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 :
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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.
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