'd said.

‘We've been in the process of a divorce for over a year.’

‘I stopped loving her long before you.’

You stared at a point just past his shoulder. 

A sudden surge of emotions crashing into you, and attached with them fleeting memories. You thought about the way he used to press a kiss to your forehead before he got up. About the Sunday morning six weeks ago when he'd fallen back asleep with his face in your neck and you'd lain there for an hour, not moving, not wanting to break it.

Don't be bothersome.

"Be realistic," he said. His voice was measured. Not unkind exactly, but the way a person is not unkind when they're saying something they've already decided. "This was always temporary. Until she and I could figure things out."

You didn't say anything.

The silence was so full it had a shape.

A single tear ran down your face. You didn't reach up to stop it. You let it go.

He was so full of shit, and he knew it. 

The unmistakable glint of the wedding ring was there. It had always been there whether literally or figuratively. You’d seen it the very first night and looked away. Even when it got to a point where he no longer wore it, the ring had physically fused itself into his finger, leaving behind a vivid reminder of who he really belonged to. 

The silence stretched. 

Satoru waited. Patient, and composed. The way he was composed about everything. Like the world rearranged itself around his convenience and he’d simply learned to expect it. He watched you process it the way you imagined he watched most things: from a mildly curious to an already past it. 

That composure is what broke you open. 

"You told me," you started. Your voice came out wrong — too thin, too close to the surface of a thunderstorm in the middle of the ocean. You stopped, swallowed down the knot in your throat, and tried again. "You told me you weren't in love with her anymore."

"Things change."

"Things change." You repeated in a broken disbelieving laugh. It came out horrible, wet at the edges. "That's such—” You cut off, “okay.” You start again. “That's what you're giving me."

"I don't know what you want me to say." His voice was so even. So even. Like you were a mildly inconvenient meeting he hadn't been able to reschedule. "I was honest with you from the beginning about what this was."

"You weren't."

"I told you —"

"You told me you were getting a divorce." You were on your feet now, voice raising. You didn't remember standing up. "You told me you'd stopped loving her. You told me I was —" your voice cracked, and you hated yourself for it, hated how much he could still hear it in you "— you said things, Satoru."

"I said what was true at the time."

"At the time? Do you hear yourself? What’s wrong with you?"

"People's feelings change. That's not something I can control —"

"You are so full of shit." You cut him off, a shaky finger pointing at him in accusation. You watched it shake and couldn't make it stop. "Stop talking to me like I'm stupid. Stop using that voice with me."

"What voice?"

"That voice." You gestured at him, at all of him, the whole infuriating composed tableau of him sitting on your couch like he owned it. "The one you use when you've already decided the conversation is over. Don't do that to me. I deserve more than that."

Something flickered across his face. Gone before you could name it.

"You knew what this was," he said in a quieter tone. Almost gentle, which was worse.

And that — that — was when it cracked all the way through.

"I knew what you told me it was," you said, and your voice finally broke on it, split down the middle, and the tears came and you didn't even try to stop them because what was the point now, what was the point of any of it now. "I knew what you showed me. Every morning you stayed. Every time you — you cooked for me, Satoru, you used to hold my face and you'd just look at me like —" you pressed your hand over your mouth for a second, trying to hold it in, failing "— like I was something that mattered to you —"

"You did matter —"

"Did." The word came out sharp enough that he stopped. "Don't you dare say that to me right now. Don't soften it. If I mattered then look me in the eye and tell me she matters more and just say it, stop wrapping it in —"

"You're being dramatic."

The room went very still.

"Dramatic."

"You're spiraling. I understand you're upset, but —"

"Get out."

"—we're adults, and if you'd just —"

"Get out of my house." Your voice climbed and you let it. Three weeks of his cold eyes and his shorter visits and his back turned to you in the dark, three weeks before that of slowly understanding you were being managed, handled, kept at a careful distance by someone who knew exactly what distance to keep — all of it rose up in your throat at once. "You don't get to sit there and call me dramatic. You don't get to sit there and be calm right now, I swear to god —"

"You need to lower your voice —"

"I will not lower my voice in my own apartment!" 

He stood. Finally, good — you needed him vertical, needed to be able to look at him properly when you said what you were about to say.

"You made me feel crazy," you told him. Shaking now, properly shaking, mascara already gone. "These last few weeks — pulling away and then coming back and then pulling away again — I thought it was something I did. I kept trying to figure out what I did." More broken sobs. "There's a headline about you and your wife right now. Did you know that? It's been out for six hours. Six hours while you were — while we were —"

His jaw tightened. First crack in the composure.

"That's not —"

"Were you with her before you came here tonight?"

Silence.

The specific quality of that silence told you everything.

Something in your chest caved in completely. 

"Okay," you said very quietly. "Okay." However the tears in your eyes betrayed your vocal acceptance. 

You walked to the door. Pull it open. Stood there with your hand on the knob and your robe coming loose at the tie and your eyes absolutely ruined and you looked at him across the apartment — at the man who had made you feel more cared for and more stupid than anyone in your entire life — and you said:

"Get out. And don't come back."

He looked at you for a long moment. That same unreadable thing moved across his face. You still didn't know what it was. You'd spent months learning his expressions and you still didn't know what he looked like when he actually felt something.

Maybe that was the answer.

He crossed the apartment. Then paused in the doorway close enough that you could smell him — his cologne, something else underneath it, something that didn't belong to you.

He didn't say anything.

Your hand found the vase on the entryway table before your brain caught up with it — the small ceramic one, blue, that you'd bought at a market in the West Village on a Sunday he'd come with you, that you'd carried home in a paper bag while he walked beside you with his hand on the back of your neck — and you threw it.

Not at him. Not quite. It hit the wall two feet to his left and exploded into pieces, and the sound of it was enormous in the small hallway, and blue ceramic skittered across the floor between you both.

Silence.

He looked at the wall. Then at the floor. Then, slowly, at you.

You were breathing hard. Your throwing arm was still extended. You looked insane and you knew it and you didn't care, you couldn't care right now, there was no room left in you for caring about how you looked.

Something moved in his expression — not fear, not even surprise, something more complicated and faster than either of those things. There and gone.

He left.

The door clicked shut and you held it together for exactly three more seconds before your legs gave out and you slid down the wall beside the door and sat on the cold floor and came completely apart.

–

You threw up in the bathroom.

Then you slid down the cabinet onto the floor and sat with your knees pulled to your chest and stayed there for a long time.

You felt pathetic. You were aware of the patheticness from a slight distance, the way you sometimes watched yourself from a removed angle during the worst moments. Look at her on the bathroom floor. Look at her crying over a man who was never hers.

Overall, you felt embarrassed. 

But the awareness didn't help. It never did.

Because Satoru hadn't just been an affair, or a mistake, or a bad habit. He'd been the first person in your entire adult life who'd made you feel like your presence was something to be cared for rather than consumed. He'd taken the parts of you that were most obviously broken and handled them without flinching. He'd made you feel like being loved was possible. Not because he'd said it — he never said it — but because of the way, the small unspoken way of a person who is choosing you continuously, quietly.

Or so you'd thought.

You'd been so sure then. 

Your hands found the little chain around your neck — the delicate one with the S, that he'd clasped there himself four months ago with such careful fingers — and you pulled it, hoping the clasp would break. 

But no, Gojo never bought anything cheap. However the irrational part of your brain kept pulling. The chain left an angry thin red line on your skin. 

You screeched in frustration before grabbing it at the edges and pulling it apart. You threw it against the wall. The sound it made hitting the tile was too small for how much you hated it. 

Screaming at it like it personally offended you, and in a way, it did. Anything of his offended you. 

Then you went through the apartment.

The things he'd given you, the things that smelled like him, the things that had accumulated in your space over months the way a person leaves traces of themselves without meaning to. You dealt with all of it. You were not gentle. It felt necessary, the way certain kinds of destruction feel necessary — not good, but necessary, like stabbing something.

The tears didn't stop. They had been going for so long now that they'd lost their urgency and become simply a condition. A weather front settled over you.

At some point you picked up your phone. A nasty habit of yours, reaching for your phone in desperate need of a distraction, even if it lasted for a few minutes. 

The notification was already there. News alert, pushed to your screen, waiting for you.

"GOJO SATORU AND EX-WIFE DECIDE TO REKINDLE THE FLAME." CLICK HERE TO KEEP READING. (you can actually click it to read the newspaper i made one).

There was a photo. Him, and a woman who looked like the kind of woman men left other women for. She was beautiful in a composed, expensive way. His hand was on her waist. He was smiling.

You put the phone face-down on the floor.

You sat in the wreckage of your own apartment, and you let yourself feel every terrible bit of it.

It's not like you were dating.

That's the part that makes it worse, somehow. There's no clean word for what you were. And it was not a girlfriend. Not lover, even — lover implies mutuality, implies something shared and chosen. You were a situation nested between his chaotic life. Something to fill the space in his life while the real thing got itself sorted out.

You know that now.

You hadn't known it then — or maybe deep down you did and simply refused, the way you refused all kinds of information that threatened to interrupt what you wanted to feel. You were very good at refusal.

You could say it was a lifetime of practice.

But the possibilities — that's what kept getting you. Not what was, but what could have been if it had been real. If deep down somewhere inside he'd meant any of it. You'd built a whole quiet architecture of a future in the privacy of your own head, furnished it with Sunday mornings and inside jokes and a ring he would have chosen just for you, and now you had to take it all apart piece by piece, put it in boxes and there was no one to help you carry it out.

Three weeks of crying yourself to sleep. Three weeks of waking up and for one half-second forgetting, before it hits you again. Three weeks of his absence sitting in your apartment like a presence, like the negative space of a person.

So you did what you always did when something got too heavy to hold.

You put it down, walked away from it, and forced yourself to believe that it was fine. 

It had never been real anyway, I am fine.

You put on the shortest dress you owned, called your friend, and went out.

Your oldest and most reliable skill: To forget and pretend. 

©2026 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 ᥫ᭡ join my tag list my super tiny discord server

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[bnpd]

❝ 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐍𝐄𝐖𝐒 ! ❞

©2026 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[bnpd]

My amazing glorious queen please please continue the nerd-jo fic pleasee 💞💞

YASSS OMGGG will have to

[bnpd]

The Whole Answer : leon s. kennedy x reader

in which: leon kennedy is a girl dad, and he made a promise to keep you both safe 18 years ago. but now your daughter is off to college, and he has no idea if he can keep his promise now with your daughter so far away.

warnings: soft smut, leon being a dad, some angst. idk just read it its good. leon is 45 in this (when the timeline reaches 2022). leon is 27 in 2004 (resident evil 4 takes place here). this is years before requiem takes place. you both grow old together, you're like a FEW years younger than him (or the same age, doesn't matter).

When you found out you were pregnant it was on the first day of Leon's deployment to Spain in 2004, 6 years after the incident in raccoon city. 

Leon had only been gone for 3 days, but after the first day it felt like too long. 

You had been married for 5 years, but had never talked about expanding your little family. When you got married Leon had been suffering through a lot of trauma, and while you had overcome most of it as a team, deep down you knew your husband. Raccoon city still had a grip on his mind. 

When you first got married, Leon suffered a lot after missions, and would resort to drinking to help reduce the stress. 

When Leon got back from Spain, you waited days until you finally told him. Given that you couldn’t keep a secret from him. You sat him down on your living room couch, and broke the news to him.

At first, Leon had said nothing, brows furrowed staring at the floor in conflict. He had experienced the horrors of this cruel world first-hand. The guilt of bringing a child into this world instantly consumed him. So much so that he froze in place, and flinched when you touched his shoulder in comfort. 

You remember the hurt that settled deep in your gut that night. When he finally looked in your direction, you saw a face that belonged to a different man. It was the face of a man you met years ago. The face of a man you did not know of yet. 

It scared you at first. 

After silently staring at each other for what felt like an eternity, Leon stood up. His warm palm wrapped around the back of your head. As he leaned down to tenderly kiss the top of your head, inhaling your scent before standing up and leaving. 

That night Leon went for a drive, and didn’t return until well into the night.

The door made no noise when he gently opened it. You were fast asleep, facing the opposite side of your shared bed.

He dropped to his knees beside your head, and stared at you for exactly 10 minutes, letting himself exist in your unconscious presence. 

Leon never told you what exactly happened the night after taking his leave, but he made a promise to himself, and to you, that he would never let anything harm either of you. It’s been 18 years, and he has yet to break his promise. 

The next morning, you woke up to Leon making breakfast in the kitchen. He sat you down that morning, and held your hand in his palm, telling you that it’s best if you relocate soon. 

“Honey, I’ve been thinking. I think it’s best if we move somewhere more secluded. For the safety of you and the baby.”

That same week he requested his assistant for a list of available houses in secluded areas on the market. Thankfully Leon and you were able to settle on a nice spacious house overlooking a lake surrounded by greenery. Leon ensured there was a town, and a private school nearby that would allow your future child to grow into their education. 

After weeks of settling into your new home, Leon started with an overprotective overdrive. He became overly cautious, trying to minimize risk, and avoid any potential harm. While it may have come across as intense or restrictive, you knew deep down that he needed this. 

So, you let Leon be as overprotective as he needed to be. If baby proofing the entire house meant his peace of mind? So be it. He wanted to install cameras, motion censor detectors, finger print identification to enhance home security? You were looking at surveillance cameras with him. He wanted to install bulletproof windows throughout the house? You would make sure he found the best specialized construction materials. 

Leon prepared the nursery as soon as you were done settling in, he so desperately wanted a girl. In fact, he was sure it would be a girl. He made sure the room was renovated into a soft pink and white wallpaper, soft pink double doors, and had been very involved in decorating your daughter’s room. 

Fortunately, Leon had been right. You were expecting a beautiful baby girl. 

If you thought he was overprotective, clingy, and obsessed with you then. Imagine it amplifying ten-fold. His urge to nurture, and protect was like never before. 

And if he thought you were already spoiled? He would now never prove it otherwise.

When your baby girl came into your world, everything changed. 

Now 18 years later, your daughter was heading off to college, and Leon was scared as ever. 

“Honey,” you console, rubbing his shirtless back, “She’ll just be a few hours away.” Leon sits at the edge of the bed, as you coddle him. 

A shudder rakes through Leon’s chest, and you smile at how distraught he looks. Your hand slides from his back to rest idly on his shoulder before moving to his chest as you continue to soothe him.

You make yourself comfortable behind him by resting your head on his shoulder, looking over his handsome face. You knelt behind him, knees pressed together, legs folded neatly beneath you. 

The room is dark. The only source of light is the full moon, shining through the white sheer curtains. 

“She’s ready.” You try to convince him, but Leon shakes his head. “She’s not ready. She thinks she is. That’s not the same thing.” 

You pushed the wet bang covering his face, an aftermath of a shower, “We raised her to be.”

Your husband looked so sexy tonight. His hair was wet and he looked particularly troubled. Your favorite. 

“On the bright side,” You offered in a light and teasing tone, pressing your lace covered chest against him, “we’ll have more time together.”

Leon softly shakes his head, but you see the corners of his lips turn up. Your hand stays over his chest, your head still resting against his shoulder. For a moment neither of you spoke.

His hand came up, covering yours, holding it there.

He exhaled, some of the tension leaving him, and leaned back—just enough that you had to follow.

You lifted your head, close now, your cheek brushing his. “Yeah?” you said softly.

He turned toward you, and whatever answer you had caught somewhere between them. Your foreheads nearly touched before he closed the distance, the kiss gentle, unhurried.

You shifted, one leg slipping out from beneath you as you leaned into him, and he reached for you without thinking. The movement carried you sideways, easing down into the bed, the conversation dissolving into something quieter, closer. 

Leon settles you into a kiss, as the room around you rises in temperature. Your hand tightens its grip on his hair, when you feel him thrust into you. You subtly lift your hips to let him bunch your nightgown up to your waist. 

Your lips disconnect from Leon's when a moan ripples out of you as his thinly clothed cock grinds directly into your naked cunt. He sits up to get momentum to grind into you properly, water droplets fall over your soft skin as he towers over you. 

He’s so heavy, you almost feel him inside you. His thin pajama pants soak with a perfect mix of his precum and your aroused slick. 

All you can do is take what he’s giving you, and ask for more. 

“Can’t wait to fuck into this pussy everyday from now on.” You reach for him with a broken whine, and Leon’s eager to hear it. 

“Yeah? You like that? Knowing your husband will pound this needy pussy. Hm?” He urges you to answer him, but you’re so lost in your own bliss, still stuck on the excitement of what's to come in the near future. 

A slap to your clit, jolts you awake. “Yes!” You chant. “Yes–Yes!”

“Say it.” He commands. “Tell your husband what you want. Look at me when you say it.” You peel your eyes open, and stare straight into his icy blue eyes. You almost cum right then and there. He wears a look on his face, where he looks mean, but yet so sickly in love. Crazy in love even. 

“I want-” You begin in a murmur, but he stops his needy grind into your sex into slow agonizing thrusts, “Louder,” he cuts you off. 

“I want” you moan when you see him bring his face a hair apart from yours, tucking his hands behind your head, tangling his fingers into your strands. 

After years of marriage he’s still the sexiest man you’ve ever laid eyes on. Age looks beautiful on him, you’re sure of it. 

He’s breathing directly over your mouth now, and you’re eagerly inhaling his puffs of air. Your eyes are glazed over, but his face is utterly clear before you. 

He presses a chaste wet open mouthed peck on the corner of your mouth in encouragement before pressing another on the column of your throat. 

“Tell me.”

You build up whatever strength you have left. “I want you to fuck your wife.” 

Leon grunts in response, before slipping his cock out of his pajama pants, stroking himself as you reach inside your nightgown to pull your tits out. 

Leon consumes you in a breathtaking kiss that knocks the thoughts straight out of your mind until all your mind can produce is thoughts of him.

He gently soothes the meat of your thigh before sliding his thumbs to push your lips apart to push himself inside. His eyebrows furrow in utter bliss when the head of his cock snugly slides in. 

You watch in awe as both your mouths hang open at the raw feeling of one another. “Fuck I might cum right here.” He murmurs to himself but you catch it and tighten yourself around him in response, caging him between your legs. 

Trapping him in eternal bliss.

He buries himself to a hilt. 

He hooks his arms into your knees, pulling you closer and into a soft, yet, loose mating press. He plants a final kiss into your lips before pulling completely out, and pounding you into the mattress for the remainder of the night. 

– 

The morning came slowly. Pale light crept through the sheer curtains, washing the room in warm sunlight. 

Leon lay on his back, one arm tucked behind his head, the other wrapped firmly around you, fingers gently rubbing your back. 

His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, but you knew by the tension of his jaw that he hadn’t slept much. 

You traced idle patterns against his sternum before resting it against the side of his neck, holding him close. “She’s going to call. You know she will.” You murmur against him.

“First day,” he said, staring at the ceiling. “She won’t last a week without calling.”

You smiled against his shoulders, “Is that you hoping or are you predicting?”

He was quiet for a beat, “Both.”

You pushed yourself up to look at him properly. The morning light caught the silver threading through his hair. The fine lines at the corner of his eyes, and his stubble littered with salt and pepper. Eighteen years, and he still made your chest ache just by existing in the same room. 

“Leon,” you waited until he looked at you. “You gave her everything she needed. All of it. You’ve kept her safe. Always”

Something moved behind his eyes. The years of carrying the weight of the aftermath of Raccoon City. Something he never asked to do. It probably always will, but the look in his eyes was different now. Something that looked remarkably like peace. 

He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before pressing your lips together in a gentle short kiss. 

“We did,” he corrected quietly, holding your gaze with his. 

–

The day was upon your family. It was finally move-in day. Leon was as stressed as ever. Only giving out short clipped replies. 

After you helped load everything into the suv (told Leon what should go where), he was adamant on making sure his daughter was missing absolutely nothing.  

“Do you have your ID? Your pepper spray? Your emergency phone? You still have our number’s memorized right?” 

Your daughter is nodding along in the backseat, “Yes dad…” 

“Recite my phone number–” You laughed before reaching over the center console to place a hand on his bicep, “Honey, I think she has it all down.”

The drive was quiet. 

The ride felt full, and the silence was a little heavy, broken with an occasional conversation you had with your daughter. She had her sock feet propped up on the center console, occasionally tapping them against your rested elbow on the console to grab your attention. 

Usually Leon would playfully chastise her about her ‘stinky feet’ propped up, however, today he said nothing about it. You noticed, and you’re sure your daughter probably did too. 

The campus appeared through the tree line. Students everywhere. 

You were staring outside the window as Leon slowly pulled into the drive-way for check in, and your daughter exited quickly with a harsh slam of the door. 

“I don’t think it closed,” Leon muttered to himself. 

You didn’t tear your eyes away from the students unloading their boxes. When a lanky boy struggled with an overstuffed suitcase while his parents trailed behind him loaded with boxes. 

You watched as the handle gave out completely. The suitcase hit the pavement and burst open, sending clothes scattering across the walkway. You’re about to express your sadness for the kid before Leon pipes up instead, “Guess he won’t have to unpack that for later.”

You turned slowly to look at your husband before pushing his shoulder as laughter bubbled inside your chest. 

Your daughter decided to materialize in front of your window as she happily jingled the keys to her dormitory in front of you. 

Moving her in took three hours. Leon carried everything heavy without being asked, reorganized her furniture twice until the sight lines from her window made sense to him. All that was left was a few minor decorations that could make your daughter feel more at home. 

“Okay,” you said, pulling a soft woven throw blanket from a bag, and draping it over her made bed. “Neutral base, but it adds warmth in case you want to take a small nap after classes. What do you think?” 

Your daughter accessed the made bed with new sheets you bought for her. “I love it.” Leon looked at the blanket, “It’ll run hot in September. How well does the AC work here?” He inquired, looking around for a vent with a flashlight in hand. Even if the room was as lit up as ever. 

You playfully roll your eyes at his silly question. 

You reach into the bag and pull out some string lights that shine a warm gold. “I think you’ll like the way these will look when Autumn finally arrives, no?” Your daughter smiles before nodding her head. 

You held them up, “These can go above the headboard or around the edges of the ceiling.” 

Leon’s attention moved from the air vents to the cord from the lights, tracking the length to the outlet. Then to the curtains, then back to the cord. 

“Won’t that cause a fire?” He questioned. “It’s ambience,” You tell him. 

“It’s fire with ambience.”

Your daughter took the string lights from you and began hanging them herself, decisively, making eye contact with her father the entire time. 

He said nothing. He did however quietly reposition her curtains slightly further from the bulbs when he thought nobody was watching. 

You saw. You said nothing. 

Instead, you directed your attention to the full length mirror that sat awkward against the wall. “Leon, honey,” You call after him, “Can you move this mirror next to her dresser against the wall.” Leon moves it to where you direct. You can tell he has something to say, but you’re not sure if it’s about the mirror itself or your choice in placement.

He stood behind you, looking over your shoulder, studying it. 

“If someone breaks in–”

“Leon.”

“I’m just saying. Reflective surfaces work both ways.”

“It’s a mirror.”

“It can be a tactical disadvantage.”

Your daughter looked at him with amusement. “Dad, it’s a dorm room at a university.” “Even worse. That’s what makes it unpredictable.”

By the time the room was finished you stood in the doorway together, taking it in. Warm lights glowing softly above the headboard. The throw folded neatly at the foot of the bed. The mirror catching the afternoon light. Posters of shows and music artists littered your daughters room, accompanied by a few books, and trinkets. The little plant Leon spent too much time repositioning on the windowsill, “Four inches to the left”, he had explained. 

The room looked like your daughter. It looked like both of you. “It’s perfect”, your daughter said. 

Leon tested the room lock on her door 4 times while pretending he wasn’t. To avoid involving himself in the emotional moment, but your daughter knew better. 

“Smoke detector needs new batteries”, he said. 

She watched him with patient, knowing eyes. She inherited his icy blue eyes, and along with it his awareness. She missed nothing. 

“Dad,” she said gently, the way sometimes you did when you wanted to tell him something you knew would stay with him. 

He stopped. 

She crossed the small room and hugged him. Not quickly, but the kind of hug that acknowledged everything neither of them were saying. You stood beside them, hand resting on both their backs. 

Leon’s arms wrapped around her, and for a moment he looked exactly like the man who had knelt beside your bed 18 years ago, making a promise to someone who couldn’t hear him. 

He kept it. 

The hug lasted longer than any of you anticipated. Leon’s arms were wrapped around your daughter with the kind of grip that had protected her from everything real. 

Then, muffled against the top of her head, very quickly, as though if he said it fast enough it might sound reasonable:

“We can leave right now. Say the word. We pack everything up, car’s still warm, we can be home by dinner, you can do online classes, I already looked into it. Several accredited universities offer fully remote programs, your room at home is exactly as you left it–”

“Dad.”

“–the plant can come with us, I’ll carry it myself–”

“Dad.”

“–I’m just saying options here, completely valid options. No problemo. Many people do it.”

Your daughter pulled back and looked at him. Her eyes were glassy but she was smiling. She had his eyes. She always had his eyes. The eyes he had before they turned hard, and cool. 

“I know,” she said softly.

Leon pressed his lips together and nodded once. Swallowed hard. Said nothing else. 

His hand came up and kissed the top of her head. 

–

The drive back was quieter than the ride there. When you got home, the only thing that greeted you both was your two dogs. 

You went upstairs and found Leon setting up a warm bath. 

One hand testing the temperature beneath the faucet, shoulders carrying the quiet weight he’d been holding since the drive home. 

Your bare feet crossed the tile floor softly and wrapped yourself around him from behind. 

One arm looped over his shoulder, draped across his chest. The other slipped beneath his arm, palm settling flat against his sternum. You pressed yourself into his back and held him there, and he relaxed the moment he felt you. 

You tilted your head up toward him, cheek resting against the side of his face, close enough that you could feel the tension actively leaving his face. 

He didn’t speak right away. 

His hand came up slowly and covered yours where it rested against his chest. His thumb moved back and forth. Once, twice. 

The faucet kept running, steam rose quietly around you both. 

“She called,” you murmured against his cheek like a secret kept between you both. “She wanted to wish us a good night.”

You felt him exhale. Long and slow. Like something he’d been holding since you dropped her off. 

“Yeah?” 

“Mhm, said she loves her room.” His hand tightened over yours. 

“Good,” he said quietly, “That’s good.”

You stayed like that a little longer, neither of you in any rush to move. 

Outside the small frosted window the night settled in completely, the kind of deep quiet that only ever existed out here by the lake. 

“She also said,” you continued softly, “That the smoke detector in her room has fresh batteries.”

You felt it before you heard it. A slow rumble in his chest. Low and reluctant, the way his laughs always started when he was trying not to give them to you.

“Naturally,” he said. You smiled against his jaw. 

His thumb hadn’t stopped moving against the back of your hand, finger sometimes settling over your wedding ring for longer than necessary. That slow absent rhythm he’d had for as long as you’d known him. You doubted he even realized he was doing it. 

He turned his face towards yours then, just slightly. Just enough. His nose brushed your temple and he stayed there, eyes closed, breathing you in the same way he always did when he was trying to memorize you. 

The faucet shut off, and the room went quiet. 

Just the two of you, the steam, and the still hot water. 

“Come on,” you murmured. “Bath’s ready.”

He didn’t move immediately. 

His lips pressed softly against your temple instead, warm and unhurried. 

Then he unfolded your arms gently from around him, turned, and looked at you in that way that told you, you were everything he used to wish to have when nights were particularly harder than others. 

The way that still, after everything, made you feel like the only fixed point in whatever world he was navigating.

He gently helped you strip from your clothes, before helping you step into the warm bath. 

He settled behind you, arms instantly engulfing your frame. 

His scarred hand, enclosed itself around the area where your throat met your jaw, tilting your head to rest on his shoulder with the quietest pressure.

Rough at the palm, yet familiar in a way that went beyond muscle memory. It was impossibly gentle for a hand that had lived the life his had. 

You let yourself sink back into him completely. 

Leon did everything that mattered. He dipped his head and took full advantage of the column of your throat now open to him, pressing his lips there softly. Once. Then again slightly higher. Then the curve where your neck met your shoulder. Unhurried. Deliberate, and careful.

You felt the tension you hadn’t realized you’d been carrying between you both since last night. 

“Leon”, you murmured. Not asking for anything. 

His lips stilled for a moment against your skin. His arms tightened. 

Outside the lake sat silver and motionless beneath the moon. The house was quiet in the specific way it would take some getting used to. 

But here, in the warm water, enclosed in him entirely. Like you knew you always would be. 

Tie had a different quality when Leon held you this way. It slowed. 

His breath came slow and even against your skin. The hand at your jaw had relaxed, no longer tilting, but jesting. Cradling you. 

You reached up and covered his hand with yours. 

“What are you thinking about?” You asked softly.

A long pause. 

“The first night in the new house,” he said, “You were so excited about the lake view. You made me stand at the kitchen window for 20 minutes.”

You laughed softly at that. “It was a beautiful view.”

“It still is.”

You turned your head slightly, just enough to see the edge of his jaw above you. 

“You were just pretending to be indifferent,” You said. He was scared, but you decided to leave that observation out. “But I saw you looking at it after you thought I’d gone to bed.:

His chest moved against your back. That low reluctant rumble again. 

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Baby.”

“I liked the view,” he admitted quietly. “I like anything that makes you stand enough to just,” He paused, “ Exist for a minute.”

All these years and he still said things that caught you completely off guard. Not often. Leon was a man of few words, but when he chose them they landed with the full weight of everything he left unsaid. 

The silence comfortably engulfed you both again. His thumb traced a slow rhythm against your cheekbone. 

“You cried,” Leon said suddenly. 

You blinked, “What?”

“When we first moved in,” He clarified, his voice was low. “You walked through the front door, saw the lake through the back window, and cried.”

“I was pregnant Leon. I cried at commercials.”

“You cried at the weather forecast.” “It was an unusually moving forecast. Besides, all it does is rain here, of course I was a little sad!”

His chest shook against your back. You smiled at the ceiling. 

“You walked through every single room.” He continued. There was something different in his voice now. Tender. Like he was trying to handle this particular memory with care. 

“Twice. With your hand in your barely-showing stomach. The entire time you didn’t realize you were doing it.”

You hadn’t realized he noticed. 

“You stopped in the arched nursery doorway,” he added quietly, “You didn’t go in because they had just finished installing the soft pink wallpaper, but you stood there looking at it for a long time.”

The memory surfaced slowly. The smell of the plaster they used to install the wallpaper. The late afternoon light through the bulletproof windows that hadn’t had curtains yet until Leon and you were sure everything that had to do with remodeling was done. You were so excited to just start decorating. 

“I was trying to imagine her in it,” You said softly. “I was trying to imagine her. A little piece of both of us coming to life.”

“I know.” His arms shifted around you. “I was standing behind you. You didn’t hear me come up.”

“You were always so quiet.”

“Occupational habit,” he reminds you with a gentle pinch on your side, that only makes you press into him more. 

You laced your fingers more firmly through his beneath the water. 

“What were you thinking?” You asked. “When you were standing there behind me.”

A long pause. Leon didn’t rush toward answers. He never had. You had learned years ago to simply wait for him inside his silence. 

“I was thinking about how I almost didn’t come home that first night,” he said. “After you told me.”

Your breath caught quietly. 

“What–”

“Not like that,” he reassured you gently, understanding immediately, “I just drove. For hours. Ended up parked outside the city somewhere. Couldn’t tell you where.” His thumb hadn’t stopped moving against your cheek. “I sat there trying to figure out if I was the kind of man who had any business being someone’s father.”

The bath had gone still around you.

“And?” you asked quietly, voice shaking slightly.

His lips found your hairline. 

“And I thought about you.” Simple. Certain. “That was it. That was the whole answer.”

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©2026 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[bnpd]

going to write the worst college frat boy caleb fan fic you've ever read

[bnpd]

Where’d you go diva

awwwg this ask! hey diva! lowk going through it but i havent stopped writing! plus ive been super busy with work and school! thank you for thinking of me!🥹

[bnpd]

black swan

in which you were once a girl with dreams and aspirations, before it was swept right from under your feet.

"i love your eyes," he'd said before stealing the light right out of them. 

pairings: law-firm-ceo!gojo x ex-ballerina:pole dancer fem!reader warnings: heavy angst, sexual assault, hints of being video taped while under the influence. brief mentions of stalking, obsession, abuse of drugs, coercion (none of these things are done by gojo, this is NOT a dark gojo fic), ending is kind of a cliffhanger???, reader is kind of emotionless.

NOTEᝰ.ᐟ : writing this was </3, pls enjoy. ballerina pictures edited by me. please watch these tik toks for a visual of readers dancing (she does NOT look a certain way, imagine her as you please) pole dance 1 : pole dance 2 : pole dance 3 : pole dance 4 : pole dance 5 :

FIC PLAYLIST : ♬ˎˊ˗ : my masterlist : navigation

you used to be an ambitious young woman. your previous everyday life was defined by schedules and a plan that was expected to last you for as long as you would have wanted it to. as long as you kept working and pushing towards your goal, nothing could come between you.

at the age of 17 you got into a prestigious school of arts for ballet. you lived and breathed ballet. it was your everlasting passion. whatever happened in a dance studio was between you and your ambitious heart. 

your parents supported you through it all. they funded your practices and everything in-between–from attires to entrance fees for special events.

they were more than proud and excited for you when you shared with them the news of your acceptance. it was like their dream came true through you. your happiness was theirs. 

thankfully the university was not more than 2 hours away from home, so coming and going was as easy as filling in a coloring book. 

weekdays were spent in studios for dance, and regular sit-in classes for your core courses. not that it interested you in the slightest, but you excelled none-the-less. 

whereas weekends were split in between extra studio practices (saturdays) and at home (sundays). some days you had to stay on campus to participate in rehearsals for upcoming showcases, competitions or the events themselves. for these occasions your parents were happy to drive down there to see you. 

never missing the opportunity to see their darling girl.

you were an only child. it’s why your parents always spoiled you. they made sure nothing was missing in your life. it’s why they were behind you in every decision you made, making light of the good and bad.  

3 years as a student and you were at the peak of your dance career. you were constantly booked for the lead roles in ballet recitals, sought out for tips from the lower classmen, praised by your professors, acknowledged constantly by your peers, and offered countless opportunities to advance in your pursuit of your goal. 

it was possibly the happiest you could have been. 

unfortunately, good things don’t last. no matter how much you want them to, or fight against all forces to prolong them.

in your last year as a student, tragedy struck. you met a boy. a boy who would soon ruin everything you worked so hard for. 

a man, who at the snap of his fingers, could demolish every single step you’ve carved out for yourself. 

you met him on your way to class. he had dark black hair with white strands grazing the tips of it. chocolate brown eyes that reflected against the sun. he was tall, some could say handsome, and a charming yet unjarring smile. any girl would fall for him. 

just not you. to you, he was a distraction–an unsettling one at that. 

he had introduced himself to you as naoya zenin (bitchass naoya). a sweet name for the devil in disguise. he never failed to emphasize the last name: zenin. a remarkable yet well-known name. given that it was the same one as the president of the school. 

the declaration itself caused a nasty shiver to run down your spine at the mere thought of it. 

one thing lead to another and he continued to pursue you, in which you continued to politely decline. 

“i’m sorry but i’m not interested in a relationship right now. you’re a great guy, surely there are many girls interested in you.”

“yes, but they're not as great as you.”

it was then that you realized that he wasn’t necessarily interested in you. but rather what you brought to the table, which was ultimately, the status of a talented young woman at her peak. 

men like him want someone they can have around their arm. they want someone that’ll make them look good. someone to be there as an accessory to their greatness. 

unfortunately for you, naoya came to the conclusion that it had to be you. whether you liked it or not. 

no way in hell were you going to let this boy use you this way. so, you didn’t, but he offered an ultimatum. 

“alright then, why don’t we just become friends then?” you had to play it safe with a boy of his status.

you accepted. what was the harm in a friendship, you knew you wouldn’t have time to maintain it anyway. with how busy your schedule was, he’d get bored, lose interested, and leave you alone for good. 

but the zenin’s are insistent, and naoya was no different. 

always at your doorstop. constantly sending you messages, looking to hangout, begging to see you or know your schedule. anything that you knew, he wanted to know. 

so you would leave him on delivered, seen, or just completely decline his advances. 

if he wanted to be your friend, he had to know that this is how it was going to be. and that simply didn’t work for naoya. 

“come on. just one party, and we’ll leave it at that.” 

“fine, but im leaving at 10, i have a dance rehearsal tomorrow morning at 8”, after this you were going to put your foot down and let him go from your life, given that he’d brought nothing but distraction. 

“wonderful” was, sadly, the last thing you remember from that night. you woke up the next day, wearing clothes that weren’t yours, in a room that wasn’t yours, next to someone you most definitely recognized, and a camera pointed in the direction of your sleeping position. 

your heart was in your stomach. you remember the countless notifications on your phone, the one you found tossed haphazardly on the floor of the living room in the unfamiliar apartment. the way your hands trembled like an after effect of a drug that was yet to wear off.  

you quickly and anxiously looked for the remainder of your things. after gathering it all, you zoomed out of the apartment, praying that whatever you may have thought happened at the apartment didn’t. 

a buzz came from the back of your jean pocket, but you ignored it. desperately trying to get to where you needed to be: dance rehearsals. you tried to ignore the weird looks you received while on your way to the studio. 

after arriving, you dashed to the locker room, thankful to your past self for always being overly prepared, having had an extra pair of ballet shoes and practice clothes. 

quickly changing into the clothes you're quietly and quickly slipping into the dance studio, positioning yourself in the back. hoping your instructor does everything but notice your tardiness, but as the top student of the program, your presence goes anything but unnoticed. 

“miss LN,” your professor's voice echoed painfully across the studio and her tone made you stiff, “a word please.”

you felt about 20 sets of eyes turning to look at you. you follow behind your instructor, entering her office stationed beside the massive studio. 

you hear the door shut behind her, yet you remain rooted in your spot in front of her desk. 

“why are you here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. her eyes were nothing but deep pools of emotionless cobalt, and her dark red stained lips do nothing but give her a harsher look. 

you’re a little taken aback by her question, confused to say the least. “excuse me?” you chuckle awkwardly and nervously. 

“we had a dance rehearsal this morning at 8 for the upcoming showcase, didn't we?” you question. 

she purses her lips, “yes we did, but i am afraid that statement no longer includes you.” she says coldly.

you stare at her with wide shocked eyes. “by the look on your face i am quite certain you are not aware. i suggest you check your email.”

she rounds her desk once again, heading for the door, but halting her movements to get her last words in, “and by the time rehearsals are done, i want your locker cleared out, and your access key to the studio left on my desk.” 

the door slams shut behind her. the slam of the door echoes into the deafening silence.

you’re shaking in your seat. what the hell is going on?

remembering you left your phone in your locker—given that the only thing you’re allowed to bring inside the studio is a water bottle. you retrieve your cellphone, and unlock it. 

you tremble a little as you scroll through the endless amount of messages, until you settle on the email sent by the institution. 

Dear Ms. YN LN,

It is with deep regret that we inform you that after careful consideration we have decided to terminate your position as a student at our institution. Effective immediately. 

We also have to acquaint you with the reason for this decision. On May 24 of 2025, we received an anonymous tip accompanied by a link to an adult website. The link featured a public accessed video of you, in which you were identified, and another faceless individual engaging in less than appropriate behaviour. This video was reviewed by a university appointed council to verify your involvement. 

While we respect personal freedoms and the autonomy of our students outside of the classroom, participating in publicly available adult content, undermines the core values of our university.

A permanent notation reading “Dismissed for Conduct Violation” will be placed on your academic transcript. This status may impact future applications for admission, transfer, or professional certification.

We encourage you to take this time to reflect on the importance of personal accountability and the broader implications of public conduct.

Sincerely,

Naobito Zenin Dean of Students  Office of Student Conduct and Academic Integrity Shibuya School of Arts University

now, you’re 25 years old. existing in a bustling city with nothing worth living for. 

after you read the email, your entire world fell apart. you cleared out your things from your dorm and the locker room.

you didn't break the news to your parents. so, you pretended that you were still attending school. your plan was complete school in any way shape or form. but higher education comes with a price. an expensive one at that.

it was difficult. the video blew up and it completely shattered your reputation. not like it was your choice, considering that pieces of that night were foggy to non-existent.

however, things never stay hidden forever: your parents somehow found out about it. so you ran away. back then, you didn't think you could have faced your parents. you still don't think you could. you were a coward.

the only thing that plagued your mind was that the image of their picture perfect-talented daughter was completely tainted.

what would they think of you? how could you face them after everything that happened?

fearful that they'd somehow track you down, you left everything behind. took a bus to the next city over, and stayed with a dear friend of yours: utahime.

utahime worked at a nearby high school as a supervisor. she insisted on helping you find a job, but who would hire you? most definitely not a school.

the only thing you knew to do, was dance. so, you looked up strip clubs looking to hire pole dancers, and came across a decent ad online.

it’s sickening how fast anything can be swept away from beneath you, even as you stand on it. some are lucky to remain standing, while others fall straight on their ass–like you. 

you weren’t supposed to work tonight, but your boss called you, hoping that you’d perform a solo show tonight. he said he’d pay you double your regular pay. something about a big name in the crowd tonight. 

you couldn’t care less. you needed the money. 

you tuned out the rest of the call after the talk about the pay. it was an offer you simply could not refuse. 

even if it meant missing utahime’s monthly gathering dinner. you’d just have to explain to her when you arrived at the apartment later tonight. 

you fix your lip stick in the tiny mirror taped to the door of your locker, making sure it’s perfect. 

you swallow the lump in your throat when you remember how it felt to get ready before a rehearsal, your mom was always there to adjust your hair accessories, but now it’s just you. 

“geez angel, leave some for the rest of us will you?” your coworker beside you jokes. you have moved to adjusting the straps of your tight pink performance bra when she breaks you out of your melancholic day dream. 

angel. the stage name given to you after your audition for this job. something about the way you danced resembled that of a soft angelic ballerina. 

you still remember the way your face slightly dropped at the mention of it. 

you find nothing humorous in her statement, nor her implication. 

the locker room however, finds it quite enlightening, “yeah angel, always stealing all the clients”, the grip on your locker room briefly tightens in an attempt to ground yourself. i don’t mean to, you internalize. 

you’re far from proud about what you do, dancing on stage in front of men makes your skin crawl. it wasn't necessarily about dancing on a pole, but rather who you did it for.

their faces full of lust and dark fantasies make your stomach churn. the look on their faces shows you how their sick minds envision you. the way they’d jump on stage if given the chance.

despite it all, it’s about whatever keeps you dancing. regardless of the audience, this was the only way you could continue your passion. in some sick way, it was the last piece of yourself you could salvage.

your expressions stay neutral, staring blankly at the vacant inside of your locker room. a stark contrast to everyone elses. while they have pictures, sparkles or some sort of personal touch. yours is lifeless and empty. 

you’re starting to feel a little resemblance to it. 

you sigh and close your locker room, body glitter at hand. “sorry,” you mutter, not really knowing what else to say. 

glitter particles stick to your body as you spray it all over yourself. 

“angel you’re up next,” calls the stage manager. years ago, the words would have thrilled you, now they fill a void–a void you try to fill when you pretend you’re doing something else on stage. 

you tighten your mountain high heel straps and make your way over to the stage. 

you shut down your conscious when you take the first step of your heels lands on the stage.

the lights dim and your hand grips the pole. you shut your eyes, and pretend you’re somewhere else dancing ballet. 

a place where the music is something else, and your purpose belongs for your own pleasure. a place where no man could hurt you again. 

the music starts, and you dance. 

2 HOURS AGO

gojo feels sick to his stomach. it’s his 29th birthday and geto thought it was a bright idea to bring him to a strip club. 

“come on loosen up,” he says, patting him down. they’re both still in their expensively tailored work suits. fresh out of a boring birthday dinner with the higher ups. 

gojo shoves geto away, “how can i loosen up when we’re here?” he bites back, “at a fucking strip club,” he says in disgust. 

geto gives him a look, “hey”, he warns him with a level headed look, “don’t be such a dick, i know you’re just being an asshole because of how pent up you’ve been with work.” 

gojo stares at him with an unimpressed stare. any other day he’d be more than happy to just be anywhere in the city doing anything that wasn’t work related. 

however, the mountain of piled up work cases he has to look over sit—not only physically, but mentally—as a constant burden. 

he’s been needed at work more than usual. all thanks to his grandfather who had stepped down as the CEO of Gojo Law Co., and stood up as the chairman. he had handed down the business to gojo less than a month ago. 

with absolutely no heads up. anyone can imagine how stressed he is. 

thankfully, geto was promoted to president. 

given how powerful they were as a duo in the courtroom, one can only imagine how great they’d do managing an entire firm.

geto sighs before looking at gojo, “listen i get it, you want to live up to his standards, but you can’t do it with a stick up your ass. so stop moping around and try and get your dick wet once in a while. you didn’t seem to have a problem doing it in college.”

he slings his arm around gojo’s shoulders and drags him into the strip club. 

thankfully, gojo doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

-

a whiff of cigarettes hits gojo’s sensitive nose immediately. 

the place seems well kept, better than most he’s seen in the past. security seems tight and well established, given the big bulky men stationed in different parts of the club. the music is loud and the lights are dimmed down, and different colors dim in and out. 

it’s quite a massive place. it’s spacious now but he knows that during rush hour it’s incredibly packed. he can tell that whatever they have going here, sells well and is provided on an expensive silver platter.  

there’s women walking around in tight revealing waitress costumes, holding bottles or serving platters with perfectly decorated beverages. their walks are elegant as they stride in their towering high heels. 

their smiles are bright, and certain. one could mistake them for genuine happiness. 

there’s small table dancing poles scattered around the place accompanied by comfortable booths surrounding them, but what captures his attention the most is the empty massive stage positioned towards the far end of the club covered by heavy curtains. 

the lights are completely turned off for that section of the club, but the timer displaced at the top of the curtains gives him something to anticipate. a timer that piques his interest.

he nudges geto in the midst of their journey to the bar. he tilts his chin in the direction of the stage, "what's that?” he makes an educated guess that it’s why his best friend brought him here in the first place. 

geto looks over to the direction he gestured to, and grins, “that,” he points, “is the countdown for the main event tonight. it’s actually why i brought you here.” he confessed, confirming gojo’s initial suspicion. 

gojo continues to stare at the stage. before geto interrupts him with a gentle shove towards the bar. 

two drinks in hand later, they slither their way through the crowd and to the front row. where their vip section awaits them. 

geto nods at the security surrounding their booth, and they move to create a path in the direction of their seats. 

once they’re seated and comfortable the lights dim further, leaving the club almost pitch black. aside from the lights directly above the stage. almost like it’s putting whoever will dance in their own bubble. 

gojo watches intently as the curtains open, and there stands a woman. 

you grip the pole, but your eyes remain gently shut. your pose is enticing, the music is yet to start, but you’re already setting the tone. 

gojo's mouth gapes open a tiny bit when your head rolls back, and the hair previously covering you exposes your neck. 

when your head returns forward again your eyes are open, but they hold an unreadable emotion, almost as if you were on autopilot. 

you’re nothing short of stunning. a woman with a face like yours could entice anyone. gojo was no exception. 

gojo studies you intently. from the clothes you wear, to the look on your face. the transparent slip on dress makes you look like a model on the cover of a lingerie magazine. beneath it you wear lingerie. 

the lighting of the stage defines your face in a manner that sharpens your already defined features. with the slow movement of the lights, they catch the sparkles scattered around your revealed body. 

it almost drives him insane how breathtaking you are. 

almost. but he knows what this is. it’s your job to make him feel this way. he doesn’t want to say it’s in your nature to evoke these feelings but something in the back of his mind nags at him that it’s far too easy for you to kindle these feelings in any man. 

he’s confused. 

gojo has had more than his fair share of sexual encounters. and he means more than fair. but he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone of your caliber, and he’s only looking at your face. 

there's cheers, and an ‘oh yeah baby!’ shouted from the crowd. a few whistles are scattered around too. 

gojo can’t find it in himself to do the same. despite the incredible pull he currently feels towards you all he can do is lean forward from his seat, inching his way to the edge of it. all he can do is gape at you. 

the slow sensual tune of a song begins, and you spin around the pole. your moves are elegant, fluid, and slow. it’s like you’re floating. there’s a certain gentle yet precise form in which you move. 

almost that of a ballerina, he notes. he doesn’t know why, but it hurts to watch you up there. 

his eyes desperately try to remain staring into yours, but occasionally a strands of hair will settle on your face, shielding you from the audience. 

your eyes are glazed over. 

despite your obvious attractiveness, he feels far from aroused. 

you spin on the pole before descending onto the floor, you’re now laying on the floor. within gojo’s reach. but he has no desire to invade your space. you’re in your element. 

your back arches, like the invisible string tied to your heart has been pulled. seconds later you’re back on the pole, moving again. 

gojo’s completely entranced by you. sucked into your world, but he can’t envision what you’re seeing in your head. he can’t understand it. all he can see is a shell of you. 

when your performance finishes, he’s left with a tiny gaping hole in his heart. 

one he’d like to expand by getting to know you. 

even if it means coming here every night to see you.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 . join my tag list : ⟢ join my girlypop disc: link ‹𝟹

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©2025 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[bnpd]

im a vampire, roar 🧛‍♀️

[bnpd]

black swan

in which you were once a girl with dreams and aspirations, before it was swept right from under your feet.

"i love your eyes," he'd said before stealing the light right out of them. 

pairings: law-firm-ceo!gojo x ex-ballerina:pole dancer fem!reader warnings: heavy angst, sexual assault, hints of being video taped while under the influence. brief mentions of stalking, obsession, abuse of drugs, coercion (none of these things are done by gojo, this is NOT a dark gojo fic), ending is kind of a cliffhanger???, reader is kind of emotionless.

NOTEᝰ.ᐟ : writing this was </3, pls enjoy. ballerina pictures edited by me. please watch these tik toks for a visual of readers dancing (she does NOT look a certain way, imagine her as you please) pole dance 1 : pole dance 2 : pole dance 3 : pole dance 4 : pole dance 5 :

FIC PLAYLIST : ♬ˎˊ˗ : my masterlist : navigation

you used to be an ambitious young woman. your previous everyday life was defined by schedules and a plan that was expected to last you for as long as you would have wanted it to. as long as you kept working and pushing towards your goal, nothing could come between you.

at the age of 17 you got into a prestigious school of arts for ballet. you lived and breathed ballet. it was your everlasting passion. whatever happened in a dance studio was between you and your ambitious heart. 

your parents supported you through it all. they funded your practices and everything in-between–from attires to entrance fees for special events.

they were more than proud and excited for you when you shared with them the news of your acceptance. it was like their dream came true through you. your happiness was theirs. 

thankfully the university was not more than 2 hours away from home, so coming and going was as easy as filling in a coloring book. 

weekdays were spent in studios for dance, and regular sit-in classes for your core courses. not that it interested you in the slightest, but you excelled none-the-less. 

whereas weekends were split in between extra studio practices (saturdays) and at home (sundays). some days you had to stay on campus to participate in rehearsals for upcoming showcases, competitions or the events themselves. for these occasions your parents were happy to drive down there to see you. 

never missing the opportunity to see their darling girl.

you were an only child. it’s why your parents always spoiled you. they made sure nothing was missing in your life. it’s why they were behind you in every decision you made, making light of the good and bad.  

3 years as a student and you were at the peak of your dance career. you were constantly booked for the lead roles in ballet recitals, sought out for tips from the lower classmen, praised by your professors, acknowledged constantly by your peers, and offered countless opportunities to advance in your pursuit of your goal. 

it was possibly the happiest you could have been. 

unfortunately, good things don’t last. no matter how much you want them to, or fight against all forces to prolong them.

in your last year as a student, tragedy struck. you met a boy. a boy who would soon ruin everything you worked so hard for. 

a man, who at the snap of his fingers, could demolish every single step you’ve carved out for yourself. 

you met him on your way to class. he had dark black hair with white strands grazing the tips of it. chocolate brown eyes that reflected against the sun. he was tall, some could say handsome, and a charming yet unjarring smile. any girl would fall for him. 

just not you. to you, he was a distraction–an unsettling one at that. 

he had introduced himself to you as naoya zenin (bitchass naoya). a sweet name for the devil in disguise. he never failed to emphasize the last name: zenin. a remarkable yet well-known name. given that it was the same one as the president of the school. 

the declaration itself caused a nasty shiver to run down your spine at the mere thought of it. 

one thing lead to another and he continued to pursue you, in which you continued to politely decline. 

“i’m sorry but i’m not interested in a relationship right now. you’re a great guy, surely there are many girls interested in you.”

“yes, but they're not as great as you.”

it was then that you realized that he wasn’t necessarily interested in you. but rather what you brought to the table, which was ultimately, the status of a talented young woman at her peak. 

men like him want someone they can have around their arm. they want someone that’ll make them look good. someone to be there as an accessory to their greatness. 

unfortunately for you, naoya came to the conclusion that it had to be you. whether you liked it or not. 

no way in hell were you going to let this boy use you this way. so, you didn’t, but he offered an ultimatum. 

“alright then, why don’t we just become friends then?” you had to play it safe with a boy of his status.

you accepted. what was the harm in a friendship, you knew you wouldn’t have time to maintain it anyway. with how busy your schedule was, he’d get bored, lose interested, and leave you alone for good. 

but the zenin’s are insistent, and naoya was no different. 

always at your doorstop. constantly sending you messages, looking to hangout, begging to see you or know your schedule. anything that you knew, he wanted to know. 

so you would leave him on delivered, seen, or just completely decline his advances. 

if he wanted to be your friend, he had to know that this is how it was going to be. and that simply didn’t work for naoya. 

“come on. just one party, and we’ll leave it at that.” 

“fine, but im leaving at 10, i have a dance rehearsal tomorrow morning at 8”, after this you were going to put your foot down and let him go from your life, given that he’d brought nothing but distraction. 

“wonderful” was, sadly, the last thing you remember from that night. you woke up the next day, wearing clothes that weren’t yours, in a room that wasn’t yours, next to someone you most definitely recognized, and a camera pointed in the direction of your sleeping position. 

your heart was in your stomach. you remember the countless notifications on your phone, the one you found tossed haphazardly on the floor of the living room in the unfamiliar apartment. the way your hands trembled like an after effect of a drug that was yet to wear off.  

you quickly and anxiously looked for the remainder of your things. after gathering it all, you zoomed out of the apartment, praying that whatever you may have thought happened at the apartment didn’t. 

a buzz came from the back of your jean pocket, but you ignored it. desperately trying to get to where you needed to be: dance rehearsals. you tried to ignore the weird looks you received while on your way to the studio. 

after arriving, you dashed to the locker room, thankful to your past self for always being overly prepared, having had an extra pair of ballet shoes and practice clothes. 

quickly changing into the clothes you're quietly and quickly slipping into the dance studio, positioning yourself in the back. hoping your instructor does everything but notice your tardiness, but as the top student of the program, your presence goes anything but unnoticed. 

“miss LN,” your professor's voice echoed painfully across the studio and her tone made you stiff, “a word please.”

you felt about 20 sets of eyes turning to look at you. you follow behind your instructor, entering her office stationed beside the massive studio. 

you hear the door shut behind her, yet you remain rooted in your spot in front of her desk. 

“why are you here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. her eyes were nothing but deep pools of emotionless cobalt, and her dark red stained lips do nothing but give her a harsher look. 

you’re a little taken aback by her question, confused to say the least. “excuse me?” you chuckle awkwardly and nervously. 

“we had a dance rehearsal this morning at 8 for the upcoming showcase, didn't we?” you question. 

she purses her lips, “yes we did, but i am afraid that statement no longer includes you.” she says coldly.

you stare at her with wide shocked eyes. “by the look on your face i am quite certain you are not aware. i suggest you check your email.”

she rounds her desk once again, heading for the door, but halting her movements to get her last words in, “and by the time rehearsals are done, i want your locker cleared out, and your access key to the studio left on my desk.” 

the door slams shut behind her. the slam of the door echoes into the deafening silence.

you’re shaking in your seat. what the hell is going on?

remembering you left your phone in your locker—given that the only thing you’re allowed to bring inside the studio is a water bottle. you retrieve your cellphone, and unlock it. 

you tremble a little as you scroll through the endless amount of messages, until you settle on the email sent by the institution. 

Dear Ms. YN LN,

It is with deep regret that we inform you that after careful consideration we have decided to terminate your position as a student at our institution. Effective immediately. 

We also have to acquaint you with the reason for this decision. On May 24 of 2025, we received an anonymous tip accompanied by a link to an adult website. The link featured a public accessed video of you, in which you were identified, and another faceless individual engaging in less than appropriate behaviour. This video was reviewed by a university appointed council to verify your involvement. 

While we respect personal freedoms and the autonomy of our students outside of the classroom, participating in publicly available adult content, undermines the core values of our university.

A permanent notation reading “Dismissed for Conduct Violation” will be placed on your academic transcript. This status may impact future applications for admission, transfer, or professional certification.

We encourage you to take this time to reflect on the importance of personal accountability and the broader implications of public conduct.

Sincerely,

Naobito Zenin Dean of Students  Office of Student Conduct and Academic Integrity Shibuya School of Arts University

now, you’re 25 years old. existing in a bustling city with nothing worth living for. 

after you read the email, your entire world fell apart. you cleared out your things from your dorm and the locker room.

you didn't break the news to your parents. so, you pretended that you were still attending school. your plan was complete school in any way shape or form. but higher education comes with a price. an expensive one at that.

it was difficult. the video blew up and it completely shattered your reputation. not like it was your choice, considering that pieces of that night were foggy to non-existent.

however, things never stay hidden forever: your parents somehow found out about it. so you ran away. back then, you didn't think you could have faced your parents. you still don't think you could. you were a coward.

the only thing that plagued your mind was that the image of their picture perfect-talented daughter was completely tainted.

what would they think of you? how could you face them after everything that happened?

fearful that they'd somehow track you down, you left everything behind. took a bus to the next city over, and stayed with a dear friend of yours: utahime.

utahime worked at a nearby high school as a supervisor. she insisted on helping you find a job, but who would hire you? most definitely not a school.

the only thing you knew to do, was dance. so, you looked up strip clubs looking to hire pole dancers, and came across a decent ad online.

it’s sickening how fast anything can be swept away from beneath you, even as you stand on it. some are lucky to remain standing, while others fall straight on their ass–like you. 

you weren’t supposed to work tonight, but your boss called you, hoping that you’d perform a solo show tonight. he said he’d pay you double your regular pay. something about a big name in the crowd tonight. 

you couldn’t care less. you needed the money. 

you tuned out the rest of the call after the talk about the pay. it was an offer you simply could not refuse. 

even if it meant missing utahime’s monthly gathering dinner. you’d just have to explain to her when you arrived at the apartment later tonight. 

you fix your lip stick in the tiny mirror taped to the door of your locker, making sure it’s perfect. 

you swallow the lump in your throat when you remember how it felt to get ready before a rehearsal, your mom was always there to adjust your hair accessories, but now it’s just you. 

“geez angel, leave some for the rest of us will you?” your coworker beside you jokes. you have moved to adjusting the straps of your tight pink performance bra when she breaks you out of your melancholic day dream. 

angel. the stage name given to you after your audition for this job. something about the way you danced resembled that of a soft angelic ballerina. 

you still remember the way your face slightly dropped at the mention of it. 

you find nothing humorous in her statement, nor her implication. 

the locker room however, finds it quite enlightening, “yeah angel, always stealing all the clients”, the grip on your locker room briefly tightens in an attempt to ground yourself. i don’t mean to, you internalize. 

you’re far from proud about what you do, dancing on stage in front of men makes your skin crawl. it wasn't necessarily about dancing on a pole, but rather who you did it for.

their faces full of lust and dark fantasies make your stomach churn. the look on their faces shows you how their sick minds envision you. the way they’d jump on stage if given the chance.

despite it all, it’s about whatever keeps you dancing. regardless of the audience, this was the only way you could continue your passion. in some sick way, it was the last piece of yourself you could salvage.

your expressions stay neutral, staring blankly at the vacant inside of your locker room. a stark contrast to everyone elses. while they have pictures, sparkles or some sort of personal touch. yours is lifeless and empty. 

you’re starting to feel a little resemblance to it. 

you sigh and close your locker room, body glitter at hand. “sorry,” you mutter, not really knowing what else to say. 

glitter particles stick to your body as you spray it all over yourself. 

“angel you’re up next,” calls the stage manager. years ago, the words would have thrilled you, now they fill a void–a void you try to fill when you pretend you’re doing something else on stage. 

you tighten your mountain high heel straps and make your way over to the stage. 

you shut down your conscious when you take the first step of your heels lands on the stage.

the lights dim and your hand grips the pole. you shut your eyes, and pretend you’re somewhere else dancing ballet. 

a place where the music is something else, and your purpose belongs for your own pleasure. a place where no man could hurt you again. 

the music starts, and you dance. 

2 HOURS AGO

gojo feels sick to his stomach. it’s his 29th birthday and geto thought it was a bright idea to bring him to a strip club. 

“come on loosen up,” he says, patting him down. they’re both still in their expensively tailored work suits. fresh out of a boring birthday dinner with the higher ups. 

gojo shoves geto away, “how can i loosen up when we’re here?” he bites back, “at a fucking strip club,” he says in disgust. 

geto gives him a look, “hey”, he warns him with a level headed look, “don’t be such a dick, i know you’re just being an asshole because of how pent up you’ve been with work.” 

gojo stares at him with an unimpressed stare. any other day he’d be more than happy to just be anywhere in the city doing anything that wasn’t work related. 

however, the mountain of piled up work cases he has to look over sit—not only physically, but mentally—as a constant burden. 

he’s been needed at work more than usual. all thanks to his grandfather who had stepped down as the CEO of Gojo Law Co., and stood up as the chairman. he had handed down the business to gojo less than a month ago. 

with absolutely no heads up. anyone can imagine how stressed he is. 

thankfully, geto was promoted to president. 

given how powerful they were as a duo in the courtroom, one can only imagine how great they’d do managing an entire firm.

geto sighs before looking at gojo, “listen i get it, you want to live up to his standards, but you can’t do it with a stick up your ass. so stop moping around and try and get your dick wet once in a while. you didn’t seem to have a problem doing it in college.”

he slings his arm around gojo’s shoulders and drags him into the strip club. 

thankfully, gojo doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

-

a whiff of cigarettes hits gojo’s sensitive nose immediately. 

the place seems well kept, better than most he’s seen in the past. security seems tight and well established, given the big bulky men stationed in different parts of the club. the music is loud and the lights are dimmed down, and different colors dim in and out. 

it’s quite a massive place. it’s spacious now but he knows that during rush hour it’s incredibly packed. he can tell that whatever they have going here, sells well and is provided on an expensive silver platter.  

there’s women walking around in tight revealing waitress costumes, holding bottles or serving platters with perfectly decorated beverages. their walks are elegant as they stride in their towering high heels. 

their smiles are bright, and certain. one could mistake them for genuine happiness. 

there’s small table dancing poles scattered around the place accompanied by comfortable booths surrounding them, but what captures his attention the most is the empty massive stage positioned towards the far end of the club covered by heavy curtains. 

the lights are completely turned off for that section of the club, but the timer displaced at the top of the curtains gives him something to anticipate. a timer that piques his interest.

he nudges geto in the midst of their journey to the bar. he tilts his chin in the direction of the stage, "what's that?” he makes an educated guess that it’s why his best friend brought him here in the first place. 

geto looks over to the direction he gestured to, and grins, “that,” he points, “is the countdown for the main event tonight. it’s actually why i brought you here.” he confessed, confirming gojo’s initial suspicion. 

gojo continues to stare at the stage. before geto interrupts him with a gentle shove towards the bar. 

two drinks in hand later, they slither their way through the crowd and to the front row. where their vip section awaits them. 

geto nods at the security surrounding their booth, and they move to create a path in the direction of their seats. 

once they’re seated and comfortable the lights dim further, leaving the club almost pitch black. aside from the lights directly above the stage. almost like it’s putting whoever will dance in their own bubble. 

gojo watches intently as the curtains open, and there stands a woman. 

you grip the pole, but your eyes remain gently shut. your pose is enticing, the music is yet to start, but you’re already setting the tone. 

gojo's mouth gapes open a tiny bit when your head rolls back, and the hair previously covering you exposes your neck. 

when your head returns forward again your eyes are open, but they hold an unreadable emotion, almost as if you were on autopilot. 

you’re nothing short of stunning. a woman with a face like yours could entice anyone. gojo was no exception. 

gojo studies you intently. from the clothes you wear, to the look on your face. the transparent slip on dress makes you look like a model on the cover of a lingerie magazine. beneath it you wear lingerie. 

the lighting of the stage defines your face in a manner that sharpens your already defined features. with the slow movement of the lights, they catch the sparkles scattered around your revealed body. 

it almost drives him insane how breathtaking you are. 

almost. but he knows what this is. it’s your job to make him feel this way. he doesn’t want to say it’s in your nature to evoke these feelings but something in the back of his mind nags at him that it’s far too easy for you to kindle these feelings in any man. 

he’s confused. 

gojo has had more than his fair share of sexual encounters. and he means more than fair. but he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone of your caliber, and he’s only looking at your face. 

there's cheers, and an ‘oh yeah baby!’ shouted from the crowd. a few whistles are scattered around too. 

gojo can’t find it in himself to do the same. despite the incredible pull he currently feels towards you all he can do is lean forward from his seat, inching his way to the edge of it. all he can do is gape at you. 

the slow sensual tune of a song begins, and you spin around the pole. your moves are elegant, fluid, and slow. it’s like you’re floating. there’s a certain gentle yet precise form in which you move. 

almost that of a ballerina, he notes. he doesn’t know why, but it hurts to watch you up there. 

his eyes desperately try to remain staring into yours, but occasionally a strands of hair will settle on your face, shielding you from the audience. 

your eyes are glazed over. 

despite your obvious attractiveness, he feels far from aroused. 

you spin on the pole before descending onto the floor, you’re now laying on the floor. within gojo’s reach. but he has no desire to invade your space. you’re in your element. 

your back arches, like the invisible string tied to your heart has been pulled. seconds later you’re back on the pole, moving again. 

gojo’s completely entranced by you. sucked into your world, but he can’t envision what you’re seeing in your head. he can’t understand it. all he can see is a shell of you. 

when your performance finishes, he’s left with a tiny gaping hole in his heart. 

one he’d like to expand by getting to know you. 

even if it means coming here every night to see you.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 . join my tag list : ⟢ join my girlypop disc: link ‹𝟹

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©2025 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[meowforluv]

oh this got me sobbing a lil🥲

[bnpd]

AHHH TYSM FOR READINGGG

[bnpd]

black swan

in which you were once a girl with dreams and aspirations, before it was swept right from under your feet.

"i love your eyes," he'd said before stealing the light right out of them. 

pairings: law-firm-ceo!gojo x ex-ballerina:pole dancer fem!reader warnings: heavy angst, sexual assault, hints of being video taped while under the influence. brief mentions of stalking, obsession, abuse of drugs, coercion (none of these things are done by gojo, this is NOT a dark gojo fic), ending is kind of a cliffhanger???, reader is kind of emotionless.

NOTEᝰ.ᐟ : writing this was </3, pls enjoy. ballerina pictures edited by me. please watch these tik toks for a visual of readers dancing (she does NOT look a certain way, imagine her as you please) pole dance 1 : pole dance 2 : pole dance 3 : pole dance 4 : pole dance 5 :

FIC PLAYLIST : ♬ˎˊ˗ : my masterlist : navigation

you used to be an ambitious young woman. your previous everyday life was defined by schedules and a plan that was expected to last you for as long as you would have wanted it to. as long as you kept working and pushing towards your goal, nothing could come between you.

at the age of 17 you got into a prestigious school of arts for ballet. you lived and breathed ballet. it was your everlasting passion. whatever happened in a dance studio was between you and your ambitious heart. 

your parents supported you through it all. they funded your practices and everything in-between–from attires to entrance fees for special events.

they were more than proud and excited for you when you shared with them the news of your acceptance. it was like their dream came true through you. your happiness was theirs. 

thankfully the university was not more than 2 hours away from home, so coming and going was as easy as filling in a coloring book. 

weekdays were spent in studios for dance, and regular sit-in classes for your core courses. not that it interested you in the slightest, but you excelled none-the-less. 

whereas weekends were split in between extra studio practices (saturdays) and at home (sundays). some days you had to stay on campus to participate in rehearsals for upcoming showcases, competitions or the events themselves. for these occasions your parents were happy to drive down there to see you. 

never missing the opportunity to see their darling girl.

you were an only child. it’s why your parents always spoiled you. they made sure nothing was missing in your life. it’s why they were behind you in every decision you made, making light of the good and bad.  

3 years as a student and you were at the peak of your dance career. you were constantly booked for the lead roles in ballet recitals, sought out for tips from the lower classmen, praised by your professors, acknowledged constantly by your peers, and offered countless opportunities to advance in your pursuit of your goal. 

it was possibly the happiest you could have been. 

unfortunately, good things don’t last. no matter how much you want them to, or fight against all forces to prolong them.

in your last year as a student, tragedy struck. you met a boy. a boy who would soon ruin everything you worked so hard for. 

a man, who at the snap of his fingers, could demolish every single step you’ve carved out for yourself. 

you met him on your way to class. he had dark black hair with white strands grazing the tips of it. chocolate brown eyes that reflected against the sun. he was tall, some could say handsome, and a charming yet unjarring smile. any girl would fall for him. 

just not you. to you, he was a distraction–an unsettling one at that. 

he had introduced himself to you as naoya zenin (bitchass naoya). a sweet name for the devil in disguise. he never failed to emphasize the last name: zenin. a remarkable yet well-known name. given that it was the same one as the president of the school. 

the declaration itself caused a nasty shiver to run down your spine at the mere thought of it. 

one thing lead to another and he continued to pursue you, in which you continued to politely decline. 

“i’m sorry but i’m not interested in a relationship right now. you’re a great guy, surely there are many girls interested in you.”

“yes, but they're not as great as you.”

it was then that you realized that he wasn’t necessarily interested in you. but rather what you brought to the table, which was ultimately, the status of a talented young woman at her peak. 

men like him want someone they can have around their arm. they want someone that’ll make them look good. someone to be there as an accessory to their greatness. 

unfortunately for you, naoya came to the conclusion that it had to be you. whether you liked it or not. 

no way in hell were you going to let this boy use you this way. so, you didn’t, but he offered an ultimatum. 

“alright then, why don’t we just become friends then?” you had to play it safe with a boy of his status.

you accepted. what was the harm in a friendship, you knew you wouldn’t have time to maintain it anyway. with how busy your schedule was, he’d get bored, lose interested, and leave you alone for good. 

but the zenin’s are insistent, and naoya was no different. 

always at your doorstop. constantly sending you messages, looking to hangout, begging to see you or know your schedule. anything that you knew, he wanted to know. 

so you would leave him on delivered, seen, or just completely decline his advances. 

if he wanted to be your friend, he had to know that this is how it was going to be. and that simply didn’t work for naoya. 

“come on. just one party, and we’ll leave it at that.” 

“fine, but im leaving at 10, i have a dance rehearsal tomorrow morning at 8”, after this you were going to put your foot down and let him go from your life, given that he’d brought nothing but distraction. 

“wonderful” was, sadly, the last thing you remember from that night. you woke up the next day, wearing clothes that weren’t yours, in a room that wasn’t yours, next to someone you most definitely recognized, and a camera pointed in the direction of your sleeping position. 

your heart was in your stomach. you remember the countless notifications on your phone, the one you found tossed haphazardly on the floor of the living room in the unfamiliar apartment. the way your hands trembled like an after effect of a drug that was yet to wear off.  

you quickly and anxiously looked for the remainder of your things. after gathering it all, you zoomed out of the apartment, praying that whatever you may have thought happened at the apartment didn’t. 

a buzz came from the back of your jean pocket, but you ignored it. desperately trying to get to where you needed to be: dance rehearsals. you tried to ignore the weird looks you received while on your way to the studio. 

after arriving, you dashed to the locker room, thankful to your past self for always being overly prepared, having had an extra pair of ballet shoes and practice clothes. 

quickly changing into the clothes you're quietly and quickly slipping into the dance studio, positioning yourself in the back. hoping your instructor does everything but notice your tardiness, but as the top student of the program, your presence goes anything but unnoticed. 

“miss LN,” your professor's voice echoed painfully across the studio and her tone made you stiff, “a word please.”

you felt about 20 sets of eyes turning to look at you. you follow behind your instructor, entering her office stationed beside the massive studio. 

you hear the door shut behind her, yet you remain rooted in your spot in front of her desk. 

“why are you here?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. her eyes were nothing but deep pools of emotionless cobalt, and her dark red stained lips do nothing but give her a harsher look. 

you’re a little taken aback by her question, confused to say the least. “excuse me?” you chuckle awkwardly and nervously. 

“we had a dance rehearsal this morning at 8 for the upcoming showcase, didn't we?” you question. 

she purses her lips, “yes we did, but i am afraid that statement no longer includes you.” she says coldly.

you stare at her with wide shocked eyes. “by the look on your face i am quite certain you are not aware. i suggest you check your email.”

she rounds her desk once again, heading for the door, but halting her movements to get her last words in, “and by the time rehearsals are done, i want your locker cleared out, and your access key to the studio left on my desk.” 

the door slams shut behind her. the slam of the door echoes into the deafening silence.

you’re shaking in your seat. what the hell is going on?

remembering you left your phone in your locker—given that the only thing you’re allowed to bring inside the studio is a water bottle. you retrieve your cellphone, and unlock it. 

you tremble a little as you scroll through the endless amount of messages, until you settle on the email sent by the institution. 

Dear Ms. YN LN,

It is with deep regret that we inform you that after careful consideration we have decided to terminate your position as a student at our institution. Effective immediately. 

We also have to acquaint you with the reason for this decision. On May 24 of 2025, we received an anonymous tip accompanied by a link to an adult website. The link featured a public accessed video of you, in which you were identified, and another faceless individual engaging in less than appropriate behaviour. This video was reviewed by a university appointed council to verify your involvement. 

While we respect personal freedoms and the autonomy of our students outside of the classroom, participating in publicly available adult content, undermines the core values of our university.

A permanent notation reading “Dismissed for Conduct Violation” will be placed on your academic transcript. This status may impact future applications for admission, transfer, or professional certification.

We encourage you to take this time to reflect on the importance of personal accountability and the broader implications of public conduct.

Sincerely,

Naobito Zenin Dean of Students  Office of Student Conduct and Academic Integrity Shibuya School of Arts University

now, you’re 25 years old. existing in a bustling city with nothing worth living for. 

after you read the email, your entire world fell apart. you cleared out your things from your dorm and the locker room.

you didn't break the news to your parents. so, you pretended that you were still attending school. your plan was complete school in any way shape or form. but higher education comes with a price. an expensive one at that.

it was difficult. the video blew up and it completely shattered your reputation. not like it was your choice, considering that pieces of that night were foggy to non-existent.

however, things never stay hidden forever: your parents somehow found out about it. so you ran away. back then, you didn't think you could have faced your parents. you still don't think you could. you were a coward.

the only thing that plagued your mind was that the image of their picture perfect-talented daughter was completely tainted.

what would they think of you? how could you face them after everything that happened?

fearful that they'd somehow track you down, you left everything behind. took a bus to the next city over, and stayed with a dear friend of yours: utahime.

utahime worked at a nearby high school as a supervisor. she insisted on helping you find a job, but who would hire you? most definitely not a school.

the only thing you knew to do, was dance. so, you looked up strip clubs looking to hire pole dancers, and came across a decent ad online.

it’s sickening how fast anything can be swept away from beneath you, even as you stand on it. some are lucky to remain standing, while others fall straight on their ass–like you. 

you weren’t supposed to work tonight, but your boss called you, hoping that you’d perform a solo show tonight. he said he’d pay you double your regular pay. something about a big name in the crowd tonight. 

you couldn’t care less. you needed the money. 

you tuned out the rest of the call after the talk about the pay. it was an offer you simply could not refuse. 

even if it meant missing utahime’s monthly gathering dinner. you’d just have to explain to her when you arrived at the apartment later tonight. 

you fix your lip stick in the tiny mirror taped to the door of your locker, making sure it’s perfect. 

you swallow the lump in your throat when you remember how it felt to get ready before a rehearsal, your mom was always there to adjust your hair accessories, but now it’s just you. 

“geez angel, leave some for the rest of us will you?” your coworker beside you jokes. you have moved to adjusting the straps of your tight pink performance bra when she breaks you out of your melancholic day dream. 

angel. the stage name given to you after your audition for this job. something about the way you danced resembled that of a soft angelic ballerina. 

you still remember the way your face slightly dropped at the mention of it. 

you find nothing humorous in her statement, nor her implication. 

the locker room however, finds it quite enlightening, “yeah angel, always stealing all the clients”, the grip on your locker room briefly tightens in an attempt to ground yourself. i don’t mean to, you internalize. 

you’re far from proud about what you do, dancing on stage in front of men makes your skin crawl. it wasn't necessarily about dancing on a pole, but rather who you did it for.

their faces full of lust and dark fantasies make your stomach churn. the look on their faces shows you how their sick minds envision you. the way they’d jump on stage if given the chance.

despite it all, it’s about whatever keeps you dancing. regardless of the audience, this was the only way you could continue your passion. in some sick way, it was the last piece of yourself you could salvage.

your expressions stay neutral, staring blankly at the vacant inside of your locker room. a stark contrast to everyone elses. while they have pictures, sparkles or some sort of personal touch. yours is lifeless and empty. 

you’re starting to feel a little resemblance to it. 

you sigh and close your locker room, body glitter at hand. “sorry,” you mutter, not really knowing what else to say. 

glitter particles stick to your body as you spray it all over yourself. 

“angel you’re up next,” calls the stage manager. years ago, the words would have thrilled you, now they fill a void–a void you try to fill when you pretend you’re doing something else on stage. 

you tighten your mountain high heel straps and make your way over to the stage. 

you shut down your conscious when you take the first step of your heels lands on the stage.

the lights dim and your hand grips the pole. you shut your eyes, and pretend you’re somewhere else dancing ballet. 

a place where the music is something else, and your purpose belongs for your own pleasure. a place where no man could hurt you again. 

the music starts, and you dance. 

2 HOURS AGO

gojo feels sick to his stomach. it’s his 29th birthday and geto thought it was a bright idea to bring him to a strip club. 

“come on loosen up,” he says, patting him down. they’re both still in their expensively tailored work suits. fresh out of a boring birthday dinner with the higher ups. 

gojo shoves geto away, “how can i loosen up when we’re here?” he bites back, “at a fucking strip club,” he says in disgust. 

geto gives him a look, “hey”, he warns him with a level headed look, “don’t be such a dick, i know you’re just being an asshole because of how pent up you’ve been with work.” 

gojo stares at him with an unimpressed stare. any other day he’d be more than happy to just be anywhere in the city doing anything that wasn’t work related. 

however, the mountain of piled up work cases he has to look over sit—not only physically, but mentally—as a constant burden. 

he’s been needed at work more than usual. all thanks to his grandfather who had stepped down as the CEO of Gojo Law Co., and stood up as the chairman. he had handed down the business to gojo less than a month ago. 

with absolutely no heads up. anyone can imagine how stressed he is. 

thankfully, geto was promoted to president. 

given how powerful they were as a duo in the courtroom, one can only imagine how great they’d do managing an entire firm.

geto sighs before looking at gojo, “listen i get it, you want to live up to his standards, but you can’t do it with a stick up your ass. so stop moping around and try and get your dick wet once in a while. you didn’t seem to have a problem doing it in college.”

he slings his arm around gojo’s shoulders and drags him into the strip club. 

thankfully, gojo doesn’t put up much of a fight. 

-

a whiff of cigarettes hits gojo’s sensitive nose immediately. 

the place seems well kept, better than most he’s seen in the past. security seems tight and well established, given the big bulky men stationed in different parts of the club. the music is loud and the lights are dimmed down, and different colors dim in and out. 

it’s quite a massive place. it’s spacious now but he knows that during rush hour it’s incredibly packed. he can tell that whatever they have going here, sells well and is provided on an expensive silver platter.  

there’s women walking around in tight revealing waitress costumes, holding bottles or serving platters with perfectly decorated beverages. their walks are elegant as they stride in their towering high heels. 

their smiles are bright, and certain. one could mistake them for genuine happiness. 

there’s small table dancing poles scattered around the place accompanied by comfortable booths surrounding them, but what captures his attention the most is the empty massive stage positioned towards the far end of the club covered by heavy curtains. 

the lights are completely turned off for that section of the club, but the timer displaced at the top of the curtains gives him something to anticipate. a timer that piques his interest.

he nudges geto in the midst of their journey to the bar. he tilts his chin in the direction of the stage, "what's that?” he makes an educated guess that it’s why his best friend brought him here in the first place. 

geto looks over to the direction he gestured to, and grins, “that,” he points, “is the countdown for the main event tonight. it’s actually why i brought you here.” he confessed, confirming gojo’s initial suspicion. 

gojo continues to stare at the stage. before geto interrupts him with a gentle shove towards the bar. 

two drinks in hand later, they slither their way through the crowd and to the front row. where their vip section awaits them. 

geto nods at the security surrounding their booth, and they move to create a path in the direction of their seats. 

once they’re seated and comfortable the lights dim further, leaving the club almost pitch black. aside from the lights directly above the stage. almost like it’s putting whoever will dance in their own bubble. 

gojo watches intently as the curtains open, and there stands a woman. 

you grip the pole, but your eyes remain gently shut. your pose is enticing, the music is yet to start, but you’re already setting the tone. 

gojo's mouth gapes open a tiny bit when your head rolls back, and the hair previously covering you exposes your neck. 

when your head returns forward again your eyes are open, but they hold an unreadable emotion, almost as if you were on autopilot. 

you’re nothing short of stunning. a woman with a face like yours could entice anyone. gojo was no exception. 

gojo studies you intently. from the clothes you wear, to the look on your face. the transparent slip on dress makes you look like a model on the cover of a lingerie magazine. beneath it you wear lingerie. 

the lighting of the stage defines your face in a manner that sharpens your already defined features. with the slow movement of the lights, they catch the sparkles scattered around your revealed body. 

it almost drives him insane how breathtaking you are. 

almost. but he knows what this is. it’s your job to make him feel this way. he doesn’t want to say it’s in your nature to evoke these feelings but something in the back of his mind nags at him that it’s far too easy for you to kindle these feelings in any man. 

he’s confused. 

gojo has had more than his fair share of sexual encounters. and he means more than fair. but he doesn’t think he’s seen anyone of your caliber, and he’s only looking at your face. 

there's cheers, and an ‘oh yeah baby!’ shouted from the crowd. a few whistles are scattered around too. 

gojo can’t find it in himself to do the same. despite the incredible pull he currently feels towards you all he can do is lean forward from his seat, inching his way to the edge of it. all he can do is gape at you. 

the slow sensual tune of a song begins, and you spin around the pole. your moves are elegant, fluid, and slow. it’s like you’re floating. there’s a certain gentle yet precise form in which you move. 

almost that of a ballerina, he notes. he doesn’t know why, but it hurts to watch you up there. 

his eyes desperately try to remain staring into yours, but occasionally a strands of hair will settle on your face, shielding you from the audience. 

your eyes are glazed over. 

despite your obvious attractiveness, he feels far from aroused. 

you spin on the pole before descending onto the floor, you’re now laying on the floor. within gojo’s reach. but he has no desire to invade your space. you’re in your element. 

your back arches, like the invisible string tied to your heart has been pulled. seconds later you’re back on the pole, moving again. 

gojo’s completely entranced by you. sucked into your world, but he can’t envision what you’re seeing in your head. he can’t understand it. all he can see is a shell of you. 

when your performance finishes, he’s left with a tiny gaping hole in his heart. 

one he’d like to expand by getting to know you. 

even if it means coming here every night to see you.

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 . join my tag list : ⟢ join my girlypop disc: link ‹𝟹

TAGLIST : @luvwithau : @sugacor3 : @bloopsstuff : @fushitoru : @serenityfauna : @luna-v-roiya : @rjswrld : @fartm : @bammbi-jeon127 : @gojoslefttoenail : @laviefantasie : @red-viewe : @danakul : @xchannelorange : @honoredalone : @plutosgold : @jotarohat : @shadowytiger : @um-no-ok : @lavender-hvze : @nvmlolo : @rintcrous : @jaelahh-blog-blog : @fuckerenyaeger : @bigbodiezz : @simp-plague : @lialia3945 : @gojostit : @fangirlingoverfanfic : @deluluforcarlos55 : @manyno : @bammbi-jeon127 : @kurookinnie : @meowforluv : @bontensbarbie : @ravenqueennn : @elainananana123 : @riachan94 : @floquis : @momoewn : @Francess-world : @satorusbunnyy :

©2025 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[bnpd]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE POST THE SECOND PART OF THE HEART WANTS IT WANTS ITS LITERALLY SO GOOD 🥺🥺🥺🥺

HEY DIV YAS I AM WORKING ON IT!! it's about 5 pages long at the moment, and should be posted sometime this week!! if not earlier

[bnpd]

my nerd gojo sim is very dear to me

i will def change him later because i just made him !!

[bnpd]

❛❛ NERD-JO .ᐟ >ᴗ< ❜❜ :

SYNOPSIS: you're a new transfer at a big prestigious private university. what happens when the first friend you make is a cute nerd? will you get your chance to start fresh? or will your newfound 'friendship' bring you unwanted drama in the future.

DRABBLE WRD COUNT: 2.6K pairings: rich nerd!deans nephew gojo x reader tags: cute nerd gojo, reader is kind of mysterious, gojo makes me chuckle here. NOT PROOFREAD (sorry) ill come back and remove some grammatical errors. this might be cheeks fr

NOTEᝰ.ᐟ : im late to the nerd gojo party </3 but please enjoy! please do not steal my little nerdjo pngs just because they have my 'bnpd' if you want the individual png pls just shoot me a text :) lmk if there are any issues, so i can fix them !!

a tall man sits in the far back of the lecture hall. figure hunched over the desk as he scribbles away intensely in his journal. 30 minutes earlier than the usual start of the lecture. 

the glasses that sit delicately on his nose bridge slide down every once in a while. his white ruffled hair stays still as he shuffles in his seat to adjust his posture. 

many are intimidated by his silent and blank stare. everyone but students in his science club feel that way. he’s quite the chatterbox contrary to popular belief. ask him about his favorite physics theories and he’s chatting your ear off.

he doesn’t go to parties, but invite him to a museum or a bookstore? he’s already in the car.

he’s quite polished. gojo can be one of those pretentious nerds, but he doesn’t mean to! he has lived a privileged life and acts like any other rich college student would. 

comes from a wealthy family and doesn't hide it, but he also doesn't run around telling everyone.

it might seem like he dresses like a regular guy but his clothes are still expensive. you'll occasionally find him wearing a sweater vest and button up tucked into his well-tailored pants altered to fit his long legs on formal days when he has a research symposium presentation or a meeting with the steam department about improving certain aspects he finds are not up to his standards.

most of the time, he’ll wear comfortable clothes. wears glasses, cliche, but he wears them more out of practical appeal and necessity. 

his eyes are sensitive due to a medical condition he has. so, the glasses he wears are tailored to prevent his eyes from straining. his parents urge him to wear the endless supply of contacts he has but he’s quite comfortable with his glasses. 

every pair of glasses he owns has his initials engraved on the temples, whether it’s gold or silver. whatever matches the aesthetic of the pair of glasses.

when he was younger. his parents would fund his personal ‘academic’ projects. he’d be busy every summer at a science or math camp. if they sent him to a summer camp that wasn't academically related; at camp you’d find him reading far away from everyone else. whether in front of a lake or a quiet little place in the woods. 

now? he’s still the same. just bigger. doesn’t go to summer camp but definitely stacks up his summer with internships or side projects. on top of that, he’ll spend time volunteering at local schools, teaching students in high school or middle school.

very good with kids, and more patient with them than he would be with his uni study partners. 

donates whatever money he earns at internships to local communities to aid students in pursuing their education. he strongly believes that if he can pursue education freely, so should everyone else.

his timer goes off quietly and he stops scribbling down his memorized equations. he huffs out a breath of relief yet frustration. 

 i’m still missing one… he thinks to himself. if anyone with an outside perspective were to see him they’d imagine gears turning inside of his head.

he flips the page, resets his timer, and starts again.

time passes and he realizes class has now begun. he was so caught up studying, he failed to realize that the class is now packed with other students. a few scattered seats remain vacant. 

the professor enters the class and silently unpacks her bag before greeting the class and breaking the silence, “let’s have a great semester.” she wastes no time diving into the lecture. 

gojo, contrary to popular belief, sits in the middle section of the lecture hall. he’s not fond of the back because for starters, he’s easily distracted and he can’t hear from all the way back there. the middle is just right.

he’s kind of a loner, by choice. he's just always being productive on campus.

you’ll often see him sitting alone, busying himself with his studies unless he has a meeting with his club about an upcoming math or science competition. if it’s not the season of academic olympiads, he’s alone. 

he only has two close friends: geto and shoko. geto majors in psychology. shoko is, of course, pursuing her dream of being a doctor. she’s a biology major undergoing the pre-med track. 

gojo has yet to have a girlfriend in college.

not because he can’t find someone interested in him, absolutely not. he’s handsome, intelligent, quiet, kind, and rich. he's the most sought after bachelor on campus. with his brains and looks, he's every girls wet dream.

unfortunately for him, women are always hitting on him but quite frankly, he’s not interested. or sometimes he doesn’t catch on to the fact that a woman is subtly flirting with him. 

not because he’s dense, but how would he find something he’s not even looking for?

like right now, when you gently plop down on the seat next to him. you’re quite fond of sitting in the front but the lecture hall was overwhelmingly full. there were other open seats but he looked to be the most productive and you needed that.

you were a transfer. which is odd to be one this late into college, given that you’re a senior trying to complete your last year. 

the university is a pretty big private school so no one notices new transfers nor do they care. but within them, are those who do. 

like gojo. 

he doesn’t realize you’ve sat next to him until the end of the lecture. given that he was too busy scribbling away in his journal. 

one thing about gojo is that he likes to leave when everyone is already gone and the professor is free to approach. he’s a tiny bit surprised to see it seems you think the same. but for reasons he’s not aware of, you’re there for a reason other than academics. 

he silently observes you as you approach the professor. his eyebrows raise a bit when you share a hug and it has him adjusting his glasses to make sure he’s seeing things correctly. 

interesting

you continue to sit next to him in the following weeks, seeing him twice a week on tuesdays and thursdays. you began to find yourself looking forward to it. you get to sit next to a tall dorky handsome stranger? you’ll be getting perfect attendance. 

you rarely catch a glance of him outside of class, but every time you do he is so focused. 

the more you studied him while he studied something else, the more you realized how attractive he was. even if you knew that prior to your silent observations.

from the outfits you could tell he spent some time on in the morning—you assumed he woke up earlier than everyone else, to the way his obsession with organization—you took note of when he set his things down for class and neatly organized his pens, pencils and journal for notes.  

don’t be mistaken though. one tiny peek at his journal was enough to see that despite his need to tidy things on the outside…his notes were written haphazardly and quick. notes are a reflection of your mind, and if you’re constantly thinking then your notes will be a reflection of that.

you had also come to the conclusion that he was a man that was yet to become aware of his height. he moved around like he didn’t know how much of a walking tank he was. you hoped he never found out.

the best thing about him wasn’t any of the things you listed, but it was a few of the habits he had. 

everything he owned was personalized. from the pencils he used, to his backpack. you made that discovery when you forgot your pencil pouch in the library.

it took you a total of 2 minutes to gather the courage to turn to the mysterious man beside you, and ask him for a pencil. 

“excuse me,” you said gently, “im sorry, but can i bother you for a pencil? im so sorry.” 

he stared at you and you thought he would explode you with his bright blue snow glazed eyes. 

he cracked a tiny toothless smile and you figuratively crossed your fingers, hoping he wasn’t silently judging you or worse—came to the conclusion that were unprepared and incompetent. 

you watched him intently as he reached to grab his backpack, taking in the way the black expensive leather had his initials engraved in the bottom corner. he reached his hand into his backpack and pulled out–what looked to be the most elegant, technologically advanced sleek black mechanical pencil.

“don’t worry about giving it back,” he says politely but then he goes for the blow “i know you might need it in the future.” with a hint of pretentiousness. oh!

“well… thank you,” you say a bit taken back as you reluctantly take the pencil from his extended hand. your face falls a little at his response and you deflate a little in your chair.

did he think you were…poor? god forbid a girl asks for a pencil. you’d, unfortunately, been perceived. and in the worst way possible. he probably thinks you’re irresponsible, and an idiot!

you look at the pencil and realize that–of course–he has his initials engraved in his mechanical pencils too. 

g.s.

you bite back a smile that might give away how endearing you found it. that is so cute.

he has his initials on almost everything. you try not to crack a smile at how adorable yet endearing that is. 

unfortunately, you couldn’t really put the pencil to good use because he kept fidgeting in his seat the entire class. it distracted and worried you at the same time. which was odd because he never did that. 

is he upset that he had to give you one of his spare pencils? will he ask for it back? 

as you were packing your bags to leave, you felt him heavily staring at you. it makes you pause your movement and then turn to him, and sure enough, he was looking at you. you a tiny sigh leaves your lips. 

“yes? is this about your pencil? because i have my own i just needed–”

“im sorry.” he interrupts you and it shuts you up immediately. 

what?

he might have seen the confusion in your eyes. “about what i said about the pencil, i didn’t mean for it to come off that way. i was just saying because i have a lot of them so it wouldn’t have made a difference. and i was guessing maybe you didn’t. wait–no. i meant like if you didn’t–.not that i think you can’t get your own pencils or anything like that because i am super sure you can. but if you need it you can keep it. not that you need it right? because everyone needs a pencil. like one time i–”

you stare at him as he rambles on. you’re completely endeared with the way he doesn’t look you in the eyes and the way his hands move around to prove his point. 

he huffs out a breath of frustration. you on the other hand huff out a breath of amusement and the stranger before you finally moves to look at you.

“it’s okay.” you dismiss his worries, standing their idly as you mirror his movements. 

“i just thought i might have inconvenienced you by asking,” you tell him honestly, you grab your computer and gently store it away in your backpack as you continue your conversation, “im usually prepared, but i accidentally left my pencil bag in the library this morning.”

he gives you a tiny affirmative nod, taking in your words. he swings his backpack over his shoulder, and loops both arms into their respective loops, wearing the backpack on both shoulders. 

cute.

there's an awkward silence that follows you both before the door slams shut and you realize then that the professor has now walked out. 

the stranger huffs out a small awkward laugh, “you didn’t–by the way,” he speaks then, “inconvenience me, I mean”, he clarifies. now it’s your turn to nod at him. 

this is so awkward, it almost makes you laugh. 

he breaks the silence again, “im satoru gojo, by the way.” he politely introduces himself by extending his hand in a respectful manner.

you extend yours in return, shaking his hand before sharing your name with him as well. 

“i have time to kill,” he offers, “why don’t we take a walk around campus before then? the weather is great.”

after your shared walk with gojo you learned a lot about him. 

he recently discovered his interest in kpop after his friend, shoko, played a song during a shared car ride. 

he’s a senior, like you, studying engineering and double minoring in business and mathematics. he originally wanted to minor in physics but he said his father urged him to do business instead. he had to compromise.

that doesn’t stop him from taking physics courses out of pure enjoyment though, exceeding the 18 credit limit. 

he’s also an on-campus tutor and does a work study job at the library. the old librarian on campus loves him and appreciates his extensive knowledge on literature and figured that if he spent all his time there already, might as well let him get paid for him. 

when she approached him, his ears turned a light shade of pink and you could just imagine gojo pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose before they slipped as he hurried to apologize. 

she waved him off and urged him to just work there already. gojo then started working with them a week later after financial aid finalized the paperwork. he remembers the look of the financial aid lady when she looked at his file and saw that he was beyond in need of financial aid. 

all she did was raise and eyebrow but clicked away. thankfully, gojo managed to get the work-study payments signed off as a form of volunteering hours rather than an extra below minimum wage salary.

he didn’t share with you the last part about his tiny altercation with financial aid though. he assumed you had no idea who he was. and you hoped to keep it that way. 

you in turn shared with him that you were transferred from another school. he already knew that (he paid a visit to the dean but he’ll never tell you that, given that the dean is his uncle afterall) he didn't know why. so, he asked.

“i transferred because there were some personal issues there and now i just want to start fresh.”

gojo raises a questioning eyebrow, but decides to respect your privacy. he hopes one day you’ll trust him enough to tell him. 

the rest of the chat was quite delightful. you were about to invite him to the cute nearby cafe you saw on your way to school, but before you could muster up the courage. 

a chime was heard from gojos pants pocket. he excused himself to check his phone. you stood there idly as he let out a tiny groan of frustration. 

“im sorry–” he apologized again. the look of pure regret made your lip quirk up again. he was so cute and polite.

“i hate to cut our…trip—short but it kind of slipped my mind that i scheduled a study group with a class i T.A. for.”

you wave him off, “it’s okay!” you reassure him with an upbeat tone in your voice, “we share a class so i’ll see you around.”

he bids you a quick goodbye and you watch his retreating figure. you sigh and head to the opposite direction. 

this semester will be exciting. 

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 . join my tag list : ⟢

TAGLIST : @luvwithau : @sugacor3 : @bloopsstuff : @fushitoru : @serenityfauna : @luna-v-roiya : @rjswrld : @fartm : @bammbi-jeon127 : @gojoslefttoenail : @laviefantasie : @red-viewe : @danakul : @xchannelorange : @honoredalone : @plutosgold : @jotarohat : @shadowytiger : @um-no-ok : @lavender-hvze : @nvmlolo : @rintcrous : @jaelahh-blog-blog : @fuckerenyaeger : @bigbodiezz : @simp-plague : @lialia3945 : @gojostit : @fangirlingoverfanfic : @deluluforcarlos55 : @manyno :

omg! i didn't realize how many people signed up for my taglist <33 tysm ! currently working on a masterlist too. long shot gojo. i have not forgotten you.

©2025 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.

[kkataleena]

FGUYS I FOUND IT

[bnpd]

YAS IM SO GLAD

[bnpd]

meow

⌗ submit a request <3 ⤷ . join my tag list : ⟢

GOJO SATURO ⟢

⋮ ⌗ ┆ series

LONG SHOT : ongoing

⤷ SYNOPSIS: After an unexpected encounter with the infamous Gojo Satoru at a local convenience store at 3 A.M. You're given the opportunity to worm your way into his life, but not without a personal invitation from Gojo himself. One thing leads to another, and you're the first person they call when he gets a career-threatening injury, forcing both of you to spend day and night together, but not without some obstacles: your cousin.

꒰ ꒱

⋮ ⌗ ┆ one shots

GOLDEN BOY :

⤷ SYNOPSIS: you first heard of gojo when you were a first year in high school, you first saw gojo when you were a third year, you first talked to him when you were a senior, and then you disliked him. but he first loved you when he first met you.

꒰ fluff, suggestive content : 3.1k ꒱

OFF LIMITS :

⤷ SYNOPSIS: Your dad gets hired as the new men's basketball coach at a top university back home. Your parents convince you to transfer there to take advantage of more opportunities. But what happens when the fling you had last summer happens to be the captain of his basketball team, Gojo Satoru. Isn't it known that the coach's daughter is off-limits.

꒰ ꒱

BLACK SWAN :

⤷ SYNOPSIS: in which you were once a girl with dreams and aspirations, before it was swept right from under your feet.

꒰ angst ꒱

⋮ ⌗ ┆ drabbles

NERD-JO .ᐟ >ᴗ< :

⤷ SYNOPSIS: you're a new transfer at a big prestigious private university. what happens when the first friend you make is a cute nerd? will you get your chance to start fresh? or will your newfound 'friendship' bring you unwanted drama in the future.

꒰ fluff : 2.6k ꒱

J★NGKOOK

THE HEART WANTS IT WANTS :

⤷ SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend left to travel the world for a press tour that'll last months. the distance between you causes a rift. however much it hurts, you love him and you'll choose what your heart wants above all else. will you soon regret your decision?

꒰ angst : 1.2k ꒱

OOPS WRONG NUMBER ! :

⤷ SYNOPSIS: after weeks of contemplating you finally make a move on your mysterious hallway/class crush.

꒰ fluff : smau ꒱

join my 18+ disc: link ‹𝟹

©2025 bnpd. All rights reserved to the copyrights owner. Do not share, plagiarize, or translate.