More sweetness for a sweetheart :3 This Hatsune Miku commission is for the patient and ever-pleasant MikuxLuka401.

Per request, the story is set in an alternate reality where Miku and Luka are human girls and, while one girl followed the popstar path, the other took the route of prostitution to take care of herself.

We all on board? Smashing. Let's begin.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hatsune Miku or the characters depicted herein. I also do not own the image used as the cover. Thanks go to GrimGrave for beta reading this piece.

—Prologue—

"We need Luka in makeup."

"Does anyone know where the extra spotlights are?"

*Crash*

"We have fifteen minutes before we go live, people. Hustle!"

"You can't be serious... The hem ripped!"

Production was, as always, controlled chaos. Luka allowed herself to be pulled this way and that if only to avoid being chastised. Sometimes she felt like some big, dumb beast that the label was maintaining and keeping complacent so that she'd keep making money.

"I still need those lights!"

"Check the bus, idiot."

"I was just there!"

Cerulean orbs flicked to the conical stage lights that had rolled halfway under the luncheon table. They weren't quite concealed by the table cloth.

"Luka, which colour would you prefer?"

"Either is fine."

"How are you feeling? Do you need anything?"

"I'm fine. Thank you."

They stopped badgering her then with the assumption that she was gathering herself for her performance and the chaos went on around them.

"Seriously, guys, this isn't funny; I need them."

"Ten minutes, people!"

...

The venue was spectacular. This would be Luka's only chance to admire it as the moment the lights went on it became impossible to see anything beyond her little performance bubble. She was lead around and to the side of the stage, where a key-code secured door allowed her access to its innards. There, amidst the stage clutter of costume changes and microphones and speakers, a platform that could be lowered and then raised to stage-level was.

At its centre, Luka assumed a sassy stance: hip out, hand on opposite hip, other hand locked in a sideways peace sign near her twinkling eyes. She held it as the hatch directly above opened with a mechanical yawn. Cheers went up, fans screaming themselves hoarse for her, just as soon as the platform was raised high enough to reveal the crown of her head. Smoke machines belched clouds around her, dispelling almost instantly thanks to the heat of the lights above.

Luka began her set, projecting as best as she could over the enthusiastic audience response. She moved almost mechanically, giving no thought to the routine she knew by heart even as she smiled charmingly for the crowd.

This was the final stop on this tour, the conclusion of which meant she could go home. "Home" was a 3.5 million dollar gallery of music industry paraphernalia on the tip top floor of an impressive glass-faced skyscraper. It saw more use from the cleaning staff than it did its owner, what with her hectic schedule, but it was a nice quiet space where she could be out of the public eye for a while.

She missed her cats. She still remembered quite literally stumbling over a scrawny Russian Blue kitten rummaging on her way to the car that waited to take her to a show. It had wound its little body around her ankles, nearly tripping her a second time and, without thinking, she had scooped the filthy little thing up and taken it with her to the show. Production was upset that she'd dirtied her outfit, but she had been more interested in getting her assistant to bring the mewling kitten something to eat. She'd named him Kaito and a few months later, she'd fallen in love with a sandy-furred, blue-eyed Birman kitten she'd seen in a pet store window, which she'd named Len.

The duo had become her family over the years.

"Thank you all for coming!" Luka called, bowing at the waist. "I'm so fortunate to have all of you lovely fans."

Next there would be a meet and greet for backstage pass holders and still later, an after party celebrating the success of her most recent album. They had a flight to catch in the morning, too, bound for Sapporo, Japan. She'd have to order something on the plane, which would likely be challenging given her vegan dietary habits, but that was the risk of not taking the private jet. Her handler would meet her at the airport and she'd have to change into a cocktail dress in the back of the limo because it would be around 8pm there and every Friday she had dinner with the developers at Crypton Future Media who wanted to show her off to potential investors.

Every hour of her day was carefully jam packed with as much as she could get done and, as the saying went, she'd sleep when she was dead.

A green-haired woman slapped down a stack of bills onto the front desk on her way down the hallway to the elevator. She winked at the man sitting there-she didn't remember his name and he likely wouldn't be there for much longer given how quickly they went through new hires who got in over their heads-as she passed. The elevator buttons had been worn down over time so that only the outline of the numbers remained. Not that anyone but the girls who worked here ever used it. The one that their guests used was all glass panels and stainless steel interior; voice activated so you didn't even have to fumble with those troublesome buttons.

A chime indicated that she had reached her floor and the doors parted to reveal another narrow hallway. Each door had a name placard and she stopped at the one marked, "Miku." The reader by the door scanned her Iris and allowed her entrance with a pneumatic hiss.

Miku shed her clothes as she crossed the entryway, pursing her lips at the stickiness of her inner thighs. She was going to have to put her foot down about the clients who wanted to use a strap on her and the kinds of lube they wanted to use. It just got so messy. She turned on the water as hot as it would go and stepped under the spray once steam curled around the lion feet of the tub.

To call this place a brothel would be... Accurate. It was a very nice one, true, but a fresh coat of paint didn't hide the rotting wood below.

The young woman fetched a loofah, loading it with body wash before beginning a careful and thorough cleansing. Once she was done, she wrapped a terrycloth robe around her, tying it loosely around her waist, and went into her bedroom. A brush, blow-dryer, and hair care products awaited her as did make-up palettes and jars of nail polish. She had to make sure she took care of herself in her line of work.

Miku didn't mind what she did in the slightest. Her personal mantra was 'service with a smile'-it didn't matter if she was selling cars or selling her body. Her disposition was further helped by the fact that their clientele was female only, meaning that much of the time she genuinely enjoyed fucking and being fucked.

After she had dried her hair, she braided long green strands. They hung nearly to the middle of her back when they weren't caught up in her usual twin pigtails. She examined her nails idly, making sure that they weren't too long. Half the time, she didn't know why she bothered to paint them considering they'd start chipping quite soon after. Most of her return clients appreciated that extra mile, though, so...

Miku worried her bottom lip with her teeth as she removed the existing coat and reapplied a new one with a steady hand. What time was it anyway? Her gaze flicked to the analog clock on the nightstand next to her bed: 11:43pm. She didn't remember if she had eaten.

Her rumbling stomach answered, "no," and she went to the adjoining kitchenette to rectify that. Miku preferred home cooked meals to cheap, greasy takeout, but some nights she couldn't muster the energy. The girls were able to get meals from the main kitchen downstairs, but only provided they were present at scheduled meal times.

It was nice to eat with the others, but it just wasn't feasible given their unpredictable schedules.

Miku turned her nose up at a half-empty carton of Chinese food, surveying the meager selection a second time before settling on a ready-cook meatloaf and mashed potatoes meal. She needed to ask for some money for groceries. Her boss was a little tight fisted, but he gave generously when it came to maintaining appearances and she'd get fat in no time if she kept eating like this.

Speak of the devil, the sound of the door's locking mechanism disengaging prompted her to put down the steaming container and move quickly to the entryway. There was only one other person with access to her room.

"Miku." The man was tall, gaunt. His shades obscured the majority of his features. "Lloyd tells me you came back late tonight."

Right. That was the front desk man's name. "I left the money with him."

"I want all my girls back here by curfew. You know this."

"I'm sorry. My date took longer than expected, but she paid for the overage."

A gloved hand gripped her chin and though she loathed the contact, she held still as he examined her. He was a good "manager," as he called himself, despite the steep cut he liberated from his staff. He never hit his girls, nor did he ever take advantage of them and he ensured that they were comfortable so long as they did their jobs well. What more could she ask for?

"You look good, kid."

"Thank you, sir."

"Please, call me Daddy."

'Ugh.' "Yes... Daddy."

He laughed and patted her on the ass before leaving. Miku was still for a full minute after the man had left, her heart beating fast. She wasn't one for mind games or posturing meant to assert ones dominance and he knew that—which was why he toyed with her in this manner.

The green-haired woman sighed and went back to her dinner, her mood darker than it had been before. Fortunately, he trusted her enough that she only required a weekly check-in. Before she went to bed, she meditated on her day, releasing the irritation of their meeting and recovering her calm.

Life wasn't all sunshine and rainbows, but then it certainly could be worse.